#countess of champagne

[wonder-worker]

Writers who knew [Marie of France, Countess of Champagne] depicted her in several guises. For Chrétien de Troyes, the most elusive of contemporary writers, she was an assertive patron of romances, dictating for example the subject and meaning of the Lancelot tale. The mischievous Andreas Capellanus, who was close to Marie in the mid-1180s, drew a highly entertaining parody of Marie and the prominent women of her milieu resolving the conundrums of amatory conduct in “courts of love,” in the manner of modern advice columnists. In Hugh of Oisy’s musical performance, Marie cut a fine figure as a combatant in a tournament of elite women. It is striking how in three quite distinctive imaginative works written in the 1180s, Marie appears as an author of an Arthurian romance, a judge at a court of love, and a participant in a tournament mêlée.

Others who knew Marie well in the 1180s and 1190s remarked different aspects of her character. The Eructavit poet noted her penchant for the trappings of wealth, and addressing her directly during a performance of his religious drama, chastised her for her “largesse and lavish expenses.” [Canon] Evrat, on the other hand, a resident canon of St-Étienne who observed Marie closely in the 1190s, stressed her spiritual and moral character. Seeking to understand the deep meaning of the scriptures, he wrote, she provided him a copy of Genesis to translate into the vernacular and annotate with the findings of the latest “academic” studies. In an epilogue added after her death, Evrat penned a eulogy praising her largesse and renown, and comparing her, la gentis contesse Marie, to the three biblical Marys—“she would be the fourth.”

An entirely different side of Marie was captured by Marie’s court stenographers, William (1181–87) and Theodoric (1190–97), who made verbatim transcripts of her comments and directives while observing her deal with the practical affairs of governance: assigning revenues (“I assigned 100s. on the entry tax on wine”), resolving disputes at court (“resolved in my presence in this manner”), confirming prior transactions (“I approved this act”), registering acts done at court (“done in my presence”), consenting to feudal alienations (“I approved because it was my fief”), founding chaplaincies (“for Geoffroy, count of Brittany, my brother”), and establishing endowments (“for the anniversary of my lord and husband, Count Henry”). All of that was “done in public,” usually in the presence of her officers and witnesses. It was precisely in her capacity as ruling countess of Champagne that she continued Henry the Liberal’s example of performing in public as prince of his principality. Having observed Henry at court—just as Henry, while a very young man, had observed the conduct of his father, which earned him the reputation as the “good” Count Thibaut—Marie understood that the comital court, as the core institution of the principality, demanded her active participation, and she paid close attention to the great and the minor issues presented there for her disposition.

It should be emphasized that Henry the Liberal’s principality was only three decades old when Marie became regent in 1181, and the primary comital residence and chapel in Troyes were barely twenty years old, not yet fully implanted as the seat of a new territorial state and mausoleum of a princely lineage. Marie’s task was to preserve the principality and its institutions intact, and to assure the continuity of the lineage. And that she did. Evrat sensed both the precarious nature of her rule and her achievement in holding a firm hand on the levers of comital authority, especially during those anomalous years of the 1190s: “Well did she protect and govern the land / letting nothing slip from her hand, / she was gracious, wise, valiant, and courageous.” By all accounts, Marie projected a complex, forceful, and captivating character, one that proved a worthy counterpart to the compelling personality of Henry the Liberal. [...] Canon Evrat, who had spent six yeRs translating Genesis for Marie, rendered homage to her in an epilogue: "She had the heart of a man and the body of a woman".

— Theodore Evergates, Marie of France: Countess of Champagne, 1145-1198

[amyisnthere]

[gingerteafairy]

dedicated to my pookie @blueikky

𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑺, 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑺 (𝑽𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑲𝒀 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹)

Your first and last ruin, Alexei Vronsky.

tags n warnings: issues, drama, alcohol, smoke, prejudice, blowjob, virginity, praise and (slightly) degradation kink. word count: 4.6k. masterlist

Gossip. That’s what filled the air at balls like this one in the cold beauty of Saint Petersburg. Outside, winter’s chill wrapped the city, but inside, the warmth of cynical laughter and whispered conversations carried through the grand hall. Tonight, the focus was on the newly arrived wealthy family. New money was always a spectacle in high society, and noblewomen wasted no time trying to marry off their daughters to the richest man in sight.

This was your situation. Your mother clung to your arm, dragging you from one introduction to the next. Most of the men were old, balding, or unappealing. The few who seemed tolerable lost all their charm the moment they spoke, their words dripping with arrogance or lewdness.

“How dreadful,” Betsy muttered, waving an ornate fan as she watched your mother’s relentless efforts to match you with men far too old for you. “It’s embarrassing to witness.”

“New money,” said Countess Vronskaya with a sip of her champagne. “Like dogs trampling our lovely ball. She claims herself a baroness. Such a shame.”

“Rather harsh words for someone so refined, Mother,” Alexei Vronsky interjected smoothly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled lazily from his lips as his striking blue eyes followed the scene, faintly amused yet undeniably intrigued.

“The girl is a victim of a desperate mother with no sense of propriety and lack of decorum,” the Countess replied, her lips thinning in disdain. She exchanged a knowing glance with Betsy. “Come, dear. This place is becoming intolerable.”

The two women swept away, leaving Vronsky behind. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something commanding about the way he carried himself. His friend Golenichev approached, grinning as he held a drink, his gaze settling on you as you waved off another suitor.

“She’s had some decent offers tonight, don’t you think?” Golenichev said, standing straighter as he joined his friend.

Vronsky’s eyes found yours again, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, taking another drag of his cigarette before letting the smoke escape in a soft exhale. “She’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice thoughtful. “It’s tragic, really. She can’t be more than twenty, and yet she’s being offered to these… decrepit creatures. It’s a crime.”

Golenichev chuckled, raising his glass in agreement. “A crime indeed. But what’s to be done? It 's her ruin.”

“Perhaps there is.” Vronsky tapped the cigarette against an ashtray and straightened. “I’ll see to it that she’s spared such a fate and make sure to be her first ruin.” His tone was firm, and without another word, he began walking toward you.

You were staring at the floor, trying to hide your frustration as your mother pulled you toward yet another man. Then she stopped abruptly. You looked up, and your breath caught.

The man standing before you was unlike any you’d seen tonight. His presence was magnetic, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to lock on yours with intent. For once, your mother seemed unsure of herself, nudging you for bow reverence.

“What a small, demure little thing you are.”He chuckles at your small bow, roaming his eyes over your body, taking every inch of you, especially in your breath plumped by the exaggerated neckline your mother made you use. “Adorable, if it's safe to say, baroness.”

“Oh…” Your mother opened her mouth but fumbled for words. “To… to what do we owe this honor, sir…?” she finally managed.

“Vronsky. Count Vronsky. Colonel,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly before taking your hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a light, deliberate kiss to your skin.

“Oh… it's… such a pleasure to meet such a high hierarchy… I mean, important man.” She giggled, covering his mouth, nudging you, having you gasping slightly before fixing your posture.

“The pleasure is mine.” he beamed as his eyes burned with a desire and passion you’ve only heard in fantasies. No, it was darker. Hyptozing.

You flushed, your heart racing under his gaze. His voice, deep and confident, seemed to linger in the air. Your mother quickly recovered, rushing to introduce you. “This is my dau—”

“No need,” Vronsky said with a small, knowing smile. “I already know her name.” His attention returned to you. “May I have this dance?”

Your mother answered before you could, her voice eager. “Of course! She would be delighted!” She nudged you forward, leaving you no choice but to step into his waiting arms.

His touch was steady and assured as he led you to the center of the ballroom. The music swelled as the two of you bowed, and then his hand found your waist—not politely at your upper back, but daringly low, just above your hip. The closeness was startling, almost improper, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

“You’re very quiet, darling,” he said as the two of you began to move, his steps smooth and confident. “You’re naturally reserved, I presume.”

“My mother believes it’s unseemly for a lady to speak unless spoken to,” you replied, your voice clipped as you tried to mask your nerves.

He chuckled softly. “Nonsense,” he said, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Tell me—what are you thinking right now?”

You hesitated but decided to answer honestly. “That, of course, you would know my name. My mother has spoken to every man in this room. The pretty, reckless, stupid Baroness.”

He laughed, the sound low and pleasant, loving your adorable annoyance. “I tend to keep my distance. Crowds don’t interest me.” He guided you into a turn, his hand steady on your waist. “Did any of them catch your interest?”

“None who would ask me to dance and dismiss my mother’s rules as nonsense,” you said, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his tone warm as he pulled you closer. “You’ve caught my attention, if I may be so bold. You’re enchanting.”

Your breath hitched at his words. He was impossibly close now, his hand firm yet gentle on your waist. “That’s very kind of you, Count Vronsky.”

“Alexei,” he corrected. The intimacy of his first name felt daring, and it made your cheeks flush again. His gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he spoke. “Would you do me the honor of a walk? Somewhere quieter for a pleasant talk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your mother, who was engrossed in conversation across the room. Before you could second-guess yourself, you answered.

“Yes.”

He smiled, offering his arm, and you took it. Together, you stepped away from the crowded ballroom and into the stillness of the castle’s quieter halls, your heart pounding with every step.

Alexei led you through the castle halls, his steps unhurried, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. He spoke occasionally, sharing brief comments about the guests or recounting fragments of the castle's history. His voice carried a quiet intensity, much like the moonlight filtering through the windows, veiled by luxurious, heavy curtains. There was an air of mystery about him—dark yet alluring, cold yet captivating.

He stopped in front of a wide wooden door, resting his hand on the ornate brass handle. With deliberate slowness, he turned the knob and pushed it open, the creak of the hinges echoing softly in the stillness. The pause in his movements, the weight of the moment—it set your nerves alight.

“Ladies first,” he said, his tone smooth and polite as he stepped aside.

You hesitated before walking in, taking in the room’s grandeur. It was no ordinary chamber. It was vast, large enough to house an entire family of peasants. A velvet sofa rested against one wall, paired with matching chairs and a table scattered with loose sheets of paper. Heavy drapes framed tall windows, and the air carried a faint yet pleasant scent of cedar and something floral. But the centerpiece of the room was the bed—a massive structure with carved posts and linens finer than anything you had ever touched.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked at last, your voice breaking the silence. You didn’t turn to face him, but the soft click of the door closing behind you was enough to remind you of his presence.

“I wanted a quiet place where we could talk,” Alexei said, his footsteps drawing closer before he seated himself on the velvet sofa. He moved with such ease, yet his every action seemed deliberate. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke curl lazily into the air. “To get to know you.”

You swallowed hard, the intimacy of the setting and his relaxed demeanor setting your nerves on edge. You lowered yourself onto the far end of the sofa, maintaining a respectable distance, though your heartbeat betrayed you.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice soft yet probing, “have you ever been in love?”

The question startled you. You frowned, letting out a nervous laugh. “I suppose so. A few times. Silly crushes, nothing serious.”

“Was that what your mother told you?” he asked, leaning just slightly in your direction.

“Probably,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. Despite yourself, you found your body inching closer to his, as though pulled by an invisible force. “In her words, romance is useless unless it serves a purpose. Marriage is a transaction, and a lady should save herself for that.”

“And do you believe that?” he asked, taking another drag from his cigarette. His knee brushed against yours, the contact subtle but charged.

“No.” Your voice was firm, though your gaze drifted to his hand, the urge to reach out and touch it growing stronger with each passing second. “But I’ve never had the courage to try anything different.”

“What is it you’ve never tried?” He leaned closer, his profile sharp as he turned his head to exhale the smoke away from you.

“Romance.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes searching yours. “And… would you like to try?”

The question lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a silk ribbon, tightening with every heartbeat. It was dangerous, the sort of question that invited you to tread on forbidden ground. Yet there was something intoxicating in the way he spoke, the way he watched you as though he already knew your answer, showing you what you’ve been caging. Desire. Fire, lust, pure sensual desire.

“I believe I would,” you murmured, the words barely audible but enough to draw a soft smile from him.

Alexei shifted closer, closing the gap between you. His breath mingled with yours, carrying the scent of tobacco and something distinctly him—something refined, intoxicating, irresistible. He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before leaning forward.

But instead of his lips meeting yours, he exhaled, the smoke brushing against your lips and filling your senses. You inhaled instinctively, closing your eyes, tasting the ghost of him in that moment.

It wasn’t a kiss, not exactly—too timid, too indirect. But it was intimate, electric, and left your heart racing as though it had been. You opened, meeting his gaze.

The faint crackle of the fire in the distant hearth was the only sound, its soft glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. Alexei had moved closer now, his presence overwhelming but not suffocating, his gaze unwavering on yours. There was a storm in his eyes—a mix of restrained desire and something deeper, something dangerous.

When his lips finally met yours, it was gentle at first—tentative, as if asking a question he wasn’t sure you’d answer. But then you responded, your hand instinctively finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for the restraint to break.

The kiss deepened, his other hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, the cigarette being forgotten on the floor. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, was unlike anything you’d ever known. He kissed you like he was claiming something, yet still giving—giving you something you hadn’t realized you were starving for.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless. This is dangerous," you whispered, standing and placing your hands on your hips. Your voice shaky but tinged with a nervous laugh, “We can't be doing this, Alexei. This is wrong.”

He raised, hands reaching for your arms, travelling to your waist. “Does it feel wrong? Or does it feel like something you’ve been told is wrong?” His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still cradling your face as if he were afraid to let go.

Your lips met Alexei's in a deeper kiss, where he took your face in his hands, turning his head to devour you and feel your taste completely, savoring the sweetness on your lips of your previous treats, mixed with the striking nicotine of Alexei with a touch of champagne, as if it mixed with his earthy perfume.

The kiss became more desperate with hands roaming all over your bodies. You shoved him again, turning your back with your hands on your head, noticing once again the dangerous terrain with the wetness between your legs, like rain on a warm day.

"Tell me you don't want me." He hoarses breathy in your ear, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. "Tell me and I'll go away."

“Alexei…” You sighed, your voice sounding like an eager moan as your hands searched for Alexei's curls between your fingers, hanging your head on his shoulder with your eyes closed.

His lips brushed your shoulders softer this time, almost reverent. “Say what you need and i'm pleased to give, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, his talk striking deeper than you wanted to admit. “Alexei. If anyone knew—”

“Let them know,” he interrupted, kissing your shoulder open-mouthed, his lips taking an old age pace where your neck meets your shoulder. His voice had taken on a quiet intensity, the kind that made your chest tighten as his tongue licked the side of your neck.

“Let them whisper and sneer.” He whispered, his teeth meeting your soft flesh, ghosting till your neck where he inhaled your scent “Leave them wondering how i adore you, every inch of your skin. How I map out your body, the firmness of your flesh, how I'm the cause of your gasps and moans. Leave them realizing you’re living his wildest dreams, melting in my hands.”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. He poured every ounce of his love, his hand sliding once again to your stomach, snaking to the small of your back.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes as you felt the lace on your dress loosening softly, the firmness of the unbreathable tie replaced by softness. "Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Once again. You didn’t. You couldn't.

Not when he licked your neck with a gracious soft tongue felt so right, molding your barely exposed curves to the hard planes of his body. His hands release you from the outrageously heavy dress.

“I want to sink myself into your untouched depths, stretching you wide, claiming you utterly…” He muttered, biting your earlobe, delighted at you melting with each word, his desire, touching every piece of skin as he murmured sweet nothings at your ear.

He gently touched your hair, careful not to make a mess with your luxurious hairstyle. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them as he turned you to face him. “I want to make you feel everything, know all the pleasures. Whispering my name in a hoarse voice as you please me with cream.”

His voice was a low, wicked purr, each word dripping with sinful promise and unchecked hunger. He took your hand, licking between your index and middle finger, imitating your folds as he saw you heat at him playing with your imagination. You knew what it was. He loved it. He wanted it.

Alexei’s hand slid lower, palming the rounded globe of your ass, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling you even harder against him.

“Every filthy, depraved, utterly obscene thought that's ever crossed your mind... It's all something I desperately want to make happen.”

Tenderly, he took off the corset watching it slowly rest on the floor. His hands slid to cup the soft weight of your breasts as he guided you to his bed, sitting you with surprising care, holding you for getting comfortable.

He pushed back for a moment, his eyes burning into yours as he quickly shed his own clothes, revealing the hard, toned body beneath.

He stood on the side of the bed and you followed him, sitting on your knees. “You’re mine,” He smiled, holding your chin between his fingers, placing a small kiss on your lips. “Mine to ruin.”

His whisper sends you a shiver down your spine. He pulled away again, putting his hands on the hem of his pants, pulling down his underwear as well, revealing to you the sight of the stranger, who somehow seemed familiar to you.

As if following his desire, your hands went up to your length, exhaling Alexei, not restricting your tongue, insisting on tasting his juice, planting a mouth-opened kiss. He groaned, maintained control with his fingers on your chin, your sweet innocence burning inside him, burning with the clear desire to ruin any trace of it in you. Present you to any pleasure the world denies you.

“Open your mouth, love.” He demanded and you slowly opened, sticking your tongue, obeying your instincts. He cupped your face, pressuring your jaw, seeing you opening even more. “Yeah… that's it. Keep it wide open for me.”

Alexei groaned, his cock at your wet, warm tongue dragged along his aching length, accommodating his veins. The sensation of your soft lips parting, your mouth stretching to engulf his thick, pulsing cock... It was almost enough to make him lose control, to spill himself down your throat, how you submissively struggled on making your moves deeper, comforting him on your walls.

“Keep going, you're doing so well…” his sweet praises echoed with the sound of your cheeks sucking in and the little ‘pops’ when you popped his cock out to lick him, savoring the saltiness just to warm him up again.

He pushed you, making eye contact as he patted his head on your flushed cheeks. A dark chuckle echoed from his lungs as he saw you opening your mouth eager to taste him again.

“You're so adorable… Did you want a cock this much? No wonder your mother hides such a slut. Would be a shame if anyone knows how good this pretty mouth is.” He cooed, pressing your chin down. “Stick your tongue, my cunt.” he ordered, pressing your chin down, patting his tip again when you showed your tongue on your reddened lips. “Yeah… that's it… good girl. Here, take what you want.”

He couldn't help but surrender to your swirling tongue, entertaining his frenulum. He popped out again, smirking just to dig inside again, chuckling with your gasp and hollowing cheeks.

He rocked his hips, grinding his cock against your tongue as he fucked your throat deep, “I'll ruin your mouth so any man could use it again. Just me. Your mouth made for my cock.”

The sight of you, tears streaking down your cheeks, mouth red and swollen from his rough treatment.

“Enough, darling.” He brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the stray drop of drool that clung there, before pressing the digit past your lips, letting you suck it clean. His other hand slid into your hair, his fingers threading through the silky strands as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, unwavering gaze.

“Did I do a good job?” You beamed, wiping off the remanescente drool off your face with the back of your hand.

“You were perfect, took me very well. Now… Lay down. On your back.” He asked and you obeyed, lying down as he ordered. He crawled on the bed, getting on top.

Alexei’s mouth travelled to your neck, nipping and deposing open-mouthed kisses, tasting you, claiming you, marking you. His own territory. He pushed back slightly, fingers gently wrapped around your throat as he licked the column, lifting to look at your eyes, leaving them as he arrived at your sternum, inhaling you.

“Such a magnificent smell.” He exhaled, inhaling sonorous, his fingers digged on your waist possessively. 

His head drove to the side, catching your nipples with his teeth gently, while his thumb teased the other one, turning, pinching, palming your breast and filling your hardened skin sticking on his hand, breathy purrs of yours could be heard on his timpani. 

He slid down in brief kisses to your undergarments. You plopped on your shoulders, watching him catch the hem of your underwear, tugging down with his teeth in one swift erogenous motion, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Alexei…” you mumbled dizzy, tortured by his tortuous rhythm. 

“Yes, my lady?” He teased, as he didn't know how you were on the edge of madness. He wanted you begging, but he was patient enough to wait for it, even if his cock ached for relief. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you.” You finally admitted, gazing into his lustful eyes that looked through his delicate lashes. “I want you, Alexei. I can't take it anymore."

“As you wish, my love.” He whispered before his lips searched yours in a bruising kiss, massaging your tongues together simultaneously to his teeth pushing your bottom lip, nipping and coming back for loving tongue. 

Alexei's hands drove down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pushed your legs up and out, forcing your knees upon your chest, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, your dripping sex begging for his cock to explore your walls. 

He pulled his hip down, your hole hugging his tip, getting used quickly to the new addicting sensation. He could smell the sweet scent of your desire, your flushed thighs shivering with anticipation mixed with the cold air of the night. Your cunt trying to suck him hungry. He heard it's calling, burying him completely with the symphony of your moan and his grunt. 

“God, you feel amazing.” he rasped light headed, sensing your channel tightening his length. 

His fingers drove out to your swollen clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in tender circles, the calloused pad of his finger teasing until your hips bucked beneath him.

“Alexei…” you moan, digging your nails on his flushed shoulders, drawing a red path to his back where you scratch to his swaying moving. 

“Fuck, you take me so well, my darling.” He groaned, setting a pace as he kept eye contact with your foreheads together, shutting his eyes when he pursued your lips to a taunt kiss, hooking one of your legs around his waist. 

“Alexei… Alexei… fuck.” You mewl his name like a song, humming on each time his tip rocked on your sweet spot back and forth. 

“Is it good when I touch you here?” He left your lips, biting your jaw as he pulled your hair, swaying his hips harder and deeper. 

Suddenly, he pulled back, your blissed cunt feeling the void as you watched him sit on the bed and light a cigarette found on his trousers. He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow as he dragged in. “What are you waiting for? Sit.” 

"What?" you gasped, heavy from the pleasure you had gotten while sitting next to him.

“I think i was clear, but i’ll open an exception for your pretty pout.” Vronsky chuckled, leaning closer to your ear, cupping your face, thumb pressing your jaw as he ghosted his lips on your cheek. "I said sit. Sit so i can drink you with my eyes while your tits jump and you cream me like a good girl.”

You gasped, your face being released with soft brutality as you stared at him, your gaze going to his cock soaked in your lube "i don't know how to do this... i barely know how..."

"Shhh..." he shushed, taking your face into his calloused hand again, pulling your bottom lip with his index finger. "Obey. Sit.”

You swallow hard, obeying the order without blinking. Your legs work to spread out on Alexei's lap as he takes a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaling onto your face, your tears mixed with smoke.

"God, you're perfect.” he breathes, inhaling with his head on the wall as you sink down on him awkwardly, finally taking his full length in a sloppy unadjusted thrust of you. “Yeah… good girl. Fuck yourself on my cock to get what you want. Don't make me ask twice.”

You moaned at his dirty talk, starting a slow and uncoordinated movement that made your legs ache, but that felt incredibly delicious on your core. Up and down, back and forth, exploring the new nature. 

“Good…” he whispered, panting, his gaze at your cunt sucking him well. “You’re a natural. Faster."

Your eyes caught Alexei's furrowed brows as he took another drag, each time more awkwardly as the pleasure grew in his spine. 

He moved closer to you, exhaling smoke near your mouth as you inhaled again, but it wasn't the nicotine that was addicting you. It was how Alexei commanded without needing to touch, it was like your body knew exactly what he wanted.

You felt your heart race, the oxygen seeming to dissipate in the air suddenly as your sex demanded more. Vronsky noticed. His skilled fingers rubbing your clit. "That 's it. Cum on my cock. Cream it. Use me for your pleasure, love.”

“Alexei… fuck… I'm” You couldn't even speak, your body automatically throwing itself at Alexei who held you, dropping the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed to hold you while you sought your own orgasm in him, his warm lips on yours again.

"You are the embodiment of sex, darling. My nymph. My muse. Fuck, you are delicious, melt into me." He stimulated you, encouraging your ecstasy, your eyes pressed shut as your mouth opened in a final sigh, your pleasure being released into Alexei. 

He took in your scent, your taste, your juice, wanting his pores to absorb every cell of yours released by your peak. The world seemed to dissolve, your mind blank as Alexei fucked himself into you, his ankles on the mattress to help with the thrusts as he digged inside, yours tits bouncing as you purred and whimpered. With a last harsh sway, his cock spurted his seed on your womb, rocking his hips til the last drop. 

Breathing heavily, you pulled away briefly to look into Alexei's delighted eyes, his blonde locks plastered to his forehead, his hands coming to your face in a generous caress, gently kissing your lips.

"Ravishing..." he whispered, taking in every detail of your sweaty face. "I wish to present myself to your mother as a suitor. I do not intend to let any other man touch my sweet little thing.”

Your eyes watered at the talking, your hands placed on your mouth to hide your surprise. “Alexei… Alexei, is it real? What made you change your mind?’

“Nothing.” He simply replied, smiling at your emotionally amused reaction, his own heart giggling at the moment. “You’re mine now, you’ll wear sapphires in the morning and blue diamonds at night, so everyone knows you’re my woman. you will be elevated to the position you deserve. High. Adored. A muse. Come on, get ready. We have an announcement to make.”

[magicaldestinyharmony]

When The Stars Align

regressed!duke x wife!female!reader oneshot (? it could be more idk)

Duke Ercan Revaz only ever loved one woman but she no longer exists. And it’s his fault. Well, if he wasn’t the only reason then he surely was a reason. He still remembers the first day he saw you. Standing under the moonlight in a garden looking like a goddess straight out of the founding myths of the empire. He stood, not far behind you, watching. Staring. You stood there in an elegant red dress with a champagne flute in your hand leaving the chaos and noise of the ball behind you. A sad sigh escapes your lips and, for some reason, he longed to hear your voice. At the thought, he freezes. He doesn’t understand the feelings flowing through him. He’s new to this sort of thing. Having spent countless years from one battlefield to another, he has zero experience with women. Another sigh from your alluring lips brings him out of his thoughts. He wonders, What is causing you to sigh so much? He then realizes that you were the woman who just publicly dumped her fiance. Your ex-fiance was a complete bastard. He was expecting orders to eradicate this nuisance to high society but you beat him to it and did a great job of ensuring he would never show his face again. He sees a woman approaching you which he recognizes as Countess Labelle. Countess Labelle calls you and you turn to face her. She must be your mother. he thinks. You leave with the countess. As he stares at your retreating back he feels that he must have you and he will make sure that once he does, you won’t be able to leave him.

Ercan now realizes that he went about making you his wife all wrong. Instead of trying to woo you, he did something that he still regrets. Using his power as a duke, he indirectly places your father in debt and demands that if he gets you as a bride, he will pay the debt off himself. Your father, bless his heart, tried to find other means to pay back the money but you stopped him and accepted the marriage. At the start of your marriage, things were fine. He never embraced you and always kept a distance, thinking that you might not have favourable feelings towards him. Still, you had a nice marriage. Things went downhill when he got sent to battle. You discovered papers with orders to place your father in debt in his study. Without him there to at least try to salvage the situation, your thoughts went wild. He came back to the report that you had tried to escape. He was frantic. Why would you try to leave him? He might indeed have placed you in debt, but he paid them off and also made sure that your family was well off. He found you bound to bed rest by the family doctor. You looked terrible. Pale and bags under your eyes. He got into an argument with you which ended with him confining you to your room. You resisted and your health took a hit. The day you died, Ercan regrets that the last thing he told you was a “Good night” and not “I love you” or anything similar. He woke to the balcony doors being opened. His blood ran cold. He ran outside only to see your disappearing smile over the railings. Ercan went mad. He lost you. He lost you. After the funeral was over, Ercan wished that he wouldn’t wake up again. He would rather die than face a world without you in it. He was surprised to wake up and find out that his wish had come true. Well, kind of. Ercan clenches his fist while he stares out the window of what used to be your shared bedroom. What will become your shared bedroom. I promise, this time I’ll never make the same mistakes again. I'll show you just how much you mean to me. This time, you won’t die in vain.

[soldierboysdoll]

M A R I L Y N

Soldier boy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Soldier boy and you had an arrangement: no love, just pure lust and desire. These were the rules and neither of you wanted to change it, especially that he had to fake-dating with fucking Crimson Countess. Luckily you have people and places they're trust with they secrets.

WARNINGS: 18+, unprotected sex, language, smut

PLEASE BE KIND IF I MISSPELLED SOMETHING, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

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1940s America. The war may be raging overseas, but in Hollywood, it’s all about glamour, secrets, and indulgence. The Payback team is America’s sweetheart superhero squad, and Soldier Boy is their golden boy—a war hero, a heartthrob, and the man every magazine cover wants. But behind the carefully curated image, there’s a world of deception, passion, and reckless abandon that only a select few get to witness.

You are not just another pretty face in a red, white, and blue uniform. You're the co-captain of Payback—just as strong, just as deadly, and the only person who can match Soldier Boy in a fight or in bed. You have an understanding: no strings, no expectations. Just pure, unfiltered pleasure whenever you can sneak away from the cameras, the war propaganda, and the eyes of your team.

But there’s a problem: America loves a love story, and Vought has scripted one for Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess. The fucking redheaded songbird and Hollywood’s sweetheart, the woman marketed as his woman. In public, Soldier Boy has to play the perfect doting boyfriend—smiling, holding her waist at events, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear for the cameras. But behind the scenes? The only place he really wants to be is in your bed.

And the only person who knows?

Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn is the queen of secrets, and her exclusive, after-dark parties are the perfect cover for your illicit affair. The guest list is always long, but everyone knows the rules: what happens in Marilyn’s house stays in Marilyn’s house. It’s a world of flowing champagne, golden-lit ballrooms, smoky lounges filled with jazz music, and secret rendezvous behind closed doors. It’s a world of stolen touches, whispered promises, and reckless nights that neither of them can resist.

One night, during one of Marilyn’s infamous parties, you are standing at the bar, a cigarette between your lips, dressed in a slinky satin gown that drapes over your curves just right. The room is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and bourbon, jazz humming through the air.

Across the room, Soldier Boy is leaning against a wall, whiskey in hand, watching you like a wolf tracking his prey. He’s just stepped off the stage from some Vought-sponsored radio show with Crimson Countess, where he played the perfect boyfriend, but his real desire is standing right in front of him.

"You look like you’re waiting for trouble," Soldier Boy murmurs, slipping up beside you, his voice dripping with smug confidence.

You exhaled a slow drag of smoke, tilting your head at him. "Trouble’s already here."

He smirks, fingers brushing against your wrist as he steals your cigarette and takes a slow inhale. It was one of those tricky blunts which looks exactly like a normal cigarette, but blew up your mind. His eyes stay locked on yours, a silent challenge burning between them.

"You jealous, sweetheart?" he taunts. "Saw me up there, holding her like she’s mine?"

You scoffed, swirling your drink in your glass. "Please, I know exactly where your hands would rather be."

You looked at him with an amused, but knowing smirk on your plump, red painted lips and took a sip of your martini, then put down the glass in a movement, Soldier Boy never thought he would find it that attractive. But it was graceful and sexy as hell as your slender fingers played with the stem of the glass.

"And where would at be exactly?" He murmured, his voice was velvety.

You just smirked and jumped off of the barstool. You were so close, he could smell your perfume, the one he bought for you from Paris a few months ago. It was driving him crazy, in the best ways.

"On me. Under this silky dress. Inside of me" you whispered with that honeyed voice he loved so much.

Before he could've reply, Marilyn glides by, flashing you both a knowing smirk. "Bedroom’s unlocked, darlings," she whispers before disappearing into the crowd.

That’s all the permission you needed.

The party is still roared downstairs, but in the dim glow of Marilyn’s lavish bedroom, it’s just you two. Soldier Boy presses you against the vanity, knocking over a bottle of Chanel No. 5 in the process, but neither of you cares.

His lips crashed against yours, desperate, possessive, full of weeks of pent-up frustration. His hands roamed your body like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of you that isn’t his to keep.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" he growled against your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You laughed breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "Then go find your real girlfriend, Ben."

His grip tightens on your waist, his smirk dark and dangerous. "Nah. I’d rather wreck you instead."

And with that, his lips were on you again. Kissing, nipping, licking your soft skin on your throat and went lower. On your collarbone, on your chest, growls and sighs to your skin as his hands clenched around the silky material of your dress.

"This fucking dress," he growled "I want to rip down of you."

"Don't you dare, it was expensive" you murmured between soft sighs. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back as you let out soft, breathless sighs.

"Don't give a fuck, I buy you another" he murmured on your cleavage just below of the neckline.

"And how would I go home? Naked?"

"I'm sure Marilyn's gonna give you something, darlin'." He was so wrecked, fuming from his desire to take you right there.

You moaned softly as he sucked on the soft flesh of your breast.

"Asshole" you breathed out.

"You love it" he murmured back, his hands tightened around the dress, you could hear it ripping already.

"I do" you moaned "rip it." Your voice was just a low whimper.

That was all he needed. He straightened up and moved his hand to the neckline of the dress, and with one, swift motion he rip it just in the middle. The material fell down on you, like a silky robe before a heated night.

His gaze roamed over your naked body and a sly smirk appeared on him. "No panties?"

You smirked back "I was thinking forward."

He grinned "Good girl" he murmured, then his lips crashed to yours in a heated, animalistic kiss.

His fingers were already between your legs, pushed in two fingers right away. You moaned into the kiss, your body trembled but it wasn't from pain. It was pure bliss. He smiled against your mouth, kissed you feverish.

You like it like this. Your rendezvous is reckless, messy, and fueled by the knowledge that the world can never know. But in that moment, you don’t care.

"You like it don't you?" He murmured as he moved his fingers in and out with just a right amount of pressure, curling in the soft flesh.

"Shut... up..." you whined, your head fell back on the mirror above the vanity.

He chuckled as his lips trailed down on your jaws, then he pulled out his fingers make you whine in protest, but he had other plans.

He spunned you around and bent you down on the vanity. With his other hand, he pulled his already throbbing cock out of his trousers.

"I want you to watch yourself as I fuck you from behind" He hissed out as he pushed himself inside of you with a low growl.

His forehead fell on your shoulder to compose himself for a minute, then started to move in you.

Your head hunged down, your body trembling, the pleasure was too good already, then you felt his large hand on your throat as he yanked you a bit up and against his chest. He moved in hard and long thrusts, leaned his head to your ear as he looked at you through the mirror.

"Eyes on yourself, sugar" He whispered, nipped on your earlobe, then buried his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your soft skin.

You couldn't help but moaned and sighed and whimpered. His hand tightened around your throat and your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure. He yanked on you again.

"Eyes up, babydoll. I want you to watch the show" He murmured, thrusted harder.

The perfums and make ups trembled on the vanity, but you didn't care.

"Look at you..." He mused "So fucking hot, and all mine..."

You just whined in response, you already felt your climax rose up, you felt the familiar warm and tightness in your stomach and he felt your walls clenching around his hard dick.

"That's it baby, let yourself go... let me hear you... come for me..."

He thrusted harder and faster, his hand tightened around your throat but in just the right pressure to make you feel good.

"You're so fucking tight" He almost whined in panting. "I'm gonna make you scream my name as loud that they would hear it louder than that damn jazz. Fucking hypocrites." He hissed out as he felt himself closer to the edge too.

"I love how you fit to me, like a perfect puzzle." He nipped on your neck again as his movements getting ragged and harder with each thrust.

"Gonna make you feel good, I promise."

"You always do" you managed to whimper out "Oh God... I'm gonna–"

"That's it baby. Give it to me. Give me what I want. Scream my name."

And with that, with a loud cry of his name, you came. And he followed. Oh how he followed. Your mixed breaths and whines were downright sinful. It was pure Heaven and Hell in the same time.

His head fell down on your sweaty shoulder, put feather-light kisses as he came down from the high, panting like he just ran a marathon.

"So... who's made a wreck from who?" You smirked at him through the mirror, panting, and he couldn’t help the chuckle escaping from his lips.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman, I swear the god..." he whispered with a last kiss on your shoulder.

"You're atheist" you commented just to tease him.

He smirked against your skin "But I believe in you, and darling... God is a woman, and that's you"

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@emeraldcrs

Thanks for reading, If you want me to tag you, just let me know in the comments 🩷

You can find this fanfic as a C.AI bot too with the same name but I add a link too, and if you have requests for bots, just DM me 🥰

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: The pros and cons of tangling with Soldier Boy...

Song Inspo: “The Voodoo House” by Rick Springfield

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and more smut, angst, a Noir sighting, death, and even some hurt/comfort if you squint.  

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 6: Drowned & Spellbound

Countess was bound to get back at you for this.

You found that you didn’t give a shit as you sat across from your companion with a crystal glass of champagne in hand. You stared up at the tall arched ceilings and ornate chandeliers, the beautiful tapestries and landscape paintings, and most impressive of all, the tall, intricately carved walls of the Oak Room.

You’d heard about this restaurant, but you’d never in your life even stepped foot into the Plaza Hotel. You were now very glad you changed into a proper dress, as well as fixed your hair and makeup.

Across from your intimate table, Ben held his bourbon with a relaxed set to his shoulders. No doubt this was like getting a burger at Chilis for him.

“Enjoying the scenery?” he remarked, taking a sip.

You smiled a little bashfully. “It’s beautiful here. I’ve never been to a place like this.”

Ben’s answering smile was predictable. Stick with me, baby doll. I’ll show you a whole new world, it seemed to say.

“Sinatra comes here from time to time,” he said, pointing at a small corner stage with a piano. “He’s known to take that spot over there and do a tune or two, if he’s got enough whiskey in him.”

Frank Sinatra?! Now that was exciting. You couldn’t help but glance around to see if you spotted him, or any other famous person for that matter. When you heard a chuckle, you looked over and found Ben’s amused face.

“What?” you said with a smile.

“What, I’m not enough celebrity for you?” he teased, rolling his shoulders. “I stormed fucking Normandy, you know.”

You did know, but you leaned in closer, giving your amused attention. It didn’t take long for him to launch into an hour compilation of war stories from back in his day. You’d heard many of them before, but you made it seem as if you were hanging onto his every word.

You realized though, that you could sense him lying with your abilities. Every word that came from his mouth when he talked about his past, his achievements, his exploits in the war and how he helped Vought build a better America afterwards…

It was all complete and utter bullshit.

It took all you had to keep the incredulous frown off your face as you fought to remain invested in his stories. Okay, the one about him taking LSD with the Beatles during Woodstock was true, but other than that, complete and utter bullshit.

You ate mostly in silence as you allowed him to keep talking your ear off, just offering small interjections here and there while he devoured his steak. He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

You supposed this was what it was like to date the most famous man in the world. No wonder Countess got sick of him.

When he finally rested for a beat, ordering yet another glass of bourbon (you’d lost count at this point), you took your chance to learn something real about him.

“So you’re from Philly, huh?” you said. “What about your family?”

Ben pulled back on you then, his expression falling closer to stoicism.

“What about it?” he said.

“Well, I just realized I know a lot about your career and the amazing things you’ve done for this country, but I don’t know all that much about you,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Like…did you have siblings? What were your parents like? Did you have a dog growing up? That kind of thing.”

You laughed a little to lighten the load, but Ben only softened slightly. It took a moment for him to answer you.

“I was an only child,” he said, again, sipping at his glass. “No dog. Money was too tight for that.”

Again, a lie, you sensed. Not in the first answer, but the second one. Who the hell lied about having a dog?

Or maybe, it was the bit about money being tight. You knew his backstory from the documentary Vought made of him back in ‘75. He was the true “rags to riches” story, according to the narrative, having grown up poor and struggling to survive. It was the one thing you thought you could relate to him about.

But apparently, that wasn’t true either.

“And your parents?” you prodded.

“They were normal. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say,” Ben said, a little more snappish than you expected. You blinked, taken aback.

You slid your chair a bit closer, so that you were sitting beside him rather than across from him. You laid a hand on his arm, over his jacket. 

“Look, I don’t just want to date Soldier Boy, America’s first superhero,” you said, looking up into his eyes. “I want to know you.”

Again, it took him a beat. But eventually, he lowered his glass back to the table and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin.

“My mother was a singer at a club. A little crooner, like you,” he said. He eyed you with a slight smile. “That’s where she met my father. As the story goes, she was singing ‘Are You From Heaven’ when he walked in. She saw him, and it was like the uh…the fucking thunderbolt, from the Godfather.”

You smiled. All of this, you sensed, was true.

“They were married within a year,” he said, though he paused, as something distant passed through his eyes. “Pneumonia got her in the end. She was young…but she lived long enough to see me when I got back from the War. A hero.”

He picked up his drink again, maybe this time to distract himself.

“Hers was the last funeral I ever went to,” he said.

And that admission was the most surprising of them all. It managed to strike a familiar chord of grief within you when he looked over at you. You both felt and saw the weight in his gaze.

Maybe he was telling you this on purpose. Maybe he was, in his own way, trying to relate to you about your own mother’s death.

Tears began to sting behind your eyes, but you managed to blink them away. You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

He hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and drew you in even closer, making you yelp in surprise. He smirked, having finally gotten the jump on you for a change. He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you in closer.

You looked up at his handsome face with wide eyes. A blush dusted your cheeks, warming your face. His smirk softened around the edges, just a little, and he took his chance to engage your lips in a searing kiss.

And maybe this time, you were the one who was caught.

Ben peeled his lips from your neck to give the server a firm no on dessert, “Just the check.”

The guy was good at his job, and was back with the check within a couple of minutes. Ben slapped a significant wad of cash down on the table and guided you up along with him. Breathless as you were, you held onto his arm to keep you up right. The only time you parted from him was at the foyer of the restaurant, where the staff brought your coats.

A limo was waiting outside. With a hand on your lower back (and creeping down to your ass), Ben ushered you in first before he slid in.

“Head back to the Tower,” he told the driver, even as he was pressing the button to raise the partition. “And fucking step on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

You already had a fist in his dress shirt when he turned his attention back to you. You pulled him closer at the same time he leaned in to cage you more fully into his arms. While his mouth ravaged yours, sucking in your lower lip and dragging his teeth across, your hands slipped under his coat and blazer to help him shrug them off.

He similarly ran one of his hands under your coat, up your side and over your breast, squeezing through the fabric. You gave him an encouraging sound, and he dragged a sleeve down along with the bra strap to expose your breast. He palmed you with that big, warm hand, rolling the nipple under his thumb.

None of it was an act when you moaned into his mouth and squeezed his shoulders tight. At this point, it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t just about using him. Despite everything—his arrogance, his callous, asshole behavior, his lies—you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. Right now, he was the only thing you wanted.

His lips dragged down your neck, igniting your skin wherever he sucked and teased. You held him there with a hand on his cheek, but it soon wound up into his hair. God, it was softer than it looked.

One of his wandering hands made its way under the skirt of your dress and between your thighs, teasing your slit through your panties. Your breath hitched, but you spread your legs wider for him across the seat. You felt his smirk against your neck.

“Finally ready for me, huh?” he said. “Kept me fucking waiting long enough.”

He didn’t even bother taking off your panties. He just pushed them to the side and dragged his fingers between your slick folds.

“Fuck, your wetter than Niagara already,” he remarked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes because you knew he couldn’t see it. Smug bastard.

But he was withholding his fingers, just tracing along your pussy and teasing your entrance. Your core was already throbbing with need. Your hips began to undulate against his hand.

“God. Ben, please,” you panted in his ear.

Apparently, that was all he wanted to hear. You uttered a shameless moan when his thumb found your clit, causing a shiver down your spine and a tremble in your core. Soon enough, one of his long fingers slipped deep inside you, all the way to the knuckle.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You didn’t want the driver to hear you.

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Gotta get you real ready for me,” he muttered. “You’re gonna take my cock so well, I can already feel it.”

On his last words, he added a finger and curled them inside you, exploring your inner walls and finding that special spot that made you keen into his ear. His thumb worked your clit at the same time, until you clenched on his hand so hard it had you gasping. He swallowed it with his mouth covering yours, all while he drew out your first release with his fingers stroking inside you.

It was a solid preview, you thought, when the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Vought Tower.

Again, you held onto his arm mostly for balance as he led you to the elevators. Your legs felt like jelly when you tried to walk in your heels. Ben hit the button a bit too hard, but you understood it. Every second that ticked by while you two waited for the elevator was entirely too long.

When it finally opened, he guided you inside and pressed the button for his floor, the penthouse suite, all the way up nearly 80 floors.

A mischievous idea hit you. It had you slipping your hand under his coat and blazer again, tracing the seam of his belt. Ben glanced down at you in knowing amusement, but he let you unbuckle his belt without comment.

He just stared at you with a fire in his eyes while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. You dipped your hand inside the waistband and slid a slow hand along the full, impressive length of him. You smiled when it hardened fully at your touch.

“Is all this for me?” you said, even as you leaned up for a kiss.

“If you can handle it,” Ben said.

Then he obliged you, bowing his head to meet your kiss. You kept things slow as you sensuously licked into his mouth. You tasted bourbon on his tongue before you broke the kiss, just to lower down to your knees in front of him. You held onto the back of his strong thighs while you mimicked what you did with your tongue in his mouth, just further down as you outlined his cock through his underwear.

Ben tried to cover his moan with a grunt, but you sensed his powerful arousal. You had his full and undivided attention, especially when you hooked your nails into the band of his underwear and finally freed his cock. You took it in hand and licked a long stripe across the underside of it, from base to tip. He shuddered. His hand shot out to brace against the elevator wall, shaking the entire compartment with his strength.  

Your tongue circled around his sensitive head, licking up beads of precum from the slit. But just when you finally wrapped your lips around him and took him as far as you could into your mouth, the elevator stopped, chiming your arrival cheerfully. 

He didn’t even wait until he had the door to his apartment closed before he dragged you towards him with a hard kiss. Your coat and his had already been cast to the floor, along with his blazer and tie. His dress shirt was halfway there when he hefted you into his arms effortlessly.

You grabbed his face and met him with a kiss fueled by lust and passion. You felt wild. You felt free. You felt like this was a sin you were meant to commit.  

Ben forcibly unbuttoned his pants with one hand and kicked out of them while you broke open the rest of his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor. It allowed you to run your hands over his warm, tan skin, every dip of muscle across his arms and shoulders, and down his solid chest.

He smirked at the way you were eyeing him, exploring him.

“Like what you see, baby doll?”

“Almost as much as you do,” you quipped back. He huffed at that.

He walked you over to the bed, where he dropped you down towards the center. You yelped and how high he’d dropped you from, but you were smiling when he prowled over you on his hands and knees like a predator. His hands slid up your smooth thighs, bunching up your dress all the way up to your hips. You raised up to help him get it over your head. Your hair was already wild by now; you pushed it out of your eyes with a huff.

His hands slid under you again to unclip the bra. It was flung off to parts unknown, along with your panties. He paused in between to trail open-mouthed kisses down your body, between the valley of your breasts.

He turned his head to start toying with one pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Your fingers threaded through his hair along with your moans as he relentlessly teased your sensitive flesh with his teeth.

"You gonna sing for me, sweetheart?" his voice rumbled smoothly against your skin. "Pretty soon I'm gonna have you screaming for me."

He continued his exploration, his lips dragging down your stomach. And then…

“Oh,” you back arched off the bed. He devoured your pussy with the same tenacity as he had your mouth. His tongue pushed into your entrance while his nose brushed your clit.

Soon enough, your juices coated his stubble-laden cheeks and ran down his chin. His strong hand on your lower belly held you down while he finished his work, his lips moving to suck on your clit. His thick fingers pressed into your channel and worked you open.

You gripped at his hair tightly, cursing and pleading with his name, until you uttered a strangled yell. Your inner walls clenched hard as you came on his tongue.

But you were only able to take maybe one or two breaths of recovery before you felt the thick head of his cock breach your entrance, pushing his way in all the way to the hilt.

You gasped and bit your nails into his shoulders. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite,” Ben grunted, though he smirked down at you. “Now let’s see how well you take me. Still so fucking tight.”

Your core contracted around him, still sensitive and pulsing from your orgasm. He didn’t give you a moment more to catch your breath as he began a steady, almost punishing clip inside you. He was stretching you in the most delicious of ways, hitting places deeper than his fingers had been able to reach. It felt so fucking good, all you could do was hold on for the ride.

You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, digging your heels into his ass. He ducked down to kiss you, rough and demanding. Your lips met his sloppily, before he dragged away to bite and suck where your neck met your shoulder. You winced at the pain tinged with pleasure, but your eyes rolled shut as you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Each of his deep strokes inside you was edging you closer to another cresting wave of pleasure. You slipped a hand between you to find your clit, but Ben grabbed your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a near growl.

Your eyes blinked open with a start. You met his gaze. Sweat lined his brow. His other hand was squeezing the flesh of your thigh, opening you up wider for him. You let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he said, “But first, say my fucking name.”

“Ben,” you gasped, as he shifted the angle of his thrusts. The coil in your lower belly was tightening, your muscles bearing down and clenching on him.

“Say my fucking name,” he repeated, releasing your wrist to lay a heavy smack on your ass. The impact rattled up your spine and you jolted, accidently raking his back with your nails. You felt him shiver then. He moved his fingers down to strum at your clit.

And he got what he wanted. He had you screaming his name along with your release. His body locked up as a strangled shout fell from his lips. He coated your inner walls with his spend as they fluttered around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, satisfied and spent.

He grabbed onto the headboard in order to hold himself above you, else he would crush you with his weight. You ran your hands up and down his chest more lazily as you each caught your breath.

Thank fuck for the pill, you thought airily. Because clearly this man didn’t care about condoms.

He eventually pulled out of you, making you shiver at the loss. He rolled off you and stretched out on his side of the bed. You turned your head to look at him. He gave you a relaxed grin in return, like the cat who got the cream.

In that moment, it really hit you.

There’s no going back now.

About a week later, you and Ben had developed a kind of…rhythm.

Yet another glass tipped over and shattered on the floor. He didn’t seem to care as he thrust into you from behind on his dining table. Your moans of encouragement were loud and genuine; your nails scraped across the stained tablecloth, incidentally shoving another plate overboard.

Your quiet dinner had been interrupted halfway through dessert. The moment you’d sucked a ribbon of chocolate off your spoon, Ben had reached for you, pulling you into his lap. You’d been all too willing to let him suck the sweetness right off your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fucking sing for me,” he growled into your ear. His hand crept around your throat, giving a warning squeeze. You grabbed onto his wrist to keep it there. You held onto him like a lifeline. Sometimes you felt like his cock was going to split you in two. But his iron grip on your hip kept you from going anywhere.

His release ultimately hit him before yours. He grunted as his movements became sloppy, but he still pushed into you. You purposefully clenched on him, stealing his breath this time.

He let go of your throat so he could bury his hand between your folds. He rolled your already sensitive clit between his fingers until you cried out, your body locking up on him outside of your control. Your orgasm hit you in a warm, heady wave. Your legs shook, and you slumped onto the table.

Ben was right there with you. For a moment, all he could do was grip the edge of the polished mahogany and stare at the newly formed hickey on the back of your neck. He swiped your hair out of the way so he could see it better. He knew every mark that he’d put on you, even the ones he couldn’t see right now, under the pretty dress you…sort of had on.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You huffed in amusement, despite your exhaustion. “I could’ve sworn the damn table was going to crack in half.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remarked.

He slipped out of you, giving you one last smack on the ass. He didn’t bother to lower your skirt before he dragged up his pants and belt.

“Wanna join me in the shower?” he posed.

You did your best to fix the fallen straps of your dress and ruined bra, along with your hair and lipstick. You found your underwear clinging to a wall sconce. You grabbed that too and slipped it on, then you offered an apologetic smile.

“Raincheck?” you said. “I should go back to my place and get some training in.”

Ben rose a brow. No matter what he offered, you were never one to stay very long after a good fuck…

Not that he minded.

It was usually him giving the excuses to leave, trying to avoid the inevitable clinginess of women after sex. Still, this time he wouldn’t have minded the company.

Maybe next time.

Ben smirked as he drew near you again. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You held onto his arms and peered up at him questioningly.

“You mean to tell me you’re gonna walk downstairs, ride the elevator some thirty floors, and walk back all the way to your apartment with my come between your legs?” he asked.

He had to admit, the thought aroused him. Your cheeky little smile did too. Your hands came to rest on his chest, and you leaned up for a slower kiss. It was no less heated as your tongue slipped against his. You pulled away just as slowly, letting your teeth drag against his lower lip.

“Goodnight,” you said.

And you walked away from him. He enjoyed the show you gave him as your skirt swished against your thighs. By now he knew your every curve in intimate detail, and still he hadn’t had enough of you.

He knew he’d be feasting on you for a good long while.

News traveled fast in Vought Tower.

Especially about your little trysts with Soldier Boy. You knew by the too-polite smiles the staff gave you now, as well as the wide, cold berth Crimson Countess was giving you too. You had expected more of a retaliation from her, but you remembered that day in the gym all too well.

She probably thought you and Ben wouldn't last. Either that, or maybe she was afraid of antagonizing him. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for her moment to get back at you. Either way, you weren't going to drop your guard around her.

In the meantime, Tessa was friendlier to you, and Tommy had finally stopped hitting on you. Swatto tried not to even look in your direction.

Mindstorm, of course, continued to be a hermit, but even Black Noir was more distant with you, which was the one change that disappointed you. The two of you sometimes shared conversations in the breakroom like you had that first day. You’d started to think of him as a friend.

So the next time he tried to pass you while you were making coffee in the morning, you finally said something.

“Hey."

It wasn't your most elegant start, but he paused, in that subtle way of his when his helmet was on. He looked over at you over his shoulder.

“Um…do you want some coffee?” you offered, raising your own mug.

Noir shook his head.

“Okay. Well, uh, how are you?” you asked. “Any exciting missions lately?”

Noir just stared at you. You didn’t blame him. You knew you sounded lame.

So you switched tactics. “Oh, yeah. How’s that movie pitch coming?”

At that, Noir tilted his head slightly. He took his helmet off, revealing his furrowed brows. It was like he didn’t know how to talk to you anymore, which confused you.

“I’ve actually got an audition coming up,” he admitted. “There’s this new movie, Beverly Hills Cop. It’s action, and it’s uh, funny.”

You smiled. “That’s great!”

“I’ve asked around, and I heard Eddie Murphy’s my main competition though. He’s got more experience in comedy,” he said, sliding a hand across the back of his neck.

You shook your head. “Yeah, but superheroes always make the studio more money. And I’m sure you nailed your audition. This could be really great for you!”

A smile flickered across his lips.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. But the longer he stared at your face, the more his expression fell. “What the fuck do you see in him?”

Your smile fell as well. “What?”

“You’re new…boyfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is you’re calling it. I mean, really,” Noir said. “The guy’s probably a walking STD. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts, or who else he fucks, for that matter.”

Your lips pursed as you fought not to be hurt by his words. You schooled your expression.

“The idiots who get caught by him deserve to have their hearts broken,” you said dryly. 

“But not you,” Noir pointed out. “If you see through his bullshit, then why are you with him? For power? Like Countess, you think you gotta be with the big swinging dick in the room to get any respect?”

His disdain cut into you, and like all things, he had deadly accuracy.

“I have my reasons,” you said. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a fucking man.”

“Right. Still black though, in case you forgot what I looked like under this goddamn suit,” Noir snapped.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and maybe shame.

“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else,” he said. “That somehow, you’re better because you’re afraid to get your hands dirty. Well, guess what, Sirena. You’re no fucking better than Countess. You’re just like the rest of us.”

Your lips trembled with anger, but you didn’t have an easy retort this time. Noir left you seething where you stood.

Ben reclined in one of the plush office chairs and folded his hands.

“Let’s make this quick. I’ve got shit to do,” he said.

You were more quietly polite as you sat beside him. Inside, you were wary. Why had they asked for you and Ben into a meeting together? It felt like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office.

Across from you was Madelyn, perched on the corner of the conference table, while Stan Edgar sat beside her in a chair. He shared a look with Madelyn, whose smile was unreadable. Arthur sat to Stan’s left.

Madelyn addressed you and Ben first. “Well, as you know, Red Thunder is about to launch next week.”

Ben inclined his head expectantly.

“We would never want to meddle in your personal business. However—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart,” he said, with a superficial smile. You shot him a glance, seeing how Madelyn managed to keep her polite façade. She was almost a better actor than you.  

“We believe it would be prudent if you kept the status of your relationship…discreet for now,” said Stan. “Along with your breakup with Crimson Countess.”

“Why should I give a flying fuck about that?” Ben asked.

“Because Red Thunder isn’t just a political action thriller,” Stan said. “There’s also a romantic storyline.”

“You and Countess are meant to be in love in the movie,” Arthur finally chimed in. He seemed impatient with Stan’s roundabout way of saying it. “It’ll be better for everybody if you and Countess do the red carpet together, like we planned.”

“And the press tour as well,” Madelyn added.

Ben rolled his eyes, but you let out a small breath and nodded in agreement.

“That’s understandable,” you said. You looked over at Ben, waiting for him to agree too. You knew he wanted his movie to do well. He just didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, even in the public eye.

He eventually nodded. You gave him a smile, making his lips tug upwards as well.

Yeah, you thought. We can hide this for a couple of months.

There were times when you could do nothing but blink at the sea of cheering people on both sides of the red carpet.

So many flashing lights.

You had never been to a movie premier before, and it was as exciting as it was overwhelming. A security team flanked around your group as your other Payback team members approached the photo op section.

Ben was just ahead of you, looking dapper in a dark green Armani suit. He was escorting Countess, who admittedly looked elegant in her Oscar-worthy red dress (not that she was winning an Oscar for this movie). It had a large skirt though, and it made it hard for him to even stand close to her while they posed for photos.

He had that debonair look perfected as he greeted press and guided Countess by the small of her back. She was giving a good performance herself, smiling up at him, occasionally rubbing his arm where she held onto him.

You would never admit to the sliver of jealousy pricking your heart, so instead, you focused on the poses Madelyn’s PR team had drilled into you as you took pictures alone. Your stylist had opted for something different than your usual black or violet color schemes.

Since this was your first red carpet, she wanted you to try something new. So she’d put you in a white ‘20s style gown, complete with intricate silver beading down the skirt. You felt a bit like a chandelier, but it did drape nicely off your form.

You shuffled along the queue of press and photographers. Black Noir and the TNT Twins were behind you in the lineup, while Countess was taking an opportunity to bask in the limelight, getting her pictures taken on her own as she showed off the billowing skirt of her dress.

Meanwhile, Ben had a hand in his pocket as he posed by himself. You sensed he was getting bored, even with so much attention on him.

“Hey, why not you two together?” a photographer called out to you and Ben, gesturing at you to get closer to him. You blinked wide eyes, but you did as you were told. Ben looked over at you, a smile tugging at his lips. He slipped a hand around your waist and guided you to his side.

While the photographer snapped away, Ben leaned over to your ear.

“You look stunning,” he said. His voice was smooth and baritone. “But I know I’m gonna like that dress even better when it’s a crumpled mess on my floor.”

You resisted the urge to bite your lip. Instead, you glanced up at him over your shoulder. You two shared a small, secret smile.

Click.

And the secret was out.

That brief, intimate moment between you and Ben became plastered across every tabloid in the city, and even some of the “respectable” magazines.

SOLDIER BOY + SIRENA SECRET AFFAIR?!

And various headlines of the like. Even Johnny Carson had something to say about it on the Tonight Show.

“Now, it’s Soldier Boy’s business of course, but if it’s true, I do feel a little sorry for Crimson Countess. Don’t you?”

The crowd in studio, much like the rest of the fans, were divided. Most women were sympathizing with Countess, while most men seemed to be supporting Soldier Boy (and you by extension).

This wasn’t how you wanted this to happen. It was no small amount of chaos from a PR perspective, and it had quickly made you a polarizing figure in the media.

You just didn’t expect how it would affect your real life, as you headed down Broadway after a successful mission. Not only had you stopped a man from shooting up a bank, but you and the TNT Twins had saved the entire staff and patrons inside. Without collateral damage this time.

You were just stopping off to grab a coffee from one of your favorite cafés when you noticed a woman waiting for the bus. She was glaring at you with a gas station slushie in her hand. You’d fully intended to ignore her, before she shouted something at you.

“Homewrecker!”

You frowned. Jesus, it wasn’t like they were married.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously.

“You heard me, fucking hussy,” the woman said. She was wearing a red Crimson Countess-themed watch.

You rolled your eyes and aimed to walk past her. That’s when she tossed her slushie and hit you on the side of your head. You gasped as red berry syrup and ice drenched you and ran down your suit. It even stung your eyes.

Anger and instinct took over. When she approached you, you shoved her hard by her shoulders.

“Back off!” you shouted. You just didn’t realize that your eyes glowed with power when you touched her. You’d compelled her on accident.

The woman’s face went blank. Not only did she step back from you with her hands raised in surrender, but she kept walking backwards, all the way to the street.

Your eyes widened as you reached out to her. “Stop!”

You ran to her, but it was too late. Unfortunately for her, the bus arrived right on time.

You sat in Arthur’s office, your hands still shaking, your face, hair, and chest still covered in a sticky film of slushie syrup. He handed you a towel to clean yourself off and returned to his desk. It didn’t do much good.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. And you said again, “I-I…it was an accident.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. This isn’t our first rodeo,” he said. “The clean-up crew’s already working on the site of the incident.”

“What,” you cleared your throat. “What about her family?”

“Why do you think we have lawyers?” Arthur said. His smile wasn’t reassuring. “So just go back to your room, clean up, and relax. We’ll take care of this.”

Dully you nodded. You peeled yourself up from the leather chair, and you made the trek back to your room. You showered and got changed, but you still felt dirty. In your mind, you kept seeing the bus split that woman’s face into the pavement.

You were restless, so you got dressed into something comfortable and didn’t even bother with makeup when you went up to the penthouse. Ben let you in, though he frowned at the state of you.

“I heard what happened,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Tears stung at your eyes. You looked so small and fragile at that moment, Ben couldn’t help but soften ever so slightly. He guided you inside with a hand on your back.

“You hungry?” he asked. “Can have the chef bring something up.”

You shook your head and plopped down on his living room sofa. He made you a drink instead—a vodka soda with a lime, just like you liked. You stared at it, then you downed it all in one long go.

Ben raised his brows, but he sat beside you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

You set the glass down heavily on the coffee table and gave him a tearful look.

“How is that possible?”

“She disrespected you,” he said, with a note of darkness in his voice, in his eyes. “You had every right to hit back, put her in her place.”

You turned his words over in your head, but you couldn’t accept them. You didn’t want to justify this. You knew it was wrong.

Ben’s hand slid across your thigh, drawing your attention.

“If I’d been there, believe me. That shit wouldn’t have even had the chance to come out of her fucking mouth,” he said coolly.

Somehow, you’d already known that. You just didn’t know if it was his way of being protective, or if it was just him taking a slight against you as a reflection on him, as a man. Either way, it didn’t really make you feel better. Your tears bubbled over, no matter how much you held them back.

Ben’s frown deepened, though he hesitated for a moment. He tugged you over into his lap, where he reached for your cheek and got you to meet his eyes with your red and shiny ones. He captured your lips in a kiss.

If all else fails, distraction.

He worked your sweater off, then your bra, and guided you down onto the sofa. There he kissed his way down your neck while undoing the button on your jeans. You raked your fingers through his hair.

“Ben,” you whispered. “I—”

“Just relax,” he rumbled.  

You fell into the pull of him, letting his mouth and his touch intoxicate you. You didn’t want to let him make you forget. You didn’t want to let this be okay.

But you couldn’t help it. You wanted him, and maybe this time, you needed him too. 

AN: A little smut, a little angst, a little involuntary manslaughter. What else in the world of The Boys, amirite? 😅 But how do you like how her relationship (or not quite relationship) with Ben is developing?

Next comes even more supe debauchery, and a big monkey wrench...

Next Time:

You grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol, went over to them, and subtly touched Countess’s bare shoulder.

Give that shot to Tommy, you compelled her.

With that small trill of your power, Countess stood straighter and beelined straight for Tommy. She grabbed him by the back of his head and surprised him with a deep tequila kiss.

Gross.

You grimaced at the sight, but when you looked back at Ben, he was smirking in amusement. He slid an arm around your waist and spoke closely in your ear.

“Let’s have some fun.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 7

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[teamackles96]

The Supies

❧ Summary: Soldier Boy says screw it.

❧ Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

❧ Wordcount: 1483

Main Masterlist | Solder Boy Masterlist

It was time for the annual Supie Awards—or the Supies, as people called them. The Emmys of the superhero television and film industry, hosted and run by Vought International.

And like anything Vought did, they did it spectacularly.

The event was being held at Vought Tower in the Lamplighter Memorial Theater, accessible only through the Vought Museum. Guests walked through the glorified shrine to Vought’s history before arriving for the award show.

Outside the Tower was pure chaos. A red carpet was laid across the concrete, lined with screaming paparazzi and press, desperate to snap the perfect shot. The Supes took their time walking the carpet, pausing to pose and chat with reporters, while Vought personnel scrambled like headless chickens. 

Unfortunately, you were one of those headless chickens, doing your best to move fast in heels and a simple black strapless gown. Vought staff had been instructed to wear basic black, so they didn’t distract from the Supes—but that didn’t stop at least one Supe from watching you intently.

Every member of Payback had a handler. Technically, you were assigned to Crimson Countess, but you may as well have been the team’s collective babysitter. Each member ignored their actual managers in favor of barking orders at you. Strangely enough, you didn’t mind. Not really. At the moment, you were trying to wrangle all eight members together for a group photo on the carpet. A nightmare.

The TNT Twins were bickering over who got to stand in front. Gunpowder insisted he had to be next to Soldier Boy. Mindstorm couldn’t be bothered and refused to smile. Swatto was desperate to be in the center. Thank God for Black Noir, who followed orders without complaint and tried to herd the rest into place.

You tried not to focus on the way Crimson Countess was draping herself all over her so-called boyfriend, Soldier Boy, who looked deeply annoyed by the flashing lights and constant yelling.  He was the real reason Payback was even there—his movie Red Thunder had been nominated for multiple awards, including Best Actor, which he was favored to win.

Finally, you got them lined up. You stepped over to check everyone’s appearance, ensuring they were Vought-perfect. As you fixed Countess’s hair, you felt that stare again—intense and possessive. Like a lion eyeing its prey. Soldier Boy’s gaze sent a heat skittering across your skin. He was allowed to look at you like that—he was your secret boyfriend of nearly a year—but you’d warned him to behave in public.

You stepped up to him, adjusting the collar of his super suit so it lay perfectly. In your heels, your head barely reached his nose, so he leaned down slightly, whispering in your ear. “You look gorgeous, doll,” he murmured, low and rough.

You tried not to react, especially with Countess’s eyes tracking your every move. But your cheeks flushed anyway. You stared at the carpet and quickly scurried away, giving the paparazzi a clear shot of the supergroup.

Soldier Boy signaled when the photo was over and led the team into the Tower. The lobby had been transformed: waiters in black and white weaved through the crowd offering champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Posters of the nominees lined the walls, with golden lighting and glass chandeliers glinting above. Candelabras flickered on pedestals. Guests and Supes mingled before the show, passing through the Vought Museum’s curated propaganda.

Before they could scatter, you regrouped the team. “Okay, I’m under strict orders to remind you all to behave. You’re here for Soldier Boy and Red Thunder. Screw this up, and you make him look bad, Vought look bad, and me look bad. So keep it together—and save the heavy drinking for the after-parties or whatever dive you end up in. Got it?” They groaned. You raised your hands. “Hey, not my rule. Stan Edgar’s. Oh, and he says to mingle.” More groaning. “Don’t forget to act like you’re enjoying yourselves,” you called after them as they dispersed.

A waiter offered you a flute of champagne, which you gratefully accepted. You sipped it slowly, keeping mental tabs on the team—except Mindstorm, who lurked in a dark corner as usual. You almost pitied him—until you remembered he was likely sifting through everyone’s minds for secrets. He already knew about you and Ben, of course. He couldn’t help himself, apparently. What a dick.

Speaking of Ben—your gaze locked on Soldier Boy’s hand around Countess’s waist. His arm was wrapped around Countess’s waist while they schmoozed with Vought execs, all fake smiles and clinking glasses. The sight turned your stomach. Watching your boyfriend flirt and kiss another woman—especially one who could literally incinerate you—was more than a little sickening. But then you caught his eye.

His green eyes softened as they met yours. He gave a faint smile—melancholy and full of longing—then a subtle wink. You couldn’t help but smirk back.

A chime rang through the lobby, signaling it was time to enter the theater. You downed the last of your champagne, left the glass on a passing tray, and headed through the museum. As you walked, you felt the softest brush of a fingertip against your hand. Ben had slipped beside you without a word. His arm was still around Countess, but his hand found yours just enough to link fingers. He spoke to other guests, casually pointing out exhibits, but the connection was unmistakable. He gave your pinky a small squeeze.

But the theatre doors were approaching, and reality crept back in. You had to pull away. His hand slipped from yours. The loss was a physical ache.

The theater seating was arranged so all of Payback sat front and center, perfectly visible. You were seated on the aisle, where the handlers usually sat. Ben knew that. As the show began, he subtly widened his stance so his leg touched yours. The smallest contact—but it grounded you.

Red Thunder cleaned up. Best Cinematography. Best Sound. Best Director. Then came Best Actor.

Ben’s leg bounced with tension. Countess leaned in, hand on his upper thigh, and you fought the urge to slap it off. You were so focused on her touch that you almost missed the announcement—

“And the Supie for Best Actor goes to… Soldier Boy!”

The theater erupted. Payback shot to their feet. You stood too, clapping as Ben basked in the spotlight. He turned toward you as if to kiss or hug you—but couldn’t. You just smiled, proud and aching, as he headed to the stage.

Flashbulbs burst. He adjusted the mic, award in hand.

“Thanks for this—what is this, Best Actor? Yeah. No surprise.” The crowd laughed with him, absolutely wrapped around his finger. “I wanna thank Vought,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Wouldn’t be here without ’em.” He launched into the approved talking points, acknowledging the studio and his team.

Then came the part where he was supposed to gush about Countess.

“And of course, I want to thank my...” 

His eyes drifted to you. You stared up at him, heart in your throat. His voice faltered.

“I want to thank...” he repeated, unsure. He looked at Countess—then away, disgusted. 

“Screw it.” 

The room quieted. 

“I wanna thank the one person who actually gives a shit about me. Not Soldier Boy, not the brand—me. She ain’t a supe, she ain’t some Vought fantasy. And I’m done pretending she ain’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to thank my girlfriend—Y/N.” Gasps filled the room. “Yeah, I’m not with Countess. It’s a PR stunt. The woman I love? She’s real. And I’m done hiding it.”

He raised the award. “Vought can spin it how they want. But tonight? I’m celebrating with the woman I fucking love.”

He turned and strode offstage, marching down the stairs. Before you could process what had happened, Ben was in front of you. You barely had time to react before he was there, pulling you into him. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he kissed you—hard, desperate, full of fire. His other hand cupped your cheek.

You lost yourself in it, but the flash of cameras and shouts around you yanked you back to reality.

He pulled back, panting slightly. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” he said against your lips.

You stroked his chin, breathless. “What have you done?”

He grinned. “They’ll have to deal with it. I want the world to know—you’re mine.”

“God, I love you.”

“I love you too, doll. More than you know.”

He took your hand and led you backstage—away from the chaos, the cameras, the fallout.

As Ben pulled you into the wings, a flurry of activity erupted behind you. PR reps screamed into phones. Vought execs swarmed Stan Edgar, whose expression was colder than ice.

Crimson Countess stood frozen in the front row, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

But you were in love. And officially in deep, deep shit.

[recycledmoviecostumes]

Lashana Lynch first wore this blue and gold gown, accented with silver beads, as Rosaline Capulet in Shondaland’s 2017 series 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓-𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅.   It appeared again on Denise Richards as Marie of France, Countess of Champagne in 𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒘 & 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔.   𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒘 & 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 remains unreleased as of October 2024, as it is one of the subjects in the scandal around producer José Luis Moreno, who was arrested and then released on bail in 2021.   The production company 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 appears to have been dissolved after his business partner Alejandro Roemmers claimed he was defrauded of money for the series by Moreno, according to @formulatvcom   Learn more at: Bit.ly/TudEliz237

[emeraldcrs]

soldier boy × @soldierboysdoll aestethic♡

air in the villa was heavy with perfume and lucky strike smoke. the bar cabinet clinked, someone laughed in the background, but the real scene wasn’t there.

in the corner of the room, half in shadow, sat marilyn, glass in hand, watching them—lana and ben.

“you two look at each other like the world would collapse if anyone else noticed,” marilyn said, her voice calm but playful. her red lipstick caught the light as she sipped her champagne.

ben stood at an angle, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. “maybe it would,” he muttered. his eyes never left lana, who sat in a dark blue silk dress, legs crossed, as if the attention didn’t bother her—but every movement was calculated.

marilyn smiled. “darlings, this could be a perfect little publicity stunt for vought. ‘america’s sweethearts—the man who wins wars, and the woman who makes bombs blush."

lana raised an eyebrow. “and what about crimson countess? does she get a poster in this threesome too?”

“she’s just set dressing, sweetheart. people don’t want the heroine, they want the scandal,” marilyn whispered, leaning forward. “real love is never clean. it’s raw, messy, passionate.”

ben’s mouth twitched. “this isn’t love.”

“no?” marilyn asked, almost singing. “then why do you pull the trigger when someone else touches her?”

a moment of silence. the pianist in the background slipped into as time goes by.

lana took ben’s glass, sipped from it, then handed it back. “what we do doesn’t belong to anyone else,” she said. “and definitely not to vought.”

“but everything you do already belongs to them,” marilyn answered softly, rising to her feet. “you still think you’re in control, but you’re only free until the cameras start rolling."

her heels clicked gently as she walked away.

ben and lana didn’t speak for a moment, just watched the reflections dancing in their glasses—and each other.

the piano softly slipped into the last notes of as time goes by, the melody dissolving into the smoky air. lana slowly licked her lips, a faint trace of whiskey lingering on her lipstick. ben was still looking at her like the world would collapse if anyone else noticed.

"you know," lana spoke quietly, her voice like a silk scarf gliding softly over skin, "if you’re so afraid of your secrets, maybe you shouldn’t keep coming so close to me."

ben leaned in, the scent of whiskey mixing with the spiced notes of lana’s perfume.

a fresh, powerful oriental fragrance, with the harmony of salty vanilla. a fresh-sensual duel between floral notes, green mandarin, water jasmine, and ginger flower. the scent is made fatal by amber and cashmere wood. yes, ben looked into things. lana, against her own will, aroused his interest far too much. and marylin supported their affair.

an extremely lush, magical, and sensual perfume, before which men fall to their knees.

and so does ben.

"what if that’s exactly what i want?" he growled. "to forget who we are, what they expect from us. just you and me. forget everything else."

the corner of lana’s mouth twitched into a half-smile.

"fantasy, ben. propaganda sells. reality chews you up. you know that."

suddenly, one of the balcony doors swung open. an elegant man stepped inside — one of vought’s producers, whose smile hid more blood than any soldier’s hands on the front lines.

"soldier boy!" he boomed, overly cheerful. "the crowd’s waiting for you out there! and don’t forget — the countess is with you tonight. show them how it’s done, soldier!"

ben’s gaze hardened. for a moment, he looked back at lana, as if to say wait for me — but he didn’t say it. he just nodded, disappearing into the smoke-filled room.

lana was left alone, glass in hand, staring at her reflection in the polished window.

"just you and me, huh?" she whispered to herself, bittersweet, then downed the last of her drink as the piano began to play once more in the background.

tags: @soldiersgirl @bittersweetfig @briiverse @bejeweledinterludes @littlesoulshine @soldierboysdoll @cowboysandcigarettes @soangelbaby @sugardean @angelblqde @sunsbaby @thekhloediary @hischrrypie @pieandflannel @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @velvourne @fuckedupfate @rositaslabyrinth @mahi-wayy @jollyhunter @h8aaz @daylighted

[whimsical-kitty2]

Suppressed Desire

Childhood friends to lovers series with Count Alexei Vronsky

Chapter 3

Word Count: 2.8 k

Previous Chapter ☆ Next Chapter

After waiting at the guest bedroom until approximately three hours, you both agree you should come out soon. Your skirt has dried in places, and you hope that its moisture isn't too noticeable to others at first glance. Alexei's vest and suit jacket, on the other hand, are still pretty much soaked, and so he decides he will leave the ball altogether. He requests that you inform his mother, Countess Vronskaya, that he has received a letter and has headed out on an urgent business. He tells you that he will come up with the details later, and you aren't obligated to lie anymore to the woman, as he will handle the situation himself. What he also wishes, however, is that you invite your new suitor, Emil Andreevich, for one afternoon at your manor so that he may get to know him better. You are pleased that Alexei is actually interested in familiarizing himself with your suitors, especially now that you've taken a liking to this last one.

Upon returning, you manage to excuse your absence in front of your parents, playing it off by explaining that you were simply at the far off pastry table, or that you were by the balcony and observing the rain while Alexei was having a smoke.

You complete Alexei's former request and move onto the latter, looking for Emil. When you spot him, he's sharing a glass of champagne when his friends. He glances at you and immediately separates from his group.

"Hey there!" He smiles brightly at you. "I see you've managed to shake off that..." pest, he means, but manages to pause in time. "... That gentleman. He looks rather familiar. Is he not the famed Count Vronsky?"

"Yes, he is!" You grin as you step toward him. "I am terribly sorry for his behavior! That was uncharacteristically rude of him! He's actually a childhood friend of mine, my best friend, to be exact."

"Is that so?" He tilts his head to the side and cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes, and sometimes he can be a bit protective of me, especially with people he has never met. But I assure you, he means no harm!"

"Oh, sure!" He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning toward you.

"I'm serious!"

"And how did he end up leaving you all alone here?"

"He was called on an urgent business and left immediately. That's why I'm here to pass on his sincerest apologies."

"How considerate of him!" Emil can't help but feel skeptical, as he can already sense what kind of dynamic you and Alexei share.

"He actually wants to get to know you... Perhaps have a drink or a smoke together?"

"Oh? He does?"

"Yes! And it would highly please me if you obliged me and accepted my invitation for afternoon tea at my manor. Count Vronsky will be present."

"It would be an honor to get acquainted with such a pristine cavalry officer and aristocrat." He says, but you fail to notice the subtle way in which his eyes narrow briefly.

"Does this Saturday's afternoon work for you?"

"I can be there whenever you desire."

He bows down and takes your hand to place a gentle kiss on its back.

"Thank you for your invitation! Truly!"

The next few days feel more mundane than usual to you. Perhaps that's because you are in a state of constant anticipation. And you are. Now your most sacred wish has become to see Alexei and your suitor get along splendidly, as you are almost entirely convinced that Emil is your husband to-be. You ride the wave of excitement his sudden appearance in your life has brought you, and you can barely do anything else than fantasize about the prospects lying ahead. Whenever you make an attempt to sit down and read or paint, you are unable to focus, too preoccupied with daydreaming about how lovely it would be for Alexei to find Emil agreeable. Perhaps he could be his best man at your future wedding? And then the godfather of your future children? You kick your feet back while coming up with all these delightful scenarios.

Saturday arrives at last. Your mother was visiting a friend of hers, while your father was away for business, so you were left alone in the manor. Right now, you're sitting on a soft couch in your spacious drawing room. Alexei had made sure to come by earlier so that he could indulge in your company before Emil was to arrive. Now he was positioned beside you, with his legs crossed and with his right arm stretched out behind you. He wasn't touching you, but it was clear his gesture was protective in its nature. Between the sititng furniture stands a table, and atop it - a tea set. The finest porcelain from your dear mother's collection has been neatly placed by a housemaid. The beautiful set is white, each piece adorned with delicate hand-painted flowers, created by a skilled craftsman and imported from China. Inside has been poured hot black tea, similarly brought from Asia.

Your suitor had arrived a while ago and was sitting on the opposite couch. He tried to hide his displeasure from seeing Alexei in such short proximity to you, but he would often glance at him with cold gaze, which your best friend would also return. They were subtle enough to hide their mutual loathing from you, and so you did not notice the tension between them. They would always regard you with a grin, and if you looked at them, they would also turn to each other with forced polite smiles.

"So Emil Andreevich," Alexei began, "you mentioned you were an officer?"

"Indeed. Infantry officer."

Alexei's eyes scan over the features of the man that sits before him. It almost sickens him how many things he shares in common with him. His eyes, his mustache, his height, his career, and perhaps even his sense of humor. The conversation so far could be considered smooth if it weren't for the unspoken aggravation between both men. Perhaps Alexei and Emil could have been friends in another lifetime in a timeline in which you aren't present in their lives. But the former is far from interested in entertaining such a perspective, and therefore, this friendship is impossible.

"My lady, I must compliment you on the tea you've offered," Emil comments after taking a brief sip from the warm liquid.

"Thank you," you smile and watch as he sets the cup down in its petite dish, the sound of fine porcelain clanking.

You finish your own cup, and the blonde man beside you is quick to reach out and refill it. That single action provokes an amused huff from you, much to the dismay of your suitor. His eyes flick to his 'rival', and he leans forward.

"I must say, you look absolutely beautiful today," he compliments you in an attempt to divert your attention toward him. Such casual flirtation in the presence of a third person should be considered inappropriate, but it appears that this isn't a concern of his.

Alexei's fingers trail down the side of your face, and he pushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Just today?" He jests and you chuckle. Emil puts on an awkward smile to avoid displaying a frown of annoyance.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a similar manner. Your small talk would occasionally transcend into a discussion on different topics of common interest amongst the aristocracy, such as politics.

"Dearest, you must have heard that the Eastern Question has gotten more dire as of late. It is about time that the Ottoman Empire is banished from Europe. Another Russo-Turkish war has been the latest talk among my regiment," Alexei would say.

"Indeed, and negotiations have already begun, as far as I'm aware," Emil would continue.

"Another war? As if our country isn't struggling enough with its economy already!" You'd reply with a furrowed brow, holding your teacup in your hands. "I hope this can be resolved through diplomatic means, though I know this is highly unlikely."

It was as if they would compete to see who knows more and who can impress you first. This doesn't only apply to conversations. Later on, you invited them into your garden for a quick game of croquet. Alexei allowed you to pair up with Emil for the time being while he played against the pair of you on his own. That would only serve to justify his flaunting later on when he managed to win.

"I believe we haven't settled on a proper award for the winner," he remarks with a self-satisfied grin.

"Is that what you want? A reward?" You chuckle at his playfulness before you lean in and peck his cheek. "Would that suffice?"

You smile at him while holding his arm.

Alexei hums as he looks into your eyes, pretending he's thinking about your question. Then he glances at the other man and notices how his mask of indifference has started to crumble, and so he smirks.

"More than enough," he turns toward you again. You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his quick approval.

When the sun starts to set, Emil takes his leave. Alexei, however, feels himself entitled to sticking around, insisting that he can't possibly be as cruel as to leave you all alone. He adds that he would stay until the return of both your parents, which basically means that he'd stay for dinner as well, since your folks are always delighted to have him around and are polite enough to invite him to join you. The two of you go back to sit in the drawing room.

"So... You have found yourself quite the gentleman!" He exclaims.

"Alyousha, do you like him?" You feel excited, thinking you would finally 'receive his blessing'."

"Like is a strong word."

"It really is not."

"He is certainly educated and well-mannered."

"He is so much more."

"So much, you say..." He hums and gazes at the carpet. With a sigh, he turns back toward you, "I find him too perfect of a candidate."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't trust that he is completely truthful. I think that he is playing the role of a perfect gentleman in order to win your affections."

"Alexei, that's an unfair assumption!"

"Oh, but my sweetest, he will lay down the front that he puts up the moment he has obtained you. I doubt he would be as gallant of a husband as you had hoped."

"Must you be so cynical?"

"I only have your well-being in mind. Besides, as a man, I can notice something that you are unable to."

"Is that it now?" You furrow your eyebrows at him, "And what, pray tell, am I missing?"

"That he isn't too fond of my person," he opts to be blunt with you.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly at this revelation, "How could you be so sure? I was under the impression that our conversation had been going swimmingly."

"It certainly was simple to maintain, however, I suppose you must be blind to his unspoken attitude toward me."

"I don't understand you," you mumble, although you're able to predict Alexei's explanation. You found yourself in denial any time you were a witness to the slightest slip up between both men, outright refusing to believe that they would be as cruel as to imitate a friendship for your sake. You develop a saddened expression and unconsciously tilt your head down while still maintaining eye contact with your companion.

Alexei pities you, as he can read the disappointment on your face, "I am sorry, my dear."

"But you... I take it there's a mutual distaste between you..?"

"There is."

"What don't you like about him?"

He lets out a heavy sigh.

"Alexei..?"

He takes a few more seconds to conjure up a reply that would not give away the sincere emotions he feels toward you. "Since it is so uncomplicated for him to mask his irritation with me now, think of how many other things he could hide from you in the future if you were to pursue him."

"Isn't that the same action you have taken?"

"I was genuinely curious to know him from the beginning."

"But you weren't exactly open-minded when you finally got acquainted, were you?"

"I was not. But I have been polite enough not to cause a scene, and I believe that if he deserved my admiration, he would have earned it despite my prior inclinations."

"You hold him to a higher standard."

"Shouldn't that be the case? You wish to have an ideal husband, do you not?"

"I do," you utter, finding no further words of protest within yourself.

"Then you shall not question the metrics by which I judge him."

Your breath hitches at his harsh words.

"Pardon my outburst," he looks down, unhappy with himself.

He hunches over, placing his elbows above his knees, and he leans his head against the palms of his hands. His fingers wipe away at his skin - a demonstration of his frustrations. You sit back and stare at him in contemplation. It is clear as day that he is hiding something from you, and you feel uneasy simply by acknowledging that fact. You decide not to press further, as the topic of your suitor has been in the center of your recent arguments, and you do not wish to cause Alexei any more unnecessary vexation.

After dinner, Alexei leaves your estate. You prepare for bed, get inside, but find it difficult to fall into slumber. Your head is filled with thoughts of what you could have said differently, on what you should do next. The situation has gotten too complicated, and you struggle with navigating it. You continuously roll from one side of the bed to another, seeking to find a comfortable space to sleep. Instead, you feel as though your mattress is bumpy, your pillow is too hard, the blankets are suffocating you, and the air in your chambers is stuffy, and by God, can't the stupid clock just stop ticking! You kick your covers off in frustration and jump out of the bed. Afterward, you step barefoot outside onto the balcony, and sense as the cool wind of the dark night engulfs your body. Staring out into the distance, you can't help but recall once more your fondest childhood memories. Usually, that brings you solace. And what idylls they appear to you as!

What is it that you want? For those days to be back. Perhaps. That, however, is not a possibility. You must move on.

Are you happy? Yes, but at the same time, no. You have everything you could ever need. You live carefree. But your mind is plagued from troubling worries. Worries of the future. Your future. A husband. A family. Is that not what is expected? Is that not what you desire? Conformity. Simplicity. Placidity. No, not placidity, that's boring. But so is simplicity and conformity.

What do you truly desire?

Love? Of course!

Passion? Of course!

Intimacy? Of course!

From whom?

Your thoughts pause, and for a moment or so, your mind is completely blank. No words, just silence, white noise. You close your eyes, and you see him. Who is he? Alexei or your suitor? The man imprinted on your eyelids appears awfully similar to both, as if it is a merge between them.

You go back inside your room and light a candle on your desk. After opening a drawer, you take out a small notebook you use for journaling purposes. You stare at the blank page before pressing the tip of your pen to it. That is all you do. A dot. You remain in the process of sorting out your thoughts. Soon enough, however, you begin, and from there on, they spill onto the page.

You wake up the following morning with ink stains on your hands and on the sleeves of your nightgown. Later during the day, you receive a sumptuous bouquet of pink lillies alongside a letter. You turn the envelope in your hand and read the signature on the back: Emil Andreevich Rostov. An excerpt from the writing inside is an invitation to a picnic:

'If you are not occupied the following Sunday, it will be an honor to invite you to a picnic. I shall send for you my carriage, so that we can travel after church. I do not wish to oblige you with writing back. Simply give your answer to my messenger.'

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

taylor swift lyrics x colors x textiles in art – green

Sparks Fly – Speak Now // Colonel Robert Abercrombie – George Romney 💚 Holy Ground – Red // Study in Black and Green – John White Alexander 💚 Everything Has Changed – Red // Countess Luise von Voss – Friedrich Bury 💚 I Know Places – 1989 // Camille in a Green Dress – Claude Monet 💚 Wonderland – 1989 // When the Blue Evening Slowly Falls – Frank Bramley 💚 the last great american dynasty – folklore // Irma von Geijer – Julius Kronberg 💚 invisible string – folklore // The Magdalen – Bernadino Luini 💚 champagne problems – evermore // Little Boy with Violin – Miklós Barabás 💚 happiness – evermore // Portrait of Edward Holden Cruttenden – Joshua Reynolds 💚 Snow on the Beach – Midnights // The Salutation of Beatrice – Dante Gabriel Rossetti

[aylen-san]

Sketch 1 — "When the Gates Are Locked"

The sun disappears beyond the horizon like an old actor leaving the stage. The last glimmer of the day slides down the treetops, and the shadow spreads across the cemetery like an ink blot on a letter forgotten in a drawer centuries ago.

Maglor slowly closes the gates. The creak — not really a creak, more like a sigh — echoes from the old wrought iron. He turns the key, and it clicks, sounding like the final note of a song no one ever finished.

He stands for a minute in silence. Familiar. Almost cozy. His back is straight, his hair long — like those who refuse to surrender to time. He surveys the cemetery like a librarian watches over an ancient archive: not reading, but feeling.

Then — a faint, trembling light, like a miniature aurora. Above one of the graves, a silhouette rises. Then another. And another. One by one, the figures begin to emerge from the ground — not like zombies, but like actors stepping out from behind the curtains. Each of them had known how to play a role in life, and now they are simply themselves.

— "Good evening, Maestro," says an old countess in a voluminous skirt, her parasol tip serving as a cane. She nods, almost like a salute.

— "The evening won't be good if you bring your astral champagne again into the Lutheran rest zone," — Maglor replies dryly. Without malice. More like a polite reproach.

— "There’s going to be a chess tournament soon!" — shouts a teenager in a hoodie that says "Rage Quit 2019." His hair glows with neon, his face pale green from the afterlife Wi-Fi.

— "Where did you hide my queen, you pup?" — growls a professor, materializing near a neo-baroque tombstone, his top hat slightly askew.

Maglor passes them, nodding wearily like an old teacher making his rounds through the classroom. His steps are silent but sure. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a ghost-dog — a golden retriever with translucent paws — joyfully running through the lilac bushes, not barking but vibrating softly.

He heads toward the crypt where the elders discuss the news — newspapers they summon from memory. Some read on smartphones that are never connected, yet always work. One dead man scrolls through TikTok, grunting:

— "So this is called content now? I didn’t die in vain."

— "Where’s your lute, Watcher?" — someone asks.

— "Silent," — Maglor answers simply.

— "Good. People are tired of tragedies," — someone croaks, pretending to be a priest of comedy.

The Silmarils are gone. His brothers are gone. The wars — long past.

But here, among those who remember, forget, and remember again, Maglor finds something that, perhaps, is not peace — but a kind of rest.

He walks on.

The night is just beginning.

And the dead have not finished their discussions yet.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Medieval Women Week || Favorite woman writer ↬ Marie de France

Who was this versatile author, the first woman of her times to have written successfully in the vernacular? She was definitely not Marie de Champagne, daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine and patroness of Chrétien de Troyes, as Winkler suggested. A tempting, but by no means fully convincing, identification is with Marie, abbess of Shaftesbury in Dorset, illegitimate daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet and half-sister to Henry II. … A claim has been made, albeit somewhat thin, for Mary, abbess of Reading. This abbey was well known as a centre of literary activity and had in its possession the Harley manuscript containing, as we have seen, both the Fables and the Lais. There is no clear-cut reason why either work could not have been written by an abbess or a nun, and there is some slight evidence of experience of monastic life in Le Fresne, Yonec and Eliduc. But the prominence of the motif of adultery in the Lais (see also fables 44 and 45), Marie’s attitude towards the dissolution of marriage in Le Fresne and Eliduc, and her evident interest in the chivalric life suggest that these love poems were not written by someone steeped in ecclesiastical ideology. … Marie de France was certainly an educated lady of good family, who knew Latin well enough to have contemplated translating a Latin work into French (Lais, Prologue, vv. 28–32) and to have done so in the case of the Espurgatoire. She was obviously a good linguist and acquired a sound knowledge of English before translating the fables. She was also fully conversant with the life and aspirations of the nobility of her time. Her education could well have been obtained in a convent and her knowledge of court life from her upbringing and personal experiences in England. Was she Marie, the eighth child of Waleran de Meulan (also called Waleran de Beaumont), a member of one of the greatest of the Norman houses? Waleran’s fief was in the French Vexin, which would tally with Marie’s statement that she comes from France and explain her evident local knowledge of the town of Pitres in the Norman Vexin… Marie de Meulan married Hugh Talbot, baron of Cleuville, owner of lands in Herefordshire and Buckinghamshire, as well as in Normandy, and a member of a family prominent in several English counties including Devonshire, Gloucestershire and Kent. Marie’s father is an interesting figure – a loyal and courageous soldier, but also a well-educated man who may have written Latin verse. Moreover, several of the manuscripts of the Historia Regum Britanniae of Geoffrey of Monmouth are dedicated to him. It is tempting to think that his daughter may have known William of Gloucester, a possible Count William, as his father was also one of Geoffrey’s dedicatees. Marie de Meulan may, however, have been too young to be Marie de France, as her birth seems to date from the 1140s, perhaps as late as 1150. The most recent identification has been as Marie, countess of Boulogne after 1154, daughter of Stephen of Blois (King of England, 1135–54) and of Matilda of Boulogne. Educated in a convent, Marie de Boulogne became abbess of Romsey in Hampshire, but was removed from her convent by Henry II, who wanted to keep Boulogne in his sway. She was married off to Matthew of Flanders and thus became the sister-in-law of Hervé II, son of Guiomar of Léon... Eventually, at some time between 1168 and 1180, Marie de Boulogne returned to a convent, perhaps that of Sainte Austreberthe at Montreuil-sur-Mer in her own county. Her Count William could have been William of Mandeville, a crusade companion of Philip of Flanders, her husband’s brother. The ‘noble king’ would probably have been the Young King, as Philip and Matthew, originally supporters of Henry II, changed sides in 1173. Marie herself may have already been a supporter of the Young King, as in 1168 she sent Louis clandestine information about the secret negotiations between Henry and the Emperor Frederick. — The Lais of Marie de France translated with an introduction by Glyn S. Burgess and Keith Busby

[orthodoxydaily]

SAINTS&READING: MONDAY, APRIL 7, 2025

april 7_march 25

Sixth Week of the Great Lent. Fish Allowed

The Annunciation of Our Most Holy Lady, the Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary.

NEW HIROMARTYR TIKHON, PATRIARCH OF MOSCOW AND ALL RUSSIA (1925)

When the future St. Patriarch Tikhon (+1925) of Moscow and All Russia arrived to serve in the Americas, he was 33 years old. Unexpected? Yes, that magical age for the entire Christian world. For two thousand years Christians have been checking their lives against the age of the Savior. What he became at 33! What have we achieved at 33?

For us, mortals, 33 is youth, already full of strength, but not yet devoid of illusions. And everything succeeds… until someone crosses your path. And by the grace of the Sovereign Emperor, you won’t be sent “to a non-Orthodox kingdom-state”.

As Bishop Tikhon gazed at Manhattan’s silhouette from the steamship’s deck, he likely contemplated the dramatic turn his ecclesiastical career had taken. In just six months, he had been transferred from the flourishing monasteries of the Kholmsko-Varshavskaya diocese to a distant land where Orthodox Christians were scattered across vast territories. Though internally questioning this sudden change, he accepted it as divine providence.

The French transatlantic steamship “Champagne” had arrived safely, although with some delay, on November 30, 1898, a week after leaving the port of Le Havre. The vessel remained quarantined in New York harbor until morning, giving the young bishop ample time to reflect on his circumstances.

None of Tikhon’s portraits or photographs from this period reflect his actual age. The ceremonial and representative portraits of the bishop were painted later, with artists adding gravitas and additional years to emphasize the significance of his ministry and historical importance. This is understandable.

But even in photographs, Tikhon appears much older than his 33 years—he could easily be mistaken for someone in his fifties. Perhaps this was deliberate, an attempt to project the authority expected of someone who had achieved such high ecclesiastical office at an unusually young age. Alternatively, the photographs may have been misdated. Both explanations are plausible.

Bishop Tikhon perceived his appointment to America as an exile. Although the American cathedra had once been occupied by the great saint Metropolitan Innocent (Veniaminov) of Moscow, it was considered at that time legendary but unprestigious—far too distant from the center of Russian Orthodox life.

His appointment was unexpected, but Bishop Tikhon sensed he had become entangled in palace intrigues. Only after learning of the Imperial Decree transferring him to America did he fully appreciate the advice his former archpastor, Bishop Flavian (left), had given regarding life in the Kholmsko-Warsaw diocese, where Tikhon had been appointed vicar bishop on October 19, 1897.

Bishop Flavian (Gorodetsky), who later became Metropolitan of Kiev and Galicia, had warned him to avoid conflicts with Mother Catherine, the Abbess of the Lesninsk Bogoroditsky Convent. “Cherchez la femme!” Tikhon might have thought, though whether he was familiar with French literature remains unknown.

Court Intrigue and the Formidable Abbess: The True Catalyst of Tikhon’s Journey

The Mother Superior Catherine of the Lesninsky Monastery in her secular past was Countess Evgenia Borisovna Efimovskaya (1850-1925) and came from a well-to-do family where education and piety were encouraged. The Countess was known as an author of articles on “active monasticism,” and in 1885 she was invited by Archbishop Leontius of Holm and Warsaw (from 1891 Metropolitan of Moscow) to implement her ideas in the construction of a new monastery in the Polish village of Lesna, which was located in the territory of the Holm-Warsaw diocese.

Having received the blessing of St. John of Kronstadt to build the monastery from scratch, the Countess Efimovskaya (left) established not just an active monastic community but developed an extensive diocesan enterprise. This included newly constructed churches, schools and orphanages, agricultural and industrial production facilities, and charitable and medical services for the local population. While building this impressive organization, the countess continued her theological writing. In 1889, she took monastic vows under the name Catherine and soon, with the blessing of St. Amvrosy of Optina, became abbess of the Lesna convent she had founded.

Vladimir Sabler (1847-1929), a member of the State Council and Over-Procurator of the Most Holy Synod, made annual pilgrimages to Lesna for the convent’s feast day. St. John of Kronstadt visited the monastery in 1899. The convent enjoyed exceptional attention and patronage from the Emperor and Empress, who visited twice. To commemorate the Royal Family’s pilgrimage to Lesna in 1900, Mother Catherine built a chapel in the town of Bela, Sedletsk Province.

These facts alone demonstrate that the abbess of the Lesna convent possessed substantial financial resources, court connections, and evidently, a formidable character—essential qualities for building such an enterprise in Imperial Russia.

Bishop Tikhon began his ministry in the Kholmsko-Warsaw diocese, as was customary, with a survey of church properties through pastoral visits to parishes and monasteries in November 1897.

A festive meal followed the liturgy, after which Bishop Tikhon and Mother Catherine engaged in an official yet cordial conversation. In accordance with his ecclesiastical duties within the Russian Orthodox Church, the bishop had the right to examine the financial records of monasteries and parishes under his jurisdiction.

During this visit, Bishop Tikhon requested to inspect the monastery’s financial activities, suspecting that despite its prosperity, the economy was being conducted in violation of monastic statutes. In essence, he suspected that funds and valuables were being managed without proper accountability. CONTINUE READING

Ezekiel 43:27-44:4

27 When these days are over it shall be, on the eighth day and thereafter, that the priests shall offer your burnt offerings and your peace offerings on the altar; and I will accept you,' says the Lord God."

1 Then He brought me back to the outer gate of the sanctuary which faces toward the east, but it was shut. 2 And the Lord said to me, "This gate shall be shut; it shall not be opened, and no man shall enter by it, because the Lord God of Israel has entered by it; therefore it shall be shut. 3 As for the prince, because he is the prince, he may sit in it to eat bread before the Lord; he shall enter by way of the vestibule of the gateway, and go out the same way. 4 Also He brought me by way of the north gate to the front of the [a]temple; so I looked, and behold, the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord; and I fell on my face.

Luke 1:24-38

24 Now after those days his wife Elizabeth conceived; and she hid herself five months, saying, 25 Thus the Lord has dealt with me, in the days when He looked on me, to take away my reproach among people. 26 Now in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, 27 to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. 28 And having come in, the angel said to her, "Rejoice, highly favored one, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women!" 29 But when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and considered what manner of greeting this was. 30 Then the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son, and shall call His name JESUS. 32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David. 33 And He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end. 34 Then Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I do not know a man?" 35 And the angel answered and said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Highest will overshadow you; therefore, also, that Holy One who is to be born will be called the Son of God. 36 Now indeed, Elizabeth your relative has also conceived a son in her old age; and this is now the sixth month for her who was called barren. 37 For with God nothing will be impossible. 38 Then Mary said, "Behold the maidservant of the Lord! Let it be to me according to your word." And the angel departed from her.

[wonder-worker]

"Military prowess, chivalric values, and crusading piety were also key elements of Ida II of Boulogne’s reputation and patronage. Ida, raised at the renowned Flemish court, was noted for her love of tournaments, romances and poetry, and court life in general. In the Tournoi des Dames, Ida is depicted in the company of the queen, Jeanne, countess of Flanders, and the countesses of Clermont and Champagne, all of whom were her relatives and from noted crusading families of France and Champagne. Helen Solterer argues that the depiction of these women as committed crusaders, pious and skilled, affirmed women’s contributions to the crusades and their status within society. The poem enhanced Ida’s reputation as a most noble, courteous woman descended from distinguished crusaders of Boulogne, Blois, and Flanders.

Ida’s third husband shared her reputation for courtoisie and chivalry. The castle of Hardelot was their preferred residence; a place for leisure and fun. Trouvères��� Simon, Jehan the cleric, and Gerard of Boulogne—also frequented their court. Renaud was also known for his elegant manners and dress, his military skill, devotion to friends, and eloquence. His skill is lauded in the History of William Marshal and even by Guillaume le Breton in Philippide.

His unbridled valor did not allow anyone to vanquish him; it did not matter whom his arm reached, he could [always] walk away the winner, so well could he handle weapons with ability and prudence, so much the prowess which was natural to him in battle loudly proclaimed that he was the true issue of French parents.

His reputation as a preudomme may be reflected in a chronicler’s story that Renaud would forgive the count of St. Pol’s punch in the nose “as soon as the blood is restored to his nose,” a phrase mirroring one said in Raoul de Cambrai.

Their reputation for courtoisie was enhanced by their conventional piety. In addition to their ecclesiastical patronage, Ida II was the dedicatee of the Boulonnais poet’s Li Pater noster and her husband Renaud was the patron of the Roman de Siperis de Vinaux, which focused on proverbs and moral sentences, as well as some humour.

Chivalry, crusading, and piety were the major themes of the most well-known work that Ida and Renaud commissioned—a French translation of the Latin Pseudo– Turpin. The Turpin prologue champions a revival of chivalric virtues and encourages the emulation of the exemplary model of Charlemagne and the moral benefits of crusading. The importance of chivalry is particularly highlighted in the prologue of Renaud’s translation:

Good virtues are almost completely gone from the world, and the courage (or the heart) of the great lords is weakened, for we do not see at all as often as one would like the deeds of the preudhommes and the old stories in which we find how one should behave towards God and live an honest life.

This version of the Pseudo-Turpin, which became one of the more copied of this text, includes a genealogy of the Boulonnais comital family. It is not based upon the late eleventh-century genealogy which established the family’s Carolingian descent and promoted their status as territorial princes, of which there were at least fourteen copies available in regional monasteries. The numerous copies of the eleventh-century genealogy, in houses not directly patronized by the Boulonnais comital family, attests to the fame and significance of these leaders of the First Crusade and the establishment of the crusader kingdom of Jerusalem. Johannes, the translator of Renaud and Ida’s Pseudo-Turpin, created a new genealogy, which asserted that King Arthur established the first count of Boulogne, Legier, one of whose descendants was St. Waumer and another was Quites, one of the twelve peers of Charlemagne, whose son Oto took on the traitor, Ganelon. Oto’s granddaughter, Berta, marries Ernekin, son of Baldwin, count of Flanders. Their grandson, Guy White-Beard, count of Boulogne, Ternois, and Montreuil, had three sons—Baldwin, count of Boulogne, Hugh, count of St. Pol, and William, count of Guines. This count Baldwin is the father of Eustace I and grandfather of Eustace II, who, on returning from a pilgrimage in Rome, meets Ida, granddaughter of the Swan Knight. Their sons are Eustace III, count of Boulogne, and Godfrey and Baldwin, kings of Jerusalem. Eustace III and Mary, daughter of the king of Scotland, produce Matilda, who married King Stephen of England. Their children are William Longsword, Eustace IV, and Marie, who married Matthew, brother of Philip, count of Flanders. Marie and Matthew’s two daughters are Ida, countess of Boulogne, and Matilda, duchess of Louvain/Brabant.

Gabrielle Spiegel and others have noted that the genealogy is wrong in several places (some suggest that the Carolingian descent is fictitious) and state that it is unclear whether Ida and Renaud knew it was wrong. This seems unlikely given the numerous copies of her family’s genealogy in local and regional monasteries. Not only does the new genealogy add luster to the family with the inclusion of a new saint (Waumer), but also by attributing their comital status to King Arthur. The author and his patrons drew upon Wace’s presentation of Arthur’s kingship as morally superior. Arthur’s civilized kingship motivated harmony among his nobles, great chivalry, and peace and prosperity in his kingdom. As such, it pointedly illustrated Philip II’s failure to do so, while at the same time calling attention to Ida II’s Wessex, Scottish, and Anglo-Norman royal heritage. It also focuses on the successes of the First Crusade and Charlemagne, through the inclusion of Ida II’s ancestor, the Swan Knight, grandfather of the saintly Ida I, for whom Ida II was named, as well as indirectly critiques the less successful Second Crusade led by Philip’s father, Louis VII.

Contributing to the criticism of Philip II, as discussed by Spiegel, this new genealogy contests royal influence in northern France through the assertion that Ponthieu, Guines, and St. Pol were part of the iretage of Boulogne. The genealogy thereby advances a claim that these territories should be considered under Boulonnais overlordship, a goal which Ida and Renaud pursued. As Fiona Tolhurst suggests, the recruitment of Arthur into the Boulonnais genealogy also draws upon Geoffrey of Monmonth’s exemplary marital model, where king and queen marry for love and share power. Like Arthur and Guinevere and Arthur’s parents, Uther and Ygraine, the Boulonnais countesses and their husbands ruled as equals, sharing power. The celebration of chivalry and aristocratic values in the Pseudo-Turpin drew upon and enhanced Ida’s family’s tradition of courtliness, especially that of her grandfather Stephen, count of Mortain and Boulogne, and king of England, and her father and uncle, Matthew, and Philip of Flanders, as well as that of her husband.

In conjunction with the distinction gained through literary patronage, Ida and Renaud enhanced their prestige through the building of Hardelot and Belle (later known as Bellefontaine) Castles. Hardelot, like the castle of Boulogne, was built on the site of a Roman fort and utilized the stone spolia of the ancient garrison. This imitation of Charlemagne’s building program and translatio imperium emphasized the Boulonnais comital family’s status through appropriation of the romanitas of the Carolingians. Hardelot’s romanitas was enhanced by its nearness to the Roman road. Traveling from Boulogne to Hardelot, one would pass Odre Lighthouse (built by Charlemagne, following in the first-century AD Roman example). The erection of the castle of Belle asserted comital power visually as well as militarily, defending the fosse on the Wimereux river. Through architecture and literary patronage, Ida and Renaud affirmed the distinguished status of the Boulonnais comital family—renowned peers of King Arthur and Charlemagne, distinguished descendants of kings, emperors, saints, courteous ladies, and preudhommes."

Heather J. Tanner, Lordship and Governance by the Inheriting Countesses of Boulogne, 1160-1260

[docpiplup]

#JON SNOW FORTNIGHT EVENT 2023 @asoiafcanonjonsnow

DAY 10: ECHOES OF THE PAST 🗝️📜 (1/2) ->

Historical parallels with Medieval bastard Kings.

Nowadays, ‘bastard’ is used as an insult.

Being born to unmarried parents is largely free of the kind of stigma and legal incapacities once attached to it in Western cultures, but it still has echoes of shame and sin. The disparagement of children born outside of marriage is often presumed to be a legacy of medieval Christian Europe, with its emphasis on compliance with Catholic marriage law.

Yet prior to the 13th century, legitimate marriage or its absence was not the key factor in determining quality of birth. Instead, what mattered was the social status of the parents – of the mother as well as of the father. Being born to the right parents, regardless of whether they were married according to the strictures of the church, made a child seem more worthy of inheriting parents’ lands, properties and titles.

It’s not until the late 12th century that evidence for the exclusion of children from succession on the grounds of illegitimate birth first appears. ‘Bastard’, as we now understand it, began to emerge here.

Importantly, this shift in the meaning and implications of illegitimacy did not arise as an imposition of Church doctrine. Instead, ordinary litigants began exploiting bits of Church doctrine to suit their own ends. Perhaps the earliest signs of this can be found in the annals of English legal history, with the Anstey case of the 1160s. This might have been the first time an individual was barred from inheriting because her parents had married illegally. And it happened not because the Church intervened, but because one clever plaintiff figured out how to exploit some scraps of theological doctrine. After that time, more and more plaintiffs began to do the same.

For example, towards the end of the 12th century, a regent countess of Champagne rushed to make use of an allegation of illegitimate birth against her nieces, in an effort to secure her son’s succession. Daughters could inherit in this region, and so these sisters did have a claim to the county once ruled by their late father. But the regent countess denounced the sisters as the product of an illegal marriage and therefore not legitimate heirs of their father. The strategy worked in that both daughters did eventually renounce their claims to the county, but not without first obtaining a great deal of money, enough to make them both extremely wealthy. As this suggests, the papacy had a far more passive role than is often imagined.

As bastardy began to acquire its modern meaning, in the early 13th century, it remained the case that the papacy focused on the regulation of illicit unions rather than the exclusion from succession or inheritance of those born to illicit unions. Hatred of illicit sex did trump dynastic politics on occasion. Hatred of the children born to such unions did not. There is very little evidence to suggest that an interest in keeping illegitimate children from inheriting noble or royal title outweighed political or practical considerations in the same way that the policing of illegal marriages sometimes did.

Understanding the changing meanings of bastardy helps us to arrive at a clearer picture of the workings and priorities of medieval society before the 13th century. Society then did not operate subject to rigid Christian canon law rules. Instead, it measured the value of its leaders based on their claims to celebrated ancestry, and the power attached to that kind of legitimacy. To be sure, marrying legitimately certainly received a good deal of lip service throughout the Middle Ages. Nevertheless, in this pre-13th-century world, the most intense attention was paid not to the formation of legitimate marriages, but to the lineage and respectability of mothers. Only beginning in the second half of the 12th century did birth outside of lawful marriage begin to render a child illegitimate, a ‘bastard’, and as such potentially ineligible to inherit noble or royal title.

Source

Well, George R.R. Martin has been using real life historical events as an inspiration for creating the lore of A Song of Ice and Fire, more concretely English and Western Late Medieval Europe history for Westeros, and it was precisely in the Late Middle Ages when the legal situation for bastards worsened by reinforcing marriage and legitimacy laws, reinforcing concubinates to disappear and laws to avoid any kind of polygamy.

In Westerosi society there's the stigma that comes from being born as a bastard, they're said to be born from lust, lies, and weakness, and as such, they are said to be wanton and treacherous by nature, and although they could get some prominent position either in the Citadel, the Kingsguard, Night's Watch or the Faith, they are generally discriminated by other Westerosi (except in Dorne, where there's tolerance towards bastards) and they rarely inherit his father's titles nor become kings. In the Asoiaf lore, there's recording of a bastard of a Bracken and a Blackwood, Benedict Waters, who founded the House of Justman and became King of the Trident as Benedict I; as well as Alyn Velaryon, a Velaryon bastard who was legitimised and became Lord of the Tides after The Dance of Dragons.

Till the events of the published books, Jon has reached the position as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and King Beyond the Wall in all but in name, two positions he has been chosen for.

But he would not have the possibility to inherit any title as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North/King in the North as a bastard, unless someone legitimised him, like Robb did in his Will. Jon has the chance of standing as a candidate for the Northern Succession Council after defeating the Boltons.

So, if The North stays away from the Iron Throne, Jon would be a good candidate for Lord of Winterfell and King in The North, but the question is... Is there any historical example of bastards who became kings?

Yes, there are, and in this meta we're going to down through history and remember those kings. This list probably doesn't include all of the bastard kings, just a selection, if you know about some more, feel free to share it.

The most common concept for bastardy is a child born of parents who were not married when the child was born, so firstly we'll list a few kings who are included in that group, as we consider Jon as Eddard Stark's bastard or Rhaegar and Lyanna's.

Their circumstances in which those kings got to throne are diverse, but we'll get into them searching for any simmilarities between Jon's story and their lifes.

Let's start, the list is on chonological order, and we'll notice that after the 13th century the amount of bastard kings is less, like we cited at the beginning of this meta.

8th Century

-> Mauregato I of Asturias (719-788), who reigned during the late 8th century, between 783 and 788, and was the son of Alfonso I of Asturias and a Muslim concubine or servant named Sisalda. He took the throne when the nobility had declared his nephew Alfonso II of Asturias as Silo's successor, although he probablyhad support of some parts of the nobility. He wed Creusa and had a son with her, Hermenegildo. Bermudo I was elected as King of Asturias after Mauregato died.

The identity of Mauregato's mother is a bit unclear, but her being a Muslim servant is considered a common statement, so his parents followed religions, Christianism and Islam, like Rhaegar and Lyanna, the Faith and the Old Gods.

Plus as happened to Mauregato, Jon may have some problems of nobles in the Northern Great Council because he's bastard and the other candidates would have support for being legimate, although they are kids, they would need a regent, that could be beneficial for them to control the North if they want to, but maybe some other members of the Council suggest or support Jon as their leader.

11th Century

-> Ramiro I of Aragon (1006/7-1063), natural son of Sancho III of Pamplona and Sancha de Aybar. His father Sancho splited his domains and passed down one of them to his sons; from the offspring she had with his wife Muniadona of Castile: García III inherited the Kingdom of Pamplona, Ferdinand I of Leon inherited the county of Castile and Gonzalo inherited the counties of Ribagorza & Sobrarbe; and Ramiro received the county of Aragon, and he annexed the counties of Ribagorza & Sobrarbe Gonzalo died. He unified the three counties to create the Kingdom of Aragon. His relationship with his siblings was complex, due to the rivalry between them for their kingdoms, initially Ramiro tried to conquer Pamplona but he was defeated by García III, and later Ramiro allied with García and his son Sancho IV against Ferdinand I.

His reign lasted 28 years.

Ramiro married Ermesinda of Foix and Agnes of Aquitaine, their offspring was: Sancho I of Aragon & V of Pamplona, Sancha, García, Urraca and Theresa, and he had a son named Sancho out of wedlock.

-> Magnus I " the Good" of Norway and Denmark (1024 - 1047), son of Olaf II of Norway and English concubine named Alvhild. His reign lasted 12 years. When he was 4 year old, his father was dethroned by Cnut the Great, and then his family travelled through other courts seeking shelter but finally they stablished in at the court of the Grand Prince Yaroslav I of Novgorod, where he grew up, was trained as a warrior and was educated in Old Russian and  Greek. Olaf was killed when he reurned to Scandinavia to fight for the throne. When Cnut left for England wife Ælfgifu and their son Svein as regents, Magnus and his supporters return to Norway and he was proclaimed king of Norway. Another son of Cnut, Harthacnut of Denmark, reclaimed Norway, but after Harthacnut died Magnus took his kingdom, but he had to face another pretender Sweyn II, Cnut's nephew, whom Magnus battled against using his father's battle axe, Hel, and he was successful, but died, and Sweyn II succeeded him as King of Denmark and Harald III as King of Norway.

-> William I the Conqueror (1028-1087), illegitimate son of Duke Robert I of Normandy and Herleva of Falaise. He was duke of Normandy and conqueror and king of England.

He started the conquest of England after his cousin, Edward the Confessor died without issue, and Harold II inherited the English throne, but he was defeated and William became the first king of England of the House of Normandy.

William and his wife Matilda of Flanders had 9 children: Robert I of Normandy, Richard, William II of England, Henry I ofEngland, Adelaide, Cecily, Matilda, Constance and Adela .

William seems to be the inspiration for Aegon I the Conqueror and his bastard brother Orys Baratheon, but he could have in common with Jon in becoming kings after their cousins died without issue (i.e. Robb) and having to defeat someone else to become kings, i.e. Jon helping Stannis to defeat the Boltons.

-> Harald III "Hen" of Denmark (1040-1080), illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark and a concubine, Thora.

After Sweyn II died, Harald got elected over his brother Cnut by an assembly, and faced opposition from his brothers during his reign. He ruled over 6 years, he's known to be a peaceful ruler and introduced some monetary and legal reforms like substituting trial by combat or trial by ordeal and replace it with avsystem used by the English of calling upon honorable men to swear oaths on behalf of the parties in a trial.

Harald was married to his cousin Margareta Hasbjörnsdatter, but did not leave any heirs, and was succeeded by his brother Canute IV.

-> Cnut IV "the Holy" of Denmark (1040-1086), illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine. He succeeded his brother Harald.

Cnut is considered an ambitious and strict king, ruled during 6 years, limited the power of the nobility, gave great concession and donations to the Church, and took the property of a great quantity of common land for himself or the Church. He raided England a few times and created a fleet to invade it, since he considered William I an usurper, but on his way to lead the invasion, he was killed during a peasant revolt.

After he died, he was succeeded by his brother Olaf I of Denmark.

Cnut married Adela of Flanders. They had three children: Charles I of Flanders and the twin sisters Cæcilia and Ingerid. Ingerid's descendants, the House of Bjelbo, would ascend to the throne of Sweden and Norway and Canute IV's blood returned to the Danish throne in the person of Olaf II of Denmark.

->Olaf I "Hunger" of Denmark (c. 1050 – 1095) illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine.

In his early years he was set aside and mistreatred and exiled by his brothers, who Ferrer he could be a political rival against them.

He succeeded his brother Cnut IV, and his reign lasted 9 years, that were plagued by several consecutive years of crop failure and famine.

Olaf married Ingegard of Norway, they didn't have any offspring, so he was succeeded by his brother Erik I.

11th Century/12th Century

-> Erik I " Evergood" of Denmark (c. 1060 – 1103), illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine.

When he was young he was a supporter of his brother Cnut IV. After Olaf died, Erik was elected as new king.

Erik reign lasted 8 years, he was well liked by people, he was considered a strapping young man and a good speaker and diplomat, and ruthless towards pirates and robbers. Erik had a reputation as a loud man who liked parties, and even killed four of his men while he was drunken during one of his parties, and so he procced to go on pilgrimsge to Holy Land, journey in which he died. His brother Niels succeeded him.

Erik married Boedil Thurgotsdatter and had one legitimate son with her, Canute Lavard, father of Vademar I of Denmark. Eric had four children out of wedlock, Erik II of Denmark, Benedict, Harald Kesja and Ragnhilde, mother of Erik III of Denmark.

-> Niels I of Denmark (c. 1065 – 25 June 1134) illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine. He was the last son of Sweyn to become king.

He was described as mild and forthcoming, though not a competent ruler.

Niels married Margaret Fredkulla, and had two children with her, Inge Nielsen and Magnus I of Sweden. He had a daughter born out of wedlock, Ingerd of Denmark.

During the majority of Niels' reign, 30 years, Denmark had internal peace, only broken when his son Magnus was forced from the Swedish throne and a conflict erupted between Magnus and his cousin Cnut Lavard, due to his popularity. After Magnus slew Cnut, Erik II took his brother's place in the conflict, and Niels supported Magnus.

Niels and Magnus died during the civil war and Erik II became king of Denmark.

-> Erik II "the Memorable" of Denmark (c.  1090– 1137 ), illegitimate son of Eric I of Denmark with an unknown concubine.

Erik the Memorable rebelled against his uncle Niels, and was declared king in 1134.

He punished his adversaries severely, and rewarded his supporters handsomely, as he was considered a harsh and unpopular ruler, he only ruled Denmark 3 years. He was killed by a subject in 1137 and was promptly succeeded by his nephew Erik III of Denmark.

Erik married Malmfred of Kiev, they had no issue, but Erik had a son with his concubine Thunna, Sweyn III of Denmark.

12th Century

-> Sweyn III of Denmark (1125-1157), illegitimate son of Erik II of Denmark and a concubine named Thunna.

He was elected king after Erik III of Denmark abdicated.

In 1154, Sweyn was overthrown by an alliance between Canute and Valdemar, who was crowned Canute's co-ruler as Valdemar.

This prompted the Danish magnates to force through a tripartition of the kingdom into Jutland, Zealand, and Scania. Sweyn chose first, and was made the ruler of Scania.

After that Sweyn organised apeace banquet, in which Sweyn planned on killing his two co-rulers, and succeeded in having Canute killed, but Valdemar escaped. After that Valdemar and Sweyn battled, Sweyn was killed while he was scaping from the battle. Valdemar I was proclaimed king of all Denmark.

Sweyn married Adela of Meissen, daughter of Conrad, Margrave of Meissen, and Luitgard of Ravenstein. They had two children Erik and Luitgard, who married Berthold I of Istria.

->Tancred I of Sicily ( 1138 – 1194), or Tancred of Lecce, illegitimate son of Roger III, duke of Apulia, eldest son of Roger II of Sicily, and his mistress Emma of Lecce.

Tancred was born in Lecce and inherited the county from his grandfather.

With his bastard uncle Simon plotted to remove William II, legitimate son of Roger II, but failed and went to exile.

Years after, Tancred returned to Sicily he swore fealty to his aunt Constance I as William II's heiress, Tancred rebelled and was crowned as King of Sicily. Constance I and her husband the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV fought against Tancred. Tancred died during the war after 5 years of reign, and was briefly succeeded by his son William III, who was soon captured and executed by orders of Henry IV.

Tancred had married Sybilla of Acerra, an their children were: Roger III, William III, Elvira, Constance, Medania and Valdrada.

13th Century

->Manfred I of Sicily (1232 – 1266), natural son of Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II with Bianca Lancia, legitimised later by his father.

Manfred became regent over the kingdom of Sicily on behalf of his nephew Conradin. As regent he subdued rebellions in the kingdom, until in 1258 he usurped Conradin's rule. After an initial attempt to appease Pope Innocent IV he took up the ongoing conflict between the Hohenstaufens and the papacy through combat and political alliances. He defeated the papal army at Foggia. Manfred was excommunicated by three successive popes, Manfred was the target of a Crusade called by the Popes Alexander IV and Urban IV.

Urban received the help of Charles of Anjou in overthrowing Manfred. Manfred was killed during his defeat by Charles at the Battle of Benevento, and Charles became King of Sicily as Charles I after having executed Conradin.

Manfred had married Beatrice of Savoy and Helena Angelina Doukaina, their children were Constance II of Sicily, Beatrice, Henry, Anselm and Frederick. He also had an illegitimate daughter, Flordelis.

His daughter Constance II married Peter III of Aragon, and with their supporters in the island of Sicily fought against Charles I, who, of the whole kingdom (the Kingdom of Sicily in that period was formed by Naples and the island of Sicily) now controlled only Naples, and Constance II and her children gained Sicily, that later became part of the Crown of Aragon, and their descendants Kings of Aragon annexed Naples some generations later, and Naples and Sicily were ruled by the same king again under the reigns of Alfonso V and his nephew Ferdinand II of Aragon & his descendants.

14th Century

-> Henry II "the Fratricidal" of Castile (1334-1379), or Henry of Trastámara, illegitimate son of Alfonso XI of Castile and his mistress Leonor de Guzmán.

Henry was the fourth of ten illegitimate children of King Alfonso XI of Castile and Eleanor de Guzmán, a great-granddaughter of Alfonso IX of León. He was born a twin to Fadrique Alfonso, Lord of Haro, and was the first boy born to the couple that survived to adulthood.

At birth, he was adopted by Rodrigo Álvarez de las Asturias. Rodrigo died the following year and Henry inherited his lordship of Noreña. His father later made him Count of Trastámara and lord over Lemos and Sarria in Galicia, and the towns of Cabrera and Ribera, which constituted a large and important heritage in the northwest of the peninsula. It made him the head of the new Trastámara dynasty, a bastard branch from the Castilian branch of House Burgundy.

Alfonso XI gave Eleanor many titles and privileges for their children. This caused discontent among many of the noblemen and in particular the queen, Maria of Portugal, and her son Peter I of Castile.

When Peter I succeeded his father, Henry and his siblings revolted several times and were on a intermittent wars during Peter I's reign, in which Henry was supported by Peter IV of Aragon and Charles V of France.

Henry had numerous lovers, Leonor Álvarez, Elvira Íñiguez, Beatriz Fernández, Beatriz Ponce de León y Jérica, Juana de Sousa, Juana de Cárcamo and Juana de Cifuentes, and had in total 13 bastard children: Alfonso, Eleanor, Joanna, Constance, Ferdinand, Mary, Fadrique, Beatrice, Henry, Peter, Isabella, Inés and Joanna.

Henry married Juana Manuel de Villena and they had three children, John I of Castile, Eleanor and Joanna.

In 1369 Henry II defeated and killed his brother Peter I, and became the first king of House Trastámara. During his 10 year reign he faced opposition from Ferdinand I of Portugal and Constance of Castile, Peter I's daughter, and her husband John of Gaunt. Henry II was succeeded by his son John I of Castile

Due to his alliance with Peter IV of Aragon, John I of Castile wed Peter's daughter, Eleanor of Aragon, two of his children were Henry III of Castile and Ferdinand I of Aragon, and so House Trastámara ruled over the Crowns of Castile and Aragon.

14th Century/15th Century

->John I "of Fond Memory" or "the Great" or "the Good" of Portugal (1357-1433), John of Avis, natural son of Peter I of Portugal and Teresa Guille Lourenço. He's the founder and first king of House of Avis, bastard branch from the Portuguese branch of House Burgundy.

His first important charge was Great Master of the Order of Avis, and years after, when Succession Crisis broke out, John ended up being crowned as King of Portugal. John I ruled Portugal over 48 years, the most extensive reign of all Portuguese monarch, and m9st of its reign was able to rule in peace and concentrate on the economic development and territorial expansion. He was succeeded by his son Edward I of Portugal.

It maybe a coincidence, but it's interesting the contrast between Jon and Ramsay, both being Northern bastards, but Ramsay it's like the personification of the Westerosi prejudices against bastards, Ramsay Bolton was legitimised and became his father's heir because he (allegedly) poisoned and killed his trueborn brother Domeric, meanwhile Jon will be KITN because Robb died due to the Bolton-Frey treason and in his will he legitimised and declared Jon as his heir, and in that way there's the parallel between Jon and Ramsay and John I of Portugal and Henry II of Castile, John seemed to have a good relationship with his brother Ferdinand I of Portugal and after the Succession war he became the next king, and Henry II didn't get along with his brother Peter I and he became king after he killed him.

This is a brief introduction, the next part of the meta it'll be dedicated fully to John I of Portugal and his parallels with Jon Snow.

15th Century

->Ferdinand I of Naples (1423-1494), illegitimate son of Alfonso V of Aragon and his mistress Gueraldona Carlino. Ferdinand I of Naples was named after his grandfather Ferdinand I of Aragon, first king of Crown of Aragon from House Trastámara.

His father had conquered Naples after defeating René I and stablished in Naples during most of the rest of his life there since he left in charge his wife and cousin Mary of Castile and his brother John for the government of Aragon when he was away in Italy. Alfonso didn't have legitimate children, he only had three children with his mistress, Ferdinand being the eldest.

So, Alfonso managed to declare his son as heir of Naples, with some alliances with the local nobility, like a marriage between Ferdinand and Isabella of Chiaramonte, and the rest of the Crown of Aragon was inherited by John II of Aragon.

Ferdinand I had to face opposition from foregain royalty and nobility and some local barons who didn't accept Ferdinand' reforms and ambitions and because he was a bastard and he limited they power, and often allied against him, like Pope Callixtus III, John of Anjou, Mariano Marzano, the Angevines, his cousin Charles of Viana (John's II eldest son, although John II accepted his nephew's kingship), among others.

John II of Aragon sent a fleet to support of his nephew against the Angevines, and when the Catalan nobility offered the Aragonese crown to René I during the Catalan civil war, sent troops in support.

Ferdinand had married Isabella of Taranto and his cousin Joanna of Aragon, their offspring was Alfonso II of Naples, Eleanor, Frederick I of Naples, John, Beatrice, Francesco and Joanna, who married his nephew Ferdinand II of Naples.

He had several children with his mistresses Diana Guardato, Marchesella Spitzata, Piscicella Piscicelli, Eulalia Ravignano and Giovannella Caracciolo: Mary, Joanna, Ilaria, Henry, Mary, Alonso, Cesare, Maria Cecilia, Lucrezia, Ferdinand, Mary and Joanna.

He was a very passionate man, he had an almost pathological attraction towards young women and, despite the numerous lovers and concubines, he loved very much his wife Isabella of Taranto, a woman of exceptional virtues, whose death greatly afflicted him. As a father he was very present and very fond of his offspring, especially known is the strong affection shown for his daughters.

Despite the odds, Ferdinand I ruled Naples during 36 years and brought peace and prosperity to Naples, although he had to deal with opponent powers like the Ottoman Empire, France, the Republic of Venice and the Papal States.

He was one of the most influential and feared monarchs in Europe at the time and an important figure of the Italian Renaissance, Ferdinand promoted Renaissance culture and art with his patronage, surrounding himself with numerous artists and writers who flourished in his kingdom, introducted the art of silk and printing, the King showed enthusiasm for music and established in Naples the first musical school in Italy and one of the first in Europe. Ferdinand expanded the very rich royal library founded by his father in Castel Capuano and grow at an impressive rate, thanks to purchases, gifts and the confiscation of the collections of the rebel barons.

He issued various social laws that undermined the excessive power of the Barons, favoring small artisans and peasants. This work of modernization and the resistance he put up against them led to the outbreak of the famous revolt which was subsequently suffocated.

Recognized as one of the most powerful political minds of the time, a very skilled diplomat, stablished the hegemony of Naples over other Italian states, and a dense network of alliances and relationships with Italian and foreign sovereigns, through marriages of his illegitimate and legitimate and children.

After Ferdinand died he was succeeded by his son Alfonso II of Naples, who in turn abdicated very soon in favor of his own son Ferdinand II of Naples.

To expand the list, there's another case of bastardy, in which their parents' marriage was declared null or invalid, if we're considering the possibility that Rhaegar and Lyanna secretly and it could be considered invalid because Rhaegar was already married to Elia and maybe the lack of credible witness make that the wedding could be considered questionable, so for a great sector of the society would be considered a bastard (i.e. The Faith).

9th Century/10th Century

->Athelstan of England (894-939), first king of England, son Edward of Wessex and Egwina. Their parents married, but due to his mother low status, their marriage got annulled. Athelstan succeeded to the throne of Wessex after his brother King Ethelweard, son of Edward and Ælfflæd of Wessex, died.

Aethelstan is known for being a great diplomat, strategist and reformer, created a strong system of alliances, istarted being king of Wessex and anexxed the other six English kingdoms: Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, Kent, Sussex and Essex. He never wed and ha no children, so after he died, his brother Edmund I, eldest son of Edward and his third wife, Edgiva, succeeded him.

The English Heptarchy seems to be the inspiration for the Seven Kingdoms, and it's an interesting datail that a bastard from a kingdom, started becoming king of that kingdom and then he ruled the seven kingdoms , as Jon could be proclaimed King in the North, for fighting the Others, he'll have to try to convince and unify the rest of Westeros to survive the War for the Dawn.

11th Century

->Harold I of England (1016-1040), son of Cnut the Great, King of Denmark, Norway, Sweden & England, and Ælfgifu Ælfhelmsdotter. His parents got married by the Danish law, but once Cnut converted to Cristianism and conquered England, married Emma of Normandy, who was considered as his only wife by the Church. Harthacnut, son of Cnut and Emma, left Harold as regent of England while he was away, and later Harold was proclaimed king of England. Harold ruled for four years and sixteen weeks, when he died, Harthacnut took the control of the English throne. Harold married Ælfgifu, and had a son, Ælfwine, but he became a monk.

One of the speculations within the fandom about Rhaegar and Lyanna is that there could have been a secret wedding, maybe it could have been in front of a weirwood in the Isle of Faces following the Northern wedding custumes, in contrast of Rhaegar marring Elia by the Faith of the Seven ceremony.

12th Century/13th Century

->Ferdinand III " the Saint" of Castile ( 1199/1201 – 1252), son of Alfonso IX of Leon and Berenguela I of Castile, their marriage was annulled due to the consanguinity between them. He's the first king of the Crown of Castile, his reign lasted 35 years. Ferdinand III married Beatrice of Swabia and Joan of Dammartin. His children were: Alfonso X "The Wise" of Castile, Fadrique, Ferdinand, Eleonor, Berenguela, Henry, Philip, Manuel, Mary, Ferdinand, Eleonor, Louis, Simon and John.

13th Century/14th Century

->Ferdinand IV "the Summoned" of Castile (1285 - 1312), son of Sancho IV of Castile and Maria de Molina, their marriage got annulled due to consanguinity and because Sancho was betrothed to another woman, although Pope Boniface VIII legitimised Sancho and Maria union when Ferdinand IV was already king. His reign lasted 16 years. Ferdinand IV married Constance of Portugal, their children were: Alfonso XI of Castile and Eleonor of Castile, wife of Alfonso IV of Aragon.

15th Century

-> Edward V of England (1470-1483), eldest son of Edward IV of England and Elizabeth Woodville. His siblings and him were declared as bastards by their uncle Richard III alleged that Edward and Elizabeth was null because there was a promise of marriage from Edward IV to Eleanor Talbot, to get his nephew out of succession. He didn't married and had children since he was 12 when he died.

In this case, Edward V's circumstances seems to have inspired Joffrey's as well as Young Griff and Bran's partially. Stannis states that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are bastards and claims to be the rightful king of Westeros, like Richard III did with his brother's children and now he's trying to make it to the Iron Throne; Bran's part could be inspired by the Princes in the Tower event, in which Edward and his younger brother Richard were imprisioned and probably killed by orders of their uncle, and there were rumors during the following years that maybe one of the brothers scaped, fuelled with pretenders who claimed to be some of the princes, like Perkin Warbeck. In ASOIAF, Theon captures Winterfell and kills the miller's sons to pretend he has killed Bran and Rickon, although they had escaped and in the future the rest of The North is going to know they alived when they return to Winterfell; Young Griff claims to be Aegon VI, Rhaegar and Elia's baby son who was murdered by The Mountain during the Sack of King's Landing

In summary, after reading about the lives of these kings on the list, in many of them we can note the pattern of being elected in an assembly like the Danish kings or having to face adversaries that undermine their positions as kings for being bastards, sometimes by other relatives pretenders or the Church, like happened to most of them. And those are a couple of events that may happen to Jon in the future books, his rising to kingship probably being elected at the Northern Assembly, probably making negotiatons with the supporters of his other siblings i.e. Rickon being supported by the Manderlys, Sansa by Littlefinger and the Vale etc, but Jon could have the support of the Mountain Clans, the Mormonts, the Glovers, House Thenn and The Free Folk.

The meta doesn't end here, for the parallels between Jon and John I of Portugal click here.