#more romanovs

[the-last-tsar]

Empresses Consorts of the Romanov Family {03/16}: Maria Ilyinichna Miloslavskaya.

"Maria Ilyinichna was a younger daughter of the noble Ilya Danilovich Miloslavsky and Ekaterina Fedorovna Miloslavskaya. In 1647, tsar Alexis I of Russia reached the age required for marriage. The tsar was to choose his bride from a bride-show of hundreds of daughters of the nobility, who were summoned to the imperial court for selection. Maria, who was reportedly a beauty, was selected as the tsar's second choice (he had initially chosen Euphemia Fedorovna Vsevolozhskaya, but she was disqualified on charges of epilepsy). The wedding was conducted on 16 January 1648 in Moscow and is described as a happy one; the couple had 13 children, including Tsar Feodor III, regent Sophia and Tsar Ivan V. Tsaritsa Maria fulfilled her expected role both in regard to charity and religion, despite the fact that russian noblewomen were expected to live their lives in seclusion, with as little contact with men as possible. Maria died after having given birth to Eudoxia in 1669. When she died, it was first believed that her widower would never remarry."

Informations from Wikipedia

(movie: Sophia - 2016)

[redroomreflections]

Before Sunrise - A Family Of Her Own Series

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A Family of Her Own Series

3/7

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 3.3k

Summary: After the fall of the Avengers, Natasha Romanoff returns home to her secret family—a life she's carefully hidden away for years. Struggling to balance her role as a mother and wife while avoiding the dangers of her past, Natasha is forced to make difficult decisions that impact her loved ones.

This Chapter: Natasha has a secret family. Set during the BW films. She brings her Red Room family to meet them. She has a moment with her daughter.

Part 3 of many more.

Just like the night, the house was quiet in the early hours of the morning, the kind of stillness that only comes before the world wakes up. Natasha moved quietly through the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. Despite being away so often, she knew her daughter’s rhythms like second nature—how Stella always woke up just before the first hint of sunlight touched the horizon.

As she pushed open the door to Stella’s bedroom, the soft creak of the hinges sounded louder in the silence, but it didn’t disturb the little girl. The room was painted like an aquarium, deep blues and greens swirling together, with playful fish and, of course, a giant shark on one wall. Stella’s obsession with sharks had taken over every part of her imagination, but despite the ocean theme, she had recently begged for a new princess-style bed set, complete with pink sheets and a tiara-shaped pillow.

Natasha smiled faintly as she took it all in, her heart tugging at the juxtaposition of her daughter’s fierce fascination with predators of the sea and her innocent love for all things sparkly and soft.

She quietly made her way to the rocking chair tucked in the corner, the same one she had rocked Stella in as an infant. Natasha eased herself into the chair, making sure her movements were slow and deliberate.

Sitting there she let her eyes trace over Stella’s small sleeping frame. Her daughter looked so peaceful, her soft breaths steady and uneven. This was the quiet Natasha craved. The moments when everything felt so simple.

The ticking of a clock was the only sound, rhythmic and soothing. Natasha knew Stella would stir soon, her internal clock always waking her before the first light of day. That was part of why she had come in early—to be here, to sit with her daughter before the day inevitably pulled her back into the chaos she couldn’t seem to escape. Even if she couldn’t always be present, she wanted to savor these moments, the ones where she could just watch over her without needing to rush off to fight someone else’s battles.

But as she sat there, a familiar ache settled in her chest. Being gone so much meant missing out on these quiet mornings. The guilt gnawed at her, especially now, watching how peaceful Stella looked. Remembering how excited Stella looked to see her just yesterday morning made her want to call all of this off. Leave Tony to deal with the mess they created. It would be too selfish.

Natasha allowed herself to settle into the rocking chair, peace finding her once again, and she closed her eyes. The familiar rustling of blankets caused her to open them again. Stella stirs against her blankets before sitting up. She sways gently, fighting whatever sleep calls to her, as she surveys the room. She rubs tiredly at her eyes.

“Mommy,” She calls out for you. Though you wouldn’t come. Not when Natasha asked for this morning alone with your daughter.

“I’m here, love,” Natasha says softly.

Stella turns to her, and even in the dimness of the room, she can make out her features—the slight smile that spreads across her face. It seems she forgot that Natasha was home.

“You real?” Stella asks.

Natasha chuckles.

It was a game they had played before. In the middle of the night when Stella would wake from a bad dream, sometimes she would think she was in the past, her mind playing tricks on her.

“I am real,” Natasha nods.

Stella crawls across her bed and onto her knees. She leans forward, reaching out to cup her cheek. She squishes it with her tiny hands and grins.

Natasha reaches out and takes hold of Stella.

“Mama’s home,” Stella whispered as she pressed herself deeper into Natasha’s arms.

Natasha presses her lips to the top of Stella’s head.

Stella curls closer to Natasha, a sigh leaving her. Natasha rocks her back and forth until her breathing steadies out and her body relaxes.

“I love you,” Natasha whispers.

“Mama?” Stella looks up at her with big brown eyes. Natasha studies the features of her daughter. She hums, letting her know she is listening.

Stella shifts in her lap, pressing her nose into her neck.

Natasha closes her eyes and holds her tight.

“Are you going on another airplane?” Stella asks. Of course, most of it sounds like gibberish as she is only two and developing a vocabulary but Natasha understands it nonetheless.

She sighs heavily and kisses the top of her head.

Natasha didn't want to tell her, didn't want her to have to go through the process of waiting for her mom to return.

“Not today,” Natasha answers.

“I don‘t want you to go on any more airplanes,” Stella shakes her head. “I just want you to be my Mama and stay home.”

Natasha feels tears prickle in her eyes. The little girl snuggled into her mother’s chest, unaware of the storm she’d just stirred.

Natasha squeezed her, her grip firm yet tender, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Her throat tightened, and for the first time in a long while, she felt completely helpless. She rocked them back and forth, trying to maintain the rhythm, as if that could soothe both of them, as if the gentle motion could drown out the ache in her chest.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Each rock of the chair was an attempt to hold herself together, but Natasha could feel the cracks widening. The words repeated in her head, tearing through her defenses. I just want you to be my Mama and stay home.

She had faced down armies, survived impossible missions, but this—this tiny request from her daughter—felt like a blow she couldn’t recover from.

The tears prickled in her eyes, stinging with the weight of everything she couldn’t say. The truth, the life she lived, the constant leaving—it all flashed through her mind, and for the first time, it felt like she had failed at the one thing that truly mattered. How could she explain to Stella that being Mama wasn’t something she could always do? That her other life—the one filled with danger and sacrifice—wasn’t something she could walk away from, even if it meant breaking her daughter’s heart?

Stella pulled back just slightly, her wide eyes staring up at Natasha, waiting for an answer, for reassurance that Mama would stay.

But Natasha couldn’t lie. Not to her. Not to this little girl who looked at her like she was her entire world. The lump in her throat grew, and she felt the sting of tears pressing harder, threatening to spill over.

“Oh, baby…” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

She kept rocking. Back and forth. Back and forth.

But no matter how much she rocked, the ache wouldn’t go away. Stella didn’t understand why Natasha left, why she couldn’t be like other mothers who stayed home and tucked their children into bed every night. And how could she? Natasha had crafted a life of secrecy and danger, one that her daughter couldn’t begin to fathom.

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the soft creak of the chair and the quiet sniffle from Stella, who had already nestled back into Natasha’s arms. Natasha kissed the top of her head, holding her as close as she could, as if holding her tight enough might somehow make up for all the times she couldn’t be there.

But it wouldn’t.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha let the tears fall. Not because she was scared, not because she was angry, but because she finally let herself feel the weight of what she had sacrificed. She could take down enemies and save the world, but she couldn’t protect her daughter from the one thing she longed for most—her mother.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

She rocked them both, knowing that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t promise Stella what she truly needed. She could only be there for this moment, holding on for as long as she could, before the world would pull her away again.

And in that moment, Natasha felt like the biggest idiot for ever believing she could balance both worlds without breaking something—without breaking someone.

“Mama, why you not talking?” Stella asks, the confusion on her face reminding Natasha so much of you.

She smiles sadly and presses her lips to the top of her head, inhaling deeply.

She was here, holding her, and even though it wasn't forever, she would soak up every moment.

“I’m sorry,” It leaves her lips in a broken mess. One Stella doesn’t catch. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Stella doesn't say anything, her fingers clutching tighter around her neck.

Natasha sighs deeply, her fingers brushing softly over the crown of her head.

Natasha swallows tightly. “You’re my baby and I love you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stella nods. “Mommy tells me that every day.”

Natasha nods, her lips pulling into a smile.

Her fingers curl into the hem of her shirt and Natasha leans forward.

She closes her eyes, trying to hold onto the moment for just a little longer.

“It’s almost my birthday and then I’m going to be three,” Stella reminds her. “So big. Right? I’m even taller right now.”

Natasha nods, opening her eyes, watching the way her daughter wiggles and moves, showing her height.

Stella stops moving, her eyes widening.

Natasha blinks back tears but doesn't look away.

“Mommy says I need a haircut soon,” Stella grips tendrils of brown hair before dropping her hand. “I want my hair to be like Rapunzel.”

Natasha lets out a watery laugh.

Her daughter was so beautiful and innocent.

Natasha presses her face against the top of Stella's head, the scent of her strawberry shampoo filling her nose.

“Mama, did you see my baby brother? He was sick yesterday but Mommy takes good care of him,” Stella reminds her.

“Your Mommy always takes good care of you both,” Natasha says. Stella simply chuckles. She agrees.

“Can we go eat breakfast now?” Stella asks her.

Natasha lets out a breathless chuckle, shaking her head at her daughter.

Natasha sets Stella on her hip, standing slowly from the rocking chair.

She carries her down the hallway towards the kitchen. They could eat breakfast together.

next part

[romanovsonelastdance]

Wedding of Cecilie of Greece and Georg Donatus of Hesse.

[natr0manova]

Some things about Comic!Natasha Romanoff I think often about

How Natasha thought for YEARS that she was a ballerina with the Bolshoi theatre only to find out it was all a lie

Her marriage / relationship with Nikolai (+ Rose)

How she went from "one in 28 Black Widow Agents" to "the last remaining Black Widow"

Black Widow: No Restraints Play (the whole comic. Everything about this comic is perfect.)

Sally Anne and Natasha's mother-daughter relationship

Rosie and Natasha

How people believed that Black Widow was only Cold War Propaganda and that she isn't real

The implication she might be a descendant of the House of Romanov

Her relationship w/ Bucky

Her relationship friendship w/ Marina

Her brothers (idc about the retcon) and basically her whole entire bio!family

"The Red Death" "The Slavic Shadow"

Her revenge when her sisters got murdered -> her psychopathic side, I need more of it, not less

There's more but those are the main points

[tumbleweedsthesecond]

Clone high oc moment.

Shes the clone of Anastasia Romanovna(ivan the terribles first wife) but she says she's the clone of the more popular Anastasia. She goes by Anna.

There's alot more to her that I won't share yet because it's a yapfest.

[kylespence]

idc but i will always love that anya’s true, genuine memory is from when dimitri saved her when they were kids.

[thephantomofanastasia]

This is so cool. A production of Anastasia the Musical at the University of Mainz in Germany

Photo credit to musicalinc on IG

[reversedanatomy]

Finding Peace: Chapter 3

Summary: Reader and Darcy go to the bookstore and talk about R's big plans.

TW: swearing, talking about relationship issues

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, fixing your hair after your morning shower and applying your skincare routine. First came toner, then serum, eye cream, lotion, and finally sunscreen. It was therapeutic the way you patted each application into your skin. You especially spent time pressing the eye cream into your eyebags, naïve to believe you’d relieve those dark circles in a matter of seconds.

You finished by brushing your teeth and scrunching leave-in conditioner into the mids and roots of your hair. You glanced into your own eyes through the mirror and forced a smile. Your daily routines made you feel secure, pretty, and slightly more confident despite your persistent anxiety.

You used to insist that Wanda should join you for every morning routine. You both had different wake-up times, but often she’d roll out of bed with a grunt to join you for a few moments of companionship. You two used to shower together, sharing the intimacy that came with massaging shampoo and conditioner into each others’ hairs. After, you’d both wait for the steam to defog from the mirror. You two would watch your reflections unveil as you laughed and hugged and shared kisses in the relaxation of your bathroom’s humidity.

Bargaining. You clutched the corners of your bathroom counter and felt tears begin to well from the corners of your eyes. You missed the routine, the intimacy, and the love so, so much. You weren’t religious, but if a god could bring Wanda back, you’d pray and pray and pray to them until they answered your calls. I’d give anything, you thought to yourself. I’ll go to church, I’ll go to therapy, I’ll deal with the drinking, I won’t complain about how bad it gets, you began brainstorming everything you could do to absolve yourself in the eyes of a higher being. Maybe then they’ll reward you with a visit from Wanda. Then we could talk, you continued as the tears asymmetrically fell from your eyes. Maybe then we could work things out and I could apologize for everything.

You brought the back of your hand to your eyes and wiped the tears. The sunscreen from your eyes intermingled with your tears, burning your eyes. You couldn’t help but shake your head, letting out a chuckle of disbelief as the stinging from your eyes caused you to wince. You reached for where your hand towel normally was but grabbed nothing. It was laundry day, and you messed up again by washing your hand towels without any backup.

You’d wait out the stinging by stumbling to your bedroom to dress yourself. You traced your fingers along the walls to exaggerate your minor, temporary blindness. You pulled a t-shirt laying on the top of your dresser and dabbed your eyes. A few heartbeats later, the stinging stopped, and you could make sense of your surroundings.

Your head was cloudy from all the memories of Wanda that pooled to the surface of your thoughts. What made everything worse was that the t-shirt you were holding was Wanda’s. It was from a band you two had seen together last summer. “For fuck’s sake,” you threw the shirt against the wall behind your dresser and turned towards your closet to put together an outfit for the day.

It took you some time, but you settled on a collection of neutrals to compliment the coming winter. You wore a form-fitting white t-shirt, a sherpa-lined brown jacket, and baggy blue jeans. Since the temperature was dropping, you pulled a yellow beanie over your head. You’d finalize the outfit with your white high-top sneakers.

You headed to the kitchen to begin brewing your first mug of coffee for the day. It was 10:11 in the morning. Darcy’s apartment was a 25-minute walk from your apartment, so you needed to leave in a little over an hour to make it on-time for the plans you had at the bookstore. You waited for your coffee to brew by grabbing a quick snack from the pantry. You had your coffee and ate light, assuming Darcy would want to go out for lunch later in the day.

----------------------------------------------

The cold air bit against your skin as you strolled through the streets of Chicago towards Darcy’s apartment. You tucked your chin down to keep the air from numbing your face and reddening your cheeks. You didn’t think it was going to get this cold so early in the year. It was barely November, but it felt like early January. You clenched your arms against your body, hugging your jacket into you.

You arrived outside Darcy’s apartment complex at five-before noon. She lived in an old brick apartment building along a side street that stretched up only three stories. It was a small building, tucked away from the main roads to provide a preferable quietness when living in a bigger city. There were two large windows that peeked into the lobby, revealing old wooden walls and muddy carpet. It was… cute. You reached for your phone and quickly sent Darcy a text stating you were waiting outside. It was read almost immediately. Darcy replied she’d be out soon.

“You look gay,” Darcy shuffled out of the apartment lobby and met you by the front entrance.

“Is it the shoes?” You promptly replied, glancing down and clicking your heels together.

“Sure,” Darcy laughed and leaned in for a hug. You received it warmly and the two of you started towards the bookstore. Darcy originally picked her apartment based on how close it was to the nearest bookstore. She played it off like she needed easy access to textbooks for her studies, but you often found her staring a little too long in the romance fiction aisle. As if clockwork, Darcy added, “I’m glad you agreed to go to the bookstore with me, Y/N. I needed some new textbooks for school.”

“Aren’t you only halfway through your term?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Darcy shrugged.

“Can’t have too many books,” she replied, puffing her cheeks. You rolled your eyes and kept your gaze down towards your feet. There was an uncomfortable silence, one where you knew that Darcy was holding in her questions. You refrained making eye contact with her. You were worried she would catch on to the stiffness in your posture that came as a side salad to your anxiety.

You two rounded the corner several blocks down and reached the bookstore on the main road. Its grand appearance always caught you by surprise. You weren’t a big reader anymore, but you always enjoyed the hospitable ambiance of new and well-loved books lining aisle after aisle. You didn’t need to be a reader to fall in love with the solitude.

You turned to Darcy, who was well-acquainted with this bookstore already. She’d been living in the area for years, so she frequented it often for whatever she needed. She pulled you inside and led you immediately to the section on foreign languages. “I haven’t really been in this section, so forgive me if I can’t help you much,” she said as she started checking the shelves.

“You’re fine,” you smiled warmly. “I just appreciate you coming with me.” Darcy was quick to look for the books you needed, so you joined her immediately. You scrolled your fingers along the titles of the books, scanning for the letter “N.” You couldn’t find much until you came across a small English-Norwegian dictionary tucked away between books on Mandarin and Portuguese. Darcy perked up towards you when she saw what you pulled from the shelves.

“Oh, shit, you found one?” She met you by your side. “Is that all they have?” She looked up from the dictionary you were holding and rechecked the shelves. She let out a small, “huh” and came back to you.

“If it’s the only one, then maybe it’s a sign,” you leafed through the book. Darcy’s demeanor fell quiet, and she held her arm with her other hand.

“So… do you really want to move away?” Darcy’s eye’s started anxiously scanning the books lining the shelves. You closed the dictionary and stared at your shoes.

“Yeah. I told you. I think it’ll be good for my mental health to get away.” Silence. You could feel your heart stuttering against your chest. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between Wanda and I, and I really want to just start over in general. I know I didn’t open up much about what happened between her and I, but it really fucking ruined me-“

“Y/N…”

“-and I haven’t been able to eat properly, think straight, sleep, or anything. I’ve been missing her so much.” You brought your hand to your mouth and held back your tears. “I’m sorry. Every time I think about her, I just get emotional. I don’t know what to do except leave.” Darcy put her hand on your arm in a nervous attempt to console you, but you were already in the process of breaking down.

“Hey. It’s going to be okay,” Darcy smoothed her voice out and gently traced her thumb along your arm. You nodded, sniffling. Clutched in your hand was the dictionary. You stared at the words and imagined yourself in Norway. You pictured a life in that small, unnamable town, surrounded by mountains that stretched over the horizon. You could almost breathe in the fresh, cold air that hinted at the coming of the first frost.

“If I move there and it doesn’t work out, you have my full permission to tell me you told me so,” you glanced at Darcy from the side of your eye.

“And if it does work out,” Darcy pushed away from you with a smile, “I get first dibs on knowing what kinda girls you’re taking home. I heard the redheads there are really cute.” You squinted your eyes in half disgust, half denial. Darcy was always right, though. Who’s to say that she wouldn’t speak this luck into existence?

“You’d get first dibs on knowing everything regardless,” you reassured her. You lifted the dictionary up into her line of sight and gave it a small shake. “We should really check out, though, unless you need to get those textbooks you were talking about.”

“It’s only halfway through the semester. I think I’ll be fine.” Darcy lifted one finger, signaling for you to wait. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. “If you’re going to move to Norway, though, we should at least take some pictures of your baby steps. Momma’s proud of you, y’know.” You wanted to throw up, but this was Darcy, and this was the reason you stayed so long in this friendship.

“Fuck, fine, but you’re using my phone. Your camera quality is shit, and, if we’re creating memories, I’d at least like to be able to recognize myself when I look back on them twenty years from now.” You reached into your coat pocket and produced your phone. “Also, there’s still no guarantee I’ll be moving there.”

Darcy took your phone with a grunt and told you to line up against the bookshelves with your new dictionary. You looked like a child at her first day of preschool, only taller and more butch. Darcy held up the phone. “Say cheese.”

Ding.

“Um. Y/N?” Darcy lowered your phone and you saw her swipe at a notification. You suddenly felt off.

“Yeah?”

“That was your email. You got a notification. That Norway job wants to schedule an interview.”

You felt breathless.

[swanqueenelmaxshadowhunters]

Arcane season 2 spoilers

What if I unalive myself?

[buckymorelikefuckme]

I NEED MORE MOOTS/BLOGS TO FOLLOW!!! like i wanna follow more marvel writers and stuff or just make some friends to talk to :/ got any recs???

[the-last-tsar]

"In 1799, three years after her failed betrothal with the King of Sweden, another marital project originated for Alexandra. Previously in 1798, Dukes Ferdinand Augustus and Alexander Frederick of Württemberg who were the brothers of the Empress Maria Feodorovna, arrived in St. Petersburg to serve in the Russian army. They expressed the interest of Austria to join with Russia in a coalition against the rising power of the French Republic and Napoleon, and to cement this alliance, it was decided to arrange a marriage between Alexandra and Archduke Joseph of Austria, Palatine (Governor) of Hungary and a younger brother of Francis II, Holy Roman Emperor. Archduke Joseph personally came to Russia to see his bride. The meeting between them was successful. In mid-February 1799 the betrothal ball was held. Later, a marriage contract was signed in which Alexandra would be allowed to kept her Russian Orthodox faith. In October, Count Fyodor Rostopchin wrote:

"Believe me, that's not good started to strengthen the alliance with the Austrian court by ties of blood... Of all the sisters she will be given the least successful marriage. She will have nothing to wait for, and her children even more so."

On 25 September 1799, a decree was published about the royal title of Alexandra. In Russia, she was referred to as "Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess the Archduchess of Austria" with the French prefix of "Palatine d'Hongrie". The wedding took place on 30 October 1799 at Gatchina Palace, one week after the wedding of her sister Elena. To celebrate both events, poet Gavrila Derzhavin wrote the ode "the wedding celebrations of 1799". On 21 November the couple went to Austria. Countess Varvara Golovina remembered that Alexandra was sad to leave Russia, and her father Emperor Paul I "constantly repeated, would not see her since her sacrifice." According to Alexandra's confessor, Andrei Samborski, Alexandra was given a cold reception in Vienna. However, other sources offer a different view. Queen Maria Carolina of Naples (the Emperor's mother-in-law) and her daughters arrived in Vienna in August 1800 for a long stay. Maria Carolina's daughter, Princess Maria Amalia of Naples, wrote in her journal that on 15 August the Queen and her daughters were introduced to Alexandra, whom she described as "very beautiful". Maria Amalia and Alexandra became friends during this time; and the Princess of Naples wrote in her journal that the Russian Grand Duchess and her husband had a friendly relationship with the rest of the imperial family and took part in the family gatherings, parties and balls in Vienna, which contrasts with the version given by Andrei Samborski. For instance, in January 1801, Maria Amalia wrote in her journal that the imperial family used to attend balls in Archduke Joseph's residence in Vienna, where "beautiful Alexandra, always serious and sad, has a magnificent household." When she was presented to Emperor Francis II, she reminded him of his first wife Elisabeth of Württemberg, who was her maternal aunt; this caused the jealousy of Empress Maria Theresa, Francis II's second wife, who also was envious of Alexandra's beauty and fine jewelry. Imperial confessor Andrew Samborski wrote:

"Remembering the happy cohabitation with her led him (the Emperor) in extreme confusion of mind which afflicted the heart of the Empress, his present wife. After this, she became in the innocent victim of the Empress' implacable vengeance...The Empress not forgotten and humiliated her parents and siblings when she called them a family of freaks, due to the treatment that Grand Duke Constantine gave to his wife."

Once, Alexandra turned up to a ball beautifully dressed, with magnificent jewellery. The Empress was incensed at being upstaged by the Archduchess, and ordered her to remove her jewellery, and also told her that she could no longer wear them. Heeding her instructions, Alexandra only decorated her hair with flowers when she attended a play some time later. The flowers highlighted her beauty, leading her to be applauded and being given a standing ovation, making Maria Theresa even more furious. Archduke Joseph could not protect his wife from these attacks. Furthermore, her Eastern Orthodox faith aroused the hostility of the Roman Catholic Austrian court, who urged her to convert. Pavlovna was popular among Hungarians, both the nobles and the commoners. According to the legend, it was her suggestion to add the color green as the third color to the flag of Hungary. Hungarians had been using red and silver, then red and green as their national colors for centuries at the time. However, in the late 18th century, a third color was proposed to be added to the flag, to follow the style of the French tricolor. Pavlovna suggested green as a symbol for hope. By the mid-19th century, the red-white-green Hungarian tricolor became widespread.

Wikipedia of Grand Duchess Alexandra Pavlovna.

[foreverinthepagesofhistory]

POV; Where’s Waldo but make it Romanov edition:

I’ll give you time to figure it out *hint, it’s Olga that your trying to find*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ahem i present to you~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SHE IS IN THE FREAKING CURTAINS! HAHAHAHAHA

Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna hiding in the curtains at Evpatoria in 1916, surrounded by her family, Tsar Nicholas II, Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna, Grand Duchesses Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia Nikolaevna, and Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich

Also featured is Anna Vyrubova (friend of the family), and Margarita “Rita” Khitorovo (friend of OT and fellow Sister of Mercy)

[bombcollar]

some other Grusha hcs -

Rather than having one of those corporate-looking gym buildings perched on a mountain, Grusha's "gym" is located in a ski resort. Battles take place there, as does the gym challenge, but he lives in a Ranger cabin.

I think it's a common hc that Grusha grew up in the pokemon equivalent of Russia. I named it Ruthena, derived from Ruthenia. In his youth he actually was a champion pokemon trainer, but he felt too pressured by the way high-ranking trainers are treated in his home country and retired early.

He left that life to pursue snowboarding instead, something he'd already done as a hobby and felt gave him more control over his life. Some of his old team was left behind when he moved to Paldea, and are in the care of his grandmother. She was the one who raised him, his parents' whereabouts unknown.

[natr0manova]

Natasha in 2004

[an-inky-fingered-lass]

Let Me Speak: A Character Study

(A story of life, love, and hope; of sorrow, struggle, and rebuilding after loss. A story of everything a life can be, and all the ways it matters. A character study of Melinda May, and the parts of her story they didn’t tell.)

. . .

PART ONE

At the age of six years old, Melinda Qiaolian May knew two things:

One—regardless of the cheerful ribbing from her father about children and the things they would understand when they were older, she would not, at any point in her life, enjoy coffee. (This assertion stood the test of time, as it turned out, a fact Melinda maintained with righteous dignity throughout her life).

Two—she was not afraid of heights. 

There were other things she knew, of course, and things she was very much afraid of. But — there are priorities. As she grew older, Melinda liked to keep a count of all the things that didn’t scare her, and practiced leaning into the way those certainties weighed steady on her spine when shadows stretched strangely in the night. 

Continue reading on ao3.

[age-of-moonknight]

After Midnight. Marvel Superheroes: Official Game Adventure (Vol. 1/1990), pg. 29.

Designer: Anthony Herring; Editor: Mike Breault; Illustrator: John Statema