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joanofnavarre · 2 years

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“The Houses of Plantagenet and Lancaster had not always been united. The Duchy of Lancaster - as it was later called - had emerged in the thirteenth century at the end of the Second Barons' War and death of the rebel Lord Simon de Montfort at Evesham.

The youngest son of Henry III, Edmund Crouchback, inherited de Montfort Earldom of Leicester and, later, Lancaster. By 1269, Edmund was on track to become an incredibly wealthy territorial magnate, like all who would succeed him.

Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, was a popular prince a capable and pious soldier - nicknamed Crouchback due to the motif of the cross he bore on his shield and wore on his back whilst on crusade.

He was fiercely loyal to his brother King Edward I (Longshanks'), fighting in his various wars across Scotland and France and overseeing extensive Plantagenet castle-building projects in Wales.

Over time Edmund accumulated a series of dignities, land and property. By the end of his life he was extremely powerful, with land dotted throughout the realm. After Edmund's death in Bayonne in 1296, he was interred at Westminster Abbey and his wealth distributed among his children: Thomas, Henry and John. Thomas inherited the title Earl of Lancaster. At the end of the thirteenth century, the relationship between the house of Lancaster and the Plantagenets was positive.

After Edward II ascended the throne, he immediately bestowed a royal title - Earl of Cornwall - on his favourite (and suspected lover) Piers Gaveston. This instantly sparked massive opposition from the nobility, and Thomas of Lancaster became a leading player in an uprising against the King and his favourite. In an unforgiving dispute, Gaveston was eventually caught and executed on Lancaster's lands near Kenilworth, infuriating the King and leading him to call Thomas of Lancaster a rebel and a traitor.

After Gaveston's death, domestic politics was turned on its head: Thomas of Lancaster exercised his authority and undermined the King. He refused to serve in the war against the Scots, and went so far as to agree to a personal truce with the Scottish lords, working under the pseudonym King Arthur. After years of growing animosity between the cousins, an influential noble family - the Despensers - rose to prominence at court and helped Edward Il seek retribution.

Edward II had never forgiven his cousin for Gaveston's murder and, in 1322, finally took his revenge. Thomas of Lancaster was arrested after the Battle of Boroughbridge and tried for treason - with the Despensers and the King as members of the tribunal. A week after his arrest, Thomas of Lancaster, dressed in an old surcoat, was carried on a donkey a mile from Pontefract Castle, where he was executed. The only mercy extended was that he was at least spared the prescribed fate of a convicted traitor, that of being hung, drawn and quartered.

As he was of royal blood, he was granted death by beheading. After Thomas’s conviction and execution as a traitor, Lancastrian loyalty was called it into question: that historical mistrust would haunt John of Gaunt throughout his political and personal life.

When Gaunt inherited the Lancastrian lands, nearly forty years later, it was claimed that blood trickled from Thomas of Lancaster's tomb - a grim omen of an uncertain dynastic future.

Thomas became a posthumous icon, which perhaps made the Lancastrian position all the more dangerous. Shortly after his death, cult began to emerge around his effigy, said to induce miracles-even his hat was believed to cure headaches. By the time Henry- his younger brother and heir to the Lancastrian lands - installed a memorial cross for the murdered Thomas, the dead Earl had achieved a significant following, with three attempts to have him canonised.

With Edward Il pitted against his Queen, Isabella, and her lover Roger Mortimer, the dynastic future of England was precarious. The Lancastrian administration, however, remained constant. Whilst the royal family were embroiled in a bitter feud, Henry, Earl of Lancaster, invested in Leicester as the heart of Lancastrian affairs. He renovated Leicester Castle but his greatest project was in the south-west of the town, the Newarke - a hospital and church - that employed generations of local labourers.

From 1330, Henry of Lancaster created a home to the Lancastrian dynasty in Leicestershire and brought the previously quiet town of Leicester to the forefront of English consciousness. Henry was popular in Leicester; the citizens of the town respected him and he carefully considered their needs, even endowing funds for a public latrine, for the ease of all the said community. Yet it was his large building projects in Leicester thar benefitted local people most significantly. This positive relationship with the town continued with his son Henry of Grosmont, the future Earl of Derby, Duke of Lancaster and father in law of John of Caunt.

Over the course of his flowering career, and even after being raised to his Dukedom, Henry of Grosmont never shirked his feudal responsibility in Leicester, and the relationship between people and magnate remained steadfast. By the time Gaunt inherited the town, Leicester was unbendingly loyal to Lancaster.”

CARR, Helen. In: The Bleeding Tomb: a Lancastrian Inheritance. The Red Prince John of Gaunt duke of Lancaster. 2021.

Fan casting: Sean Bean as Edmund ‘Crouchback’; Adam Driver as Thomas of Lancaster; Aneurin Barnard as Henry of Lancaster; Nicolaj Coster Waldau as Henry of Grosmont. *

*please notify if these gifs were used inappropriatedly; not mine to claim just to illustrate the characters.

#house of lancaster #henry of lancaster #thomas of lancaster #edmund crouchback #edmund plantagenet #house of plantagenet #Plantagenets #lancastrians #simon de montford #sean bean #aneurin barnard #adam driver #nicolaj coster waldau

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flashfuckingflesh · 4 months

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EVIL's Coaxial Cord Right into Your TV Set! "HeBGB TV" reviewed! (Scream Team Releasing / DVD)

Contact Your Local Cable Provide to Upgrade Your Box for “HeBGB TV” on DVD! In a world of streaming devices, the cable box era has become nothing but a memory until mysterious HeBGB cable boxes sudden appear on retail shelves and on homeowner doorsteps. The what looks to be a brain in a box with some wiring quickly self-installs right into the cable jack and manifests a gaudy-dressed tangible…

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daily-broco · 1 year

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Austrälian bęach fashün

I just wanted to post this because the conversation between Adam Marc and Dan Lancaster in the comments is hilarious:

#don broco #rob damiani #dan lancaster #adam marc #rock music #music #australian tour 2023

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 2: Dusk]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 4.0k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

The girl is from Milan, and Daeron is enamored with her: bright-eyed, beaming, blood rosy in his cheeks. Her name is Nicolosa, though she is adamant that everyone should call her Nico. She is one of those effortlessly informal people. She laughs too loudly and says all the wrong things, too-honest observations that would be offensive if the person breathing life into them was anyone but her. She spins around the hall as violins and lutes play, swinging from the willing arms of chuckling noblemen, an aisle of light in a goldenrod gown, the sun made flesh. She has the luxury of dancing until breathless, until she glows with the sheen of exertion. She could not possibly be carrying a child; she will not be wedded and bedded for another year.

This is a great triumph for Otto the Duke of Hightower. Milan under the House of Sforza is an enviable ally, wealthy and sophisticated, and eager for friends who will one day be willing to assist them in resisting French encroachment. This is the deal that the Duke of Hightower has struck. True, Daeron is still rather young to take a bride. True, Nico’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Milan, were insistent that they would concede to the match only if the marriage and consummation was postponed until next August. True, this does not resolve the immediate concern of Aegon’s lack of an heir. But it is another tile of a mosaic, another thread in the patchwork of the Greens’ objectives, another brick in a castle wall from which boiling oil could be poured down upon invaders.

The Duke of Hightower is accepting warm congratulations from the nobility of Southern England: Norfolk, Gloucester, Somerset, Buckingham, Suffolk, Clarence, Exeter. Those of the North—Lancaster, York, Stark—shun him. They stand instead with Rhaenyra, admiring her two eldest sons, pretending not to notice how little they resemble the late Laenor Velaryon. The Crown Princess is wearing black accented with maroon, as she almost always is. She sends a small, reassurance-seeking smile to where Daemon sits at the high table, and he raises his cup to her, his face sly, arrogant, proud. They love each other, this is clear; it may not be an especially conventional love, and it may be a love that emboldens rather than tames, but it is love nonetheless. This does not make your resignation to your own fate any easier. Queen Alicent, laughing as she joins Daeron and Nico dancing, is dressed in dark green to match her father and her children. You often wear purple, the color of royalty…just to remind people that you still deserve to be here.

You are at the high table too, albeit on the opposite side from Daemon; the Blacks are always seated to King Viserys’ right, while the Greens are on his left. Aemond doesn’t dance, you aren’t permitted to, Aegon is too drunk. He’s apparently not too drunk to leer, however; his bleary storm-blue eyes follow Lady Joanna Montford as she glides across the floor like a shark through surf, flashing luring eyes and flirtatious simpers. You’re a better dancer than she is, but of course that doesn’t matter, because no one ever gets to see you do it. Aegon won’t go so far as to touch her in public—he would consider that discourteous, you think—but he’s sleeping with her, and everyone knows he’s sleeping with her, and you can’t even truly wish he’d stop because you don’t want him in your bed anyway. But the humiliation of it…the hopelessness…that is more difficult to come to terms with.

“Portugal,” Daemon tells Aegon nonchalantly. “You could have married some princess from Portugal.”

Aegon guzzles his wine and says nothing. Aemond—scribbling messy lines of black ink onto parchment at the end of the table—glances up at you and then back down again.

Daemon continues: “The Infanta Maria was wed around the same time you were, and she’s produced a more than satisfactory son for her husband. Hugely fat, practically hoglike, I’ve seen portraits.”

“Daemon, please,” King Viserys scolds mildly, smiling as he watches Rhaenyra mingle with nobles who wouldn’t mind burning you alive if it meant the Blacks would ascend more seamlessly to the throne. The king has her son Joffrey in the chair next to him and has enthralled the boy with stories of jousts, hunts, feasts, Christmases and May Days. You wonder if he’s ever shown such interest in any of his children with Alicent. If he has, you aren’t aware of it.

“Or Savoy,” Daemon says. “Not as cultured as Milan, this cannot be denied, but of great strategic significance geographically. One foot in France, the other in Italy. I’ve heard wonderful things about Princess Louise. Very athletic, very…” He smirks, biting into a pomegranate. Ruptured seeds spurt juice like the gleam of rubies. “Flexible.”

“Oh, look, Prince Daemon.” You point into the crowded hall. “I think your wife is beckoning you to join her. Your third wife, I mean, the most recent one. The one who also happens to be your niece.”

“Or Naples!” Daemon exclaims, as if it has just occurred to him, as if he hasn’t been waiting to torment you like a wolf shadows a wounded stag, saliva filling up its mouth, fangs bared and dripping. Southerners detest Daemon because they fear he is mad; but that’s exactly what the North likes about him. “Or perhaps even—would we dare to hope?—a princess of France! Think of it! The poor Duke of Hightower would not know what to do with himself, he would be so delighted. At his age, the shock might just kill him.”

“Daemon,” King Viserys warns again.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be giving us so many ideas,” Aegon says, slurping his wine. “Aemond is still unspoken for, and now we have a tidy list of candidates to consider. How thoughtful of you.”

“Or you simply could have made the same arrangement that you did but in reverse,” Daemon goes on as if no one else has spoken at all. “You could have taken a Castilian bride, and Helaena could have been shipped off to the Pyrenees, and your circumstances would be wildly different than they are now. Princess Lucia would have been the right age for you. Do you want to know what she gave to her new husband this past Christmas?”

“I surely don’t,” Aegon replies.

Daemon grins beneath glinting eyes. “Twins.”

“Enough,” Aemond says, dark and quiet like midnight.

Now Daemon addresses you, resting his elbows on the table. “How many more chances do you think they’ll give you, Navarre, before some providential technicality that voids your marriage contract is discovered and you are discarded of in a nunnery?” Another bite of the pomegranate; another freckling of bloodlike red across the tablecloth. “The globe is crawling with royal women, they’re fish in a barrel, why would anyone jeopardize their dynastic ambitions for you?”

“My wife belongs where I am,” Aegon says: a fact, a dare. “And I will hear no more of it.”

You look at him, grateful but a little stunned. He does this sometimes. He will choose a seemingly arbitrary moment to make a show of loyalty, and then he will never mention it again. He doesn’t return your glance. Instead, he picks apart a roasted chicken carcass with his fingers and resumes staring at Lady Joanna Montford with his dazed, watery eyes. Aemond, engrossed in his writing, hasn’t eaten much tonight. Neither have you; but there’s a reason for that.

“Where you are,” Daemon muses, raising his strange white eyebrows. “Well, I hope she enjoys brothels.”

You fling back: “Like the one you fondled the Crown Princess in?”

“A baseless rumor,” Daemon replies, but he can’t smother the flare of wicked pride in his eyes.

“Will you stop it?!” the king roars at both of you. Joffrey gazes up at him with awe, like he’s seen a falling star or a dragon or the face of God. “This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a royal betrothal, and you can’t conduct yourselves appropriately for one night—?!”

“What are they squabbling about?” the Duke of Hightower asks as he approaches the table. He can summon nothing more condemnatory than half-serious annoyance; his mood is too lofty, his victory too fresh. Behind him in the festive ruckus, Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra are exchanging awkward compliments and trying to ignore all the enmity that has stacked up between them since the king married his daughter’s lifelong companion and started producing white-haired children with her. Jace is dancing with Baela, Luke with Rhaena; Daeron and Nico have found themselves alone in a corner, giggling as candlelight glows hot and golden on their flushed cheeks.

Rather than answering, the king merely rolls his eyes and sighs, exasperated.

“You must be overjoyed, Otto,” Daemon says. “Another friend on the Continent. And yet, they are awfully far away, don’t you think?”

The Duke of Hightower smiles tightly. “Ships travel fast.”

“Ah, perhaps, though not faster than word from here to the Scottish border.”

“The Milanese girl will make a lovely bride for young Daeron, Otto,” King Viserys praises. He has either successfully deluded himself into believing that the whole of the realm will miraculously coalesce behind Rhaenyra upon his death, or he is determined to ignore the catastrophe that will ensue once he slips, gleefully ignorant, off into the afterlife.

Daemon nods. “Yes. Buxom, vivacious, amiable, she will be a fine mother someday. Unlike certain other people among us.”

Aegon says around a mouthful of chicken: “Grandsire, Prince Daemon was kind enough to point out all the other advantageous matches still at our disposal. Since we haven’t monopolized our bloodline by marrying exclusively immediate relatives.”

The Duke of Hightower chuckles. “Yes, I do sincerely hope that Jace and Luke’s offspring don’t all end up with fifteen fingers or gills or some such thing.”

“Fortunately, Harwin Strong’s blood should dilute the lineage,” you say.

Daemon turns towards you, twisting in his chair, grinning cruelly. “Gills or not, at least they’ll have children.”

You can’t think of anything to say back. Perhaps there is nothing to say. The Duke of Hightower and Aegon both avert their eyes. King Viserys has returned his attention to young Joffrey and is teaching him a prayer to invoke the protection of Saint George. Only Daemon looks at you; and Aemond watches him, quill hovering in midair, his sole blue eye a blaze of cold fire. You push out your chair and rise from the table, fleeing to one of the rooms adjacent to the exuberant, cheerful hall. You’re happy for Daeron and Nico, truly you are. But pain has a way of feeling heavier than joy, doesn’t it? It grips onto your ankles and drags you down into depths that nobody else can see.

The room is small and empty, the music muffled by the walls. Through the stained glass windows trickle in beams of pink-lavender light as dusk falls over Westminster Palace. And you stand there alone in the twilight, thinking of the past and the future and time itself, a ghost that will always be made of more secrets than answers.

You hear the door open behind you. “I’ll return to the festivities in a moment,” you say to the intruder, trying to keep the emotion from your voice.

“No need,” Aemond replies softly.

You wheel, and there he is, walking to meet you in the vanishing daylight. He takes your left hand in his and settles his right lightly, modestly, on your waist. “What—?” And then you understand.

Dancing. Here, where no one can see to forbid or ridicule. He’s come to take me dancing.

You smile up at him. “I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

“We’ll go very slowly.”

And slowly would be an understatement: you and Aemond move together in dawdling, careful steps, rotating like seasons, like the phases of the moon. He smells like he always does, of work and effort: smoke, leather, that scent he wears that is dark and woodsy and with an edge like a knife. His hands are calloused from sword sparring. Yours feel soft and helpless in his; they weren’t always so fragile, but they are now. “I thought you hated me,” you tell him.

“I’ve never hated you.”

“But you ignored me. For an entire year after I arrived in England, you ignored me.”

“I kept my distance. That’s very different from ignoring.”

“Alright, but why keep your distance at all?”

Aemond hesitates. “I am not in the habit of allowing myself to be noticed.”

“Because you fear people will see through the armor you’re wearing?” And when he abruptly stops dancing, you add: “I don’t mean that unkindly. I’m the same way. I wear all sorts of masks.”

He studies you in the lilac light. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips to your throat. And then he resumes the unhurried dance. “There’s nothing about you worth hiding.”

You spin away from him and then return to be caught. “And you think you are a trove of scandalous secrets, Prince Aemond? Is that what’s in all those poems you won’t let me read?”

“If they were any good, I’d let you read them.”

“But you have the disposition of a genuine poet. Enigmatic, perceptive…” Alluring. Beautiful. You cast those thoughts away like coins into a wishing well. “Graceful.”

“So the dancing isn’t too terrible. I don’t do it often, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t do it ever to my knowledge. And no, not terrible at all.”

“I move best when holding a sword, not a princess.”

“I used to have callouses like yours, you know,” you say. “My palms and fingers were covered in them.”

“Because you sparred with your brothers,” Aemond remembers.

“For hours and hours. Especially with Alonzo. He’s the exact opposite of you, short and stocky and loud, with dark curls and heavy feet. And his poetry would send a lady sprinting in the other direction.”

“Do you miss it? Terrorizing men with swords?”

“Of course. I was almost somewhat good at that, unlike everything I’m tasked with here.”

Aemond grins, broad and mischievous. “Let’s have a demonstration then.” He releases your hand, goes to the door that leads to a stairwell, and waits patiently for you to join him.

This is improper. This is disobedient. But what has being obedient gotten you lately?

You follow Aemond through the doorway, down the stone steps, and out into the courtyard illuminated by dusk like amber, tiger’s eye, amethyst, rose quartz. It is empty except for the two of you; the rest of the palace is thoroughly occupied with drinking, dancing, and murderous scheming. It is a wonder with as lethal as the world is that women are meant to be so powerless. Aemond trots across the grass towards the blacksmith’s forge at the far end of the courtyard, then returns with two swords. He passes you the lighter one.

“How does it feel?” he asks you.

You twirl the sword a few times, admittedly rather inexpertly. “Wonderful. But I’m very out of practice.”

“Fear not. We’ll take this slow as well.” He taps his blade against yours, so tenderly it’s laughable; the sound it makes is blunt and low. Still, you’re both smiling as you circle each other, striking out with intentionally ineffectual thrusts and lunges, blocking, parrying. “Your footwork is excellent,” Aemond notes.

“It used to be better. But I appreciate your compliment. You’re more talented than Alonzo. Then again, you probably spend much less time skipping lessons to chase women around.”

“Undoubtedly,” Aemond says in a tone you can’t decipher. Then he asks, interest piqued: “What sorts of masks do you wear?”

You shrug, your blade skating down the length of his. “All sorts.”

Aemond parries. “I’d be interested to know.”

“A genuine poet would be astute enough to sift out the truth from the lies.”

“So lie to me,” Aemond says, his stare direct and bold, his sword balanced in one hand and pointed at your ribs, your heart. “And we shall find out if I can tell.”

You side-step him, thinking of frivolous diversions. “I love English ale and drink it all the time.”

“Lie. Apple cider.”

The blades clang. “My favorite color is, dutifully, green.”

“Lie. Red, like the flag of Navarre.”

And like blood. “It’s beginning to lose its charm,” you confide in Aemond.

“Don’t do that,” he says severely. “Don’t let them take something you’re proud of away from you.”

You consider him as stars rise in a violet sky. “Why are you encouraging my rebellious inclinations? You don’t give the impression of being much of a rule breaker.”

“I don’t see what good can come from you being denied any source of happiness,” he says simply. “Go on. Let’s have another attempt at a lie.”

You block Aemond’s benign, cautious swing as you circle him. “I’m pregnant again.”

Aemond halts; every muscle in his body goes still and inflexible. And he knows immediately that you’re telling the truth. “I’m…I’m very glad to hear that,” he manages at last.

You laugh fleetingly, cynically. “You can’t even properly congratulate me. No one can. Because everything’s gone so horribly thus far, people don’t want to get their hopes up.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not yet. But I can recognize the first signs by now.” Constant low-level nausea, difficulty waking in the morning, dull cramping. You force a thin smile. “At least your brother won’t need to visit my bed for a while.”

“You don’t find pleasure with him? Is Aegon not…” Aemond searches for the right word, nervous, bashful. Hot blooms of blood appear in his cheeks. “Attentive to you?”

“It’s not his fault. He tries, really. He’s never been selfish or rough. It is entirely my own deficiency. I’m just not…at ease with him, I suppose. I can’t relax enough. I can’t reach…well…” Euphoria? A climax? A peak? You know what euphemisms others use, but it’s difficult to describe something you’ve never experienced before.

Aemond nods, meaning that he understands, that you don’t have to wrench the words out of you like entrails from a slaughtered animal.

“I know that other women can,” you say, tapping your blade against his. “That their husbands are well-matched with them and that they enjoy great pleasure. It’s difficult for me to accept that isn’t something I’ll ever get to have myself. At least…I don’t believe I’ve ever had it.”

“I think you’d know if you had.”

“Oh, and you’re an expert in a woman’s pleasure, are you? As an unmarried prince?” Your voice is casual and teasing; but the thought of him with a lover is like a bolt of lightning. It pains you, it paralyzes you, it hits you without any warning.

“Years ago, Aegon paid for a woman to…initiate me,” he explains. “Several times. He meant it as an act of compassion, I think. I was speechless around anyone I found desirable.”

Your nausea swells from a ripple to a wave. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not something that I especially wanted at the time, and it’s not something that I have cared to repeat since. But it was very…informative.”

He gives you an infinitesimal little half-smile, and something passes between you as the last threads of dusk are unwoven from the sky and night engulfs Westminster Palace, something like a promise, a note, a whisper. The queasiness in your belly vanishes and is replaced by something else: a sensation like falling, like wanting. You are overcome by an ache to say something, though you don’t know what.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the Duke of Hightower bellows, striding out into the courtyard. Aemond takes several swift steps away from you and hurls his sword to the ground. You toss yours away as well.

“Grandsire, the princess and I were just—”

“You!” the Duke of Hightower shouts, turning on you first. “You should be in a chair or in bed, you should be resting, you should be thinking only of your health and of the wellbeing of the heirs you will produce with Aegon, not gallivanting around in the darkness and playing with swords, of all things! What would your husband say? What would your parents say?! Are you what we were promised when we signed that godforsaken contract?! Surely, princess, at this very moment you are not.”

Aemond begins: “Grandsire, it wasn’t her idea—”

“And you,” the Duke of Hightower growls at him. “You will immediately rid yourself of your baffling aversion to marriage, because you’re next, Aemond. Be prepared to discuss the candidates tomorrow and decide upon your preferred bride. Your brothers and sister are spoken for. We have one last card to play, and it cannot wait any longer. Not with this enduring…” He glances bitterly at you. “Uncertainty.”

Since you arrived in England, there have been innumerable discussions of who Aemond will marry, and he has staunchly evaded every proposed match. His rationale has wavered from needing to focus on his studies to committing himself to training as a warrior to interrogating the strategic wisdom of each potential alliance. This is strange for a man who is otherwise so constrained by familial loyalty, so devoted to the advancement of the Greens. “I won’t even get to meet her first?”

“You’ll learn to like her. Daeron met his betrothed today and he is happy.”

“Daeron is lucky,” Aemond objects. “I might just as easily not be.”

“You will marry,” the Duke of Hightower insists. “Without protest and without further delay.”

Aemond looks down at his empty hands—lines and callouses, fresh scars and ancient heritage—and he says quietly: “Do you care nothing for love?”

“Have you ever wondered why the old put so little stock in love, Aemond?” the Duke replies. “It’s not because we don’t believe it’s real. It’s because we know it doesn’t last. Women die in childbirth. Men die at war. Thousands die of Plague or the bloody flux. People who once would have killed for you grow to hate you, or worse, feel nothing for you at all. Love is transient and painful and changeable and destructive. Best to skip over such things and think of legacy instead. That’s all any of us are left with in the end.”

And then the Duke of Hightower clasps your wrist and leads you back inside the palace, gently, as if you are made of glass.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is several hours later when Aegon staggers noisily into your bedchamber, knocking over a Florentine vase by the door. Shards of it tumble across the floorboards like wounded men littering a battlefield.

“Sorry,” he slurs, pulling off his tunic and then the plain white shirt underneath. “I’m very drunk, wife, I cannot deny it, but there’s only one part of me that you’re in need of and I think that I can still get it up—”

“Aegon.” You’re lying in bed and sipping a cup of apple cider. “You don’t need to stay. Your part is done.”

He stops cold and blinks at you, comprehending it sluggishly. His eyes flick down to your belly, covered by a blanket decorated with green roses. “Oh.”

“It’s alright. You can go now. You have other places to be, and I know that’s what you want.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? To make it easier?”

Be a different sort of man. Be more like Aemond. “No, I’m fine. But it’s very sweet of you to ask.”

“Okay.” He lurches away, stepping on pieces of the shattered vase. His bare feet leave stains of blood on the floor. And then he pauses under the doorframe, gripping it so he doesn’t fall over. “Wife?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you, you know,” he says. “It’s the pressure of it all. It’s the responsibility. I don’t have to feel that when I’m with anyone else.”

I don’t wish he was more like Aemond. I wish he WAS Aemond. “I understand, Aegon.”

He gives you a pitiful, off-kilter, childish smile. “Goodnight,” he says just before he leaves, clutching the doorframe with clawed hands. And then: “Goodnight to both of you.”

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader

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razorblade180 · 11 days

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Neat accidental AU things

So I was straightening out and revising some of my content and I kept noticing little things I didn’t intend but are cool to think about.

Weiss and Nora are constantly hanging out and are consistently the envy of every mother at a PTA meeting in the TSF AU

Jaune and Weiss know how to drive a Yacht

Any child of Yang has the biggest branching family tree aside from the Arcs

TSF Yang has put down the most villains.

In Lasting Embers, Qrow had a kid years before the whole of team RWBY worked out their drama. Potentially even before Ruby got married.

Ruby only has Dustin’s eyes whenever she thinks of Cinder.

Premonition is the only AU where the friends eventually graduated.

TSF as a casualty rate of exactly one hero character and that’s Pyrrha

Ruby takes Whitley grimm hunting so he can have cool summons.

Carmine’s dual hair color looks like a ripening strawberry. Guess you can call her a strawberry blonde

Adam has been at Yang’s home more than she has and that’s a crazy thing to think about.

L.E AU would all things considered have the strongest team RWBY, but also has the most casualties.

Aside from Rosebud, Ruby and Weiss are always the last to get married

Neo is Lasting Embers has somehow made it into both main friend groups by not just being talented at her job, but also having an “interesting” relationship with a member. Adam for the bad guys, and Weiss for the good guys.

This one isn’t an accident, but I still think it’s pretty cool that Veronica didn’t utter one lie throughout any story.

Blake has the most consistent win rate in all my AU despite also being the weakest in all of them as well. Meanwhile Yang’s track record is the riskiest.

TSF Weiss and Ruby share a wedding anniversary.

Penny and Oscar have been married the longest out of all my couples in any story except Lancaster in Rosebud.

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #lie ren #nora valkyrie #rwby au #rwby rosebud #rwby lasting embers #rwby twin snowflakes #RWBY premonition

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pedroam-bang · 4 months

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Chuck Versus The Sandworm - Chuck (2007-2012)

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darksaiyangoku · 9 months

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RWBY/Swords of Fate: Masters and Servants by Route

Dragonslayer Route

• Jaune Arc/Saber-Arthur

• Yang Xiao Long/Lancer-Cu Chulainn

• Ruby Rose/Archer-Arjuna

• Oscar Pine/Rider-Boudica

• Mercury Black/Berserker-Beowulf

• Emerald Sustrai/Caster-Hans

• Roman Torchwick/Assassin-Moriarty

• Cinder Fall/Saber-Mordred

Lancaster Route

• Jaune Arc/Saber-Ruby

• Ruby Rose/Archer-Jaune

• Sun Wukong/Lancer-Sage

• Mercury Black/Berserker-Arslan

• Nebula Violette/Assassin-Yoru

• May Zhou/Avenger-Whitley

• James Ironwood/Catser-Ozma

• Robyn Hill/Rider-Raven

• Morgan Faye/Archer-Gilgamesh

Knightshade Route

• Jaune Arc/Saber-Miyamoto Musashi

• Blake Belladonna/Rider-Medusa

• Rin Tohsaka/Archer-Hachiko

• Sage Ayana/Caster-Tamamo

• Shirou Emiya/Berserker-Sun Wukong

• Misaya Reirouken/Lancer-Elizabeth Bathory

• Adam Taurus/Assassin-Sienna Khan

• Saincrad Phahn/Berserker-Hazel Rainart

• Henry Marigold/Saber-Sigurd

• Amakasu Shirou Tokisada/Avenger-Jeanne Alter

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richmond-rex · 9 months

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Who should be the King of England? That is the question this elaborate medieval diagram dares to answer. Created during the War of the Roses, when the Houses of Lancaster and York were engaged in a bitter fight for the English throne, this multi-page chart enlivened with bright colors and gold leaf lands emphatically on Edward IV and the House of York. With efficiency and bravado, it places Edward within world history, tracing his lineage back to Adam and Eve and linking him to the great rulers of history including King David, Alexander the Great, King Arthur, and William the Conqueror. How could Henry VI, Edward’s bitter rival, possibly compete?

#edward iv #manuscript #15th century #wars of the roses

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ash5monster01 · 2 months

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Goes On Chapter Eight

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, eventual smut, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

Summary: Against his best efforts Charlie has to start at a new preparatory school after the tragic events that took place at Welton. The very events that led to the loss of his best friend and getting expelled in the first place. He has no plans to make friends let alone get close to anyone ever again. That is until he meets Evelyn and her interesting group of friends. No matter how hard he tries to push them away he finds it to be impossible. So he caves and in the end learns that life can still be enjoyable even if it feels like everyone is against you.

word count: 2.3k

Seven ←→ Nine

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

2/13/60

Charlie nearly jumps out of his skin when hands shake him awake. Eyes darting open only to not be able to spot anything in the dark room. His heart is practically in his throat as he registers he’s still in his room where he is meant to be and the dark figure looming above him is none other than Nate’s. Finally allowing himself to calm and sink back into his covers, he lets out a deep sigh.

“There is so many other ways you can wake a guy up” Charlie groans, hands coming to rub at his eyes. That’s when he sees it’s nearly midnight on the alarm clock beside him. Not so long until Valentine’s day.

“Sorry, but get dressed” Nate whispers, shuffling back to his side of the room where he sees him start putting on his shoes.

“Any reason in particular?” Charlie asks as he sits up and Nate just laughs.

“Yes dingus. It’s the night before the school dance. We have no homework and Mr. Lancaster took sleeping pills. That means it’s time to party” Nate tells him, referring to the teacher that monitors the dorm floor. He was much different from Dr. Hager but he did pretty much the same.

“Party, and how does that work around here” Charlie says knowing it was nearly impossible to party back at Welton. Nate just grins in the night and throws Charlie his jacket.

“Dress warm”

It’s not long until the boys are sneaking out the dorm floor. Finding their way downstairs and out the entrance. Snow falls slowly and Charlie is glad he had worn a sweatshirt under his coat. By the time they make it to the tree line and see the flicker of flashlights he finds himself experiencing some intense deja vu. Yet that all goes away when amongst the small crowd is Evelyn. She’s bundled up tightly with a blanket low hung off her shoulders. The green hat atop her head brings out her hazel eyes even in the dark of the night. Charlie feels the breath get knocked out of him as he spots her. He realizes he had never seen her in pants until now and it makes his mouth go slack.

“There you guys are, what took so long?” Violet seethes, teeth practically chattering as she stays tucked up under Martin’s arm.

“New guy here had a bunch of questions” Nate jokes as he moves to join his friends. There isn’t many people within the small crowd that Charlie doesn’t know. Only two he hadn’t really gotten to know. A blonde girl named Amy from his Math class and one of the basketball players Eli, who had his arms wrapped around Laurie. Jay Adam’s apparently never asked or Eli just beat him to it. Either way she still didn’t end up with small Nick Harrison.

“Hey you” Evelyn smiles up at Charlie as she approaches him. He does his best to smile back as he freezes in the night. Her small hand reaching out and smoothing down the front of his jacket.

“It’s freezing” he tells her and she giggles lightly, arm hooking with his own.

“Don’t worry, we have ways of warming you up” and Charlie’s cheeks flush red in the dark of the night. He knows that wasn’t the way she meant but then again she still probably knew exactly what she said. The small group moving deeper into the woods where you could no longer see the faint lights coming from the school windows.

Pretty soon they reach a clearing and Evelyn leads him to a log sat on the ground. As Charlie moves to sit beside her, Nate and Marty begin work on a fire in front of them, and he realizes fairly quickly that it had become a makeshift campfire set up.

“Shouldn’t be long until the fire is going but this should warm you up for now” she tells him softly, revealing the silver flask from her coat pocket. Charlie raises his eyebrows at her as she hands it to him.

“This is yours?” he can’t help but question and Evelyn laughs.

“Yeah, I’m not much for wine coolers like those girls over there” she points across the fire to the other log where Violet and Laurie had already cracked open a few. “Marty has a fake and he sneaks them into the woods every time we want to celebrate”

“Of course he does” Charlie says with a chuckle before twisting the top off and letting the liquid burn down his throat. When he goes to pass it back Evelyn is quick to take a sip as well, and Charlie’s throat dries because his lips had just been there, and it was extremely sexy to see a girl not choke on her liquor.

“Hey, better share” Nate calls out as the fire catches and Evelyn giggles before tossing it to him. They both watch as Nate unscrews the cap and tips the liquid back in his mouth. It’s when his face screws up tightly and a deep cough leaves his throat, Evelyn and Charlie die of laughter.

“Yeah get your jollies” he sneers, arm moving to wipe his mouth and pass the flask right back.

“Don’t worry big guy, the girls got some wine coolers for you over there” Charlie teases and Nate rolls his eyes yet he can’t help but be happy. Charlie and him had gotten really close after their talk and even if he still did love Evelyn it was so much easier to bear now.

“I’m surprised you aren’t sleeping and stressing about tomorrow” Charlie says even though he supposed by now it already is tomorrow.

“I can stress in the morning, since I have to work the dance it’s better to enjoy myself now” Evelyn tells him and Charlie smiles, shivering lightly in the night air.

“Still cold?” Evelyn asks innocently, eyes batting up at him, and Charlie smiles.

“I’ve faced worse” he says, remembering all those freezing nights spent in the cave. They were all worth it though.

“Yeah well I can’t have my co planner sick” Evelyn says and next thing Charlie knows, she’s wrapping the edge of her blanket around him. Scooting up flush to his body and huddling into his own warmth. His heart nearly doubles in speed as he pulls the blanket close to them both and wrapping them inside. “Better?”

“Way better” he whispers, face so close to her own all he can think about is kissing her. The way the fire reflects off her eyes is enough to make his insides melt, but before he can get to lost in his head he’s pulled right back out.

“So Charlie, does Welton have anything like this? Some secret party getaway?” Violet asks from across the fire and Charlie turns to face her.

“Not really, I mean me and my friends used to sneak out to this old cave but it was too strict for us to ever really have a secret hangout spot. Our dean had guard dogs even, barked if we ever tried to leave our rooms after curfew” Charlie tells them and majority of them are shocked to even hear of this. An actual fact about the boy in front of them who had spent so long trying to hideaway.

“How’d you sneak out then?” Marty asks, freeing a cigarette from his letterman jacket and lighting it.

“Dog treats” Charlie smirks and the group around the fire is laughing at the image.

“Probably wasn’t popular enough to know about the best party spot on campus” Nate teases, settling on a log beside Amy since it was the last spot open.

“Oh you’ve got it all wrong Nathan Price. I was a living legend at that school. If there was a party spot, I would’ve been the one to make it” Charlie says, the old confidence slurring in his tone. The flash of amusement in his eyes is enough to convince everyone around him.

“Is that why you got your ass beat?” Evelyn asks and the rest of the group wears confused looks at the mention of this.

“Not exactly. I wrote an article in the school paper without permission and during the assembly to address it I snuck an old phone in and when it rang I answered it in front of the entire student body and staff. Told the dean it was a phone call from God, and they should allow girls at Welton” and as he recalls the story, the rest of them laugh harder and harder. Evelyn even is shocked by the outgoing stunt the boy had pulled.

“That definitely deserved an ass beating” Evelyn agrees and Charlie chuckles, feeling that old confidence surge through him and settle in his bones. Which may explain why he takes the arm pressed against her and wraps it slowly around her waist and out of sight from everyone else.

“Yeah, I’m man enough to admit that even I had gone a little too far with that one. My friends were pissed” he says, a flash of Neil’s face as he limped back to his dorm room. The sadness in his eyes as he feared for the worst. As if Evelyn senses his sadness she snuggles in closer to his side which in turn causes Charlie to squeeze at her waist.

“Why would they be mad?” Laurie questions and Charlie takes a moment before deciding to answer.

“I had signed the article with the name of our secret club, while none of them had no idea I was writing it let alone publishing it. Hence the phone call from God so I could take the blame and protect all of them” he says and Evelyn’s heart soars for the kind boy beside her. One she really would’ve liked to know five months ago.

“I take it back, apparently he is a legend” Nate says as a cigarette gets passed to him and Charlie just laughs with the shake of his head.

“Not anymore, I just so happened to get myself kicked out and dethroned” Charlie says with a soft shrug.

“Why not try for legend status here?” Amy giggles around the puff of smoke from the cigarette Nate had just given her.

“It’s too late for that, I’ve already been stuck in the lame planning committee. My reputation can never come back from that” and Evelyn gasps before knocking her shoulder into his ribs to which he laughs.

“Such a jerk” she shakes her head as the group starts to talk amongst themselves and Evelyn grabs the cigarette Amy has passed her way.

“You smoke?” Charlie questions, more surprised by her tonight than he had in the entirety of knowing her.

“Only on special occasions, especially when I need to relax” and then she was sucking a deep drag, the lit end glowing in the dark night.

“Do you smoke?” she questioned right back around the puff of smoke she blew into the air.

“I did. When I got kicked out I had to abandon my cigarette stash at the school. Worst part is knowing my old roommate was such a goodie two shoes he’ll never get any use out of it. Feels like I wasted them twice” Charlie says and Evelyn chuckles as she taps some ash off the end.

“Well it’s a nasty habit to have anyway. I hate kissing boys who taste like smoke” she said with the soft shake of her head and Charlie was quickly smirking at her.

“Got some plans to kiss me doll?” he asks and she blushes only briefly before laughing into the night air. Without responding she guides her hand to him, cigarette pressed between her fingers. The palm of her hand meets his chin only slightly as her fingers press to his lips and allow him to inhale a puff.

“Not anymore” she said with a mischievous grin, pulling the cigarette back and passing it back to Amy.

“You’re killing me” he told her with a sincerity she was still getting used to. Out of nowhere the last few days Charlie had really come out of his shell. He was approaching her more often than not, spending time with Nate outside of their dorm, and eating lunch with them. It had been a big turnaround.

“That just might be my goal” she tells him and Charlie is squeezing her waist where he still holds her to him tightly. He hadn’t been cold once since she had been there.

“I’m not worried, girls can’t resist me” he says with a coolness that had been so foreign until now. Evelyn just shakes her head and goes to take another sip from the flask.

“I’d like to say that isn’t true but I wouldn’t be here if it was” she says and Charlie laughs into the night air. Tonight had been the first time in a long time he hadn’t felt overwhelmed by the sadness of Neil. He could just be him and maybe begin to accept his life for what it was.

“Still no kiss then?” he asked, smirk heavy on the lips Evelyn so desperately did want to kiss.

“Ask me again later” she tells him and Charlie quickly pumps his free hand in the air.

“I can live with that answer” he tells her and Evelyn smiles before turning her attention back to some of her friends. Easy conversation flows through the cold forest and laughs echo in the late night air. It was the same and yet entirely different and Charlie found that he could be comforted by it while also saddened. You don’t get over things in one night but each new day was becoming easier and easier. Plus being in the woods somehow made it easier, made him feel closer to the boys, and that’s when he remembered.

I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately.

Taglist: @eden-punk @linmichea1 @pursuedbyamemoryy @mynameisjxlia

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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