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zorosdimples · 21 days

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DUSK, RESPLENDENT

pairing ⟢ astarion x gn!reader

warnings ⟢ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. not sexually explicit, but highly suggestive… smut-lite! descriptions of blood, blood sucking, bite marks, scars, etc. this occurs after astarion first feeds from tav. reader has breasts and a vagina and is called “beautiful” once (i swiped a line from the game).

word count ⟢ 1208

notes ⟢ this particular scenario has been rotting my brain since september. my first official bg3 fic—please enjoy!

It’s impossible to miss the heat of his crimson gaze scorching your flesh.

You’ve felt it ever since the night you discovered his secret: that quiet evening when the stars shined as silent sentinels, the embers of the campfire danced into ash, and the ghost of a breath roused you. You offered Astarion your neck—swanlike, untouched, vital—prey allowing predator a taste of divinity as he buried his glistening fangs into your skin. Agony bled into a hazy euphoria as the vampire fed on your lifeblood. You barely had enough stamina to push him off (lest he leave you drained and lifeless), rivulets of you the color of his irises running from his gums to his chin, dripping onto the forest floor.

Many moons have since passed, though your mind always revisits the feeling of his weight atop yours, the strength of his jaw, the vitality in his sated stare. The sun starts its golden descent as you bathe in a creek by camp. You scrub your skin with vigor, almost without care as you seek to shed layers of sweat, grime, and gore. The midsummer air is stifling and the cicadas play their shrill song, but the chilly caress of the water makes you giddy.

It takes no small effort, but once your hair and body are stripped bare (clean enough), you remain in the water and watch pinks and oranges and yellows bleed and bloom across the wide sky. Some may say that resting for even a moment in a situation like yours—with a mindflayer parasite in your brain—is to accept death. But if you were to die at this very moment, surrounded by beauty? You couldn’t dream of a more peaceful end.

You feel your visitor’s presence before you see or hear him. It starts as an itch at your nape, nagging and unsettling—insistent. “Enjoying the view?” The playful lilt of Astarion's smooth voice never fails to set your nerves alight.

As you turn to face him, the water laps at your collarbone. You spy the pale elf along the bank, donning only his breeches. Cheeky bastard. “I could ask you the same,” you quip.

“I am indeed.” Lithe fingers tease the waistband of his pants. “But I can't help but feel as though something is missing.”

Walking a few steps toward the shore, you reveal more flesh, water skimming the top of your breasts. “It wouldn’t happen to be a rogue vampire, would it?”

“And if it is?”

“He should join.”

You sink beneath the creek’s surface, allowing him some privacy and urging your face to cool down. When you plant your feet on the silty ground and stand up, you rub crystalline droplets from your eyes and blink a few times before your companion comes into focus.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets with a smirk before approaching you, dexterous fingers grasping and pulling at the fat around your hips. “I can't help but feel as though you’ve been avoiding me.”

Without thinking, your fingers weave through Astarion's moonbeam hair, gently tugging on the curls. The elf pulls you closer with a pleased hum. “Whatever gave you that impression?” you ask.

“Don’t play coy; I haven't so much as gotten a breath alone with you.” His gaze softens; you see a flash of vulnerability, but all too soon, it disappears. “Do you…regret this?” A chilly thumb grazes the puckered scar on your neck. The featherlight touch plucks a shudder from you, your spine bowing—strung for him.

“Quite the opposite,” you admit. Your attention flits down to his lips. Maker, you know they would feel divine dancing with your own, slipping down to carry the tune across your flesh, skating lower and lower until—

“So,” he says, palms sweeping up your arms and the slope of your shoulders until they rest on either side of your neck. He strokes the delicate flesh, his touch unhurried yet charged; restless. “You wouldn’t begrudge me another taste, hm?”

Perhaps you should be embarrassed by how eagerly you want this to happen, how many times you’ve envisioned him tasting your blood again—and perhaps tasting something more (such thoughts have fueled many solitary searches for pleasure within the canvas walls of your tent). But living in the dusky shadows of near-certain death has made you hopelessly brazen.

You lean in, petal-soft lips grazing one of his pointed ears. “It’s yours for the taking.”

Astarion’s irises darken at your words, pools of congealed blood. He drops his head and presses a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to your scar, his molten breath warming your body, melding you to his touch.

He bares his fangs and bites you, piercing the puffy tissue, a satisfied groan rumbling his throat and resonating in your veins. The pain is dizzying but dulls quickly, the jarring sensation of knife-sharp incisors tearing your flesh carried away by the flow of the creek. Fuzzy pleasure soon clouds your mind. The sloppy lap of the elf’s tongue against your wound is all you can discern; you want to feel him everywhere.

The vampire’s moans shudder deep within his chest and reverberate through your body from where you're connected, vibrating lower until they settle in your core. A delicious pressure rocks against your belly and seems to relish the softness. It feels like he gluts for an eternity—like this is all you know—housed within a single, precious breath.

When Astarion surfaces, fangs retracting, you stumble in his embrace, coming down from your high. The ache of want remains as you rest your forehead against his freckled shoulder, and morphs into need as your vision clears. His eyes are unfocused, crazed with bloodlust; you’ve never seen them so red, glowing like moonlit wine. His chin is slick with ichor, and—absentmindedly or not, it’s impossible to tell—his tongue darts out to mop up some of the remnants of your sweetness.

One, two, three heaves of your chests pass before you crash together with a swiftness that betrays desperation, errant waves succumbing to the tide.

You never liked the tang of your blood until you tasted it on Astarion’s silken lips. It’s…cloying. The syrupy copper overwhelms your senses as the elf smears a claret gash across your mouth. He drunkenly sucks on your tongue, fangs nicking the muscle, urging you to give him more. Your fingers twist and twirl the pearly down that covers his chest as he squeezes your ass, pulling you so close that not even a whisper could get between you. You’re engulfed in a heady fire, one that can’t be put out by the cool water around you—especially as the vampire’s cock nestles between your clenched thighs, bumping against your clit.

A crashing sound in the surrounding forest interrupts your shared bliss. The moon ascended and the stars awoke while you were wrapped up in one another. Lightning bugs glimmer and flit through the dark woods, and you know that you both need to leave. Supper will be soon; any absences will be noticed. But before he pulls away, Astarion places a prim kiss on your lips.

“Meet me by the campfire after everyone else has fallen asleep,” he whispers against your cheek.

Your heart trills as you watch him disappear into the night—excited for the adventure to come.

#if this is messy i’m sorry i just had to let it go. it’s imperfect but it’s full of love (and lust)#banner is a detail of ‘sunset on the sea’ (1872) by john frederick kensett #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #astarion <3 #༄ kae writes

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hjea · 23 days

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Star Trek: Enterprise 4x21 Terra Prime

All the rocking in the world will not make that child vulcan... or human.

#star trek enterprise #trekedit #t'pol #elizabeth tucker #john frederick paxton #hey look i did decide to make myself sad again!#but despite the heartbreak i love this scene #paxton sucks but he makes such a good sparring partner for t'pol #all their encounters make for such great tension in an already great episode #although it is kinda ridiculous how thick paxton lays on the 'that child is a harbinger of doom!!1!!' line #like dude... you MADE that child #this is very much doom of your own making #let's chill out a bit #star trek #enterprise #mine

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antiqueanimals · 2 years

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Ducks and Ducklings by a Pond. John Frederick Herring I (1795-1865)

#birds #waterfowl #ducks #John Frederick Herring I

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teatimeatwinterpalace · 1 year

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In early 1862, rumours began circulating in Germany alluding to scenes of jealousy between the Crown Princess and her handsome husband over a lady at court with whom he had supposedly fallen in love. Soon the word was that Vicky was leaving for England in order to sue for divorce. Even during her stay on the Isle of Wight, she was pursued by such rumours from all corners of Germany. In desperation, she wrote to her husband: ‘These stories about our ménage have become so widespread in the provinces, & indeed throughout all of Germany, that Stockmar has received letters from numerous acquaintances asking him if they are indeed true.’

Both husband and wife were furious at this distortion of the truth, and immediately attributed the rumours to machinations of the arch-conservative Kreuzzeitung party. ‘No words can describe such nonsense’, exclaimed the Crown Prince. The entire matter was nothing more than ‘further evidence that one does not wish a royal marriage to enjoy bürgerlich [middle-class] simplicity and happiness’, he wrote, adding bitterly: ‘Our friends the Junkers are no doubt behind this tale.’

‘It is simply too malicious’, averred the Crown Princess. ‘Just because we are so happy & so in love with each other, they begrudge us the opportunity to be different from so many others! But you can be sure it is all the fault of our dear loyal zeitungspartei. The Democrats would not be capable of such a thing, & besides would have nothing to gain from it!’ These were in fact the first warning shots in a slander campaign which later developed into a veritable system under Bismarck.

Over the next years, neither her passion nor her love and admiration for her husband waned. At the beginning of 1861, after being married for three years, Vicky wrote to her mother: ‘Not a hope has been disappointed, not and expectation that has not been realized.’ Day after day, she wrote, she found herself admiring anew her husband’s noble qualities, his level-headedness and sens of duty. ‘He is such a good son, such a good husband, and such a good brother!’

Young Wilhelm: The Kaiser’s Early Life by John C. G. Röhl

#kaiser frederick iii #empress victoria #victoria princess royal #england #prussia #*handsome husband*#john i see you

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theboarsbride · 20 days

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idk what's the matter with me but... imma start plotting and developing the Bear Wife and totally-not-sir-john-franklin and the totally-not-The-Terror WIP 'SHE WEARS THE FACE OF A POLAR BEAR 'because....the brainrot...it's slowly returning....mmmmmm old man........gonna make this an 'arctic gothic' WIP................

#Jojo rambles #this is my “Sir John Franklin lives AU” but as a book WIP #but instead sir John he's 'captain frederick thornton' lmfao #and his wife calls him 'freddie'#instead of having jacko the monkey as an animal companion he has a pet canary named Goldie that lady Kitty gave him (and also bear wife lol #and then there is his wife lady Kitty who totally is not my terror self insert whoops #she's becoming the sugar baby oc because she likes it when a man twice her age praises her work #and also she's associated with canary and spring-time imagery #guys I swear this WIP will be original and fun I promise this isn't just the terror fanfic I swearrrrr

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fandomdancer · 8 months

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Attack of the Domestics

A/N: Encouraged by @michysminions7 and inspired by @jenksel to post this. I've gotten very insecure about my work and barely write anymore, other than little author-insert fluffs. This is one of those, but I still hope you enjoy reading it.

Fandom: Baa Baa Black Sheep

Pairing: Bobby Anderson/OC

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,116

Summary: Bobby's having a bad time at the party the night before a mission. He tries to find some alone time to sulk - and overhears an unexpected conversation.

Damn Wiley, Anderson thought as he stomped towards the beach. How in the hell had he managed to lose a girl to Wiley? Last he checked the man hadn't been anywhere near him, and then poof! Boyish charm and floppy hair and that genuine puppy dog smile and the cute brunette Anderson had just been about to score turned all her attention from the action at hand.

It's not fair, he thought grumpily to himself. Though if he was being honest, he was more upset about losing a girl to Wiley than he was about losing a girl. He usually had no problems chatting up the ladies but he could get a little overenthusiastic. Not to mention his height sometimes worked against him. Ladies like 'em tall? Not always!

He wasn't surprised to find another person on the beach, but he did do a double take when he realized it was another woman. One of the nurses, no doubt, and she looked a little familiar. Had she said hi to him earlier? He'd been so focused on the brunette (whose name he could no longer remember) that he couldn't recall if someone else had spoken to him. But there sat another nurse, wearing a white midriff-baring top and a pair of khaki shorts. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her elbows rested on them. Her head was in her hands. Wait, was she crying?

Anderson felt a flare of anger bloom in his chest. Who the hell was enough of a jerk to leave a woman crying on the beach? He started out of the brush towards her…and a voice interrupted him.

"Lori?"

Anderson dropped to the ground, praying he hadn't been seen.

The woman lifted her head, and in the dim light from the buildings behind them he could see she did have tears on her face. It was a plain face, framed by lovely brown hair, but there was something haunting about it. And yes – she was familiar. Anderson couldn't help but stare.

"Mags?" the woman asked.

"Lori, what are you doing away from the party?" Another nurse, older, blonde, strode purposefully down towards her. Anderson had seen her before for sure. She was one of the more no-nonsense women, the kind you couldn't use your best lines on because she'd laugh in your face, ruffle your hair, and call you cute. The last thing any guy wanted when he was looking to pick up a woman was for her to think he was cute.

"I'm fine, Margaret," the woman…Lori, Anderson thought, her name is Lori…replied.

"The hell you are, you're crying." Margaret sat in the sand beside Lori, thankfully closer to Anderson so Lori kept her head turned in his direction. He didn't want to listen in on the conversation struggling to hear what Lori had to say.

Of course, if he was the gentleman he professed to be, he wouldn't listen in on this conversation at all.

"I'm fine!" Lori wiped her eyes. "I'm just not in a party mood."

"After seeing the pickings in there, I'll buy that," Margaret said, (bitch, Anderson thought, then flinched at the sound of his Mama's voice in his head chastising him for such language), "but you were so excited earlier today. I heard you girls talking, I know you were all anxious to meet up with Major Boyington's men."

That's right, Anderson thought proudly.

"I was. Am. Just…oh, Mags, it's stupid. Don't ask me."

Any self-respecting man would walk away when a woman said that to him. But Anderson knew enough to know that when a woman said that to another woman, it was an invitation.

He was right…sort of. "What's so stupid? You came, you saw, you decided not to play. You want to wait for the next opportunity to have some fun, that's your choice."

Lori looked away, and suddenly her shoulders shook. Anderson twitched instinctively, wanting to step out and comfort the crying woman. It was basic manners, not to mention the fact that comforting a crying woman upped your chances of getting lucky later.

"Lori!" Margaret leaned over and put a hand on Lori's shoulder. "Look, if you're not interested, there's nothing wrong with that…"

"I know…" Lori blurted, her voice distorted with sobs. "I know you all think…I'm a prude."

"Oh, don’t be silly, we don't think that…"

"Yeah, you do, I heard Melinda talking the other night."

Ah, Melinda, that was the girl he'd lost to Wiley. And now he recalled, he had spoken to Lori. She'd said hi while he and Melinda were talking. But he'd been deep into weaving a setup for himself and Melinda to leave, and hadn't really responded to her.

He felt a little guilty about that. After all, she was out here crying. Could it be because of him?

"What you do with whoever you want is your business," Margaret said. "You don't have to brag about it as much as Melinda does. The whole camp knows who she goes around with almost before she actually goes around with them."

Anderson's lip curled. Huh…maybe he needed to go save Wiley. He'd seen nurses play with the feelings of his friends before. The last one had almost torn the Black Sheep apart.

"Just when people ask me how my night went and I don't want to tell them…they assume I'm just a…a…"

"Cold fish?"

Lori nodded.

"And you're not?"

Lori stared at her and Anderson found himself very, very interested in her answer. He'd save Wiley later.

"I haven't been with a man in months," Lori finally said. "Not since before I came here. And you know how that turned out. I just haven't been interested. No one has interested me…but…but now..."

Anderson's eyebrows lifted.

Margaret tilted her head. "Are you saying there is someone in there that you're interested in?"

Lori nodded.

"Then why aren't you in there?"

"I don't have a chance. Melinda's got him."

Wiley. Anderson couldn't help the twist of disappointment in his stomach. It was one thing to lose a girl face to face to Wiley, but hearing another crying about losing her chance with Wiley because he was already taken…well it definitely made Anderson want to leave the area. He started to unravel from his hiding position to slink away. Maybe he wouldn't save Wiley from Melinda. Seemed like the guy could use a little bad luck with women.

"That doll dizzy with the fluffy blonde hair?" Margaret laughed. "I've seen him before, Lori. He chases as many women as Melinda chases men. You're not missing out."

"His hair wasn't fluffy and blonde, it was short and black," Lori said.

Anderson stopped moving. What?

Margaret echoed him. "What? Black hair?"

"Black hair," Lori repeated. "And a beautiful smile. He's got these really full lips. You know, the kind you know would feel good on yours? And when he smiles it stretches up into his eyes and squints them, like his whole face is enjoying whatever made him smile. It's an honest smile."

"You're talking about one of Major Boyington's men?"

"Yes. He was talking to Melinda. I guess she turned him down or something because the guy you're talking about was definitely not him. He was really tall. Like six feet or more."

Now Anderson was paying so much attention, he was holding his breath.

"Oh, yes!" Margaret exclaimed. "Yes, tends to stay in the back, keeps his hands in his pockets. He slouches, probably because he's a giant…"

Like you're a giant pain in the…Anderson shook his head to stop the thought.

"I never got his name," Lori said.

Anderson clawed his fingers into the ground, staring at her. My name's Bobby!

"Well, he's not talking to Melinda anymore," Margaret said. "Why don't you come back in and see if you can salvage the night?"

Anderson wondered how fast he could get back to the party without the women seeing him. His head was spinning. Oh yeah…he wasn't breathing. He exhaled hard and yanked in a breath of sea air.

Lori shook her head. "I…look, he's only going to want one thing. And…"

"And what's the problem with that?"

"Like I said, it's stupid."

"Lori, what are you talking about?"

Lori suddenly threw up her hands. "I don't want to just fool around tonight with him, Mags! I know, I know I have no idea who he is! I don't even know his name! But seeing him smile and laugh like that…it was like…my entire life, I've been living in the dark, and someone turned on the light. I want to cook breakfast for that smile. I want to hear that laugh while watching one of those old Buster Keaton pictures. I want to feel his arms hold me and hear his voice tell me I'm safe from everything in the world."

Anderson was aware his mouth had dropped open. He wasn't aware of much else.

"Lieutenant Beaufort, you had an attack of the domestics," Margaret sighed. "It happens. You see a tall, strong, confident man like that, and everything inside you says he's the one for you. But Lori…he's a pilot. The most he can do for you right now is just right now. Tomorrow he could be dead. If you go filling your head with dreams of the future and tomorrow he gets shot down…how many more like him will break your heart before you give up? You need to focus on the right now and let the future come when it's ready. Now if you can't fool around with him tonight, I understand. But don't deny yourself a good time because you're too busy trying to live in the future."

Anderson wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to shout at Margaret or run for the party or just run as far from the situation as possible. The way he saw it, everyone was right here. He might get shot down tomorrow. But did that mean thinking about the future was forbidden? Was it bad to try to think about life after the war?

And he couldn't get her words out of his head. "...like someone turned on the light."

She certainly was pretty, though not the best-looking nurse in the bunch. And she wasn't interested in fooling around, so his chances of getting any tonight were zilch if he pursued her. She wanted more and he had no idea if he wanted…

Well…some. He had some idea. He thought about home often. New Orleans. He'd had a girl before the war had started but once he'd announced he was heading to the South Pacific, she had told him she couldn't wait for him. And it would be nice to have someone. It would be nice to think about a future in New Orleans, with a woman that stated he'd brought light into her life. But he couldn't really trust Lori would stick around. Emma sure hadn't and she'd been his high school sweetheart.

He supposed whether or not he trusted Lori didn't preclude him from getting to know her a little more. But he still needed to get back to the party without being seen.

"I can't do it, Margaret. Not tonight. Put me back on duty in the hospital, will you? I'm sure Sophie wants to go to the party."

Margaret sighed deeply. "Are you sure?"

Lori laughed, the sound bitter and beautiful all at once. "No! But if I go back there and I see him, I don't know what I'll do! I don't know if I can just let go of this and have a great night and wake up tomorrow and go on with my life. Maybe I can. But if I can't…I don't want to know what it'll feel like if I can't."

Margaret stared at her for a long time before nodding. "You are going to have to cultivate some inner strength if you're going to survive your assignments here, Loretta," she said. "If you care this much about everything, it's going to kill you." She stood and helped Lori up. "I'll drive you back to the hospital."

"Thanks," Lori replied. "And…look, don't tell any of the girls, okay? Just…tell them I wasn't in a party mood and decided to leave.”

"Fine."

The two women passed by Anderson and he focused up at Lori. His stomach turned when he saw the broken look on her face, and it was all he could do not to jump up and say I'll take it from here. She wanted him, and he'd be damned if he missed an opportunity to at least speak to her.

He had to find a reason to go to the hospital. Tonight.

#baa baa black sheep #black sheep squadron #lieutenant robert anderson #bob anderson #bob anderson/oc #oc #original female character #fanfiction #writer #author #i love him your honor #john larroquette #lynne frederick

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deadpresidents · 1 year

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Just wondering, do you still think that John Brown was evil like you said several years ago?

I never said John Brown was evil. I said he was a terrorist and I think the way I worded my answer made it sound like I didn't think he was a hero. He was a terrorist by the literal definition of his actions: he was using violence to achieve specific political objectives. That's exactly what a terrorist does. But he was a "good" terrorist (I think I even have a book about him called The Good Terrorist). He was a terrorist whose aims I agreed with and would have 100% supported if I had been alive at the time. And while he fit the literal, textbook definition of a terrorist, he also was the literal, textbook definition of a freedom fighter. And I do think he was a hero; he was genuinely, physically fighting to abolish slavery and on behalf of equal rights at a time when almost nobody else in the country was doing so. He not only continuously risked his life (and the lives of his family members) on behalf of the cause, but ultimately gave his life in the pursuit of freedom for all. Again, I think the way I worded that answer a few years ago made it sound like I disagreed with what he did, but that was not the case and certainly not my intended answer. I even said that what he did was admirable in the answer, but I wasn't clear enough with my wording at the time.

To be clear, I believe John Brown was a hero and a martyr. He's always been a personal hero. I don't have very much art on my walls, but one of the few pieces I do have in my home is actually a copy of this Jacob Lawrence print of John Brown and Frederick Douglass:

So, no, I never thought John Brown was evil. Quite the opposite, in fact. I made the mistake of answering that question a few years ago like a historian instead of as the human being with strong personal beliefs about the subject that I've always had. Hopefully this clears up that misconception.

#John Brown #Frederick Douglass #Jacob Lawrence #Abolitionists #Slavery #Abolition #Emancipation #Heroes #Also...I now hear Ethan Hawke's voice and personality as John Brown in 'The Good Lord Bird' whenever I think or read about John Brown

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unanchored-ship · 3 months

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okay so i originally made this for my banner but my mind changes too fast so its just been sitting in my files for idk, 2 months?

Anyways, its very headcanonned and how I like to imagine they would've interacted

#guys frederick i of prussia needs more recognition #or maybe he doesn't #and he can stay insignificant but quirky #to me :)#they're the children william never had #fighting over succession of the title 'prince of orange' lol #ouch was that much #um anyways #william iii #frederick i of prussia #john william friso

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docpiplup · 8 months

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The Bastard Kings and their families

This is series of posts are complementary to this historical parallels post from the JON SNOW FORTNIGHT EVENT, and it's purpouse to discover the lives of medieval bastard kings, and the following posts are meant to collect portraits of those kings and their close relatives.

In many cases it's difficult to find contemporary art of their period, so some of the portrayals are subsequent.

1) Ferdinand I of Naples ( 1424 – 1494), son of Alfonso V of Aragon and Giraldona Carlino

2) Alfonso V of Aragon (1396 – 1458), son of Ferdinand I of Aragon and his wife Leonor de Albuquerque

3) Isabella of Taranto or Clermont (c. 1424 – 1465), daughter of Tristan of Clermont and Catherine of Taranto

4) Alfonso II of Naples ( 1448 – 1495), son of Ferdinand I of Naples and his wife Isabella of Taranto

5) Eleanor of Naples (1450 – 1493) & Beatrice of Naples (1457 – 1508), daughters of Ferdinand I of Naples and his wife Isabella of Taranto

6) Frederick I of Naples (1452 – 1504), son of Ferdinand I of Naples and his wife Isabella of Taranto

7) Ferdinand of Aragon and Guardato (before 1494–1542), son of Ferdinand I of Naples and Diana Guardato

8) Eleanor of Aragon (1402 – 1445), daughter of Ferdinand I of Aragon and Leonor de Albuquerque

9) I. John II of Aragon & Navarre (1398- 1479), son of Ferdinand I of Aragon and his wife Leonor de Albuquerque

II. Blanche I of Navarre (1385-1441), daughter of Charles III of Navarre and his wife Eleanor of Castile

III. Blanche II of Navarre (1424 – 1464), daughter of John II of Aragon and his wife Blanche I of Navarre

IV. Eleanor I of Navarre (1426 - 1479), daughter of John II of Aragon and his wife Blanche I of Navarre

V. Charles of Viana/ Charles IV of Navarre (1421- 1461), son of John II of Aragon and his wife Blanche I of Navarre

VI. Ferdinand II of Aragon & V of Castile (1452-1516), son of John II of Aragon and his wife Juana Enríquez

10)

I. Mary of Aragon ( 1403- 1445), daughter of Ferdinand I of Aragon and his wife Leonor de Albuquerque

II. John II of Castile (1405- 1454), son of Henry III of Castile and his wife Catherine of Lancaster

III. Henry IV of Castile (1425-1474), son of John II of Castile and his wife Mary of Aragon

IV. Isabella of Portugal (1428 - 1496), daughter of John of Portugal and Isabella of Barcelos

V. Isabella I of Castile (1451-1504), daughter of John II of Castile and his wife Isabella of Portugal

VI. Alfonso of Castile (1453-1468), son of John II of Castile and his wife Isabella of Portugal

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