the ice queen and her court

anonymous asked:

prompt, if ur taking them: jaime rides to winterfell and bends the knee to sansa and becomes an honorable advisor, Jon is very jealous. (bonus points if he walks past dany who thinks he's bending the knee to her instead of sansa)

Jon x Sansa, Jaime & Sansa

The wind bit into him, whipping at his cloak, but Sansa stood at the battlement’s edge as if they faced only a summer snow. Her hair lifted and fluttered about, even slapping against him once or twice. Jon fought the temptation to wrap it around his fist and pull her to him.

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upyrica  asked:

Since I am always delighted to see it, and every mention of Olga blesses this godforsaken site, can you please talk about her a little more? Asking purely because so far I am the only person I know doing it.

With infinite pleasure, because St. Olga of Kiev is one of the most magnificent bitches in history and a personal idol of mine. I named a hive of bees after her.

Olga was the daughter of Oleg Veshchy, the founder of the Kievan Rus state. She was married to Prince Igor, the son of Prince Rurik of Novgorod. (A founder of the Rurik dynasty of Tsars.)

From all accounts, they seemed quite happy together. They had a son, and everything seemed good.

When Oleg died, Igor became the ruler of the Kievan Rus. As the ruler, he undertook one of the standard duties of the ruler, namely, going around to the local Slavic tribes and collecting tribute (basically, early taxes) from them.

One tribe, the Drevlyans, did Not Like It when he demanded more tribute than they were accustomed to paying, and summarily killed him on the spot. There was much laughing and carousing over this, not knowing that Olga, at the news of her husband’s death, had entered Ice Queen Ultimate Revenge Mode and would only be appeased by the blood of those who had killed her husband. She had the full support of the Kievan Rus army, who knew a queen of steel and fire when they saw one, and the deep respect of the Kievan Rus people, who also knew that the Drevlyans Done Fucked Up.

The Drevlyan tribe then compounded their mistakes. Assuming that a young widow with a three year old son would be a weak and easy target, they sent envoys to her court to attempt to pressure her into marrying the Drevlyan prince, Mal.

This was a huuuuge fuckin mistake oh my gods.

Olga greeted them graciously, all smiles and good manners. She told the messengers that as a measure of esteem, her people would carry their boats from the river directly to her palace. The messenger bought it, and sure enough Olga’s people showed up, picked up the boats, carried them inland…and then threw them into hugeass pits dug for just this purpose and buried those fuckers alive.

But she was not done.

Olga sent word to the Drevlyans that she accepted their offer, and that she was still hosting their messengers, nope, don’t worry that they haven’t come back, haha, they’re just partying, you should send some more important envoys to help figure out wedding logistics.

They did.

When they arrived, she invited them into a bathhouse to freshen up after her trip. And then, once they were all inside, she bolted the doors from the outside and burned it to the ground.

After that, she sent a message to the Drevlyans saying oh yep I am super about getting married, I’m going to come and let’s have a lavish feast in the memory of my dead husband first. The Drevlyans thought this was a splendid idea.

So she shows up, bringing extra booze, and the Drevlyan court gets absolutely hammered. Olga then stands up, and as cold as steel in a Siberian December orders her men, who’d not been indulging, to kill the lot.

And they did. All five thousand of them.

Olga went home. The Drevlyans, having mostly got the message, meekly paid her tribute as their ruler from then on.

Save for the town of Iskorosten, who were, apparently, still nursing a grudge. “Fuck you,” they said. “You’re getting nothing.”

Olga smiled, which should have been a warning sign right there. “Fine.” She said, sweetly. “Then all I ask is a dove from each home.” (Pigeons and doves, keep in mind, were commonly kept for eggs, meat, and manure, and will always return to their roost.)

Iskorosten thought this was reasonable, and did so.

So Olga had a piece of burning paper tied to each dove and released. They flew back to their dovecotes in the city, which burned to the ground.

Olga ruled as regent for her son until he matured, and then ruled at home for him when he was off on his (frequent) military campaigns. He felt safe in going on these, mind, because he knew his mom had shit at home on lockdown. They were a great team, TBH.

She converted to Christianity and was baptized in Constantinople sometime around 955 to 957. Her efforts to spread it gained her sainthood.

A surprise for Rhys

Rhys and I walked side by side through the tall doors of the winter court palace. Our hands were interlocked, our faces unreadable as we made our way to the front of the icy white room that was elegantly decorated with whites, silvers, and blues. Sky high ceilings and full length windows welcomed us, along with the high lord of the winter court and his mate sitting on two white thrones at the front of the brightly lit room, surrounded by their court members. They wore rich furs and tight white leather armour. We too were surrounded by our court–contrasting severely with everything in this place in our dark attire. Cassian was at my right, and Mor was at Rhys’s left with Azriel, Nesta, and Elain following behind us. Amren stayed behind to protect our city. We had received the summons to appear before the winter court earlier that morning, giving us very little time to plan. I forced my breathing to even out and let a calm smirk show on my face as we came to a stop before Kallias.

They made no move to stand or speak, so I took a step forward, letting go of Rhys’s hand. “Kallias, Viviane–how are you? We came as quickly as we could.” Viviane did not look at any of us, her gaze focused on something far away. Kallias stood, angling his stare at Rhys. “We have been receiving threats from the humans daily now, and we aren’t going to put up with it any longer.”

I tightened my hands into fists and then released, forcing a calm over myself. Still, snowflakes danced on my fingertips. “We are handling the situation as we speak. As soon as we leave here I will personally be going to them to assure the threats are put to an end for good.” Finally, after I finished speaking Kallias looked at me instead of Rhys, acknowledging my existence. He then spoke directly to me, “This is exactly the type of thing we feared woul-”

“The children,” Viviane cut in as she stood from her seat, her striking blue eyes and pale blonde hair making me want to paint an ice queen on fire. “They threatened our children, Feyre.” She said, coming closer to me as a single tear slid down her pale cheek. Kallias took a step towards her, a look of pain on his face, but Viviane put a hand up to him as a signal to stay where he was. I could feel my court stirring behind me, but did not acknowledge it.

Slowly, Viviane took my hand into her own. “How do we know they aren’t just as terrible as Amarantha herself?” She asked. “You, High lady, should understand more than most; seeing as you are with child.”

I felt my blood freeze at her words. Felt my heart stop inside of my chest as her voice seemed to echo throughout the now too large room. I knew, but it was too early to tell anyone. Even my mate, who I was now terrified to look at. A look of confusion crossed Vivianes face as she took in my expression. “Oh no, Feyre–I didn’t know you hadn’t told them-” and that was the last thing she was able to say before I felt warm arms encircle me and darkness clouded my vision as Rhys winnowed us out.

When we came to my surroundings were not what I expected. Instead of taking us back to Velaris, Rhys had taken us to the cabin. Alone. He faced me now, looking into my eyes with confusion.

“Is it….true?” He asked. And it was then that I realized he was restraining himself, attempting to not get his hopes up. I knew how badly he wanted children, had always known. I stepped closer to him so that our bodies almost touched and lifted a hand to his cheek.

“Yes,” I answered, “it’s just very early-” Rhys dropped to his knees, tears filling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my stomach once and then looking up at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, the betrayal starting to set in. Slowly, I grasped his arms and pulled him back up so that we stood face to face. “I was afraid…and I didn’t want to get your hopes up if things didn’t work…” I said, allowing myself to release these fears that I had been harboring in the darkest parts of my mind. 


To be continued…

Cold Hearted (Prince AU) Part 7

Originally posted by sugaglos

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20

Summary: War is boiling in the Fire Kingdom as the days until the wedding draw near.

Author’s Note: X is a link to music or a clip which matches with the scene.

Word Count: 6697

Warnings: Blood (In later parts), Smut (in later parts)

     “What the hell happened out there, Erlich? You were meant to destroy half of their supplies and their men with that attack and all you did was kill a few horses and some low-ranking soldiers!” spat King Ruiji. The Court of the Fire Kingdom was in session, every week they met, mostly to go over plans and see how the situation looked in the various provinces of the Fire Kingdom.

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Frosted Fluff

If memory serves me right, I promised a Kallias x Viviane fanfiction (which was soooo long ago), but here I am delivering upon my promise! This would not have been posted without the enormous help from @samaykay912, who kept me on my toes!! Thank you friend for inspiring me :)

I’m honestly in love with Kallias and Viviane. There’s not enough interactions from them (like Nessian) that can currently sate me. So without further ado, I present to you this piece of frosted fluff that has drained all the joyful juices from my head:


She was staring.

That much was obvious.

An eternity could have passed by in the blink of an eye, orbs quivering with the raw emotions time and circumstance had forced them to withhold, and she—she still would have stared at the sight in front of her—a force to behold, a force that was solely hers to claim.

For she had every right to admire the view in front of her—a view she had been starved of for fifty years.

She stared because he was here.

He was home.

Her home was here.

Finally.

She miserably lost the staring contest as her eyelashes blinked in a tsunami of tears—tears of joy that wrecked her insides—and when her sight blurred, she greedily took him in again:

He still had his stark, white hair with piercing blue eyes that struck through her soul.

And for that, Viviane was grateful.

She’d seen too much red, pouring onto the streets, spilling from the scratched skin, and flowing from the hair of Hybern’s General—Amarantha.

She hated that name—the Deceiver—the name that had twisted fate and her own hand in happiness, instead choking her in a hold full of bitterness and bile. She despised what that name had brought about to her people, to her lands, and to him—

Kallias.

Reduced to the same torn and ragged clothes she’d last seen him elegantly dressed in, string and cloth now curled at the edges, the bright blue a gaze of faded will, Kallias remained still as ice, eyes mirroring a tipped iceberg.

As she looked closer, she noticed a small splatter of blood on the collar… Did it belong to him or another? Did it make her selfish she wanted it to belong to the latter? And if so—were they slain like savages in cold blood—like her personal guards? Did that unfading bitch of a flower bite him? Did she try to claim him as her own?

Or was the supposed High Queen of Pythian monogamous with who she wanted? Viviane doubted that, not when Amarantha had the audacity had to fuck the High Lord of the Night Court out of cold-blooded revenge.  

Raw rumors and whispers on the wind were all she could desperately clutch at.

And while she was no High Lord, and certainly no backstabbing bitch-queen, she felt as if she had the life sucked from her, head nailed against the wall. The floor seemed to sway with the possibilities of what her own High Lord had to endure, trapped under that infernal, dark mountain—robbed of the refreshing rains in reservoirs, the cool chills, and ice’s incalescence.

As she forced her dark thoughts away from the forefront of her mind, she proceeded to  study him, as staring did nothing to quench her inner thirst to assure his well being.

Indeed he wore those same clothes the day he’d been snatched from her, gathering memories of when hell had been brought to her home. No longer did the pristine white embellishments hug his frame, but instead hung loose and limp—the gallant knight reduced to knees, mind and body pawn to all phobias.

The winter air hit his skin as his clothes billowed around him, and she noted how his skin shivered. The High Lord of the Winter court shivered, body and mind long doused in darkness, stolen away from his own element of clarity.

It shattered her.

Kallias, her youth, her childhood, her dreams, had shivered. Kallias, the pillar of strength, the prince of the harsh winters, who not just merely survived in the coldness, but thrived in it, had reacted to his own element in the most morbid of ways.  

She supposed adjustment would have been inevitable to the changes time had wrought.

The red-haired woman—Vivianne scowled. No—Amarantha was anything but a woman. For it was not a woman who stole into the sanctuary of the sound, murdering the children in the court, shattering the scales of balance: snatching her High Lord like a thing, breaking her heart—her soul—all into fragmented pieces that she had to stitch together—for her people—their people.

And she’d kept her promise with her fractured heart. And perhaps that was the greatest miracle of all, with the greatest gift standing right. In. Front. Of. Her.

He was back. He was whole. But—something was different.

For time created the wounds, and when they healed, they sewed seeds of sorrow.

And the wounds lingered in his eyes, brimming with the beaten memories in darkness. His body reflected the unkempt chaos, muscles—from centuries of training—fading into absolute atrophy. His own lips paled in comparison to his own image.

His smile was a blank slate, and she could. Not. Breathe.

Their friendship had started on those smiles, the little doses of happiness exchanged in the light, now reduced to frowns in the dark.

She had never told anyone—but she had always loved his smile.

It was beautiful—like the summer sun that she never saw.

It was a euphoria—like an epiphany exhaling an eureka.

And while she had—and still—loved his smile, she had sold her heart to his laugh.

It was his laugh that gave her goosebumps goosebumps, that resonated so deeply within her that she had no choice to follow his elation. It was that exact joy that had her on her own personal mission to make him laugh as much as he could. The sounds—how they were as smooth as a rock at the bottom of a stream—she did not know. 

She’d made him laugh too much he’d roll around in the snow, mussing his pristine hair and pricking his immaculate, pressed pants. And his parents had pursed their lips together in silent disappointment, refraining themselves from revealing a sliver of a smile.

But that was before.

Things had changed.

They had changed.

Their lives had changed.

She could only hope their hearts didn’t.

Would he ever smile again? Would he find joy with her? Would he laugh? Or would he be forever trapped in that despair of wandering within the darkness of his own mind—the frail fragments fracturing around him, lingering as a residue within the remnants of his recollections?

He was her sun—she had never told him that. She could never tell him how she felt. She never told him who he was to her—what he meant to her. While he shone in stark contrast in the sun rays, a blizzard to all brutality, a moon-kissed model to all martyrs, she had shivered in severed sadness, worried like a shriveled worm—for him.

And he had openly confessed what she meant to him.  

Not through the words, but through the exchanged smiles.

It was clear as crystal, a manifestation brighter than the moon.

The ways he light up like the northern lights whenever he caught sight of her. The way he would not let her adventure without his presence. The way he chose the spend time with her over his own advisors. The way he caressed her face with or without his Court watching. The way he never courted anyone—no matter how much his parents pushed him to do so.

And the day before all had went up in smoke—splaying her Court, her heart, her lover in cruel lashes of crimson red—he had confessed his love for her.

And before she could say those words back—

—he had been gone.

And she’d never gotten to return her feelings.

Fifty years loathing how she’d never spoken up before.

Fifty years of silent contemplation missing her companion.

Fifty years of longing for the healing of their marred connection.

The asshole had never given her a chance to return those three words that would have sealed their eternal love. The brute had kissed her like she was his moon instead. The High Lord had carried her into the dusk instead. Legs and arms wrapped one another, they had woken up next to each other, and that—

That had been their last night together.

And she’d slept fifty years alone in coldness, where the frost had nipped at her and she finally, finally had gotten a glimpse at what it felt like to be frozen—of what it was like to be cold—of what it was like to be irrevocably, horribly, and tortuously lonely.

She never got to say that she loved his smile and laughter. She never got to say that she would gladly wake up next to him for the rest of her years. She never got to say that she thought he was perfect. She never got to say that she loved him.

She was pissed at him about it—for at least the first decade. In the second, she had seethed in anger—to keep herself from sinking into the consuming rush of sorrow the rest of her Court drowned in. And in the rest of the decades, she had existed to for his last words, to keep her promise.

And that was it.

She had to fight for him, for her Court, for her heart.

And he was her heart.

Five decades taught her where her home was.

And the Winter Court was his home.

And he was hers.

He was in front of her now. His eyes were stone cold. He was not longer a pillar of pride.

He was a block of ice in the center of the lake—an object she’d stubbed her toe on more than once. He was cold, unmovable, and sharp.

And she would still have him—love him—even if he wouldn’t have her.

Viviane cleared her throat, and swallowed.

A finger gently, ever so slowly, reached out towards her.

She held her breath.

He stared at her.

Eyes locked.

And a shock, a sudden jolt of warmth that spread through the rest of her body, amassed in a storm—all as his finger stroked her cheek, and wiped away the tears pooling from her face.

Such carefulness.

She hated that—that air of fragility.

Viviane knocked his hand away, glaring up at him. It took her two more seconds to find her voice, but when she did, she bawled. “You better stay, asshole.”

That coldness broke, and he grinned down at her, and the sun could have melted all the glaciers right there and then, but she wouldn’t have cared.

Her moon was back. Her home was back. Her heart had returned.

“You’re not leaving my—” He started, but Viviane wasn’t having any of that.

Words weren’t their way.

Smiles and laughter once were, and she wanted something new.

So she launched herself up and ferociously kissed him, pouring all her words and feelings into the caress. Arms wrapped around his neck, his own winding around her waist, squeezing her tightly, as if she would vanish on the spot as he did fifty years ago.

She had found him, and now she lost herself in him. Her soul peaked in the perfection, her heart mended in it all. It was a fervor of feeling that she would not forsake.

Synchrony.

She savored it all.

When he pushed, she pulled.

When he growled, she gasped.

And their hearts beat to the same tune, a flutter of freedom gallantly galloping around them.

After fifty years, she was finally home.

He pulled away, his eyes full of awe, a tear slipping down.

His mouth opened, but she leaned forward, their foreheads touching one another. And when he began nuzzling her neck, nipping at the skin, she licked away his tear.

He snorted, and kissed the edges of her mouth, hefting her higher in his arms.  

It wasn’t enough, though.

She wanted to fill the void in his heart and give him back fifty year’s worth of smiles and laughter. She wished on all her worth for him—all for him—for all he had endured and would face.

One hand trailed along her collarbone, and grasped the side of her face. His eyes bored into hers, darkening with not evil, but with—

“I love you,” he says. Firmly. Finally. “I—”

She kisses him, pulling that hand down, wrapping herself into him, never planning on letting go.

Kallias does not resist, wishing this ephemeral moment to last for an eternity. Her warmth, her smiles, her mere presence—she had kept his Court together.

She had not given up.

She had lifted him up.

The High Lord of the Winter Court dips her down to kiss her properly, his tongue slipping past her lips. He can feel the smile on his mouth, and he reciprocates, his lungs expanding to take in the cool night air, his head finally clearing—the blood of innocent children or the plea of Rhysand no longer at the forefront of his mind.

He can only think of her.

He can’t get enough of her, and if snowflakes were kisses, he’d send her a blizzard.

When she starts to unbutton his shirt, his lower area stirring for the first time in five decades, he pulls away.

A laughter reaches past him as she whines at the loss, but he keeps her buried against him. When she stares up at him, he cups her face. As evenly as he can manage, he says, “I want to do this right. I want to marry you. I want to officialize it. I want to announce it to anyone who will listen.”

She pouts, wanting to protest, but he suddenly drops to one knee, his arms still around her.

He can’t let her go.

He refuses to.

He want all she’ll offer.

He wants her as his home.

“Will you marry me, Viviane? You’re my world. I just want to wake up beside you.” He lays a gentle kiss on her stomach, filling her with warmth—so that their toes curl not from the chills, but from calmness.

She laughs, tears spilling out of her again, running down her cheeks. He wipes them away before she can, patiently awaiting her answer. Although he rather would not wait another fifty years—

“There’s snow-man I’d rather be with.”

It takes him a moment to process her reply, and when he does, he kisses away her coy smile.

She pulls away, and it’s his turn to pout.

She places a finger on his lips.

“Of course I’ll marry you, you asshole. I’d love to be your wife. I’d wanted to be your wife for decades.” She pushes against him playfully, lashes fluttering. “Learn to keep up, will you?”

He then lifts her up bridal style and whispers in her ear, “Where’s the closest priestess?”

She shivers in his embrace, and whispers the directions in his ear.

Kallias whips her closer into his arms, spurring a storm to carry them to their closest destination—to seal their fate.

And before their feet leave the ground, Viviane leans into his ear, staring at him unabashedly.

“I love you,” she states.

And they are finally home.

ACOMAF Part 2.2 The House of Wind: Chapters 28-40 (Rhys POV)

Part 1 The House of Beasts: Chapters 1-13
Part 2.1 The House of Wind: Chapters 14-27

Chapter 28: Rhys Interrogates the Attor and Feyre Asks Him Out After
Chapter 29: Rhys Takes Feyre Out with the Squad & She Hears the Music
Chapter 30: Feyre Trains with Cassian
Chapters 31-32: Arriving in the Summer Court
Chapters 33-34: Party on Tarquin’s Boat; Rhys Gets Jealous
Chapters 35-37: Feyre, Rhys, & Amren Steal the Book from Tarquin
Chapter 38: Rhys Receives the Blood Rubies and Has a Nightmare
Chapters 39-40: The Queen’s First Visit

Chapters 28-40 of ACOMAF, from Rhys’s POV, all linked to AO3 above. Chapter 28 is also here below the cut. Hope you enjoy!

@kitashiwrites Thank you, Kate, as always for being the best beta ever. This would not be happening without you. (None of my fics would, let’s be real here.) <3

Chapter 28

Summary: Rhys comes back frustrated from how things ended with Feyre while visiting her sisters, and receives even more bad news when Azriel gleans new information out of the Attor. But Feyre isn’t quite as heated when Rhys returns home to the townhouse and even manages to surprise him a little bit with her first real night out in Velaris.

Are You All Talk

I winnowed directly from the townhouse in Velaris after dropping Feyre off. I hadn’t even said goodbye to her.

Azriel was waiting.

And so was Cassian, who greeted me deep below the mountains of the Hewn City. So far down in dingy cells and chambers, the only sound heard for miles were the screams Azriel elicited every so often from the Attor under Truth-Teller’s sharp blade.

Feyre could wait. She’d remained icy all through breakfast - and so be it. Right now, this took precedence.

“Anything?”

Cassian picked up the pace beside me as we met in the hall and walked to the prison room. It wasn’t a bar cell like the one Feyre had stayed in, but it gave me a shudder of remembrance all the same. I hadn’t been down here in… a while.

“Fifteen minutes before he told us a task force sent from Hybern had infiltrated our northernmost border,” Cassian informed me, his face a hard line. Still wet drops of silvery blood speckled the gauntlets over his leathers. “Five minutes before he admitted to closing in on Illyrian territory with a few other choice beasts.”

Only five minutes.

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8

In the Seven Kingdoms, tradition holds that the victor in a tourney may select any woman present and name her the queen of love and beauty, crowning her with a wreath of flowers and dedicating his victory to her.
The victor often chooses a woman he loves or intends to court, and it can be a source of scandal if the victor crowns a woman already bound to another man, or if a married man crowns someone other than his wife.

A Long Conversation - The Dark Artifices

This is the (super super adorable) extra short story that’s included in the hardback/paperback first editions of Lady Midnight!  In case you got LM on ebook or audiobook and are missing out, here it is! (it catches up with the rest of the TMI characters up to the point where they arrive at the LA Institute.)

Clary looked around the Institute’s music room with a tired but gratified smile.  It was a hot New York summer night, the windows were flung open, and Magnus had magicked up icicles that sparkled down from the ceiling and cooled the space.  The room was filled with people Clary loved and cared about, and in her personal opinion it looked pretty good, considering she’d had to race to find somewhere in the Institute they could hold a party on about twenty-four hours’ notice.

There was really no reason not to smile.

Two days previously, Simon had showed up at the Institute, breathless and wild-eyed.  Jace and Clary had been in the training room, checking in on the new Institute tutor, Beatriz Mendoza, and some of the Conclave students.

“Simon!” Clay had exclaimed.  “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Simon was a graduate of Shadowhunter Academy, Clary’s parabatai, and a Recruiter, a job created by the Consul to help replenish the diminished ranks of Shadowhunters.  When likely candidates for Ascension were found, Simon would talk to them about what it meant to become a Shadowhunter after a mundane life.  It was a job that often took him away from New York, which was its downside; in the plus column, Simon seemed to truly enjoy helping scared mundanes with the Sight feel like they weren’t truly alone.

Not that Simon looked like a dependable voice of reassurance at the moment.  He looked like a tornado had hit him.

“I just proposed to Isabelle,” he announced.

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anonymous asked:

Fic title thingy. Because I have one more. "Men of Ice." Also, you're amazing and I'm very intimidated by your amazingness.

Men of Ice.  

Okay, so I read this and I immediately went “Men of Ice…and Fire.”  

So this would def be a GoT fusion fic.  

You’d have Steve going up to the wall to chase after Bucky, only for the both of them to get frozen in some mystical pond on the other side of the wall and unthawed on accident decades later.  

Peggy could be the wife Steve leaves behind, who through some kind of ice magic, slows down the progression of her aging.  She never gives up on her quest to find Steve. She’s the leader of a tribe of warrior women, who make their homes in the forests of the frozen north, forever searching for Steve Rogers.   

Darcy is the ward of Lord Anthony Stark. (Eh?  Starks in Winterfell, ehhh?).  She doesn’t know her true parentage, and is thus raised as a bastard. She runs away to the capital to become a handmaid to the queen.  She finds out through careful perusal of the library that her true father was none other than Bruce Banner, former court physician, who was banished in disgrace for experimentation, and rumored to have done the worst of the experimenting on himself.  Her mother, Lady Elizabeth of House Ross is since remarried and refuses to meet with Darcy for months.  

When she finally meets her mother, Darcy discovers the plot of the king to eradicate her father’s line from existance. The experiments Banner had done might not have been as bad as the records made them seem, and there is the small matter of the prophecy.  If Darcy were to marry a man of ice, a man out of his time, their children would bring about the fall of the king’s rule.  And bring peace to their lands.  Unfortunately, she has no idea how to find a man of ice and out of time.  

Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky emerge from the frozen pond.  Bucky is carted away by the brotherhood of the Hydra, and Steve is left for dead, only to be found by a group of people living north of the wall. He is soon reunited with Peggy, and together with his newfound army, they march on the brotherhood of the Hydra to save Bucky from their clutches.   

Darcy escapes in the dead of night back to House Stark in the north, only to come face to face with the famed Steve Rogers of legend, once thought dead, but alive again.  And seated to his left?  James Barnes, a man with blue eyes like ice, an arm made of metal, freshly thawed from ice and completely out of his time.  

And you know.  Wintershock ensues.  ;)   

Back by Popular Request – Katie McGrath Character Analysis
A lovely anon asked me to tack on these lovely ladies and as a humble servant that laughs too hard at her own jokes and may love Katie a bit too much, I must oblige. So please direct all hate mail here and for those that requested more, I truly hope you enjoy.

First Up - Zara Young
Canon Benefits – Well-read. Organized. Punctual. Stylish. Works at Jurassic World.
Canon Flaws – Slight control freak. A bit uptight. Engaged to some dude she doesn’t even trust enough to have a bachelor party. Works at Jurassic World.

*You may want to note I have some… thoughts on some of the sexist undertones that appeared in this movie but I will keep it to a minimum. Some of them are mildly related to Zara so they will come up very briefly.*

Arguments were that Zara deserved better. Aside from the fact that it was our dear Katie that performed her own stunts in what is easily the most epic death in Jurassic franchise history, I would have to agree. That looked like torture. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Okay, maybe some people. *cough*President Cheeto.*cough*
Other arguments said that her fate was deserved due to the fact that she was too concerned with her phone, coffee and actual work responsibilities to keep an eye on the kids that were forced upon her. Because that’s a woman’s REAL job, right? Here. Kids! Take care of them. What you failed? GET EATEN. No. Just no. How can some people even argue that and keep a straight face!? Brittane, this isn’t the place or the time.

I digress. Back to our girl. It is clear that Zara is not used to things being out of sorts. We can tell that by her overly anxious demeanor whenever something starts to go even a little wrong. We also see that she has grown quite desensitized to the world she is living in. I mean how #overit do you have to be to be blasé about a tiny horde of assorted baby dinosaurs?? Excuse me, adorable prehistoric creatures, I have to take this call. The point - she is living a routine that she doesn’t seem overly enthused about. Yet you cannot help but be curious about what is really going on for her. We know she is engaged to a dudebro named Alec and that they are probably due to be married in the very near future as there are talks about a bachelor party that she quite clearly doesn’t want her fiancé to have. Maybe she can drop him and those pterodactyls can drop her into my waiting arms? Okay, that was bad.

From this nerd’s point-of-view, working at Jurassic World is awesome and I would totally hit my potential gf up for VIP access. However, we’ve seen what happens at these parks and once again, soft little me would be terrified that something would happen to her. I can’t take it. I just can’t. Don’t make me.

Verdict - Hey Zara, you wanna know a fun concept about marrying a lady such as myself? Joint bachelorette party! Let’s do it! The catch would be that you have to quit working at Jurassic World before I launch myself into a perpetual anxiety attack. Where are you going? You don’t have to decide right away. You’re staying with Claire?? Is there something you aren’t telling me?! (sighs) Fine… I ship it.

Originally posted by docclara

Who knew I could write so much about someone that had like… 3 collective minutes of screen time?! What has Katie done to me?? I’m sorry. This is long already. Oriane Congost and more after the cut. Stay with me if you dare.

Keep reading

See me

Originally posted by sensualkisses

Mitsuanri Baba focused on the only figure in the center of the room. It was such a stark comparison. The first time that he laid eyes on her, she held the court with high powered executives and CEO like the Queen that she was. All of them was completely enthralled with her wit and intelligence. Being a stunner was the icing on her delectable figure. 

Actually, this was not the first time that he laid eyes on her. They belonged to the same orphanage only he didn’t realize it at that time. All the adults doted on her and the other kids liked her. It seems like that has not changed. 

Her voice was melodic but infused fun and danger throughout the story. The kids were rapt in attention while the adults adored how she related to the children. 

She captured his attention, deeper than that. 

Story time ended, kids were corralled by their parents and soon, she was left alone to gather her things.

One thing did change. 

Keep reading

10

The Blacks and the Greens or The Princess and the Queen

When Queen Alicent Hightower appeared at the feast in a green gown, her stepdaughter, the Princess Rhaenyra, dressed herself in Targaryen Black and Red. Their feuding court factions were known as Greens and Blacks from that day on.

The Dance of Dragons began…  

Allison Reynolds is such a kick ass character though. Like, yeah she may be a ‘overtly feminine character’ but you best believe that she’ll kick your ass in her nine-inch heels without even smudging her impecible makeup or putting a perfectly straightened hair outta place. And fuck yeah she can be the ice queen of bitchland but if you dare lay a hand on one of her friends she will fuck shit up Gucci style. This girl is incredible.

Great minds think alike
  • <p> <b>Wise guy/lady :</b> Great minds think alike.<p/><b>Rowan :</b> I taught Aelin to control her powers for her own good<p/><b>Rhysand :</b> AYEEEEEE. I taught Feyre to control her powers for her own good too.<p/><b>Rowan and Rhys :</b> *fist bumps*<p/><b>Rowan :</b> *thinks of Aelin in a sexy nightgown* *gets turned on*<p/><b>Rhys :</b> *reads Rowan mind* *thinks of Feyre in a sexy piece of cloth* My brother. Hug me.<p/><b>Rowan and Rhys :</b> *bro hugs*<p/><b>Rowan :</b> Quite sometime ago, I sent Aelin to fight a monster -worm creature on ice. She slayed but almost got killed<p/><b>Rhysand :</b> OMG. I sent Feyre to retrieve my mother's ring, uhhh her own wedding ring, from the Weaver, a crazy blind lady. Yeah, nearly got my bae killed.<p/><b>Rowan :</b> We are one, brother.<p/><b>Rowan and Rhys :</b> *does happy dance*<p/><b>Aelin and Feyre:</b> *smacks them upside the head*<p/><b>Aelin :</b> See. Great minds do think alike.<p/><b>Feyre :</b> Preach.<p/><b>Aelin and Feyre:</b> *high fives*<p/></p>
Nestas Court

The war with Hybern is over and no kingdom is left more destroyed than Hybern itself. 

All the rulers of the lands came together to decide who would rule the island in the sea. They chose Nesta Archeron, the women of fire, who helped them win the war. 

She, having burned the King of Hybern from the inside out herself, for what he did to her and her sisters. 

Trusting her to rebuild the fallen kingdom into a better land. Each leader gave a gift to help her. Swords, blessings, friendships, and their best soldiers. 

The twins, Cartaren and, 

Marec. From the Day court, forged in sunlight and filled with the light that counters their new queen’s fire.

Areya, a daughter of one of the new mortal queens. A human raised in the corrupt court of the old queens, just as deadly and cunning as any fae.

Larena, an unlikely ally found in the war, a servant to the King of Hybern himself, who slipped them information during the war. 

And Ravner, a soldier from the winter court. Filled with ice and the cold touch of death. 


Together, Nesta and her mate, Cassian, 

With the help of her court, will wield their queens fire to burn away the horrors of the old Hybern and smoke out the enemies they know are still there. 

Her court will last thousands of years, in a new land, under a new ruler. A queen with a fire and rage that burns inside her, and a fierceness to protect those she loves, including her new kingdom. 

The world will be born new. In the Court of Flames.



I have had this idea in my head for a while, I plan on writing some stuff for this, idk when though. I love Nesta with a fiery passion. 

(All these pictures I got from Pintrest.None of them are mine. ) 

HISTORY MEME | 2/6 women: The Ice Lady (Alexandra Zajaczek).

This is not a fairy tale, because this “Queen” was Alexandra Zajaczek, also known as the Ice Lady. She was born in 1754, married a Polish governor of the Polish Kingdom who was the Napoleonic Army General Joseph Zajaczek. At a very young age she was dancing at the court of the Great Lithuanian Hetman Michał Kazimierz Olgiński, and the age of 15, she was a prima donna in the court ballet. She became famous throughout Europe not only because of her charm, beauty and charisma, but also eternal youth. At the age of 90 people gave her no more than 50 years! At the age of 82 years Balzac gave her the maximum 35.  When she was 70, young man dueled for her, one even lost his life.

The first lady of the Polish Kingdom has always slept with the open window, even in winter when frosts spirited. In summer, she asked the maids to fill basins with ice and  placed them under the bed. She also was changing beds  several times during the night to soak in the cool sheets.

In the morning the tortures did not end, as she took a  in bath in the icy water, and then run barefoot in the meadows, or horseback riding, and later was massaging the body with ice and wax.

painting portraits Alexandra at her 70.

ravenrcnan  asked:

Hi! I just went through your R+L=J tag and I may have missed it, but in case you didn't answer this yet; I recently told a friend of mine about R+L=J (because I love it) and she said she didn't believe it because Jon doesn't look like a Targ, which Aegon and Rhaenys both did, even though they're not from a Targ/Targ relationship. I was wondering what your thoughts are on this? Thanks!

I’m afraid your friend is incorrect about Rhaenys.

Q: Do you have any idea what Rhaenys and Aegon looked like? (Hair color, eye color, etc.)

A: Rhaenys looked more like a Martell, Aegon more a Targaryen.

GRRM, August 26, 2000

Note also that when Rhaenys was presented at court, “Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she “smells Dornish.””

More examples of Targaryen/other relationships where the child took after the non-Targaryen parent:

(art by Douglas Wheatley for The World of Ice and Fire)

Jacaerys, Joffrey, and Lucerys Velaryon, the children of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen’s first marriage to Laenor Velaryon. While Laenor was a Velaryon and thus of Valyrian heritage and appearance like the Targaryens, he was also well-known to prefer men; the father of Rhaenyra’s sons was almost certainly her protector Ser Harwin “Breakbones” Strong. All three boys had brown hair and eyes, and pug noses, like Strong and unlike their mother or nominal father. But note all three boys were also dragonriders, so a non-Targaryen parent does not prevent that connection.

(art by Marc Simonetti for The World of Ice and Fire)

Aegor Rivers, “Bittersteel”, the bastard son of King Aegon IV (“the Unworthy”) and his mistress Barba Bracken. Per GRRM, “Since his mother was not a Targ, he does not have the coloring. He has the purple eyes, but his hair is black.” (I could also mention another of Aegon IV’s bastards, Brynden “Bloodraven” Rivers, but since he was albino and thus looked like neither of his parents, he’s not really relevant to your question. Also Aegon IV’s three bastards by Bellegere Otherys, “the Black Pearl”, were mixed-race and almost certainly looked more like their mother.)

(art by Mike S. Miller, for the Hedge Knight graphic novel)

Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen, son of Daeron II and the Dornish princess Mariah Martell. The Prince of Dragonstone and Hand of the King was an honorable and just man, but “too many men looked upon Baelor’s dark hair and eyes and muttered that he was more Martell than Targaryen”. Baelor’s son Valaar also had brown hair like his father, albeit with a silver-gold streak. Also, Daeron’s grandson and namesake, Maekar’s son prince Daeron (aka “the Dreamer” or “the Drunken”) had “common hair” and could pass for non-Targaryen.

(art by Karla Ortiz for The World of Ice and Fire)

King Aegon V (“the Unlikely”) married Betha Blackwood, “known as Black Betha for her dark eyes and raven hair.” The picture above shows Aegon with his and Betha’s three sons, Duncan, Jaehaerys, and Daeron. As you can see, Duncan clearly has his mother’s coloring, Daeron’s hair is a darker silver than usual for a Targaryen, and only Jaehaerys has a fully Targaryen appearance. (Note that Jaehaerys was Rhaegar, Viserys, and Dany’s grandfather.)

Anyway, these are my thoughts: Targaryen coloring is obviously not always dominant in Targaryen/non-Targaryen relationships in both the past and within recent history. Jon Snow looks like his mother Lyanna, with the dark hair and grey eyes of the Starks. Hope that helps!

2

🔥 A Song of Ice and Fire projectA Gifset per every chapter

↪ A Game of Thrones, XVIII, Catelyn IV

It made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell. 

“Until the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day,” he said, crossing the room to wrench the dagger from the wood. “I backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the court.” Petyr’s sheepish grin made him look half a boy again. “When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest." 

"Who?” Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain.

“The Imp,” said Littlefinger as Lord Varys watched her face. “Tyrion Lannister.”

10

Pre-ASOIAF Meme → 1/1 King/Queen: Alysanne Targaryen

Two estrangements are recorded, but they did not last more than a year or two before the pair resumed their customary friendship. The Second Quarrel, however, is of note, as it was due to Jaehaerys’s decision in 92 AC to pass over his granddaughter Rhaenys—the daughter of his deceased eldest son and heir, Prince Aemon—in favor of bestowing Dragonstone and the place of heir apparent on his next eldest son, Baelon the Brave. Alysanne saw no reason why a man should be favored over a woman…and if Jaehaerys thought women of less use, then he would have no need of her. They reconciled in time, but the Old King outlived his beloved queen, and in his last years it was said that the grief of their parting hung over his court like a pall.