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wicgeeks: When proud flames collide by Art-Calavera

mark-gaytits:

Some resources for those writing medieval-type stories:

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allthingseurope: Musée Gustave Moreau, Paris (by ►bEbOpix)
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dersely:

momlonde:

do you ever see a photograph of someone really attractive from like the 1800s and you suddenly get pissed because they’ve been dead for like 200 years and you probably don’t have a chance with them

“probably”

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The bride’s cloak he held was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. No one had thought to bring a stool, however, and Tyrion stood a foot and a half shorter than his bride. As he moved behind her, Sansa felt a sharp tug on her skirt. He wants me to kneel, she realized, blushing. She was mortified. It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.
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