#also yes the title is a reference to the old guard

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[beifong-brainrot]

I do find it annoying how a lot of Zutara fans tweak the character's stories, personalities and even the timelines to suit their own needs.

Once again, there's nothing wrong with fanon and headcanons, however if looking through the lense of canon, you're objectively wrong.

I ended up stumbling on a post from a Zutara shipper. (At this point I'm regretfully considering not following the tags for Zuko or Katara because I get way too much Zutara content lol) I'm not replying directly to her because I don't want this to turn into an argument, and I know she doesn't take criticism very well.

Ok, So let's break this down.

The character who was first out of the group to trust Zuko?

I'm quite sure this is referring to the scene in Ba Sing Se's caves. And yes, that is a very important scene. I think it's a very important scene preceeding Zuko's 'relapse'. It shows how he's matured during his time in Ba Sing Se and therefore it serves to add to our dismay when he joins Azula. I adore the fact that Zuko's journey to redemption is not linear, it certainly adds a lot to the character and shows us how his trauma affected him.

It's also a horrific moment for Katara. To have her worldview on Zuko and firebenders as a whole challenged, and then for it to go blowing up in her face. It rips open old wounds of her childhood. It refreshes her resentment of Zuko and the Fire Nation as a whole. It parallels the death of her mother when Aang dies due to Azula's lighting and she is unable to do anything about it. It places her back in that spot of helplessness. Even though she's grown up, even though she's a master waterbender, she still comes a hair's breadth to losing one of the most important people in her life.

No wonder she hated Zuko so much after this.

It's an important moment for both characters, but I wouldn't say it is that in a romantic sense. It's a sweet, hopeful moment that then turns absolutely horrific and visceral for both parties.

I could argue that there are other characters who could be given the title of 'first to trust Zuko'. Funnily, Appa being one of them lol.

But other characters trusting Zuko dovetails nicely into the next point.

The character who emotionally connects to Zuko?

Well, technically, I'd argue that most members of the Gaang connect emotionally on one level or another with him?

But I'd argue that Aang is the person Zuko connected with the most. Aang is Zuko's parallel. Aang is the first person to reach out to Zuko. Aang is the person who showed mercy to Zuko, multiple times. Aang is the person who valued Zuko's life, the life of someone whose whole life goal is to capture him.

This was also an incredibly important moment to Zuko. This is the thing he brings up when trying to convince the Gaang to let him join.

Zuko: Why aren't you saying anything? You once said you thought we could be friends. You know I have good in me.

The character Zuko feels safest letting his guard down around?

It's Mai. Love her or hate her, her relationship with Zuko is incredibly important to him. Maiko isn't my favourite Zuko ship, in full honesty. But even platonically, Mai and Zuko are one another's reprieve from their respective shitty lives.

People often talk about Katara touching Zuko's scar while discussing healing his scar, however one could argue that she did so as a medical examination. Mai touching Zuko's scar is a casual thing, neither of them really make a big deal of it and that's the beauty of it.

I'm mainly talking out of my own personal experience, as someone with a huge amount of burn scars, but there is a world of difference between someone inspecting my scars like Katara did and simply accepting them as a part of me, like Mai does for Zuko.

With Mai, Zuko isn't the scarred banished prince, Ozai's son or Azula's brother. He's just Zuko. And they speak freely with one another, arguing like real people do. Often, being comfortable having arguments is actually a sign of being comfortable with one another.

The character who helps Zuko heal from his trauma?

Once again, this is a bit of a flawed question. By the end of the show, Zuko isn't even fully healed, in my opinion. He has made leaps and bounds on the road to recovery, but when he will truly heal if ever is yet to be seen.

Zuko's journey to recovery includes plenty of people. This includes Iroh, Aang, Song and Jin. People who show him the error of his coping mechanism. Who challenge his worldview, who coax him out of the his shell of pain and anger.

The character known for showing most compassion to others?

Yes, Katara's compassion is a huge part of her character. Her need to help and protect those who cannot do that for themselves cannot be understated.

But Aang's compassion for others and all beings is just as great, if not greater than Katara's. Compassion and nonviolence are huge parts of his culture and his own philosophy.

Aang: Wait, we can't just leave him here. Sokka: Sure we can. Let's go. Aang :No, if we leave him he'll die. Aang airbends himself off Appa and retrieves Zuko, bringing him to Appa. Sokka: [Sarcastically.] Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let's bring the guy who's constantly trying to kill us.

Friendly reminder that Aang could've absolutely wrecked Ozai, but held back because his own moral compass was so powerful. Hell, he was friendly and nice to Azula, the woman who literally killed him.

This is why Aang and Katara work so well together. They're both incredibly compassionate people who will immediately jump in to help others in need. Like they did during the Painted Lady, destroying the factiry together.

The character who primarily bears the burden of having to step up into a parental role?

I think "parental role" is an incredibly vague term. There's a lot of things that go into a "parental role". Katara plays a stereotypically "maternal" role, while someone who plays a "paternal" one would probably be Sokka.

Katara deals with very "homemaking" tasks like sewing and cooking, etc. And Sokka often takes on the role of leader, hunter, gatherer and also protector, despite being a nonbender.

This coincides nicely with their core childhood traumas. The loss of Katara's mother impacted her greatly, leading her to have to step up into a motherly role. While Sokka was clearly heavily traumatised by his father departing and the crushing responsibility of having to care for his entire village.

Sexism also probably played a part in this dichotomy.

The character who represses their emotions to be strong for others?

I'd argue that this could apply to all the members of the Gaang in some capacity.

Aang's pain is something most of us will never experience and cannot hope to understand. The complete horrific destruction of his culture and home followed him through the entire show. He was entitled to his grief and rage, yet he supressed it. We see during Appa's kidnapping, how easy it would be for Aang to rage, to let himself be destructive. And yet, he wakes up every day and chooses to smile and goof off, because his friends need someone to remind them how to be children.

Sokka puts on a very impressive bravado, despite having a lot of insecurities. However, as the oldest member of the Gaang (pre Zuko) he puts on a facade of the confident and unbothered older brother. Even if he's the butt of almost every joke, he still keeps that demeanour up, letting it slip only a few times.

I'd actually argue that Toph is the person whom this label fits best. While we know Toph as witty, callous and strong, we have to remember that she kept up the facade of her parents' good, helpless little blind girl for no reason other than her mother and father's comfort. She actually hides a lot of her hurt, covering it up with a prickly exterior.

I want to do longer think pieces about Toph and Katara so apologies if this isn't complete.

I'm actually baffled by the idea of Katara repressing her emotions. She's actually quite straightforward and open about her feelings. She yells and feels a lot of emotions and lets them be heard. She gets angry and sad. She's actually kinda bitchy sometimes and that's honestly why I love her so much.

The whole inciting incident of the show was her getting so pissed off she somehow pulls a giant iceberg from the bottom of the sea.

She is anything but repressed.

She is angry.

She's angry at the fire nation, at Sokka, at her father, at men, and with good right to be so.

This is what makes her an amazing character and one who broke the mould of a lot of female characters at the time. Her anger and unrestrained emotions rang true with a lot of watchers at the time. I'm not sure why this is being taken away from her rather than celebrated.

I reiterate the point I made at the beginning of this post: there is nothing wrong with headcanons and fanon interpretations for one's enjoyment. I do find it a bit odd when it changes a character too much (because then, why not just create an oc?) but it's all in good fun. However, you shouldn't push that onto other people and how they perceive canon and you certainly shouldn't use it to take away from other characters. It's a very unfair way of entering discourse.

[allthegothihopgirls]

*holds out my probably canon headcanon like a toddler showing you a cool frog*

hey what do you think abt damian calling his dad baba and his siblings various nicknames in arabic that range from zameel or jalees when he’s particularly annoyed with them to akhi (brother)/ukhti (sister) when hes rlly happy

I LOOOOOVEEEEEE IT!!!!!

anything that keeps damian in touch with his heritage is a huge yes for me. big fan of him slipping arabic words into his sentences, or repeating phrases he grew up around when he can't think of an adequate english equivalent. etc etc

similar to how people who are learning english as a second language tend to mix their native tongue into english sentences. although with damian i don't think he would do it because he isn't confident with the language (because he most definitely is), i think it's just something that's familar to him, and comfortable to slip into his english speech. + sometimes he can just articulate himself better in arabic.

as for the familial names, although he doesn't use them in canon, he very much does seek comfort from things culturally familiar to him, in gotham. such as in teen titans (2016) special #1, when he's implied to often visit a middle-eastern restaurant 'tarbooshes' which reminds him of his home in the league and his mother.

so although the nicknames aren't something shown in the comics, i don't think it'd be unlikely. he's definitely 'in touch' with his culture, and it's far from an out there idea.

as for the specific names, such as calling bruce 'baba', i'm typically all for that. though apparently in arabic that word in particular translates more to 'dad' than it does 'father'. obviously damian's very formal with his speech, so it is a question as to whether or not that would be the nickname he uses for bruce, or whether he'd use more formal titles. (this post gives some alternatives + explains it more).

usually when i see the use of 'baba' in fics, it's very fitting. i'm very partial to the 'sleepy/hurt damian letting his guard down' trope, and i thoroughly enjoy it when the writer lets him slip a "baba" to bruce. one fic that did this really well was 'repeat your favourite mistakes and love them all over again' by watchingthestars13 on ao3, in which damian (although not the focus of the story) is aged down to 2 years old by magic, and coordinates life as a toddler with bruce, rather than with the league. he's very hesitant to affection at first, so when the writer lets an 'about to fall asleep' damian, call bruce his 'baba', it's always just right.

i'm also fond of him having personal nicknames for his siblings beyond 'brother' or 'sister' in arabic. this post talks about how in arab culture it's common for people to refer to loved ones as their organs. i think it's a fun idea for damian, especially because it's something only he would understand. i think he'd be most likely to do this for dick, although maybe he has a generic one that he uses for other siblings when he's suuuuper happy with them.

but he also takes advantage of being the only arab in the house, and one huuuuundred percent switches up the nicknames he uses depending on how he feels about that sibling at a particular time. he is not above throwing flavourful remarks when he's annoyed, in a language no one else understands (whether that be arabic or not), or calling people the nastiest names he can think of.

[child-of-the-nights]

Can u write sweet headcanons for Felix Volturi? Pretty please 🥰

Ask and you shall receive!

A/N: It's tragic that my boy Felix got so little screen time. Anyway, the mate can be either human or vampire in this one. Have fun!

TW: none

Felix Volturi Sweet Headcanons

Felix is taller than the majority of people, thus it's safe to assume that he will also be taller than his mate. Having said that, I can absolutely see him comparing hand sizes with his partner as a sweet gesture.

Now, if his partner is taller than he is, he is genuinely impressed. They now hold the title of being the palazzo's tallest pair. Congratulations to them, I suppose.

On a more serious note, I believe Felix is intrigued by modern forms of entertainment. He's just fascinated about everything, whether it be watching a movie or listening to a podcast. Given his… past, he is appreciative that people have discovered other ways to enjoy gory fights without endangering the lives of actual people (ironic given that he's a vampire)

So he loves to sit with his mate to watch a favorite movie of theirs, maybe listen to their favorite podcast.

Given his old age, Felix is also highly versed in literature and a few languages. Although he would never hold himself to the same standard as his masters, he is quite educated. What I mean is that he is willing to assist his love in learning them.

CUDDLES. That's it. He loves to cuddle with his mate.

I believe that vampires get tired (mentally not physically) as well (despite what SM says) and they need to "recharge". That is why Felix enjoys wrapping his arms around his partner and burying his face in their neck. For him, that is recharging.

My favorite headcanon is that he is an extremely tender lover. His mate got scared of something? He soothes them by whispering sweet nothings into their ears. Felix also kisses their hands and palms if they worked hard that day. He essentially tries to be as delicate as possible. He behaves in this way whether his lover is human or a vampire.

Felix spends every spare moment with his beloved because, like Demetri, he is also frequently busy. When he is not with them, Felix enjoys discussing their mate with his friends (mostly Demetri). He enjoys praising them and sharing their accomplishments with others.

While staying respectful to his fellow guards, Felix occasionally amuses his s/o by gossiping. NOT about serious stuff that will damage their reputation; he just gossips about little things. (Usually with Demetri by his side). He also gossips about some of the executed vampires if his beloved is interested. (once again, not sharing private info, just silly things)

That being said, his mate can expect to befriend Demetri because they're kind of a package deal. They date one and befriend the other.

Felix is the kind of vampire man who enjoys hearing his partner talk about their interests. He enjoys hearing his lover's enthusiasm for a certain form of media, even if he personally isn't interested in it. So yes, he would listen to his mate explain the plot of their favorite show.

I imagine Felix would use old-fashioned nicknames or call his significant other by their name when referring to them. He might give his partner a nickname in their native tongue if they are from another country.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

It Was Always You | Levi Week Day 7 - Royal!AU

ngl i did not have confidence that i would actually finish/get to writing this but i did hooray

#: @leviweek2023

✧ word count ➼ ~2.3k ✧ notes ➼ royalty!au, soulmates!au, forbidden love, fluff, princess!reader, knight!levi, slightly suggestive at the end but sfw overall

The walls of the castle were damp and gloomy. This wasn't new. It was old. It looked fine during the day when sunlight could light up the corridors and there were people roaming the halls to simulate the illusion of livelihood, but it was currently nighttime, which meant the only things lighting up the hallway were the dim lanterns hanging off the walls and the torch that your knight held behind you.

You didn't ask to be a princess. You didn't want it. You remembered you had gotten whisked away by some bandits a few years ago and found yourself thanking them for it. You ended up experiencing the world and found yourself having a good time traveling with them, learning about the unique struggles that commoners had that you were never exposed to, being forced to live within the depressing walls of the castle.

You glanced back towards your knight and felt a small hint of pride upon seeing his unamused expression. You had ran off outside the palace walls again into town. There was a small celebration and you were curious, so you put on some commoner-like clothes and snuck out. You had only arrived in town for about an hour before Levi found you and dragged you back home.

You sighed as you stepped into your quarters, slightly smirking once you heard Levi also step inside and shut the door behind him so you could talk more freely.

"Quit running off like that," he scolded, scowling at you.

"Really expect me to just be cooped up in this gloomy castle?" you asked dryly, rolling your eyes.

"Where you're safe? Yes."

You looked at him with an exasperated expression.

"Safe from what?! My own shadow?!"

The scowl and look of disapproval on his face was unwavering.

"Just doing my job, Your Highness."

You grimaced at him addressing you by your title. You were close enough with your personal knight that he usually just called you by your name. The only time he ever referred to you as a formal princess was when you were being bratty.

Seeing that you had no intention to leave again and given how late into the night it was, Levi began turning, opening up the door to leave your quarters. His duty was to drag your reckless ass back into the castle, and he had done exactly that.

"Wait," you blurted out before he could fully open the door.

He paused, not turning back towards you, but not making any further motion to leave either.

"Stay?" you asked.

He looked at you over his shoulder.

"It's late."

"Please?" you whispered as you stepped towards him. "Just for a bit."

He clenched his jaw, knowing that it wasn't going to be "just for a bit", but he went ahead and shut the door again.

You've known Levi for years at this point. You remembered getting taken away by some mercenaries a few years ago after you had foolishly left the castle on your own. Unlike the bandit group you hung out with, this group wanted to hold you for ransom, having been hired by an enemy nation.

Levi was quick to rescue you. It was precisely the fact that he was forced to have that experience of having to chase after you because of a casual misstep of yours that made him so pissed about the fact that you still left the castle at the first available opportunity. He couldn't rest for more than a few minutes without having to be worried that something had happened to you.

When Levi first started guarding you, he was nothing but irritating. However, as much as he irked you, you couldn't stop talking to him. You found yourself always going to his side whenever you saw him around. You got to know him, and he got to know the parts of you that no one else did. You got close, and eventually chose him as your personal knight.

Somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him. You knew that deep down, but you didn't want to admit it to yourself. It was too painful.

You were engaged to someone else.

Being a princess meant you had responsibilities, whether you liked them or not. You were due to be married off in a few months to some royal from Marley in a desperate attempt to maintain the rapidly deteriorating peace between Marley and Paradis.

"I can't bear being trapped within these walls," you hissed through clenched teeth. "Day in and day out, it's about Marley this and Marley that."

You paused from your rambling and scowled. The mention of recent politics reminded you of your very undesirable engagement.

"You don't want to marry him, do you?" Levi asked quietly, now leaning with his back against the door, listening to you.

You scoffed in response, as if you were astonished that he even had to ask the question.

"Of course not! Why would I?" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration. "I'd lose what little freedom I have and just be drowned in politics and be reminded every day that I was-"

You paused mid-sentence to take a breath, getting more and more upset about the topic.

"-that I was essentially sold off for political value. It's bullshit, and I hate thinking about it because-"

You suddenly cut yourself off, glancing towards the ground, unsure if you should continue. You were getting more and more frustrated and you knew your only source of relief was something you weren't allowed to have.

"Because what?" Levi asked, although some part of him deep down knew what you were going to say.

"...because I'm in love with someone else," you whispered.

Levi slightly parted his lips as his body ever so subtly tensed up. While he wasn't surprised by the news that your heart had been taken by someone other than your political fiancé, he still found the words harsh as they came out of your mouth. He wasn't sure why he cared, but he had been your confidant through the years, so he undoubtedly cared about you in some regard.

"Yeah?"

His body further tensed and he shuffled in place a bit to adjust for the discomfort that was rapidly arising within him as you slowly walked towards him.

He was curious as to who it was. He had a feeling that he knew.

Like you, he has felt that unnatural pull towards you. He always told himself it was inappropriate, but anyone observing could see that he was gentler with you than he was with anyone else. He would spend hours listening to you and talking with you, even when he didn't have to, just so you didn't feel as lonely.

His only duty was to make sure you didn't run off and get yourself into trouble outside the palace walls, but he always stayed and listened, even providing you with advice from time to time.

As a result, he knew what you were about to say. He's felt it too. It's like the universe was trying to push you together despite how wrong it was.

Levi was always there for you. He's picked you up when you were down, both literally and figuratively. He was likely the only person in the entire castle that saw you as a person and not just a princess. The idea of leaving this palace and never seeing him again while pretending to be happy with another man hurt you in ways you couldn't describe.

You slowly walked right up to him, never taking your eyes off him. Once you were right in front of him, your hand raised up to his cheek and you let out a small exhale upon the skin-to-skin contact. Upon looking directly into his eyes, you could see that there was some sort of mutual understanding there.

"It's you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It's always been you."

You couldn't deny that some part of you felt like you were meant for each other. It didn't feel like a case of accidental love. It felt like the universe was giving you all of the signs that you were meant to love him, and that the only thing keeping you apart were the politics that were shoved onto you the minute that you were born.

He let out an unsteady breath as he processed your words, desperately trying to keep himself from reacting to finally feeling your touch.

"Tell me the truth, Levi," you muttered, looking directly into his eyes. "Can you honestly say that you haven't felt this too?"

He immediately averted his gaze upon your question, trying to resist the feelings that were rapidly arising within him.

"Tell me."

He had always shoved those feelings away. He'd banish them to some dark corner of his mind, and he was successful for years, but now he couldn't keep those feelings from being at the forefront of his mind.

When he finally looked into your eyes again, you could see the turmoil and conflict within them. You knew the answer, even without him saying a word. A selfish part of him wanted to answer and tell you that he was in love with you too and that he could never keep you off his mind. He wanted to tell you that he felt like hell every time you ran off, being plagued with worry over if you were okay.

He wanted to tell you the absolutely sting that he felt in his heart when he heard the news that you were engaged to someone else.

It was wrong. It was selfish. You were already betrothed to another man, but the thought of being with someone else made you feel nothing but despair. However, this current moment, looking at the man right in front of you gave you a sense of hope and peace that you had never felt before.

It was always Levi.

You brushed the hair out of his eyes, with the flickering of the torch on the walls reflecting off his gray eyes that were gently gazing into yours.

It was selfish.

It was selfish, but you pulled him forward, and leaned in to gently plant your lips on his.

Feeling him on you made your heart want to jump out through your throat. It made you feel excited, but also nervous.

Levi took a subtle, but sharp inhale upon feeling your lips on his. He hesitated, knowing how wrong this was, but also knowing how right it felt.

He hesitated, but it wasn't long before he returned the kiss, his hand falling onto your waist.

What started off as a gentle, loving kiss quickly deepened into a more passionate one, with your own lips parting as you fully pressed your body up against him. His palm on your waist sent shivers throughout your body, and the more that you kissed him, the more that you realized just how badly you needed him this entire time.

You gently bit at his bottom lip, but before your hands could begin roaming elsewhere, you felt him suddenly pull away, breaking off the kiss and turning his head to the side.

"Shit," he whispered, breathing heavily. "We can't be doing this."

"Why not?" you challenged, leaning towards him as he pulled away.

"You're a princess," he said sternly. "You're engaged, and I'm-"

"You're what?" you asked with a scowl, not letting him finish what probably would have been a self-deprecating statement. "'Just' a knight? The only person I can trust in this whole damn palace that cares about me and not just my title? The annoyingly overbearing knight that saved me all those years ago?"

You stared at him intensely as you spoke, refusing to accept his comment of not being allowed to be with you, although you knew that was the reality surrounding you.

"...The man I'd much rather marry," you continued, your voice dropping down to a whisper. "The love of my life? My soulmate?"

Levi remained quiet as you spoke. He felt it. He's always felt it, even when he didn't know it.

You knew that if you were with Levi, it'd cause nothing but trouble. Sleeping with him could even cost you your claim to the throne if you're caught, but a small, selfish part of you wanted that. You longed to live a normal life, and living that normal life with Levi was your definition of a happy ending. You couldn't care any less about your political power. You'd throw it all away in an instant without second thought.

Even the thought of being on the run with Levi sounded better than being forced to live the life that everyone around you expected you to live.

You pressed your forehead against his as you whispered again.

"If you asked me to run away with you, I would do so in a heartbeat."

He scoffed, but didn't pull away.

"You do plenty of running away already."

"I mean it, Levi," you said as you pulled away, looking into his eyes again. "I'd run away for good. I'd gladly leave this place and never come back, especially if it meant that I could be with you."

You pulled him into another kiss before he could respond. This time, he didn't hesitate in returning that kiss, as the both of you quickly got lost within each other's touch and presence.

You were meant to be, and your relationship would cause nothing but trouble, but you knew that it'd be all worth it in the end if it meant that you could live that normal, mundane life with Levi Ackerman: your knight and love of your life—your soulmate.

#: @chaotic-on-main @romantichomicide95 @levisbrat25 @leviismybby @moonmalice @averysmolbear @cathybarn @tclbts @belovedackerman @bejewelledd @sad-darksoul @ackermendick @aomi04 @apolloshaiku @laraackerman @pulpolicia @raenacreates @nube55 @roseofdarknessblog @saenora @noctemys @sixpennydame @sleepyfairyxo @heichoucleanfreak @svftackerman @catskze @levis-squishy-cheeks @dumbfound-princess @evas-leslas @kokosmiles @mrsmiagreer @nixie-writes-aot join my taglist!

[sugar-coated-prat-dragon]

Title: Sorcerers can be born as either witches, wizards, druids or warlocks

Episode: "The Beginning of the End" questions #4

Questions by @tansyuduri

Tagging: @miyriu

Books used for reference: Sword and Sorcery, A Fighting Chance, Merlin Complete Guide and Merlin Villains Guide

Question: Gaius: “The druids look for children with such gifts to serve as apprentices.”

Are people born into being Druids?

How many druid children become apprentice and how they get the children? Is it some kind of honor in the old religion?

My answer: Yes. People are born Druids.

According to the book, sorcerers can be either witches, wizards, druids or warlocks. (And any of those can be good or evil; while still retaining their categorization).

- The Druids specifically look for children with special abilities, such as telepathy, to serve as apprentices and continue their traditions.

I imagine that much like the Bendrui (Finna; for example), the apprentices that are chosen to be initiated into the old religion and be mentored, probably see it as an honor.

MERLIN: “Bendrui?”

GAIUS: “Before the time of the Great Purge girls would be chosen at birth for the priesthood. They would be taken away from their families and brought up as initiates in the old religion.” (Episode: The Kindness of Strangers)

Book description: Sorcerers may be witches or wizards, druids or warlocks; they may use magic for good or evil.

Glossary: CERDAN - a druid, Mordred is his apprentice

- When the druid Cerdan comes to Camelot for supplies, he brings his apprentice, a boy called Mordred.

- They look for children with special abilities, such as telepathy, to serve as apprentices and continue their traditions.

Question: Are the Druids in the show priests? Historically speaking they should be?

My answer: In the Merlin world, Druids are officially defined in the glossary as an ancient order of priests.

Book description: DRUIDS - ancient order of priests

Question:

Great Dragon: “There is much written about you that you have yet to read.”

The Druids are secretive people who don’t share their beliefs with outsiders. So how do so many other people know of the prophecies?

My answer:

Druid lore is not the only one with prophecies about Arthur and Merlin.

There are many more prophecies… likely from many different cultures.

The Catha priests and by extension, Finna (one of the Bendrui, who joined the priesthood and was brought up as initiates in the old religion) guarded their ancient knowledge for hundreds of years.

One of those secrets was the scroll that talked about the battle of Camlann. The one Finna sacrificed her life to give Emrys.

GAIUS: "Let loose the hounds of war. Let the dreadfire of the last priestess rain down from angry skies. For brother will slaughter brother. For friend will murder friend. As the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann. The prophets do not lie. There Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain."

(Episode: The Kindness of Strangers)

Meanwhile, the Villa (spirits of the brooks and streams) simply referred to him as “Merlin” and “young warlock”. Which means his birth name might be the one their species is more familiar with using.

(Of course, there’s also magical beings like the Great Dragon and Cailleach, gatekeeper of the Spirit World, who could sense his presence even from a great distance.)

Book description:

- It is aware of the many prophecies about Arthur and Merlin - those which have existed for centuries, and those which call them by different names, such as the druidic lore that knows Merlin as 'Emrys"

Episode transcript: Vilia: “Merlin is stronger than you give him credit for. The young warlock has great power and a future that has been written since the dawn of time. Do not worry. Even now, my sisters begin to heal him.”

Question: What did Merlin do wrong with the medicine that he used to treat Mordred’s infection that made it ineffective?

What ingredients were used to make it? Baking soda maybe?

My answer: I’m not sure of the ingredients themselves. All I do know is that it’s referred to as an ‘herbal paste’.

So given the description, it likely doesn’t consist of baking soda.

On another page, it refers to Merlin’s patch job as a ‘rough bandage’, which implies that either he mixed it to the wrong consistency or perhaps spread it to unevenly.

Book description: Merlin thought he had the basic idea of what to do though, and he’d mixed up a herbal paste to apply to the wound.

- Gaius drew back the rough bandage on the boy's arm.'

Question: How does Mordred know Merlin is the Emrys?

Do the writings actually describe him? It cannot be because of him possessing magic, since Morgana has that too?

My answer: Gaius was not overly surprised to learn that the Great Dragon had been able to sense Merlin, because they were both powerful magical beings.

Mordred has a power level of five stars (⭐️ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) and in fact, he was so powerful even as a child, that the great dragon thought it was more then possible that he could use the Crystal of Neahtid.

So it makes sense that Mordred would be able to sense Merlin’s vast magical power (since I doubt his magic feels like anyone else’s; given how he’s literally magic itself).

The Complete Guide also claims that some magical individuals may be drawn to other magical beings or objects.

And then there is Merlin ...

It also claims that Merlin is able to do magic of a kind never seen before.

That likely translates into a type of power/energy that is uniquely Emrys.

Iseldir and some of the other druids could also sense that he was Emrys.

More than likely due to Merlin’s magic feeling so much more powerful than anything a normal sorcerer should be capable of wielding.

Book description: Gaius should have been surprised.

But that one powerful magical being should know about another was perhaps not so unexpected.

MAGICAL POWERS:

Very rarely, humans are born with magical abilities. Some remain unaware of their magical powers for many years; others do not realize that what they do is not normal, only learning as they grow up that their gifts are not shared by others.

These magical individuals may be drawn to other magical beings or objects. Some have the gift of telepathy - the ability to speak mind to mind.

Others can see the future. And then there is Merlin ...

UNIQUE GIFT

Before he comes to Camelot, Merlin has never been taught magic and knows no spells - yet he is able to do magic of a kind never seen before.

He soon becomes adept at incantations, having a grasp of sorcery that few can rival - and ultimately, Merlin masters the power of life and death itself.

[kankuroplease]

Kakashi seems kinda serious in the Tattoo Shop AU. Got any silly Kakashi headcanons?

For the Tsau? He is rather silly in his own way

Gave a speech at Minato and Kushina’s wedding thanking Kushina for saying yes so Minato could finally shut up about her 👍

He wears custom socks with their dogs faces and crocs most days

Nuzzles Rin and Obito over kisses on purpose to make them lower their guard for an actual kiss. They never know when it’s coming and that’s fun for him

Bought a shirt that says ‘sugar baby’ to wear on dates with Obito because he thought he wouldn’t actually do it to goes perfectly with his crocs and socks

Tells Sai harmless misinformation because he takes things so seriously and Kakashi gets a goof laugh out of hearing the kid repeat it

Had a intervention with Naruto/the shop; asked people to raise their hands if they haven’t fucked Naruto. He wasn’t surprised by the outcome 💀

Has a few paper fortune tellers in his desk for when Yamato is being indecisive, anxious, or wants date ideas w/ Genma. Yams says he’s too old for that but let’s Kakashi do it every time

Has worn the wigs that Sakura leaves in the shop just cause

Intentionally refers flirtatious clients to Sasuke and states he’s single. every. TIME.

Does the same to his father. “He’s single.” “Kakashi” “loves walks” “KAKASHI!!” This man will list every single person he knows if someone tries to flirt with him.

Leash dad that also dresses the kids up as dogs for walks. He thinks it’s funny and cute, plus the kids have a lot of fun doing it/don’t complain about their leashes when they’re dressed up too

Will howl to get the dogs howling. 9/10 if the dogs are howling, he started it

Makes Tako sausages for the kids lunches and gets really happy when Rin makes one for his lunch too.

Participates in Ryu’s dojo, which means he’s also having to demonstrate things with Gai

Not so silly; but can’t actually mimic most singers and has a wide octave range, so has helped Chiha rehearse singing the female vocals with ease. He’s also told her she can’t tell anyone if she wants him to keep helping her.

Can’t pass on purchasing books with outlandish titles so his bookshelf is full of the most random stories

Gives Gaara dog stickers anytime they meet. He noticed Gaara smile the first time he gave him one and it’s become a thing now (Gaara isn’t even sure why it’s happening, but he keeps them)

Is in a small competition with Tsunade over the scones at the local bakery. It’s usually with him or her getting the last one because of their schedules

Thankfully, the Uchiha behave themselves when they come to his shop, but he does have a kids chair for Shisui sense he won’t stop hanging out in the shop whenever he feels like. Has his name on it and everything

Enthusiastically participates in the floor is lava. Has pushed Obito, Chiha, Naruto, Minato, Kushina, Yamato, Genma, Sakura, Sai, Ino, and apologetically placed Rin into the “Lava” in order to win

Also refuses to lose in twister, zero shame or embarrassment. He’s honestly a big kid when it comes to games 💀

[shimakaze-revivalism]

this year i've been doing a lot of stuff that i didn't mean to do, and not doing a lot of stuff that i did mean to do. i got involved with the kink scene, i deepened my familiarity with carbonated beverages, i ate a lot of fried chicken sandwiches, i started reading again, and i played a lot of gacha.

and speaking of gacha, the only one that stuck with me from the decent-sized crop that i sampled this year was mihoyo's zenless zone zero! what to say about it . . . it's a Real Game, for one. it manages to shed the unsheddable "rubbishy" feel that is almost universal to gacha. its premise is like if andy and leyley were normal and worked as shadowrun hackers in jet set radio tokyo, in a semi-apocalyptic world where the only people around are orphans, anthros, or both. there are also sentient automatons that have cool outfits, and chubby baby bunny robots, but unfortunately neither of them have rights. it's got a really cool soundtrack, a charming spiderversesque look, and characters i found surprisingly compelling.

new music! well, new to me at least. you know ben and jerry's cherry garcia (possibly the most prominent contemporary cherry-focused ice cream flavor)? well jerry garcia was a guy who had this band that old men loved called the grateful dead. and well, i don't really care for what i've heard of their records to be honest. but it must be said that they were a jam band, and the 16 minute terrapin station gives one a taste of what i assume was the sensory height of a real-life hippy's experience, and i can imagine listening to it for decades to come.

indeed, if one wants a meal in the proggy realm rather than a bite, it's best to look to the guys that do that stuff all the time across the pond. Morgan put me on to electric wizard and their impeccable self-titled album has been in heavy rotation since. jackie put me on to yes' album relayer, and the first track provides the rarefied pleasure of hearing the singer of the irrepressibly lighthearted and goofy jojo anime ED "roundabout" trill about bathing in the blood of one's enemies.

in more occasional listening i have to rep my oshi 星街彗星 (hoshimachi suisei). her consistently strong body of work ranges from saccharine, to heartfelt, to sort of diva-core. listen, it's increasingly popular to reference hatsune miku, and it's often done with a sort of surface-level appreciation of miku, riding off of the long history miku has in overseas otaku culture. i myself have participated in this. but step outside the bit with me here. miku is a synth, an instrument. miku has all the humanity of the DX7. in fact that's what her color scheme is based on (because yamaha made both miku and the DX7)! hoshimachi suisei . . . listen, maybe people aren't ready. but she really is a virtual pop star. she's iconic. she's got a sigma grindset. she has a favorite food and a sister and friends and it's not lore it's reality. she's not a prop owned by a company, but an autonomous performer! miku is a virtual girl. suisei has a virtual face, but she's a real woman with a real dream! won't you believe in it?

staying with japanese affairs for a moment, anime has been good too! gushing over magical girls, perfect show, hannibal for anime girls, delightful and heartfelt. i also watched the vexations of a shut-in vampire princess, which was frenetic, lightning fast and kind of stupid, but i eagerly await another season. both extremely lesbian.

looking ahead, i'm extremely excited for the release of the alters, a game whose demo caught me completely off-guard, and i'm also excited to try the early access release of marmoreal, a sort of isometric completely touhoucore game with so much charm and sincerity.

that's my little roundup! have a great september!

[zahri-melitor]

Mmm, for the writer asks -- Greg Rucka?

Rucka! Ahaha so people have now hit 3 of my top four writers on LOCG. 159 issues so far.

Yes there are some noticeable missing titles from this list that I keep intending to get around to and have not yet sat down to read (52. Checkmate. Death and the Maidens. Crime Bible. Lois Lane. The Old Guard. On the upside, it means that I have a bunch of new-to-me Rucka work I have not yet read!)

And oh damn, this is hard. Let's see.

8. Gotham Central 2006: Night Shift. Look, I really like Gotham Central. I just think Rucka's done work that hit me harder elsewhere. As a way of continuing the Brubaker/Rucka Batman/Tec run it was a really clever idea.

7. Wonder Woman 2016 #1-25: I think I have to put this here. I love this run. It's got Bilquis Evely art. But it's doing a lot of repairs, while Rucka's got clear runs where he isn't fixing things elsewhere.

6. No Man’s Land: I’m not listing all of Rucka’s issues in here, but he wrote all of the Montoya plot (of course), the trial of James Gordon, Claim Jumping, LOTDK #125 where Bruce and Jim finally talk… he doesn’t have ALL my favourite parts of No Man’s Land but gosh did he write a big swathe of them. I think I pop this in here simply as a lot of the work is disconnected.

5. Wonder Woman: The Hiketeia: as a pitch to be allowed to write Wonder Woman, this is stunning. Only ranked so low as it's short.

4. Detective Comics #739-#775: Not only for the focus on the regrowth of Gotham, not only for the slow steady breakdown Bruce has in the lead into Murderer/Fugitive, but for the approach to colouring on this title. It's such a distinctive run any Bat fan can pick out immediately because of the art and colour.

3. Detective Comics #854-865: Batwoman Elegy is very much a time constrained piece that is going to continue dating itself, but it is largely doing so in a manner where it's transforming into a period piece more than winceworthy. It also set the standard that Batwoman runs deserve J.H. Williams III level art and layouts; very few other characters get their solos checked for 'is the art sufficiently dramatic?'

2. Wonder Woman 1987 #195-226: as a pitch for what Diana can achieve as a diplomat, this is both delightful and fun. Widely praised for good reason. Veronica Cale was just a really smart addition to Diana's rogue's gallery.

1. Batman/Huntress: Cry for Blood 2000: What doesn't this comic do? It's like Rucka managed to compress all of his favourite tropes and impulses into a concentrated mini and gave it to all of us. Its references are really smart.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Going Home.

Moon Knight, Issue #14: Stained Glass Scarlet

OH BOY OH BOY. 

Just…Take a minute to appreciate this art: 

Damn that’s beautiful! 

Okay everyone! 

Here's a bit of rogue history for you! Especially since Scarlet showed up in a recent run! 

Her story is a sad one. 

The story starts in an abandoned church. A story of forgotten worship, run down and empty pews, infested sanctuary, and empty promises of atonement. 

"But high above the corruption, just under the church's vaulted roof in what was once the attic, there is a place of melancholy comfort... If not sanctuary.

It is here that Scarlet-- Stained Glass Scarlet-- has lived for the past three years, quiet as languid smoke, unknown by the crumbling world outside." 

Damn fine narration as always, Moench. 

And damn fine art. 

She carries out a lonely routine. Playing on the silent ruined Organ, gazing at the vast empty space and far away stars, playing pre-recorded chess games, and at last looking through her old photo album. 

"And each piece of the past is like a shard of stained glass... But all of them, even glimpsed together never adding up to a window with a clear view." 

She looks at pictures of her first communion. Her wedding. Her baby. 

The album ends in a newspaper clipping "Joe 'Mad Dog' Fasinera escapes prison. Guard killed in break." 

Cut to a vastly different location. "A fortress of wealth and security...Sanctuary." 

We are at Grant Mansion. 

Here we see Steven and Marlene sharing a moment. 

Marelene remarks that they really are lucky. 

"[...] Referring to you, to the change you've accomplished. Going from a conscienceless mercenary to a man like Moon Knight is no light-"

"Yes... well, if it's the miraculous redemption of my spirit we're talking about-"

They sit together and look at a collected work of "Alphonse Mucha." 

You have to understand something about comics. When they show you a book with a title or author, it has a purpose. 

You are supposed to recognize the name or title and understand that it will have an impact on the story later. 

So... 

Alphonse Mucha. Who is that? 

He's a Czech painter/illustrator/graphic artist from the art Nouveau period. 

He did this: 

Yeah. THAT. You've seen his work. You'll also notice that the second cover image has a similar style.

He also did this stained glass art piece in the : 

He loved his country of Czechoslovakia and did many works celebrating the slavic people and the independence of his country... in 1920s-1930. 

Yeah... You see where this is going if you know your history. 

When Hitler invaded and took over Czechoslovakia, Mucha was captured as a nationalist and severely interrogated for many days. When he was released, he was in poor health. He contracted pneumonia and died a month before the outbreak of WWII. 

Check out his art, it's beautiful. 

You should also keep in mind that The Spectors are also from Czechoslovakia. 

"The clerk in Rizzoli's said he's seen the originals of these--ten feet tall, almost like stained glass windows--hanging in belgium." 

So Steven bought this book. 

Why? Sure, he's about being rich and living the high light. In earlier issues (particularly the one with Mogart) he had shown an interest in art. 

But why this one? 

Marlene goes to the piano and starts to play "In My Life" by the Beatles. 

Wait, when did this comic come out? 

December 1981. 

Ahhhh. The one year anniversary of the death of John Lennon. 

Sometimes comics cover world events and note how they affect others. 

We see them cry and hug. 

"The dream is over. John Lennon is dead. [....] Guns. And guilt." 

We cut to Scarlet, listening to the news on the radio. 

It talks about gunfire in the Bronx attributed to the 'Mad Dog' Fasinera, the escaped convict. 

The radio goes on about Mad Dog going on a murder spree. 

Scarlet sheds some tears. 

Back at the mansion, Steven also hears about the shootings. He runs to get ready as Moon Knight. 

We cut to Mad Dog in a shoot out. He talks about revenge for his father and getting his father's money. He's going ot 'cut the old neighborhood to ribbons'. 

We see Moon Knight on the roof getting into the chopper. 

"Don't worry about it, Lady- Grant'll be back." 

"Who will be back, Steven?" 

"Okay, Already. I'LL be back." 

Again, we see the push by Marlene to have them all be Steven and the push back and frustration. 

Marlene still at this point thinks they are pretending to be someone else and she wants them all to just be Steven. 

Scarlet also cloaks up in her signature red outfit and heads out into the night. 

Moon Knight fights the Mad Dog and his gang shooting up a store. He busts in and breaks it up, taking down a few while the others get away. 

He follows them to an abandoned grocery store and sees Scarlet standing outside. 

She goes inside and finds the rest of Mad Dog's gang, but no Mad Dog. She demands to know where Joe 'Mad Dog' is. 

She tells them that when they see Joe to tell him 'What he's looking for is in the church." She then leaves. 

Moon Knight follows her back to the church and confronts her. 

She tells him her story. 

Joe is her son!

"I was young, Moon Knight, in love with the idea of being in love..." 

She talks about how Joe was the result and consequence of her love. Now, she means to 'salvage' the consequences and save Joe. 

When she was much younger, she wanted to be an actress or a nun. She chose the role of being a nun. 

Once she was a nun, she realized that she was only acting and regretted her choice. 

She realized this when she met a man named "Vince". Vine had just stolen a lot of money and run to the church out of guilt. 

She helped him and 6 months later she married him and left the church. 

"Instead, I devoted myself to my husband, hoping I could help him change, hoping I could use my own failure to redeem him... The baby came and I named him Joseph... But Vince never came to the hospital once. I had to take a cab home." 

After 15 years, she realized that this too was just a 'role'. Vince robbed a bank and killed the guard. He stashed the money and got in a shoot out with the police, who killed him in front of the church. 

When Joe heard his father was killed, he 'declared war on law and order." 

By 19 he had killed someone and left home. He went to jail for life. 

When her son went to jail, she moved to the church. "Jut to play another role, the fallen woman turned mad hemit." 

Moon Knight asks her why the church. 

"Just before the police caught up to him, Vince told a friend that he was going to hide the bank money in a special place where he 'pulled an angel straight down from heaven'." 

She moved to the church knowing that her son would eventually come looking for the money. 

Joe makes a draatic entrance and demands to know where the money is. 

She begs him to stop. To give up and turn himself in. 

Moon Knight gets shot in a scuffel and Scarlet shoots Joe. 

Joe staggers and accidentally grabs the church bell rope. As he falls, all the hidden money falls down with him. 

Scarlet stands over her dead son. 

"Thomas Wolfe's Maudlin line is true, Moon Knight... You never can go home again. Once you've turned your back on it... It's gone. Forever." 

(A very hard and true statement. I wonder if it hit home for Marc too. A man that ran from home and turned his back on everything. Had he ever tried to go home? Or was he still running?) 

Scarlet disappears into the night. Moon Knight stands over the discarded gun. “Guns…” Lamenting on how easily they take and destroy. Much like the death of John Lennon. An idea that is killed. 

Moon Knight returns back to the mansion, wounded but alive. 

"Some succeed in their chosen mission. Others fail, no matter how hard they try." 

That is the end of the issue, but not the last time we will see Stained Glass Scarlet. 

I’ll cover each of her appearances, but this is a Moon Knight Villain that I always did enjoy. 

So what about the artist? Alphonse Mucha is best known for his Art Nouveau period, but it wasn’t what he wanted to be known for. 

For him, he loved his home. He loved his little country that had fought and struggled to become whole. One of his final pieces was about his own people. “History of the Slav”. It depicted his people’s struggles to survive and build their country. 

It was put in a museum for a bit then rolled up and put into storage. 

Now and then it is pulled out and shown in Prague, but not for long or often. His country was then invaded and torn apart over and over again. He died as it was on the brink. 

Again, we have to remember that the Spectors are from Czech. While Mucha was devoutly Catholic and did a lot of work that went to the churches, he wasn’t openly recognized for a lot of it. He was most famous for the work he did in Paris. 

Scarlet tried to find herself and found herself in role after role, pretending to be happy and not finding herself. Her legacy becomes her failure to save her husband and then her son, born from her misguided attempt to find her purpose. She then kills that legacy. 

It’s odd in this comic how Moon Knight really doesn’t have much of a role in it. We focus on Mucha, John Lennon, and Scarlet. 

The bits we do see of Moon Knight are him looking into an artist from Czech who left a legacy he didn’t want. Him lamenting over the senseless killing of a man that meant so much to a lot of people. And him hearing the story of a woman trapped in finding her meaning and her past. 

It’s one of those issues that leaves you feeling like you are taking a peak behind a curtain but can’t quite see the full picture. It also leaves you wondering. 

And later, much later, in recent issues, when we see the remains of Scarlet, there is a sadness there. A bit of the past that Moon Knight could never let go of. And we’ll see more of that later when she shows up again. 

[wearykatie]

Journey Into the Wild Beyond Chapter 5: The Palace of Heart's Desire (Part 3)

This is it. The culmination of everything. Five chapters of adventure and loss have led to this. The final moments. The grand finale. 

But first, the fuck is up with that name? 

Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of War

Okay okay okay, permit me another weird tangent for just a moment because The Wild Beyond the Witchlight has some kind of cool references to older D&D things. The League of Malevolence and Valor’s Call are two opposing factions who were caught up in the whole fight between the hags and Zybilna. They’re also all characters featured in either D&D campaigns or the 1983 toyline, or the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon. Warduke? Actually in the cartoon and the toyline. So my players who mocked his name were mocking history! 

Nah, the name still sucks. Hey, tiny bit of credit to D&D writers of old, they didn't have access to the internet to come up with names. GMs of yesteryear didn't have resources like Fantasy Name Generators or Wikipedia or mispronounced words from Google Translate.

Seriously, check out Fantasy Name Generators. It's a fantastic resource if you're stuck on a name for characters, towns, taverns, ships, or whatever. The site has helped inspire or outright just named dozens of characters for me because I am notoriously bad at coming up with names.

Not "Warduke" bad, but pretty bad.

Anyway, back to the poorly named dorks from 1983. The party found members of Valor’s Call frozen in the palace and freed them. They feel like cameos more than anything because they aren’t really given much to do in the story. I was keeping them around as backup in case they were needed in the final battle. 

LOL

LOL, I say.

Yeah, Yeah, I Suck At Encounters

The party found the incantation in a book titled The Wild Beyond the Witchlight. It was a children’s storybook that seemed to tell the tale of their own exploits through Prismeer. Also, the voice they heard speaking to them when they held the gems was sounding familiar to them. But they took their gem collection to the cauldron next to the frozen Zybilna…and found the League of Malevolence waiting for them. 

Big team battle, right? Nope, speech checks to talk the League into leaving before they got their butts whipped by the party and then Zybilna. Hey, they like the nonviolence route, so I’m going to let them take it. They started the ritual but OH NO, HERE COMES THE JABBERWOCK! Can’t talk your way out of this one, can y–

Oh, Tom banished it. ‘Kay. Well, at least Artie made his triumphant return to you know, not fight the Jabberwock with his friends.

Alright, yes, the Jabberwock was supposed to have legendary resistances, but I overlooked them in the moment and also, it was just better for pacing because we didn’t have much time for a fight. 

The incantation was read, the cauldron began to change its state, and they knew that changing a component of the original spell could cancel it out. There was a blinding flash of light to end the penultimate session.

Fairy Godmother

As the final session began, I did a different kind of recap. I told a story about how when the player characters were young, just after they lost their items, they had a nightmare about three scary shadows in their bedroom, but a kind woman appeared and banished the shadows, then read them a story until they fell asleep. The story was about a group of children who lost part of themselves and went on a magic journey to find the missing pieces. 

When the recap finished, I described Zybilna being unfrozen and looking very confused at first, but soon catching up on what happened. She teleported away to fix the arcane anchors and returned just in time to send the Jabberwock to its room. Oh, did I mention it was her pet? Yeah, Zybilna has some messed up stuff in that castle. 

The party caught her up on everything that happened, and she seemed sad that the hags, her sisters, were dead, but she understood. She had let her guard down, thinking they might legitimately want to reconnect with her, but they betrayed her. For their part, most of the party was understanding about that, but Elora was more than a little miffed. The lives of her and her friends had been drastically altered because of Zybilna’s mistake, and Ana’leth had died. 

Early actually asked if there was a way Zybilna could bring back Ana. Zybilna said she couldn’t, but asked to see the letter and the Alice plush anyway. After an arcane examination, she called on another fey, a woman named Jessamine, and sent her to find her “mortal hunter” and send her to a certain place on a certain date. 

Zybilna spoke to the gathered Army of Prismeer and the castle staff, coming clean about everything. The hags, her relationship to them, her past, everything. Then I turned it over to the players and asked them, knowing everything they had learned and been told about Natasha/Iggwilv/Zybilna, how they thought the people of Prismeer would react to learning the truth. Unanimously, they thought she was genuine in trying to be a better person, so the people of Prismeer accepted Zybilna for who she was, faults and all.

So, Good Night Unto You All

The party stayed the night in the Palace of Heart’s Desire, Zybilna promising to return them home in the morning. She spoke briefly with Elora, telling her to “have faith”. 

This requires some explanation…see, the mission Ana’leth supposedly died on was one she survived in the continuity of our main campaign. She had been captured, sure, but thanks to the timely arrival of her old teacher, Faith, she was rescued before she could be killed. Leaving the Feywild can be tricky, time doesn’t move the same there. A fey who knows what they’re doing can actually send someone back to before they left the Material Plane…or send another fey back in time. Jessamine, who is one of Faith’s lovers, was sent to the past, gave instructions to Faith to be at the town where Ana died two days before it happened. Faith prevented the death from ever happening, Zybilna didn’t have to mess around with resurrection magic and potentially pissing off the goddess of death, and Elora got her sister back. 

When the party returned to the Material Plane, I read off a closing narration that I had practiced for weeks, trying to get through it without crying. I failed, but at least my sobs weren’t audible.

Reena’s player, another longtime best friend, sent me a package weeks before the game ended and made me promise not to open it until the end of our final session. I opened it after the game while still on call and it made me cry more. I’ll share a picture at the end of this post, along with the final words of my closing narration. 

Final Thoughts, but Far From the End

For my first long term DMing experience, I think the game went well. Could it have been better? Sure. Did my players enjoy it? They did. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely. Like every time I run a game, I learned a lot from this one, and I will use those going forward. I want to do something like this again soon. Maybe not on the same scale, maybe not a weekly game, but I want to do this again. I’ve already talked to the group about doing a short reunion campaign down the road, revisiting the characters, but I also want to try something new. 

I feel like I accomplished more than I set out to do with this campaign. I tested my ability to run a longform campaign, I did a little creative writing with my edits and original content, I learned more about 5th Edition, I improved as a roleplayer, and I got really good at pacing things out into three hour sessions. I also gave K the break they needed and the chance to play in a campaign again, which was one of my primary goals.

But there were some unexpected things to come out of the campaign too. I had a couple of players tell me the campaign inspired them to make other characters or approach existing ones in a new way. I was told I lit a fire under the group. A player who doesn’t really care for 5e said I showed them new things that could be done with the system. And overall, it seems like the players got as much from this as I did.

As for The Wild Beyond the Witchlight itself, I recommend it. Obviously it’s good for someone running their first full campaign, but I think experienced DMs and players will get a lot out of it too. My problems with Chapter 5 aside, it’s solidly written and has some gorgeous art that inspired me every step of the way. 

Before I end this, I want to say thanks to my players (some of you are reading this), and thanks to anyone and everyone who read this series. Writing about this was a good way to organize my thoughts in maybe the most disorganized writing project I’ve ever worked on. I swear, when I do this again, I will have a set schedule for posting. I’ll also get better at closing these posts out. A lot of these just sort of

~end~

[elvenbeard]

HMM... Ramble to your content about Teenagers. Because I'm Curious. 👀

Ooouuuhhh hell yeah 👀

For context, this takes place in 2067, this particular chapter on June 10th to be precise. It's the morning after Vince ran away from home to escape his abusive mother, and he's at a dingy motel that Jackie recommended to him xD They've known each other for a few months at that point, but didn't stay in touch the whole time. Actually, the night before was the first Vince had called Jackie ever since they met xD And now he's gotta do it again 👀

He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone, which had been quietly sitting on the desk. Quieter than it had ever been, ever since he got it. “V, Good morning!” Jackie greeted him, smiling as always, but he seemed just a tad less enthusiastic about it than normal, “Sleep well?” “You’re really persistent about that V-thing, aren’t you?” Vincent asked, “And I guess, yes. Was exhausted enough.” “Not gonna lie, I worried about you when I drove home yesterday,” Jackie said, “Glad you called.” Vincent however worried that Jackie’s next sentence would finally prove that he’d been right all along about him, that now was the time he’d request all the favors back he’d extended to Vincent so far. It would be his good right, too. Vincent was ready to help him out, that was out of the question. He just hoped, whatever Jackie needed, was something he was capable of doing. And yet… “So, wanna grab breakfast somewhere?” Jackie asked. Vincent had to pause a few seconds, mostly to figure out if there was a way he could have misunderstood. “… what?” “Is the connection spotty there? Guess all those runners in Kabuki with their netblockers and Self-ICE and whatnot…” “No, the connection is fine,” Vincent quickly clarified, but he still couldn’t shake his bewilderment, “You want to drive up all the way from Heywood… to grab breakfast with me?” Jackie stared at him as if he was the one acting strange now. “It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway, at least not until 4, 5 p.m.,” he then said, “Besides, I know a few people in Kabuki. Friends of friends of friends, you know, who could help you out when I can’t…” Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose, his head starting to pound mercilessly now. “I appreciate it, Jackie, but – “ “Then appreciate it for real! C’mon, V,” Jackie said, “Doesn’t hurt to have a little bit of trust occasionally.” “Says the most trusting person I’ve ever met…” Vincent muttered. “Honesty! Also a good start!” Jackie laughed, “I’ll be there in, let’s saaay… twenty or so minutes. Don’t go anywhere without me just yet!” He hung up before Vincent could protest. Vincent was frozen for a few seconds, then he just dropped his phone to the floor. He let himself fall back onto the bed, the springs in the old-fashioned mattress squeaking softly. The radio in the other room was still blaring, the fog outside had almost dissolved in the morning sunlight by now. “What did I get myself into…” Vincent murmured to himself and closed his eyes.

I mentioned this before in passing, at this point he is still adamant about everyone calling him Vincent, and so I'm referring to him like that as well outside of dialogues (and damn, I was struggling really at first to not fall back into "V" by default XD). But yes, during their following encounter they first really get to talk a little more deeply to each other again and Vince dares to let his guard down a bit, and eventually they really connect through both being angsty teenagers that had to grow up too fast due to their abusive parents (in Jackie's case just his dad, but he really was bad enough to make up for both of V's parents). Also the chapter title comes from the MCR song, of course XD

Still a WIP overall, but a relatively polished one! When I come back to it I think I mostly wanna look at the flow once more and getting Jackie's voice right and consistent!

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

4 Seasons | JJK - Teaser

Pairing: Royal Guard!Jungkook x Fem!Princess!Reader, Prince!Jimin x Fem!Princess!Reader. (ft. Yoongi & Hoseok)

Warnings: fluff, angst, arranged marriage, historical period, old traditions, angst (again), love, forbidden love, royal au, historical au, love triangle (?) (more warnings will be displayed on the masterlist post for this series as well as individual warnings for each chapter)

In which you, princess of the Gyeongdong Dynasty, were in the middle of wedding plans. An arranged marriage that would guarantee your father's bloodline to stay in the royal family. Or in which you were assigned a new royal guard that swore to protect you with his life. Jeon Jungkook. That's his name. A name you could never forget. A name that, slowly but surely got engraved not only in your memories but also in your heart.

Love, politics, betrayal and desire. All in ancient history. A love that never should have happened, two souls that wouldn't be allowed to be together.

|-|

"I know I can never be compared to him, I could never give you what he can or protect you the way he can. But even in this twisted game, I need you to know that I love you with all my being, soul and heart."

His heart clenched when those words left his lips yet he knew he had to say them, say them and let you go.

"Then why are you hurting me like this? Why can't we leave this place together and be happy for once in our lives?"

Your tears rolled down your cheeks like endless rivers of pain. It was too much, too much to take in, too much to accept. He sighed, hating the way he was making you feel, hating the circumstances you both were in.

"Because I love you too much to cage you with me. You have to live as the princess of Gyeongdong, our future queen and I am forced to live like your royal guard. Nothing less, nothing more."

He turned around, feeling how each of your cries were like arrows being fired to his heart, not physical wound could ever be compared to this emotional pain he was feeling. However, he knew it was necessary.

"But I love you, Jungkook! I could never love him the way I love you."

He turned around, a sad smile over his lips as his own big eyes were moisturised with the salty water of sadness.

"I'm glad I can hold that part of your heart, princess. Perhaps... in another lifetime we'll be able to be together."

You sniffled, hating the title he used to refered to you. If you weren't a princess, if you weren't the future queen of Gyeongdong, then you would have been his for a long time now. But fate was cruel and now, you both were left with a wounded heart as it bled with the remains of your love.

"Yes, and I will always be waiting for you. In each life until we meet again."

|-|

May 21/2023

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[sieclesetcieux]

On Saint-Just’s Personality: An Introduction

Saint-Just’s personality is deeply misunderstood.

Saint-Just was a very secretive person, and guarded his personality behind walls. It might come off as surprising, considering how he’s usually depicted, but he actually was very introverted and reserved at the Convention, at the Committee of Public Safety, and during his missions in Alsace and in the North.

He was also a very sensitive person. He didn’t take slights easily (neither did Robespierre). But unlike Robespierre, he was also extremely young and wanted to be taken seriously. He was building off from nothing. So he built his own “myth”: the man (re)born with the Revolution. He made his youth his advantage: he hadn’t been as corrupted as the others by the old ways. This is something that was used by other revolutionaries, for example Marc-Antoine Jullien, who was 19 years old in 1794. They would say their youth made them closer to “nature” – that is, the natural, uncorrupted state of humanity as defined by Enlightenment philosophy.

The Saint-Just people think they know via novels and movies doesn’t really exist. I can’t think of any fictional representation that accurately portrays him. How people think of Saint-Just is basically several different “fanon” interpretations, some built by his enemies, some built by people who did appreciate him but didn’t quite understand him – which didn’t help much in the end.

This is important to point out because in the end these are the sources we have to learn who Saint-Just was as a person:

What those who knew him wrote about him (sometimes writing many decades later, which naturally impacts memory)

The little insight we can gleam from the few personal notes he left here and there in notebooks (and an unsent letter) that were never meant to be read by anyone

I know this seems obvious, but people often forget that historical figures are not fictional characters. They were real, living, breathing, human beings. They were people, and people have flaws and contradictions. People don’t necessarily remain the same at 20 years old, at 25, at 30 and so forth. People change.

The Saint-Just who writes Organt before the Revolution isn’t the Saint-Just who writes L’Esprit de la Révolution et de la Constitution de France in 1790 and isn’t the Saint-Just who gets elected deputy to the Convention in 1792. The Saint-Just who writes an unsent letter to Villain d’Aubigny (usually dated of July 20 1792, though it’s a topic of debate) is a Saint-Just no one was supposed to see. Same with most of his personal notes they built the Fragments des Institutions républicaines with.

Most importantly of all, a person will appear different to different people in different contexts. It’s a matter of perspective.

If you only take Desmoulins’ and Hilary Mantel’s and Tanith Lee’s perspectives on Saint-Just, well, I’m sorry to say, that’s not Saint-Just. That’s a perspective of Saint-Just.

Moreover, Saint-Just has many faces, many images, many legends, some of which he created himself while he was alive.

Victor Hugo was influenced by the Romantic Historians of the French Revolution, Michelet and Lamartine specifically, and their descriptions of Saint-Just to create Enjolras.

This is how you can find this connection making it even through novels that don’t like Saint-Just very much:

“He has a mind of fire and a heart of ice.”

- Bertrand Barère on Louis-Antoine Saint-Just

“It is a thing unheard of that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire.”           

- Bossuet on Enjolras, in Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“...Camille felt an instant aversion, as to the touch of ice, which is what the young man most resembled. Chiseled from an ice floe.”

- Camille on Saint-Just, in Tanith Lee, The Gods Are Thirsty

Thus, even traces of this Saint-Just lives on in Tanith Lee's book.

Main testimonies

Most of them are here, in French, and some have been translated. If not, I will work on it. I will repost them on this tumblr as well, along with additional information about their author, their reliability, their personal biases, etc.

Sources by Saint-Just’s hand

While some revolutionaries have enough correspondence to fill entire volumes, Saint-Just comparatively left few letters behind. We do have one letter that gives incredible insight into his state of mind, but it’s important to remember this letter was never meant to be read by anyone. It was an unsent letter, found in his things after Thermidor, and then made public against his wishes, much like most of his personal notes. It is, however, an amazing letter nevertheless, but it’s important to keep this context in mind: he did not want you to see him like this.

Secondly, we have a lot of decrees he wrote during his missions. Though most don’t say very much, they do give clues on his personality, on his attitude, on his perspective. In some cases, he would write a quick postscript to a letter written by Le Bas and addressed to Maximilien Robespierre. Interestingly, while Le Bas would use the “vous” with Robespierre, and admitted to his wife Élisabeth he felt closer to Augustin than to Maximilien, Saint-Just always uses the “tu”. This isn’t just a matter of revolutionary zeal – the whole “vous vs tu” question during the Revolution is another, much more complicated story.

Finally, we have personal notes scattered through the manuscript that became known as the Fragments des Institutions républicaines. It’s a strange document to study and refer to. There is, indeed, a project he was working on concerning the Republican Institutions. There are at least two drafts. But the document has other things has well: from notes he later used in speeches (you can pinpoint the similarities) to a very short fictional romance between a man and a woman that’s hard to interpret.

The document known as the Fragments des Institutions républicaines was made from random papers found on him when he was arrested, taken from his apartment, and in a notebook that Barère kept. Pages are missing. Some pages are obviously torn. This is the one place where he confided some of his deepest thoughts, which reveal a great deal of insight on the Revolution and on his role, as well as his mental state. It was written in the last months of his life, when he could feel what was coming.

Saint-Just wrote fiction: yes, there’s the much maligned, very misunderstood Organt. In the same period, which is shortly before the Revolution, he also wrote a play called Arlequin Diogène, a short story called La Raison à la Morne, and a very short epigram of 8 verses, Épigramme sur le comédien Dubois qui a joué dans Pierre le Cruel.

Most of these must be treated as any work of fiction regarding their author: separating fiction from the author is complicated. Is he referencing his own life? Is he even aware that he is? The context of their redaction, however, gives a lot of information and some insight on himself. One of these texts is extremely interesting in order to study his personality. It’s a sort of foreword to Organt titled Dialogue entre M... D... et l’auteur du poëme d’Organt. The format almost resembles that of an interview. This is important as this is Saint-Just the Author, as he wants to be seen. The style is trenchant, concise, straight-to-the-point. Here Saint-Just the Author of 1789 meets Saint-Just the Representative of Year II.

(This post in an introduction to a series of several posts in the process of being written. Please be patient. If you want to know more, feel free to send me questions though! I’ll try to answer as well as I can.)

[donutloverxo]

A Royal scandal 4

Modern royalty au

Image from Instagram

cowritten with @lizzygal​

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the  ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia, talks of virginity.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7.8k

Story masterlist

Valkyrie, or simply Val, watched the entire thing unfold before her eyes and was helpless to stop any of it. All of it. All she could do was watch. Much like one would watch a train accident happen before their very eyes.

She had tried. In truth she had.

However, Sarah was the Queen Mother and Val was a member of the Royal Guard.

There was little she could do.

“Your Majesty,” she purred one last time, in one last attempt to save a situation that she knew deep in her heart was not going to go well at all. “Perhaps you would prefer to go inside and I’ll bring them into the reception area?”

Everything was wrong. So very wrong.

Outside the palace was normally empty.

As it was located in the center of the capital. An old historic building from imperial days that covered numerous city blocks, was where the government was run and where King Steven resided. Press knew better than to hang around outside the imposing palace gates as the king never left out them and was uninterested in opportunities to have his picture taken. As did the Queen Mother.

And yet, that morning, a whole gaggle of photographers were lined up and waiting for the visiting royals. Or so they had shared with Val.

Her Grace, Hope van Dyne, never went anywhere without getting her picture taken. In Val’s opinion, she probably had the phone number to every tabloid office in the world.

Sarah’s voice was kind. Soft. Gentle. It made Val want to wrap her queen up in a blanket and make her go inside so she could deal with their unwelcome guests. She stood beside Val at the top of the steps of the palace, provided with a great view of the black sedan that had pulled in through the gates. The flashiest possible way to enter the palace instead of through the underground garage like everyone else.

“Oh no. That’s hardly necessary. They wanted a scene. Let us give them one.”

Not liking the sounds of that at all, her brown eyes flickered over to look at the slim woman with a head of artfully styled strawberry blonde curls, a button nose and rose petal lips. She was every bit as regal as her title, even if she had not a drop of royal blood in her body.

“You can’t think that they actually called the press to say that the Duchess Hope was the woman with His Majesty on the video from the royal banya?”

Sarah’s cool blue gaze flickered to her royal bodyguard before returning back to the sedan so she could observe her former friend climb out, followed by her raven-haired daughter who waved to the photographers on the other side of the iron gates.

That was exactly what Sarah suspected the second she’d seen it in the morning paper. Though she doubted she would ever find out who had started that rumor.

“Have you found out why they’re here?”

Grimacing, Valkyrie shook her head, unhappy to not have an answer for her queen beneath the cloudy chilly winter day. “Not yet Your Majesty. We have reached out to the Maharaja’s Staff and are waiting to hear back. Soon though we suspect.”

Any second now Val hoped her phone would ring so she could tell the queen.

Which led to Sarah turning her head to look away from her guests as they climbed the stairs. She looked away from the large fountain that the sleek luxury car was parked beside and gave her last true smile for what she suspected would be till lunch. Reaching out, she placed her hand on Valkyrie’s wrist. One of her preferred bodyguards. She’d been loyal and had on two occasions nearly given her life in service of her country. “I trust you will find out and inform me as soon as possible. Do not fret. I doubt they will be leaving anytime in the near future.”

Only a lifetime of service kept Val from cracking a smile.

Instead, her dark eyes watched the silver haired Queen of the Netherlands climb the steps towards them. Smiling. Dressed expensively with a heavy coat made from numerous small furry animals.

Queen Janet van Dyne approached as if it hadn’t been years. She came to stand beside Sarah and greet her in such a way that would make for a perfect picture. Or so Sarah noticed. She greeted her as if they were still friends who spoke frequently on the phone and still sent one another gifts. As if their children had married and everything was fine.

“Sarah! How wonderful to see you, you have not aged a day.”

Janet reached out with gloved hands trimmed in mink, leaned forward to place a polite kiss on Sarah’s cheek in greeting and was more than a little surprised when Sarah stepped away. Her own hands remaining clasped in front of her and out of Janet’s. Greeting or otherwise.

“Janet,” was all that came from Sarah’s mouth. A look went from Janet’s coat down to her dress and then shoes, pausing there before coming back up. “Is that the dress you wore to Lizzie’s grandson’s wedding?”

Surprised by the greeting, or lack thereof, Janet paused and then smiled brightly, knowing that though the cameras could not hear them they could capture this image on film. “Yes. We’re focusing on becoming sustainable out in the west. Going green isn’t merely a project meant as royal busywork.”

Sarah could actually feel Valkyrie stiffen beside her at mention of the Green Initiative that Steve had tasked her with and had been far from busywork. It was something that Sarah could go on and on about, one of her many efforts that she busied herself with and yet, she found she didn’t want to expend that much energy on her once friend.

Hands still in front of her, fingers laced together where she could feel her wedding band. Sarah tilted her head slightly to the side. “I wouldn’t know. We remain a governing monarchy here.”

Janet blanched. Her lips formed a straight line, nearly as straight as the way her spine stiffened.

Though Sarah was unable to enjoy it as she turned her attention to the daughter. Hope van Dyne. Formerly Princess Hope but now Duchess Hope, after having been stripped of her title and recently reinstated to a lesser one, in Sarah’s opinion anyway.

Hope looked lovely as ever.

Tanned. Dressed exceptionally well. Smiling exuberantly.

It almost warmed Sarah’s icy heart.

“Sarah! How are you? You look wonderful!” Exclaimed Hope, sounding genuinely thrilled to see the woman who might have been her mother-in-law had things gone differently. She stepped on up with outstretched arms and was greeted with a serene face that looked at her in confusion.

Sarah said nothing. Not a word. Sarah maintained eye contact and looked at Hope as if waiting for the younger woman to say or do something.

Thus leading to Hope blinking in confusion and lowering her arms, looking to her mother for assistance as this clearly was not the welcome she expected.

“Is something wrong,” Hope asked a bit nervously as a winter breeze ruffled the fur on her mother’s coat. Sneaking under the cashmere of her own, as she hadn’t had time to properly shop for winter here. This was her mother’s idea. It was her last hope. Her father had refused to hear her and not even her mother could plead her case this time. This was it.

“I was about to ask you the same.”

Val watched Hope’s confusion and fought hard to not say anything at all, and it was becoming painful to watch in her opinion. Her gaze veered over to all the photographers that were watching more than taking pictures. Even they seemed to realize this visit was not starting off smoothly.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

Val risked a look over at her queen. Her queen who was peering at the young woman who had referred to Val’s people as ‘war criminals’ or ‘superstitious backwoods fools.’

Unable to take another moment of it, Valkyrie cleared her throat.

Finally making Sarah take mercy on Hope who really should have known better in her opinion. “In civilized societies, a duchess would curtsey to a queen. Perhaps things are different for those who are merely ceremonial in purpose.”

***

Someone called your name and for a second, you were terrified that Wanda had come for your ass.

Not that you could blame the best friend you’d had since high school.

Upon heading into the offices of the royal palace that morning, you had intentionally avoided her , secure in the knowledge that she was pissed at you and you really did not want to have the fight you knew was coming someplace public like the office.

So, you’d been groveling via text and promising to go out with her that night for a girls night, swearing on your honor that you would tell her everything! Because Wanda was no fool.

Wanda saw the new dress you had on. Wanda saw your new shoes. Wanda noticed your perfect makeup and styled hair. Wanda also brought up the facts that you’d not been home that night or early morning, as well as the crucial one regarding your flatiron that was still in the bathroom the two of you shared.

Needless to say, you had a lot of explaining to do.

There was no getting around it. You were going to have to tell her about Steve. Sure, you’d swear her to secrecy until everything came out. The palace had made its announcement this morning about King Steven being in a relationship that he would make public soon. A second public statement had come from the Palace PR Guru, Maria Hill, stating that without a doubt, the king was not involved with Duchess Hope after a few rumors had burnt their way through the palace and news cycles.

Besides, Wanda should know. Wanda deserved to know. You and Wanda had come on this adventure post university together. Wanda had to know before it came out in the form of an official palace announcement, or else Wanda might very well skin you alive.

Hearing your name on a female tongue had you snapping up, your attention diverted away from the emails you were checking.

Wanda?

No.

It was not Wanda.

It was an Indian woman in a well-tailored pantsuit. Her dark hair was swept up in a chignon. Her lips a shade of red that had you lowkey thinking about asking for the name and shade of said lipstick. Her dark eyes bore right through you. As if spearing you from your chair and to the wall of your office.

“You are the King’s Chief of Staff?”

While your natural first instinct was to report that was what it said on your door. Professional-you put the kibosh on that right away. Inner you was somewhat intimidated by this powerful woman who looked as if she knew your every last secret.

Head held high this woman so informed you in a tone that let you know she was here for nothing less. “The Maharaja has sent us. Duchess Hope of the Netherlands has stolen from us and is here with the intention of pleading political asylum. While the Maharaja would like nothing more than to have her brought back for trial of the theft of our priceless treasures. I will settle for what was taken and no less.”

Ok. Well. Maybe you thought too soon.

Maybe Wanda was preferrable over this person.

“Oh…goody…” came from your lips with a frown.

“General Odinson sent me here. He told me that you would be able to help resolve this issue for me post haste.”

Oh of course General Fucking Thor Odinson would send this person your way so he didn’t have to deal with this international nightmare of an incident.

Letting out a deep breath, you held up a finger. “Let me just send this out real quick…what’s your name?” And you typed as quickly as humanly possible on your encrypted laptop.

“Ekta. I am with the Maharaja’s Royal Guard.”

Because of course she was. Why wouldn’t she be? Why wouldn’t Hope have stolen from the Maharaja and bounced? Though you’d never had the pleasure of meeting her face to face, you’d heard more than your share about the infamous Duchess, then Princess, Hope.

Typing. Typing. Typing.

“You’ve got any pictures or detailed descriptions of what the items stolen look like? I’m sure His Majesty will be very curious. And, you know, the more information of what we’re looking for the better.”

And done.

With a tap on your laptop, you’d sent out an email to the Finance Minister. Then up you stood.

“Of course,” Ekta answered coolly.

Not that you blamed her. If you were in her shoes, you would have been super pissed off too. Being robbed was never fun.

“Let’s go see if we can track down His Majesty. If not, we’ll make an appointment with his secretary and then go see who is in the office of our Royal Guard. Someone is always in there and I know that Carol, she’s Captain of the Guard, is working right now.” You explained, as if you felt that telling this unhappy woman all these things could somehow make everything right. Probably not. But you still had to try. It was in your nature to fix problems and you most definitely wanted to fix this problem.

Ekta said nothing.

She merely followed you out of your office and into the hallway which was lined with doors and walls of tasteful and probably expensive original art.

You looked to the left.

Then to the right and nearly died then and there at your luck.

How had you gotten so lucky?

There, mere feet away and closing, was not just Carol but His Majesty, deep in discussion about something that was irritating them both.

You had an inkling that you knew what was at the heart of their discussion.

The sight of you made them stop talking and pause in their tracks, which told you that you had been the one that they were seeking.

Before anything could be done, you bowed. “Your Majesty, just the person I was hoping to find.” Up you flourished your hand to gesture at Ekta, who you could feel was beside you, practically putting off rays of righteousness. “We have a visitor from the Maharaja’s Royal Guard. This is Ekta. She is here because of something that concerns the Duchess Hope.”

The reaction that came was almost immediate from both Steve and Carol.

A look as if Steve had suddenly smelled a dead animal came over his face. Carol however cocked her hip to the side, lifted her chin in a dark blue pantsuit, almost demanding in a knowing sort of way. “What’d she steal from you guys? Art or jewelry?”

For the first time ever, you noted a moment of Ekta’s veneer breaking. Like she was taken off balance. “The duchess stole from you too?” Then, almost as an afterthought came, “Your Majesty?”

And this was news to you too.

You had no idea that Hope had taken souvenirs with her that weren’t free to take when she fled the Royal Palace for India all those years ago.

When Steve spoke, his teeth were clearly clenched together. “Yes. Both. She raided my mother’s room as well as the halls for art and pieces that are priceless. Sacred treasures from my countries history that can never be replaced. She filled her suitcase with on her way out.”

“Every now and then an item will appear on the black market. We can only assume that she is selling them when she is in need of money.” Carol helpfully added.

Beside you, you could practically feel Ekta tremble. Shake out of control one could say.

“Is the Duchess Hope here?”

For that you had no answer.

Carol however had one. “Yes. Her Majesty is taking tea out in the gardens with the Duchess Hope and her own mother.”

After being brought abreast of that development, you had a statement to make. One you thought was obvious. But none-the-less, out it came. Maybe none of them knew? “It’s snowing outside.”

Thus leading Steve to turn his attention on you. Finally. And when he did so, he looked at you as if you were only his Chief of Staff. He looked at you kindly without the heat in his eyes from earlier that morning, when he’d woken you up by pushing himself deep into your body until the both of you reached a climax that made your eyes cross and left an impression of his teeth broken into your shoulder.

“Yes. Mother wanted to be sure that the Duchess Hope did not steal anything else from within the palace walls whilst they are here.”

Well then.

Even you had to admit. The Queen Mother could be downright frosty when the occasion called for it. Pun intended.

“She’s having tea with Queen Janet and Duchess Hope outside? In the frigid temperatures?”

You couldn’t quite make yourself believe it. You blinked. You looked from Steve who appeared casual after his statement, like he just told you the winters here were cold. Over to Carol who was pulling out her phone from her pocket. Acting like you hadn’t said anything out of the normal.

“Your Majesty, I’ll take care of Ekta and deal with this issue. If anything arrives concerning this issue. I will contact you. Nakia will come fill my place today.”

If Steve was greatly upset by any of his, he made no outward indication of it other than a nod of his head that he both heard and understood and accepted what Carol had told him. His attention was instead focused on you.

“I have a meeting concerning the Switzerland trip about the proposed embassy. Go get your notes. You’ll be joining me.”

***

Her Grace, the Duchess Hope van Dyne, had finally made it in the palace after that psycho, the Queen Mother Sarah, had the audacity to serve tea in the garden as flakes of snow drifted down. And if that weren’t barbaric enough, afterwards, she then led them around the winter garden as if Hope gave a damn.

Hope had problems and Queen Sarah was not very receptive to any of her attempts to thaw the ice that had formed around Sarah’s heart. Nor did her mother, Janet, have much luck.

When did Sarah turn into such a bitch?

Sarah should have been ecstatic that Hope would even return to this shithole. Sarah’s son was still single, he needed a queen and his backwoods hovel wanted a queen and Hope had royal blood. What more did Sarah need? Did she need it written down?

When did Sarah turn into such a horrible host?

Hope remembered a distinctively different Sarah. When she had lived in this palace, Steve’s mother had coddled her, practically waited on her hand and foot to be sure that Hope was happy and settling in so far from civilization. Where was that Sarah now?

Somehow, Hope had managed to break away, pleading a need to use the powder room around the time her toes and fingers went numb. As she hadn’t had the time to properly shop for clothes to wear in this frigid shithole. India had been so gloriously warm. She’d loved India. Hope would have loved to stay there but things had gone south.

Eventually, like everything else, it’d blow over.

Until then though, she needed someplace safe to stay. She needed to stay somewhere that the Maharaja couldn’t get her. What she needed was diplomatic immunity. However, that wasn’t going to happen since her father refused to even see her, so she’d just have to settle for sovereign immunity. Granted, Hope hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to see Steven and tell him that she was ready to get married now. For crying out loud, he should have been groveling at her feet for her to come back to him. Especially after that sex tape which had been burning up the internet and royal circles. If there was anything that Hope could do, it was bounce back from a scandal.

This was just ridiculous.

The Queen Mother should have been inviting them to this lunch with her son, instead of practically throwing Hope and Janet out. Which was exactly why Hope was wandering the halls in the search for Steven’s office. Toes tingling in her fashionable pumps. Her fingers burning from the warm air in the administrative offices.

Hope would need a whole new wardrobe once she got Steven onboard with her plan. As his current plan of ignoring the sex tape was absurd. These things needed to be tackled head on. With her as his queen by his side, Hope could handle all of it.

Ah, she found herself pleased at the sight of the royal seal over a doorway marking it as the king’s office.

Valkyrie followed her closely. That bitch.

As soon as Hope was queen, she’d be one of the first on the firing block. Following her around like some manner of commoner who might fill their pockets with royal gold. It was absurd. Hope was born a princess and one day she would become one again.

Hope remembered Valkyrie from when she was a young member of the guard and now, she was a Captain and just as irreprehensible as Carol, who Hope also despised. Both of them had to go. Reaching out with a hand that held a ring belonging to the sister of the Maharaja, Hope opened the door and marched right into the office of Steven’s secretary. Who was apparently gone for lunch.

Not that the room was empty.

Nakia, who had been seated on a couch in the office, stood. Dressed in a dark blue suit that all the royal guard wore. Her face stony at the sight of Hope and then darkened further in disgust. She stood tall. Regally. Holding her head high when she spoke down to the former princess. “The king is busy.”

Not that Hope would settle for anything less than seeing Steven in person immediately. She stepped forward. “The king is having lunch with his mother in fifteen minutes. I know for a fact he’s not doing anything of importance. Get out of my way, or I’ll have you selling souvenirs from a cart outside the palace when I am queen.”

At such a statement, Nakia found herself wanting to both laugh and spit in the face of this western woman. One who had referred to her people and country as little more than a backwoods hellhole full of illiterate stone pounders.

How often Nakia had dreamt of being so close to the Duchess Hope, how she thought of ripping out this woman’s forked tongue.

“Let her in,” came Valkyrie’s voice in their native tongue from the eastern regions of the land.

Sending Nakia’s dark eyes past Hope. A knowing expression claimed her features. “His Majesty is in there waiting for our queen.”

A shrug came from the senior guardswoman.

Nakia would be the first to admit, she had not been hopeful when the crown prince had been coronated as a teenager. No one in the country had been particularly hopeful but now, nearly everyone supported their king. His Majesty was a good king who served them all as much as they served him.

Nakia was protective of her king. She wanted her king to marry his Chief of Staff yesterday. Her land was in need of a queen, a woman’s touch one could say.

Knowing what was at stake with the coming lunch that her king would attend with his mother and lover, a visit from the Duchess Hope would not put him in the best of moods. The Queen Mother always grew quiet when King Steven was in such a mood. Why would Nakia allow such a thing to happen?

“Perhaps if he tells her she isn’t wanted here she’ll leave sooner? Let her in. That is an order.”

Pursing her lips unhappily, Nakia stepped back.

She wasn’t about to open the door to His Majesty’s office for this interloper. However, she would no longer stand in the way. Nakia even made sure to send a look that screamed impending homicidal violence. Spurring Hope quickly through the door without another syllable directed at Nakia.

Which was fine with Hope.

Hope couldn’t get away from Nakia quick enough.

Wanting distance sent Hope into the king’s large office without much thought. Looking as if it belonged in an old Victorian estate with dark wood, so many books, old art and thick dark Turkish Rugs.

What Hope did not expect was how much the prince had grown.

No longer a gangly young man whose mother had to have padding sewn into the robes that he was coronated in. This man sitting at his desk was big in every way. Exuding power in a manner that most could only dream and for a second, seeing Steven look at her with shocking blue eyes and stubble darkening his face, she was rendered speechless.

“What do you want Hope,” came Steven’s voice, more than a little annoyed. Far more emotion than she’d ever seen from the young man. Who was now very obviously a man.

This was not the Steven she remembered.

Before her was not the young man she remembered at all. Every last bit of him was very much a king and Hope suddenly, possibly for the first time in her life, found herself regretting many of the past choices she made. It seemed her mother was right. She’d been far too hasty in her youth. Her mother had told her that the prince would mature like a fine wine. Hope had written that off as nonsense meant to trap her into an arranged marriage like so many women before her.

Now?

Now she was looking at a tall powerful man close a very modern looking laptop and turn his attention on her in such a way that made her gut coil. What would it have been like to be the woman in the video? And where the hell did that thought come from? She had been wrong. So so very wrong.

Finally, gathering herself, Hope peered around the office and fussed at the pearl buttons on her coat. “I saw the video…” A noise came from Steven that she’d never heard before, yet, she went on. “…and since we’re still technically engaged, I thought I would return to help you put out the fires of this scandal.”

Another noise came from the king, a derisive snort.

“Wow. That’s cute. Highly amusing coming from you.” Though there was no hint of heat or passion in his words that had been so evident on that video. In her opinion, he didn’t even sound bored. Worse. Steven then leaned back in his seat, peered around her and asked, “Who let you in here?”

Those words, those uncaring words as if she were little more than the two guards outside his office made her burn, bristle.

Which had Hope clearing her throat, bristling one could say. “Actually, it’s more than cute. If you recall, I come from a distinguished royal house. Our engagement is a legally binding agreement.”

For the reaction she got, she might as well have told him it was showing outside.

As she was prone to when there was silence that needed to be filled, Hope pushed the waves of dark hair over her shoulder. She shifted from one foot to the other and watched Steven lean back in his chair.

Finally, as if sensing that she wasn’t going to leave, Steve offered her a shrug. Finding the mere sight of her numbing. He could have cared less what she did one way or the other. So long as she stayed out of his room. He had valuable things in there that he was fond of. “I’m not marrying you. Do with that as you will, you’ll find no sanctuary here.”

This was most certainly not the Steven that she had left all those years ago. It took Hope a second to collect herself, to steel herself. No one had spoken to her in such a way in quite a while. Her brain screamed at her that damage control needed to be done but she was not sure how. In what way? What did she say?

Hope’s brain screamed at her that the plan was failing, everything was going wrong. This was not supposed to happen this way and now she was failing horrendously. What did she do? How could she fix this?

Pricks of pain came from her fists as her nails dug into her palms. Telling Hope that when she unclenched her fists, she would see blood. “You have to marry me!”

Oh this was bad.

This was really really bad.

Across the expanse of his desk, Steve remained calm. Almost to the point of uncaring and such demeanor was reflected in his words. In the way his broad shoulders shrugged and how he rubbed his rough cheek, as if that were more interesting.

“I do not need or want your assistance for anything, forget that video. There is no reason for me to be ashamed of it.”

“Steven! Listen!”

He could see the desperation on her face, hear it in her voice and after so long, he wished he could say that it was rewarding. He wished that he could say it made him feel better after everything that had happened.

It didn’t.

There was just nothing. Little more than cold numbness. Steve felt absolutely nothing.

Nothing was there anymore.

When he looked at Hope there was nothingness.

It reminded him of his father. He hated when he felt that way, when he thought of his father. There was no one on this earth that Steve loathed more. It was his very purpose for being, to not be his father. To end that cycle. To let it die with him.

Most irritably, he shifted in his seat. His eyes found the picture of you both on his desk from a trip to Scotland.

Hints of his father swirled with every syllable only furthering his inner revulsion with himself, his genes and heritage.

“When you left, I did not officially break our engagement as a common courtesy to your father. No more no less. I am a king. You cannot compel me to do anything.”

Pools of blue found Hope again though. A little bit of serene malice hovered between them.

“If you continue to be an annoyance, I will. I am a king now. I have a country to govern. I do not have time for the childish games and pursuits that occupy the western families.”

“Steven this is serious! I could go to prison! In India!”

May his ancestors help him, his first initial response would have been to remind her of her place, remind her of how he should be addressed.

His Majesty.

Exactly as his father would, he swore he heard his father’s voice in his ear.

“You have to help me out! I’m begging you! I don’t care about that other woman. You can have all the mistresses you want!”

A peek down at his watch told Steve that he had minutes to wrap this up and go collect you. Minutes. He had minutes to regain his sanity before he saw his mother.

Minutes.

“Steven!”

Standing from his chair, he shook his head. Doing his best to silence the sound of his father telling him he was not good enough, was not worthy, was not fit to rule. His voice was soft because Steve would not yell like that man. “No Hope. I’m sorry, but no. You remind me of my father. You make me feel like him. You bring him back to life and I cannot live with his ghost. So no. You will have to deal with the consequences of your actions like the rest of us.”

Her eyes went wild.

Steve could see it and was glad he wasn’t within reach of her. He watched her grab a Fabergé Egg from the end of his desk.

Colorful glass accented in gold with rubies around the middle. It fit in her hand but only just, being the size of an ostrich egg and then it went soaring through the air where it smashed loudly into a wall. Denting the dark wood and shattering. Smashing into dozens and dozens of colorful pieces that fell to the floor.

Having felt the very loss of hope itself, she turned to set her storm on him. “You’ll regret this, Your Majesty.” Before turning and leaving, slamming his office door behind her as hard as possible. Leaving Steve with the sound of his father telling him that he wasn’t worthy.

***

Lipstick?

No lipstick?

It was a question for the ages.

A swipe or two of lipstick always gave you the courage you needed in any occasion. But then again, this was not merely any occasion. This was lunch with your boyfriends mother to officially meet her and get to know her, because you were in a serious committed relationship with her son. Because you loved her son.

Oh, and her son was the king, so there were expectations on that already plus with her being the Queen Mother, that was sorta already an expectation of its own.

Lipstick?

No lipstick?

You wanted to look your best because the Queen Mother always looked immaculate. But you also didn’t want to risk getting lipstick on your teeth. Leading you to peer once more into the bathroom mirror.

No. No lipstick. If you put on lipstick you’d be thinking about your lipstick and you needed to focus on making a good impression.

Otherwise, your makeup looked fabulous. Really. Five stars. Two thumbs up.

This had you stuffing your makeup back into your purse and kinda sorta looking up when the bathroom door opened, shut and was locked. Because really. Why would the door be locking?

In the art deco styled bathroom, Steve’s form was very clear and your eyebrows shot up.

Luckily, you were alone, considering how beyond pissed off he looked. One hundred and ten percent not fit to have lunch with his mother. Not with him in this condition.

You had no idea what happened, but something had happened.

He crossed the red and white marble tiled floor. Walked past the gilded edged stalls and stained-glass doors to where you stood at one of four sinks with bronze fixtures and ornately framed mirrors.

To be honest, it was your favorite bathroom of all time. Your Instagram was full of pictures of this bathroom, selfies in this bathroom, up-close pictures of the stained glass.

“Are you ok?”

Beneath his smoothly shaven face, his jaw twitched. “Fine. Are you ready?”

He was tense enough you wouldn’t have been shocked if his joints started to pop, or his teeth cracked from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Seeing him like this was a no go for Queen Sarah. Everyone knew that she hated to see her son like this and at first you never knew why, not until someone had told you that her husband had the same mannerisms. Steve’s father done the same thing when he had been angry.

While it was common knowledge that Steve was not his father, Steve would never hit his mother.

Some memories could just never be wiped clean.

Having Steve like this was not how you wanted this first lunch with his mother to go. Not one bit. Both of them needed to be on cloud fucking nine. Meaning you were going to have to do something.

“Almost,” was what you told him. A plan already set into motion as you grabbed a few paper towels from the bronze dish that held them between sinks.

One last peek at your hair and you were set. Purse in hand. You stepped on over to press your lips to the flat firm line that was Steve’s mouth. “Could you hold this for me?”

Steve never questioned you or thought twice.

Whether it was from love or trust, or he was too angry over whatever? No one would ever know.

But you seized the moment! Pounced on the opportunity.

You acted as if you were going to check your pumps and instead, set down the paper towels so you could kneel at his feet. Before Steve even had a second to think about it, you had his pants unbuttoned, unzipped and down around his knees. Knowing that the king went commando that morning worked seamlessly into your plan.

His dick hung softly between his muscular creamy thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold my purse with both hands, Your Majesty.”

Though soft, his size was still above average. His penis was solid. Thick. A pink tip peeked out beneath foreskin that was stretched over his member. Soft as velvet, you kissed his slit as you pushed his foreskin up to reveal his shaft.

“Remember the first time I ever saw your dick?”

You sank down on his soft flesh after, sucking him in till nearly all of him fit in your mouth. It rarely happened. Only when he wasn’t erect. When Steve was erect, it wasn’t physically possible unless you unhinged your jaw and didn’t have a gag reflex.

“Oh god…” he gasped out at the warm and wet sensation of your mouth closing around him. Cold air on his ass cheeks. Exposed. Vulnerable. His sac hanging heavy and you down on your knees, taking nearly all of him in your mouth.

Steve clung to your purse like a lifeline.

Thinking back, you hummed out thoughtfully, knowing how fantastic the vibrations felt on him. Knowing that the warm softness that was his dick would soon harden. Until then, you enjoyed how you could take him like this. You relished the smell of him, musky and male. Savored how smooth his skin was on your tongue. Reached up and cupped his testicles that hung down for you.

It’d been at a fundraiser.

A black-tie affair for something or another, who could remember?

The two of you had stolen away towards the end, snuck off when everyone was mingling together and socializing. Slightly tipsy or buzzed from the open bar.

Not the two of you.

No.

Both of you had barely drank. Focused instead on getting away so you could steal some moments together. Moments like these. Moments where your hands were all over one another, your mouths hungry for one another. Frantic for that connection between your bodies that nature demanded and you both were trying so hard to make happen.

Tonight was the night though.

You were determined.

Sucking him deep. Swirling your tongue around him. You could feel Steve starting to thicken up which had you popping off his mouth and surveying the sight of his dick taking on a pinkish hue as blood filled it.

“Are you thinking about it, Your Majesty? About how fucking big your cock is? About how it shocked me? Remember?”

Based alone on the sound that came from Steve, you could deduce that he remembered. Possibly even vividly.

“I remember,” you cooed, licking his pink head and suckling on the end of his dick. Flicking against the hole with your tongue. Massaging his balls. Taking his hardening shaft in your other hand. Needing him to feel only you. Needing him to be here with you. “It was the biggest dick I’d ever seen in my life.”

”You don’t have to.” He had whispered to you in a dark corner of the atrium. Hidden by plants and furniture.

Not that you’d cared.

By that point he had gone down on your countless times and you’d never seen it. Only feeling it through his pants when you’d made-out or groped him, when your bodies rubbed against one another in a frantic urge for completion.

“Jesus Christ Steve! You’re the only man I know who doesn’t want his dick sucked.”

“It’s not that…” he came back with, pausing and finally giving in, allowing you to unzip the black pants of his tux and yank them down. Pull them down and out it popped.

Erect.

Hard. So hard.

Foreskin drawn back to reveal an angry red head smeared with pre-cum.

It was massive, a beast, the hugest dick you’d ever laid eyes on and from on your knees, in a ballgown, made up to feel like a princess. You gasped. You straight up gasped like you were a teenage girl seeing your very first penis. Albeit, the one that was so full of blood it bobbed eye level with you, pointing upwards, was considerably more impressive and probably five inches longer than that first ever dick, easy. As you didn’t exactly have a tape measure on you for comparison.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, well aware that your eyes were wide and mouth was very likely a perfect O. “It’s so big! It’s like the biggest I’ve ever seen! Steve your dick is huge! What do you feed it?”

His voice was a bit concerned. Embarrassed even?

Was he embarrassed about this behemoth in his pants?

“I’m sorry, I know. It can be uncomfortable to give me oral sex. You really don’t have to. I don’t expect.”

But you had cut him off with grabby hands wrapping around his erection, pushing up his foreskin and licking the salty jizz that was starting to ooze out. “Shut up, Your Majesty. Tell me how you want it.” In your ministrations you had lifted up his generous manhood and set eyes upon the heavy balls that hung down between his thighs. “Holy Canada! You have a set of balls to match. You have no idea how much fun I’m going to have fitting those in my mouth.”

When you finally ripped your eyes away from his sexual organ, you shook your head and admonished him severely. “I cannot believe you’d keep this from me!”

Exactly how you knew Steve liked, you sucked on his head and played with the tip of your tongue on his hole. You took him as deep as you could as his erection grew harder and harder in your mouth. Tracing your tongue along the sides and pumping him with your hand until his girth grew so wide, you were unable to touch your fingertips around him.

Up and down you sank on his cock. Till he was rigid beneath your lips and you drug your teeth along at times to heighten the sensation.

Slurping. Squeezing his balls. Hollowing out your cheeks and swallowing any salty release that began to dribble out. You savored the sight of his fingers clenching your purse tightly and his eyes screwed shut.

Between languid trips up and down his length, you pulled off to lick his blunt tip with the flat of your tongue.

“What are you thinking about, My King?”

At first, you didn’t think he would or could answer, which was fine. Your attention was on the round edge of his organ. Licking it. Flicking it with your tongue. Playing with it till you sank back down.

After a few seconds.

After a deep breath from Steve.

After that, he managed to get out.

“Thinking about that night. The night I took your maidenhead.”

Your maidenhead?

Well, that was a trip to past. It sent your eyes up and your mouth back off him so you could speak without a mouth full of dick. “Mmm. Thinking about how you went crazy? How you went all feral and popped my cherry?”

In your hand his penis twitched.

It was too perfect an opportunity to not pounce upon it.

If you couldn’t make him come from saying these filthy disgusting true things to him, did you really deserve to marry this man? “Your Majesty? Does it turn you on to think about my having been a virgin? About how you’re the only man to ever be in my body? Do you remember how tight I was? How hard you had to push to break my hymen?”

Little motions came from Steve. Whether he knew it or not. He was making small thrusts into your mouth that you hummed around, sucked on.

Something hit the floor.

Hands were on your head, fingers were in your hair. A wicked smile curled over your lips and Steve was methodically pumping into your mouth.

He sounded strained. He sounded like he was in pain.

“Felt so good. You’re so good to me. My angel. You were so tight.” He declared, announced, would have shouted to the heavens if he was capable. Each word came out in cadence. Almost in a chant. “Felt so good. Feels so good still. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.” On top of feeling you sucking him deep. Paired with your fingers holding his testicles tight. Mixed with your fist wrapped around his base. It was a glorious storm coming together to make him shatter.

Steve was going to come. He was going to come like right now.

It sent his thoughts spiraling along with his words.

“Love you. Love your body. Love being in you. So warm and tight and mine. All mine. All of you is mine. Want you. Want to fill you. Want want want.”

Gasping out. His breath gone. All air left his lungs when Steve climaxed into your mouth. A pitched noise did come that was followed with his fingers pulling your face against him, his pelvis pushing into you. A moan that made him weak in the knees followed that told him you were pleased with him. You were happy.

If he died in the next moment, he would have been a happy man.

All Steve could feel was pleasure. It consumed him body. It whited out his mind. It made his balls empty into the warmth of your mouth, till he was certain that nothing remained.

Even then you weren’t done.

Helpless. Awestruck.

Hopelessly devoted, Steve watched you drag your tongue around him to clean him up. Catching the last few spurts of ejaculate on your tongue before you showed him, then swallowed his seed.

Rendering him panting and sweaty.

He dropped down onto his knees and he kissed you. Mindless. Unable to think about anything else other than your mouth and being lucky enough to have convinced you to be his woman. Steve kissed you deeply, uncaring about the fact he could taste himself, unconcerned when his tongue curled around yours that he might have gotten some of his own ejaculate. His Majesty didn’t care.

Nor was he overly concerned about his knees being on the cold marble tile when he groaned against your mouth. “Love you. Love you so much. Love you to the moon and back.”

[sgcairo]

I‘ve lil question! Do u mind showing/telling more about the other clones feelings. For some reason I feel like they have lil strange feeling in their hearts when they see pantalone being parental w babyttore! Not necessarily envious just like “this is out of our system” or “what’s happening inside my heart?” Kind of thing! I also have a hc about babyttore is usually w 12 y.o clone. And also the eldest clone who’s respected by everyone! I’m rambling a lot hehe 😆 I just like how cruel mond clone is but I’m sure he felt a little out of system or like ERROR ERROR.

Aight, it's big brain time.

So the clones aren't really sure what to make of Pantalone taking in what would be considered one of them. Just like Dottore really can't fathom why Pantalone would ever treat him with anything other than distaste, they're all confused on how Babytorre managed to make a truly selfish Harbinger into a doting and loving parent. From their understanding of Pantalone, he has two primary goals:

1. Become as rich as possible.

2. Make Snezhnaya the economic center of Teyvat.

By this formula, he should not hold an ounce of care for anything else, let alone a creation of the man he seemingly despises the most.

Turns out, it's an oversight on their part, and Pantalone changes his mind slightly about Dottore after meeting his "baby" self. Not to mention that their rivalry never really went beyond annoying each other and occasionally getting a bit physical over disputes, it was never outright attempted murder.

When seeing Pantalone be parental in particular, it inspires a sort of melancholy within many of them. Why only him? Why not them? None of them will ever admit to it, but it also does melt their hearts slightly to see their younger self being treated with care and love, as he deserves. Many of them don't even consider him a clone anymore, but instead the actual son of Dottore, given how he is treated not only among the Harbingers, but also by his "parents".

As for the twelve year old clone, there are no younger clones (less than older twenties physically) that have survived as of yet. Most of them die within the day, the longest recorded surviving teenage clone lived for two days in perpetual agony (as mentioned in the second part of my clone headcanons, there are more details there).

The youngest clone other than Babytorre to date is known as Earl, or Primary Segment VII. Physically 19, according to Prime's calculations, and is usually isolated due to the ongoing experiments regarding a successful superhuman. Irnes (our older brother clone) occasionally swings by and brings Babytorre, so the two are somewhat familiar, and Babytorre occasionally visits him alone. How this is permitted? Babytorre is the master of bribery and cuteness overload. The guards were swayed, but also Babytorre had a knife. I'm not joking, he stole one of Pantalone's knives right out from under him. How? By hugging him and slipping it into his sleeve. He learns fast, let's just say. The guards were allowed to confiscate it in exchange for a brief visit with Earl.

As for the "oldest" clone, there isn't an known official clone, as they came in batches after the first test. There's a group, but their whereabouts are unknown as of yet. But Irnes was a part of one of the earlier batches himself, technically generation IX. For reference, there have been dozens of generations since then, many botched or failed. There are few clones still in the lab that were before or in his generation, due to the deterioration of their bodies over time, so he holds the title as the honorary "older brother".

On that point, what happens to the clones after they reach a certain deterioration or general age? No one's sure. No one dares ask.

And yes, the Mondstadt clone is quite cruel, but it's generally within clone nature to display apathy or lack of regard for other lives generally. The degree is heavily dependent on their jobs and outside factors, but I think he's just used to getting what he wants and doing as he pleases. I don't think he feels particularly outside of their ranks, he just feels slightly superior as he was selected by Prime for an important mission.

Anyways, hopefully that answers all the questions! Thank you so much for the ask, I had a lot of fun fleshing this out!