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hk33b · 1 month

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headcanons of kuruk with his failed team avatar in the early years (no angst, no suffering, only peace and imagination …) (i forgot many canon wise things.. forgive and forget)

Jianzhu

• He’s Jianzhu’s first true friend, though he’d never admit that. Jianzhu understands Kuruk in a way others fail to. He sees the incredible things Kuruk does and the corrections he’s made upon teacher’s who are meant to be teaching him. It makes Jianzhu think that the Avatar’s greatness is inevitable. He wants to stay around and be a witness to it.

• One of the first things Kuruk came to learn about the young earthbender was that besides them being a year apart in age— he was very afraid of losing everything he worked for. In one of their many talks to pass the time after training, he admitted this. Kuruk tried to understand, using his status as the Avatar— ‘I’m scared to mess up. I don’t want to lose people’s faith in me,’ but Jianzhu shook his head, it wasn’t the same.

“You’re the Avatar. You have something to fall back on. The entire world opens their hand for you.”

And it’s such an intimate thing to learn about him. That he’s scared to lose who he is, what he owns, what his family built. [This ties into evil-old-man-Jianzhu who used his companionship with the late Avatar to his advantage. He’d do anything to maintain control and power; the fear of losing something that’s his stunts him]

• smart on their own, idiots when paired together.

•Kuruk was fired as a wingman for Jianzhu, he’d only been one once or twice, but both times were a shitshow. Jianzhu would try all the moves Kuruk taught him, even said a handful of cheesy lines that made his ears red to a person who caught his sights. And it was a bust, because they barely past a glance at him. No, because they were too busy staring at Kuruk.

“Maybe you aren’t doing it right, friend…”

“Oh, is that what it is.” Jianzhu barely hid the sarcasm dripping in his voice. Either Kuruk’s being polite, or he didn’t realize the problem in question was him! He’s handsome (DOWN).

• Jianzhu lost 10 times over while playing against Kuruk in Pai Sho. On the 11th rematch Kuruk pretends to make a faulty move for his friend’s sanity. Jianzhu knows its a pity win but takes it. He’s mostly amazed about the reckless moves Kuruk uses because it still aides him into victory!!?

“There’s just no way.” Jianzhu gasps, astonished. “Teach me how you did that,”

Kuruk laughs, “Ah. The student becomes the teacher.”

“On second thought...”

• They’re most likely to butt heads over trivial matters like similar folklores that their own nation has renditions of, but they think the other is ruining the story.

They’re all camped out, Kelsang fast asleep, and Jianzhu decides to tell Hei Ran a haunting tale she’s never heard of. Kuruk cuts him off once he’s halfway through the story.

Kuruk groans, “That is so not how it goes.”

Jianzhu snaps his head to the Avatar. “Yes it is?! She back talked to her mom six different times and turned into a lizard-snail for six weeks!”

“Uh. No! She didn’t accept her mother’s arranged marriage for her, so her mom cursed her into a lizard-snail until she did for six weeks! That’s why it’s called Mother’s Curse. Idiot.”

“That’s not—! What—! You…! Okay, let’s say that’s how it went. What would be the lesson? The whole point of Mother’s Curse is that the child shouldn’t have backed talk.”

“The whole point of Mother’s Curse is that the mother was evil, and didn’t care about what her daughter wanted?(???!) It’s to make kids appreciate how their parents wouldn’t do something sinister like that to them!”

“That… is the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“YOU’RE STUPID.”

Safe to say that Hei Ran doesn’t stick around and goes to her tent, away from the idiots who continue to argue about who is more stupider.

•oh and during Kuruk’s hoe era Jianzhu turned a blind eye and said ‘well shit, he gotta do whatever he can to go about his day. Not my business.’

•silly silly silllllllly vibes. Silly. Ridiculous. One piece level of comedy.

•In conclusion … Jianzhu feels a deep connection with Kuruk. He’s amazed with him!! He believes this guy is the real deal, and its a honor to see what Kuruk could do or will be in the near future. Kuruk isn’t nervous by the blind faith Jianzhu has in him, it actually keeps him going. Friendship Is Magic…….

Song that remind me of their dynamic: It Wasn’t Me

Kelsang

• started off at a rocky start since Kuruk did try to steal his sky bison, but being around someone as silly as Kuruk became contagious. I imagine Kelsang laughing before Kuruk even got to the punchline, and this kinda drew the two together. There’s so much seriousness and rules and customs, it becomes tedious after a point, yet Kuruk makes it all so laughable …? Unserious? A sort of ‘what was I so worried about’ feeling. Childlike almost. FREE.

• Kuruk instantly got air bending in his first lessons from the air nomads, which fits due to his laid back go with the flow personality. He tries showing Kelsang random moves and ideas that keep popping off in his mind like rapid fire. Kelsang thinks it's... pretty impressive.

“This feels so much more different than the other elements. Everything is so… weightless. Are there any personal moves of yours that you’ve created?” Kuruk asked while balancing himself on an airball.

Kelsang shook his head no, confused. At this, Kuruk immediately got up and starting flailing his hands around, creating motion. “Oo! I wanna show you this idea that I haven't shown anyone besides like-- Jianzhu. I think it could really be helpful!

As he demonstrates a peculiar airbending maneuver with ease, Kelsang stands up straight, in awe. Maybe he had judged him too quickly.

• because of his height and rather serious resting face, Kelsang can come across as intimidating, but that is all destroyed by seeing him with Kuruk, he looks his age and more approachable. Kuruk calls him baldy as a nickname, to tease. Kelsang occasionally answers back with ‘pretty boy’, because, *drops hands* well, that’s what #they keep telling us about him.

• It is my personal belief that out of all of them, Kelsang is who Kuruk would’ve confessed to about the spirits. Not that he would ask him for help or go into the exact details of what its doing to his body, but in a complete what-if scenario,,,, the air nomad would have the words that could reassure Kuruk of this enormous responsibility he feels on the daily. [Remember, Kuruk ran into Kelsang with his poem he had written for Hei Ran. It’s less humiliating and less shameful seeking the air nomad out for matters that he can’t hold inside anymore. There’s never judgement. Maybe a shared fear? A frantic voice that could tell Kuruk right from wrong, in his best way. Never judgement.]

• okay i lied a little angst just this once DAMN… So as we know. Everyone who mattered in Kuruk’s life felt this enormous guilt that they failed him somehow. I like to believe that finding Kuruk in his next life, being a parental figure for Kyoshi, loving her like a father would love their own— while believing Yun was the next Avatar. Not realizing until she read Kuruk's poem word for word. To learn that he had still managed to bridge this connection with his old friend again. Without even intentionally doing so? Without even KNOWING. I think the weight of his failures as a companion left right then. Because he made up for it. Whatever it is he believed he lacked in, he pulled through for his final moments with Kyoshi. Not that Kuruk's spirit ever held blame for Kelsang. It’s just so interesting because we know the whole: do you really think friendships could last more than one lifetime? but they usually know who their deceased friend is in their next life. (((Kelsang you reallll as hell. Idc about the typhoon shit, YOU ARE REALLLLLL.))))

song that reminds me of them : Lean On Me

Hei-Ran

• Kuruk doesn’t know when to shut up around Hei Ran, he’s kind of … obsessed. Loser-lover-boy.

• Hei Ran thought of him slightly childish, but overtime, similarly to Kelsang, the atmosphere around Kuruk was drawing her in. There was something contagious about the northern water tribe boy.

While teaching him how to firebend, she wasn’t really surprised that he’d have such difficulty with it. His personality didn’t really mesh with what it would take to punch and kick out bursts of flames. Kuruk’s kind of frustrated with himself because he was getting the hang of all the elements with little to no effort, and here he was in front of the beautiful Hei Ran of all people, huffing and puffing because small smoke was all that emits from his inner flame.

Hei Ran does one last command, tells him to let the fire in him erupt, to let the flame in him out, (don’t you want to go ape shit ? essentially) and finally something clicks within Kuruk and he’s firebending in front of the best firebender he knows.

“I did it! I really did it!”

“Good job, though there’s gonna be many more lessons for you to learn, so don’t get too ahead of— And he’s burning down a tree.”

“Hei Ran! Help!”

• Kuruk likes to stay behind during their group walks to other villages because Hei Ran is usually there walking gracefully behind Kelsang and Jianzhu. She eyes Kuruk suspiciously, wondering what he’s up to. Its a game they play, where he says something to see if he can get that overly serious no-funny-business wall of hers to crack, get her to smile or laugh or even tell him off. All three works most times, and for the other, she holds a set stare ahead and Kuruk grumbles, giving up his charade and walking besides her in silence. Missing the slight tilted ends of pink lips. She likes seeing him try so hard, the dude never knew what it was like to try to win someone over. Is this what Jianzhu feels?

• He’s a great listener. Hei Ran can talk and talk and talk, and he’d retain it all. It makes her feel good. That someone cares, that Kuruk is genuine and (corny alert) wears his heart on his sleeves. She wants to protect him. She wants to know everything about him, and so he tells her everything. There’s this earnest about Kuruk. He doesn’t hide from her. He doesn’t deceive her. She can read him so well, and in turn, so does he.

•Hei Ran never imagined she’d be friends with someone like Kuruk, recalling her bit harsh judgement, but now she can’t imagine knowing anyone else. A part of her yearns to stay by his side. And Kuruk feels like he’s on cloud nine whenever Hei Ran so much as scoffs at his lame mannerisms. His heart thuds, hands clammy, lips forever smiling.

•They’re laying down on a field of grass, watching the sky in an array of pretty colors as the sun sets over the horizon; Kuruk insisted they catch a break after all the firebending training.

“My folks really want to meet you.” Kuruk says.

“You talk about me to them?” Hei Ran tries to keep her tone leveled, but her heartbeat picks up, fiddling around a strand of Kuruk’s hair on her finger.

“Yeah. Maybe too much. Not enough if you ask me.”

“I’d love to meet them. When should we?”

“Hopefully soon, it’s not freezing cold around this time of year. Heh, I can’t imagine you near snow. You’d look so out of place,” he laughs, eyes crinkling. Hei Ran fought off laughing along for dignity sake.

“Please. You make it sound like I’m gonna freeze and die.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll hug you the entire way there. I won’t let you catch a cold or anything, just stick beside me and—” Kuruk reached for her, face ridiculously close, lips puckered up and leaning. Hei Ran rolled her eyes at this lame show, shoving him away. He burst into a fit of laughter.

Hei Ran turned her attention back to the endless sky while his laughter faded in the background. Going to the Northern Water Tribe. Meeting Kuruk’s family. It’ll be an honor to meet the people who shaped him and made him what he is.

song that reminds me of them : >\\\< You Don’t Know My Name

#failed team avatar #i was gonna be a dickhead and write about how hei ran never got to meet his family or anything bc kuruk starts messing around with other pp #i mean they werent official or anything but it still kills her… men amirite #jianzhu #i bet ur wondering where the jianruk crumbs are… *pearl voice* IM MARRIEDDDD #yall don’t understand i love friendship so much that i make it gay. but i wont ever erase it from its original purpose… platonic hive rise #kelsang #kels… im so sadddddd #u know jianzhu calls him kels? makes u think #ahhhhh #long ass post #avatar kuruk

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daenerysoftarth · 9 months

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Hello! Do you think marrying Saera to Stinger Beesbury would have been a better solution to their affair than forcing her to watch Braxton's death at the hands of her father and sending her to the silent sisters?

I mean pretty much any option would’ve been better than Jaehaerys murdering three people (see edit). He’s really lucky that it didn’t spark a diplomacy crisis or civil war, considering all three were noblemen from prominent families who would’ve been within their rights to raise arms against the crown (ofc the idea of ‘rights’ in feudal times is much different from modern times but even back then…). Especially since the affairs were consensual, marrying her off would’ve been the much more diplomatic choice.

Tbh I’m not sure what Jaehaerys’ endgame was here. He wanted to ‘knock some sense into her’ by sending her to the Silent Sisters, but it’s stated in Fire & Blood that he never intended for her to remain there permanently. Which begs the question: what exactly did he plan to do with her? It’s hard to tell how hard the rumor mill was working at this time, but the incident is extensively reported on in the book, and Jaehaerys murdered all three men in public. So surely the public—smallfolk and noble alike—had some details on the situation; and given how misogynistic Westeros is, I can’t imagine it was flattering towards Saera. According to feudal logic, all royal children have to get married eventually to secure alliances for the throne, but also Saera would be considered an un-ideal candidate on account of her having prior relations with men. However, there were probably still enough men who sought influence and power that a marriage with a princess would be tempting, regardless of her past behavior. That being said, the likelihood of her securing a ‘good match’ would definitely have been lowered given her reputation.

I can’t imagine any of the most prominent lords taking Saera to wife, barring an unforeseen political conflict which necessitated strong ties to the Iron Throne for its support. But even if they had, Saera was clearly not cut from the same cloth as her mother. She refused to be a passive participant in her life and rejected the limited roles that Westeros had designed for women. She refused to be confined to a role like that of wife, maiden, or mother. Even if she had married Lord Beesbury, I can’t imagine she would have been a particularly loving and faithful wife. Clearly part of the the ‘thrill’ of having sex with the three men was the scandalous nature of it all, and I doubt that proclivity for scandal would’ve gone away with a marriage.

While I think marrying Saera off to Stinger Beesbury would’ve been a better diplomatic move, the murders of the three men didn’t seem to affect Jaehaerys’ reputation in the kingdom much anyways. If she had been married to him, I can’t imagine that her story would’ve ended there. She would’ve inevitably started new shenanigans and had a new scandal with whoever she did marry. Saera never had a desire to settle down, and even long after the events of the scandal took place, it’s still written that she refuses to see Jaehaerys. Not only that, but she seemingly never got married or took on any of those traditional Westerosi roles for women, instead becoming mistress of her own brothel. Clearly Saera’s personality and desires were simply incompatible with Westeros’ social norms and gender roles, and a marriage wouldn’t have fixed that.

Thanks for your question!

Edit: Thank you @alterac for pointing out that the other two men weren’t killed by Jaehaerys, but one was exiled and the other married off. I was misremembering Fire & Blood, because it’s been a minute since I’ve read it. Only Beesbury was killed. But I still maintain that this could cause a diplomacy crisis, and it’s still considered an unusually harsh punishment for a noble. Like I said, one big reason why Ned’s death propels the War of the Five Kings forward is because executions of nobles just aren’t done. Traditionally, nobles are offered the chance to take the black before harsher punishments are considered. Even though Beesbury requested a trial by combat, Jaehaerys could have and arguably should have turned it down by banishing him to the Wall. Regardless, my overall answer doesn’t change, which is that it ultimately wouldn’t have fixed anything.

#my posts #asks #saera targaryen #stinger beesbury #asoiaf #F&B #jaehaerys targaryen

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cryptidafter · 9 months

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Now that I’m finished with The Rise of Phoenixes, I’ll give a little review!

I’d rate it a solid 6.5/7 out of 10. Acting, set design, costuming was all phenomenal.

It’s about the long-lasting and devastating consequences of revenge. How the quest for power is always going to lead to pain: for oneself and countless others. It’s about the unchosen circumstances of birth and how the grudges of one’s parents effect the lives of their children. The only curse being the blood that runs through your veins. It’s about not being able to escape from the ties that bind you. It’s about duty and sacrifice and the loneliness of maintaining a stable nation. It’s about sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of the people. It’s about familial bonds being broken beyond repair. It’s about grief and loss and hatred. It’s about how the love was there but it wasn’t enough. A wide cast of characters who all feel very human and distinct, even some of the more minor ones. Finally, a drama where the majority of the female characters are actually fully fleshed out people with their own thoughts and desires! My one gripe is that most of them die but, then again, this is a show where there’s a lot of fighting and murder lol; I understand. (Also not an LGBT show but I choose to believe Feng Zhiwei wasn’t making 🥺 eyes at all her sworn meimeis for nothing). There were a few plot points that I’m still unsure about (characters that just sort of…disappear) but I’m sure a rewatch would give me some better clarification on things.

At times, the pacing was a bit off. There were certain episodes that dragged and a few plot points that I think could’ve been tightened up or reworked but nothing egregious. I wasn’t a huge fan of all the flashback sequences; I won’t speak for most people but I can retain enough previous episode information to not need to be reminded of key elements. Let the audience figure some things out on their own. Especially because a lot of the twists in this show were genuinely interesting and I think would’ve been even more impactful without those little winks and nudges.

Most of the negative reviews I’ve seen are in regards to the ending and I honestly think if you’re looking for a straightforward romance, this isn’t the show for you. It’s a very realistic ending to the series, especially when you keep in mind all the points I listed above. If you’re a fan of political thrillers, of highly emotional and character driven storytelling, then I think you’ll be satisfied.

(Unfortunately it leaves Netflix on the 13th of this month so uh…if you have other means of potentially finding it…you know…do that and maybe let me know…lol)

Bleak, beautiful, heart wrenching. I will be thinking about it forever, thanks.

(Shoutouts to some of my favorite characters: Ning Yi, Feng Zhiwei, Hua Qiong, Gu Nanyi, Headmaster Xin, Yale, and Zhao Yuan! And a big thank you to @sirenofthegreenbanks for the recommendation 💕)

#cryptid’s thoughts #the rise of phoenixes #cdrama #cdrama review #天盛长歌 #strangers to lovers to enemies to idk it’s complicated is such a delight lol #choosing to believe they definitely [REDACTED] in the last episode - nobody can convince me otherwise 😌😂#yes I have also written a fic lol - needs editing but I’ll post it soonish

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sezja · 2 years

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Hello o/

For your free time. Remember to always rest <3

Excuse me but more doubts about Sanaii:

Favorite hairstyles?

Most hated job?

Places she dislikes?

Any friends or other relationships? Who she trusts more? Anyone she goes to if she needs it?

What does she feels and thinks about her dads?

Cold weather or warm weather?

Is she too burdened by the Warrior of Light title?

Does she enjoys helping people?

Questline that most suits her (I’m thinking about class/job ones but you can choose another)?

Does she has favorite npc? Any type of thoughts or feelings about this canon character from admiration, respect, love of any kind, anything.

Favorite glamour set?

Any item she always has with herself?

Religious or not?

I will come back but enough for now :D

Favorite hairstyles: She likes to keep her hair long, but ties it back out of her face so it doesn't get in the way - she likes ponytails, buns, and other up-dos. It's a real shame the hairbuns... do what they do on miqo'te, because otherwise I think she'd love them.

Most hated job: She's tried and failed to get a handle on DoM jobs - for role quest purposes she's going to pick up RDM and SGE, neither of which she's particularly fond of. She likes X'rhun and Arya (she and Arya are great friends and maintain a steady correspondence), though, so she keeps making her best effort at RDM... even if the magical aspects baffle her and she'd rather just practice her swordsmanship.

Places she dislikes: Nowhere, really! She finds something to love everywhere she goes. It's part of why she decided to follow in Zephyr's footsteps and become an adventurer. If anything, Garlemald is grim and depressing so she hates going there - but she's very fond of Jullus, and she hopes to see something beautiful grow where the Empire fell.

Friends or other relationships: There's Arya, as mentioned above; they're pen pals. She also bonds with Alphinaud and Alisaie, finding it far easier to talk to them than anyone else in the Scions - especially Alisaie, who understands her frustration with politics and keeping up appearances. Sanaii tends to talk to Alisaie if she just needs to vent about something. They'll go talk it out over sweets, and if that doesn't work, they'll go fight something until the frustration's gone.

How does she feel about her dads: She loves them all dearly. She doesn't talk about them much, keeping them well away from the public eye and associating them with her as little as possible - she knows she has enemies, and those who would use her family against her if they could. She tries not to tell them too much about what she's up to after the events of ARR and 2.x, not wanting them to worry. They try, then, to follow her story as best they can by following gossip and news.

She knows, of course, that they aren't her blood family, but her first clear memory is of R'azit hauling her out from beneath the burning remains of a house, and R'enze cutting a path to safety. They will always be her fathers, as far as she's concerned.

She's particularly soft on Zephyr, who can't fight much on his own (he's an archer, but his skills lie more in hunting than on the battlefield; as an adventurer he has always relied more on his skills outside of combat). It's from Zephyr she's learned how to navigate social situations - and frankly, he's the only reason she can negotiate with the leaders of nations without embarrassing herself.

Cold weather or warm weather: She'd rather be warm than cold, but she'd rather be cold than hot.

The Warrior of Light title: At first, she thinks it's kind of fun, being a Warrior of Light like in the stories - she's proud of it, and likes to hear herself referred to in such a lofty way... but in time, as the weight of the title really starts to sink in, she finds herself quietly hating it as it consumes the rest of her identity. It is a burden, and one she can't set aside; it starts to feel like a leash, and the whole world has a grip on it. She alternates between being angry at Hydaelyn for choosing her, and anger at herself for not wanting that burden, which someone has to carry. She learns to carry the title - and its weight - with a little more grace over time.

Does she enjoy helping people: Yes! Very much so. It was what appealed to her about Zephyr's particular style of adventuring - stopping to help anyone who had need of an adventurer's aid, whatever it might be. No matter how big or small the task. No matter how grand or how meager the reward. He taught her that the purpose of an adventurer isn't just to see the world, but to leave it a better place than you found it, even if it's just improving one person's day in some small way. She doesn't always seem like the type, but she does love helping out, and feeling helpful.

Questline that most suits her: I can't remember the names of any of the NPCs involved off the top of my head, but the questline in Shadowbringers, in Lakeland, where you're sort of helping a hume girl follow in the footsteps of her father, a healer? That one.

Favorite NPC: Oh man, it's hard to say if she has a favorite. I don't presently romantically ship her with anyone, so the possibilities are endless here - she can find something to love in most people.

I feel like she's very partial to Jehantel, seeing something in his gentle melancholy that pulls at her. I'm not sure she'd have agreed to go along with Sanson and Guydelot after their bickering at the start, if Jehantel hadn't asked it of her. (She warms to them, of course, but neither of them really put their best foot forward, and she's very grumpy about being asked to go along with them - and they're not thrilled at the prospect of a sullen teenager attending their quest, either.)

Favorite glamour sets: I don't know yet! She likes comfy, pretty things. I still need to get a feel for her sense of style.

Items she carries with herself: She secretly still carries the fox plush she carried with her when her dads rescued her; it's buried deep in her pack. She only pulls it out when she needs extra comforting.

Religious or not: Mildly. Agnostic, mostly. As R'azit puts it, "I only speak to the gods when I'm angry at them." She believes there's a force that controls the world and its fate, but she's not sure it's the Twelve. She's quiet about that, though.

Obviously, she knows Hydaelyn exists, but sees Her as more of a partner than a god.

#lefox sanaii #thank you as always <3 <3 <3

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unrcpcntant · 2 years

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⟨ lee ji-eun. cisfemale. she/her. 25. ⟩we welcome nara wynch to king’s landing , the lady (assassin) of iron holt. keep an eye out for their cruel nature, they tend to cover it up by acting clever. rumor has it they are neutral to the peace treaty, and their loyalties lie with house greyjoy. you’ll know it’s them when you get flashes of hidden weapons strapped close to her skin undeneath the skirt, non-existant morals, generational cruelty running through her veins.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

　 full　name　:　nara wynch. 　nickname(s)　:　moonie . 　age　:　25. 　gender　:　cis female . 　pronouns　:　she / her . 　sexuality　:　bisexual .

　 title / occupation　:　the lady of iron holt. assassin of iron lands . 　parents 　:　 uram wynch & moon wynch . 　siblings　:　 two older siblings, tba . 　children　:　none .　 spouse　:　 none . 　 loyalties　:　house wynch, house greyjoy .

　 height　: 160cm / 5′3 . 　build　: 　 toned, short . 　eye colour　: 　 dark brown . 　 hair colour　:　 black. 　 attire　: 　 long flowy and a little sheer dresses with scandalously deep cuts. prefers to mostly wear red to match with her always stained dark red lips, but also wears quite a lot of black, beige and white when in public.

𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

trigger warning: mentions of death, murder.

for a house that’s kept out of politics and scandals, house wynch has a lot of secrets. their biggest one being, that it’s been the house of assassins for generations. it is their hidden pride and a great source of income for the wynch nobility, though they don’t conside themselves as lords and ladies most of the time. anyone born as a wynch can choose their own path and if it’s not offering up their services for murder, it is not usually looked down upon within the family since the only other thing one might do is make sure there is a continuation of the bloodline, but it is rare for them not to carry on with this generational service since it is what that their family bonds over.

their house is described as harmless, boring, weak even, which is the reputation the wynches have worked hard to maintain. always overlooked, but in truth, they are to blame for many many mysterious deaths. their loyalty remains with greyjoy in heart and they would never do harm to them, but their secrets and services can be bought by anyone.

nara was the ultimate model child of the wynches. she was the youngest out of the three of them, so she felt a lot of pressure to prove herself beside her siblings, who always liked to pick on her. it shaped her into a very determined and spiteful teen, leading to great accomplishments during her trainings to become an assassin, mainly led by her uncle. though their family has a lot of love for each other, it is showed in the most cruel ways of pranking each other, cue to nara having a wicked sense in humor. as cold-hearted as they are, there’s nothing more important to them than loyalty to their family.

even though house wynch is one of the lowest noble houses, she’s managed to have some ties with other houses, mostly in iron islands, but also in westeros. she has travelled quite a lot of westeros, both as a noble and during her work, when her destinations must always be mission based. they maintain a very high level of secrecy that has not betrayed them for decades which is why they have been able to make a living out of it.

nara’s work has been put to a stop currently since she’s been residing in blacktyde castle for the past year after becoming theon’s salt wife.

nara is extremely straight-forward and she enjoys making fun of pretty much everything. most see that as insensitive and cruel even, but she takes life a little less serious than most. she is very confident of herself, her visage, her abilities, despite the many secrets that she has. she is quite easily very attracted to destruction, so i can imagine she has quite a few enemies, because of how she talks to people. if nara sets her eyes on something, there’s very little anyone can do to change that, she’s a stubborn little being.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

i’m working on a plots page for her! but these are the few at the top of my mind that i would love for her to have!

enemies! friends to enemies! as i mentioned, a girl runs her mouth too much.

ex flings. she always seems very passionate at first, but if you spend too much time with her, you’ll know something’s not right with her.

one who wasn’t persuaded. someone she might have set her eyes on but didn’t manage to charm.

best friends & childhood friends! would probably have to be ironborn.

enemies to friends!

#rfms.intro #tw death #tw murder

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ofpathways · 1 year

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Celine

Age: 84 Birthday: June 19,1939 Height: 4' 9" Weight: 75 lbs Hair color: Sky blue Hair style: down with a single braid Eye color: Sky blue with periwinkle sclera Lineage: half-angel, half-demon (Fae) Interests: People, cacti, carnivorous plants, card games, games of chance, gambling Likes: Gossip, information-gathering, puzzles, running water, sharks

Abilities: Enhanced senses, speed, strength, equilibrium, constitution, some resistance to curses (as she is part demon), some nature magic (but she is not very in touch with it)

She is also capable of demonic magic, but she largely avoids it. Primarily, she only casts minor spells to spice up the day with a little chaos.

Susceptibilities: Biting insects (she just hates them), demon illnesses, fae illnesses, other supernaturals’, magic

Notes: Fae may never tell a lie, or they will be cursed with the inability to ever speak again. She attends school with humans and never used glamours to conceal herself.

Unlike most Fae, Celine is not an immortal. Not truly. She has to borrow immortality (steal it) from another being. Her Incubus side requires her to steal immortality in the form of a kiss despite her disgust towards intimacy.

Summary: A high school student. She’s a Fae. The Fae are ‘tricksters’ who enjoy making deals to the other’s detriment for their own enjoyment. Celine is particularly interested in people and their sentimental attachments to things or memories. She doesn’t particular care for tormenting people, but she does enjoy watching them wade through struggles. She attends school because it’s something to do and she has the time for it. Celine is not involved with the Seelie Court, but her family (mother) does have ties to it. She was born a Fae and has been invited to pursue the world of politics, so the human realm is her own sense of a break.

History: Celine's mother had fallen for the charms of an Incubus. They'd dated, enjoyed one another's company, and he had seduced her to the point that they had a child. However, he'd abandoned them before Celine was even born. For a long time, Celine's mother viewed Celine as the 'parasite' he'd left her. However, angels were noble and strong and would make sacrifices for blood and family. She raised Celine in an imagine that would befit the daughter of an angel.

Celine's mother saw potential, powerful magic within her daughter. Her mother pushed Celine to pursue political standing with the Seelie Court to promote their family's status. Celine was the daughter of a greater demon and an angel of wisdom after all. Celine, however, did not take well to expectations as her mother discarded her own status and chose to pursue a demon (leading to ex-communication from Heaven's archives). Eventually, Celine would abandon her mother and lead a life outside the supernatural world while maintaining the bare minimum of duties to ensure her standing for the sake of using it when it suits her. Heaven, Hell, angels, demons, the supernatural realm. It all felt so boorish to her with everyone seeking a destiny or wanting to pursue things beyond themselves. Everyone wanted to feel so grand and important, and she couldn't help but poke holes in those hopes and dreams.

Worst of all was humanity. She could recall one of her first years in the human realm. A young boy who'd been in a wheelchair (she assumed a survivor of the war) offered her a rose. He stated how roses had thorns and they'd prick those who weren't careful when handling them, and compared that to Celine. That same boy expressed how roses were beautiful and those thorns were their defense. He claimed Celine's words were her thorns and that her heart wasn't so dangerous. Celine found the sentiment so incredibly bizarre that it haunts her to this day. Something bizarre and interesting and only someone as sappy and optimistic as a human could think. That day was when her interest in people, simple humans, began. She finds the blind optimism humanity can develop to be quite cute but naïve. Celine enjoys providing reality checks or watching when broad, bright ideas are crushed; it's humorous. Yet, somehow, that same person continues to push through to tomorrow. Quite the show, really.

#( about page. )#( c. Celine )

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dustyworks · 2 years

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The Beast King -- Chapter 1

How It Starts

Fall in the northern edge of Kotus was not a pleasant time to be fighting a war, but the tirade of beasts coming from the mountains beyond seemed to think it was an excellent time to wage one. If General Tana Liel could be grateful of anything, it was that at least Urstia, her own home kingdom, had decided that the threat was great enough to send aid to their neighbors, who risked a great deal of standing in even asking for such a thing.

Kotus was a small kingdom, their armies weren’t much to speak for, it seemed that perhaps the creatures that dwelled within the mountains were making it a particularly rough year, but it was becoming clear to everyone who had direct dealings with the things that the monstrosities that had always lived sparsely about the world had, for some reason, decided to work together.

In some way.

It was difficult to understand what had happened- some creatures were as smart as any human, but maintained a fearsome nature and a thoroughly uncivilized diet of people who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then it would make sense that perhaps they’d overcome their solitary natures and bonded together to try and take out humanity. At first, that was precisely what was thought to be happening, that was why it hadn’t seemed like as big of a threat. Tana hadn’t even been truly summoned by her government, she had heard the plights of the bordering kingdom and those who lived on the fringes of society, and she had enough political pull to amass a military unit and take it north in order to deal with this. This was her calling of course, a Paladin was more than a knight of the kingdom, they were charged to seek out evildoing and defend the defenseless regardless of where it might take them.

This was doubly so in her case, she had not sworn her oaths to the holy patron of their kingdom, nor any of the smaller deities of the countryside within Urstia. The Liel family line was uniquely tied to a god who lacked a following, on account of his death as part of a holy war that had broken out long ago, before many of the great kingdoms had even begun to draw borders beyond their castle walls. Of course, gods did not truly die, they only lost followings and became obsolete, forgotten, unable to lend power to followers in the material realm in order to enact their bidding on the mortal world.

Though the reason for the Liel family line being tethered to this strange order was nearly forgotten, and likely born of repentance, they had gone on for generations as an honorable sort, and people of great influence and ability. This was what had allowed Tana the opportunity to bring soldiers of the kingdom with her, under her guidance they were more than just tools of the kingdom, they were a part of her mission to bring what safety could be found in the chaos that might come from a sudden incursion of mountains. It was a voluntary mission, no one would be ordered to go, many of them were either early in their careers and hungry for some way to use their recently gained skills, while more were believers in the General’s ideals. It seemed like a simple task, its only difficulty being the distance they would travel to put manpower towards a fight the kingdom the land belonged two were either unable or unwilling to engage in.

Only months later, they were still there.

Only months later, things were getting worse.

Spring had waned to summer, their time was spent trying to protect crops, trying to protect the livelihood and the life blood of the people who lived on the land, and now it was fall, and Tana had written letter after letter trying to explain that something was different, that gorgons had never previously organized with a dragon, that even the creatures previously seen as more feral, previously only seen as solitary beings, were traveling and attacking in organized packs.

Relief was on its way. Urstia was a greater military power, but had remained on friendly terms with the people of Kotus as long as they had shared borders. Agreements were made, resources were discussed.

War was recognized.

The foe was yet unknown, his full shape not seen, only the shadows he cast.

“General Liel,” a squire was at the entrance of the large tent that served as her office, a young man, barely old enough to grow hair on his cheeks.

“Reginald,” Tana acknowledged, turning to look at him. He seemed paler than usual, his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers.

“Your- ah- Lieutenant Kara has been returned from her excursion,” his voice broke part way through the sentence, he had to clear his throat.

“And her teammates?” Tana asked, already standing as she felt ice forming in her stomach. The squire found no response within himself.

No one needed to ask for elaboration when the General’s voice rang out towards the mass of returning soldiers. Not all of them had been with the Lieutenant, she’d requested permission to take her own team of people slightly east off of the route the platoon would be taking as it went to pick up supplies. There was a small community there that was in need of some fortification, they’d received word that they had been attacked repeatedly and were struggling to continue.

Tana had granted permission, the Lieutenant and her team were supposed to meet up with the platoon upon their return, that would grant them enough time to assist in the defense of the community and help them design the necessary fortifications, or assess a plan for evacuation.

People were stubborn about leaving their land.

“Where is she?” Tana asked, her grief turning her to an icy visage, her fear unable to find a foothold in grief as she held onto the hope that perhaps-

Perhaps that wasn’t her beneath the cloth on the wagon being drawn into camp.

Her eyes searched the platoon of soldiers, no one meeting her gaze until the commander stepped forward.

“Ma’am,” she said. “The Lieutenant was not at the designated meeting spot. We spent an extra day waiting, and then sent a few scouts to see what was holding them up,” she was walking the General to the cart as she spoke.

“What happened, Ellowin?” Tana asked quietly.

Wasn’t she supposed to know if something went wrong? Shouldn’t she have had a sinking feeling in her stomach so much sooner than when Reginald was at her door. It had been of note when her people were late on their return, but that didn’t immediately spell disaster. The weather had been poor, perhaps they simply weren’t making good time.

“A basilisk, ma’am,” Ellowin said solemnly. “The others in her team were shattered, but it looks as though your daughter managed to strike the final blow on the creature.”

Tana closed her eyes, her hand clutched around her holy symbol at her chest as her lips moved in a short, silent prayer. It wasn’t quite one of thanks, her daughter was stone, but as the blanket was removed, it was clear that she was still in one piece for the most part. The commander cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Her sword was still embedded in the creature's head, there was some… difficulty getting the two of them apart.”

Ellowin was referring to the fact that the left arm was lying separate from the rest of the body, which was, as one might expect, turned entirely to stone. The surface of her face was smooth, cold as Tana reached out to touch her cheek, the expression frozen in one of a tired sort of resolution.

“Were you able to collect the others?” Tana asked after a silent moment.

“Identifiable pieces were gathered, all are accounted for, but the damage,” Ellowin trailed off. “I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“I’ll begin drafting the letters to their families, take my daughter to the medical tent, there is still some that can be done for this.”

Before she had been a General for the kingdom, Tana Liel had been a paladin. This was not a profession that ended once she gained a military status, there were other paladins among the armies, though not many, and it was because of this that her daughter had even been near the front lines since the beginning. Her son, second born though only by seconds, had not been fated to follow in the footsteps of his mother, it was always the first born. Kara, her daughter, had studied since childhood in what she would need to become as powerful a figure as her mother. Their god was a less followed one among the pantheon, but their ability was not any less for it, and she showed promise as a student.

This was why she had accompanied her mother onto the front lines, perhaps too young to be at war, but certainly not younger than some of the squires that followed loyally at their knights heels.

It had seemed safe to let Kara take control of her own team, a group of friends more than people she commanded, they worked well together and they were able to go off and follow up on smaller jobs that wouldn’t require the attention of half an army. It was good for her training, it was good for the people, it had been going well.

Tana had told herself that she understood that this could happen, that if she truly had wanted to keep her daughter from war, then she should have left her at home. Her husband and son were already gone across the sea to follow their merchants operation south, away from the conflict and where the boy might learn more about his fathers line of work.

Perhaps it was Kara who had overestimated her abilities. She understood that war was not something to be made glamorous, though perhaps that was more strongly understood now than it was when she had begun her training. She was strong, adept with a blade and could hold a shield against mighty blows, with her teammates at her side she felt truly as though she were on an adventure. She was not a scribe, nor was she someone left to train farmhands into soldiers as a last resort if their communities should be attacked. She followed her mothers footsteps, her capabilities as a paladin grew with each day and she felt the power of her god flowing from her as it had from her mother.

Was it bad luck?

A basilisk was a formidable foe when prepared, one with wranglers and able to get the drop on them was precisely why Kara had been the only one recovered in only two pieces.

It would be a few weeks before she knew that they had, in a manner of speaking, won that fight. Hamshyr, the community they’d been intent on protecting, had not seen a single one of the enemies that had set out to end them. The battle had been fought quickly and quietly within the woods and Kara awoke then, laid out on a table in a dimly lit medical tent.

It was not a smooth process. There was a crack in her leg that had to be mended before they began, and her arm was reattached on the advice of the druid they’d found who claimed to be capable of reversing this process. Her body felt like it was encased in ice when she began to feel anything at all, and it was perhaps the most tender interaction they’d had since she was a child as her mother tried to sooth her panic.

“Did they make it?” Kara asked as soon as she could catch her breath, having to speak through a face that felt stiff, frozen with cold still.

“The townspeople were unharmed,” Tana reassured her. “Your teammates…”

The sobbing that could be heard from outside the tent was, unfortunately, not an uncommon sound. The General and Kara were well liked, everyone was glad to have the paladin in training back and alive, but it became clear quickly that she wasn’t going to return to the front lines any time soon. It took days before she was able to even stand, and after a week had passed, she had given up on any feeling returning to her left arm. She couldn’t even bend it at the elbow, not a twitch to her fingers, and the crack in the stone that had been her leg left her with a limp on the best of her days.

But the war moved forward. Kara remained at the forward operating base, a relatively safe camp, and there weren’t any resources to send her- or any other injured- home at that time.

Fowl weather did little to entice a better mood, and when Tana received notice that she was to send an ambassador to better represent the state of affairs, as well as Urstia, it was enough to strike a spark in the tinder that had been piled between them.

“You’re only sending me because I’m injured, this isn’t fair,” Kara argued, her tone not quite petulant though the content of her argument felt as such.

“Would you rather be sent home?” Tana asked, tone nearly as bitter. “This is the best option, and I believe will be good for you. You have been away from society as it is- it is not only the duty of a paladin to serve on the front lines, we must be prepared to serve the people directly,” she felt as though she were voicing some of her regrets in how Kara’s education had gone thus far, directly into war and combat as she came of an age.

“I have spent the majority of my life learning etiquette, I don’t need-” Kara began to say, her mind immediately recalling plenty of days of her childhood being kept in stuffy rooms full of books and dusty with chalk, before her mother interrupted with an abrupt slam of her hands on the desk in front of her, her tone tense.

“You need the practical application, and if you would lend me a little kindness, I am only trying to do what is best for you- my daughter,” Tana had not handled the guilt of the near-miss well. She had sent her daughter out, she had put faith in that group that they would be safe, had she not considered how poorly things could go? Every day, people died, every day the Beast King’s army grew, a body disposed of improperly was just another to his ranks.

They were not winning, and Kara was a liability in her current state, and Tana had been unable to afford the safety of sending her home. Kotus would be closer, Kotus would be safer, and she was needed there. She had faith that her daughter, while a difficult child on occasion, would make a fine ambassador for their kingdom.

That, and she wouldn’t have to lose one of her own commanders. She needed every man she could have in this war, and it was an unfortunate truth that Kara was of little use there at the moment, her condition was in no hurry to improve. It was as though there was some venom or curse within her veins, the stone threatened to creep back in at inopportune times. The druid had crafted her an amulet that would help keep it at bay, but it only took a nightmare to send her into the sort of panic that would trigger it. The magic it needed to maintain its strength could come easily from either Kara or her mother, but even if one denied it, they both knew that the best place to heal was hardly going to be a tent-city of a base, even if the walls of logs had been long since fortified.

And so Kara was carted off to Kotus.

#Original Writing #writing #fantasy #creative writing #story #chapter #Chapter 1

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: I have always appreciated your thoughtful views on the defence of the British monarchy, and as a university historian it’s reassuring to see someone using history to make invalubale insights to a controversial institution. I wonder what are your own thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip and what his legacy might be? Was he a gaffe prone racist and a liability to the Queen?

I know you kindly got in touch and identified yourself when you felt I was ignoring your question. I’m glad we cleared that up via DM. The truth is as I said and I’m saying here is that I had to let some time pass before I felt I could reasonably answer this question. Simply because - as you know as someone who teaches history at university - distance is good to make a sober appraisal rather than knee jerk in the moment judgements.

Contrary to what some might think I’m not really a fan girl when it comes to the royal family. I don’t religiously follow their every movement or utterance especially as I live in Paris and therefore I don’t really care about tabloid tittle tattle. I only get to hear of anything to do with the royal family when I speak to my parents or my great aunts and uncles for whom the subject is closer to their heart because of the services my family has rendered over past generations to the monarchy and the older (and dying) tight knit social circles they travel in.

Like Walter Bagehot, I’m more interested in the monarchy as an institution and its constitutional place within the historical, social, and political fabric of Britain and its continued delicate stabilising importance to that effect. It was Walter Bagehot, the great constitutional scholar and editor the Economist magazine, who said, “The mystic reverence, the religious allegiance, which are essential to a true monarchy, are imaginative sentiments that no legislature can manufacture in any people.” In his view, a politically-inactive monarchy served the best interests of the United Kingdom; by abstaining from direct rule, the monarch levitated above the political fray with dignity, and remained a respected personage to whom all subjects could look to as a guiding light.

Even as a staunch monarchist I freely confess that there has always been this odd nature of the relationship between hereditary monarchy and a society increasingly ambivalent about the institution. To paraphrase Bagehot again, there has been too much ‘daylight’ shone onto the ‘magic’ of the monarchy because we are obsessed with personalities as celebrities.

Having said that I did feel saddened by the passing of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. After the Queen, he was my favourite royal. Anne, Princess Royal, would come next because she is very much like her father in temperament, humour, and character, so unlike her other brothers.

I have met the late Prince Philip when I was serving in the army in a few regimental meet-and-greet situations - which as you may know is pretty normal given that members of the royal family serve as honorary colonel-in-chiefs (patrons in effect) of all the British army regiments and corps.I also saw him at one or two social events such the annual charitable Royal Caledonian Ball (he’s an expert scottish reeler) and the Guards Polo Club where my older brothers played.

I’ll will freely confess that he was the one royal I could come close to identify with because his personal biography resonated with me a great deal.

Let’s be honest, the core Windsor family members, born to privilege, are conditioned and raised to be dull. Perhaps that’s a a tad harsh. I would prefer the term ‘anonymously self-effacing’, just another way of saying ‘for God’s sake don’t draw attention to yourself by saying or doing anything even mildly scandalous or political lest it invites public opprobrium and scrutiny’. The Queen magnificently succeeds in this but the others from Charles down just haven’t (with the exception of Princess Anne).

However, many people forget this obvious fact that it’s the incoming husbands and wives who marry into the Windsor family who are relied upon to bring colour and even liven things up a little. And long before Kate Middleton, Meghan Markle (very briefly), or Lady Diana Spencer, were the stars of ‘The Firm’- a phrase first coined by King George VI, Queen Elizabeth II's father who ruled from 1936 to 1952, who was thought to have wryly said, "British royals are 'not a family, we're a firm,” - it was Prince Philip who really livened things up and made the greater impact on the monarchy than any of them in the long term.

Prince Philip’s passing belied the truth of a far more complex individual: a destitute and penniless refugee Greek-Danish prince with a heart breaking backstory that could have been penned by any 19th Century novelist, and also eagle eyed reformer who tried to drag the royal family into the 20th century. At the core of the man - lost scion of a lost European royal dynasty, a courageous war veteran, and Queen’s consort - were values in which he attempted to transform and yet maintain much older inherited traditions and attitudes. Due to his great longevity, Philip’s life came to span a period of social change that is almost unprecedented, and almost no one in history viewed such a transformation from the front row.

Prince Philip would seem to represent in an acute form the best of the values of that era, which in many ways jar with today’s. He had fought with great courage in the war as a dashing young naval officer; he was regularly rude to foreigners, which was obviously a bonus to all Brits. He liked to ride and sail and shoot things. He was unsentimental almost to a comic degree, which felt reassuring at a time when a new-found emotional incontinence made many feel uncomfortable. Outrageous to some but endearing to others, he was the sort of man you’d want to go for a pint with, perhaps the ultimate compliment that an Englishman can pay to another Englishman. This has its own delicious irony as he wasn’t really an Englishman.

There are 4 takeways I would suggest in my appraisal of Prince Philip that stand out for me. So let me go through each one.

1. Prince Philip’s Internationalism

It may seem odd for me to say that Prince Philip wasn’t English but he wasn’t an Englishman in any real sense. He was a wretch of the world - stateless, homeless, and penniless. That the Prince of Nowhere became the British Monarchy’s figurehead was more than fitting for a great age of migration and transition in which the Royal Family survived and even flourished. That he was able to transform himself into the quintessential Englishman is testimony not just to his personal determination but also to the powerful cultural pull of Britishness.

He was born on a kitchen table in Corfu in June 1921. A year later in 1922, Philip, as the the great-great-grandson of Queen Victoria and nephew of Constantine I of Greece, was forced to flee with his family after the abdication of Constantine. He grew up outside Paris speaking French; ethnically he was mostly German although he considered himself Danish, his family originating from the Schleswig border region. He was in effect, despite his demeanour of Royal Navy officer briskness, a citizen of nowhere in an age of movement. From a very young age he was a stateless person, nationally homeless. Indeed, Philip was an outsider in a way that even Meghan Markle could never be; at his wedding in 1947, his three surviving sisters and two brothers-in-law were not permitted to attend because they were literally Britain’s enemies, having fought for the Germans. A third brother-in-law had even been in the SS, working directly for Himmler, but had been killed in the conflict.

Even his religion was slightly exotic. He was Greek Orthodox until he converted to Anglicanism on marrying Elizabeth - what with his wife due to become supreme head of the Church and everything - but his ties with eastern Christianity remained. His great-aunts Princess Elisabeth of Hesse and by Rhine and Tsarina Alexandra are both martyrs of the Russian Orthodox Church, having been murdered by the Bolsheviks; Philip’s mother went on to become an Orthodox nun and a “Righteous Among the Nations” for saving a Jewish family during the Nazi occupation of Greece, spending much of her time in squalid poverty.

His parents were part of the largely German extended aristocracy who ruled almost all of Europe before it all came crashing down in 1918. When he died, aged 99, it marked a near-century in which all the great ideological struggles had been and gone; he had been born before the Soviet Union but outlived the Cold War, the War on Terror and - almost - Covid-19.

The world that Philip was born into was a far more violent and dangerous place than ours. In the year he was born, Irish rebels were still fighting Black and Tans; over the course of 12 months the Spanish and Japanese prime ministers were assassinated, there was a coup in Portugal and race riots in the United States. Germany was rocked by violence from the far-Left and far-Right, while in Italy a brutal new political movement, the Fascists, secured 30 seats in parliament, led by a trashy journalist called Benito Mussolini.

The worst violence, however, took place in Greece and Turkey. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, what remained of Turkey was marked for permanent enfeeblement by the Allies. But much to everyone’s surprise the country’s force were roused by the brilliant officer Mustafa Kemal, who led the Turks to victory. Constantinople was lost to Christendom for good and thousands of years of Hellenic culture was put to the flames in Smyrna.

The Greek royal family, north German imports shipped in during the 19th century, bore much of the popular anger for this disaster. King Constantine fled to Italy, and his brother Andrew was arrested and only escaped execution through the intervention of his relative Britain’s George V. Andrew’s wife Alice, their four daughters and infant son Philip fled to France, completely impoverished but with the one possession that ensures that aristocrats are never truly poor: connections.

Philip had a traumatic childhood. He was forged by the turmoil of his first decade and then moulded by his schooling. His early years were spent wandering, as his place of birth ejected him, his family disintegrated and he moved from country to country, none of them ever his own. When he was just a year old, he and his family were scooped up by a British destroyer from his home on the Greek island of Corfu after his father had been condemned to death. They were deposited in Italy. One of Philip's first international journeys was spent crawling around on the floor of the train from an Italian port city, "the grubby child on the desolate train pulling out of the Brindisi night," as his older sister Sophia later described it.

In Paris, he lived in a house borrowed from a relative; but it was not destined to become a home. In just one year, while he was at boarding school in Britain, the mental health of his mother, Princess Alice, deteriorated and she went into an asylum; his father, Prince Andrew, went off to Monte Carlo to live with his mistress. "I don't think anybody thinks I had a father," he once said. Andrew would die during the war. Philip went to Monte Carlo to pick up his father's possessions after the Germans had been driven from France; there was almost nothing left, just a couple of clothes brushes and some cuff-links.

Philip’s four sisters were all much older, and were soon all married to German aristocrats (the youngest would soon die in an aeroplane crash, along with her husband and children). His sisters became ever more embroiled in the German regime. In Scotland going to Gordonstoun boarding school, Philip went the opposite direction, becoming ever more British. Following the death of his sister Cecilie in a plane crash in 1937, the gulf widened. As the clouds of conflict gathered, the family simply disintegrated. With a flash of the flinty stoicism that many would later interpret, with no little justification, as self-reliance to the point of dispassion, the prince explained: “It’s simply what happened. The family broke up… I just had to get on with it. You do. One does.”

In the space of 10 years he had gone from a prince of Greece to a wandering, homeless, and virtually penniless boy with no-one to care for him. He got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

By the time he went to Gordonstoun, a private boarding school on the north coast of Scotland, Philip was tough, independent and able to fend for himself; he'd had to be. Gordonstoun would channel those traits into the school's distinct philosophy of community service, teamwork, responsibility and respect for the individual. And it sparked one of the great passions of Philip's life - his love of the sea. It was Gordonstoun that nurtured that love through the maturation of his character.

Philip adored the school as much as his son Charles would despise it. Not just because the stress it put on physical as well as mental excellence - he was a great sportsman. But because of its ethos, laid down by its founder Kurt Hahn, a Jewish exile from Nazi Germany.

Hahn first met Philip as a boy in Nazi Germany. Through a connection via one of his sister’s husbands, Philip, the poor, lonely boy was first sent off to a new school - in Nazi Germany. Which was as fun as can be imagined. Schloss Salem had been co-founded by stern educator called Kurt Hahn, a tough, discipline-obsessed conservative nationalist who saw civilisation in inexorable decline. But by this stage Hahn, persecuted for being Jewish in Nazi Germany, had fled to Britain, and Philip did not spend long at the school either, where pressure from the authorities was already making things difficult for the teachers. Philip laughed at the Nazis at first, because their salute was the same gesture the boys at his previous school had to make when they wanted to go to the toilet, but within a year he was back in England, a refugee once again.

Philip happily attended Hahn’s new school, Gordonstoun, which the strict disciplinarian had set up in the Scottish Highlands. Inspired by Ancient Sparta, the boys (and then later girls) had to run around barefoot and endure cold showers, even in winter, the whole aim of which was to drive away the inevitable civilisational decay Hahn saw all around him. To 21st century ears it sounds like hell on earth, yet Philip enjoyed it, illustrating just what a totally alien world he came from.

That ethos became a significant, perhaps the significant, part of the way that Philip believed life should be lived. It shines through the speeches he gave later in his life. "The essence of freedom," he would say in Ghana in 1958, "is discipline and self-control." The comforts of the post-war era, he told the British Schools Exploring Society a year earlier, may be important "but it is much more important that the human spirit should not be stifled by easy living". And two years before that, he spoke to the boys of Ipswich School of the moral as well as material imperatives of life, with the "importance of the individual" as the "guiding principle of our society".

It was at Gordonstoun one of the great contradictions of Philip's fascinating life was born. The importance of the individual was what in Kurt Hahn's eyes differentiated Britain and liberal democracies from the kind of totalitarian dictatorship that he had fled. Philip put that centrality of the individual, and individual agency - the ability we have as humans to make our own moral and ethical decisions - at the heart of his philosophy.

At Dartmouth Naval College in 1939, the two great passions of his life would collide. He had learned to sail at Gordonstoun; he would learn to lead at Dartmouth. And his driving desire to achieve, and to win, would shine through. Despite entering the college far later than most other cadets, he would graduate top of his class in 1940. In further training at Portsmouth, he gained the top grade in four out of five sections of the exam. He became one of the youngest first lieutenants in the Royal Navy.

The navy ran deep in his family. His maternal grandfather had been the First Sea Lord, the commander of the Royal Navy; his uncle, "Dickie" Mountbatten, had command of a destroyer while Philip was in training. In war, he showed not only bravery but guile. It was his natural milieu. "Prince Philip", wrote Gordonstoun headmaster Kurt Hahn admiringly, "will make his mark in any profession where he will have to prove himself in a trial of strength".

2. Prince Philip and the modernisation of the monarchy

In his own words, the process of defining what it meant to be a royal consort was one of “trial and error.” Speaking with BBC One’s Fiona Bruce in 2011, Philip explained, “There was no precedent. If I asked somebody, 'What do you expect me to do?' they all looked blank. They had no bloody idea, nobody had much idea.” So he forged for himself a role as a moderniser of the monarchy.

He could not have had much idea back in 1939. Back then in Dartmouth in 1939, as war became ever more certain, the navy was his destiny. He had fallen in love with the sea itself. "It is an extraordinary master or mistress," he would say later, "it has such extraordinary moods." But a rival to the sea would come.

When King George VI toured Dartmouth Naval College, accompanied by Philip's uncle, he brought with him his daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Philip was asked to look after her. He showed off to her, vaulting the nets of the tennis court in the grounds of the college. He was confident, outgoing, strikingly handsome, of royal blood if without a throne. She was beautiful, a little sheltered, a little serious, and very smitten by Philip.

Did he know then that this was a collision of two great passions? That he could not have the sea and the beautiful young woman? For a time after their wedding in 1948, he did have both. As young newlyweds in Malta, he had what he so prized - command of a ship - and they had two idyllic years together. But the illness and then early death of King George VI brought it all to an end.

He knew what it meant, the moment he was told. Up in a lodge in Kenya, touring Africa, with Princess Elizabeth in place of the King, Philip was told first of the monarch's death in February 1952. He looked, said his equerry Mike Parker, "as if a ton of bricks had fallen on him". For some time he sat, slumped in a chair, a newspaper covering his head and chest. His princess had become the Queen. His world had changed irrevocably.

While the late Princess Diana was later to famously claim that there were “three people” in her marriage - herself, Prince Charles and Camilla - there were at least 55 million in Philip and Elizabeth’s. As Elizabeth dedicated her life to her people at Westminster Abbey at the Coronation on June 2, 1953, it sparked something of an existential crisis in Philip. Many people even after his death have never really understood this pivotal moment in Philip’s life. All his dreams of being a naval officer and a life at sea as well as being the primary provider and partner in his marriage were now sacrificed on the altar of duty and love.

With his career was now over, and he was now destined to become the spare part. Philip, very reasonably, asked that his future children and indeed his family be known by his name, Mountbatten. In effect he was asking to change the royal family’s name from the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten. But when Prime Minister Winston Churchill got wind of it as well as the more politically agile courtiers behind the Queen, a prolonged battle of wits ensued, and it was one Philip ultimately lost. It was only in 1957 that he accepted the title of “Prince.”

Even though he had almost lost everything dear to him and his role now undefined, he didn’t throw himself a pity party. He just got on with it. Philip tried to forge his own distinct role as second fiddle to the woman who had come to represent Great Britain. He designated himself the First Officer of the Good Ship Windsor. He set about dusting off some of the cobwebs off the throne and letting some daylight unto the workings of the monarchy by advocating reasonable amount of modernisation of the monarchy.

He had ideas about modernising the royal family that might be called “improving optics” today. But in his heart of hearts he didn’t want the monarchy to become a stuffy museum piece. He envisaged a less stuffy and more popular monarchy, relevant to the lives of ordinary people. Progress was always going to be incremental as he had sturdy opposition from the old guard who wanted to keep everything as it was, but nevertheless his stubborn energy resulted in significant changes.

When a commission chaired by Prince Philip proposed broadcasting the 1953 investiture ceremony that formally named Elizabeth II as queen on live television, Prime Minister Winston Churchill reacted with outright horror, declaring, “It would be unfitting that the whole ceremony should be presented as if it were a theatrical performance.” Though the queen had initially voiced similar concerns, she eventually came around to the idea, allowing the broadcast of all but one segment of the coronation. Ultimately, according to the BBC, more than 20 million people tuned in to the televised ceremony - a credit to the foresight of Philip.

Elizabeth’s coronation marked a watershed moment for a monarchy that has, historically, been very hands off, old-fashioned and slightly invisible. Over the following years, the royals continued to embrace television as a way of connecting with the British people: In 1957, the queen delivered her annual Christmas address during a live broadcast. Again, this was Philip’s doing when he cajoled the Queen to televise her message live. He even helped her in how to use the teleprompter to get over her nerves and be herself on screen.

Four years later, in 1961, Philip became the first family member to sit for a television interview. It is hard for us to imagine now but back then it was huge. For many it was a significant step in modernising the monarchy.

Though not everything went to plan. Toward the end of the decade, the Windsors even invited cameras into their home. A 1969 BBC fly-on-the-wall documentary, instigated by Philip to show life behind the scenes, turned into an unmitigated disaster: “The Windsors” revealed the royals to be a fairly normal, if very rich, British upper-class family who liked barbecues, ice cream, watching television and bickering. The mystery of royalty took a hit below the waterline from their own torpedo, a self-inflicted wound from which they took a long time to recover. Shown once, the documentary was never aired again. But it had an irreversible effect, and not just by revealing the royals to be ordinary. By allowing the cameras in, Philip opened the lid to the prying eyes of the paparazzi who could legitimately argue that since the Royals themselves had sanctioned exposure, anything went. From then on, minor members of the House of Windsor were picked off by the press, like helpless tethered animals on a hunting safari.

Prince Philip also took steps to reorganise and renovate the royal estates in Sandringham and Balmoral such as intercoms, modern dish washers, generally sought to make the royal household and the monarchy less stuffy, not to have so much formality everywhere.

Philip helped modernised the monarchy in other ways to acknowledge that the monarchy could be responsive to changes in society. It was Prince Philip - much to the chagrin of the haughty Princess Margaret and other stuffy old courtiers - who persuaded the Queen to host informal lunches and garden parties designed to engage a broader swath of the British public. Conversely, Prince Philip heartily encouraged the Queen (she was all for it apparently but was still finding her feet as a new monarch) to end the traditional practice of presenting debutantes from aristocratic backgrounds at court in 1952. For Philip and others it felt antiquated and out of touch with society. I know in speaking to my grandmother and others in her generation the decision was received with disbelief at how this foreign penniless upstart could come and stomp on the dreams of mothers left to clutch their pearls at the prospect there would be no shop window for their daughter to attract a suitable gentleman for marriage. One of my great aunts was over the moon happy that she never would have to go through what she saw as a very silly ceremony because she preferred her muddy wellies to high heels.

A former senior member of the royal household, who spent several years working as one of Prince Philip’s aides, and an old family friend, once told us around a family dinner table that the Duke of Edinburgh was undoubtedly given a sense of permanence by his marriage into the Royal Family that was missing from earlier years. But the royal aide would hastily add that Prince Philip, of course, would never see it that way.

Prince Philip’s attitude was to never brood on things or seek excuses. And he did indeed get on with the job in his own way - there should be no doubt that when it came to building and strengthening the Royal Family it was a partnership of equals with the Queen. Indeed contrary to Netflix’s hugely popular series ‘The Crown’ and its depiction of the royal marriage with Philip’s resentment at playing second fiddle, the prince recognised that his “first duty was to serve the Queen in the best way I could,” as he told ITV in 2011. Though this role was somewhat ill-suited to his dynamic, driven, and outspoken temperament, Philip performed it with utter devotion.

3. Prince Philip’s legacy

One could argue rightly that modernising the monarchy was his lasting legacy achievement. But he also tried to modernise a spent and exhausted Britain as it emerged from a ruinous war. When peace came, and with it eventual economic recovery, Philip would throw himself into the construction of a better Britain, urging the country to adopt scientific methods, embracing the ideas of industrial design, planning, education and training. A decade before Harold Wilson talked of the "white heat of the technological revolution", Philip was urging modernity on the nation in speeches and interviews. He was on top of his reading of the latest scientific breakthroughs and well read in break out innovations.

This interest in modernisation was only matched by his love for nature. As the country and the world became richer and consumed ever more, Philip warned of the impact on the environment, well before it was even vaguely fashionable. As president of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) in the UK for more than 20 years from 1961, he was one of the first high-profile advocates of the cause of conservation and biological diversity at a time when it was considered the preserve of an eccentric few.

For a generation of school children in Britain and the Commonwealth though, his most lasting legacy and achievement will be the Duke of Edinburgh Awards (DofE). He set up the Duke of Edinburgh award, a scheme aimed at getting young people out into nature in search of adventure or be of service to their communities. It was a scheme that could match the legacy of Baden Powell’s scouts movement.

When Prince Philip first outlined his idea of a scheme to harness the values of his education at Gordonstoun by bringing character-building outdoor pursuits to the many rather than the fee-paying few, he received short shrift from the government of the day. The then minister of education, Sir David Eccles responded to the Duke’s proposal by saying: “I hear you’re trying to invent something like the Hitler Youth.” Undeterred he pushed on until it came to fruition.

I’m so glad that he did. I remember how proud I was for getting my DofE Awards while I was at boarding school. With the support of great mentors I managed to achieve my goals: collecting second-hand English books for a literacy programme for orphaned street children in Delhi, India with a close Indian school friend and her family; and completing a 350 mile hike following St. Olav’s Pilgrimmage Trail from Selånger, on the east coast of Sweden, and ending at Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim, on the west coast of Norway.

It continues to be an enduring legacy. Since its launch in 1956, the Duke of Edinburgh awards have been bestowed upon some 2.5 million youngsters in Britain and some eight million worldwide. For a man who once referred to himself as a “Greek princeling of no consequence”, his pioneering tutelage of these two organisations (alongside some 778 other organisations of which he was either president or a patron) would be sufficient legacy for most.

4. Prince Philip’s character

It may surprise some but what I liked most about Prince Philip was the very thing that helped him achieve so much and leave a lasting legacy: his character.

It is unhelpful to the caricature of Prince Philip as an unwavering but pugnacious consort whose chief talent was a dizzying facility in off-colour one-liners that he was widely read and probably the cleverest member of his family.

His private library at Windsor consists of 11,000 tomes, among them 200 volumes of poetry. He was a fan of Jung, TS Eliot, Shakespeare and the cookery writer Elizabeth David. As well as a lifelong fascination with science, technology and sport, he spoke fairly fluent French, painted and wrote a well received book on birds. It’s maddening to think how many underestimated his genuine intellect and how cultured he was behind the crusty exterior.

He didn’t have an entourage to fawn around him. He was the first to own a computer at Buckingham Palace. He answered his own phone and wrote and responded to his own correspondence. By force of character he fought the old guard courtiers at every turn to modernise the monarchy against their stubborn resistance.

Prince Philip was never given to self-analysis or reflection on the past. Various television interviewers tried without success to coerce him in to commenting on his legacy.But once when his guard was down he asked on the occasion of his 90th birthday what he was more proud of, he replied with characteristic bluntness: “I couldn’t care less. Who cares what I think about it, I mean it’s ridiculous.”

All of which neatly raises the profound aversion to fuss and the proclivity for tetchiness often expressed in withering put-downs that, for better or worse, will be the reflex memory for many of the Duke of Edinburgh. If character is a two edged sword so what of his gaffes?

There is no doubt his cult status partly owed to his so-called legendary gaffes, of which there are enough to fill a book (indeed there is a book). But he was no racist. None of the Commonwealth people or foreign heads of state ever said this about him. Only leftist republicans with too much Twitter time on their hands screamed such a ridiculous accusation. They’re just overly sensitive snowflakes and being devoid of any humour they’re easily triggered.

There was the time that Philip accepted a gift from a local in Kenya, telling her she was a kind woman, and then adding: “You are a woman, aren’t you?” Or the occasion he remarked “You managed not to get eaten, then?” to a student trekking in Papua New Guinea. Then there was his World Wildlife Fund speech in 1986, when he said: “If it has got four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and it flies but is not an aeroplane, and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Philip quickly developed a reputation for what he once defined, to the General Dental Council, as “dentopedology – the science of opening your mouth and putting your foot in it”. Clearly he could laugh at himself as he often did as an ice breaker to put others at ease.

His remarking to the president of Nigeria, who was wearing national dress, “You look like you’re ready for bed”, or advising British students in China not to stay too long or they would end up with “slitty eyes”, is probably best written off as ill-judged humour. Telling a photographer to “just take the fucking picture” or declaring “this thing open, whatever it is”, were expressions of exasperation or weariness with which anyone might sympathise.

Above all, he was also capable of genuine if earthy wit, saying of his horse-loving daughter Princess Anne: “If it doesn’t fart or eat hay she isn’t interested.” Many people might have thought it but few dared say it. If Prince Philip’s famous gaffes provoked as much amusement as anger, it was precisely because they seem to give voice to the bewilderment and pent-up frustrations with which many people viewed the ever-changing modern world.

A former royal protection officer recounts how while on night duty guarding a visiting Queen and consort, he engaged in conversation with colleagues on a passing patrol. It was 2am and the officer had understood the royal couple to be staying elsewhere in the building until a window above his head was abruptly slammed open and an irate Prince Philip stuck his head out of the window to shout: “Would you fuck off!” Without another word, he then shut the window.

The Duke at least recognised from an early age that he was possessed of an abruptness that could all too easily cross the line from the refreshingly salty to crass effrontery.

One of his most perceptive biographers, Philip Eade, recounted how at the age of 21 the prince wrote a letter to a relation whose son had recently been killed in combat. He wrote: “I know you will never think much of me. I am rude and unmannerly and I say things out of turn which I realise afterwards must have hurt someone. Then I am filled with remorse and I try to put matters right.”

In the case of the royal protection officer, the Duke turned up in the room used by the police officers when off duty and said: “Terribly sorry about last night, wasn’t quite feeling myself.”

Aides have also ventured to explain away some of their employer’s more outlandish remarks - from asking Cayman islanders “You are descended from pirates aren’t you?” to enquiring of a female fashion writer if she was wearing mink knickers - as the price of his instinctive desire to prick the pomposity of his presence with a quip to put others at ease.

Indeed many people forget that his ‘gaffes’ were more typical of the clubbish humour of the British officer class – which of course would be less appreciated, sometimes even offensive, to other ears. It’s why he could relate so well to veterans who enjoyed his bonhomie company immensely.

But behind the irascibility, some have argued there also lay a darker nature, unpleasantly distilled in his flinty attitude to his eldest son. One anecdote tells of how, in the aftermath of the murder of the Duke’s uncle and surrogate father, Lord Mountbatten, Philip lectured his son, who was also extremely fond of his “honorary grandfather”, that he was not to succumb to self-pity. Charles left the room in tears and when his father was asked why he had spoken to his son with so little compassion, the Duke replied: “Because if there’s any crying to be done I want it to happen within this house, in front of his family, not in public. He must be toughened up, right now.”

But here I would say that Prince Philip’s intentions were almost always sincere and in no way cruel. He has always tried to protect his family - even from their own worst selves or from those outside the family ‘firm’ who may not have their best interest at heart.

In 1937, a 16-year-old Prince Philip had walked behind his elder sister Cecile’s coffin after she was killed in a plane crash while heavily pregnant. The remains of newly-born infant found in the wreckage suggested the aircraft had perished as the pilot sought to make an emergency landing in fog as the mother entered childbirth. It was an excruciating taste of tragedy which would one day manifest itself in a very princely form of kindness that was deep down that defined Philip’s character.

When about 60 years later Prime Minister Tony Blair’s spin doctors in Downing Street tried to strong arm the Queen and the royal household over the the arrangements for the late Prince Diana’s funeral, it was Philip who stepped in front to protect his family. The Prime Minister and his media savvy spin doctors wanted the two young princes, William and Harry, to walk behind the coffin.

The infamous exchange was on the phone during a conference call between London and Balmoral, and the emotional Philip was reportedly backed by the Queen. The call was witnessed by Anji Hunter, who worked for Mr Blair. She said how surprised she was to hear Prince Philip’s emotion. ‘It’s about the boys,” he cried, “They’ve lost their mother”. Hunter thought to herself, “My God, there’s a bit of suffering going on up there”.’

Sky TV political commentator Adam Boulton (Anji Hunter’s husband) would write in his book Tony’s Ten Years: ‘The Queen relished the moment when Philip bellowed over the speakerphone from Balmoral, “Fuck off. We are talking about two boys who have just lost their mother”. Boulton goes on to say that Philip: ‘…was trying to remind everyone that human feelings were involved. No 10 were trying to help the Royals present things in the best way, but may have seemed insensitive.’

In the end the politicians almost didn’t get their way. Prince Philip stepped in to counsel his grandson, Prince William, after he had expressed a reluctance to follow his mother’s coffin after her death in Paris. Philip told the grieving child: “If you don’t walk, I think you’ll regret it later. If I walk, will you walk with me?”

It’s no wonder he was sought as a counsellor by other senior royals and especially close to his grandchildren, for whom he was a firm favourite. His relationship with Harry was said to have become strained, however, following the younger Prince’s decision to reject his royal inheritance for a life away from the public eye in America with his new American wife, Meghan Markle. For Prince Philip I am quite sure it went against all the elder Prince had lived his life by - self-sacrifice for the greater cause of royalty.

This is the key to Philip’s character and in understanding the man. The ingrained habits of a lifetime of duty and service in one form or another were never far away.

In conclusion then....

After more time passes I am sure historians will make a richer reassessment of Prince Philip’s life and legacy. Because Prince Philip was an extraordinary man who lived an extraordinary life; a life intimately connected with the sweeping changes of our turbulent 20th Century, a life of fascinating contrast and contradiction, of service and some degree of solitude. A complex, clever, eternally restless man that not even the suffocating protocols of royalty and tradition could bind him.

Although he fully accepted the limitations of public royal service, he did not see this as any reason for passive self-abnegation, but actively, if ironically, identified with his potentially undignified role. It is this bold and humorous embrace of fated restriction which many now find irksome: one is no longer supposed to mix public performance with private self-expression in quite this manner.

Yet such a mix is authentically Socratic: the proof that the doing of one’s duty can also be the way of self-fulfilment. The Duke’s sacrifice of career to romance and ceremonial office is all the more impressive for his not hiding some annoyance. The combination of his restless temperament and his deeply felt devotion to duty found fruitful expression; for instance, in the work of Saint George’s House Windsor - a centre and retreat that he created with Revd. Robin Woods - in exploring religious faith, philosophy, and contemporary issues.

Above all he developed a way to be male that was both traditional and modern. He served one woman with chivalric devotion as his main task in life while fulfilling his public engagements in a bold and active spirit. He eventually embraced the opportunity to read and contemplate more. And yet, he remained loyal to the imperatives of his mentor Kurt Hahn in seeking to combine imagination with action and religious devotion with practical involvement.

Prince Philip took more pride in the roles he had accidentally inherited than in the personal gifts which he was never able fully to develop. He put companionship before self-realisation and acceptance of a sacred symbolic destiny before the mere influencing of events. In all these respects he implicitly rebuked our prevailing meritocracy which over-values officially accredited attainment, and our prevailing narcissism which valorises the assertion of discrete identities.

Prince Philip was Britain’s longest-serving consort. He was steadfast, duty driven, and a necessary adjunct to the continuity and stability of the Queen and the monarchy. Of all the institutions that have lost the faith of the British public in this period - the Church, Parliament, the media, the police - the Monarchy itself has surprisingly done better than most at surviving, curiously well-adapted to a period of societal change and moral anarchy. The House of Hanover and later Saxe-Coburg and Gotha (changed to Windsor), since their arrival in this country in 1714, have been noted above all for their ability to adapt. And just as they survived the Victorian age by transforming themselves into the bourgeoise, domestic ideal, so they have survived the new Elizabethan era (Harry-Meghan saga is just a passing blip like the Edward-Wallis Simpson saga of the 1930s).

There was once a time when the Royal’s German blood was a punchline for crude and xenophobic satirists. Now it is the royals who are deeply British while the country itself is increasingly cosmopolitan and globalised. British society has seen a greater demographic change than the preceding four or five thousand years combined, the second Elizabethan age has been characterised more than anything by a transformational movement of people. Prince Philip, the Greek-born, Danish-German persecuted and destitute wanderer who came to become one of the Greatest Britons of the past century, perhaps epitomised that era better than anyone else. And he got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

I hope I don’t exaggerate when I say that in our troubled times over identity, and our place and purpose in the world, we need to heed his selfless example more than ever.

As Heraclitus wisely said, Ήθος ανθρώπω δαίμων (Character is destiny.)

RIP Prince Philip. You were my prince. God damn you, I miss you already.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #prince philip #duke of edinburgh #queen elizabeth II #the queen of spades #monarchy #britain #british #royalty #politics #history #culture #europe #crown #icon #great briton #society

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peri-helia · 3 years

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Work in progress

Joe x Nicky, Artist x model au. I called this a work in progress because it’s about art and it kind of is a wip and yeah. Enjoy!

It’s been a while since Joe’s had time to do this.

They’ve been working a lot, which means his sketchbook is filled with only snatches and outlines; the inside of helicopters or the views from train windows. The curve of Nile’s cheek, Booker’s hands cleaning their guns, Quynh’s head resting on Andy’s shoulder, Lykon’s smile. Doodles and cartoons. So to be able to have an hour and a half, a week, to draw uninhibited is a richness all its own.

They’d gone their separate ways for the moment, each craving a different element of the world after the last job. It had gone well and Andy had called for some downtime unless Copley got in touch with some urgent work. Andy and Quynh were somewhere in Cyprus, Lykon had decided to go and check out Hobbiton at last and Nile had also wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle. Joe had offered to teach her, thinking Nile might enjoy the varied entertainments of Barcelona but apparently, Booker had already offered to teach her and was following her and Lykon to New Zealand.

Everyone had politely hidden their knowing smiles at that particular revelation.

So Joe was alone, strolling through the sea of people on Las Ramblas, headed for his life drawing class. He can luxuriate in having this time, experimenting and just – connecting, if only for a time, with the people of a time and place. He loves his family, loves that they have become a family, that this long life has gifted them such deep friendship that has endured. That they can be known, without having to so carefully maintain the barrier that was the veneer of mortality.

It feels wrong then, to be lonely. But it’s there.

Oh, he can banish it, ignore it by spending warm nights in comfortable sheets with handsome faces. And in some cases, Joe has fallen in love just for those nights, felt every second thrumming vibrantly. And then he has to leave, cut ties before the temptation of roots could even try to sprout. He makes his homes in favourite cities and the sweet familiarity of the every day, the practices that transcend time, place, nationality. Tiny moments that connect us all together. The vibrant bustle of early morning markets or sheltering under awnings in the rain, holding doors open, reaching up to tall shelves, acting as a translator when he’s serendipitously placed to do so. Smiling at all and sundry. As he has done for a thousand years and will do for however many more. It is what it is. He celebrates what he can.

Andy, they all know, was alone for generations, even before Quynh came along. All that time has still not diminished her kindness or her understanding. He and Lykon are still alone, in that sense. It is what it is. As are Booker and Nile, although, from the way they look at each other when they think the other doesn’t know, Joe thinks as he walks, a wide grin pulling at his cheeks, that won’t be for long.

So Joe throws himself into their work, into the difference they can make, their purpose. Sliding the glasses of Joe Jones – which Nile had teasingly dubbed his ‘sexy professor specs’ -

onto his nose as he turns off onto a dappled side street and ducks into the slim office block that holds the art classes in its fifth-floor studio. People are already there, setting up amid low burbles of small talk. He smiles at Mia, the bubbly animation student, and Hernando, the retired accountant whose wife, Catalina makes the best pastissets Joe can remember this side of the 1920s. He wants to get some for Andy to try, though he knows that she’ll no doubt guess their provenance instantly.

Senora Estrada is at the front, talking away to a man who, judging from the robe straining across those shoulder blades is their model this week. He’s stooping over to talk to Maria, whose two heads shorter than he is but they must be wrapping up the conversation.

The model straightens and for a moment Joe thinks the cotton is about to split right down that broad back, the movement of the shoulders and muscles mapped out under the fabric. Kind eyes, Joe thinks immediately, as the man turns to face the class with the vestiges of a smile on his face. They’re watchful in a way he knows well, sees it most often in Andy, in Quynh. Their exact colour will be a challenge to shade accurately. He’s handsome, all strong lines and beautifully proportioned. Michelangelo, Van Dyke, they would have wept to have this man as a model.

When Candela pats the polished seat of the stool and tells the class to be seated and Nicky, apparently, that he can disrobe whenever he’s ready. Joe shuffles to his easel, smoothing paper over his sketching board, selects a pencil ready to begin. There’s the sounds of the class around him, the hollow trickle of pencils being shuffled in a tin, the swooping scrape of paper, the scratch of wooden chair legs, measured hums of breath. The whole thing is sun soft and so precious for it. Joe drinks it all in, shoulders uncoiling, ready to relax as the sunlight gently presses warmly on them.

But there’s something else tickling the hairs at the back of his neck too, something he’s missing, he thinks as he watches Nicky, still robed, finds a pose he’ll be comfortable in. Something familiar in the turn of his head, the slight curve of his smile, as Joe’s line of sight splits between his drawing board and his model. It’s like he’s been here before. At a thousand, that’s bound to happen.

Still. There’s something he’s missing, familiar in a way he can’t remember, puzzle pieces all present but refusing to slot coherently together. The last piece is tantalisingly out of reach. Then Nicky catches him looking. Their eyes meet.

The sunlight spills over the elegant column of Nicky’s neck from behind him, catching in his eyelashes and sparkling in the depths of those eyes, bright and welcoming as the Ligurian sea, that Joe can’t help but think he’s drawn him before.

And then he realises.

He knows he’s drawn him before.

A dusty studio, oh, years ago. Sunlight. A silhouette on a stool draped in a sheet. Too many years ago. There’s the echo of charcoal on paper in Joe’s ears, the shadowy memory of a smudge on Nicky’s cheekbone from where Yusuf, as he had still been then, had turned his head to catch the curve of his jaw.

Nicky’s face turns wholly to Joe, not even trying to disguise his attention. His expression is one of recognition and realisation all at once.

Something settles in Joe’s chest, behind his breastbone, that knocks the breath from his chest. Like dying and coming back, the air is dragged from him and then back again.

There’s another one, Andy’s voice tells him in the back of his mind, the same voice that keeps him steady, his feet on the ground no matter where in the world he might be. Even when she’s miles away.

A smile blooms on Nicky’s face, wide, full, and lovely with it.

Joe swallows hard at that. Nicky’s eyes follow the movement of his Adam’s apple.

In his mind’s eye, Andy smiles that marvellous, cheeky smile. The special one, for when she still delights in the world, even when she’s seen in all before.

He knows exactly what she’d say, indulgent and teasing, pressing the words into Quynh’s hair, he thinks as he stares at the twinkle in Nicolò di Genova’s eyes.

We’re not meant to be alone.

#the old guard #my writing #joe x nicky #Idek I just wanted to post something #tog drabble #tog fic

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musical-shit-show · 3 years

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could have danced all night

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader Inspiration: Prompts #2 (“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”) #14 (“when i’m not with you, it’s almost like…i can’t breathe.”) and #41 (“i may or may not have left some…marks.”) Warnings: sexual references, kissing, meddling siblings, fluffy fluff Word Count: 3,733 Author’s Note: This is my first request! Big shout out to @acmbooksandfilm for sending this in, I had a lot of fun writing it. Also, apologies on it taking a bit to get out, writing has gotten difficult as my real adult job has slowly turned my brain to mush. But, if you would still like to send in a request, feel free! My DMs and Askbox is always open, even though it may take a little longer to complete requests. And as always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists. Thanks for all the love on my other one shots and enjoy!

“Colin, enough,” Benedict huffed as he threw on his shiny black tailcoat, “Surely you have better things to do than pester me about my love life.” Anthony, Benedict, and Colin often crossed paths when getting ready for the numerous events of the season, and now the younger Bridgerton brother was doing everything to get on his elder sibling’s last nerve.

“I’m merely pointing out the obvious, Benedict,” Colin said smugly, straightening his cravat as he looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but flash a mischievous smile at his reflection, “Practically everyone in the ton knows about you two, what’s the harm in proposing?”

“What on God’s green earth are you two talking about?” Anthony strode into the room, closing the door in the likely event that Colin said something inappropriate and scandalized one of their younger sisters or, heaven forbid, their mother.

Benedict couldn’t help but flush. Yes, he was close enough with his brothers to discuss all matters surrounding women, but it felt wrong for him to talk about you. Especially when your relationship wasn’t meant to be any sort of relationship whatsoever.

It had started out innocently enough; you had been close with his younger sister Eloise and Penelope Featherington for years, acting as surrogate older sister on account of you being several years older than them. You were also friendly with Daphne and Simon Bassett, and often had tea with the pair when they weren’t off performing their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

In truth, you knew Benedict the least out of the Bridgertons who had or were close to coming of age, and was shocked when he requested to have his name written on your dance card at the first ball of the season. When it came time to dance, you had expected Benedict to act shy at first; but after some coaxing from you, he won you over almost instantly with his wit and humor.

He only asked to dance with you once more at that particular event, not wanting to be improper. However, it was clear from the way the two of you looked at each other that there was a spark.

“No one,” Benedict said, almost too quickly, “Our brother is just sticking his nose into affairs that aren’t his own, as usual.” Anthony rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by his younger siblings’ bickering. The three of them strode down the stairs of their home and seized a carriage so that the conversation could continue in private.

“So…” Colin drawled, “It is an affair, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”

“A slip of the tongue, perhaps? You know, brother, you must choose your words more carefully—"

“Mark my words, Colin Bridgerton; I will kill you in this very carriage if—”

“Will the two of you, please,” Anthony huffed, feeling a migraine coming on, “Benedict, is this about who I think it is about…?” Colin nodded fervently, but Benedict remained stone-faced. He hated keeping things from his family, especially his brothers. But he couldn’t risk tarnishing your name, not after what had transpired between you two.

It wasn’t meant to happen. When Benedict had snuck off one night to another one of Sir Granville’s soirées, he was shocked to see you there, wearing a tightly-laced corset, undergarments, and practically nothing else. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened to the size of your mother’s best teacup saucers. Without thinking, you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

“Benedict, wha—what are you doing here?!” he remembered you asking him, utterly flustered. His eyes drifted to the sheer robe draped over your shoulders, the fabric floating gently with your every movement.

“I could very well ask you the same question!” he attempted to whisper, now distracted by how your corset pushed up your bosom considerably, “How do you even know about these, um, parties?” For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of what to say as Benedict’s pale blue eyes bore into yours.

You sighed, resigning to come clean, “Genevieve—Madame Delacroix—she told me about them. I confided in her about my father’s money troubles,” you felt the tears start to well up, but could not bear to cry in front of Benedict in the state you found yourself in, “I barely have any money for a dowry to find a suitable husband, and Genevieve and Sir Granville are familiar so…I work when I can and just make the guests feel comfortable—you know, offer them drinks, tobacco, the like—but I provide nothing more than hospitality.”

You felt that you needed to make that distinction to Benedict. Though you suspected that any chance with him was gone now that he had discovered your secret, you wanted to at least maintain part of your reputation, “Granville is generous enough and I could not be more grateful,” you continued, pulling the nearly translucent robe tightly around your body, “And these parties are so secretive that I thought, perhaps, I could scrounge enough money together before the end of the season before I was discovered. Clearly not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly, but Benedict stared at you, his expression earnest, “You need not worry about that,” he breathed, “I won’t tell a soul.” You absentmindedly bit your bottom lip, chewing nervously on a bit of broken skin. Could he really be trusted? Yes, you had crossed paths over the last few weeks, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional flirtatious glance, but would Benedict be able to keep your secret?

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied coyly, deciding that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “Perhaps I will be able to repay you one day.” A sly smile spread across Benedict’s face, his eyes flickering to the locked door. Though the party was continuing on the other side, you two had remained virtually undisturbed.

Feeling bold, he traced his fingers over your collarbone, instantly sending a chill down your spine, “Perhaps…you could repay me now?” he posited, trying his best not to sound like a complete and utter rake, “Only if you wish to, of course.” Despite your best efforts, you could feel a palpable spark that had been building between the two of you over the past few weeks. And you had grown tired of restraining your impulses any longer.

Gently, you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and Benedict cupped your face with his hand, his grip surprisingly tender. His free arm wrapped around your body smoothly, pulling you flush against him. You frantically thought through the consequences of someone discovering you with a Bridgerton, but you were too preoccupied with removing Benedict’s clothing to pay much mind…

“Benedict!” Anthony snapped his younger brother out of his reverie as the carriage slowed to a stop, “Would you get your head out of the clouds and tell me what’s going on?” Benedict stared at him, utterly panic stricken. He had kept your secret for nearly a month now, and during that time the two of you had gotten even closer, both in the eyes of the ton and after nightfall in your bedchamber.

Benedict’s mind almost drifted to the night he had shared with you only hours before, but focused on the task at hand, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head, brother,” he said coolly, “I have it all under control.” Anthony looked as if he were going to be sick, and Colin smiled with devilish glee. The three brothers clamored out of the carriage and made their way into the bustling ballroom, more of their family trailing close behind.

Benedict could hear Eloise whine as Lady Bridgerton attempted to smooth down her hair, and he felt a small pang of guilt for not coming to his sister’s aid against their mother’s incessant prodding. But now, he had more pressing matters at hand; namely, what in the hell he was going to say to you now that his brothers were onto him.

He spotted you from across the hall, his heart fluttering with every step he took in your direction. He noticed that you were wearing an intricately laced shawl that was tied tightly across your chest, completely covering your collarbone and much of your breast. Benedict felt himself frown slightly, then immediately scold himself for being improper at a society function; surely, you need not show your bosom to the entire ton in order to draw the eye of him and a number of other suitors.

You were conversing with Penelope and Lady Featherington when he finally approached you, eyes wide with fear, “Hello,” he said politely, giving a slight nod to Penelope and her mother, “Is there a spot open for my name on your card?” You quirked an eyebrow, giving him a smirk as you removed the card from your wrist.

“Why of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied in an equally cordial manner. Heaven forbid Portia Featherington get a whiff of your affair; you’d be certain your name would be splashed across Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet before you’d wake the next morning, “In fact, you are the first gentleman to ask, so you may have the first dance. If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.” He shook his head and his eyes gleamed as he returned your card to your delicately gloved hand.

Despite his anxiety being astronomically high, Benedict was delighted that he was able to dance with you so early in the evening. He always thought of you as a fluid dancer, light on your feet as the two of you would glide across the ballroom. He often found himself not being able to take his eyes off you, the lively music and judgmental crowd fading away the moment he embraced you.

More importantly, he wanted to speak to you about the precarious situation you found yourselves in. It was only a matter of time until either Anthony or Colin pried the truth out of him, and he wouldn’t let the news spread across all of London society, besmirching your good name. He cared about you too much to allow such a wretched thing to happen.

A few moments later, all of the couples were signaled that the first dance was to begin. Benedict shot a glance to Colin, who had been talking Anthony’s ear off since they arrived. Now, the two of them were staring him down, whispering like schoolboys. He refrained from scoffing and instead took your hand gently, pulling you into his tall frame as the music began.

You instantly noticed the nervous and almost pained expression splashed across Benedict’s face, and you furrowed your brow in worry. However, you decided your best course of action was to try and alleviate the tension he must’ve been feeling, “I see you haven’t taken a liking to my shawl,” you remarked, a sly smile dancing on your lips, “I will have to tell my sister she has dreadful taste.”

Benedict ripped his eyes from his brothers’ stares and produced a small chuckle at your teasing. He realized he’d much rather converse with you than worry about what Anthony and Colin were up to, “No, it’s uh—it is, quite lovely,” he countered, lowering his voice, “Though I would prefer to see more of you, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed by his boldness.

“I believe you saw plenty last night, Mr. Bridgerton,” you posited, weaponizing his own name against him, “In fact, I suppose you could blame yourself for my more…conservative attire, wouldn’t you agree?”

Benedict couldn’t help but flush, but cleared his throat to attempt to keep up with your rather scandalous banter, “Yes, well…I suppose…” he stuttered, “I may or may not have left some…marks.” He spun you, watching as your dress moved gracefully around your body and fluttered behind you as you gripped his arm once more.

You searched the panicked expression on his face. Surely, he only knew you were teasing, so why did he look like he was on the brink of sickness? “Benedict, why are you acting so strange?” you asked, attempting to keep the mood light while searching for information, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

Benedict swallowed, attempting to maintain his composure. Besides the looming threat of every affluent family in Mayfair uncovering your secret, he was also painfully aware of how nervous you had been making him over the past weeks. The way your smile lit up every room, the way your eyes sparkled playfully, the way your laugh made his heart do a somersault.

“It’s just as well,” you continued, not waiting for him to answer your rhetorical question, “I overheard Colin and Pen whispering earlier, and Simon and Daphne as well. Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He sighed, a little relieved that you had caught onto his family’s shenanigans before he worried you unnecessarily. He couldn’t help but appreciate your perceptive nature.

“Believe me, Colin and Daphne may be my siblings, but they are not my friends right now,” he joked nervously, only half-kidding, “And Anthony is on dangerously thin ice. It appears my family can’t help but get involved in matters that do not concern them.” You giggled, causing Benedict’s heart to swell. He was growing more infatuated with you by the second.

“I wish my family cared half as much as yours does,” you say, a twinge of sadness in your voice, “They are all so wonderful, and I’m sure they are just being protective.” Benedict nodded, heartened by the kindness and understanding you were showing to his siblings. You already got along quite well with Eloise and Daphne, and you were always courteous to his mother while still being able to hold your own when conversing with Anthony or Colin.

As the dance came to an end, Benedict had begun to realize his affection for you. Not just physically; yes, your first encounter at Sir Granville’s had brought you two together faster than he had ever expected. It was reckless, intimate, and completely wonderful, but getting to know you, without dozens of uppity members of high society leering at your every move, was more valuable than any nights you had spent together.

And he decided in that moment, as your hand released from his and you both bowed respectfully, that he could not bear to spend one more day without you by his side. But he could not profess his love in front of God and everyone, least of all his family; he quickly surmised that he must wait until a moment presented itself.

You were quickly whisked away by your mother, unable to even say a proper thank you and goodbye. But as your eyes met his blue ones, you couldn’t help but notice how they were sparkling in the candlelight, and you felt a twinge of melancholy. You cared for Benedict, but feared it was only a matter of time before your affair ended and he was married to another disgustingly wealthy aristocrat. You gave him a fleeting smile before getting dragged to the other side of the ballroom.

As you turned away from him, Benedict felt two hands grasping each of his arms, one hand belonging to each of his meddling brothers, “I knew it!” Colin whisper-yelled as he and Anthony pulled their love-struck sibling into a secluded corner of the lavish hall, “You know, you really aren’t fooling anyone, Ben.”

“How do you mean?” Benedict asked nervously in one last ditch effort to conceal the truth. He shouldn’t have bothered; his brothers had seen how smitten he was with you, and soon the entire ton would be abuzz with salacious gossip if he did not make his move that very evening.

“Benedict,” Anthony chided sternly, clapping him on the shoulder, “Please, do not deny it any longer. You’re clearly bewitched.” The eldest Bridgerton child could not help but smirk; it was almost entertaining to see his usually guarded brother so obviously in love.

Benedict sighed, defeated, “Alright,” he whispered, his face flush with embarrassment, “I apologize for thinking I could ever keep a secret from you two.” Colin smirked proudly, feeling as if he were London’s greatest detective, “I’ll tell you everything if you want, but for the love of Christ, it cannot be here.” He gestured to the room, which was growing more crowded with preening mamas, hunting for the slightest whiff of a scandal.

While Benedict and his brothers searched for a private room for him to regale your escapades, your night flew by, and hours later you found yourself chatting with Daphne and Simon on the gorgeously decorated outdoor terrace. The night was perfectly temperate, and although the noise had died down significantly as many guests had departed for the evening, your head was still swimming in thought. Specifically, you were overwhelmed by the thought of Benedict.

He was quite kind to you, and a very smart, charming gentleman, but you felt your heart lurch as you recalled the intimate nights you had shared over the last few weeks. Men of Benedict’s status would not wed a tainted woman, no matter how much you wished he would. It was only a matter of time before Lady Whistledown revealed your transgressions, and you would be marked as an undesirable to the entire upper echelon of society.

You shuddered at the thought. “Chilly, dear?” Daphne asked sweetly, noticing the unsettled look on your face, “I would think you’d be more protected from the elements with that beautiful shawl on.” Your heart jumped to your throat before you could cover for yourself; Benedict had appeared on the terrace, looking absolutely petrified. Simon and Daphne exchanged glances.

“Darling,” Simon said, turning to his wife, “It is quite crisp out here, don’t you think? Perhaps we should—”

“Go inside to warm up?” Daphne finished his sentence, that unmistakably mischievous glint in her eye that all Bridgerton children possessed, “Why yes, I think that is a fantastic idea, Simon.” She hooked her arm under her husband’s, and the two of them bid you and Benedict adieu, much to your dismay. You were certain he had been found out by his family and was here to end your affair before word reached the rest of the ton.

Still, you managed to smile politely. Simon was right, there was a slight chill that pervaded the terrace, mostly due to the lack of company that had populated the space only hours before, “Hello, Benedict,” you mutter, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other, “Will you be departing soon or—?”

“Erm, yes,” he answered a bit too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow. His strange behavior all night was another indicator that ending things was clearly as difficult for him to initiate as it would be for you to accept, “But first, I, well, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you weeks ago.”

You felt a lump in your throat almost instantaneously. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought, more distressed than you hoped you would be. Benedict took your gloved hand, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. If it were not slightly improper, you would almost find it comforting; his touch always seemed to soothe you, ever since your first night together.

“I never expected to…for us to become so close in such a short period of time,” he began, wondering at what point in this silly speech he would make a royal ass out of himself. Though he had gained a little brotherly insight from Anthony and Colin, he still felt as though he could vomit at any second, “And, well, truth be told, I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together.”

You smiled, pleased by his kind words, “Truthfully, I have felt the same,” you remarked, “But it’s quite alright, Ben, I understand—”

“You do?” he cut you off again, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, “Am I really so obvious about my affection for you?” You stared at him, confused. Was this not him ending whatever…relationship the two of you shared? Now you felt like the fool.

“Affection?” you repeated, your mouth twitching, “I thought you did not want to see me anymore.” Benedict’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but laugh dryly. You had mistaken his jittery behavior as a bad omen, when that could not be further from reality.

He shook his head, and you felt the pace of your heartbeat quicken, “My dear, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” he joked, clearing his throat, “I know that our relationship has been a secret for some time, but I cannot hide how I feel for you any longer. You are kind, and witty, and strong, and incredibly adventurous, and when our dance came to an end earlier this evening, I…I felt like there was a part of me missing as soon as you left. I…when I’m not with you, it’s almost like…I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, taken aback by his doting and earnest words. “And it would be my honor,” he smiled, his gaze intense and impassioned, “If I could ask for your hand.” Your eyes sparkled back at his, and you nodded silently, attempting to conceal a squeal of girlish glee. You two were still, unfortunately, in public.

“Yes,” you exhaled, feeling foolish from your assumptions about Benedict only minutes before, “I would be equally honored to be your wife, Benedict Bridgerton.” You snuck him a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to flush for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “I see our friends were right after all, weren’t they?”

“Yes, yes they were, and I doubt I will ever hear the end of it from Anthony and Colin,” Benedict mused, smiling sweetly as the corners of his eyes crinkled happily, “I’ll see to a proper visit first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.” He studied you, doing all he could to absorb the joyous look etched upon your radiant face. You smirked, turning in the direction of your family’s carriage.

“I shall hold you to that,” you said, pulling him towards the exit, “But don’t think this night is over, Mr. Bridgerton. I’m not done with you quite yet.”

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I hope you enjoyed reading! As always I would love to hear any comments or feedback! Like/comment/reblog, all that good stuff :)

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probably-haven · 3 years

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Spoilers Galor ...... it is time.... for me to do what ive been considering for quite some time

this is my arguement... on why, whether romantically or platonically, i think you should ship or bro-ship,...... Childe.... and Albedo

HERE ME OUT I SWEAR PLEASE IT MAKES SENSE IN MY HEAD- JUST GIVE IT A CHANCE! rarepair shipping is painful- join me

OR DONT EVEN IF YOU DONT WANT TO GIVE THE SHIP A CHANCE I DO A LOT OF ANALYSIS ON ALBEDO AND CHILDE’S CHARACTERS INDIVIDUALLY, AS WELL AS THE FATUI, THEYRE METHODS, AND THE RELATION WITH MONDSTADT- AND OTHER STUFF- just- if you like reading different analysis-es of the game or ship material or anything-

please just consider skimming it possibly-

so for the first section of my argument, i will cover why this is a largely feasible possibility, so let’s set the stage

- Childe is from Snezhnaya, and he is shown to have a large amount of ties to his home, including but not limited to; his family, ice fishing, and just a large number of nostalgic references in his voice lines.

- Because of this it’s a pretty common occurrence that he finds himself feeling homesick, as with many of the other Fatui.

- This is why he, like many of the other Fatui, so frequently visit and camp within Dragonspine, where the cold snowy atmosphere serves to remind them of home and the things they left behind.

- also in his birthday letter, it says he canonically visits Dragonspine, but explaining it this way gives it feeling

- so considering that he would be in Dragonspine relatively often, and given the large number of Fatui camps in there regardless, it’s pretty clear he’d have heard of Albedo. So onto Albedo (unfortunately i wasnt there for his event so i dont have as much fuel, but it is what it is)

- there’s a few things that need to be asked first- It’s pretty clear that Albedo must have some interaction with the Fatui given the sheer number of them that camp in Dragonspine. Evidentially, he’s still alive so the question is why? and there’s a few possible explanations for this.

- He just sneaks around a lot or avoids them (this i think is unlikely, as it would limit his actions while conducting experiments as well as the places where he’d be able to conduct them, which isn’t a big deal, but when there are other options I don’t think this is the one he’d pick) - He just pulls a traveler and kills them (i don’t think he would do this except for as a last resort, he’s rather disconnected from any sense of empathy yes, but his time is better spent elsewhere. If it comes to that, it comes to that and he will, but he wouldn’t do it as his first option) (also i dont use geo characters much so idk how good he’d be at breaking their shields in this case) - The Fatui don’t bother or attack him out of their own choice

- i think the third is the most likely, which sounds dumb but hear me out.

- something that is stressed time and time again during the mondstadt archon quest is the fact that nobody wants to increase the always present strain on diplomatic relations between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya. - Sure the Fatui do not care very much about this and have many ways to get around this. Signora attacking Venti (technically not a diplomat, and by disappearing she had plausible deniability; traveler’s words against her own, and really both traveler and Venti weren’t supposed to survive that, hence “leave no trace”), or the Fatui constantly attacking the traveler, (who’s canonically travelling alone with only Paimon, always on the move and encountering many unfamiliar dangers, not hard to clear up) - However despite this, I still believe that Albedo’s safety(and by extent that of Sucrose and Timeus) on Dragonspine is maintained by a mixture of political agreement, situational convenience, and Albedo’s own actions

- its difficult for this to work but i believe it’s the most likely answer, combining all three possibilities that i mentioned above. - Albedo is an official Knight of Favonius, so his death would cause a pretty dramatic commotion, and since he’s been in Dragonspine for as long as he has, if he was found dead outside of his lab- or suddenly disappeared, the first person to blame would be the Fatui.

- “But Flurp! what about the stuff you mentioned earlier, with Senora’s attack and the Fatui always going after the traveler?”

- context is key. The traveler is a traveler, and Venti was a necessity to achieve their goal. The traveler is also a huge threat to what they are trying to do, since the Fatui have probably heard of their accomplishments. Them attacking Venti was inevitable, no matter the strain it would cause. The fact that the traveler was there as well was merely coincidence in my opinion

- again “leave no trace” means the intent was that both the Traveller and Venti weren’t meant to survive. This is important because if the traveler disappeared, they would have vanished shortly after finishing what they had to do in mondstadt and thered be no reason to suspect anything had happened to them, just that they had moved onto Liyue.

- Venti would pose risk, but again, the pros outweighed any risk it could have posed to their relations.

- with the Fatui regularly attacking the Traveler, again, that’s easy to clear up and would be difficult to pin on the Fatui, assuming how long it would take to realize they were gone (because despite helping so many people, its still natural to assume they’ve just travelled elsewhere)

- Albedo on the other hand, is technically a legal official, because of his high rank in the knights. He is also only ever really found in Dragonspine and Mondstadt the city. And he is well familiar with the dangers of Dragonspine, so if he were to die there it would be assumed to be either at the hands of the Fatui, or one of his own experiments.

- Thus attacking him is very high risk(unlike the traveler), and since he has nothing to do with their plans, low reward(unlike Venti).

- So most likely he doesn’t needlessly interact with the Fatui, but should an experiment need to expand into the space of one of their camps, it’s likely he would need some kind of documentation to do so. At the same time, Albedo himself would also not be able to harm the Fatui who frequent the mountain. I TOOK WAY TO LONG TO EXPLAIN THAT UGGGGHHHHHHH anyways

- So set the stage, Childe is visiting Dragonspine, right? And he hears from whichever Fatui Camp he happens to stop in about the one Knight of Favonius that they keep seeing around Dragonspine, the one who just last week came to them with a stack of documents saying they would have to move their camp, it’s annoying but they have orders not to attack him.

- and then there’s Childe, who’s been living in Liyue, surrounded by people who basically fear Dragonspine as if its some kind of deadzone, and he just assumed that for anyone not from Snezhnaya, thats exactly what it was. He assumed nobody but the Fatui would dare even visit there, let alone be there as frequently as whoever this person was.

- And he’s got to be pretty important for there to be orders not to attack him, right? - cue Childe’s unique brand of curiosity, so he asks more, apparently the fellow has a geo vision, and had been spotted taking down or even just lurking by a number of Dragonspine’s dangers as though it was merely routine - cue flashback to when he first met the traveler, instantly hesitant, hostile, and potentially even afraid towards him as soon as he realized he was Fatui, even before revealing himself as a harbinger.

- so what was it about this guy that made him so convinced he could walk into a Fatui camp alone, order them around, and still walk out alive. Even Childe could admit how underhanded the Fatui were at times, their true orders could have been anything

- He’s not just going to leave now, no. So he asks more questions and figures out that they did at one point scout out his lab while the Knight was out, and give him the location. He’s a harbinger, what are they gonna say “sorry sir, can’t tell ya” no, these bitches see him with the same amount of fear they’d have for Dotorre or Scaramouche or La Signora or any of the others- you don’t just tell a harbinger “no”

- So anyways Childe decides to check it out

- in the case that Albedo’s mid experiment in his lab when this happens, he’ll probably assume it’s a Knight, since the Fatui haven’t tried anything in quite some time and would just send off a quick “I am in the middle of an experiment right now, I would prefer not to be disturbed” - and Childe would laugh at his voice because let’s be honest, he thinks of himself as a Chad and it just sounds “weak” to him, and then the scenario leads into what would happen even if he wasnt mid-experiment

and now a look into Albedo’s perspective

- let’s assume that the Knights heard about the Traveler’s role in what happened in Liyue, since it’s kind of common knowledge that Childe was the one who did it, and the traveler doesn’t exactly try to hide that he fought Childe. So considering how often the knights and the Fatui clash, and what happened with Signora, they would likely ask the traveler about it, in order to be better prepared, and for that same reason i feel like the traveler would tell them some of it.

- so in this situation, it’s likely that Albedo would recognize him and likely know an amount of his combat abilities, and the thing with the fake seals of permission/Osial, but I don’t think the Traveler would have given told any more than that

- so here’s Albedo, surrounded by Fatui camps, knowing that he knows more about this Harbinger than the other thinks he does and assuming that Childe knows more about him himself, but just how much does he know.

- it’s the first time one of the Fatui has come to his lab in- he doesn’t know how long (other than the occasional instance of a wounded member risking the encounter in a moment of desperation. He’s observed that those who wield hydro have never been present in any of these instances, and are most likely designated as healers, but he isn’t in the best position to find out.) - and the fact that the first Fatui to come to his camp(out of anything other than necessity) is a Harbinger, is certainly very off putting, as he knows that Childe most certainly has the ability to change the orders of the Fatui around him whose cooperation with him is something that he recognizes as very fragile

- and he knows it’s unlikely, in the back of his mind he keeps recalling that this specific Harbinger is the one who resurrected a dead god for the purpose of destroying a city (flashback to the famous “if I destroy Mondstadt” line) but he reminds himself that it’s highly improbable and thus illogical to jump to that conclusion, but he is nonetheless very on edge with Childe’s presence

- However, as with the rest of the Fatui, his hands are legally tied, and unless Childe moves to attack him, any move he makes would only serve to reflect on the rest of the knights

- As such neither would attack the other in this scenario, though Childe would very much want to, and Albedo would very much be prepared to. - and both of these people are very observant (Albedo in the general sense and Childe in the ‘reading body language for combat’ sense) so both of them are completely aware of that, though Albedo would probably acknowledge that it may just be a result of his own paranoia

- However, unless Childe has orders otherwise, he tends to approach interactions with a more amiable attitude, extending his hand and introducing himself as “Childe,” less flamboyant than normal, because yes he’s extra, but not an idiot, he’s not gonna say “hey girlie, hold still” when the guy obviously has his hand tensed like that, “discretely” ready to reach for whats assumed to be a weapon, a melee one based on the position, sword or polearm probably

- Albedo, isn’t really one for pleasantries though, he has a number of things he still needs to do, and he does not want this Harbinger in or nearby his camp. “I’m aware” he says, giving his full attention, so as not to be caught off guard, and to get this over as quickly as possible. “I assume you have some purpose behind this visit. I am rather busy at the moment, so i would prefer that we keep this interaction brief.”

- and Childe is a little shit who still doesn’t know how to associate violence and hostility with any kind of bad vibes so he just laughs and holds up his hands “relax relax, I’m not here on business, no need to be on edge, right?”

- But Childe has a tendency while speaking to, knowingly or unknowingly, give his words a rather ominous tone. That and the fact that Albedo is in his lab, one of few places in Dragonspine where any misfortune that might befall him could be pinned on his own experiments keeps him from letting down his guard just yet.

HOWEVER i cant do dialogue... and this isn’t technically a fanfiction so i can summarize-

- Childe is basically all like “so why the shit are you in dragonspine comrade? i thought yall hated it”

- and albedo is all “experiments and this is where my lab is, is ” but like- not key details cuz he isnt going to reveal stuff to the fatui

-and Childe basically be like “ why up here, isnt there other places,” cuz he legit doesn’t get it. He gets that his mindset isn’t the norm, so he’d assume Albedo would want to do anything to avoid Dragonspine and its dangers like what seems to be the norm for what most people hes interacted with have generally agreed

- and Albedo says some flowery words for like oh “In the pursuit of knowledge if one allows themselves to be dissuaded by potential dangers, then they will find it quite difficult to progress beyond that which is already known”

- which, is important cuz it reflects Childe’s mindset on getting stronger, so he’s like yeah, checks out, and being the extroverted shit he is, he has the guts to ask “aren’t you gonna ask why im in dragonspine?” or something because honestly he likes talking about himself, and thats a topic that doesnt have to do with the fatui so it’s an easy way to make conversation.

- and Albedo, who has by now slightly relaxed just enough to resume preparing the experiment he was preparing before Childe came in. and all passive aggressively is like “The same as the rest of the Fatui, most likely. Now if you don’t mind I do have a number of experiments to conduct and I’m afraid it can get rather dangerous, so it would be best that you take your leave now”

- and Childe gets the message that he’s essentially being told to fuck off but he’s also cheeky as shit and absolutely loves to test his luck so he’d be all “I thought you said not to be dissuaded by potential dangers” sounding all proud of himself for using the other’s words against him

- and Albedo doesn’t have time for this so he just turns back towards Childe, same tone and same face as before, and repeats “it would best that you take your leave”

- Now Childe doesn’t see this as a challenge persay, but he sees how easily it can turn into one, and speaks the two cliche words “make me”

- but Albedo is also a little shit and just turns to resume his experiment, letting out a sigh “Stay if you’d like. I didn’t consider this possibility but I may have to request my lab be made off limits to the Fatui. A shame, I didn’t plan to return to Mondstadt for quite some time”

- and Childe, he’s decently smart- and he knows a number of things, 1 the other harbingers are gonna be pissed if they find out he caused more work for them again, 2 this individual is interesting and he very much wants the opportunity to fight them in the future, and 3 he’s not involved in politics and should Albedo follow through, the Harbingers wouldn’t give 2 shits if he asked them to try and get the change reversed.

- and so he leaves, but he’ll be back

- Albedo’s threat may have given him the upper hand for now, but it also served as a challenge he wouldn’t forget. - of course it’s not really that big a deal though, just if he’s ever in Dragonspine again and there’s nothing nearby to kill, he’d keep it in mind, and hey, best case scenario he can get more information to contribute to the Fatui

OKAY

- so now that Childe is gone and Albedo is able to reflect on the interaction, at first he’s just relieved nothing bad happened

- within the following day he reflects once again, deciding that the Harbinger most likely wasn’t lying about his intentions, he truly did seem seem to merely have been curious as he had claimed

- in hindsight he also realizes that conversing with him may also allow him to confirm or deny a number of the theories he had on the Fatui, or perhaps raise more questions for him to look into that he had not yet considered... or at least it could as long as he was careful about how he asked.

- AND THUS there a few more meetings, many are purely conversational, each trying to get knowledge from the other while being fully aware that the other is trying to do the same - not the type of battle Childe is used to, and it does get boring at times, but it’s all part of the game so he persists

- and eventually, as Albedo recognizes this as a regular thing, he begins enlisting Childe’s help in a number of experiments. Just figuring that since he’s doing an experiment and Childe is there regardless, it’s the most efficient option. That and it keeps the more dangerous questions to a minimum, often redirecting the questions towards alchemy, a much safer topic that he does not need to step so carefully around in order to discuss.

- There comes a point where Childe decides to point out the fact that Albedo most often has him help out with combat-requiring aspects of his experiments, and questions why

- Albedo, figuring it was obvious, reminds him of the conversation a few visits ago, where Childe mentioned his drive to get stronger, and(to requote) said that if he didn’t feel these opponents were sufficient to increase Childe’s strength, he could always bring in a couple Oceanids to fight. He then points out afterwards that ruin guards are a bit easier to fight with a bow

- Mixed responses from Childe including but not limited to - quickly refusing in the language of hydro vision panic, followed quickly by - oh, so he’s been trying to help this whole time, to- - how the fuck would he bring Oceanids to Dragonspine, is that even possible? - followed by curiosity

- and so he brings up the point that he’s never seen Albedo fight, which is a shame. “If you can’t take them down on your own just say so, no need to make excuses.” because heck yeah he’s going to taunt him, I mean this is Childe

- which of course Albedo returns with “If you want to see me in combat, follow your own advice” because of course, by now he knows about Childe’s combat obsession, like you don’t need to know him that long to figure it out, its kind of obvious.

- but he recognizes the intention, so he finishes what he’s doing checking what he needs for his future plans before exiting the lab, Childe following behind him, eager to see his future opponent in action

- so albedo goes to a ruin guard/grader/hunter(one of those), because otherwise it’s hilichurls or abyss mages and he knows enough to be able to tell that’s not exactly the kind of opponent Childe meant, and he would prefer not to have the topic brought up again, if he knew how to avoid it.

- so Childe stands back and Albedo, who is well accustomed to having to defeat the enemies in Dragonspine in order to get components for his alchemy knows exactly how to kill this bitch cuz honestly, the number of these guys he’s probably killed for research purposes is astronomical, so it’s done rather quickly and methodically, as if just another part of routine, exactly the way that it had been described when Childe was first asking the Fatui at that one camp about the alchemist.

- And that interest/intrigue that had started in the side of Childe’s mind and grew over time into one of the reasons(tho not the main reason) that he would often go to Dragonspine... it multiplied exponentially

- cue a few more visits and a new turning point occurs

Klee

- Childe comes to visit, and upon arriving at the lab he sees a child

- cue Childe approaching again, amiable grin on is face “and who’s this young lady” - because it’s literally canon that he’s good with kids

.....

- but Klee isn’t any kid

- and Klee was there for the briefing so she has just as much information on Childe as any of the other higher ranking knights - and only that much information

- a short time later they’re cleaning up the scattered remains of what was Albedo’s last experiment, lucky that the explosion was set off near the entrance so the damage wasn’t too extensive

- “Please don’t tell Master Jean, Dodocco said he was sorry”

- Cue Childe’s “I’m not a bad guy... okay I’m kind of a bad guy” quote - “but I mean no harm, I’m a friend of Albedo’s”

- and Albedo’s standing there like when I agree to that but he wants to see how this plays out

- and I’m really unfamiliar with Klee’s characterization, but you get the point Childe is canonically god at kids, he’s gonna learn that Klee’s basically Albedo’s little sister, Klee’s gonna get attached to him and remind him of his siblings back home, Childe’s interaction with Klee is basically what gets Albedo to start actually somewhat trusting Childe as opposed to just using him from a metaphorical distance and subtly helping in ways that wouldnt really negatively impact the knights

- and now that hes no longer actively distrustful his mind is more open to actually becoming attached, as he now begin to recognize that that which he initially believed to be mere manipulation tactics was actually just... Childe being genuine, or as genuine as a person can be in their situation

OKAY OKAY OKAY NOW THAT ALL THAT IS ESTABLISHED I CAN GET INTO THE DYNAMIC

- so theres the obvious things i already mentioned, like their mutual extreme drive to improve in their respective fields that separates them from others, even within their own respective groups/organizations which already(to an extent) separate their members from most others

now lets talk about this point specifically

- both Childe and Albedo are capable of helping each other grow in their respective fields.

- two things that have the potential to cause Childe trouble and lessen his combat ability and the problems with his delusion and his foul legacy transformation

- these two things are things likely unlike anything that Albedo has been able to study before (tho delusions he might have some experience with- but it’s unlikely) and it would likely be able to expand his knowledge, were he given the opportunity to experiment them, while simultaneously helping childe improve his strength

HOWEVER

- both of them know just how fragile the relationship(whatever it is) between them is, how quickly tensions can shift and orders can change, so in order to protect both the other and themselves they both understand that actually going through with this wouldn’t truly be safe and both sides could get in trouble for it

- because no matter what they do there will always be a constantly present risk hanging over their heads, but ill come back to that

- Dragonspine - in a lot of Albedo ships, the other character has to go through the effort of going to Dragonspine, which tends to serve as an obstacle for the relationship to be overcome (exception of sucrose and... idk do people ship him with Timeus? just in case, recognizing them both as potential exceptions) - However, in the case of Childe, who legitimately enjoys coming to Dragonspine, he wouldn’t hesitate to visit Albedo - with most it becomes “wow, i haven’t seen Albedo in a while, gee, i wish he’d come down the mountain, nonetheless i am a good lover so i shall make the harsh trek to see my beloved” - with this bitch Childe tho it’s more like “oops, feelin’ homesick, Imma see how Albedo’s doing, hope he’s made progress, wonder if Klee will be there” or “Wow I haven’t seen Albedo in awhile. Finna finish up these fatui duties real quick and head over, if i say im checking on the Fatui stationed there, I dont even have to ask to go on leave” (he gets in trouble for not officially asking for a day off anyways)

-anywho, Childe is largely used to interacting with the Harbingers, who always seem to have some other secret second layered plan of sorts that he’s not always informed about (ex: him being intended to fail when he summoned Osial, but being kept in the dark about it), which conflicts with Childe’s relatively straight forward nature - Albedo also possesses the potential to be similar, however he doesn’t often see the need for such things, preferring to be frank about his goals and expectations, so unlike with his fellow harbingers, Childe knows that when Albedo tells him something or asks something of him, what he’s being told is usually exactly what actually is true/intended. And if it’s not, Albedo is the kind of person to explain that it’s something he can’t tell him, which he understands, since he has his own share of things he cant share because of his Fatui alignment.

- there is going to be an interaction where at some point Childe is rambling about his family back home, and Albedo questions him about what they look like, a few days later handing him a surprisingly accurate drawing of his siblings - “I did have to try to check appearance with the traveler but unfortunately they weren’t in Mondstadt, do I do hope there aren’t too many inaccuracies” - Homeboy doesn’t cry(probably) but he gets really fucking close - cue socially isolated Alchemist boy misunderstanding and trying to apologize, which Childe responds to by just hugging him- because both of these boys are touch starved and honestly they fucking need it.

- and now that Childe knows Albedo doesn’t actually have a significant boundary on physical affection, as with most Childe ships... it happens a lot

- headcanon that Childe tends to just lean/rest his head on things like a dog. - additional headcanon that Albedo tends to have a need to keep his hands busy at all times - so just cue the scene where Albedo is working on experiments as usual, Childe watching from behind with his head rested on his shoulder and Albedo just absentmindedly playing with his hair with one hand while the other continues with his work

- also talking with Albedo gives Childe a a lot of harmless fun facts and he loves rubbing it in they’re faces when he gets to correct one of the other harbingers on something because of this

- Albedo does also have a tendency to overthink things though, and Childe’s more straight forward mindset gives a new perspective that helps him work around issues more often than he would have expected

- Also Albedo’s love language is totally words of affirmation (i will die on this hill, he doesn’t even realize he does it probably). So he wouldn’t hesitate to sincerely thank or praise Childe whenever he helps or does something good. And Childe is a Fatui, most of the praise he gets is from the subordinates who admire him yes, but also lowkey highkey fear him, and especially after all of Liyue knows he summoned Osial basically, he is pretty damn starved for affirmation and praise and wouldn’t even notice just how much until Albedo gave that to him. - like Childe is over here melting into a puddle of fluff and Albedo probably wouldn’t even realize what he’s doing, he’s just stating his observations out loud

- Childe and Albedo making a pinkie promise, Childe does the little Snezhnayan chant, and Albedo’s gaze just shifts slowly towards the nearby frozen lake in intense concern

- They go ice fishing with Klee who introduces Childe to fish blasting and it’s a whole new world of possibilities now. Albedo has many regrets.

- the harbingers have all basically figured it out by now and are concerned about security but mostly they just mock him for it - the Fatui stationed in Dragonspine however, probably know because 1 they’ve seen Childe with Albedo almost every time he visits, and Childe brags about it regularly - at this point a majority of them ship it and needless to say Albedo’s risk of death via Fatui has gone down significantly, and it’s had a surprisingly positive benefit on relations between the knights and Fatui overall

- the Knights took a bit longer to catch on, since Albedo isn’t exactly in Mondstadt all that often, but it’s the city of freedom, what are they gonna do? say no? again, they are concerned about security risks, but trust Albedo to recognize what should be withheld.

- also its canon that Childe enjoys cooking, and Albedo has a line about like... let me look it up rq- It’s his “Least Favorite Food” line which talks about how he doesn’t eat at restaurants cuz he has a small appetite and doesn’t want to waste food, which is unfortunate cuz then he has to spend time making his own food - idk its kind of small but i just saw it and thought it was kind of a cute detail

- Childe is a chaotic bean and we love him for it - on the other hand Albedo is more calm and patient, able to put up with this, and realistically, he has enough experience with Klee to not accidentally put him out or down or otherwise dampen his natural personality...... it’s just when the two of them get together that Albedo experiences true fear.

- Albedo: I have an idea for an experiment but the Jean has suggested that the risk is- - Childe: you should do it! - Albedo: -that the risk is too great and has disallowed me from continuing it - Childe: Oh? well she can’t tell me not to it, now can she? - Both: *mutual gremlin noises*

anyway... im probs gonna add more to this later.... I’m just really bad at coming up with ship dynamics- so my main point in this is to get people to realize that it possible and that it could work- because there is... nearly 0 material on it- and i just think it has the potential to be so wonderful but I do not have the potential to make it that way. Like it has the potential for so many different dynamics and iconic moments and theres so many reasonable ways they could meet and just so many possibilities and im just really hoping to show the ship to more people because, y’know, it’s rare and i want them to suffer from the lack of content too, because I’m just a kind person like that.

i would have put it under a cut if i could, but i have no idea how to do that so... apologies...

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chaoticgoodlawyerwrites · 2 years

Text

Rough sneak peak for chapter 13!

Context: reception for SQQ's coronation as Sect Leader. He's just learned something disturbing about the rumors about him and is a bit intoxicated from drinking during the many toasts to him at dinner. Binghe is not in attendance at this event.

Well, stick a fork in him, because Shen Qingqiu was done for the night.

Of course, this was the moment that the Huan Hua Palace Master found him.

Oh, geez.

“Sect Leader Shen,” he said, both his daughter and his head disciple, Gongyi Xiao, at his side. The Palace Master bent his neck while the others bowed in greeting.

Shen Qingqiu bowed his neck in return, praying this man would be brief. He did not have the patience for dealing with him. “Palace Master. I hope you and your companions are enjoying the evening. I was just about to retire, but I wish you and yours a restful night.”

“Ah, so soon? I was hoping to have a moment to speak with you further. With the beginning of a new era, it is important to maintain or even strengthen the ties between cultivation Sects. We can never be sure what the demonic hordes are planning. And you have yet to speak to my head disciple as you have so many this evening.”

Oh. Oh, I need to leave right now, or I will cause an intersect incident.

Shen Qingqiu’s polite, slight smile felt strained. He looked at Gongyi Xiao, vaguely remembering him from both PIDW and the tales from the other timeline, and nodded slightly to him. “I am sure that the young master is quite accomplished for his age. Huan Hua’s curriculum is quite renowned, and I would expect nothing less than excellence from its head disciple. Yet, I’m sure the well-informed Palace Master has heard of my recent health problems. While I must leave to tend to my condition, I am sure my fellow Peak Lords, particularly Peak Lord Yue, are more than capable to ensuring Cang Qiong’s guests are tended to.”

“I’m sorry to hear your health issues are still ongoing,” the Palace Master said, full of sweet faux sincerity. “I would have thought that with such a well-revered doctor in residence as Master Mu, you would have been able to recover by now. Though, you are quite brave to admit such a weakness and I cannot help but respect it.”

SQQ: get me out of this or send me help

SQQ: otherwise I will kill this man

Shen Qingqiu took a deep breath and the smile from his face dropped completely. “How informative, to learn that the Palace Master considers being ill a weakness. Or perhaps it is admitting to being ill and knowing one’s limits? I am human, Palace Master. I have no qualms being true to that.”

SQH: oh fuck

“Human indeed,” the Palace Master said deliberately, a kindly, venomous smile on his face. “Speaking of which, I have heard a great deal about a certain disciple of yours and your very human attachment to him. Disciple Luo, was it? Is he not in attendance? I’m sure my daughter and disciple would be interested in meeting him, if he was so great as to catch your eye.”

Oh.

Oh, so they were doing this then.

Okay.

Shen Qingqiu felt something switch in his brain and he felt on edge. It was a familiar feeling from that pivotal Peak Lord meeting. He felt predatory. He felt dangerous. And he was going to tear this man apart for daring bringing up Binghe’s name.

He smiled slightly and felt his eyes become heavily lidded as he looked down at the other man. Both the Little Palace Mistress and Gongyi Xiao shivered, probably meaning he had lost control of his qi and dropped the temperature a bit immediately around him.

“Have you? Well, my top ranked disciples are here to represent my Peak, with my other disciples tending to their studies and any duties they have. Although, if we want to speak of disciples that are not here, perhaps we should speak to your own. While I have only just been able to re-learn about the Sects since my qi deviation, I did hear talk of a very accomplished disciple from Huan Hua Palace with the family name of Su? Su Xiyan, I believe. Whatever happened to her?”

Try me, bitch.

The Palace Master’s face went through a series of colors and his daughter snapped, “Honored Disciple Su was fatally injured while battling a heavenly demon. She died heroically many years ago.”

“Ah, is that so? My condolences. Perhaps it is best we keep the names of those absent out of our conversations about the future,” he said smoothly, with his steady gaze never leaving the Palace Master. “I often find that words spoken behind others’ backs are poi–“

“Sect Leader Shen!” Shang Qinghua said, coming to a sudden stop at his side, putting on a show of being out of breath.

“You interrupted my conversation with the honorable Palace Master, Shang-shidi,” he said, but it was in the harsh yet teasing tone he often ended up taking with his fellow transmigrator.

He bowed low to him, then more shallowly to the outsider. “This shidi apologizes, Sect Leader Shen, Palace Master, but there is an issue that requires the Sect Leader’s immediate attention.”

“Does Sect Leader Shen not have others who could handle a problem in his stead?” The Palace Master asked, obviously livid at being caught off guard in the conversation and taking an easy jab at him.

“I’m not certain how Huan Hua is run, but so early in my tenure I prefer to learn from experience and look at any major problem personally. I again wish you and yours a pleasant night, Palace Master. Shang-shidi.”

Shang Qinghua bowed again, but Shen Qingqiu did not. He strode away, following Shang Qinghua’s lead with his head held high until he was out of the room.

[+30 B-Points.]

#SQQ doesn't have time for your ableist bullshit #OPM: mentions Binghe SQQ: *kill bill sirens*#Binghe is not here specifically because SQQ got word that the OPM will be there yes they talk about it #GYX watching SQQ go predator: *vine voice* wrow #yes this is a different preview than was on kofi look at me following through on things I said

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.14

The Garden Hallway

01/02/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,974

Warnings: language, smut, smutty smut smut, talk of pregnancy, jealousy, spoiled lobster, alcoholic Brunnhilde, babies

A/N: First post of the new year! This was a fun one to write with lots of little tidbits that were enjoyable. Writing doubts aside, I hope you all enjoy this one! Sorry it took so long to get to you, but holidays, ya know? xoxo

“She’s beautiful, Thora. Just gorgeous.” You bounce the infant in your arms and she coos and goos.

Spittle runs down along the edge of her lips and Thora, the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen in your life, leans forward to gently dab away at the clear liquid.

Her very long ice blonde hair falls forward, half braided, the other half loose. She tosses it back then sighs and rips it back feeling frustrated.

“You could cut your hair, if it’s bothering you.” Ice blue eyes meet yours, slight shock at your observational skills painting her pale cheeks pink.

“Oh, no. I’m too fond of it, Your Majesty. I’ll grow used to it again. Having a little one to care for does make it a bit tedious to handle. But ‘tis no worry. I will just have to braid it more tightly and perhaps wear it atop my head to keep it tame.”

She’s all politeness, this Agardian beauty. The Goddess of it, if you’re honest, though you know that’s not true. To you, every Asgardian woman is the Goddess of beauty. They’re all so stunning in their own unique ways.

The same could be said for the women of your own species, but these Asgardians seem to glow.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, it’s really very normal for women of Earth to have very short hair in some cases. Especially when work or busy lives get in the way of maintaining it. I’m not sure how often women in the old Asgard used to-”

“It was not uncommon, though ‘twasn’t very common either. Most of us keep our hair long. I’m not sure my husband would love me as much if I did cut it.” She confesses, and you see a fleeting worry pass through her exquisite face and you can’t imagine how a woman this beautiful can doubt the hold she has on her husband when you’re only mortal and constantly worry about Thor’s love for you.

“Armod is a lucky man. I’m sure he knows that you’re more than your hair. But if it’s that important to you, I can try to find ways of keeping it out of your way? Some new hairstyles maybe?” You smile at her, hoping to offer comfort.

She relaxes, the little bundle in your arms wiggling just a bit as you lean forward to place your hand over hers.

“She really is so beautiful,” you say, hoping to redirect her attention to her perfect little girl.

Luta has deep olive skin, her hair the same stunning raven as Armod.

Thora’s entire being shifts. She gleams at her daughter, the clear apple of her eye.

“It won’t be long before you and His Majesty are blessed with a baby of your own. An heir to the throne? The celebration will be monumental.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you smile shyly, remembering almost every night since your honeymoon has been spent pinned either underneath Thor, or to the wall, or on the dresser, or his desk, or the tub, or even the floor in an attempt to get that heir to finally come.

Both of you want a baby so badly.

“We’ve been trying for almost two months,” You confess, a sadness in your voice incapable of hiding.

“Armod and I tried for nearly a year,” Thora nods, her own happiness sidelined to make way for understanding. “I believe that sometimes it just takes a while. My sister was able to conceive so quickly I began to think there was something wrong with me.”

She gives you a reassuring smile, almost like she can read your very thoughts.

“But it happened. It took time. It will happen for you as well, Your Majesty. We are all looking forward to an heir, but even if it takes a while, you’re still our Queen.” She assures you and her words do make you feel better.

Maybe you and Thor have just been trying too hard?

Oof, but there’s no way you can give up those touches.

“I guess I’ll just have to relax and take it one day at a time. Thank you for your encouragement. I’m seriously really jealous of you. She’s so lovely.” You offer her over, and Thora takes her eagerly.

The baby, Luta, whines a little but then settles as she’s held to her mother’s breast.

“She’s a peach, isn’t she?” Thora gloats, and she’s absolutely beaming.

The front door opens and there’s a startled pause by the tall dark Armod, long pitch braids swishing as he comes to a stop.

“Your Majesty?” The shock is clear, but he quickly bows and you get up, waving away his formality.

“No, please.” You smile, throwing out your hand for him to shake, “It’s so nice to see you, face to face and not from the backseat of a car.”

Armod laughs, taking hold of your hand gently and he quickly kisses the back of it.

The respect of the gesture is flattering.

“I was not expecting to see you here today, though I’m not going to lie, it’s an honor.”

“I promised I’d come,” you remind him. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve been so busy with the planning of the park and meeting with the Ambassadors to see what they want from us, and it’s just been so busy day after day.”

“Your Majesty,” Thora stands, shaking her head. “You have no obligation to explain yourself to us. We are at your service.”

You smile at her, reaching over to caress Luta’s little head then Thora’s shoulder, “I think it’s the other way around, but I’m grateful for your generosity.”

They both seem happy with you and as lovely as they are, you can’t spend all day here in their comfy little home.

Armod is paid really well and that’s reflected more in their belongings as opposed to the size of their house.

Very neat and high quality furniture and gadgets display their wealth though compared to the one you inherited and the one you married into, it’s just a fraction.

Armod and Thora's wealth lies in their love and family.

As they stand there, the ache in your chest begins to get unbearable so, you quickly tell them goodbye and you walk back up to the palace.

Armod's home is situated within the grounds of your New Asgardian dwelling. Smallish cottages that line the inner stone and vibranium wall are filled with staff who living close by makes it easier to work here.

If they lived outside of the palace walls, you'd have needed Armod's services to visit his own house. Luckily, in this way, you can visit some of your people without the need for fanfare.

You like not having to dress up.

As you slip into the garden and move for the large heavy door that Thor had shown you through two months prior to propose to you out here, you smile at the sight of the only person who hates it when you don't wear a dress, or at the very least a skirt.

This isn't of course because he wants to have you he all wrapped up in tight dresses and uncomfortable, but rather it makes certain activities just a little more difficult in rushed moments.

Thor's smile widens as he spots you, shutting the door behind you before you put your hands behind your back.

"There you are, I've been looking for you," Thor says.

He looks so good in dark jeans and a slightly loose tan t-shirt. The round neck gives just the slightest peek at his trapezius and you force yourself to keep your eyes on his beautiful face instead of the way his biceps strain against his sleeves.

Fuck he looks good.

"Looks like you've found me. What did you need?"

"Where were you?" He wonders, putting his own hands behind his back to copy your stance.

"Is it curiosity, suspicion, or control making you ask?"

"Interest. And because I missed you and if I have an hour free again, I'd like to spend it with you."

Damn him.

"Well, shoot," you scoff.

He quirks his head inquisitively and you smile wide at the sight of your puppy. How can he be so damn hot and cute at the same time?

"That was the perfect response. But, an hour?" Quick glance down at your watch reveals it's too early for lunch. "I thought we were meeting for lunch at eleven?"

Thor’s smile falters and he nods slowly, looking at your collarbone instead of your eyes.

"About that…"

"Oh, shit. What?"

"I'm leaving in about twenty minutes," Thor confesses, bringing his hands back to his front to fidget.

"Twenty minutes? But you said an hour!"

"And I spent forty minutes looking for you, cherub. That leaves me with twenty."

He closes the distance between you, tracing the length of your arms to your wrists and then pulls your hands out from behind your back.

"And leaving? Where are you going?"

The pout that overtakes you feels inevitable. You can't even attempt to hide it.

"The Warriors Three have reported in. Sif says that they are ready for inspection so I must go and see each outpost's condition before I can deem them proper watch towers to guard against the threat that Loki has foreseen.

"Heimdall says he is in agreement. Whatever it is that is coming, it's hiding itself from his sight which should be impossible. I must go, love. I'm sorry."

He really does sound and look apologetic too.

"And...I won't be home until possibly very late. Nearly morning I think," he tells you, voice low.

For two long moments the two of you stand there, minds whirring until they both reach the same realization.

It's Thor that voices it first and he nearly kills you with how much you want to swoon, "You know, this will be the first night since we've been engaged that I won't be sleeping beside you."

Your pout only grows more pronounced.

"Will you be lonely without me?"

All of the insecurities he's felt since marrying suddenly come pouring out of him in that one singular question and you can suddenly see all of the fear and strife he has been dealing with since he chose to marry you.

Like you, he's been wondering whether you're happy in your new married life. He's been worried about you in your role as Queen but worried for you, not whether you can do the job as you have been fretting.

You sigh, a heavy release of your own tension, "Oh, Thor…"

Hooking your hand behind his neck you pull him down until you can kiss him.

His response is ready, eager. Hands funding your hips as he pushes you back until you're shoved into the small space between one pillar and the wall it supports.

You're both very aware of the loss of activity this night will also bring, but maybe a rest is due.

Pulling back, you place your hands on his chest and give him a little push. He stops his kissing, licking his lips as he leans back to fix you with his star-eyed gaze.

"Maybe this is a good thing? We've been trying so hard to get pregnant for two months and my last test was negative. Maybe what we need is a break?"

Thor blinks, considering your words but then he shakes his head.

"Is that the only reason you've been laying with me night after night? To be with child?"

He almost sounds hurt by the idea and you hurry to reassure him.

"No! Of course not, Thor. I...being with you intimately is one of the best things about my adult life that I never knew I wanted or needed. It feel so good to be with you. Sometimes I can't believe that you want me.

"You're this perfect God, desired by millions. Billions even. And I'm-"

"Let me stop you there, cherub. If you are ever in any doubt as to how you affect me-mind, body, and soul-" He reaches down between your bodies, unbuttons his jeans and lowers his zipper.

"Thor!" You gasp quietly, peeking around at both ends of the long secluded hallway.

"No one will see us," he whispers, seductive and deep.

He's right though. Especially here where the pillar meets the wall, a tight corner where he's got you trapped. Right where you want to be.

He takes your hand and pushes his pants down a bit until he's exposed, erect, and throbbing.

As you wrap your fingers around him, he purrs and after another lick of his lips, he flies into a frenzy that you match with your own fervor.

It has to happen fast and before you know it he's inside, thrusting up into you as he holds your right leg up around his waist.

Neither of you have any words, only heavy breathing. A gasp. A grunt. Mewling moans that rise from your throat which he quickly silences with a finger pressed gently to your lips.

"Shh, my cherub," he urges.

Even if no one ever comes down here. The sound of the Queen making these noises would surely draw someone's attention.

"I'm coming…" you whimper, hands vices around the fabric of his shirt.

Thor groans again then mashes his lips against your own, thrusting faster and smoother. Like silk on skin he fills you up and as you grip his cock, twitching around him, he empties into you.

He coats you with his heat, caressing the curves of your body as he continues to kiss you with slow and deliberate passion.

"We aren't missing a day," he declares.

As the two of you recover, a voice from the far end of the hall interrupts.

"Thor, we must go if you're to be back by morning."

For a moment your heart leaps into your throat. Loki’s voice is knowing. He clearly gets what you two were doing.

You peek over Thor’s shoulder but don't see Loki anywhere. He's got the sense to give you two your privacy and stay out of sight.

"I'll be right there," Thor says, leaning in to kiss your lips slow. "Don't worry, he's discreet."

Thor helps you get dressed again, blocking your body from sight even though he knows no one is looking.

When you're both decent again, he takes your arm in his and leads you out into the main hall where Loki stands by the large doors pacing.

As he spots the two of you, he gives no indication that he heard or saw any of what happened down in the garden hallway.

"You two look...refreshed," Loki says pointedly.

"Brother, do not tease Her Majesty the Queen. She's already fretting."

Thor adjusts his arm to wrap around your shoulder and gives you a quick squeeze as you glare at Loki.

"Of course, you're right. I'm sorry, Y/N."

Loki gives you quick polite bow, then a mischievous smile curls his lips and you can see the trickster God peek through.

“I am a most avid supporter of my monarchs doing what they can to provide the kingdom with an heir, and if there is any way that I can help, I would be happy to lend my assistance.”

“Watch it, Loki,” Thor warns, only half heartedly but with the punch of genuine jealousy.

You haven’t really questioned lately whether you’re Thor’s because you are. No doubt in your mind. He has you wrapped around his finger. Hearing him assert that claim, the one on your heart and body--it drives shivers up your spine and you suddenly want him back home from his trip already.

“I only meant that I am glad to make excuses if you two wish to escape for a few hours a day,” Loki clarifies. “What did you think I meant?”

He’s teasing Thor, you can see it. That playful jabbing is routine and you’ve seen him do it before but you were never the tool for his poking at Thor.

“I’ll wait out front,” Loki takes his leave, shutting the large doors to the front hall with ease.

Without a word, Thor pulls you into his arms. He embraces you tightly, sighing heavily and you shut your eyes at the feel of his body wrapped around yours.

You can’t remember ever feeling so happy. So, safe? There’s something in the way it feels to have his large arms around you, a weight pressed to you but not down on you.

He’s not suffocating you or oppressing you. He’s supporting you, ducking down a little to get a better hold of you. He presses his nose against your hair and breathes in deeply.

It could just be a sigh, but if he’s anything like you, he might be trying to memorize your scent.

As your own nose is pressed into the crook of his neck, you let his own wash over you.

His unique smell brings to mind a dark cloudy sky, a field of soft overgrown grass swaying in an endless cool wind. The scent of freshly sodden earth. It’s rain and nature, with the briefest sting of ozone as the sky lights up with his immeasurably powerful lightning.

All of that runs in him and you can’t believe that you’re lucky enough to be here holding him close.

“I will be as quick as I can be,” he says, deep tone settling in your chest.

“I wish you were back already.”

You can hear him laugh, just a small huff of air before he kisses the side of your head.

“You will be so busy with the park and then so exhausted you will pass out before you even have time to miss me.”

“I miss you already, doof,” you sigh.

“Will you promise me something?” he asks, pushing you back to meet your eyes.

“Anything,” you promise.

“Will you stay in the palace for me? I-I know that you were supposed to go down to the park to walk the new pathways and tree markers but I would feel much better about leaving you if I know that you’ll be here, safe.”

“You said there was nothing about this threat to worry about?”

Suddenly, a fear begins to grow in your belly. It twists it in knots and makes you nervous. Like if your marriage and all of this confidence you’ve found in yourself as Queen of New Asgard has been snuffed out, you feel like the nobody who sat in her room writing stories of lives you would never live.

“There isn’t, cherub. Not that we can tell. But we don’t understand it. With Stark and Banner having had delays in coming to install their extra measures of security, I was hoping that this inspection could wait until they had finished whatever business it was that drew them to Wakanda, but Steve says he is not sure how long they will be there.

“And until they can come, I--I cannot stand the thought of something happening to you, that’s all.”

Thor hooks his hand behind your neck, caressing your cheek as he ducks his head and gives you a reassuring smile.

Inside you’re at war with yourself. On the one hand, if he’s this scared, this threat is more serious than any of them are making this out to be.

On the other hand, Thor is so convincing in his words. You can clearly see the worry he has for you, for your safety. The tight hand on your hip tells you that he does indeed have some fear, but his gaze tells you that his favor is for his peace of mind.

So, you nod.

“Yes,” you give in. “I’ll stay here. I can work on the plans from my room and I have a lot of studying to do about the Valkyrie anyway.”

“Thank you,” Thor physically relaxes, his shoulders falling as a teeny bit of weight comes off them. “I will be as quick as I can be and then I will be here with you again and we can resume trying for that baby.”

“Thor about that,” you begin, licking your lips and wondering if he’ll even understand where you’re coming from. “I think maybe-?”

“Thor, I’m really very sorry. Y/N, if we don’t leave now we might have to extend the inspections until the day after tomorrow. Volstagg has to leave the planet for a short visit with his kin and cannot miss his window to do so.”

Thor stands taller, disapproving of the interruption, but he knows better and he leans down to kiss you.

“Can we continue this conversation when I return?”

You kiss him back as he leans down for another and nod when he pulls away, “Of course, Thor. Go. Hurry back.”

He gives you one more kiss, this one lingering before he presses in on your lips a little harder as if it pains him to pull away, then marches out the door without another look back.

The heavy doors close with a loud clatter and you’re left in the empty hall feeling strangely out of place.

You take your time getting up to your room. The bed looks huge without Thor sitting on its edge, pulling his shoes on in the morning with a groan of complaint at having to leave you so early.

His mornings are always full of rolling back into bed to cuddle you for a few more minutes before he has to go.

This morning feels like ages ago and maybe it’s because this really is the first time the two of you have been separated since before your wedding, but you miss him so much already and it’s only been minutes.

There’s a rush of air from the balcony, so strong it pulls your attention, but the smell that entices you has you running for the open door.

Through the rippling flowing curtains you see Thor in full armor, gold and black, his right hand wrapped around his hammer.

He opens his left arm for you as you reach him, pulling you right up against his body as he meets your lips sweetly.

“Mmm,” he mumbles.

“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be gone!”

You gasp, hands pressed to his chest as your heart pounds hard.

“Just one more kiss,” he simpers. “This is truly much harder than I thought it would be.”

“It’s only a few hours,” you tease, but you’re so ecstatic that you weren’t the only one feeling that ache.

“Too many,” Thor sighs.

“Then kiss me, and go. The sooner you’re gone the sooner you’ll be back.”

He obeys, and kisses you only less sweetly and with the passion to leave you wanting more.

He leaves you in a second rush of air leaving the smell of coming rain in his wake.

“Well, that was dramatic.” A voice interrupts from within your room. “You’d think he was going off to war.”

Moving inside, you find Hilde strewn across the chaise at the end of your bed, crystal bottle sloshing with brown liquid in her hand.

“Give us a break, it’s been nearly two and a half months since we’ve been separated.”

“Two and a half months is but a split second in time for us,” Hilde explains.

Her words give you pause and then the ache in your heart is hard to keep from spilling onto your face.

Hilde notices and quickly sits back up, “Your Majesty, I didn’t meant-”

“It’s alright. Really. It’s okay.”

With a quick smile at her you move to sit at your desk and put your feeble mortality out of your mind.

It’s not something you like to think on, and you’ve been good at forgetting about not only the significant age difference between you and Thor but also how fast you’ll age in your marriage and Thor will pretty much look the same as he does now.

Pulling over the large binder with the park plans, you reach for your phone to dial up Edgar, New Asgard’s senior construction manager and explain to him that you won’t be making your appointment for that afternoon.

“Good morning, Edgar. Yes, I’m doing well, thanks. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I won’t be able to walk the park today. Yeah. Thor has gone with Loki to attend to some things and won’t be back until early in the morning and I’ve had to take over a few things here in the palace. I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me.”

Edgar is all politeness and eagerness to please you and Thor. Like the rest of his people, they look up to the God of Thunder and for some reason, they’ve accepted you into their hearts openly.

“We should reschedule. Let me know when you can walk the grounds with me and I’ll-” You stop and listen to him assure you that he’s available at your convenience. “I appreciate that. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we can set something up for later this week. Thank you, Edgar. Okay, bye.”

“It’s really not necessary to call him and tell him all that, you know? Just tell him you want to reschedule and he’ll do what you want.”

“I know, but that feels weird to do. I can’t just order him around. What if he had something special to do later in the week and me moving the appointment affects that?”

You throw open the binder and the map of the planned park. Already you and Edgar have marked it all up with red scribbles where things would need to be changed. You’d wanted a man made lake in the center, but you’ll have to settle for a small pond in one of the corners until more land can be leveled for a lake.

Several of the trees you’d wanted are not available so you’ve had to get new ones there too.

Every bit of this park has been selected by you from the type of grass, the stones in the pathways, to the wildflowers planted in the flower beds.

The responsibility of giving your people a space that they can love and appreciate stresses you out from time to time though you’ve pretty much accepted the weight of your crown.

Without another word, you go to work and Hilde, who you assume is here to be your personal bodyguard while Thor is out, gets up and presses a small button hidden underneath a small steel panel the size of Thor’s large palm.

She moves back over to the small breakfast table where you and Thor enjoy your first meal of the day in private, and sits back to wait patiently. Her bottle with drink has been abandoned on the chaise, now empty.

As your mind begins to focus on your work, you register Hilde telling Estrid to send for food and drinks.

“And make sure they bring her Majesty’s favorite snacks so that she can eat while she works. I’m sure she’s been neglecting her meals all day,” Hilde knows.

Time passes without you realizing and you do appreciate the small munchies that are brought and placed on the edge of the desk.

You eat without thinking and soon the plate is empty, wrappers littering the top right corner of your workspace as well as the floor below.

“Shit, what time is it?” You crane your neck around to look for Hilde and find the room empty.

Pulling your phone close you click the screen on to see that it’s just before dinner and Hilde is probably waiting for you down in the dining room.

You don’t bother changing much of your clothes. You slip out of your jeans and shirt and quickly pull a simple cotton dress on.

It’s customary to dress up for dinner a bit but without Thor here, you put in minimal effort and the burnt orange cotton dress is relaxed enough to let you breathe but nice looking enough to be presentable.

You’re tying the sash around your waist to heighten your curves as you make your way down the two floors to the dining room and fixing the wrists of your long loose cinched sleeves when you reach the hallway and look up only to gasp as Hilde stops right in front of you looking frazzled.

“Hey, what-?”

“I need you to know that he didn’t know about this. If he did, he would have warned you-us. I also don’t think he thought he’d be out when they came.”

She’s so stressed that you reach out to grab hold of her arms and smile through your confusion.

“Hilde, what are you talking about? Who’s here?”

You receive your answer only too quickly, “Is that you, Cherub? Queen of New Asgard?”

The snark is brief but familiar and you don’t need further explanation to know who you’ll see behind Hilde.

She steps aside to reveal Tony Stark, moving towards you a few steps until he’s standing right in front of you.

He bows.

“Oh, shit, please don’t do that,” you gasp, embarrassed.

Tony smirks, “Gotta follow the rules, Your Majesty.”

“Please, Tony. Just my name is fine,” you plead. “Really, I can’t bear anything else.”

“Queen’s orders?” he teases.

You genuinely chuckle, rolling your eyes before finally noticing his extended hand. Taking it, he lifts it to his lips to give you a quick polite kiss, then gently drops it.

“Thor wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks. Wasn’t there a mission? It was going to take a while?”

“My fault,” Bruce’s voice interjects.

Tony steps aside and you smile as your eyes find Bruce. He walks towards you both with his head slightly ducked, his hands held together at his front as he moves towards you nervously, wringing them.

“I kind of Hulked out and might have single handedly taken out the guys patrolling the building we were trying to get into. And then broke in through a wall and started a fire. And then sat on the mainframe of their computer system and lost us all the data we were trying to steal in the first place which cut our mission short by a few weeks.”

Bruce extends his hand and you take it, all too happy to see him again.

You’re halfway to a laugh at the chaos he seems to have caused when you notice a small head of swaying hair behind him. As your chuckle is caught in your throat, you freeze mid handshake, heart stuttering as those pretty brown eyes that have plagued a few of your nightmares meet yours.

“Jane…” you quietly gasp.

“Remember what I said?” Hilde asks, moving to stand by you.

“Oh, um…” Tony points at Jane as Bruce releases your hand and moves aside to give you full view of the pretty brunette dressed in a semi-formal pantsuit complete with thick jacket to combat the Norwegian temperatures that press in on the warmth of any home after the sun sets.

Jane is quick to give you a much better curtsy than she did the first time and then hesitantly offers you her hand, “Hello again, Your Majesty.”

“Jane has something to show Thor and well, you. Where is he, by the way?” Tony asks, giving the hallway a complete turn to see if he can spot Thor hiding behind some chair or doorway.

“Just, my name, please,” you tell Jane, giving her your hand and fighting the urge to run and shove your face into a pillow to scream in order to focus on the stronger urge of finding out why your husband’s ex-lover came all the way to your home to see him. “Thor’s out. He and Loki have gone to meet with Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif to see how far along the outposts are.

“Does your visit have to do with the threat?” You turn back to Jane and slowly take your hand back.

“I’d really like to talk about it with both of you, if you don’t mind?” Jane explains.

“Listen,” Hilde begins, but you shake your head just a teeny bit and she stops and shuts her mouth.

“Okay, that’s fine. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so join us for dinner?” With a gesture at the doors to your right, Estrid throws them open and inside is waiting a modest but still lavish feast compared to most dinners in common households. There are three main courses to choose from as well as plenty of sides to give the most picky eater options.

Even though there is plenty of food, they’re simple foods. Roast chicken, sandwiches, salad, soup, bread, rice, potatoes, and other vegetables. Lots of it, but plainly prepared.

Hilde had known you wouldn’t even really be tasting your food with Thor gone and now, you doubt you can find your appetite again to consume anything.

“Nice spread,” Tony admires, but he holds out his elbow for you and you take it.

He escorts you to your usual seat by Thor’s at the end, then pulls it out for you and as the others take to standing behind their own seats--Hilde across from you and the others wherever they’d like--they wait until you take yours before they even attempt to pull their own out.

As several younger looking men and women move in with pitches of ale and wine and water, you catch Estrid’s gaze as she whispers instructions to a much younger looking girl with very curly dark hair.

The young girl rushes off when Estrid sees you need her and gives her a small push and a quick word.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Estrid asks, stopping beside you and silencing the others as they had begun to dig in and chatter pleasantly.

“Have three rooms made up for our guests? Make sure they want for nothing while they’re here, alright? The best rooms for Thor’s close friends.”

“Yeah, I’ll take the suite,” Tony teases, and Estrid looks flustered for a moment before she realizes that he’s joking and then with a kind and surprised smile, she gives you a curtsy and then rushes off to do as she’s been asked.

“I’m sorry if the food isn’t more…” You can’t find the word to convey what you want to say, so you leave the sentence hanging there. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had Cook prepare you something nicer.”

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Bruce assures you, lifting his fork laden with broccoli and chicken.

He nods and smiles, then shoves the forkful into his mouth.

“Yeah, this is good,” Tony nods, using your name which gives you a strange sense of acceptance.

It’s casual, the way he says it. It’s like he really has welcomed you into his circle after your visit with them during your honeymoon.

“We can’t all have lobster every night. Bruce is allergic.”

“What?” Bruce asks, slightly stunned. “Me? I’m not…”

“Aren’t you?” Tony asks.

“No,” Bruce shakes his head, flabbergasted.

“How come you didn’t want to eat those Lobsters on Fourth of July then?” Tony demands, dropping his hand so that his fork clinks against the side of his plate.

He’s starting to look upset.

“You bought the box off some guy standing at the mouth of the alley where we were catching arms smugglers!”

“What’s your point?” Tony demands.

As their banter flows, you keep a pleasant and appropriately amused smile trained on the pair of them but you have one eye fixed on Jane and carefully you take a few hurried looks at her. Admiring the way her hair falls softly against her shoulders and the way she eats with poise and why the hell did she have to come in person?

Hasn’t she ever heard of fucking e-mail?!

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