#we never see any of his army's admirals or generals

[protonpowered]

Given that the Imperial Power Suit was constructed before the destruction of the Rubion Forge, and therefore before the arrival of Dr Nefarious, who do we think the original second pilot might have been?

Who would Emperor Nefarious trust enough to pilot his pièce de résistance right alongside him?

[daretolovemyrambling]

the Medarda Clan

(picture above is from the arcane artbook, it's concept art for Mel, Kino, Ambessa and Kino's unnamed father. Mel's father isn't named or shown anywhere yet)

I don't think Arcane necessarily retconned this, so I wanted to talk about the Medarda Clan in the League of Legends Universe.

Mel Medarda, while banished from Noxus, likely still retained a high status because a part of the Medarda family also resides in Piltover.

It makes sense that Medarda family members don't just reside in Noxus. Ambessa says herself that she send Mel to Piltover in order to oversee their family's interests. And would it really be called "Medarda House" by Piltover residents if only Mel is in it? Mel would have also been only about 23 when she enters Piltover and 26 when she was a councelor in season 1 act 1 (here is a timeline I made for arcane: x) it's insane, even for her, to establish a well respected house in such a short time in Piltover.

In Legends of Runeterra (a Riot card game that explores the world of Runeterra in more detail), there is a card named Jae Medarda.

His description reads: "Heir apparent to Piltover's prestigious Clan Medarda, Jae preferred hunting ancient artifacts over managing the family business... much to his father's chagrin."

There also some other Medarda family members that we know of; on the League website you can find a map named "Medarda Heirloom", it shows trading routes the Medarda's use. It's a pretty old map though, I think it's from 2016 so I wouldn't really say this very relevant.

On the map you can find a letter by a Medarda Merchant named Jago writen to his nephew, Salob, who seems at risk of being banished.

I tried my best to make out every word:

Nephew Salob,

As much as I am forced to admire your frankly staggering & baffling level of self-belief in the face of numerous failures, failures that would have punctured the ego of the staunchest Zaunite braggart. I would like to confirm, in writing, that control of the Medarda Clan's commerical portfolio and access to the clan trade map. Which you have long coveted, shall not be granted to you - not now - not in time - nor never.

I suggest you take on a profession more befitting your natural talents - perhaps as a chem-lamp lighter - and be grateful to your aunt, my dear wife, that your ties with the clan are not severed completly.

This will be the end of the matter.

Sincerly,

Jago Medarda

The Medarda family seems to love exiling children that don't fit into the family.

I think Jago is now kind of retconned if Arcane is the new canon, or he's at the very least not the head of the clan and has married into the family. Sun Gates are what made a lot of the families in Piltover rich 200 years ago, it's not mentioned in arcane but we do see them in some arcane maps.

In Arcane Ambessa mentions that she fought battles from the Bloodcliffs to the Dalamor Plains. The Black Rose mentions that she might have had an affair while travelling through Basilich, at least fake-Kino claims that this is the area he heard rumors about Ambessa's affair in. I marked all these places with a red dot on the Runeterra map. Basilich is a Port City, if the affair really did happen here, Mel's father could be from any place in Runeterra.

I'm hoping they will expand on the Medarda family in the future, the Ambessa book will likely have some interesting lore about them in it. It comes out in Feb 2025.

From the Synopsis we already know that there will be a cousin of Ambessa that is named Ta’Fik. I'm guessing he knows that Ambessa had an affair and has bad blood with the Black Rose.

Ambessa Medarda: Warrior, general, mother. She is a woman to be feared, and the Medardas are unrivaled in their pursuit of glory. She has led conquests and armies. She has slain legendary beasts. She has made grave sacrifices in her ascent up the ranks. And for this she was rewarded: She entered the realm of death and was granted a vision of herself upon the throne of the vast Noxian empire. But before she can lead her empire, she must become head of her own clan. Yet the title is contested by her cousin and former confidante, Ta’Fik. He knows the bloody sins of Ambessa’s past. And he knows he cannot allow her to rise. They will fight a war for the very soul of the Medardas. But the war won’t be fought on battlefields alone. Ambessa’s daughter, Mel, can deftly break through the walls around anyone’s heart, and she’ll put her talents to use for her mother. Yet despite Mel’s strength, Ambessa sees only a child who lacks her killer instincts. Mel knows she can be the leader Ambessa wants her to be, if only she gives her time. With her family betraying her, enemies closing in on all sides, and unseen forces moving in the shadows, every day proves more dangerous than the last. But Ambessa will not bow. She will burn the world down to claim her place in it.

[tricksh0t]

★ stag

☾ tywin lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ need that old man part 2, also happy new year

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.43k words

cw: hair pulling, from behind, first time anal for tywin, age gap, use of boy as a nickname for the reader, pretty long, small mention of period-typical homophobia

Tywin was never one for hunts, not the ceremonious ones. Hunting was a necessity. It was not like joustings and tourneys, the entertainment found in the desperation and death of boastful warriors; those, he could understand. It is joy and amusement there, and he knows there is no joy to be found in letting your scouts capture the beast for you. It is duller still to plunge your blade into a helpless creature.

Most of all, there is no necessity to send the Lord Lannister, the commander of the Lannister army, a trusted advisor to the crown hunting. The so-said "better taste" of the game you hunted yourself is nothing but delusion to cover up for the time wasted, he knows this too.

There are always men perfectly capable of hunting for him, and if there aren't any, Westeros is damned for its incompetency.

Tywin only understands a good, old-fashioned hunt with purpose.

His army marches on in its journey to tame the North. Night falls, and dinner must be served. So, he hunts.

He's a noble, still, a man who enjoys the comforts of filling meals and cupbearers and wine, regardless of how worthless they are in showing anything except that he is still wealthy.

That is why here, on the table of his very own tent, he's skinning a stag.

He won't be the only one to eat it, no. The man behind him will, too.

You were, seventeen years ago, a soldier; but, just like now, you were also more than that. You were a killer of Targaryen Generals, which grants you today the title of General too: the Commander of the remaining Baratheon army that is still loyal to the admittedly blonder, true Baratheons.

The Baratheon colors became the Lannister's. Yellow became gold and red, but colors were nothing in the face of loyalty.

Tywin's the Lord of Casterly Rock while you're just a lesser cousin, a distant nephew, the farthest there is from inheriting Storm's End, yet you are only one rank below him in power, and that is something to admire.

Suppose that's why he allows you a cut of his meat.

"You stare." Tywin says.

There's no surprise in the statement, even with his back turned towards you. "I do."

"Yes, you do. Often, might I add. State your intentions, plainly."

You know each other, you might even dare to say, well. Tywin is a clever man, he always considers his alliances and his relationships carefully, and you have his trust. It is not easily given.

That does not mean he won't walk on eggshells around you.

"You know, there's reason to my staring. You're easy to stare at."

"Choose your next words carefully."

You have your worth, you're valueable, you're irreplacable. Digging a dagger into your throat won't be easy.

He wedges the butcher's knife into the table with a strong stab. It'd be anger, if that wasn't his usual way of doing it. Here, it's a show of strength. He turns to face you.

"I apologize, my Lord, it appears I wasn't speaking plainly." You play. Oh, you play. You Baratheons don't know when to quit. "You look good. Not good like the pretty princesses in their skirts, but like the men, if you have seen it, if you can understand it, the men on hot summer days that are still bound to the sword, training, muscles golden under the sun."

Tywin doesn't realize he's entertaining you when he says, "We are under shade. It is almost fall."

"Then let me fix it." You look interested now, sitting up, it's a pursuit. "You hide your body under armor, because one does not need to see your body to see your strength. You are commanding, powerful, outside of the physical. Your voice is deep and it allures me even though you don't intend it."

He raises a brow. At this point, not denying you is encouraging you.

You serve him. He could execute you just for saying this. Men have been killed for less, though that is a kind of command he has never given. This is a first, to be wanted like this, by a man, no less, and since many years.

Tywin picks up his knife, turns towards the table, back to the stag, back to skinning it. He's busying his hands. "Continue."

You stride forward, boot upon the earth like you're sneaking up to prey. He does not move to turn, nor does he open his mouth to stop you.

"You're an admirable man, you're ruthless, you're cunning. You plan ahead, you lead the Crown's army." You huff out something of a laugh at yourself, "I am only feeding your ego now, am I not?"

"You think that will get you somewhere?" Tywin returns. HIs knife separates a stubborn bit of the stag's skin from its muscles with a sickening schlick.

"No, I don't believe so." Your hands come to rest on the table on either side of him. It'd be trapping him if he were any other man but Tywin.

He wields the knife.

"And you think this will get you somewhere?"

"Maybe." Your voice is closer to his ear now. He almost flinches. Instead, you press your nose against his neck, and the rest of your head against the back of his.

Intimacy, warmth. It gets colder the further north you go, but he knows that's not why he isn't pushing you away now.

"I think, you'd have ordered my head or killed me yourself if you weren't interested."

Silence is enough of an answer.

You have been, at times, that man bound to the sword in the summer. Tywin has seen it, though he's never allowed himself more than a glance. He knows the sight of them, but pressed up against him now, he can feel your muscles beneath the thinner garments you wear under your armor.

Much the way you admire the strength of him, he can feel your strength; and again, he has seen it in the way you cleave down your enemies, but he is feeling it now, and it is different.

His silence was enough then, and his words won't be enough now, not unless they are stop or you're dead. So he chooses, instead, to poke fun at you.

"You aren't even the age I was when the Mad King was felled, do you know that, boy?"

If it is a night of entertainment that he'll find today, then he might as well have his fun. After all, he's a noble, still, a man who enjoys his comforts.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" You laugh against the skin of his neck.

The knife comes down into the wood of the table again, threateningly close to your hand. You don't flinch. He admires that.

There's the first couple of kisses against his neck. They're wet, which isn't quite his preference, but they're tolerable.

Tywin sighs, which he regrets quickly.

He gave you an inch, and you took a mile. "What was that?"

"A sigh, boy." His voice is stern. It'd be threatening, if you didn't hear that tone all the time. "Keep going."

Your hands undo the clasps of his leather overgarment, then untuck the shirt from his pants, and then meet his skin. They're cold against his stomach, but quickly warming up as you rub over it, like a lady's belly.

He sneers. "Don't keep that up. Move on."

You laugh. He should smack you, but he doesn't. "Apologies, my Lord."

"Does it please you to call me that?" His hand comes back to grab a handful of your hair, a grasp for control in this situation.

"Yes." You don't deny it.

This desire you have for him is his upper hand. He turns around and roughly tugs your hair back, pulling a wince from you.

He's rougher still with the laces of your pants, undoing them quickly and finally wrapping a hand around your cock. You're different from him, unrestrained, already groaning. "Do you want me because I'm the Lord of Casterly Rock and you're insignificant to the Baratheon house? Are you trying to see which is the highest bed you can sleep on?"

"No-no, my Lord."

That surprises him. He works you quickly, root to tip, the cold and the dryness of it all don't help. "Then what is it?"

"I want you," Instinct calls and you pathetically thrust your hips into his hand. "fuck, because it's your strength and power that make my cock stir."

"Funny, that it's my hand now."

For a moment, Tywin considers if he should continue the affair. Since Stannis and Renly Baratheon's individual rebellions, he hasn't been entirely sure of your loyalty. Blood is thicker than water, and it seems the Baratheon blood in his grandchildren has spread thinner than even water.

You'd be his pet, if he kept this up. The Baratheon army that follows you would be entirely his, secured.

"But a hand isn't what you want, is it?"

He spits on his hand then continues to jerk you off, and, "Fuuck."

"You aren't making it easy to tell." Tywin laughs, thoroughly amused.

"No, my Lord," You gulp back a moan to speak properly in front of your Lord, "I wanna fuck you."

"Fuck me? That's hilarious."

He considers it. It's true that it's something he's never tried, but he's not sure if he's willing to try it at all. Well, then again, men are driven by their cocks, and you're no exception.

"Please."

You sound so pathetic, it's cute. Tywin sighs again, letting go of you. "Alright. Go fetch oil. That is what you men use, yes?"

Tywin was not a youth seventeen years ago, and he is much less a youth now.

That does not mean that his knees are weak, nor that he can't fuck, just that he tires easily. His only concern was to take it with caution.

Sex is such a vulnerable act, after all. That's why it's such a powerful tool.

He never cleaned up the table. There was still blood on it, steadily but lazily flowing out of the stag where he'd cut open right down the middle.

Tywin cared for his cleanliness, but he didn't seem to care right now. His well-established dominance had faded into pleasured sighs and heavy breaths, as this was a sensation he'd never felt before.

It isn't how he imagined it, like a cold, struggling humping against his back and into the only hole he'd let you use.

Instead, there's pleasure in it, his nerves lighting up with shocks as if lightning. Then there was one that spot you'd rub against sometimes with terrible consistency.

It's carnal, is what it is.

Your lips find his neck again, and he lets out a shaky sigh. The kisses you give are wet, and he likes it.

With each time your pelvis meets his ass, his breath gets shakier.

"My Lord–"

"Don't speak."

It's terrifying, how much Tywin likes this. He'd always thought queer men to be bumbling fools, if only he knew the pleasure that came with it.

Your hand finds it, he takes it, squeezes it. It's somewhat of a blood union, with stag's blood.

The irony of it, a dead stag, a Baratheon fucking him.

Some sort of possession runs through him. You wear his colors.

"Fuck." He says, an indecency. This is indecent. This is fraternization. Oh, but he couldn't care less right now.

His head comes back, finds your hair again. He tugs, causing your lips to pull off his neck with a smack. He does it for nothing but the pleasure of hearing you gasp, a grasp for control where he finds it.

"My Lord." You don't seek to speak this time, he knows it. You're only moaning out for him, and it's rather pleasing.

He leans down further, pressing his ass into you, pushing your cock deeper into him. His back arches like a whore's. It's unbecoming.

And yet the heat feeds into it. It's still cold, here, but the way you work your bodies heats the both of you up in what feels like a mania to have more, to seek more, to want more, to fuck because you need it.

It's like a fire in his old, worn body.

The hand that was holding his travels down to his body, grasping his cock. Tywin gasps. His hand quickly follows, wrapping around your wrist with a slapping sound, and yet he doesn't pull it off.

It's stimulation on both sides, your hand around his cock and his asshole clenching around yours.

He almost loses his mind.

He tugs at your hair again, pulling another groan from your lips. It's a reminder of his control. You enjoy calling him your Lord, so he has to remind you that the title has meaning to it, before he loses himself to instinct.

He does, in the next moment, opening his mouth to let out a breath of a groan.

He shuts it, quickly. Tents are only fabric.

His hips follow in pursuit of instinct and pleasure, anyway; forward into your hand, finding pleasure for his length, then backwards onto your cock, spearing himself open.

When he cums, his mouth falls just slightly open to moan as quiet as instinct allows, and his hole clenches around you in tandem. You follow soon enough, groaning into his skin with enough restraint to remember you are an army general.

Tywin leans against the dirty table to catch his breath, before he's back to a fearsome commander the next moment.

"Get yourself tidied up." He's pulling his garments back on rather impersonally, because he cannot stay vulnerable. "And do not speak a word of this to anyone."

Despite that, there is some joy to knowing he's enjoyed this, especially as you wipe off the evidence of his pleasure on the dirty rag he'd been using to clean the blood off his hands. "Yes, my Lord."

"Keep that smirk off your face, boy." Tywin's face is back to cold and emotionless, though there is something of an amused lift to his eyes. "When next you decide to seduce me, do pick a better location. Army encampments are dreadful enough."

You can hardly speak about next time before he waves you off.

You'll see him later tonight, anyhow.

Tywin does not care to make sure you're walking away when he turns around, because it's the best he can do to hide the amused smirk that rises on his lips. A new pet, hm?

A smell makes itself apparent and Tywin remembers there is still a stag to skin.

[hexlenx]

And second request!(well technically third but still, hhihihi-) Once more, army badass aloof fem reader but this time attending the ball where Vronsky meets Anna. She dances with Anna and is slightly interested in her, but Anna of course is interested in Vronsky, only for surprise surprises, Vronsky is interested in the reader! All of this of course still being a reader x Vronsky if it makes sense, i just found the idea a bit silly if the reader is mainly army oriented and rarely enjoys herself such as attending balls and Vronsky finds this as a perfect opportunity to attempt to spend more time with her under the guise of simple officers chatting together while of course he puts on his best charm, only for her to be already dancing with Anna. Bonus points if reader ends up introducing Anna to Vronsky or something. Also reader slightly oblivious. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME!

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to post, love. I was trying to fit the scenes together because I wanted the image(how the scenes look in the imagination as well as the emotion in the words.) to look good together. It was a challenge because we all know that Vronsky is a very strong character and Anna is also a complicated person to write about in my words because she gets carried away by her emotions often, right? I do hope you like this one and I'm really grateful that you trust me in making your ideas come true with writing!! Make more requests if you have any more ideas you'd like me to write about, I love a challenge!

MY GAZE IS FIXED ON YOU AND ONLY YOU — alexei vronsky

note: as usual I do not own any of the characters and the plot is from our lovely requestor @petalsbloom ! I am only the writer for their amazing ideas!

warnings!: none other than alexei being hot fr.

__________________

You have always hated parties, specifically balls. You just didn't understand why they should hold a type of party like this just to dance and mingle with the nobles. It was deemed unnecessary for you, well perhaps it's because you are a general that you have no such need for something like this.

Being a general has its perks, having connections already made from the army, even with the most notorious noble House of Russia, the Dukedom. It made you feared, admired, wanted and most of all, powerful. It is no surprise that you wanted that power, though you remained humble and modest about it. Power is a big responsibility and you wanted it, now that you have it, you are satisfied.

At least until your gaze was swept away by something you've never thought would leave you unsatisfied with your standing.

The ballroom was filled with the voices of nobles and soldiers alike who wanted to create connections as well as to mingle for the night. You were beside a pillar to the east side of the room, standing quietly as you leaned against the pillar with a wine in hand.

Unlike the young noble ladies in the ball, you were wearing a formal dress that looked like what the men were wearing. Navy robes that look that of a royal, fitted pants with the same air of colors and golden buttons as well as accents to finish the beautiful and manly outfit that fitted your curves. It is not ideal for a woman in the society but they cannot deny you looked devilishly good looking. Your hair, though, was in a low ponytail to fit your look and your face naturally free from makeup as you looked beautifully without it.

You were bored, very bored. It was your first time in attending a ball as you've rejected it multiple times before becoming curious onto seeing what it felt like being in one. Your curiosity killed you, with boredom.

You sipped on the cold wine in your hand as you looked around in a daze, you were looking for a time to escape but something passed by your sight, causing you to follow it.

A woman, beautiful, enticing and seductive walked from your sight. She was dressed in a black gown, contrasting the bright colors around you. It hugged her figure, curves highlighted from the corset tied against her waist, shoulders peeked out with no dress sleeves making you see her shoulder blades from the back, it enticed you, intrigued you.

Your eyes followed her figure as you sipped from your wine once again, not daring to look away, afraid that you will lose sight of her when you do. The woman stopped in front of the Princess of the night, Princess Kitty, the one debuting along with other noble ladies. She seemed to be close with the princess and pushed said princess lightly towards a man dressed in white that fitted his figure nicely. It was Count Vronsky, a fellow general in the army.

But you had your gaze fixed on the woman who caught your interest to even notice the intense gaze of a pair of ocean blue eyes that belonged to a certain Count.

The moment the Princess went to dance with the Count who seemed to be a bit in disdain as he elegantly moved the practiced choreo for the ball, you began your way to the woman who watched by the entrance of the ball. She was watching the pair in a bit of sadness, wishing it was her dancing with the man, not that you knew.

Clearing your throat the moment you were beside her, you took her hand and kissed the back of it while putting your gaze onto hers intensely, not pulling away for a second when she finally noticed you. The gaze of yours made her flustered but her mind was reminded of a certain ocean eyed man's gaze when you did the action.

"May I have this dance, M'lady?" You uttered out to her in a husky manner as you were entranced by her beauty. Not trusting her voice, the woman nodded and with that you swept her away from the entrance and into the ballroom.

To you, it felt like a dream, it felt like it was only the two of you dancing in the middle of an empty ballroom. Something you have never felt before and it made you feel warmth, your heartbeat steadily beating faster than normal as you lifted the enticing woman up before slowly letting her down. Eyes locking intensely as your chests were held closely together, faces inches away, lips almost locking as you stared into her dark brown eyes. It was a fantasy come true that you didn't even dream of having.

But sadly without you noticing, the woman was only looking at a certain Count dancing with the Princess who looked heartbroken when she saw the gazes of her partner and yours locking as if in a trance. What the princess didn't know was that, the Count wasn't looking at her friend, but on you. He was clenching his teeth behind his closed jaw, jealousy running through his veins as he saw how closely you were with the woman.

How he hated you being with someone else entirely from him.

Alexei didn't really want to attend this ball as he'd rather be in his home or perhaps with you, if he found you. That is until he heard from a colleague of his that you were attending the debutante ball for the Princess. That's how he ended up talking with the other generals in one spot of the room. His ears listening to the chatter but his mind and eyes going elsewhere, he was trying to find you.

Taking a sip from his drink, he bid the men goodbye before walking around the sides of the room to find where you are. Nodding towards other nobles who greeted him, shaking hands with the men, he was annoyed but he didn't show it on his face as he smiled politely towards the people who blocked his path now and then.

A flash of navy from the other side of the room caught his eye and he saw you, walking like the queen you are, his eyes taking in your appearance, the curves highlighted by your fitted outfit, the way it hugged your waist, your hips swaying as you walked and—Alexei bit his lip to stop himself from groaning in such a public setting, his eyes settled down onto your thighs that seemed too thick for the tight pants you wore. He always had a thing for those but only for you.

He saw you walking towards the entrance where a woman in black and the Princess were busy talking to each other. He quickly moved his feet towards the location, stopping only a couple of meters away from the Princess before he got called by said Princess, who turned around when the woman in black tilted her head towards behind her.

"Oh, Count Vronsky! How is your night?" Princess Kitty greeted the blond man who clicked his tongue silently from being interrupted. He masked his disdain and proceeded to take the Princess' hand and kissed the back of it to show respect. It was obvious that this young woman wanted him to court her and he couldn't reject her in front of a large audience as she was a Princess, disrespecting her right now would mean treason for the Royals.

"Your Highness, you look lovely today and I quite enjoy the bustle of today's ball with you as the center of it." He compliments the Princess who was oblivious to the sarcasm in his words, not that it was obvious but his eyes held that word as it crinkled in irritation but it looked as if he was flirting with the young Princess.

Years of practice, I suppose.

Knowing what this would lead to, he offered a dance for the Princess who joyfully accepted his proposal thinking he was interested in her, which sadly he was not. His eyes locked briefly with the woman behind her before sweeping across the floor with the Princess.

Throughout the dance, he was bored and irritated but his mask was perfectly worn as the Princess successfully remained oblivious to such disdain. The dance was about to end and he was planning on asking you to a dance after.

But as he moved his finishing steps, he saw you, with a woman, the one the Princess was talking to, the woman who wore a black dress that contrasted the bright colors of the gowns around them, that woman.

Jealousy build up in his veins as he slowly came to stop as he watched the both of you. The way you looked at woman made his eye twitch in anger, it should be him. It should only be him.

As he kept watching, he didn't notice that he stopped dancing and the Princess looking heartbroken by the sight in front of her. She didn't know that he was looking at you as your back was turned against her and she could only see her friend, Anna Karenina. Jealousy and sadness filled her as she looked back and forth from Alexei to Anna, it looked like they were both entranced with each other but in truth, Alexei had his gaze stuck on the female general's back.

Breathing in heavily, Kitty slowly walked away from the Count who didn't even notice her. This just proved that he will never belong to her, not when his gaze was filled with admiration and infatuation on another woman that is not her.

Alexei continued to watch you dance with that woman, jaw clenching in disdain. You looked like you were in a daze and when you and your partner finished the dance with your bodies so close to each other, he snapped and walked away.

You didn't notice it as your gaze was fixed on the woman in front of you who smiled at you after thanking you for the dance before walking away to the same direction Alexei went. As you stood in the middle of the ballroom you thought.

I'm going to make her mine, just you wait.

But what you didn't know was that a certain Count thought of the same thing but his declaration was not directed towards the woman in black, but to you.

[sabo-torao]

Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

[violetsastrocytes]

unhinged regulus (my fave)

hey hello i thought i'd quickly talk about regulus in my lotss fic... i feel like people are gonna have problems with him—so here's some musings/ramblings etc!

so i really enjoy the idea of exploring human nature, and to me this means a flawed character. in lotss regulus is not a good person. there's good in him, sure, but on the whole he's morally corrupt and has a detrimental fuck-it-we-ball attitude. he relishes in destruction and indulges in his volatility. like he persuaded sirius to literally bind them together with a potentially fatal and 100% illegal spell at ten fucking years old, because he was like whelp. i'm gonna miss you when you go to highschool. and he's manipulative as shit, because sirius was like oh yeah, horcruxes, solid plan, and then does it.

regulus joins the army, yes to protect sirius, yes so sirius doesn't have to, but he would've joined anyway. he LOVES the power it gives him. he finds murdering fun. genuinely fun. he likes to tease his victims, he likes to draw their death out, he thinks it's hilarious when they cry and beg. and sure, okay, these are unambiuously bad people, veela traffickers etc, reg doesn't feel this way when he's on the battlefield and it's basically soldiers just like him. but still, it does take a certain character to not only carry out, but relish in murder.

i took a lot of inspiration for his and General Riddle's relationship from Silko and Jinx (from Arcane). i thought that dynamic was the best ever, like here are two hurt, damaged, chaotic and morally deranged people. they enable each other, they care for each other (genuinely). i'm obsessed with Arcane so think about it way too much, but Silko's last words to Jinx "you're perfect" make me wanna scream. because to him she is. that's what a daughter is to a father—a true father. flawed and tainted and morally ugly, blood all over her hands—but she is still his daughter, he forgives her, he loves her. despite, because of, regardless.

anyway my whole point with this ramble—i feel like lots of marauders fics ive read ultimately try and either validate, justify or redeem a character's unjust actions or corrupt nature. that's totally valid obviously, but that's not what i've done in lotss. regulus never regrets his behaviour, even when it ends up costing him someone he really, really loves. even then he continues to do it, he continues to enjoy it. he never has any big revelation and goes fuck. i messed up.

and general riddle—we've seen him manipulate, coerce and trap nagini. so we're against him. but then we see him from regulus' pov—who admires and trusts him—and he seems like a nice guy. so then we're like okay, is he a dick or is he nice? but isn't everyone both sides of that coin?

i really tried to show that while, on the whole, he's an upstanding leader, fighting for good causes (and is non-discriminative: there's a vast and inclusive representation of genders and races in the death eater army, something which is notably absent from the ministry-affiliated order and bmaf) even then riddle's hungry for more power. he wants to experiment and test the limits of his magic. my whole moral of the story thing with lotss is that power corrupts. there is NO GOOD SIDE. i'll say it again: no one wins in war.

like that line in hotd, where alicent says wtf are we even fighting for anymore? and rhaenyra is like lol idk. i was reading about the vietnam war recently: america and australia sent all those men in, then realised they were being fucking decimated and were like, oh fuck, and pulled them out again. thousands dead. literally for fucking what. anyway, all that to say: i'm not trying to use a character (regulus) who is generally well-liked by the fandom in order to try and justify or advocate for violence. his behaviour is just me experimenting with another way trauma can play out, like don't forget the circumstances of his birth, or the fact that he had to watch sirius being abused. sirius' magic was tested by orion to the point where he almost died multiple times. it effected sirius one way, it effected regulus another.

anyway! it's a story loves, not meant to be serious xo as i said before, take it all with a pinch of salt. and if you happen to watch arcane, tell me so we can try about it together!

[sforzesco]

What do you mean when you say that Pompey is a lover in a story of inescapable violence? I am extremely intrigued

the Late Republic is a stage of violence intent on gorging itself on this violence, the structure of the system leaves no other outcome.

Pompey is both someone born into this cycle and someone who is an acting hand of violence. He fashions himself after a military ideal, Alexander the Great, he positions himself as Sulla’s successor in the arena of political spectacle (rising/setting sun), he is Rome’s conquering hand.

He’s also, in Plutarch’s biography, intensely aware of matters of love and romance and does not treat them as an idle and casual affair. It is, in some way, an inherent part of his character. He is the ideal of a husband, even if it conflicts with whatever other ideals he’s supposed to embody, and apparently trades in his role as a general to remain in Rome with his wife.

We are told that Flora the courtesan, when she was now quite old, always took delight in telling about her former intimacy with Pompey, saying that she never left his embraces without bearing the marks of his teeth. Furthermore, Flora would tell how Geminius, one of Pompey's companions, fell in love with her and annoyed her greatly by his attentions; and when she declared that she could not consent to his wishes because of Pompey, Geminius laid the matter before Pompey. Pompey, accordingly, turned her over to Geminius, but never afterwards had any thing at all to do with her himself, although he was thought to be enamoured of her; and she herself did not take this treatment as a mere courtesan would, but was sick for a long time with grief and longing. (…) Moreover, Pompey also treated the wife of Demetrius his freedman (who had the greatest influence with him and left an estate of four thousand talents) with a lack of courtesy and generosity unusual in him, fearing lest men should think him conquered by her beauty, which was irresistible and far-famed. But though he was so extremely cautious in such matters and on his guard, still he could not escape the censures of his enemies on this head, but was accused of illicit relations with married women, to gratify whom, it was said, he neglected and betrayed many public interests.

Plut. Pomp. 2

All this won him admiration and affection; but on the other hand he incurred a corresponding displeasure, because he handed over his provinces and his armies to legates who were his friends, while he himself spent his time with his wife among the pleasure-places of Italy, going from one to another, either because he loved her, or because she loved him so that he could not bear to leave her; for this reason too is given. Indeed, the fondness of the young woman for her husband was notorious, although the mature age of Pompey did not invite such devotion. The reason for it, however, seems to have lain in the chaste restraint of her husband, who knew only his wedded wife, and in the dignity of his manners, which were not severe, but full of grace, and especially attractive to women, as even Flora the courtesan may be allowed to testify.

Plut. Pomp. 53

Nevertheless, the marriage was displeasing to some on account of the disparity in years; for Cornelia's youth made her a fitter match for a son of Pompey. 3 Those, too, who were more critical, considered that Pompey was neglect­ful of the unhappy condition of the city, which had chosen him as her physician and put herself in his sole charge; whereas he was decking himself with garlands and celebrating nuptials, though he ought to have regarded his very consul­ship as a calamity, since it would not have been given him in such an illegal manner had his country been prosperous.

Plut. Pomp. 55

The messenger, finding her in this mood, could not bring himself to salute her, but indicated to her the most and greatest of his misfortunes by his tears rather than by his speech, and merely bade her hasten if she had any wish to see Pompey with one ship only, and that not his own. When she heard this, she cast herself upon the ground and lay there a long time bereft of sense and speech. At last, however, and with difficulty, she regained her senses, and perceiving that the occasion was not one for tears and lamentations, she ran out through the city to the sea. Pompey met her and caught her in his arms as she tottered and was falling. "I see thee," she cried, "husband, not by thy fortune, but by mine, reduced to one small vessel, thou who before thy marriage with Cornelia didst sail this sea with five hundred ships. Why hast thou come to see me, and why didst thou not leave to her cruel destiny one who has infected thee also with an evil fortune so great? What a happy woman I had been if I had died before hearing that Publius, whose virgin bride I was, was slain among the Parthians! And how wise if, even after his death, as I essayed to do, I had put an end to my own life! But I was spared, it seems, to bring ruin also upon Pompey the Great."

So spake Cornelia, as we are told, and Pompey answered, saying: "It is true, Cornelia, thou hast known but one fortune to be mine, the better one, and this has perhaps deceived thee too, as well as me, in that it remained with me longer than is customary. But this reverse also we must bear, since we are mortals, and we must still put fortune to the test. For I can have some hope of rising again from this low estate to my former high estate, since I fell from that to this.”

Plut. Pomp. 74-75

I have some vague thought in here about how Pompey was entrusted with Rome’s safety, and that conflicts with his Lover status because you can’t love something more than Rome without Rome deciding to cast you out, and it also prevents him from reclaiming his Soldier role in the ensuing war with Caesar. Doomed by Rome, doomed by Love, doomed by Fortune, etc. but also simply the inevitable cycle of war and violence, the ever turning wheel of Rome.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Okay now that we know Lullaby was on Amazon Lily with Luffy, I’m assuming she goes to Marineford too. Which then makes me think of the whole “Rosy and the Admirals” post. So what I’m getting to is that all of the Admirals are in shock from seeing this kid that looks exactly like the woman they were sleeping with and know had a kid.

Akainu is probably too busy questioning his life choices, especially now that he knows his maybe child is a pirate, to keep fighting, and is just frozen in place.

Meanwhile, Kizaru and Aokiji both take a moment to be in shock, before rushing over to her in panic because she’s in the middle of a war zone. This leads to them both stopping right in front of her and realizing that they were both sleeping with Rosy. This could lead to a fight between them, but I think it would be funnier if, given how well their personalities mesh, they decide to say “screw it” just go full Mamma Mia, accepting that they’re both her fathers. Does this mean that Kizaru is going to Join Aokiji in his midlife crisis? Will Aokiji decide that he wants that stinky warthog Blackbeard nowhere near his daughter? I say yes. I think it would be even better if they join the Revolutionary Army, considering that they can’t be admirals anymore, and they both have issues with the government, so now Dragon is part of the newly formed Dad Alliance, whether he likes it or not.

I am so sorry for the long ask, but I just can’t help myself. Your writing is so good, it brings my creative side out.

Never apologize for sending a long ask, I live for them!

Yes, Lullaby does end up at Marineford despite the Boa sisters' best efforts. Hancock has Sandersonia and Marigold stay on Amazon Lily to keep Lullaby safe and away from the danger. Lullaby, of course, objects to it and does what she does best and sneaks onto the Perfume Yuda before they can leave. Hancock gets a frantic call from her sisters saying that they lost their niece, and she's very close to turning the ship around when Lullaby pops out of a barrel and asks what the commotion is about with a smirk on her face. Hancock is torn between being upset that Lullaby has put herself into danger and feeling a nostalgic pang in her heart because this is such a Rosy thing to do.

Lullaby manages to then also sneak off the ship later because she assumes that Sanji is going to show up at some point to help, and she needs to see for herself that he is okay.

Now by this point, both Aokiji and Kizaru have already seen her. Aokiji saw her when he first encountered the Straw Hats to try and capture Robin. To say that it completely threw him off his game would be an understatement. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing his presumed dead child alive and well and right in front of him. All of a sudden, he very generously offers to strike a deal with the Straw Hats. He's going to pretend like he never saw them, and all that they have to do is let him have Lullaby. That, of course, doesn't happen and they manage to get away.

Then at Sabaody, Kizaru sees her when he's attacking the Straw Hats. He's about to land a blow on Sanji when he feels tiny fists wailing on his leg. He glances down only to completely freeze up when he sees her face. His mind is racing as he puts together who she is, but before he can make any move to grab her, Kuma appears and uses his powers to send her away.

Marineford is the first chance that Akainu gets to see her. He can't believe what he's seeing. The kid that he thought was dead is not only alive, but is also a fucking pirate. He's questioning if this is his punishment for being happy about his own potential child being dead. All he can do is stare at her while being frozen in place. Part of him wants to get rid of her here and now to preserve his reputation... but the tiny sliver of a conscience that he has left is making him hesitate. He's killed people before. He's killed children before. But now that it's possibly his kid... he doesn't know what to do. Can he really look his own daughter in the eye as he ends her life? He feels sick and is paralyzed.

When Aokiji and Kizaru see her at Marineford, neither of them are messing around. They are going to get their daughter no matter what it takes. They're in such a rush to get her out of an active war zone that neither of them notice the other until they're both grabbing onto one of her arms to pull her away.

They genuinely don't care that both of them were sleeping with Rosy. She's a sex worker and neither of them were delusional enough to believe that they were exclusive. And frankly, neither of them were in love with her. Aokiji was very fed up with her towards the end, and Kizaru only offered for her to quit and come live with him for the sake of creating a stable home life for Lullaby. However, they are shocked to realize that both of them had been told that they were the father. They slowly start to realize the extent of Rosy's paternity fraud scheme as more and more people just at Marineford try to make a grab for Lullaby while insisting that they are actually the father. Neither of them are happy about this, but they quickly agree to work together for the time being when Doflamingo tries to snatch her up.

You can see Sengoku's hair graying in real time as he realizes that all three of his admirals had baby mama drama with not only the same woman, but over the same child. He accidentally yells at Garp out of instinct.

Aokiji really didn't need much encouragement to leave the marines. He would much rather focus on raising his daughter in peace than deal with any more marine bullshit. Kizaru was more hesitant and only left when he realized that the marines weren't going to be willing to ignore the fact that Lullaby was a part of a pirate crew even though she's only seven. He's so horrified by them wanting to execute her for her involvement that he leaves immediately. He did not just get his daughter back only to watch her be killed for bullshit reasons.

I think that them defecting to the Revolutionary Army makes the most sense. Both of them have problems with the world government, and helping the Revolutionary Army would be the most logical way to possibly fix that. Aokiji does not want his baby anywhere near Blackbeard or the rest of his freaky crew, so he never teams up with him in this au.

Aokiji and Kizaru agree to co-parent Lullaby purely because neither of them want to even entertain the idea that they aren't the father. They have invested too much in this emotionally to risk taking a test that could come back negative for both of them. They would much rather live in blissful ignorance. That, and they both feel like they are some of the best father candidates, especially with people like Doflamingo and Kaido being among them.

[josefavomjaaga]

"All those promises have gone up in smoke..."

As mentioned several times already, when Eugène in June 1805 received that glorious post of Dork on Duty Viceroy of Italy, he did so quite unexpectedly. And while Hortense casually mentions that Eugène being elevated to such honours had caused quite some "humeur" in the family, in particular from Murat, the freshly chosen viceroy himself was equally exasperated at being thus abandoned to the hostile Lombardian wilderness left alone in Milan.

He actually had received Napoleon's promise for two trips to Paris every year. We know what became of it, the first time Eugène would return to France was in late 1809, to see his mother leave the Tuileries. If he already suspected as much or not, in any case he also, before the French court said Arrividerci and returned home, demanded from everybody who would listen that they absolutely needed to write to him!

At least that is what can be guessed from a passage in a letter to his sister Hortense, dated Monza, 9 August 1805. (There is a -minor?- caveat to this letter: it's not an original, but apparently a copy, from a notebook in Hortense's possession. The original seems to be lost. A caveat because I have already seen in other places that whoever put together these copies, and for whatever purpose - yes, I am looking at you, Madame la Reine! - in some cases has taken quite some liberties with the original text.)

[...] Would you believe, my sister, that since I took leave of Mama she has not written to me or even sent me any news of her? You wouldn't believe the pain it's causing me. She cried so much when she left me, she told me so many times that she would lose her only support […]

… and then someone showed her the latest fashion catalogue on the way back to Paris and everything else was forgotten. Come on, Eugène, you should know your mum by now.

But it's not only her.

[...] Madame de la Rochefoucauld had promised to write to me. Bessières was supposed to write me a line every morning; I have only received one letter from him so far. Clarke never sent me a word. In the end, all those promises went up in smoke. My good Hortense, Lavalette and my friend Duroc are the only ones who have not forgotten me. [...]

His righteous indignation at such treatment clearly audible, echoing through two centuries. And it is indeed a bit astonishing to see Eugène, who had been generally well-liked, even admired during the Consulate, so quickly abandonned to himself. Maybe it's just how royal courts work, or at least how Napoleon's court worked: if you are not there, under the eyes of the Master, you're unimportant.

Or maybe Eugène, 24, out of his depth with his new task, overwhelmed with work he was not used to and did not cherish much, desperate at having to displease somebody whatever he did, exaggerated. A little. His desperate pleas would seize rather quickly a year later, after his marriage.

But there's still some time to go until then. And before it happened, best buddy Bessières who had promised to write every morning and now could not be bothered, surely would hear an earful!

Milan, 24 July 1805 [...] It is very wrong of you, my friend, to write to me so little, to forget me like this, and to not answer my letters at last. Every officer or courier returning from the great army has been questioned about your health and each one tells me: Marshal Bessières sends you his compliments, he will write to you with the first courier. And they all arrive with the same message. You have no more good reasons to give now that you are in Paris, so I commend myself to your friendship. Your faithful friend Eugène N

Your faithful and rather pissed-off friend, I might add. [Emphasis in the original text, btw, underlined] Eugène doubles down on it the next day:

Please be convinced, my dear Bessières, that the only soothing tonic I can have is news from you; I am flattered that I will already have a few letters on the way, which I will soon receive, and this idea sustains me.

However, it takes until 19 August until Eugène finally can tell Bessières:

At last I have received a letter from you, my dear Bessières. I confess I was beginning to think you had forgotten me. If you had promised me less, you might have kept more. I will write you a note every day, you told me; and I had only asked you for one a week, and that one, without fulfilling my friendship, would have satisfied it.

Bessie for once being a true Gascon, talking big and promising much, apparently.

Don't tire, my friend, of writing to me and thinking of me; I need to know that the people I love have not forgotten me. My lot is a fine one, no doubt, but it cannot stop me from regretting, and regretting very sincerely, my former life.

As we do not have Bessières' letters, there's no way of knowing what excuse Bessières gave for not writing as he had promised. Maybe the friendship always had been a one-sided thing and much stronger from Eugène's side, and Bessières was secretely relieved to be rid of this overly excitable oversized toddler he had been babysitting for so long? Though, admittedly, that would make me sad.

[abarbaricyalp]

77 for the kink prompts 👀 (if you like!)

77: Wish Fulfillment

Is this mostly wish fulfillment for me? Maybe so

(Also I chose this title specifically for you)

AO3 Link

Knee Deep In The Pilot Seat

It had started with Sam’s casual musing as Bucky willed his eyes to stop watering in the stinging wind.

“You know, Top Gun’s part of the reason I joined the Air Force?” 

“That’s the one with the blond guy and the Mission Impossible guy?” Bucky had asked.

“You have an eidetic memory. I know that you know their names,” Sam drolled.

Bucky had been in a fighter jet before. He’d fought in them. Still, it was impressive to see one up close with his own eyes, all sleek and impressive and large. He’d also never been on a carrier before and that was an experience in and of itself. If only the open ocean wind hadn’t been trying to dry out his entire tear ducts.

“You know, this is the Navy, right?” he pointed out. “You just assumed Air Force ‘cause of the jet, huh?” he teased.

And Sam had rolled his eyes and bitched about knowing the difference and not wanting to go to Michigan for basics. Lackland was less than a day’s drive from home. Close enough to get back, too far for anyone to come searching. Et cetera, et cetera.

“Besides,” Sam had said with a laugh, “I got my wings eventually,” he said. “I think I came out on top.”

“Yeah, I think you did too,” Bucky agreed.

“Still, this is supremely sexy.”

“Well, you’re that anyway too” Bucky pointed out. But he hadn’t been able to ignore the gleam in Sam’s eyes, the tilt of his chin and swell of his chest as he looked at the fighter jet.

They’d been called out to the aircraft carrier by a colleague of a colleague of a colleague of Sam’s, traveling across the military until it reached them. Well, reached Sam. As usual, Bucky was pretty sure he was a surprise to the people who’d called.

“I know this isn’t really an Avengers job,” the general (or admiral or aviator or whatever they were called when they were both on a boat and in jets) had told them. “But we wanted to keep this on this deck only. No other chain of command.”

Sam had raised his eyebrow for Bucky and gone into the specifics of the issue. Something about a potential “villain,” a term which the admiral looked like he was having to swallow hot coals to say. There had been issues on this boat before, understand, so they couldn’t take a flimsy report to the higher ups, and he didn’t want any of his crew (cast? pilots? whatever, the army was not this confusing) to get reprimanded for something they didn’t do, or something that was out of their control. His team was good people. If someone was going supervillain, it wasn’t their fault.

Which seemed desperately optimistic.

Everyone had been cleared off of the carrier so Sam, and Bucky, could investigate without any trouble. Bucky would have preferred to talk to the people who worked on the carrier. All of the pilots, the engineers, the navigators, the maintenance crew. What had happened on the boat was beyond their control now. If they were going to stop anyone, they had to know about the actors at play. 

The incident, upon investigation, had happened in the hangar of the ship. Carrier ships were huge. (“Why are these things so big?” Bucky had asked as he followed Sam down a ladder towards the hangar. “They have to catch jets going 150 miles an hour. They need room to slow down,” Sam had answered. And Bucky let him know exactly how crazy these pilots [and Sam included for ever wanting to do this] were. And Sam had pointed out that the EXO wings were definitely crazier. Which was true.) And carrier ship hangars took up a lot of that room. Still, there weren’t as many jets as he was expecting and what was there was… Well.

“What the hell?” Sam had breathed.

“He said super villain,” Bucky sighed back.

The dozen or so jets that were in the hangar were completely demolished. Some were crushed down into something almost resembling a large lall of metal and tail fins. Others were ripped apart, whole entire panels missing, gouges scores in segments that measured feet across.

Then they’d bickered about what could’ve done this, and if it was even plausible for something to be physically large enough in the space to make marks like that without tearing apart the rest of the ship, and what their next steps should be. Sam had left to review footage from flight control. Bucky had investigated the rest of the ship, including the bunks and meeting rooms. They’d met back up on deck to disengage and recoup the next day.

All in all, it had kind of made Bucky’s head spin. He was no Dick Tracy and it hadn’t been in his pardon that superhero bullshit would include investigative bullshit too. But the atmosphere of the beach was nice and Sam had regaled him all night with stories about his trainings and what he wanted to be as a kid and what he still wanted to do as a grown up kid. And the waves crashed as they sat in the sand and stared off at a horizon that hid a ship with a secret.

The next day, Bucky showed up onboard after Sam, begging off an hour in the morning to snoop around inland to see what the crew was up to. He showed up in a coverall flight suit with aviators and a smug little grin on his face.

Sam stared at him. He couldn’t help it. He looked half ridiculous and half like a wet dream walking across the deck. He’d left the flight suit unzipped almost all the way down to his belly button to accommodate his shoulders and also because he was an asshole who knew he looked good. Sam had confirmed that the surveillance on the boat had been shot to shit during whatever had happened to the hangar, so this show was only for Sam.

“What are you doing?” he asked when Bucky got closer. Sam had been standing under the wing of one of the fighter jets–ostensibly because he was looking for any signs of damage but mostly because it provided shade and made him feel like a pilot checking on his machine before he went up in the air.

“I dunno what you’re talking about, flyboy,” Bucky called back, hop-jogging the last few steps until he could crowd Sam up against the body of the jet. He held out a leather bomber jacket. The exact kind that everyone associated with pilots ‘cause of history and the movies alike.

Sam eyed it warily, but pulled it on without complaint. “What are you doing?” he repeated. “Where did you even find this stuff?”

“Turns out, second hand shops around base have a lot of shit they really probably shouldn’t,” Bucky admitted.

There was a cigarette, unlit and clean because Bucky didn’t smoke, tucked behind his ear. His hair, grown out a little, was slicked back and curled just a little. Sam wanted his hands all over the other man. “Now, come on, birdie. Don’t keep teasing a guy. You gonna show me your ride or not?”

Sam felt himself flush from his hairline down to his toes. “Buck,” he objected with no conviction whatsoever. He put his hand on Bucky’s chest to push him away, but found himself curling his fingers in the zipper of the coveralls and tugging him forward instead. “What makes you think you keep to see my gal?” he asked, affecting Bucky’s drawling old-timey accent.

“Is it better or worse that I don’t really care about the bird?” Bucky mused. His hand went from Sam’s lapel down to his shoulder, his ribs, his hip, back to his ass, where it stopped so Bucky could grab a handful of it and squeeze. “Got my eyes on what I want already.”

“You got something I should call you, aviator?” Sam asked, heart and stomach dropping out from him as he realized he was playing along. His adrenaline and arousal happily took over for real sense.

“They call me Winter Soldier,” Bucky purred. “‘Cause I’m stone cold.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, but when Bucky squeezed his ass again, he had to focus on not groaning.

“What about you, precious? What do they call you?”

“Falcon,” Sam said, the name rolling off his tongue while his brain was currently offline. “You never hear me coming.”

“Oh, now I bet that’s not true at all. Bet I could get you loud.”

The rest of Sam’s dignity slipped away and he tilted forward to catch Bucky’s mouth on his, keeping them hidden under the wing of the jet like any of this was real and someone may come out on deck and catch them.

Read the rest on AO3

[unknowntoyou2205]

Bring me home for Christmas

Info: Steve and Y/n have been married for many years, having grown up together, and y/n’s wish for Christmas is to go back to the olden days

Relationship: Steve Rogers x reader

Steve and y/n were married for many years, having joined the army together and taken part in Starks studies, they had spent most of their lives together. Y/n had refused to let Steve go through the unknown without her, so had winded up being injected with the super serum as well as Steve. They had ended up in the same plane that crashed many months later, but when they were recovered and defrosted, Steve had asked y/n to marry him straight away. They had their ceremony in a registers office, just the two of them and some random scientist as a bystander.

Now 5 years into their new lives, all was well for them. Y/n couldn’t have children due to the ice damaging her reproductive system, but the couple never cared for that. Their lives were too dangerous to bring a child into the world. Instead, any free time they had together they spent exploring their new world, admiring the advancements of which the world lived in today. What y/n was most fascinated by, was the lights that now dawned the towns or Christmas.

Steve had always known of y/n’s fascination with Christmas. Growing up, she would always be the first to sit on Santa’s knee, and tell him what she wanted that year. Every year she’d wind up at Steves, helping decorate the tree with the few decorations they could afford back then. But seeing her admire the festivities now, brought a smile to his face.

“Whatcha thinking?” He asked with a smile, seeing her dazed off look. “Just admiring.” Y/n sighed, moving to lean her head on his shoulder. “You always did love Christmas.” Steve mused, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s the most magical time of the year.” Y/n stated, causing Steve to laugh as he buried his head into her hair. “I believe you love.” Steve stated, kissing her head lightly before catching her lips with his. “Makes me miss the olden days though, when the towns weren’t so busy and you could hear the songs that played.” Y/n stated, and Steve looked down at her with a smile. “Really?” “Yea, now adays people are always in a rush, they don’t stop to take in the festivities, or life in general really.” Y/n scrunched her face slightly , causing Steve to smile at her cuteness. “well why don’t we have an olden day Christmas, we can drag some of the others into it too.” “They’d never go for it.” Y/n laughed, picturing their reactions. “I’ll make them do it.” Steve smiled, causing y/n to smile at him, taking his face in her hand. “This is why I love you Rogers, so thoughtful” Y/n stated, pecking her lips. “Only the best for my love.” Steve stated, smiling into the kiss.

--

Christmas morning came all too quickly for the Roger couple. Y/n woke up to an empty bed, but she couldn’t help but smile as she realized the date. She wasn’t that into phones, but Peter had helped her make notifications for important dates, Christmas included. Steve had turned on the small Christmas tree that was in the corner of the room, and y/n couldn’t help but admire the pictures the two had of each other hanging from the branches. Grabbing her dressing gown, y/n grabbed her slippers before walking out the door, gasping at the sight.

Steve had managed to strip back the overload of decorations that Tony had professionals decorate, and in it’s place were strings with baubles dawning the ceiling. It had been a tradition for y/n to make the garlands with her mother this way, and in modern society the decoration wouldn’t fit new traditions. Along the pictures that hung on the walls were pieces of tinsel, each framing the top of pictures, sparking with the light. The stairs had white candles along the sides, and y/n chuckled when she seen they were battery tea lights, knowing that Tony probably would have had a heart attack if they were real ones.

The bottom of stairs showed Steve, standing with a plate of sausage and egg, a traditional morning breakfast in y/n’s childhood. Breathing in the smell deeply, y/n moved to kiss Steve gently before taking the plate of him. Linking his elbow with hers, y/n allowed Steve to bring her into the kitchen where Tony, Natasha, Bruce and Thor sat at the table, each eating their own breakfast identical to hers.

“Steve I love it.” Y/n smiled, placing her plate on the table to hug Steve and kiss his cheek. “Thank God, he had us up all night planning it.” Tony grumbled causing Nat to clip the back of his head. “Ah the good old clip of the ear. Nice touch.” Y/n mused, causing Steve to laugh gently. “When Steve told us you missed your traditional Christmas, we were happy to help.” Nat explained, smiling at the couple as Steve pushed out a chair for his wife to sit on. “Speak for yourself.” Tony grumbled. “Pepper managed to convince Tony.” Steve explained, glaring at Tony from across the table. “Well thank you guys, I really appreciate it.” “It’s not over yet.” Bruce smiled at the couple, and y/n looked at her husband with wide eyes. “Eat up, than you can see.” Steve stated, seeing y/n’s eyes light up.

After breakfast, Bruce and Natasha cleared the table, allowing Steve to bring y/n into the living room. Tony followed close behind, arms crossed as he grumbled about the decorations being too old fashioned. Steve glared back at Tony over his shoulder before taking y/n’s hand as they entered the living room.

“It’s not much but I tried to do it as close to your childhood home as possible.” Steve explained, rubbing the back of his head. “Steve, it’s amazing.”

The real tree had been replaced with a clearly fake, small tree. Colourful lights shone around the tree, and y/n smiled as she seen the teddies that were seen around the bottom of it. There was a hologram of an open fire near the tree, and y/n smiled as she could smell the scent of burning logs. A few boxes decorated with a red bow were seen at the corner of the tree, and y/n couldn’t help the tears that came.

“Steve, I love it.” Y/n sniffed, and Steve smiled as he pulled her closer to him. “I know it’s not exactly the way Christmas was, but I tried as best I could.” “It’s amazing. Thank you.” Y/n smiled, moving to kiss Steve gently. “Merry Christmas my love.” Steve smiled, swinging them gently. “Merry Christmas Rogers.” Y/n smiled, looking to the top of the tree where a cardboard angel lay.

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 20: The Outpost

The hunt for the general continues. You and the Mandalorian have a chance to do some good. A continuation of Beskar Doll ch. 1-19 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4.8k

The bar, it seemed, had regulars. Much of the crowd that had been there in the previous afternoon was there again. You’d explored the outpost a bit more that morning, taking note of places that seemed questionable, things that could be Imperial hide outs. You also noted places where the Crest could safely land, if needed, and stopped at a weapons stand. There was a vibroknife there, one similar to the knife you’d stolen on Hosnian Prime that you were pretty sure had burned with your house on Dantooine. You bought it, figuring you could just add it to the tally of whatever it is you owed the Mandalorian - he still hadn’t given you a number. 

You’d always been partial to knives. Doing the work you’d done, you’d frequently wind up in close quarters and you could never rely on having more reach or more strength when it came to your opponents. But if you were close and could get more inside, a knife got the job done. And people rarely looked for knives. They took a blaster and assumed you were unarmed. A mistake that had served you well. 

You hadn’t learned much in your travels that day, however. Still no indication of the general, beyond the one lead you had from the bar the day before. You wondered if he actually lived anywhere near there or if he was on the move, that this was one just one of his frequent stops to find information, people, supplies. 

The outpost itself was bleak. It was a hub for the junk trade, one of the main industries on Jakku, and what there was here seemed to have grown out of that. Small spaceport, stores that sold the bare minimum. There was another cantina and inn, too, but after a quick stop, you quickly ascertained it wasn’t what you were looking for. Not unless Imps had suddenly gotten a lot smarter - something you doubted. 

You used the people in the bar as a gauge for how often you should come and go. Many seemed to stay there all day, others would only stay for an hour. One or two others approached you for work but you kept turning them down, saying they weren’t offering enough or that the job wasn’t worth your talents. You’d have to take a job eventually, if Shadrin held out for longer than a few more days. Just sitting there, saying you wanted work but not taking any, would look suspicious before too long. 

It had gotten dark out when the man from the day before came in, approaching your table. 

“Still here,” he said, sitting down across from you. 

“Not much on this rock that’s worth my time,” you shrugged. “I had higher hopes.” 

“Unfortunately, we’ve fallen far,” he sighed. You raised a brow. “When I think about the power we used to have, what we could do…” 

“What’d you do?” You asked, taking a sip of your beer. He peeled the label on his bottle. 

“First Lieutenant, ground forces on Naboo,” he said. Your jaw tightened, reflexively. “Ever been out that far?” 

“Once or twice,” you took a sip of your beer. “Grew up on Tatooine so it wasn’t far. Got my blaster there, solid weaponry.” 

“Good thing they didn’t have a standing army,” he smirked. 

“You stay through Cinder?” You asked, digging the nails of the hand he couldn’t see into the back of the booth your arm was draped across. You needed an outlet. You couldn’t scream at him or shoot him or beat him sitting here and expect to make it back. You took it out on the booth.

“Yeah,” he took a drink. “We were up against those fucking frogs, who knew lower lifeforms would put up such a fight.” 

You dug your nails in harder. You’d worked closely with the Gungans in your time on Naboo, had always admired their people and culture. This man had slaughtered them. 

“Ever make it to Theed?” You asked, against your better judgement, really. As if you needed more reasons to want to destroy him. “Only place I really saw.” 

“Few times,” he shrugged. “Ended Cinder there, actually.” 

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. It would be so easy to kill this man. You could shoot him or slit his throat or entice him back to your room and take your time with him. If you cut his tongue out he couldn’t even properly call for help. 

“If it hadn’t been for the fucking rebels we’d have destroyed them,” he almost growled. “The whole planet was fucking useless, save for a few people around the palace.” 

You took a sip of beer to hide your expression. If he’d crossed your path that day, he’d be dead. All he’d done was delay it. You were killing him. Not today, perhaps, but soon. 

“Your friend still looking to hire?” You asked. 

“Mentioned you to him,” he replied. “He’s interested in meeting you.” 

“I’d like to know the job,” you said. “I don’t like wasting my time on pointless bantha shit.” 

“Is the glory of our Empire pointless bantha shit?” 

“No,” you shrugged. “But revenge missions are. I’m all for stamping out rebels and the New Republic and doing everything we can to retake power but I’m not going to be part of some officer’s tantrum. I’ve got better shit to do.” 

“Suppose you’ll have to meet with him then,” he smirked. 

“When?” 

“Two days,” he said. “Meet you here, dusk.” 

“Fine,” you replied. “Assuming I don’t have a better offer by then.” 

“Trust me,” he said. “You won’t.” 

You stuck around for a bit after he left, watching as people filtered back out of the bar before going upstairs and flipping on the comm. 

It was the first time you’d tried to talk to the Mandalorian since he’d talked you through fucking yourself in your room. You sighed. This had the potential of being so uncomfortable. 

“Mando?” You said, wincing at how hesitant you sounded. 

“There you are,” he responded barely a second after you finished saying his name. “What did I tell you?” 

You frowned. You didn’t get a chance to ask another question, he answered before you could ask it. 

“Every 12 hours, Doll,” he snapped. “I was about to come find you, it’s been damn near 24.” 

“Right,” you winced again. “Sorry.” 

“What were you thinking?” He demanded. You thought about saying what you actually had been thinking - that every time the man made you cum he seemed to want to pretend like you didn’t exist for a while after so you figured why bother him. Instead, you sighed. 

“Got an early start, didn’t want to wake you up since we’d just talked,” you said. Talked was a strong word for what you’d done the night before but fuck it, why not. “Didn’t really have a good chance to step away. I have more information though.” 

He was silent for a second. “What is it.” 

You filled him in on the meeting, leaving out the stuff about the contact you had made. No need to tell the Mandalorian you’d be leaving at least one Imp body behind you. 

“Sounds promising,” he said. “Think he’ll meet with you there or make you go somewhere?” 

“Probably second location,” you shrugged. 

“Don’t like that,” he replied. 

“Worst case he’s got some ex-stormtroopers with him,” you shrugged. “I can take them.” 

“How many stormtroopers have you handled alone,” he was skeptical. 

“In one go?” You asked. “Took down more than a dozen on my own once.” 

You left out the fact that after those 13 or 14 troopers you were overrun and nearly died.

Din was silent for a moment. You smirked. 

“I still don’t like it.”

“Are you mad that my body count is higher than yours?” You asked.

“It’s not,” he replied. You laughed. “Meet him, confirm the ID, then call me.” 

“How am I supposed to get out without arousing suspicion?” You frowned. “Hey, nice to meet you General, but now that I know who you are, time for me to go call my bounty hunter friend to haul you in?” 

“You’re smart,” he said. “You’ll figure it out.” 

You ground your teeth. 

“Working with you is going to be difficult,” you said. You could almost hear him shrug over the comm. 

“There’s a reason I work alone.” 

“Because no one could tolerate your attitude?” 

He was quiet. You sighed. 

“How’s the kid?” You asked. 

“He’s been bouncing off the walls today,” he sighed. “I’ve almost got the ship fixed, but I haven’t been able to spend much time with him. So he’s started finding ways to entertain himself.” 

As if on cue, there was a squeal in the background and the Mandalorian sighed. 

“Do me a favor and keep yourself in one piece,” he said. “This makes me nervous, Doll.” 

“I’ll try my best,” you replied. 

“And Doll?” 

“Yes?” 

“Call in the morning.” 

You actually obeyed this time, calling him before you left your room, cautioning him that you wouldn’t call again until you were back in the room for the night. But you liked the sound of his voice in the morning. You stretched out on the bed and closed your eyes, pretending he was next to you instead of outside the outpost, that you were just having a conversation before starting your day, almost like you were a couple. Maker, that was a weird thing to consider. But it didn’t feel weird to want it, not with him. 

You wandered the outpost again before settling in at the bar for the afternoon. You expected a quiet day and were halfway through your first beer when a woman you hadn’t seen before came into the bar. The bartender approached her and you saw her nod in your direction. You steeled yourself, straightening your spine. The woman ran to you, her eyes wide as she almost fell into the booth across from you. 

“She said you were for hire,” she grabbed your wrist as you held your beer. You glared at her. “Please, I need help.” 

“With what?” You asked, fighting your natural urge to jump up and find out what troubled her. 

“A junk trader is convinced my son stole from him,” she clung to your wrist. “I can’t get him to listen to me, please…” 

“Pay him off,” you shrugged. 

“I can’t afford it,” she was frantic. 

“Then you can’t afford me.” 

“Please,” her fingers dug into you. You tried to beseech her with your eyes. She had to try harder, you couldn’t just get up and go help her. An Imp wouldn’t do that. Her eyes narrowed at you and she released your wrist, smacking her hands on the table. “You all talk about how we were better under the Empire but we need help and where are you? If your fucking Empire was so great, do something!” 

You almost smiled at her. That would do it. 

“Fine,” you said, standing. “Let’s go.” 

She looked surprised and you followed her out of the bar, keeping your pace leisurely until you were out of the door. You picked up the pace then. 

“Who has him and where is he?” You asked. The woman looked surprised. 

“Junk trader, he works on the blackmarket,” she said. “He’s convinced my son stole something from one of the wrecks he says is his but…” 

“Here at the outpost?” You asked. 

“Just outside,” she said. 

“Have a speeder?” She shook her head. You sighed. “Come on.” 

You led her to the speeder bike you’d stolen, getting on and jerking your head, commanding her to get on the back. 

“Tell me where.” 

“North side of the outpost,” she said. “About two clicks out.” 

“I go the wrong way,” you said. “Tell me.” 

You tried to ignore the nerves in you as you piloted the speeder to the outskirts of town, to a small hut in the shadow of the hulking shell of a Star Destroyer. It was easy to forget how huge those ships were when you saw them in the vastness of space. On land, they seemed impossibly large. There were two men outside standing guard, holding rifles. 

Their grip grew tighter on their weapons as you pulled up outside the hut. You smirked. They may be thugs but they were apprehensive. They might intimidate the people who lived here but for someone like you? They were nothing. 

“Stay behind me,” you ordered. “And stay quiet.” 

The men approached you, meeting you halfway between where you parked and the hut. 

“What’chu want,” one said, spitting into the sand at your feet. You looked down at it before looking up at him. 

“I don’t deal with lackeys,” you said. “Where’s your boss.” 

“Who’s askin’?” The other man said. 

“A friend of the boy your boss is holding hostage,” you replied. “He can let him go or he can deal with me. Tell him to decide quick, I don’t give second chances.” 

“That a threat?” The first man who spoke stepped closer, adjusting the grip on his rifle. You sighed. So stupid. He was so close he couldn’t even point the gun at you properly. 

“No,” you said, grabbing the vibroknife from its holster at your thigh and jamming it into his arm in one swift motion. The man screamed and fell to his knees, dropping the rifle. The woman behind you gasped and you caught the rifle as it fell, pointing it at the other man. “That was a kindness. I won’t be so kind again. Tell your boss to free the boy or he deals with me.” 

The man backed up a few steps, watching you, before running for the door. You lowered the weapon and slung it onto your back. The man at your feet whimpered and you pulled the knife from his arm. 

“Your boss have bacta?” You asked. He just groaned. You sighed. “Hold still.” 

You cut part of the man’s shirt free and tied off his arm above the wound, stemming the bleeding. 

“Find a better line of work,” you said, standing back up. “You’re not cut out for this.” 

He clutched the wound at his arm and you watched as half a dozen people emerged from the hut, all surrounding one tall, broad Abednedo and a boy who couldn’t have been any older than 13 who was trying to look like he hadn’t just been crying. The woman behind you cried out, but you shushed her.  

“Who the hell do you think you are, interfering in my business,” the Abednedo said. 

“Friend of the boy’s,” you replied. “Return him and we’ll be on our way.” 

He closed some of the gap between you, leaving the boy with his entourage. 

“And why would I do that?” He asked. “He’s a thief. Took what’s mine.” 

“What’d he take?” You asked. 

“Computer from that destroyer,” he jerked his head back to the corpse of the starship behind him. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Craner Kree,” he snapped. 

“Well, Kree,” you replied. “Seems like even if he did take the computer, he’s stealing from the Empire, not you, and he can answer to me for that crime. I can make you answer to me, too, if you’d like.” 

A man from his entourage started for you and your hand went to your blaster, ripping it from its holster, firing and returning it to its holster before the man even fell to the sand. The guns all turned to you. Kree held up a hand, stopping them from shooting. He was in the line of fire and his staff seemed dumb enough to shoot, anyway.

“Don’t think the Imperials back at the outpost would take too kindly to you staking a claim to this ship,” you said. “Wonder what would happen if I confirmed that suspicion for them? Be it because I tell them or because I don’t make it back.” 

Kree’s eyes narrowed at you. You held his glare. 

“Fine,” he gave his lackey a wave and he shoved the boy forward. The kid stumbled and looked back before looking over his shoulder for a moment and then running for his mother. She clutched him to her chest, sobbing. You smiled. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said. You looked do the man on the ground. “I’m keeping your rifle.” 

You started back toward the speeder, putting your hand on the woman’s back and guiding her while she was lost in checking on her son. 

“Sleep with one eye open, Imp!” Kree yelled. 

You ignored him, getting on the speeder. The mother and son got on behind you and you tried to pretend you weren’t fucking terrified to be piloting a damn speeder bike with two additional passengers. 

You stopped on the edge of town, getting off the bike. 

“Please,” she looked like she was about to cry. “I swear my son didn’t take any computer, he didn’t steal from the Empire…” 

“I don’t care if he steals from the Empire,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “It was just a way to get Kree to back off. Was that the first time Kree’s caused trouble?”

“No,” she said after a moment, holding her son to her chest. She seemed surprised that you weren’t going to punish her. But then, she thought you were Imperial. “He’s done the same thing to several other families here, forces them into debts…” 

You nodded once, pulling out your com link and flicking it on. 

“Mando,” you said. “Need a favor. I’m not alone.” 

There was a pause before he replied. 

“Go on.” 

“Still have your guild contacts?” You asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Have them check on any open pucks on one Craner Kree,” you said. “Probably low level stuff but he could use cleaning up.” 

“I’ll take your word,” he replied. “Where is he?” 

“North side of the outpost,” you said. “About two clicks out, near the downed destroyer. Little hut, big idiots out front, can’t miss it.” 

“Consider it done. Do I want to know why you know about this guy?” 

“Probably not.” 

He sighed. 

“Remember what I told you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” you rolled your eyes, flicking off the com before he had a chance to reply and sticking it back in your pocket. “He won’t be an issue anymore.” 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “I don’t have anything to pay you with right now but I promise, when the harvest comes…” 

“I don’t want your money,” you said. “Just keep your head down until tomorrow, in case Kree decides to hold a grudge.” You handed her the speeder keys. “Take the bike, get out of town. Ride it, sell it, don’t care. Good luck.” 

“I don’t understand…” she looked at the keys and back to you. You shrugged. 

“Seems like you need it.” 

You walked back to the bar, the sun setting on the horizon. 

***

Karga was able to find information on your quarry quickly and you’d been right, there was a low level bounty on him. Only 2,000 credits but he was already there and he decided he could use the entertainment. And he doubted you’d send him after a junk trader without reason. He must have done something. 

Din put the kid in his pod after he fell asleep and locked the ship down before using the jet pack and flying to the location you gave him, skirting the outpost to not draw attention. He looked as he flew past, knowing you were down there, feeling closer to you than he had since you’d left the ship. Except maybe the few moments where he closed his eyes and pretended you were beside him instead of moaning over a com link. 

The junk trader’s outfit was easy to spot, exactly as you’d described. You’d clearly been out here - he just couldn’t figure out why. It was small enough that he decided he didn’t need to take out any of the men in advance, he could just brute force his way in. 

He landed in front of the men and drew his blaster. 

“Hey, stop!” One of them started raising his rifle but Din shot him, dropping him where he stood. He turned his weapon to the other man. 

“I’m not here for you,” he said. “You can run.” 

The man’s eyes darted from the door to the Mandalorian before he took off, running into the desert, toward the outpost. Din holstered his weapon. That was easy.

“It didn’t make a difference,” a voice drifted outside. “She just stabbed him in the arm!” 

Din shook his head. You’d definitely been here. He kicked in the door, four men standing around the desk. He found Kree quickly. 

“Craner Kree,” he said. The man straightened up from his desk. “You owe someone money and they’ve put a price on your head. I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” 

The men around him stiffened, turning to face the Mandalorian. 

“I don’t hold any bounties on you,” he said to them. “You’re free to leave. This is the only time you’ll get that offer.” 

The first man fired, the blaster bolt pinging off Din’s beskar. He sighed, pulling his blaster and shooting the man. He dropped. There was a hail of blaster fire then, Cree dropping behind his desk. Din took the men out one by one, their shots doing nothing but filling the small room with the ringing sound they made as they bounced off his armor. The last man standing tried to flee, skirting around the outside edge of the room, but Din shot him as he passed. He holstered his weapon and approached the desk. 

“Warm or cold, the pay’s the same,” he said. “Choice is yours.” 

The man straightened, a knife in his hand. He brought it swinging down but it did nothing but clang off the steel. The Mandalorian grabbed the man’s hand and twisted until he dropped the weapon, snapping his wrist with a shout of pain. The knife clattered to his desk and Din pushed the man facedown onto it, cuffing him. 

“You’re lucky I’ve been bored,” he said, hauling him up by the collar and out the door. “Otherwise, you’d be dead.” 

“Fuck you,” he snarled. Din just shoved him for the door, taking a speeder from the side of the building and flying back to the Crest. 

He turned the com link on as he got closer, expecting to hear from you soon, and he was right, your voice appearing just as he was hauling Kree up the ramp. 

“Mando?” You always asked. Like you were expecting him to just not answer you at some point. As if he could resist. 

“Doll,” he replied. “Here with a friend of yours.” 

“Have fun on the clean up crew?” You asked. You sounded amused. 

Kree looked at the com link. 

“That’s the Imp bitch who stole the boy!” He growled. That explained a bit more. 

“Poor choice of words,” Din said, shoving the man to the ground before grabbing him by the collar and dragging him to the carbonite chamber. 

“Went on a rescue mission?” Din asked as he hauled the man back to his feet and shoved him into the chamber. Kree was about to say something else when Din started the freeze, the man’s words turning into a scream. 

“Woman came into the bar looking for someone to get her son back,” you replied. “Kree’d taken him, saying he’d stolen something from the wreck he’d claimed.” 

“Surprised you didn’t kill him yourself,” he replied. 

“Didn’t want to risk the kid,” you said. “Plus, his mom was willing to go into an Imp bar and insult the Empire. Don’t want combat with a wild card like that if you can help it.” 

Din smiled, the carbonite done. He pulled the slab out of the machine and put it to the side. He missed hearing your thoughts. You rarely said something that wasn’t worth saying but you were happy to say what was on your mind. Your voice drifting through the ship as you talked to the kid or muttered to yourself or made some biting comment to the Mandalorian had been strangely absent since you’d gone to the outpost. 

“Hopefully closing in on the end of this operation,” you said, almost like you’d read his mind. 

“The inn not up to your high standards?” He teased, going to sit on the rock outside and look toward the outpost so he could be looking at you, even if he couldn’t see you. 

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “No pre-Empire starship bunk, though. Or hold floor, for that matter.” 

He laughed. 

“I like your laugh,” you said quietly. 

“I like yours, too,” he said, watching where the outpost was on the horizon. You were so close, just a few clicks. He could be next to you in just a few minutes.

“And here I thought every sound I made just annoyed you,” you said it like you were joking, but there was something in your voice that said you weren’t sure. He thought for a moment, considering teasing you or joking back. But honesty felt less dangerous when you were miles away, not there for him to touch and be consumed by. 

“You’re one of my favorite sounds,” he said quietly. He kept watching the haze of the outpost in the distance. You were silent for a moment and he was worried he’d said too much. 

“You’re one of mine, too,” you said softly. Then you laughed a little. “First time I heard you without the modulator, I thought ‘damn, I’d listen to this man read ship maintenance logs and thank him for the privilege.’” His heart swelled in his chest, remembering how you subtly tilted your ear toward him when you sat, turned away, when his helmet was off. “I like the modulated version too, for the record.” 

You were both silent for a moment. He could hear you breathing. He wondered if you were sitting up or laying down, if you were dressed or just in a shirt to sleep, if your hair was still braided or if you’d let it down. 

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” He asked after a while. 

“Fine,” you said. Then you sighed. “Din… I meant what I said the other night. If there’s even a chance of you or the kid getting hurt, you leave me here.” 

His stomach dropped. He couldn’t tell if you were saying this out of an abundance of caution or because you were worried about the next day. He wouldn’t be able to just leave you here, that he knew. He’d kill everyone on this planet before he just left you here. 

“I won’t take unnecessary risks with the kid,” he replied. 

“Don’t take them with you, either,” you said. You pressed on before he had a chance to argue. “You’re that boy’s dad, Din. Whether you understand or know that yet or not, he needs you. No one else can be that for him. Don’t risk the kid’s dad, OK?” 

“What are you afraid will happen, Doll?” He asked softly. “Tomorrow. What are you afraid of?” 

“That you’ll do something stupid,” you replied. 

“I mean with the plan,” he said. “You’re afraid of something, it’s something specific. What is it.” 

You were silent for a moment. Then you sighed. 

“There are too many variables,” you said. “I don’t have enough control here. We don’t even know for sure if the guy I’m meeting is Shadrin. What if it’s an Imp who knows me? What if there’s a whole fucking squadron of them? If I’m captured or overrun, I don’t want you coming in here on a suicide mission out of some sense of misplaced obligation.” 

“Then get out,” he said. “I’ll come get you, right now. You don’t have to do this.” 

“If the Imps are planning something, we have to stop it,” you said. “The plan is… It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can hope for.” 

“Doll…” he began but you cut him off. 

“What if their plan involves the kid?” You said quietly. “They wanted him enough that they hired you. You said they need him for research. What if it’s for this and we could stop it, right here?” You were both silent for a moment. “We have to try, Din.” 

“I’ll be ready to go tomorrow,” he said. “Say the word and I’ll get you out.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” You said after a minute. 

“Yes.” 

“Tell the kid,” you took a deep breath, your voice catching. “Tell the kid I love him, OK?” 

Din closed his eyes. 

“He loves you, too.” 

He wasn’t talking about the kid. 

[daitranscripts]

Iron Bull Conversation: Investigate

Tell Me About Seheron

Iron Bull Masterpost

Only available with positive approval after asking about the Ben-Hassrath

PC: Can you tell me more about Seheron?

Iron Bull: It was a damn ugly place. Only getting uglier when I left. Between the fog warriors, the Tal-Vashoth, my people, and the Vints, you were lucky to go a day without blood. What do you want to know?

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Tell me of the fog warriors. [2]

Investigate: Tell me about Seheron natives. [3]

Investigate: Tell me of the Tal-Vashoth. [4]

Investigate: Tell me about Tevinter. [5]

General: Goodbye. [6]

2 - Investigate: Tell me of the fog warriors. PC: What were the fog warriors like? Iron Bull: They were the worst of the rebels. They trained for stealth attacks. They made this fog—I never saw any mages, so I figure it was alchemy, not magic. They were almost invisible in it. I’d be on patrol in the market square, the fog would roll in, and before I knew it, half my squad dead without a sound.

Dialogue options:

Special: You sound impressed.

[Back to 1]

7 - Special: You sound impressed. PC: It almost sounds like you admire them. Iron Bull: They didn’t use poison, they didn’t hurt civilians, and they were damn good fighters. You have to respect that. Plus, they hit the Vints as hard as they hit us. Hearing some terrified magister scream, “My slaves! Where are my slaves?” in the fog always put a smile on my face. [back to 1]

3 - Investigate: Tell me about Seheron natives. PC: What are things like for the natives of Seheron? Iron Bull: I remember one guy. He made these things, fish wrapped in thin bread? Nice guy, talked to him every morning. So one time, I’m asking about his bad back, and I see he’s nervous, trying to tell me something with his eyes. Next thing I know, his assistants draw knives and come at my team. The rebels had forced him to poison my food.

Dialogue options:

Special: What happened?

[Back to 1]

8 - Special: What happened? PC: And then? Iron Bull: I’d seen how nervous he was, so I hadn’t eaten anything. Couple of my guys weren’t so lucky. We killed the rebels. I lost two men to the poison, another to knife wounds. My friend who made the fish wraps died with a knife in his throat. Close-quarters fight. He was caught in the middle. That is what things are like for the natives of Seheron. [back to 1]

4 - Investigate: Tell me of the Tal-Vashoth. PC: Tell me about the Tal-Vashoth. Iron Bull: When Qunari can’t handle the fighting in Seheron or lose faith in the Qun, they go rogue. They flee into the wilderness and turn into bandits, attacking everyone. They’re vicious, savage. You look at them, and you can see why my people needed the Qun to stay civilized.

Dialogue options:

Special: Then aren’t you Tal-Vashoth?

[Back to 1]

9 - Special: Then aren’t you Tal-Vashoth? PC: Isn’t that what you did, though? Iron Bull: Hey. When I burned out, I didn’t go rogue. I reported in and went where the Ben-Hassrath sent me. I’m doing my job, serving the Qun out here. I’m not some bandit. I am nothing like them. [back to 1]

5 - Investigate: Tell me about Tevinter. PC: Tell me about the Tevinter people you fought. Iron Bull: The Vints sent forces to Seheron every autumn. Guess they didn’t like the summer heat. We had some good fights on the beaches. Standing in knee-high water foaming red with blood, ships on fire around us… The cities were worse. Free bit of advice? Don’t let the Inquisition forces get suckered into urban combat.

Dialogue options:

Special: What’s so bad about Tevinter?

[Back to 1]

10 - Special: What’s so bad about Tevinter? PC: Why do you hate Tevinter forces so much? What makes them so bad? Iron Bull: It’s not their armies. It’s their spies. They bloodied Seheron year-round, killing loyalists, supporting rebels. Alam had no city administrator. Nobody would accept the position. The last four who held it died inside a year. Trying to conquer a country is one thing. Making it so that nobody can live there? That just screws everyone. [back to 1]

6 - General: Goodbye. PC: See you later, Bull. Iron Bull: Nice talking with you, boss.

[corneille-but-not-the-author]

Painting

"Please, don't move, your Majesty."

It's uncomfortable. So uncomfortable. I have been staying here for the past hours, striking a pose and waiting for this man, I think his name is Asclepios, to finish his painting.

And for what ?

We are four centaurs. Me, my brother Chiron, and my two daughters, Leto and Terpsichore. The only family I have left.

Last time we did this sort of thing, we were about twenty. Father was alive. Mother was alive. Abyss my brothers and sister, Paris, Patroclus and Helen were alive.

It was three years ago but it feels like a century passed since these happier moments.

Now my brother hates me. Because I want to protect the little things we have left. He calls me a tyrant, calls me a despot. He thinks he's better than me.

And that's why he chose this pose on this painting.

Maybe it's the last time we see each other. Tomorrow, he'll go with his friends and lovers to Jarghalsaikhan's army. Maybe I’ll never see him again.

But he still smiles like he is in the right and I am in the wrong.

And future generations will see it. They will remember our rivalry. They will ask why his smile is so defiant, so rebellious. They will ask why I’m despaired, why my eyes are far in the distance, the eyes of a king who was not supposed to be.

"It's finished, your Majesty."

Six months have passed. The painting is stunning, but that was expected. On it, my two daughters are equal to themselves. Terpsichore is a snake, like the ones she have tatooed on her arms. A beautiful and dangerous snake, and I admire her beauty, as grand as her mother's. Leto is the contrary, brutally honest, but brave, with loads of hope.

My face is a lie, on this painting. I never had such a regalian face during the painting sessions. Asclepios, whom I grew closer and closer of during these six months, must have spared me the indignity of having a frown, or anxiety wrinkles, or anything that would make me less of a king.

Still, this painting is a lie.

Because Chiron, my dear brother, is smiling.

And since he came back from Osghour, he has not smiled once.

"Leave me alone, brother."

Chiron's voice is tired, so far away from a year ago, where he would run everywhere and tell me I'm a coward, a traitor to the Esnothi people. Now, he's training all day long in the courtyard.

What have you seen, Chiron, that my eyes did not see ?

Why must you hate me when I love you so dearly ?

You run. Run away from your problems. Run away from me. You were a rebel, you would tell me when I’m wrong, and look at you now. Too afraid to fight.

The Games are drawing near. And you will lose, because you refuse a capable team.

You refuse to prove me wrong anymore.

And I won’t stand for it any longer.

“Fine, I’ll leave.”

But you won’t be alone much longer, brother.

I’ll make sure of it.

And if you fail, this time, it will only prove me right.

That I was right to hate those other species for taking father, mother. That I was right to pursue what our ancestors planed for us. Might makes right, after all. And I won the Games, I became King.

Even though you still beat me at our common trial, my team won, and so I won. Which means I am the best king our family had to offer, whether you like it or not. Still, this uncomfortable feeling won’t go away.

Do they deserve to live in chains ?

Did our parents, our family, die because of their pride ?

Am I committing the same mistake ?

Those Games will decide it.

Whether I win or lose, I’ll finally know who was right, and who was wrong. And maybe, after that, you’ll cease to haunt my every step. You and your arrogant smile. Until then, dear brother, we are at war. And I’ll give you the best army I can find to defeat me.

[dreamcast641]

Thank you @islandtarochips for the tag!

A little list to showcase your OC's favorite things

-Name: Claire Ekaterina Makarova

-Universe: SCP foundation(she is in others but those are AUs)

-Favorite book(and why): 1984 by George Orwell. Generally Claire's reading is limited on scientific books, biology ones in particular as she loves to expand her knowledge on her field but she finds old readings rather interesting and she took a particular liking in Orwell's writings, animal farm is also one of these.

-Favorite song: Dark beach by pastel ghost. She finds a somewhat sense of peace in this kind of electronic music. She loves the muffled singing.

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: It wasn't like this at the start, but when she gained a bit of confidence she started to love the elegant dress she uses to go clubbing. She would look at herself in the mirror, sometimes admiring how it brings up her features and how her untie hair match it so well;

-Favorite "little treat": Claire is a sweet lover. She is a chocolate and strawberry fan for sure and those two mixed together is the end for her. Id say then the strawberries deep in any kind of chocolate are her favorite in absolutely;

-Favorite person in their lives: Claire does not hold preference for anyone. She gets affectionate to who she loves in the same way;

-Dream home: a cottage in a isolate area in the mountains;

-Dream life: A life of freedom where she isn't tie to anything or anyone again. She wants to explore the world without pressures, without fear of dying.

-Name: Dmitry Vasilij Makarov

-Universe: SCP foundation (others as well but those are AUs)

-Favorite book (and why): the interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud. Despite Dmitry finding Freud methods outdated and often telling that we advanced a lot when it comes to psychoanalisis, he also find some of his readings interesting such as the dream related ones. He doesn't take seriously the book tho, but rather a start to continue his studies and finding new discoveries about the oniric that others would not know.

-Favorite song: Dmitry does not have a favorite song, however he listen to ambient sounds when he's working. The beach waves one being his favorite.

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: a black sweater with turtleneck that you can often see under his labcoat. There is no particular reason for him to like it, he just comfortable with anything that covers his skin completely.

-Favorite "little treat": He sometimes find himself to buy the buldak ramen when he has nothing else to make for lunch or dinner, not that he eats that often tho. The ramen thing has probably become a dependence and also he can handle spice well.

-Favorite person in their lives: It might sound like a joke because at first glance it would be impossible to know that this man has a favorite person but instead there is and is Maria, the mother that took him when his biological one left for the GOC.

-Dream home: Something small near the beach. It's gonna be climatized tho as he can't handle the heat at all. But he would just be there for the sound of the waves crashing on the sand.

-Dream life: He never thought of what life could be outside the foundation walls but he would have loved to raise a terrarium with snakes.

-Name: Evelyn "Mandy" Ross.

-Universe: SCP foundation

-Favorite book (and why): The book thief by Markus Zusak. Being a veteran of WW2 who served as a nurse for the US army at the time, she often find herself to read about what happened in the past, as some sort of closure to the trauma that she went through. She has read them all, her guts wrenching everytime at what she never saw and that was under her nose all this time. She took a particular liking in the book thief as somewhat she relates to Lesiel, the protagonist.

-Favorite song: Over the rainbow by Judy Garland/Glenn Miller. One of the most beloved cinema music and also one beloved to her as well as she listened to it once before drafting herself for the war. It holds so much memories for her both bad and good and often find herself playing it for her children when those cried as babies.

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: Mandy still has the blue cape that nurses used during ww2. She still keeps it on her shoulders.

-Favorite "little treat": snickers!

-Favorite person in their lives: even tho she holds no contact with any of them, Mandy is still fond of her two children, Claire and Dmitry.

-Dream home: A little home in a rural area, where the town is small and there is no much people.

-Dream life: Mandy holds so much regret for her decisions, she would love to go back in the past and change it all. She would love to become a doctor and help people without being forced to a life in prison. She wish she was never born with her anomaly.

-Name: Lilja Järvinen

-Universe: Rainbow Six Siege

-Favorite book (and why): Anything related to k9 training. Ofc, as a dog trainer who is hyperfixated on anything related to that, she has a vast collection of books that point at dogs and their training for the forces.

-Favorite song: Killer by Mareux

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: Any baggy clothes in her drawer. There is no particular reason for it, just that she is more comfortable with them on. The only problem is that she often stumbles on her own pants while walking.

-Favorite "little treat": She concede herself a trail of cinnamon rolls at least once every week. She usually takes them from her local bakery, nowadays they even prepare so before so she could be served immediately, not that she ever complains of course, shes a usual customer after all.

-Favorite person in their lives: at the moment she feels that she has no favorite in her life. She isn't that much close to any of the other operators and she finds herself often overthinking that somehow she is annoying to them.

-Dream home: her own childhood home is her dream home. It's was a farm with livestock and shepherd dogs not so far from a small town. That's where she gained passion for training dogs and improving that with the use of her knowledge in robotics.

-Dream life: She never really thinks about that, at the moment she is content with what she has.

[sollannaart]

The Battle of Leipzig, October, 1813

By mid-October, Napoleon gathered all his forces near Leipzig, where on the 16th the started a battle that would later be called the Battle of the Nations .

Jan Czesław Moniuszko, Prince Józef at Leipzig

Commanding the Poles incorporated into the Grand Army as the 8th Corps, Prince Joseph defended the village of Markkleeberg south of the city. As he reported to Napoleon, on the 16th

"the enemy did not gain an inch of ground […] the army showed admirable zeal and endurance […] but I lost 1/3 of my men and I have no ammunition."

And on that very day, the 16th of October, the Emperor appointed Prince Poniatowski a Marshal of France, with the official nomination taking place a day later.

Prince Józef Poniatowski being presented the marshals baton, Reville's engraving after Martinet

As diarists recall, prince Józef received both the news about the nomination and the announcement that followed quite calmly, or even indifferently. However, he considered that moment not appropriate to insult the emperor with a refusal. So first Poniatowski asked consent of Frederick Augustus, King of Saxony and Duke of Warsaw, to accept the nomination. Then he hastened assure his subordinates that

"whatever happens he would never replace the Polish uniform with another one."

Also anticipating that the news of his new appointment might not receive support in Warsaw, prince Józef asked Tomasz Ostrowski

"to send to the capital as early as possible, by a known means, an explanation of the circumstances and an assurance everyone that if there is no war for Poland, no one will see him wearing anything but a civilian clothes".

Together with this, however, Poniatowski promised that in any case he would have to escort Napoleon to France. As for the global situation, the 17th of October was a day of rest and re-ranking of troops for both the Frenchmen and the Coalition , thus there was almost no fighting then.

Polish infantry fighting at Connewitz-Probstheida, a drawing by Raffet

On October 18, Prince Joseph was defending Probstheida, a village southeast of Leipzig. But that day the fighting was even more fierce than before. The French troops held their positions, but by the end of the day they were exhausted and depleted as a result of the intensifying attacks of the Allies, who, in addition, had on the previous day received reinforcements in the form of General Bennigsen's Czech Army and the Army of the North commaded by Bernadotte. Considering all this, that evening Napoleon considered the battle a lost cause. So, he then began organizing the retreat. The corps of General Reynier, Marshal Macdonald and Prince Poniatowski were to defense the rear guard of the French. They were to hold the city of Leipzig for 24 hours for the Grande Armée to gain as much time as possible.

Napoleon resigns after the Battle of Leipzig, From a painting by Ludwik Braun

Having arrived in Leipzig at nine o'clock in the evening, Napoleon stayed at the hotel "At the Prussian king", where he asked Prince Józef to come. They then had, according to Baron Agathon Fain's account, the following conversation:

- Prince, you will defend the southern suburbs. – Sire! I have very few men, most of my corps have, following Prince Berthier's orders, crossed the Elsther at night. - How many Poles are there with you? - My usual escort, i.e. two hundred of the Krakuses, the same number of cuirassiers, staff and several cavalry units, in total about eight hundred people. - Well, this will be the way for you to defend the southern suburbs and cover the retreat of the army with the Prince of Tarentum… For 800 Poles are worth 8,000 other soldiers. - Your Majesty can trust us, we will cover the retreat, even if every one of us dies!

These were the last words the prince addressed to the emperor. After saying goodbye he looked "preoccupied and sad". What's more, that meeting was probably the last time Poniatowski and Napoleon seeing each other...

January Suchodolski, Napoleon and Józef Antoni Poniatowski at the Battle of Leipzig

On the morning of the last day of the battle, Polish troops were defending a section of the southern suburbs near the Peters Thor gate. Moreover, that time they had not only to fight the enemy, but also there intensified clashes with the locals, who were shooting at the retreating units from the windows.

Author Unknown, Prince Józef Poniatowski during the Battle of Leipzig

At about 11:00 Prince Józef found it impossible to conduct further defensive operations in this place and ordered a retreat. The Poles moved along the esplanade, where, near the Wasserkunst fountain, they fight the enemy in an organized manner for the last time.

Jan Chełmiński, Prince Józef Poniatowski at the head of the troops at Leipzig

During that skirmish Poniatowski was probably wounded (probably not first time). As Klemens Kołaczkowski recalled:

He received a wound in the hand from a rifle bullet; he ordered it to be treated, got back on the horse and, holding his hand on a scarf, he did not stop fighting.

Then the Poles, having left the city walls, were looking for a crossing. The first on their way was the Pleisse River, deprived of all bridges on Napoleon's orders. Kołaczkowski:

Prince Poniatowski <…> was exposed to the fire of enemy tirailleurs, in dense troops approaching from all sides. General Bronikowski, standing next to the prince, advised him to seek salvation by swimming. But the prince answered him quickly: "One must die bravely!" (Il faut mourir en brave - AS) He ordered the rest of the escort to attack enemy tirailleurs one more time, but that managed to stop their advance only for a moment. There was not a single moment to lose! In this last resort, the prince finally followed the opinion of the officers surrounding him, mounted his horse and jumped into the river with him!

Jan Bogumił Plersch, Prince Poniatowski crossing Pleisse

The water was flooding the banks high up; the horse, carried away by its momentum, could not reach the shore. At this sight, captain Blechamps from the staff rushes after the prince, helps him swim and get to the opposite shore.

But there was one more river to cross – the Elster. Which had also been devoid of all its bridges except one. But even that one was earlier that day blown up by mistake when a significant part of the French were still on the other bank.

Retreat of the French from Leipzig, October 1813, an English engraving

What's more, in German Elster means "magpie". And according to legend, a gypsy woman once told Prince Joseph that he would die because of a magpie. And that's how it happened.

Tadeusz Korpal, Prince Poniatowski at Leipzig

Kołaczkowski:

The prince was walking on foot through the gardens lying between Elster and Pleisse: here, he was shot in the side by a rifle bullet for the second time and fell into the arms of the officers surrounding him. However, he soon regained consciousness and, with the help of his adjutant, mounted his horse with difficulty, swaying in the saddle. The Poles started to appeal to him to take care of himself and, handing over his command to another general, to preserve himself for the homeland. But the prince's courage seemed to increase with danger. "No! no!" he shouted "God has entrusted me with the honor of the Poles, I will only give it to God". The engineer's officer comes running and points to the most convenient place to cross; the prince, walking along the river bank, heads in that direction; but when he notices the enemy unit blocking his path, he shouts loudly: "There they are!" He turns his horse and rushes to Elster. Weakened by his wounds, he can no longer steer his horse, but the beast can only follow the current and cannot climb the high, precipitous shore. All this happened under a hail of bullets. At that final moment, the prince receives his third wound, slips from his horse and, carried away by the rush of the water, begins to sink. The good Blechamps comes to the aid again. In noble zeal, he throws himself into the river and grasps the prince. He was seen holding his arms and trying to lift the prince's head above the water, but the efforts of this noble man were in vain. They both disappeared forever in the currents of the treacherous river! Such was the death of a Polish hero, a beloved leader who preferred death to ignominious captivity.

Prince Poniatowski at Leipzig (enlarged)

According to another legend, at Leipzig prince Józef was to see the notorious White Lady of the Poniatowskis for the last time.