#young patrician lady

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Vlaho Bukovac (Croatian, 1855-1922) Young Patrician Lady, 1890

[beatricecenci]

School of Leonardo da Vinci

A Young Patrician Lady

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"DON'T WORRY, LOVE"

A short story with Lucius cause... do I have to explain it? LOOK AT HIM HE'S SO HANDSOME OMFG I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE

I hope you like it!

Lucius was training before he went out into the arena, not because he needed to, but because it was a way to focus, to prepare his body and mind for what was about to happen.

He felt a gaze on him as he slashed across his sword, as if he were cutting off an imaginary head.

Lisa had been watching him all day. She wasn't ashamed of it at all, it was just that a young patrician girl about to come of age wasn't supposed to be looking at an older man like that.

The gladiator's gaze rested on her for a few moments. She could see the determined gleam in his blue eyes, before he began to approach her. Lisa watched as his bare chest shone from the beads of sweat that dripped down it. His curly hair was ruffled from exercise and his hands.

Oh, his hands

His huge, calloused, perfect hands still held the sword firmly as he looked at you.

"Can I help you with something?" –he asked, bringing her out of her thoughts-

-What? –she answered, flustered-

-I've seen you watching me –she smiled half-way- I guess you just wanted to protect your investment –she said coldly-

-It's nothing like that –she murmured timidly- it's just that we can't enter the Coliseum, not until the emperors arrive –you added- so I thought I'd take a walk

-To the gladiators' cells? –he questioned, raising an eyebrow- you're lucky to still have all your limbs –he said- I know a couple of them who'd love to get their hands on someone like you

-Someone like me? –he asked- What do you mean by that?

-I mean, to a respectable young lady like you -he whispered- I'm sure they would have bet among themselves how long you would last with each one

-That's… disgusting -he finished saying- whoever they are, I hope the Gods are not benevolent with them

-Don't worry about it, love -he smiled- I'll make sure that both of them taste the edge of my sword

[drunken-ender-art]

Blightknight Amity

The younger scion of House Blight, Amity is a prodigy in the arcane art of Abomination Magic, rivaling the likes of Hunters and Students of the Blood Coven.

Her talents and skills put to service under the illustrious sigil of her House, stalking the dark alleys and moonlit squares of the giant city of Bones'yard with unmatched elegance and finess, as she purge the streets from beasts and enemies of the House alike.

It's during one of those many nights of Hunt that she would meet a particular new huntress... from that day on the nights of Hunt became less lonely, and blood was not the only thing she would eventually be looking for.

"The tale of House Blight is written in blood, human..."

House Blight is as pompous as it is powerfull on the Boiling Isles.

While the House as a whole is formed by a court of witches and knights, its heart and lead is the Blight Family itself, formed by Duke Alador and his wife Duchess Odalia, the twins Lady Emira and Lord Edric, and the young prodigy Lady Amity.

They are the only one, outside the Students and Researchers of the Blood Coven, to perform and actually create Abomination magic, a dark arcane art made from a very difficult and obscure process of refinement of the blood.

While all the youngs of House Blight are required to be trained in the way of the Hunt in a way proper to the House's status, only the scions of the Family are trained in the way of Abomination magic, seeking the precious blood needed to fuel their magic... this, with their pomposity and snobbish attitude, often led to many ill mouthed rumors such as the Blights being vampiric monsters.

Obviously no one ever dared to say that to their face.

"...I don't know what those dreams of yours means, but these are not people anymore ..."

House Blight is also known for his own Workshop, led by Duke Alador himself and few others students, producing a vast arsenal of Abomination-fueled weapons, mostly for the Blood Coven and few very rich patricians that can afford such pieces of arts. Those weapons however, are toys compared to the power of a real Abomination magic wielder, for when properly "brewed" and used, Abomination goop has the capacity to latch onto the flesh of its victim and eat away the tissue, drawing the blood to the surface and letting it spill copiously.

Spectre is no such toy.

The handle is but a conduit and container for the abomination. The blade, its sharpness and power are all fruit of Amity's ability of manipulating the goop. The ability to effortlessly change and shift the blade mid-combat into two claws' like daggers a skill honed in infinite bloodshed under the light of the moon.

Spellcaster, while a more standard House Blight weapon in function, is nonetheless a masterpiece of Alador's craftmanship. A gift for the most skilled daughter House Blight has ever seen.

"...so close your heart and let the blood flow copiously... until our heads spin together drunkenly into the night~"

Amity, Blightknight of House Blight, one of the best huntresses on the Boiling Isles.

Continuation of my Owlborne concept: The Owl House X Bloodborne crossover

[specialsituationsgroup]

Lego Discworld - Patrician's Palace

Patrician's palace exterior with Ankh-Morpork coat of arms. Giant beehive / pidgeon roost / clack's tower on roof. Statue of old Stoneface and hoho in front. City catacombs under the surface.

Palace interior with secret passage. Palace garden with lilac bush and BS Johnson's exploding fountain. Ginger tom and unprofitable butterfly.

Patrician's palace, closed, front.

Havelock Vetinari, Wuffles and Igor in the puke green room. Includes candle stub on nightstand and candle stick hidden in the chest of drawers.

Mr Pump in Vetinari's study. Incudes a crossword puzzle/thud board, music sheet and the manuscript of The Servant.

Leonard of Quirm, Sybil Ramkin, Erol and Rufus Drumknott in Leonard's atelier. Includes the model of the Kite, device for removing mountains, internal combustion kettle, scultping and painting equipment, and Vetinari's portrait.

Library / secret passage. Includes Oswald, modle of the disc and a death mask / head for young Vetinari.

The low king of Dwarves in the Oblong office. Includes Vetinari's and Drumknott's desks, "world's best boss" mug, and dog biscuit.

Commander Vimes, Angua von Uberwald and lord Rust in the Rat's chamber. Includes sprig of lilac, old Stoneface's axe, and Angua's collar / stygium ring.

Otto Chirk and palace guard in the waitng room / entrance / throne room / ball room. Inclues Vetinari's clock and the gilded throne of Ankh.

Palace Cook / Glenda Sugerbean / Grace Speaker / Interchangable Emma and food taster / Young Sam in the Kitchen. Includes bread, water and hardboiled egg. Roasting salmon, caviar and goblet of blood. Wine, cheese and a spoon.

Foul ole Ron and Rincewind in the treasury. Includes snake and scorpion. Paper money, Agatean gold coin and a head of cabage.

Tears of the mushtoom and Detritus in the saferoom / bathroom. Includes matress and shaving equipment. Bathtub, chamber pot with nightsoil, and shoft lavatory paper.

Moist in the janitor's closet / botomless pit. Includes trap door and chain for mimes. Stoker Blake's shovel and the Sweeper's broom.

Death / mime and death of rats / rat spy in the dungeon. Includes barred door, Dwarven locks, and a plaque inscribed learn the words.

Possible minifig permutations, with acessories:

Charlie, assasin Vetinari, Patrician Vetinari, Stoker Blake

Drumknott, Vetinari, Adora Dearheart, Albert Spangler.

Vimes under the Summoning Dark, young constable Vimes, Commander Vimes, Sargent Keel, Sir Samuel the duke of Anhk.

BLT Sybil, Dragonbreeder Sybil, dwarf opera Sybil.

Buggy Swires, Nobby Nobs, Fred Colon, Angua von Uberwald, Carrot Ironfounderson. Commander Vimes, Reg Shoe, Cuddy, Cherry.

Groat, Moist, Stanley

Ponder Stibbons, Mustrum Ridcully and Rincewind

Mrs Rosie Palm, lady Sybil Ramkin, madam Roberta Mersole

Otto Chirk, Margolata von Ubervald, dragon king of arms

Dragon king of arms, lord Rust, mr Pin and mr Tulip, Reacher Gilt, mr Slant, lord Downey

Low king of dwarves, Bashful Bashfullson, Cuddy, Cherry

Buggy Swires, Tears of the Musroom, Of the lathe the swarf

[vickyvicarious]

Several very funny back-and-forths in today's update...

“What did you think of him?”

“A pathetic, futile, broken creature.”

Imagine just casually describing someone in this way. Incredible. The first words out his mouth.

“The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley's house,” I explained. “I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penurious patrician who has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know that particular quarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburban highways. Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancient culture and comfort, lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled with lichens and topped with moss, the sort of wall—”

“Cut out the poetry, Watson,” said Holmes severely. “I note that it was a high brick wall.”

“Exactly.”

SO funny. Feels very much like they are treading old ground here. Watson doesn't always talk like this out loud, though he does in narration, so between that and his very nonchalant reaction to Holmes cutting him off, it kinda feels like he might be winding him up on purpose just for fun.

And then the classic:

“With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice. What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife of the greengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings with the young lady at the Blue Anchor, and receiving hard somethings in exchange. All this you have left undone.”

“It can still be done.”

We start off with the typical 'good job! you didn't notice anything relevant' when Watson gets to investigate, but then take a hard turn into Holmes joking about him being a big flirt and yet failing to weaponize his charm. So funny. Especially Watson's petulant 'well I can still go charm them now' and Holmes immediately firing back 'no need.' Is this revenge for the poetry, Holmes. Why are you two being so silly today.

...finally, not quite as funny but the always-enjoyable:

“Did you personally examine this ticket? You did not, perchance, take the number?”

“It so happens that I did,” I answered with some pride. “It chanced to be my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head.”

“Excellent, Watson!”

Watson Notices Something Important but doesn't understand the full significance (though it's still a cute proud moment)

and:

“It was undoubtedly the tall, dark man whom I had addressed in the street. I saw him once more at London Bridge, and then I lost him in the crowd. But I am convinced that he was following me.”

“No doubt! No doubt!” said Holmes. “A tall, dark, heavily moustached man, you say, with gray-tinted sun-glasses?”

“Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he had gray-tinted sun-glasses.”

“And a Masonic tie-pin?”

“Holmes!”

“Quite simple, my dear Watson.”

Watson Notices Something but not in the right way (AKA Holmes in Disguise Again)

[helenvader]

Hm. This absolutely sounds like there was something more. Even though it's (not just) my HC that Havelock is very much gay.

‘Oh, in my younger days I spent some time in Uberwald,’ said the Patrician. ‘In those days rich young men from Ankh-Morpork used to go on what we called the Grand Sneer, visiting far-flung countries and cities in order to see at first hand how inferior they were. Or so it seemed, at any rate. Oh, yes. I spent some time in Uberwald.’

It was not often that Leonard of Quirm paid attention to what people around him were doing, but he saw the faraway look in Lord Vetinari’s eye. ‘You have fond memories, my lord?’ he ventured.

‘Hmm? Oh, she was a very … unusual lady but, alas, rather older than me,’ said Vetinari. ‘Much older, I have to say. But it was a long time ago. Life teaches us its small lessons and we move on.’ There was that distant look again. ‘Well, well, well …’

‘And no doubt the lady is now dead,’ said Leonard. He was not much good at this sort of conversation.

‘Oh, I very much doubt that,’ said Vetinari. ‘I have no doubt she thrives.’ He smiled. The world was becoming more … interesting.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

❤️ oh man! I'll give my current faves, but I like most of things I've written for different reasons:

What Makes a King (aka Grima out here comitting Crimes but it's because he wants to Lady Macbeth Eomer into Kingship; also lots of weird gender and magic and sexuality and political intrigue happening)

Swimming Through Fire (the Boromir lives rewrite of LOTR)

To-morrow and To-morrow (ahhhh young Downey and Vetinari performing Shakespeare and being very Normal about each other)

The Feast of San Giovanni (aka that time Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Cavalcanti were REAL DUMB about how much they love each other. Also overwrought Catholic Neo-platonism)

Wild Thing (Grima again, out here being super traumatized after the Scouring of the Shire, but still somehow getting into local political messes. Except it's Literary~~~~)

Thus Always 2.0 (Downey has Dad Issues and is fucking the Patrician which means he and Vetinari are being Normal about Each Other, also there's murder and mayhem)

Yeah, those are my current faves that I've written ❤️❤️

thank you for the ask!

[portmantaur]

actually hang on, nobody asked, but I do have thoughts about moist von lip wig and the office of the patrician. because while I couldn’t bring myself to believe that vetinari only has one single option in mind for possible successors, I do think that the idea of him “grooming the city” (a la this post) and leaving a very specific shape behind to fill is absolutely why he’s testing to see if moist specifically can tie himself into the appropriate knots to fill the post.

I actually think that Night Watch’s depiction of young vetinari paints the picture of a young man quite similar to moist in a lot of ways. Yes, young havelock is reserved in ways that feel familiar to people who have read all of discworld up until that point, but he’s got this distinct unfamiliarity of youth that feels echoed in a lot of moist’s inner narrative. He’s cocky, he stirs shit on purpose sometimes just because he feels compelled to, he is motivated by and invested in Big Ideas even when he can’t quite grasp them fully or think all the way through to all their possible logical conclusions. Even at the end of the book, adult vetinari describes himself as having joined the melee over Keel’s body with a lilac bloom clutched between his teeth. Even in a position where he’s supposed to be - and is quite adept at being - understated and subtle, he has an urge to be showboaty that he sometimes, at least in the throes of youth and revolution, cannot resist. he’d rather take a failing grade in his concealment class if it means he can truthfully say he faithfully attended every lesson and was simply never seen by the instructor. he hides the last remaining manuscripts of a specific author on the art of camouflage inside the cover of a large book on accounting.

and, as the patrician, he’s in the perfect position to see the truth of moist as a young man who can be incredibly creative, pragmatic (especially socially), and almost absurdly dedicated to the Long Con when sufficiently self-motivated. I see so many moments in moist’s stories where vetinari seems to be very clearly testing the idea that moist might maintain all of these useful qualities while being Something-Else Motivated. and so, much like Carrot sort of proposed to angua with the city itself, vetinari begins to introduce moist to Ankh Morpork like a gift, like an engagement ring. yes, the stakes are not necessarily immediately city-sized, but the rewards by the end of it absolutely are. by the beginning of making money, moist has his very-nearly gold chain - he’s a Respected City Figure. and when vetinari sees that moist is internally conflicted about how Boring this feels, he then dangles another challenge - he opens another door and says “but look, there’s still more.”

and I think something that’s interesting about vetinari’s relationship with moist being viewed through this specific lens is that vetinari is also being really very practical and forward thinking. for all that the two are alike, moist has qualities that vetinari doesn’t - possibly that vetinari could not have, to have done the job as well as he has up until this point. but he’s looking to the future, and he sees a man the the people - the big, nebulous, mob-like creature that is The People of The City - cannot help but love, cannot help but be open to. vetinari is older by the time he, for whatever reason, sees himself as someone who can invite lady margolotta more officially into his life, and moist already has a similar bond in adora that could practically be described as load-bearing. miss dearheart is as integral to moist’s life as a functioning heart or brain, maybe moreso given what silliness he engages in when she is away, and she absolutely has a sharp bear trap of a mind that could and did tame the clacks and could and absolutely would tame some equally wild aspects of the city itself. she is exactly what it would take to temper moist in necessary ways, and she is fully the only one who can.

and since carrot cannot, would not succeed vetinari in all but the most extreme and likely temporary of circumstances, moist might also be the closest person available to fill the vetinari-shaped hole left behind while also cultivating a similar Good With People quality that has thus far not significantly existed in any of ankh morpork’s leaders. vetinari is distinctly good At people, much like granny weatherwax, and carrot is good By people, both for his apparently infinite ability to seek out and wrench forth the internal goodness of most anyone he comes across, and for the mysterious nobility quality that would absolutely mark him as a well-intentioned step backward into the divine right mindset that many people (especially Vimes) see as messy at best and harmful at worst.

But moist is good With people. he doesn’t have to like them, and often doesn’t, to appeal to them and to guide them into his own way of thinking. people don’t necessarily like him because “he is moist von lipwig,” the way carrot once described his reluctance to step into an official leadership role in the city. they don’t like him because he’s “what works” or the “least bad option” the way many citizens have describe their views on vetinari. people like moist genuinely for how he treats them, for how he moves through the world, for how relatable he is both in his wild & lucky success and his predictable and dramatic failures (that he still manages to turn around for himself in the end). and what a thing that might be, for Ankh Morpork to have a patrician who is beloved not by obligation or by lack of suitable alternative, but by his humanity and his willingness to love right back - imperfect and clumsy and even somewhat insincere as any other citizen might be. a man of the people because he is just a person, and he just happens to be the exact right person for the job.

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

I wonder if the cast's names have any special meaning?

Oh, indeed they do! Golly but this was fun to answer…

Let’s start with Sage. In traditional Celtic lore, sage is a symbol of wisdom and immortality, and in Indigenous traditions, sage is used in rituals to clear negative energy and promote balance. We wanted to give Sage a name that touched not only on intelligence, but wisdom - you can be intelligent and not wise, and that’s very much the case with Sage. He’s going to have his eyes opened and gain new insight and wisdom in this story…

Sage leaves can be cultivated in cemeteries and sprinkled across the graves of loved ones, and the long time the leaves take to wilt symbolizes remembrance. Sage Locke is intrinsically connected to death - it is his work and he tries to understand it as best he can, and he uses his life as a way to restore justice for those who are now dead, bring balance to an unbalanced world…

As for his last name, Locke, it’s a reflection of how his mind operates- he locks onto certain things, information and theories that he becomes obsessed by. We also wanted to convey how he tries to operate, breaking things down methodically and mechanically…

For the rest of his family, Rosemary and Sorrell and Mace, we wanted to continue the theme of herb/plant names, and Baji chose some amazing ones. 

As for those in the Regal family, we wanted them to have a surname that was Irish and inspired a lot of images of power and strength and beauty. It was a wonderful surprise to learn that Regal was in fact an Irish surname!

The name Padraic comes from the Irish Gaelic name Pdraig and the Latin name Patricius, which means “patrician” or “nobleman”. It’s a name suited for a leader, someone meant for nobility and privilege and wealth. Combined with his last name, it’s very much a name for a king…

Sorcha means "bright" or "shining", and comes from the Old Irish words soirche or sorchae, which means "brightness.” Appropriate for a woman whose talent, intelligence and beauty shines like a star, a diamond. 

Lorcan means "little fierce one", and comes from the Gaelic word lorcc, which means "fierce". The name is thought to have been used as a nickname for brave warriors, making it a fitting name for someone with a fearless spirit like Lorcan.

Saoirse means "freedom" or "liberty", and became popular in Ireland in the 1920s, possibly in response to the Irish independence movement. It's also closely linked to the Irish War of Independence and the creation of Saorstát Éireann. All in all, perfect for a spitfire who works for the freedom and rights of her people and the other underprivileged. 

For the bats of the Night Court Colony, Baji chose Nadia to honor the best vampire lady of all time, Nadja from “What We Do In the Shadows.” For her sons, we wanted names that are Slavic, since their father came from the Ukraine…

Because Baji and I met through “Strange Magic”, I rather sentimentally chose Bogdan as the name of the solitary and fearsome Duke of the Night Court. Ironically, he and the Bog King have a lot in common…

Casimir means "proclaimer of peace", but it can also mean "destroyer of peace", which is true to form for the wild and often dangerous Cas. Due to his injury with the downed wire, he himself can’t find peace…

I named Rilla after Rilla Blythe from the Anne of Green Gables series, a young woman who despite being slightly frivolous and immature is still very sweet and kind, and who undergoes a lot of growth through dark times. Marilla means "shining sea”, which was a delightful surprise given a certain mythical creature Lorcan compares her to in our story! 

Baji named Luella and Brig and Clifford, and told me that while she didn’t have particular reasons for going with Lu or Brig’s, she wanted a very English sounding name for Clifford. Also, Luella’s last name, Woodmouse, was inspired by Jane Austin’s character of Emma Woodhouse.

And these are only some of the characters to come! Even more shall appear, and their names shall have meaning too, oh yes…

Thank you for this wonderful question!

[sephirthoughts]

Just Like Honey: Chapter 12

Summary:

****WARNING WARNING WARNING**** THREATENED SEXUAL ASSAULT HOMOPHOBIC SLURS DON'T WORRY THO THEY GET THEIR COMEUPPANCE WITH A QUICKNESS

NOTE: "fag" also used once, in reference to the British boys' school fagging system, in which younger students would do housework and other chores for the older students.

AU: organized crime, cabaret, sex work

SHIPS: MULTIPLE! rufus/cloud, vincent/cloud, sephiroth/cloud, reeve/cloud, rufus/cloud/tseng, cloud/other characters as clients because that's his job, weiss/nero, background aerti

RATING: teen and up

WARNINGS: violence, homophobic slurs, and references to sexual assault, sex workers, prostitution

ALSO WARNING: vincent wearing this outfit, which may be hazardous to your health/sanity

Chapter 12: Clouderella

Wutai’s upper crust tended to take a lot more joy in dressing in beautiful and extravagant clothing, than did the elite in Midgar, where the staid, black tuxedo was the standard for men’s formal wear. What would have been considered flamboyant and ostentatious, there, would not even be enough to stand out, in Wutai.

And yet, when Cloud and Vincent emerged from their limousine, at Da-chao Palace, they managed to turn just about every head in the place. There was an actual beat of hushed awe among the crowd of splendidly clad guests. Even the uniformed guards and smartly dressed servants couldn’t help stealing glances at the two beautiful gentlemen.

Vincent was rakishly elegant, like some sort of pirate king, with his long hair flowing loose about the shoulders of his gorgeous, crimson-brocade frock coat, trimmed with sable fur. His waistcoat and trousers were of the same fabric, and his shirt was black silk. In place of a cravat or tie, he wore heavy chains of antique gold, which complemented the brass toe-guards on his riding boots, the brass buckles on his thigh holster straps, and the brass epaulet he wore on one shoulder (denoting his position as head of a noble house, of the nation of Wutai).

Cloud’s outfit was similar to Vincent’s, but had been chosen to serve as its counterbalance, rather than to match it. His brocade was snowy white, his buttons and fittings were silver, rather than brass, and his frock coat was slimmer and shorter, to look best on his smaller frame (and without fur trim, which he objected to wearing in this warm climate). Rather than riding boots, he wore white, ankle-high button up boots, and a pearl-grey charmeuse cravat, instead of gold chains.

When the two walked the red carpeted receiving line together—one tall and black haired, all in blood red, and the other petite and golden-haired, in shining white—the effect was extremely striking.

The Valentine Patriarch was a prominent figure, so the whole place was immediately abuzz with curiosity, regarding the origin of the young unknown, who had managed to endear himself to the famously prickly and unapproachable man. No matter how much they asked one another, though, all anyone found out for certain was that no one else seemed to know who he was, either. Naturally, speculation ran rampant.

“I heard someone say he was sent to the Valentines as a child concubine, and they’ve been raising him in isolation, until he was old enough to accompany the patriarch,” said a young lady, behind her silk fan.

“That’s ridiculous. Who has concubines anymore,” another sniffed.

“Just look at that blonde hair and those blue eyes,” a third remarked wistfully. “I bet he’s a Shinra scion, who defected to the Valentine side, for love of the dashing and handsome Lord Valentine.”

“Ah, but isn’t Lord Valentine your fiancée, Princess Kyrie?” said a tall, lilac-clad young woman, with a hawk nose and a patrician air about her, who appeared to be the leader of this clique. “What ever is he doing escorting a young man to the ball? Shouldn’t he have come with you?”

The princess, who was standing nearby, blushed as pink as her gown and shot the lilac girl a glare.

“A lot of unmarried gentlemen attend with male friends, instead of a date, it doesn’t mean anything,” one of her own retinue retorted, in her stead.

“I heard he’s also refused to see her highness, even once, since he’s been visiting Wutai,” one of the lilac girl’s followers rejoined, with a pout of sympathy. “I do hope he hasn’t had second thoughts.”

“Lord Valentine is the head of a very important clan. There are plenty of perfectly valid reasons he might be indisposed,” another of the princess’ faction defended.

“Too true, too true,” the first young lady tittered, fluttering her fan. “If I had a lover who looked like that blonde boy, I’d certainly never leave the house.”

The lilac girl and her companions all laughed merrily at that, while the infuriated princess turned on her heel and flounced off, with her retinue in tow. Her intended had already embarrassed her, by declining to accompany her as her escort, and now he even had the gall to show up with a man. That was tantamount to deliberate public humiliation! Not that there was anything she couldn’t forgive him for, but this would require a very good explanation.

Not even the most colorful among the stories about the mysterious boy, that were invented and repeated that evening, touched anywhere close to the truth—that he was a gymnast turned cabaret-dancer prostitute, from the backwoods of Nibelheim, via the Midgar undercity slums.

His aristocratic good looks figured heavily into this, of course, but most convincing of all, was the fact that the boy was so graceful and at ease, around all these rich and powerful people. No one who hadn’t been born and raised among the gentry could be so effortlessly charming, when confronted with the rank and class of several nations.

The more those envious people watched the little upstart, hoping for him to slip up, the more they found that his manner was flawless—neither stiffly formal nor overly familiar, neither obsequious nor arrogant, and his face carried no hint of either trepidation or over-eagerness to please. If one didn’t know better, they’d think he was hosting guests in his own home, so impervious he seemed, to the relentless scrutiny.

What they did not know they were seeing, of course, was the carefully crafted stage persona of a highly skilled, veteran performer, who spent his life as a professional chameleon, shifting flawlessly into whatever role the situation required of him. Had they known the real Cloud, they would have been less baffled by his unflappable composure.

This was, after all, the young man who had fearlessly slapped President Shinra across the face, in his own office, who dared to be contrary and demanding with the Valentine Patriarch, and who was able to weather the violent and volatile temper of the psychotic, drug-addicted leader of the Remnants, unscathed.

Far from being afraid that a few rich people with fancy titles stuck to their names would judge him, Cloud was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to trot out his rarely used urbane-dandy character (which he had developed for a client with some very specific tastes, and was based loosely on several of the more famous homosexual socialites of the prior century).

Everything about his mannerisms, turns of phrase, and costume, was tailored specifically to fit this character. He had even had a silver cigarette lighter and matching case, filled with long, black cigarettes borrowed from Vincent, to complete the impression. Thus, what Cloud performed, the people at the ball saw—which was a sophisticated young elite, in his native environment.

The formal presentation to the Wutaian monarch was far briefer and less harrowing than Cloud had expected. King Godo was a bluff and gregarious old man, who had too many people clamoring for his attention, to be overly inquisitive regarding the young beauty on the arm of his guest of honor.

Vincent had just been greeted by some important whoevers of whatever country, when Cloud heard a shriek, and turned to see a young lady hurrying over, pushing people out of her way in her haste. He was instantly spellbound by this creature, who appeared to be a mass of contradictions, from head to toe.

Her dress was a poofy, pink confection of satin and flounces and ribbons, much like a little girl might wear in a fairytale, only the bodice was extraordinarily low-cut. As she trotted over, her ample, half-exposed bosoms bounced and jolloped in such a way, that it seemed it was only the will of the heavenly Dao that prevented them escaping entirely.

She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, and was pretty enough, but her features were somewhat spoiled by her overdone makeup (in the grand tradition of teenaged girls attempting to look older), and the gaudy jeweled tiara, that topped her stiffly curled hair, was more ridiculous than enchanting.  

She shoved right past Cloud, as if he wasn’t there, and stood in front of Vincent, all bright smiles and blushing cheeks, and big, doe-eyes only for him. Cloud concealed a smirk behind his champagne glass.

“Vincent, Vincent! I had a feeling I’d see you here!” the girl enthused, as if it were a chance meeting, and not a party given specifically in his honor. “Agnes said you might not come, but I was sure she was wrong, and here you are!”

“Your highness,” Vincent replied, with an infinitesimally slight dip of his chin, smoothly withdrawing his hand, as she attempted to grasp it. “I trust her majesty the queen is well. Is she not with you?”

Cloud’s smile widened imperceptibly. If he had greeted someone the way this girl just did, and received a response like the one she’d gotten from Vincent, he’d have left the party straightaway and committed seppuku, to spare his ancestors the shame he’d brought on them.

This young lady, however, had a much thicker face than Cloud, and didn’t even appear to notice the older man’s frosty reception of her effulgent greeting. It was almost impressive, the way she let Vincent’s barely concealed disdain roll off her, like water from a duck’s back.

“Oh, you know grandma,” she said breezily. “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere, talking politics with some councilman or another. Old people are so boring, who knows they even come to these things. Parties are for fun and dancing! Speaking of dancing, have you—”

“Your highness, allow me to introduce my date,” Vincent interrupted, gesturing around the animated young woman, to Cloud. “This is Cloud Strife. Cloud, Her Royal Highness Princess Kyrie of Junon.”

“An honor, your highness,” Cloud replied, with a languid half-bow, as the princess shot him a look of mingled disgust and resentment, then turned back to Vincent, without acknowledging him.

“What’s going on, here, Vincent?” she demanded, sounding like a wronged wife. “Who is this boy?”

“His name is Cloud Strife, your highness,” Vincent repeated, while Cloud looked amused and took a sip of his champagne.

The girl’s face quickly worked through a couple expressions, then she settled on a smile, playfully tapping Vincent’s arm with her fan. “Vincent, you goose, this is the royal palace. You can’t have your footmen hanging around, in the main ballroom. There’s a banquet set up for the help in the back courtyard.”

“Cloud is my date, your highness,” Vincent said, unperturbed, reaching past her to take Cloud’s hand and pull him to his side. “It was lovely seeing you again, but I’m afraid we’ll have to catch up some other time. I was just on my way to greet the delegation from Kalm. Give her majesty my best.”

Before the princess could even think of a response, her intended husband had absconded, with the blonde boy on his arm.

She planted her hands on her hips and very nearly stamped her foot in pique, but she noticed several people glancing over, and murmuring amongst themselves. Eyes reddening and bottom lip trembling, she hurried away to rejoin her friends.

Within a minute, she had gathered her loyal supporters in the ladies’ powder room, where she sobbed pitifully while she gave them a full (and somewhat embroidered) account of how she’d suffered, at the hands of the scheming, blonde mate-sniper.

“Lord Valentine is obviously just playing around,” one of her friends soothed. “It’s not like he’s going to marry a man. The clan will never allow it.”

“True,” another agreed. “He can’t give him children, and the clan patriarch has to produce heirs. Everyone knows that.”

“Besides, you’re the crown-princess,” a third chimed in. “That boy is just some nobody. Lord Valentine will get bored and toss him away, soon enough.”

“You really think so?” the princess sniffled, as one of the girls carefully dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief.

They all nodded enthusiastically.

“All men have their little dalliances, before they settle down. It’s nothing to worry too much about.”

“My father was notorious, before he married mother.”

“My aunt says the more they play before you marry them, the less they’ll stray afterward.”

Under their coaxing and ministrations, the princess began to feel a little better, but when she recalled the smug look on that blonde’s infuriating, freckled face, her anger surged up again, and she twisted her fan until it snapped in her hands.

“This is all that little slut’s fault,” she huffed, throwing it away. “How dare he cozy up to my fiancée! How dare he take what belongs to me! The future queen of Junon!”

“You know what we should do, is teach him a lesson,” said the girl who was fixing the princess’ hair.

The princess perked up. “Oh? What kind of lesson?”

“You remember my cousin, Gregor, right?”

“The one who was accused of excessive hazing, by all those boys, at Cheltenham Academy?”

“Yep, that’s him. He’s back from school, for winter holiday, and he and his friends are here, at the ball. All you’d have to do is cry a little, and I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help knock that hussy down a peg, for you.”

Another girl made a face. “You heard what they did, right, princess? Are you sure you want to go so far?”

“True. I don’t want them to really hurt him,” the princess said.

“Oh, they won’t, they won’t,” her friend quickly assured her. “They’ll just humiliate him, so Lord Valentine won’t want to have anything to do with him, anymore. We’ll see if he dares to be so full of himself, then.”

“Well…alright,” the princess agreed. “Let’s go find Gregor.”

After they’d walked the social gauntlet, for a while, Cloud began to lag, and get a touch pink in the cheeks. The ballroom was crowded, and despite it being early winter, the Wutai weather was quite a bit warmer and more humid than a northern lad was accustomed to. Vincent noticed his condition right away, and promptly led him out to one of the balconies, to cool off.

“What do you think of the ball, little devil? Is it not as dull and tedious as I warned?” he said, with a rueful smile.

“I’m actually having a pretty good time,” Cloud replied staunchly, as he opened the lapels of his frock coat and fanned himself with them. “It’s just a lot warmer in there, than I expected. This brocade is very good at preserving heat.”

Vincent leaned on the railing and lit a long, black cigarette, eyeing his young lover appreciatively. “You can take off the coat, you know. No one will mind.”

“What, and be seen in such an indecent state, in front of all the gentry?” Cloud gasped, feigning horror. “My reputation in society would be ruined! How would I find a noble husband, after that!”

Vincent chuckled. “Never fear, my little tuft hunter. I would marry you, and then no one would dare to offend you, no matter what your reputation.”

Cloud’s cheeks were already two little apples, from the heat, so Vincent didn’t notice that they turned slightly pinker. “Ah, ha ha. All joking aside, that princess of yours is certainly a piece of work. How old is she, anyway?”

“Nineteen.”

“Wow, really?” Cloud frowned. “I wouldn’t have guessed a day above sixteen.”

Vincent nodded his understanding. “Her grandmother dotes on her, so she has been sheltered and spoiled, and has never faced any adversity. Unless she does some maturing, before the time comes, I’m afraid Junon will pay the price, for putting such a ruler on their throne.”

“Oh, I see. Queen Grandma is hoping you’ll marry her, so that your influence will do her some good, as far as growing up. And even if it doesn’t, Junon will be able to rely on Valentine military power, as a deterrent, in case granddaughter pisses off any other nations. Is that close to right?”

“Perhaps you should go into statecraft, little devil. It appears you are a natural.”

Cloud drew himself up proudly. “Well, not to brag, but I have watched a lot of Wutaian palace dramas.”

Just then, a servant came to say that Her Majesty Queen Mireille asked for Valentine-sama’s company, in the east gallery, at his earliest convenience.

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine,” Cloud said, when Vincent hesitated. “I need to cool off for at least another ten minutes, before I’ll be ready to face the heat again, anyway.”

“Still, I don’t like leaving you alone,” Vincent frowned. “What if you are swept off your feet by some charming prince, while I’m away?”

“Then you’ll just have to challenge him to a duel and win me back. Go on. Don’t keep your Grandmother-in-law waiting.”

Pressing a kiss to Cloud’s hand, Vincent tore himself away and went off to attend the queen. Which was one of the weirdest things Cloud had ever experienced, on a date. Sure, he’d made President Shinra come on his dad’s desk and piss on a puppy training pad, and played somno-incest with Reeve, but having his date summoned away by real-life royalty was a new one.

He took one of his borrowed cigarettes from the silver case and lit it, then practiced leaning on the railing, trying to look carelessly cool, like Vincent. He felt he had it mostly down, but there was something to it he knew he wasn’t completely selling. Maybe you needed to be an actual old man to really project the kind of world-weary indifference, that made Vincent so captivating.

He was musing upon this, and watching his blue-white tobacco smoke curl up and waft away on the balmy night breeze, when there was a soft footstep behind him. Cloud’s spider-sense prickled and he tensed up to react, but in the next second, a throat was cleared.

“I beg your pardon, Strife-sama?”

Cloud turned to see a uniformed servant. “What is it?”

The young man bowed deeply. “Strife-sama, Valentine-sama requests your presence, right away. If the gentleman will please follow me, I will take you to him.”

“Sure, lead the way,” Cloud said, grinding out the cigarette butt, before he followed the servant inside.

They went through the main ballroom, his guide keeping to the fringes, so as not to drag him through the crowd, and then down a side passage, to a breezeway, which led across a courtyard, to another wing of the main building.

“What is he doing way out here?” Cloud asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Apologies, sir. I was only instructed to bring you to him,” the servant answered.

Cloud’s danger detection system was pinging faintly, but he chalked that up to his own paranoia, and unfamiliarity with the place. This wasn’t exactly a back-alley in the slums, anyway. It was the royal palace. It’s not like he was going to get mugged by a band of roving viscounts.

At length, the uniformed servant stopped at a door and bowed, as he opened it. Cloud stepped into the doorway and paused, frowning.

“Hey, it’s pitch dark in—” His sentence broke off abruptly, as several pairs of hands grabbed hold of him and dragged him roughly into the dark room.

A second later, a hand popped out, pushing a thick wad of bills into the servant’s hand. “You didn’t see anything. Now, get lost.”

The servant stuffed the cash into his pocket and practically ran away, across the courtyard. He felt terrible for tricking that pretty little blonde into going in there, with those thugs, but if he had refused, who knows what they’d have done to him. He was a literal nobody, and he couldn’t afford to lose this job, or worse, by offending the wrong people. At least this way, he got to keep all his limbs and make a little extra cash.

“Well, Vincent, here we are again,” the queen’s aged voice said, as he stepped into the east gallery. She was standing with her back to him, in front of the open windows, looking out over the palace gardens.

“Your Majesty,” Vincent replied, with a courtly bow.

“Don’t you ‘your majesty’ me, you old fox. We aren’t enemies, yet,” she snorted, turning to peer up at him in the bright light of the moon. “Good goddess, you get younger every time I see you. Where the hell do you get off looking like a damned kid, when the rest of us geezers are halfway to being mistaken for escaped mummies?”

“You know I can’t help it, Mireille. I never wanted to stay young forever.”

“You could have the decency to dye your hair grey. Or at least wear spectacles, or something.”

Vincent smiled. “I am pleased to find you are well, and in good spirits, my friend.”

“Yes, yes, I’m as healthy as a horse,” she said, waving her hand. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? What’s the meaning of you parading some cheap little doxy around, in front of all the gentry and heads of state, tonight?”

“That young man happens to be quite important to me,” Vincent said mildly. “Please don’t subject him to baseless insults.”

“Baseless? Ha!” The queen croaked out a laugh. “You think I don’t know exactly who and what he is? My intel agents aren’t that lazy. I knew all about him before he set foot on Wutaian soil.”

“As expected of my old friend,” Vincent said, dipping his chin.

“What the hell are you doing publicly associating with a whore, Vincent? You’re that determined to drag your family’s good name through the mud? What would your daddy think?”

Vincent’s smile remained tranquil, but his scarlet eyes glittered coldly. “My family’s good name means even less to me than my father’s opinion, Mireille. And the opinions of the gentry and heads of state rate lower, still. Are you not at all embarrassed, berating and disparaging a commoner, who is little more than a child, on your granddaughter’s behalf?”

The queen’s face worked, for a moment, as she tried to muster some royal indignation, but she quickly dropped the charade and her shoulders slumped. “Look, Vincent, I gave up on the marriage scheme, when Kyrie got old enough to start displaying her personality. She’s not the type to catch the interest of a man like you. She’s obstinate, impulsive, inconsiderate, and she only cares about being rich and pretty, just like her idiot father.

“Problem is, the damn fool thinks she’s in love with you, and won’t take no for an answer. You know I can’t bear to disappoint her, because of her mama, so I…I promised her I’d ask you again. Only, she got it into her head that I promised her you’d accept, and she’s been building her castles in the sky, since then.”

“Mireille, Mireille,” Vincent sighed. “A marriage will not solve your problems, and continued overindulgence will only make everything worse. You will live for a good long time, so take the opportunity to instill some discipline into the girl. I know that she seems hopeless, now, but if she’s anything like her grandmother, she has the capacity to mature into the wise and compassionate monarch, that Junon needs.”

“Hmph, you old flatterer,” the queen groused, pretending to be displeased. “Fine, I’ll take your advice, as best I can. I only wish some of that Valentine austerity had rubbed off on me, back when Grimoire was alive. Maybe I’d have been a better grandmother. Or at least a stricter one.”

“My father’s aloofness and austerity did not make me the person I am. You are already better parent to Kyrie, than my father was to me.”

“Alright, enough of that. Tell me about this little blonde, who’s so important to you. I never thought I’d see the day you’d open that cast-iron heart back up. Not after Lucy.”

Cloud, who had been at risk of very real bodily harm from many powerful men, including Sephiroth, Tseng, Rufus Shinra, and various others, over the course of his career, was expecting a lot worse than what he saw, when the lights went on, in the isolated storage room.

What he had expected, was Wutaian ninjas, or assassins from Junon, or Turks (on the off chance that Tseng had changed his mind and decided to kidnap him back to Midgar), or even Sephiroth, who seemed to have the ability to appear wherever he wanted, irrespective of the laws of time and space. What he got, was four not very bright-looking boys, aged between seventeen and nineteen, in tuxedos that seemed ill fitting and uncomfortable, despite the fact that they’d been tailored.

They were pretty big and brawny, obviously of the sports-inclined ilk, and two looked like they’d had more than a few broken noses. One of them had a cricket bat and one had brass knuckles, but those were all the weapons Cloud could see. They were just high-school kids.

“Is this all of you?” he asked, doubtfully, as they shoved him into the center of the room.

“What, you want more?” the dark-haired leader smirked. “I knew this one was a fucking slut.”

“Mh-hm. Just like those pretty little third-form fags, at school,” said the largest one, who had curly, fire-red hair.

One of them went to the door and made a big show of placing the old-fashioned locking bar and chain, intending to demonstrate to their captive that escape was impossible.

“Don’t bother calling for help, either,” the leader informed him. “There’s no one around to hear.”

“So you’re prep-school bullies, huh? I thought those only existed in movies and BL manga,” Cloud said, fascinated. “Wow, is that an actual cricket bat? Did you come right out of central casting?”

“Keep talking, faggot,” cricket guy grinned, slapping the heavy, wooden bat into his palm. “Every word outta your mouth is a tooth I’m gonna knock out, before I skullfuck you.”

Cloud squinted an eye at him. “You want to force me to suck your dick, and I’m the faggot? How does that make sense?”

“Shut up, slut!” the leader growled. “We all know you’re using your ass to worm your way into the Valentine family. Well, let’s see if that prissy vamp wants you anymore, after he sees what you do on your knees, for all of us.”

“I don’t have to hold the camera the whole time, right?” said the one who had locked the door, and who now had his phone out, apparently intending to record their criminal activity. “I want to do him, too.”

“I’ll take over for you, but I get to use his ass first,” the redhead leered, rubbing the bulge in the crotch of his trousers. “I’m already hard, just thinking about how he’s gonna squeal when I stick it in.”

The one with the brass knuckles laughed maliciously, seeing Cloud’s brow furrowed. “Finally getting scared, huh? Don’t worry, sugar. We’re gonna treat you right.”

“Hm? Scared?” Cloud blinked up at him, like he’d forgotten he was there. “No, it’s more like…out of my depth. See, I’ve never even been to high school. So, you’re going to regret this in ways I don’t have the vocabulary to properly express to educated young men, like you. Oh, I know. Maybe you could make use of those fine educations and help me think of some good words.”

“Enough talk, bitch,” cricket guy said, pointing the tip of his bat at Cloud. “Get on your knees, or we’ll put you on ‘em.”

“I bet you think that’s really intimidating,” Cloud replied pityingly. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it only works when the person saying it is actually scary. Not a soft little dumpling who’s barely off his mother’s tit.”

“You piece of shit whore! Fuck you!” the dumpling in question roared, rushing forward to swing the bat at Cloud’s head.

Cloud easily ducked under the clumsy attack, swept the boy’s legs with a whiplash kick, caught the bat midair, and brought it down with a hollow thud, on the back of his head.

It was all so fast, his cronies hardly had time to process what they were seeing, let alone react. Meanwhile, cricket guy curled up and started rolling around, howling like he was dying.

“What a fucking baby. I didn’t even hit you hard enough to crack your skull,” Cloud scoffed, stepping over his writhing body, toward his associates, who were suddenly looking a little green in the face. “Ok, who’s next? You all wanted a turn, right? What about you, red? Didn’t you want to hear some squealing?”

The redhead backed up hastily, stumbling over camera guy, who dropped his phone, shattering the screen. Knuckles guy had run to the door, but the lock bar and chain were too complicated for him to get open, before the blood-spattered cricket bat tapped the door in front of his face.

“You guys wanted to trap me in here with you,” Cloud said, with a deranged smile. “Now you’re trapped in here with me.”

The brass knuckles fell to the floor with a ringing clatter, as knuckles guy backed away from the little blonde, ash-white and visibly shaking with terror. “Y—your eyes! What the fuck is with your eyes, man! S—snake! Snake demon!”

Thanks to the forethought of the four would-be assailants, the servants on duty in that area of the palace had all been bribed or threatened to mind their own business, for a while. Thus, the cracks, thuds, crashes, wails, and screams that filled the storage room, for the next half hour or so, were heard by no one who paid the slightest bit of attention.

“Gross, there’s blood on my shoe.” Cloud scowled down at the redhead, whose face was so battered and swollen, the features were hardly distinguishable. “Vincent gave me these, you better hope it comes off.”

The boy gurgled out some pathetic, unintelligible noises, in reply.

“You’re right, they’re finished leather. Of course it will.”

So saying, Cloud bent down and ripped off the redhead’s cummerbund, which he used to carefully wipe the boot clean.

“Good as new. Thanks, red, you’re a lifesaver,” he said jauntily, dropping the soiled accessory on the boy’s supine person. “Oh, and give the princess my regards. I was in serious danger of getting bored, but you guys really livened up the evening. Sayonara, gentlemen.”

“Little devil, I apologize for leaving you for so long. The queen was in a rather chatty temper, this evening, and kept me longer than I intended,” Vincent said, when he returned to the balcony, to find Cloud exactly where he’d left him, seated idly on the railing, sipping a cocktail and smoking a cigarette.

Cloud smiled sweetly, looking like the purest sunlight and daisies in spring. “No sweat, I’ve been entertaining myself, just fine.”

Vincent leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, then drew away, frowning. “I smell blood.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not mine. I’m kind of over this party, though. Can we get out of here?”

“Mn. You read my mind.”

Vincent’s eye glowed like a small sun, when they were in the car on the way back to the Valentine ryokan, and Cloud told him what happened, with the four thugs and the storage room. He wanted to go back and raise (likely literal) hell, but Cloud soothed him with kisses and by stroking his hair, till his eyes drooped and he buried his face in the boy’s neck, purring like a big cat.

It did also help that Cloud had forced the boys to confess to what they did—and more importantly, who put them up to it—and recorded it on his phone camera, which recording he had already sent to Vincent, to do with as he pleased. Vincent sent the video right along to the queen, who only responded with, “I see. I will deal with her.”

“Hoo, boy,” Cloud shuddered. “I almost feel bad for your little princess, now.”

“You are my only little princess,” Vincent mumbled, muffled by Cloud’s collar.

“You’re purring like a cat, you know,” Cloud laughed. “Is that a demon thing?”

“It’s a Valentine thing, but it’s not related to the demon. It is rare, though. I only knew my father and grandfather to do it, aside from me.”

Unseen to Vincent, who was busy pressing his fangs gently into his lover’s soft neck, Cloud’s smile froze on his face. He knew exactly one other person, who purred like this, when his long hair was petted.

But it had to be a coincidence. There was absolutely no possibility that Sephiroth and Vincent were in any way related to one another. Was there? No. It would be insane to even suggest such a thing. It was definitely just a coincidence. A weird, weird coincidence.

Definitely.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY definitely

[the-baschet]

#18 - A Fish Out of Water

Golds and pearls nearly blinded Chance once the doors of a vaunted Haillenarte banquet hall opened, their new captain at the head to lead them inside. They all adorned themselves in the same uniform to match the formal occasion. Long-sleeved black-as-pitch tops decorated in golden-trimmings fitted to each soldier and ivory trousers and dress shoes to complete the appropriate look. “And we have to be here too? ...All night?” Mulled laughter, dialogue, and a heavy fragrance of flowers and expensive musk intoxicated the soldier’s senses.

“Yes,” Mattisaux muttered at a volume easily heard by his troop. “I will do my best to dismiss you all earlier, but this is not at my behest-”

“Captain Baschet!” An Elezen, one that matched the description of several other well-dressed men in the room, appeared before his wary eyes. “How terribly sorry I am for your late father though we all know he is proud and happily looking down at you and your accomplishments in Her heavenly Halls. Come. Yes, come!” The man’s bejeweled fingers snatched the young captain by the upper arm when he idled back at his initial beckoning. “I must show you to my lovely daughter, Aveline.”

A few onlookers giggled at the scene created by the patrician, though namely at Mattisaux’s reluctance. As much as he wanted to jump out the nearest window, he simply resigned himself for a night of proper courting, conversation, and forced smiles. He knew his responsibilities by now. “You ought to take care in exactly which guests you show to your precious daughter, good Ser. Some of us are not for the faint of heart.”

Chance stood behind with Severin, Nicholas, and a few others, staring as Mattisaux and a small gaggle of ladies and lords disappeared behind lavish double doors. “They took him.”

“That they did, Chance. And now we will never see him again,” Severin sighed with a bit too much extravagance. “Let us hope that our dear lord does not make a fool of himself. Not here, at least. Now follow me, we need to look busy so no one bothers us.” His idea of looking busy, however, was merely to loiter about the table of hors d’oeuvres and dangle a wine glass in hand.

[csdarkfantasy]

Bane of Blood: La Gorgona, Part 2

The Amazonian odyssey of young Fernando San Martín. [A dark fantasy erotic novel. Read the full summary here -> La Gorgona ]

WARNING: No trigger warnings. Read at your own risk. 18+ only.

Previous Part

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Fernando's golden days with Carmencita were few and far between. Golden or not, his days with her were altogether numbered. He was eight years old when she died. Had she not been the type to leave him to his own devices for long stretches at a time, he might have worried at her being gone from the apartment for a day and a night together. As it was, he was merely puzzled when the policía showed up at the door, to tell him that his missing mother had been found drowned to death and washed-up downriver.

Whether it was foul play or not which had ended Carmencita’s wayward life, Fernando would never know. Not much investigation went into the cause of her death, as she had no family in the city except for him, little money and even fewer friends. Her funeral mass was an alms service, poorly attended. After it was over, a young nun came up to him. She knelt, smiling kindly at him as she met him eye-to-eye.

"Have you any family to take you in?" she asked.

Fernando shrugged. Everyone knew he was Don Juan Francisco’s bastard, but this nun was new to the city. Perhaps being ignorant of the don’s rakish reputation, or full of righteous naïveté, or simply moved by compassion for this winsome young orphan, she packed Fernando off to his father’s hacienda to plead his cause herself.

Juan Francisco was not at home when they arrived. They were received instead by his noble wife, the grave and sanctimonious Doña María Luisa (‘Santa María Luisa’ Juan Francisco referred to her snidely, though never directly), who grew only more grave and sanctimonious as the interview progressed. María Luisa remembered well her husband’s late and only mistress, the slattern Carmencita and this whelp of hers Fernando—the one innocent by-blow of a litany of infamous debaucheries.

In truth, María Luisa de Aria took pains to remember even the least and most casual of her husband’s many transgressions, a faithful accounting which had served her well throughout the years of her marriage, as righteous ammunition against him. She was a woman of great conviction and great fury, and these traits each fueled the other, stoking her temper to blazing heights which were terrible to behold. Her cold demeanor made these blazes all the more frightful.

Perhaps sensing something of this capacity in her, Fernando kept tensely still and silent throughout the interview, intimidated by those light grey eyes of hers scanning over him, coolly and inscrutably. Her statuesque beauty intimidated him all the more. Whatever María Luisa was searching for in him, she seemed to find. Perhaps it was a font of self-martyrdom against Juan Francisco which would never run dry. Perhaps it was a living symbol of her graciousness which could be held aloft for all to witness and admire. A symbol no doubt enhanced by the fact that Fernando was a good-looking boy, who, except for his tawny skin (which could be forgiven him), bore his father’s fine patrician features in perfect miniature. Had he possessed his mother’s uncouth gypsy eyes, had he been a sickly or an ugly child, the fastidious lady might not have found herself so magnanimous toward him.

"My hope, señora, is that you'll find it in your heart to—"

Raising a hand to cut the nun off mid-sentence, María Luisa declared, "The boy is clearly a charming, affable child, and an innocent besides."

Fernando glanced to the nun, seeing his own puzzlement reflected in the slight knit of her brows. For Fernando had not spoken a word to María Luisa, 'affable' or otherwise. Nor she to him. But this seemed irrelevant.

María Luisa went on to proclaim, "Not only will Juan Francisco and I provide for this child, we will raise him here in this house, as one of our own, with all the rights and privileges afforded thereof."

The kindly nun was flabbergasted at this pronouncement. To have Fernando adopted by Don Juan Francisco and his wife was not what she’d ever expected from this visit. She’d merely hoped to prevail upon the San Martín family’s spirit of charity—or perhaps even their sense of shame—to help make arrangements for the woebegone Fernando. Taken aback by the fairytale ending unfolding before her eyes, an outcome which seemed too good to be true, the nun hesitated, uncertain now as she looked upon this austere noblewoman what her intentions toward the poor, bereft orphan might be.

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[sobeautifullyobsessed]

You know I gotta ask about my dilfy, Shakespearian babe, Defender. Reread "No Defense for the Heart" the other day, and you write him so romantically, I gotta do a few. 💖

☾ - sleep headcanon

✿ - sex headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Thank you so, so much - I love Defender an unfathomable amount, and he presents an exquisite canvas upon which to paint my ideal romantic qualities!💖🖤💖

☾ - sleep headcanon

617 Stephen perfected the art of maximizing his sleep time during grad school (getting his MD & PhD at the same time necessitated it), and that skill served him well during his internship and residency. Basically, he trained himself to fall asleep just about anywhere and anytime he could. Now, with the great demands on his time, as both the Sorcerer Supreme and leader of the Defenders, he has even less time than ever before--so when the chance for several hours uninterrupted sleep arises, he seizes it with great relish. Sleeping deeply while experiencing dreams he can often recall with great clarity. Such sleep--whose ultimate purpose is to enable him to better serve his responsibilities--refreshes him beyond any in his life. Perhaps we should call it the 'sleep of hte just'.😉

✿ - sex headcanon

Defender was always a man of rich appetites, and so had never stinted from drinking fully of whatever cup came his way. Which was fine in his life as medical student and then doctor--but now he chooses an ascetic lifestyle so that his energies can be directed more fully to his mission. Yet still, he possesses a powerful sex drive--and all that honing his body into a powerful weapon in service to good, has resulted in a stamina he rarely has time to expend.

Ah, but when he does!

When he does, he lavishes waves and waves of pleasure and ecstasy upon his lucky lover. Devotes himself to pleasing them before he fulfills his own pressing need. Takes supreme satisfaction and pride in wringing multiple orgasms from their flesh with his skilled fingers and sensual mouth, reveling in the sinful taste of them and in their moans and the sound of his name cried out like their truest prayer as they peak. He delights in being the one in control and in how softly his lover concedes herself to him. Only then does he seek his own resolution, setting a breathtaking rhythm as deeply inside as he can get, spilling himself with abandon (he prefers unprotected sex, but will wear a condom at the lady's request). Afterwards, he lingers inside her for as long as possible, for the reality of that physical connection is too beautiful to forgo until he absolutely must.

Defender adores the act of cockwarming, but will always ask first if it's alright to indulge in. And if he ever goes a bit rough in his enthusiasm when he fucks, his aftercare is the loving offering he gives to prove the depth of his devotion.

The man he is now--the man he was always meant to be--views romantic love and sex as inextricably bound. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Stephen has always had the gift of a deep and romantic heart--and although he hasn't always allowed himself to follow it's inclinations due to the circumstances at the time, he sees the world through loving eyes. He fell easily in love as a teen and young adult. Wrote poetry (usually kept secret) for the girl/woman of his affection, used music as a means of romantic expression. Taught himself to play the guitar for that very reason, in fact (his mother taught him to play the piano as a child, and he was good enough to briefly consider making it his career, until his heart directed him to saving lives through medicine).

With his patrician good looks and easy charm, pre-accident Defender had a score of lovers--mostly short term--in his past. Though contradictory to his deeply romantic nature, he found it best to avoid entanglements of the heart as he single-mindedly pursued his goal of innovating the science of neurosurgery. He had so much to do, and so little time in those days, that he couldn't allow himself such a beautiful distraction. That was until Christine of course.

But by that time, he had become out of practice with allowing himself to be vulnerable, of speaking the truth of his heart, of trusting that he was as worthy of the love he felt for her to show her properly and let her love him in return. Once he realized he could and should, the weight of his life-altering responsibilities precluded that. He'd always hoped one day they might yet get it right, when things calmed down, when he finally had time. When she would see past his ineptitude and failure to say and show her the things she deserved, and finally claim what had been hers all along. But along came Charlie.

The most devastating lesson of Stephen's life--for his romantic nature could only experience that heartbreak as even worse than the loss of his hands.

But like the most hopelessly romantic among us, though his heart bears its scars, Stephen still believes that one day he'll find someone to love and be loved by again. He's confident he won't be repeating the mistakes of his past--for he has vowed he will follow his heart completely the next time.

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

In his old life, Stephen could afford to frequent the finest restaurants in the City, and his work gave him the excuse to do minimal cooking for himself. After the accident and the depletion of his fortune, he had to resort to much simpler choices. Lots of meatless days, lots of pasta or rice because they were the most filling. Before he found his way to Kamar-Taj--where the kitchens were always open for Masters and students alike to use between meals--he'd had to frequent soup kitchens to keep from going days at a time without eating. What a humbling experience that was!

The first night he availed himself of the smaller compound kitchen (he'd been deep in study of texts on interdimensional energies and had missed supper completely) he'd made himself a simple grilled cheese sandwich. And wept as he ate it, to realize the gift of the freedom and luxury which the haven of Kamar-Taj now provided him.

These days, the Sorcerer Supreme enjoys cooking for himself on quiet nights as a means to relax. His meals may not be anything to brag about, but Defender made a point of teaching himself at least one dish from every culture represented in the compound's population. He figured it would be useful if there came a student experiencing difficulties or homesickness; Wong keeps him informed of those who might need that extra bit of care, and though such students are admonished not to share the secrets of their meals with the Sorcerer Supreme, with others, it soon became common knowledge that a summons to meet with him after the cafeteria was closed for the night, meant they'd be experiencing a taste of home.

And since the success of his little program, Stephen finds the most satisfying meals he makes are those meant as gifs to others.

Ohmygosh, writing these for Defender has been a most satisfying experience of it's own! Thank you once more @thealleydog for prompting me to put these instinctive headcanons into words.

🥰🦋🥰

HEADCANON MEME

[spifflocated]

She’s had a very peculiar few years. She’d expected a fairly quiet life, marrying a shopkeeper, and for a long time she’d had one. Doing the accounts, helping in the shop, cooking and housework in exchange for all the standard trappings of middle class respectability. Pseudopolis might be past it’s golden age, and the haberdashers was never a roaring success, but it was a home and a livelihood and provided all the hat ribbons a sensible and economical woman could ever want. Latterly the wine merchant’s bills had begun to cause problems, but she and Charlie had rattled along together well enough.

And then, that strange winter, her Charlie had gone missing. There’d been no note, no letters, no sign of him at all. She’d reported it to the Watch of course, but they’d done nothing except for asking some extremely leading questions about the financial state of the shop and those two charges for drunk and disorderly conduct the previous year. Her responses had been sniffy. She hadn’t tried to contact them again.

Charlie had been missing for several weeks when the message arrived, by the clacks of all things. There had been mention of a kidnapping (though why anyone would think they could have afforded ransom with the shop barely turning a profit, and indeed why no demand had ever been made, continued to puzzle her), and new contacts, and a job offer, and suddenly she was selling up the shop and the draughty old house on Pike Street and moving herself and the children to Ankh Morpork, to go and join Charlie in the city.

It wasn’t until the startled reactions of her new neighbours that she realised that the handful of etchings she’d seen back in Pseudopolis had never done justice to just how much her Charlie looked like the Patrician. It wasn’t until she was summoned to the palace for a ‘quick chat’ with a clerk about the expectations of confidentiality which came with Charlie’s new role that she realised just how uncanny the resemblance really was. When they were called through to a second room, and then a third, and then the man was there, tall and severe despite his obvious reliance on his cane. When Charlie, at her side, stood straighter and looked at the man, the Patrician, with a level of focus she’d not seen from him since before the drink, and began to mirror his facial expressions. She had managed to stop herself from visibly shuddering, but the kindly way the little secretary offered her a cup of tea as he led her from the room made her think she had perhaps not hidden it very well.

Life was better now. Ankh Morpork was a strange city, very different to Pseudopolis: a grand old lady and a thief and a bright young thing bursting with innovation all rolled into one. But she had made friends here, and Charlie’s work with the palace paid more than well enough for a nice house in a nice part of town, and opportunities for the children, and new hats for every season should she want them, instead of just offcuts of ribbon. She tried not to think too much about Charlie’s palace work. The acting was much easier to discuss with her new friends anyway. But their rising social status meant that, from time to time, she would see the Patrician. He was unfailing polite every time, although always still frighteningly severe. She was learning to deal with the deeply disconcerting feeling of seeing the wrong expressions on her husband’s face from across a crowded ballroom. And the little secretary who seemed to accompany the Patrician everywhere was always very kind to her. In an odd way, he seemed to understand.

New Discworld thought: So, Charlie, a character introduced in The Truth, looks exactly like Lord Vetinari. Like exactly like him. So much like him that Charlie was used to try and frame Lord Vetinari in an attempt to remove him from office. The attempt failed, but Charlie was able to get work as a Lord Vetinari impersonator. Kids parties and the like. But he can also fill in for Lord Vetinari, as he did in Raising Steam. In Raising Steam, it is revealed that Charlie has a wife.

So somewhere out there, is a woman who is married to a man who looks like Lord Vetinari. What's that relationship like? Do they roleplay? Do... Do you think... that sometimes he... pretends to be Lord Vetinari... in the bedroom?

What if she doesn't like it, but one time, when they were in bed, and he went 'don't let me detain you.' In the Vetinari voice and she shut that shit down.

Does he sometimes try and use the Vetinari voice to get out of fights. Anyone who knows about marriage can tell you that that doesn't work for long. She very well could be immune to him.

She could be talking with Lord Vetinari, and he tries the 'Don't let me detain you.' Trick, but she's just 'don't you use that voice on me.'

What kind of woman marries a man that looks exactly like The Tyrant of Ank-Morpork?

Who is she?

[richo1915]

What the Emperor Basil had in mind was another diplomatic marriage to strengthen the link between Byzantium and Venice.

The son of a Doge could not, of course, be offered the hand of a blue-blooded princess like Zoe, the disappointed bride of Otto III. But a suitably distinguished young lady was found in the person of Maria, daughter of the patrician Argyropoulos.

The marriage was celebrated in the imperial chapel in Constantinople. The blessing was given by the patriarch and the golden wedding crowns were placed on the heads of Giovanni and Maria by the two emperors. There followed three days of festivities in one of the palaces. Maria brought her husband a substantial dowry which included a house or 'palace' of her own in Constantinople where they stayed after the wedding.

The emperor had to hurry away to his war against the Bulgars. When he came back he invested Giovanni Orseolo as a patrician and, at Maria's request, gave her the holy relics of St Barbara to take with her to Venice.

Maria was loth to leave the civilised comforts of Constantinople and her parents were sad to see her go 'as if into exile in a foreign land'. By the time they boarded ship she was already some months pregnant.

The couple reached Venice safely. They were greeted by the Doge with a reception the like of which had not been seen before. 'In truth,' says John the Deacon, 'no one could recall such a show of rejoicing in Venice as there was over this wedding.' Maria gave birth to a son a few days later. The Doge assisted at the child's baptism and, since he had been conceived in Constantinople, gave him the name of Basil after the emperor.

But the emperor's plans were again doomed to failure. In 1006 a comet was seen in the sky, always a portent of disaster. It was followed by a famine and then a plague, among whose many victims were Maria, her husband Giovanni and their infant son.

They died within sixteen days of one another. They were buried in the monastery of St Zaccaria. The Doge Pietro was inconsolable. He made his younger son Otto Doge in place of Giovanni and retired into obscurity in a wing of his palace. He died in 1008. Nothing was left to remind him of his high hopes for his eldest son and his grandson conceived in Byzantium and born in Venice, except for the relics of St Barbara, the Emperor's gift to Maria Argyropoulaina. These he presented to the abbey of St John, his son's namesake, on the island of Torcello.

Long after Maria's death a cautionary tale was told about the Greek wife of a Venetian Doge which seems to refer to her. It was related by St Peter Damian, a fervent reformer of the evils of his time, who died in 1072.

The moral of it was that the Good Christians of the west should beware of the decadent and sybaritic ways of the east, lest the Orontes flow into the Tiber. Peter records with vindictive satisfaction how the Greek princess who came to Venice died a hideous death as a result of her self-indulgence.

Distrusting the water supply of Venice, she had her servants collect rain water for her ablutions. Too fastidious to eat with her fingers, she carried her food to her mouth with a two-pronged golden fork. Disliking the stink of the lagoons, she filled her rooms with incense and perfumes. For such depravity and vanity she was a victim of the wrath of God, who smote her with a vile disease.

Her body putrefied, her limbs withered, her bedchamber was permeated by such a stench that only one of her maids could bear it; and after a lingering illness of excruciating agony she passed away, to the great relief of her friends.

It is a nasty tale, but it is eloquent of the difference in living standards between Byzantium and the West in the eleventh century. Maria's parents had been right to sympathise with their poor daughter going off to exile in a foreign land. To a lady brought up to the refinements of aristocratic life in Constantinople, Venice must have seemed rather barbarous.

What Peter Damian and his like took to be signs of depravity were esteemed in Byzantium as marks of urbanity and civilised living. The princess Theophano who had married Otto II was believed to be burning in Hell because of all the baths she had taken during her lifetime.

If eating with a fork or taking baths were thought enough to bring down the wrath of God, western society had still some way to go to match the cultured habits of Byzantium.