when you’re a 10000+ year old veteran commander of multiple wars against a cosmic army of sheer destructive evil and are also the chosen vessel of your people’s all-knowing celestial goddess, and you’re sitting at the alliance dinner table next to an immortal prophet who is the chosen representative of his people’s deities, and an engineer of unparalleled personal brilliance who was democratically elected by popular vote of his race of incredibly hypercompetent scholars, but all of you have to shut up and listen to some 17 year old with a Little Lord Fauntleroy haircut and his most trusted adviser King Fuckups the Wolfman because for some reason the human conventions of absolute hereditary monarchy still apply to all of you
thisacelovesheadcanons 