#they traveled some months through europe to shoot this

[agneswarda]

this week a friend of mine showed me the 10th kingdom & it has some of the worst creative decisions i have ever seen.

atrocious visual effects that just could have been cut entirely (really, you have no idea. without them the series would have been so much better. they have a singing ring but its face is so ugly it's nightmare fuel. it cheerily sings about a more or less unwanted pregnancy at the end). ugly ugly costume design. dumb abusive men, one of them as the romantic lead, who still are more interesting than the heroine herself who has no personality whatsoever. it's a series which relies on the audience's knowledge of the grimm's fairytales yet near the end it wastes precious time retelling snow white in the most bland way possible. it has a version of we will rock you but it's about shearing. also a whiter shade of pale plays in a swamp.

it's trash it's trash it's trash but in the most exciting way possible. it's the reason i ponder the idea of starting to make video essays bc it would absolutely deserve a 2h deep dive.

-10/10, can't recommend. and yet...

[vanyafresita]

actually, you know what ? im glad my ex gf ghosted me, i dodged a bullet it seems

[cheynovak]

Happy ever after?  

Sequel to: Another, other Cinderella story.

Soldier Boy x Reader (Y/N)  

Warnings: Angst, Smut, 18+, Alcohol, Soft dominance, ...   

Side note: English isn’t my first language.   

Words:  7286

*Does not follow The Boys storyline!*��

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

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Y/N is the rebellious daughter of a famous actor in the 1960. Her dad wants to keep her out of the public eye, since he cheated on his wife with her mother. All she wants to do is leave, have fun and start a life of her own. On one of her father’s parties, she meets Soldier Boy, who despite his reputation falls for the young girl. She is mesmerised by him, but how long can he hold the little rebel from discovering the world?  

--------------------------------- 

Y/N woke up from the sunlight on her face. She turned around to feel her bed already empty and cold. Which unfortunately wasn’t a surprise anymore, he hasn’t been home for weeks.  Ben got more and more tasks, missions and projects since Vought knew about them.  

And even though he did manage to give her a nice condo, she did miss the action and fun she used to have in her old life. The last couple of months became clear he wanted her for himself, a nice woman to come home to. But deep down she knew that isn’t who she really is.  

Her dreams were to travel the world, see beautiful nature, cities that come to life at night, enjoy different cultures. She hoped Ben would be the same, but his red, white and blue blood thought there was nothing better than the USA. Why would one want to travel to let’s say Europe.  

But for now, she was content. 

Y/N got up and did her daily morning routine, she threw on one of Ben’s old shirts, she loved the fact it smelled like him, tobacco, vanilla and some other spices. She walked in the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, while loading the washing machine, she would take a quick shower. Ready to start the day fresh.  

She lifted his shirt over her head and looked in the mirror, noticing a pretty big bruise on her hip. Y/N’s finger mover over the spot when realising Ben got a little too excited the last night they had spent, before him leaving. Maybe time to remind Ben again she is not a supe. Although the night itself she didn’t mind his roughness.  

While the hot water was streaming over her slightly sore body, her mind started to drift away to all the placed she once read about. Hoping that one day Ben would agree to come along with her. But for now, it stays with daydreaming.  

After breakfast Y/N went into town, trying to get her mind off of the fact that Ben was gone for a while to shoot a documentary on his life. And she was, once again, left to herself to enjoy life. Unconsciously she walked towards the travel agency.  

She stopped in front of the store, looked through the window. Asia, Europe, Africa, ... before she knew it, she stepped inside. It took almost an entire afternoon, the shop assistant was very friendly and helped her pick out 3 trips worth seeing.  

With books and information under her arm she walked back to the condo when she heard a familiar voice. “Y/N?” She turned around seeing the twins, Anna and Sara, she once befriended in school. “Oh my...Hi! How are you guys?” She hugged them.  

Y/N invited the girls over to her apartment for a cup of coffee. It had been almost 9 months since graduation. “Wow, girl you really did good for yourself.” Sara said looking around in the pretty big place. “It’s all from Ben, to be honest.” Y/N said while emptying her bags on the counter.  

“You really went through with that didn’t you?” Anna asked curiously. “We both thought it was just another one of your casual hook ups.” Y/N blushed hearing that. Answering, “Turns out he has something worth sticking around for.” -” Clearly.” They both said at the same time.  

The afternoon coffee turned into late night wines and take out Chinese food. Y/N never really thought often about her old life, but this lovely evening made her homesick, thinking about the fun times she was around her friends.  

Anna, Sara and Y/N agreed to see each other in the morning for breakfast and a shopping day. Just to relive their high school Saturdays. Y/N waved the girls goodbye at the door, smiling when she walked back inside.  

Y/N looked back at the mess they left on the table. “Right.” she let out with a satisfied sigh, she turned on the radio before cleaning and placing the last food scraps in the fridge. The music made her hum.  

She closed the fridge, jumping up when she noticed Ben leaning on the cabinets in the kitchen. “Yeez, Ben, you scared me.” She smiled as he walked towards her without saying a word. Her back pushed against the fridge. 

His hand went through her hair, while he looked in her eyes. “Hi.” Y/N whispered, drowning in his beautiful green eyes. His lips turn into a small smirk. “Hi.” he answered with the same tone before his lips claimed hers.  

Ben’s hands roamed over her body, it wasn’t new to her, him coming home and needing some sort of relieve before being able to have a ‘normal’ conversation. Y/N managed to break free for a second to breath. His mouth found its way to her neck. Sucking and kissing her skin.  

“I would really like to clean the rest of the table before going to bed.”  

” Who said I want to go to bed.” His voice sounded muffed against her neck. “The kitchen is good enough for me.” His hands moved from her thighs back to her cheek, demanding her head to look at him, so he could kiss her again.  

“B-Ben, I’m serious... give... me... 2 seconds.” she managed to say in between his hungry kisses. He let go of her lips with a deep and annoyed sigh. “Fine, hurry.” He answered grumpy. “I don’t want the room to smell in the morning.” She explained herself while Ben leaned back watching her.  

Secretly he loved that she played the role of housewife. Might even say it turns him on. His eye fell on the books that were lying on the corner of the kitchen cabinet. His curiosity took over, “What are you reading?” He asked while looking through the books. 

“Er, some travel research, just inspiration.” His eyes shot up from the counter to her. “Travel? You’re still thinking about leaving?” - “Well, not leaving.” She said rinsing the rag. “More like explore.” Y/N could feel his look, his disapproval, afraid to look up.  

A little hum was all he responded before she felt the warmth of his body radiating against her back. She felt his big hand caressing her hair, almost petting her. “Maybe you need a reminder.” His hand covered her neck right underneath her chin, pulling her head back.  

“Now, are you done?” His husky voice whispered against her ear. She nodded slow, part of her hated his dominant side, hated the fact that it turned her on as much as it did. Months ago, she would never, ever give up control. But with Ben, it was different.  

He turned her around before lifting her on his shoulder like a ragdoll, caring her to the bedroom. “I thought you didn’t want to go to the bedroom.” She answered a little sassy.  Ben’s hand landed flat on her ass. Making her gasp shortly. “Auw!” She sneered.  

He dropped her on the bed, hard enough to see the matrass bounce her back, ones. “You really need to learn how to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.” His voice sounded deep and firm. “I thought you like me loud.” She said while pressing her lips together, trying not to laugh.  

She would have sworn his lip twitched at that comeback. But his dominant side came back fast. “Strip.” He said while looking down on her. Y/N did as she was told, throwing her clothes on the other side of the bed until she was bare.  

“Come here.” Ben said still fully dressed in his suit. She crawled towards him, the second her face was within reach he pulled her up by the back of her head. Making her kneel in front of him, his thumb moved over her partly separated lips.  

Y/N felt his finger pushing between her lips making her automatically wrap her lips around it and suck softly. Ben’s lips curled into a smirk, “That’s it baby girl. That is all I want that mouth of yours to do.” He said while pulling his finger out of her mouth.  

He looked down to his belt, giving her a silent order before he took off the bulletproof vest he wore over his shirt. Y/N undid his gun belt, unzipper his pants. She’s mouthwatering only by the thought of him. She never liked giving head, but the way Ben praised her made up for it.  

Ben was already hard for her, he lazily strokes himself a few times. “Open that dirty mouth.” once again she obeyed without a question. Her hands moved up his thighs, on their way to the base, so she could help herself a little.  

“Na-ah, hands on your lap, doll.” he said while he held her head. Y/N could feel his large hands guide her over his warm length, tasting the precum on her tongue. She looked at him while her eyes started to fill with tears. Each time Ben pulled her in she felt him further in her mouth.  

She focussed on taking him without gagging. “That’s it, good girl.” His praises made her moan around his cock. “You like it don’t you, sucking my dick.” She noticed a crack in Ben’s voice, she knew he was enjoying her moans. So, good girl as she is, she moaned again when Ben hit the back of her throat.   

And again... and again. Making Ben growl underneath his breath. His hips unable to stay still, he really wanted to fuck her mouth, but knew he would hurt her if he did. So, a little to his disappointment he needed to hold back.  

By the time he pulled out of her mouth the tears were streaming down her cheeks, her mascara ran out just a little under her eyes. “On your back. Hands above your head.” while she placed herself on the bed, she noticed him taking of the last pieces of clothing.  

He hovered above her, “now tell me baby, who do you belong to?” He asked sweet yet demanding, while his fingers moved in between their bodies, spreading her wetness with his fingers. Her head snapped back, gasping for air. “Hm? Who owns this tight pussy?” He repeated his question.  

“Y-you... Oh... Ben.” She felt the sharp sting of him pushing his dick all the way inside her. Her hands snapped to his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer. But before she could do so, Ben had his grip on her wrists above her. “I said hands above your head!” he commanded again.  

Ben’s thrusts were hard, sharp, normally he waits for her to adjust, but today he was needy. She felt the grip on her arm tighten when she fucked her so hard it was on the brim between pleasure and pain. “B-Ben... Slow..” He interrupted her by kissing her, forcing his tongue in her mouth.  

This movement made him slow down just a second, until he abrupt stopped. “What’s wrong doll, can’t take me anymore? Didn’t I fuck you enough lately?” His voice sounded sarcastic. “Need me to stop?” He asked while pulling out, making her whine at the sudden emptiness.  

“No, no Ben. Please.” She pleaded. “Please what?” He smirked. “Please, please fuck me... Please don’t stop!” She begged him, her hips moving underneath him trying to find friction. Before he pushed back into her, he let go of her wrists but pressed his hand down on her throat.  

Making her eyes roll to the back of her head. “Look at you, such a needy slut.” He pounded hard, holding his face next to hers “You’re not leaving me. You’re not going anywhere.” He breathed heavy. “All you’re going to do is fuck me. Whenever, wherever I want.”  

Y/N felt his thrusts getting uneven, the rhythm of his hips slowed down. One last thrust, one last growl, and Ben came inside her. His hold on her neck loosed and for the first time she realised how strong it was.  

Ben rolled of her, breathing heavy. He pulled her close to him, caressed her back. After a few unspoken seconds she opened her mouth, “I’ll be right back.” but the second she placed her feet on the floor trying to walk to the bathroom, she felt lightheaded. Ben noticed, jumping out of bed holding her.  

“Hey, hey, calm down, get back in bed. I’ll get a washcloth. Take it easy sweetheart.” All of the sudden all of the dominants in his voice changed to worry. Ben walked out holding two wash cloths. “Here.” He said, placing a wet cold one on her neck. She looked confused until she realised it felt amazing against her soar skin.  

“I keep forgetting you’re only human.” He said while taking care of her. “Is that an apology?” her voice sounded hoarse. She knew it was his way of saying he cared for her and that he was sorry. Or at least she hoped.  

He crawled back in bed. “Just, be more careful next time, ok?”  She whispered against his shoulder. Ben kept looking at the ceiling. “Or we could find another way.” Y/N didn’t understand him. He noticed her confused look.  

“Vought suggested to turn you into a supe, and honestly, I wouldn't mind.” She opened her mouth, “Hell no!” She answered harsh. “Hold your horses sweetheart, I told them you wouldn’t want that.” - “Why would you even want me to be one. Compound V is poison, it kills people.” 

“No, it doesn’t, that’s a gossip created by anti-believers.” - “Ben, I can’t believe this, a-are you serious?” -” Jesus Y/N, just...Stop lay down, relax.” - “No! No, I need to know Ben. Why would you want that? I’m a not good enough?”  

“It would be nicer not to hold back every time I touch you, yes.” She heard the hint of annoyance in his voice. “You’re a fucking porcelain doll in my hands. Like walking on fucking eggshells around you. I constantly need to think of it in the back of my head, quiet the turn off when you’re fucking someone.”  

Y/N held back every insult she wanted to throw at him. Instead, she turned her back to him and covered her sore body with the blankets. Feeling her eyes tear, not wanting him to see how deep those words hurt her. “Then why don't you find someone who is fucking perfect for you.” she whispered under her breath.  

The next morning, to her surprise she noticed Ben still sleeping, laying on his stomach, hugging the pillow. Due to their fight last night, he didn’t have the time to tell her they finished shooting early being able to be home for a few days. 

The doorbell rang Y/N put on a robe, before answering the door. Ben lifted his head, looking over his shoulder wondering who was here at this time. Y/N completely forgot the twins were here for breakfast and a day out. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They yelled, hugging her, while holding balloons and a basket filled with croissants and sweets.  “You remembered.” Y/N seemingly surprised. “To be honest I'm not prepared yet.” She felt her cheeks blushing.  

“Don’t worry we’ll help you with the table.” The women fell immediately in their old habit of laughing and joking. Ben heard Y/N’s laugh in the other room, it gave him a warm feeling. But also, he felt a little guilty he didn’t got her anything for her birthday. He never even asked her when it was.  

After a short while Ben walked out the bedroom, wearing a sweatpants and shirt. He looked at the women around the table before he poured himself a coffee with wiskey. “You want something to eat?” Y/N asked. “Hm, yeah.” he grumped.  

She walked over to his grumpy ass in the kitchen. “Why didn’t you ever tell me your birthday?” He whispered a little irritated, she bends over to grab him a plate. “You never asked me.” She placed the plate next to him on the counter.  

“Plus...” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I had no idea you would be here today.” Ben didn’t hug her back, he noticed the light bruise on her neck. He just moved her robe slightly and kissed her sore neck before making sure it was covered again with robe.  

He turned around, to fill the empty plate, leaving for the open kitchen again. Not in the mood to join the girls.   

Y/N’s friends noticed the tension between them, “Everything ok?” - “Yeah, it’s nothing... Hey I’m going to get ready.” - “Where are you going?” They heard Ben from the kitchen while he crushed a few tablets on the counter. “We made plans to go shopping.” - “Have fun.” He said while snoring a line.  

Ben hated the fact that she went out, leaving him alone, but deep down he knows he can’t tie her up wanting her to wait for him like a lap dog. He saw the books again. She wants to leave me, she will leave me. Was all he thought.  

Y/N got home by 9pm a little tipsy, she saw Ben watching a tv show, his brows still frowning. “Honey I'm home.” She joked while dropping her purse on the table. Ben looked up at her, clearly not liking the state of her. “Took you long enough.”  

“Sorry mom.” She started to giggle at her own response. “Are you drunk?” Y/N could hear Ben’s disapproval. His tone surprised her. “Yess-sir” Y/N placed her hands on her hips after saluting him. “Had no idea I had to justify my action to you. Especially when you’re the picture of class.”  

Ben’s brows lifted. ”Come again?” -” You swear like a sailor, drink like a fish and take drugs like a, a, a fucking rockstar. Pretty embarrassing meeting my friends like that.” 

Y/N didn’t stop there. “You have no manners, whatsoever. You think you’re a gentleman while you are NEVER gentle with me. Ever thought about the fact that I actual love you?” Ben, surprised by her confession, walked slowly towards her.  

She continued her preach “...And that being loved, making love would be so much more satisfying mentally, maybe if you thought about anyone else except yourself for once, you would have noticed I'm rotting in this golden cage for you... YOU, BEN!”  

She made her way to the bedroom, leaving Ben standing in the living room. “Oh, and next time when you hear it’s someone’s birthday, you wish them a fucking HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” She yelled before smashing the door close. Her words lingered in his head. She loves me...  

Ben knew he felt different about her, different than any other person he’s ever been with, but he never thought of the idea this might be love. After a second that felt like an eternity, he opened the bedroom door only to hear the water running in the bathroom.  

Y/N heard Ben moving around in the bedroom next door, her tears blended with the water streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe she said all that to him, hoping it wouldn’t backlash. Because no matter how much she wanted to leave this place, she wants him more.  

She took all the courage she had to face him again. Ben was already sitting in bed, watching her walking over to her side, crawling under the covers. He still thought about the fact she, even though she was angry, admitted she loved him.  

He wanted to tell her he felt the same, or at least say something. But he had no idea how to.  “Goodnight.” was all she said giving him a soft peck on his cheek, before turning off her light.  

Y/N felt Ben moving behind her sinking down in bed, to her surprise he wraps his arms around her. “Happy birthday sweetheart.” he whispered in her ear before giving her a small kiss on her shoulder. She turned around facing him, nose to nose under the covers. “Thank you.”  

“And... I am...” Why was it so difficult to say he was sorry. “It’s ok. I know.” she said. Her hand moved to his cheek, feeling the light stubble growing under his skin. The air shifted, Y/N felt warmth rushing through her veins when Ben’s lips caressed hers.  

Their kiss deepened but she noticed a difference in his touch. Softer, more loving. “Ben... I’m exhausted.” She sighs while breaking the kiss. “I know.” He pulled her close to him. “Try to get some sleep, doll.” His large hands caressed the back of her head. “Sweet dreams.” He mumbled against her head. 

That night was the first time in a long time Y/N slept good, really good. Her face was hugged by Ben’s chin and chest. His steady heartbeat made her feel at ease, the circles Ben’s fingers drawn on her back felt soft and loving. Unfortunately, she got woken by the sound of the phone on the nightstand.  

Y/N felt Ben’s body move right before he answered the phone, letting go of her. Ben answered with an irritated sleepy voice. “Hm? Yeah, ... now? Can’t this wait? Hm, ok.” - “Duty calls?” She asked when he turned back to her. “Yes.” She lifted herself a little so she could kiss his grumpy lips. 

Ben held the doorknob in his hand, without looking to her, he asked: “I know there is a lot we still need to talk about, just... just promise me you wait with... making decisions until we had a decent conversation?” For the first time she saw a nervous Ben. he couldn’t even look at her.  

“I’ll be here when you come back.” She reinsured him. Ben nodded before leaving for Vought.  

---  

A few days had passed. A man had called her today, saying he was an assistant at Vought, clamming Ben wanted her to come to Vought. This was unusual request, but she was hoping he wanted to talk about all that had happened over the past few days.  

Y/N was led into a small waiting room, sitting next to the security guard she met months ago. He greeted her at the door claiming to bring her to Ben. The blond receptionist kept giving her judgy looks. Y/N heard her phone ringing, she stopped typing only to answer it, when she hung up the phone, she told Y/N she could enter the room now. Still being followed by the big fella.  

Once inside she noticed Ben wasn’t there, the uncertain feeling in her gut became fear. “Why am I summoned here? Who are you?” her voice almost broke trying hard not to let her fear out. “Ah, miss. Y/L/N/, good to finally meet you. Please sit.”  

"You can call me the legend, Senior Vice President of Hero Management here at Vought. You may have heard of me.” - “I’m sorry can’t say I have.” She said while taking the chair opposite his. 

“We asked you to come here to discuss an urgent matter. We are aware of your relationship with Soldier Boy. And he made it very clear he doesn’t want to break things off with you. And even though we are thrilled there is a woman out there who can, tame, our best soldier, we still want to make sure he knows his duty. “ 

“I don’t see the problem. As far as I know he has been up and ready every time you called.” - “Well miss Y/L/N you are not around when he is doing his job. On his last job, a documentary he left, leaving us with a lot of debt to a lot of people.”  

“Because I quote: “He didn’t need this fucking job, and he sure as hell don’t need a team, he can spend his time with someone better.” That did sound like Ben. “Now we, at Vought, believe a crew would lighten the workload and encourage young supes. You know send a bright message to the world.” the man gave his sales pitch.  

” Let me guess, you want me to convince him?” Y/N interrupted his story. “Well, actually miss Y/N, can I call you Y/N?” She nodded once. “We want you to be part of it, guide Ben in being a leader, show the young girls out there a woman can accomplish the same things a man can. After all you are quite the rebel back in the day I heard.”  

Y/N frowned, “Oh Soldier boy couldn’t stop talking about the young girl turning her back to her family to run away with him. Almost a fairytale we want to tell.” Y/N’s suspicions grew bigger, shifting in her chair.  

“But then again...” He stood up walking over to her. His hand moved away her hair. “ We don’t want the world to see that our beloved hero leaves bruises on pretty little girls.”  His hand moved over the sore spot on her neck. Making Y/N push his hand away.  

The bodyguard took a step forward, but the legend waved him away. “I don’t care about your popularity.” Y/N said. “But you do care about him, and he does care about his status. So here is the proposition, we give you the power, make you a superhero, and you get your life out in public with Ben.”  

“No.” Y/N could see the old man’s brows frown. “Sorry?” - “Are you deaf, I said no.” Y/N got up, but the large man blocked her. “I really wanted to do things different sweetheart.” She heard the older man say before she felt a pinch in her neck.  

The next thing Y/N knew she woke up under rubble, her throat was dry from the dust around her. She would have sworn she heard Ben’s voice. She tried to call for him but was unable to get a sound out of her. A beam of light shined on her face. “WE GOT ONE.” She heard a man yell.  

Bricks and other rubble got lifted of her, piece by piece. Her legs still trapped under a metal beam. “We need assistance here, she is trapped.” The man called out. Y/N vision was troubled. “Y/N? Oh god Y/N!” This time she was sure, she heard Ben’s voice.  

Ben lifted the beam of her legs before he kneeled down next to her. “I got you sweetheart, hang on.” He carried her in his arms, her weak body close against his. “MOVE!” she heard him shout at the people in front of him. He brought her over to the ambulance. “Soldier boy, there are still other people trapped in the store.” 

He looked at the police officer in charge, “looks like there is enough help from the fire department and the police. I’m going to the hospital with her.” he closed the door of the ambulance with Y/N in it. The entire ride he held her hand, worried, trying to understand why she was in the travel agency again. She did promise him not to make decisions before they could talk.  

Once in the hospital it became clear Y/N needed blood and quickly and even then, it wasn’t sure she would make it. Ben was angry and upset. He yelled at the doctors they needed to do more when he felt the legends hand on his shoulder. “There might be a way to help her heal up faster.” - “No, no she won’t...” he thought for a second. “She would never agree to turn her into a supe.”  

“Who said anything on turning her my boy. She needs blood, give her yours.” Ben looked at the doctor. “Could that work?” - “It might. We never tested it.” Ben looked through the window at Y/N laying in the hospital bed with a weak heartbeat on the monitor. I can’t lose her. He thought. “Ok”  

Little did he know, Vought had run tests with Ben’s blood. Turned out that injecting someone with enough blood would change them. Ben had enough compound V in his system that his blood made it possible to create or change the cells inside another person. Only if their body was shutting down, his blood would react like a surviving mechanism.  

-- 

Y/N woke up from a discussion in the hall, without opening her eyes she knew it was Ben. “You told me she is healthy, then why the fuck isn’t she wake yet!?” Slowly she opened her eyes, getting used to the light in the room. The fog before her eyes cleared, but soon she felt the pounding headache making her growl under her breath. 

She looked around the room noticing Ben was talking to the doctor in the hall, she saw that the door was closed. Weird I thought he was standing next to me. Y/N thought. “Ben?” she softly spoke. She saw him turning his head looking at her through the window before storming inside. “Hey doll. How are you feeling?”  

Y/N thought about that for a second.” Part from the headache, fine. What happened?” - “A terrorist blew up midtown, you were.... shopping. I found you amongst the victims.” Y/N couldn’t recall this happening, couldn’t even remember she went shopping in the first place.  

“How many...” Her voice broke. “Everyone made it. You lost a lot of blood, we had to eh, give you a blood transfusion.” She saw the terror in Ben’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” - “You almost didn’t make it. And eh, we decided to try something... new. We, eh, gave you, my blood.”  

“What?” - “We gave you, my blood.” he repeated. Y/N blinked her eyes a few times, trying to understand. The doctor walked in checking her vitals one last time. “So, what side effects does that give?” Both men looked at each other. “I presume there will be side effects.”  

“We don’t know yet, but there is a possibility you will have his powers or maybe even copy some of his personality traits, just for a while until your blood fought off his cells.” The doc said. “Is that why I have a headache?” - “That’s my best guess. You may leave the hospital now, but I would like to see you for a check-up later this week.”  

The entire ride home Y/N didn’t say a word, the thought of having his blood, compound V, rush through her veins made her stomach turn. But she also knew he did it to safe her. Once inside their safe space in the apartment she turned towards Ben, wrapped her arms around his ribs and just hugged him. He answered by rubbing his hand on her back.  

“Y/N?” - “Hm?” - “Why were you at the travel agency?” - “I don’t know, I don’t even remember going shopping.” she looked at him. Y/N saw the fear in his eyes. “I just... thought, we would talk when I got back.” He pulled her arms off him. “But it seems you already made your decision without me.”  She shook her head, “No.”  

“How can you say that when you don’t even remember a thing.” His voice turned cold. “Because I remember our fight, how miserable I felt, thinking I want to be with you, Ben.” She could see he wasn’t convinced yet. “Ben, let’s talk now. Let’s fix this, this tension between us.” - “There wouldn’t be tension if you just knew your place!”  

“My place? Where the fuck would that be!” She matched his tone. “You know what, fuck this, no! Fuck you. Since the first day we met you claimed me like some fucking price. I’m no fucking object you can buy. I’m not a toy you can play with when you’re bored! I’m done. I’m so, SO DONE!” Y/N smashed her fist against the kitchen counter breaking the marble countertop. 

Ben grabbed her hand to check if she was fine. “Let go of me.” she pulled her hand out of his grip. “I’m still mad at you.” He looked him dead in the eye before she walked to the bedroom packing a bag. “What are you doing?” He stood in the door. “Maybe you need a little time alone. I know I do.” 

“Time alone?” - “Yeah, alone, like not being used to me waiting around for you, not being able to visit your puppet, you know the one you think about only when your fucking boner talks to you.” Y/N was ruthless, the things she said to him, she never even dared to say out loud afraid he would walk out on her. But now she felt strong enough to walk out on him.  

“I just saved your life.” - “You changed me into the last thing I wanted in this life.” - “We had no idea. This will all end sooner or later.” - “What if it doesn’t? I can’t even look at you anymore Ben. So fucking selfish.”  

Ben grabbed her arm. “If you leave know, you don’t need to come back.” He said in despair, his body screamed anger, his eyes trying to show dominance but glanced at hers in fear. Y/N nodded slow, letting his words sink in. “Good luck finding another fuck toy.”  

--  

Years passed; Y/N travelled the world like she wanted to. But never really being able to forget about Ben. She sends him a post card from every land she visited, not even knowing if he would receive them, or even still had the condo. But she needed to tell him about her days.  

Once she heard the news that Soldier boy and Crimson Countess started dating, she stopped sending cards. She hated herself for not getting home earlier, she always planned on getting home, talk to him, convinced him she still loved him. But she was afraid, afraid he would turn his back to her.  

Y/N needed the travel not just for the memories, but for her mental health. During her time alone she noticed more and more powers compatible with Ben’s. She had a hard time trying to figure out how to live with it, how to accept it. She used the time to find a cure, but never found one. So when she had to deal with the fact, she would be forever a superhero, she hated herself.  

-- 

Now many years later, Butcher had found her, via intel coming from the legend himself. “You want to win him over by bringing him the head of Countess on a silver plate? Boy you need much more than that.” He shook his head. “I suggest you find the reason he made his relationship with the young redhead public. Y/N.”  

The entire It couple gimmick began when Ben had the brilliant idea of making Y/N jealous. He had no idea where she was so reaching her was difficult, by the time he got her cards she was probably halfway around the world again. So, he agreed, after a few years, to leading a superhero team. Making Crimson countess his girl.  

When Y/N broke all contact, he started to appreciate crimson more and more. Desperately trying to forget Y/N.  

“Can I help you?” Y/N said to the men waiting at her door, in her New York apartment. “Maybe luv, we are looking for miss Y/N Y/L/N.” - “You found her.” she answered very calm, leading them inside. Hughie was surprised, thinking they were searching for a woman in her 80s. Not a young girl looking not even a day older as him.  

Butcher explained her how they found Ben. How he was the one to blow up mid-town. Y/N sat at the table looking over to Hughie, French and MM while Butcher kept giving his pitch. “So, you are telling me not only that Ben is still alive, but that he has a new superpower, radiation or something?”  

“Precisely luv.” She British fella grinned while leaning back in his chair. Y/N nodded slow. “And you want me to ‘control’ Ben, for... you?” - “Well to ease him. Making sure he won’t blow up again.” Hughie corrected trying to flash her a smile but to nervous.  

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.” She said looking Butcher straight in the eye. Who clearly didn’t expect her answer. “Out, before I kick you out.” She got up and opened the door for the men. ”Oh and a word of advice. No one, and I mean no one, can guide Ben. He does what he wants, when he wants and well, how he wants. So, good luck.” Y/N said before closing the door in their faces. 

But Butcher had made her curious, a part of her wanted to see Ben again, she always had known, the story of him being dead was fake.  She felt he was still alive, was it her undying love for him or the fact that his cells made her to who she is now a days. But she knew one day he would be back from the dead.  

So, Y/N decided to follow the men, seeing where Ben stayed. No intentions to meet him, but when she saw him, her heart stopped. She sat in her car watching Ben opening the small motel door, wearing a baseball shirt and sweatpants. But his physique was nearly untouched, she saw he was slightly skinnier, what to expect after 40 years of torture and sleep in Russia.  

Before she knew it, she stood in front of the door, letting out a deep sigh. “Please don’t be angry.” she whispered under her breath.  

--  

Ben held his hand up, making Butcher and Hughie shut up. “Did you...” he broke off the sentence he wanted to say walking towards the door.  

-- 

Right when Y/N wanted to knock on the door, it opened. Her eyes locked with his in an instant. “Hi.” she said breathing heavy. For a second that felt like a lifetime she stared at his beautiful eyes, roamed his face, noticing those freckles she loved. Feeling the desire to kiss his full lips. Needing to taste them once more.  

Ben kept looking at her like he saw a ghost. When he didn’t move aside or say anything, she started to regret coming here. “T-this was a mistake, I’m sorry to bother you.” But those words seemed to wake him up. Right when she wanted to turn away, he grabbed her tight, pulling her in his arms.  

She felt his chin and nose on her head, while one of his hands rested on her back the other one caressed her hair. “I thought I would never see you again.” He blurred out. “I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore.” He slightly loosened his grip on her, only to look at her again.  

“You cut your hair.” He noticed the once luscious locks were trimmed to a long bob, making her hair wavy now. “Well, you grew a beard.” Her hand instinctively moved to his chin. Accidently moving her thumb against his lips.  

That small touch started the fire withing them. Ben immediately held the back of her neck, pulling her up to kiss her. Passioned but controlled, when they let go of each other, their eyes where once again locked. Butcher and Hughie left the room. “We shall give you two time to talk.” The Brit said when walking passed them.  

“Fuck I missed you, Doll.” She could hear the heat in his voice. “How much?” she flirter, Ben’s lips curled in a smirk. “I’ll show you.” he whispered before finding her lips again. All their sorrow, doubts and fears flew out the window.  

Ben placed her down on the bed underneath him. His hands moved over her body, already stripped her from her clothing. His large hands cupped her breast, kneading softly before pulled her bra straps down.  

His lips sucked at her already harden nipples. Making her moan his name in a prayer. “You haven’t aged a day. Still so fucking beautiful.” He breathed out when his hand moves in between them, finding her wet core. His fingers glided through her fold, coating before slipping two fingers inside her.  

“Hm.. Still so tight.” He moaned in her ear while her back arched. When Ben wanted to move down she pulled him back up by the back of his head. “Ben... I don’t want to wait.” - “Tell me what you want doll.”  

She pulled his shirt over his head before using her strength to turn them around. Pulling his pants down to his knees and straddled him. “I need you...” she pumped his hard, thick cock with her small hands. “Inside me, now.”  

“Are you sure?” His cocky grin appeared. “Fuck... yes.” she answered while she sank down on his cock. Letting her head fall back. Ben’s hands moved up over her breasts and neck. Her body instinctively started to grind against his. 

The moans and praised sounded out of porn movie. But for them this felt like heaven. Ben lifted himself, kneaded her ass cheeks while guiding her. While her hands found their way to the back of his head and shoulders. Feeling his slightly longer hair through her fingers. Tugging while her lips concurred his.  

Ben felt her tightening around his shaft, knowing she was close, he turned her on her back. Hovering over her while his hips found a little faster but, oh so good pace. He knew from that moment he wouldn’t be able to hold back when she came, and he didn’t care, he needed to hear her moan his name in ecstasy.  

“Oh Ben...” She moaned while her back arched, her legs tightened around his hip. “Let go sweetheart, I got you.” Where the last words she heard before blanking into a breath taking, leg shaking orgasm. She was so out of this world, that by the time she came down, she noticed Ben had his at the same time as her.  

Ben laid down next to her. She looked at him, “what?” he asked out of breath. “You were, softer than I remember.” She noticed. ”Well...” his hand moved over his face to his hair. “A very special girl once told me to be more... gentle. Something about making love would be so much more satisfying.” 

Y/N bit her lip. “And I promised myself, if she ever gave me a change, I would show her how a man makes love to his woman.” he added. Y/N felt tears of joy in eyes. His woman... She crawled back on top of him, kissing him once more.  

“Thank you.” She smiled.  

She noticed a question lingering on his lips. “What’s wrong?” His eyes found hers again. “Stay here, at least tonight.” Ben said, realising his words weren’t a question. So, he added “Please?” after a second.  

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile once more. “Why should I?” she teased, knowing it would drive him crazy. Expecting him to say something along the line of “I’ll make it worth your while, or I'm not done fucking you.”  

But no, he thought about it for a second and said:  

“Because I love you.”  

‐-------

Thanks for reading, if you like it feel free to like, share or comment. 🩵

[300yearschallenge]

After Theodore left Charles Elias shouldered his repsonsibilities and work.

Most of it were things he'd seen Theodore do, but there were still times he felt lost or wished he wouldn't have to do most of the work alone.

He filled the void with his cats. And with Laura and Mr. Isak.

Charles Elias wasn't sure if it just felt different being around them now, or if they'd let him closer than he used to be.

For a time Laura watched over him at dinnertime to ensure he ate, until she was satisfied he wouldn't refuse food anytime soon.

Mr. Isak dragged Charles Elias out of the cabin on many different errands, teaching him new things each time.

In the summer he helped Mr. Isak buy a second cow, a beautiful brown one they named Dagny. In the winter Mr. Isak brought Charles Elias out into the biting cold on the snowladen ice to hunt seals. Looking for the ice holes the seals would use to come up for air.

Life moved on slowly, painfully at times, but as the months went by Theodore's absence got a little easier to tolerate.

Historical Info / Nature Info

The brief mention of sealhunting is based on a historical practice that was very common in the winters in the Baltic Sea.

Back then when the sea froze people tended to head out in 2 man teams to hunt for seals, looking for the ice holes seals would use to come up for air.

The clothing is based on the following drawings from the three chapters of Edward Daniel Clarke's third volume of Travels in various Countries of Europe, Asia and Africa. In the selected chapters he described a journey across Åland in the winter of 1799.

It was a pretty fascinating look at Åland from that era, written in that era. Do note that I have heard that the descriptions of some counties (especially countries in Africa and Asia) and its inhabitants are quite rascist (!!) so if you want to check out the book for yourself be wary.

(ignore my thumb lol)

Back to seal hunting! As you can see in the pictures the clothing a seal hunter would wear was quite specific. It consisted of a sheepskin coat, sealskin boots and a fur hat. With them they'd have a gun for shooting the seal as well as (what I believe is called) a boat hook. The hook would be used as a sort of walking stick, used to test how solid the ice is before stepping on it, and the hooked end could be used to quickly pull up things/people that fell through the ice.

The type of seal hunted would typically be the grey seal (there's three species of seal in the Baltic Sea, but the grey seal is most common around Åland). The grey seal is found in the Baltic Sea as well as in the Atlantic Ocean (and are absolutely adorable).

image from wikipedia

The reason they were hunted were for their waterproof pelts, as well as the fact that they are fairly large and have a lot of fat, which was highly desirable for people, especially in the lean winter months.

However, as human populations rose and technology developed seal hunting started to put a very large strain on seal populations. In 1980 the grey seal population in the Baltic Sea was at its lowest, but with more protection put in and limitations on hunting the population has slowly risen since then.

With hunting of seals limited the current biggest threats to the seal populations in the Baltic is human noise pollution, boats and fishing nets as well as toxins and pollution. But there's still a lot of work being done all throughout the Baltic to protect and care for the seals and the sea as a whole! ^w^

[realmadridfamily]

"I like that my social media allow you to get to know a little part of me because we all know that you don't share everything or get to know the person by Instagram"

Mother, model and former stewardess. Although many people know her through her husband Dani Carvajal, Daphne Cañizares presents herself as a woman full of enthusiasm, a little shy at first, in love with her family and fond of fashion. She confesses to us that, despite enjoying photo shoots, she feels a little insecure during interviews.

Daphne started her adventure in the world of fashion at the age of just 8 as a child model and, looking back on her time as a model, she says she has very fond memories of it: “For me it has always been a hobby that I enjoyed a lot. The best things are the experiences, the travels, meeting people… and the joy of getting a job that will fill your book with high-quality work and allow you to grow as a fashion professional”.

At the same time, she explains how she sees the world of modeling today: "I think the model profile has changed a lot, it's much more diverse, and girls are calmer. I've seen friends who've had difficult times, but I've also seen that agencies have listened to them and helped them to see what can be done." She also tells us about her experiences with fashion standards: "It depends on where you worked. In Europe, they were looking for blondes, slimmer girls, but in Turkey, for example, they told me that I had small breasts and that I was too skinny. When I heard "no," I thought that this was simply not the profile they were looking for. I didn't blame myself for it or want to change because of it".

Daphne Cañizares is not only a model, but she also worked as a stewardess and she tells us that although it is a very exciting job, she is very grateful to be home with her sons 24 hours a day : "It's very difficult for cabin crew and pilots to be away from home for so long, especially if you have children. You can reduce the number of hours, but the balance is complicated because the less you travel, the less you earn. It is very complicated and currently it is difficult to live on your salary. Even if you reduce, you will not achieve everything".

Although Daphne is no longer a model, she still has an interest in fashion and says that one of her favourite summer trends is linen: “It’s a bit of a love-hate relationship because it wrinkles a lot, but I think it’s a necessity for men and women in the summer. It looks great and anything linen is essential.” On the contrary, she says she wasn’t encouraged to join the fishnet dancers. “From a distance it looks really cute but up close it’s a bit weird.”

Daphne describes her style as classic. Blazers and jeans are some of her staples, and when it comes to colors, she prefers neutrals. She tells us about her inspirations that she really likes Karl Lagerfeld. “I think their designs are long-lasting and quite inspiring for everyday wear.” Yves Saint Laurent is also another of her key designers. “He created a lot of the wardrobe pieces that women wear today, like the jumpsuit, the suit, the tuxedo.” However, for more special occasions, she turns to Spanish designer Alejandro de Miguel. “I am inspired by their designs and we managed to create something beautiful, like for my wedding, when I wore 2 of their designs. The truth is that he is a designer who inspires me a lot and I really like him.”

Daphne is also a very family person and tells us how she has been able to enjoy these months with her husband and her children. “My role as a mother is 24/7, I am always with them. My eldest son Martin started school a few months ago and the youngest Mauro is still small. For us, the most important thing on vacation is that my husband is at home and we can wake up all 4 of us together. And well, we have enjoyed the beach, but above all what we enjoy the most is being able to be together full time.” She also tells us about the change that her relationship has experienced since the birth of her children. “Since we had Martín, we are quite clear that we are no longer a couple, but rather a family. They are very young and need us and the truth is that we cope very well with not being able to spend so much time alone. For us, quality time is also being with the children and right now, we are really enjoying the moment. We believe that children grow up very quickly and that this is a time that will never come back. And the truth is that we are very happy.”

She loves sharing moments of her life on social media and she also tells us about it: "I started like everyone else sharing fashion photos, of my daily life with friends and family. Yes, my followers started to grow when I started my relationship with my husband, but I always wanted to maintain the essence of a woman who shares a small album of some moments of her life. I am also very grateful for the work opportunities that have come my way and when I share a job it's because I really love it and I am grateful to have the opportunity to campaign. I like that my social media allow you to get to know a little part of me because we all know that you don't share everything or get to know the person by Instagram. But hey, let them see a little of my likes and my daily life".

Finally, Daphne says that she has several projects in her mind, but right now her sons are small and they are her main project. However, she assures that she will continue to work on these projects in the future.

[manybcdthings]

FELIX RANSTRÖM — HEADCANONS

QUIRKS, HABITS AND MEMORIES

One of the few and only gifts Felix has received from Olaf is an ornate intricately designed silver lighter, it was also a talisman of the older witch. It used to be the only one Felix used, but since becoming a werewolf it is now buried at the bottom of a drawer.

Has a habit of running his hand through his hair when stressed, in thought or problem solving. Also has the same stubborn strand of hair that always falls in his face.

Has kept a journal for years but has never told anyone, he also sketches in it with fine line black ball point but they're mainly doodles. He wrote about his attack and the emotions that followed the loss of his magic and hasn't touched the journal since.

Bites the inside of his cheek when he tries to suppress a sarcastic comment at an inappropriate time, but it usually finds a way to be said anyways.

Wears a black leather woven bracelet that Isabella gave him, never takes it off.

Always stands straight and in an at ease position or with his hands in his pockets. However, he slouches frequently whenever he's sat down and often stretches dramatically once he realizes like literally arms shooting up above his head with a groan as if he's 90 years old.

Has a somewhat impressive collection of vinyl records but he doesn't consider it a hobby, there's some he's never even listened to.

Is partial to chewing gum, especially when he's trying to quit smoking.

Has a PhD in philosophy but it's never been considered impressive or useful in his family so Felix himself even forgets he earned it.

Delayed working at Zenith by traveling and enrolling in universities in Europe, so he has a bunch of degrees none of which he uses.

Prefers dim lighting. Aside from the natural light in his apartment, there's only mood lighting that happens as soon as the sun goes down.

Has a photographic memory but enjoys the fact he's kept this clueless joke going for years where he claims he can't remember any shared memories.

Has always pulled off elaborate pranks during any first dates Oskar has with people, the only time he didn't is when Oskar began dating Thea because he liked her.

Despite having a hedonistic approach to life for a number of years, he inherently disagrees with hedonism philosophy. He also has never liked casual hook ups or meaningless relationships, always taking his romantic interests seriously. Even if they usually hit the one year mark and dwindled. Some exes or previous love interests might describe him as intense, or that he might have moved too quickly.

In the same token as above, he has already bought an engagement ring for Isabella within months of them first dating until realizing that grand gestures and money was the last thing she cared about. So it's been hidden away and decided to not be the one.

Keeps his living space meticulously clean, and his general surroundings too. Very common to see him tucking a few stray chairs under tables at the institute.

Has a habit of standing in doorways and leaning on the frame or holding the top of them, something he's done as soon as he realized he was tall

Actually has a soft spot for animals and nature, helped Tarquin find foster homes for stray dogs in Romania for a few weeks.

Hums tunelessly when he's concentrating and taps his foot, impatient with his own thoughts.

[ghostofaboy]

Six Month Contract - Day One

Pairing: Pero Tovar/Original Male Character Rating: Explicit. Seriously over 18s only Word count: 2922 Chapter: 1/?

Warnings: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Face Fucking, Deepthroating, Period typical attitudes to homosexuality and bisexuality

Summary: Pero Tovar and William Garin take a job working for a disgraced Prince. While William is happy just to have a job and earn some coin Pero discovers pleasure in the company of the Prince and many of his men.

Note: This has not been beta read so sorry for any typos. This is also my first time writing Pero Tovar after I got sucked into The Great Wall pit. Also I'm still learning Spanish so if I've messed up the translations please let me know.

It seemed too good to be true. A short-term contract working for a nobleman as part of his roster of guards. William, very quick with a bow, had been spotted while showing off at the latest tavern they had stopped in, catching the eye of a couple of men all dressed in similar garb. Later that night, a well-dressed man had approached them with the offer. It seemed like a good deal.

The motivation for the two of them had been simple. Money, as always. Traveling around Europe was costly, and with them running low on everything, they really needed a new job. And so, the following day, they gathered their meager things and set off towards the area outside the village they had been told about.

The noble in question was the third son of a king, apparently. Pero wasn’t sure why he wasn’t using the title of Prince or why he was camping in the ass end of nowhere, but as long as there was money to be made, he didn’t want to think about it too hard.

“Shouldn’t be too far now.” William looked back at Pero over his shoulder, shooting his friend a quick smile. They had been walking for a few hours, and Pero was starting to believe they had been conned.

“What if it is bullshit?” Pero scowled.

“Then we leave.” William shrugged. “But the offer did seem genuine.”

“Your offer.” Pero reminded him. “I no get an offer. They want your bow.”

“Once they see your skill with a blade, my friend, they won’t be able to refuse you.” William stopped walking to look back at Pero properly. “This will only be for six months. It’ll see us through the winter and get us back on track to the east.”

“Fucking east,” Pero muttered as William set off again. Going east in search of black powder had been William’s idea, with Pero only joining him out of some sense of misplaced loyalty. Still, William hadn’t let him down yet, and the Irishman’s instincts were usually reliable.

“I see it.” William waved Pero forward as the first few tents of the nobleman’s camp started to appear from behind a cluster of trees.

Jogging to catch up, Pero was met with clusters of tents. There were tens of them, perhaps even a hundred of all sizes. The ones on the outskirts, where they were now, were smaller and similar to their own little more than a sheet of cloth held up by a couple of poles. The further in, the larger the tents got, with huge pavilion-type ones off to the sides every few rows, probably for craftsmen and the like.

“Fuck.” Pero heard William whisper under his breath. He could only nod in agreement. This was quite the army the young Princeling had gathered.

“Who goes there?” A large stern-looking man strode towards them with purpose, holding out a hand and flanked by five other well-armored men.

“William Garin.” William bowed slightly as he greeted the taller middle-aged man. “And my traveling companion Pero-”

“Pero Tovar.” Pero nodded his head curtly.

“We were expected.” William looked expectantly at the group. “A man, Bariss, I believe he called himself, offered me a place.”

“Ah, you’re the archer.” A look of recognition washed over the face of the larger man. “I’m Sir Cole Tussak, my Lord Voren’s Captain. I’m in charge of all my Lord’s guards and personal bodyguards. Please, this way.”

Cole gestured for them to follow him and quickly led them through the maze of tents to a larger and more colorful structure. This huge pavilion was a beautifully rich red, unlike the rest of the canvas city, which was made of grays and browns. Inside, Pero could hear laughter and the sounds of merriment.

“My Lord will want to meet you once you have signed your contract,” Cole explained, leading Pero and William past the red pavilion and to another group of larger tents. “I hope you take no offensive, but I would like to see your skills for myself.”

“No offensive at all, Sir Cole.” William smiled politely. “In fact, it gives my friend here a chance to impress you and earn his own contract.”

“Indeed.” Cole nodded to Pero. “What are your skills?”

“The blade.” Pero gestured to his duel swords on his back. “Some polearm, some hand to hand.”

“Your accent.” Cole cocked his head, his smile growing as he looked over Pero. “May I ask? Spanish?”

“Sí”

“¿Prefieres que hable español?”

“No.” Pero shook his head but smiled. “I speak English well. And it is good for me to practice.”

“As you wish.” Cole pointed over to a set of targets set up for William, who began to prepare.

As William let loose his first arrow, hitting the target dead center and earning impressed whistles from the gathering crowd Cole moved closer to Pero. With each arrow, Cole grew closer until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with the Spaniard.

“Quizá deseo practicar contigo.” Cole whispered into Pero’s ear. “Spanish, I mean,” Cole smirked as Pero’s head whipped around to face him. Pero could feel a familiar heat creeping up the back of his neck that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It had been a long time since he had been with a man, but the way Cole was looking at him brought back fond memories of time spent in his home village with a couple of the other boys. There had been other men here and there over the years, but they were far fewer in number than the women he had bedded.

Laying with a man was a thrill but one laced with danger if caught. Few people approved of the act, so finding a male companion to share a bed with was always something of a game to begin with. Each man had to try to make their intentions known to the other subtly in case their instincts proved wrong. Pero had never been a subtle man and had fled from many angry men who weren’t flattered by his attentions far too often in his youth before he learned better.

Cole was only half watching William as he continued to thrill the crowd with his skills. Catching Pero’s eye again, the older man made no secret of looking the Spaniard up and down with an approving and blatantly lustful eye. Being the Captain must have its perks for him to behave so openly, and Pero decided it would be a shame to waste that. Licking his lips slowly, Pero let his own eyes travel over Cole’s body before meeting his eyes again and giving a small smile.

Cole continued to smile as he stepped forward, raising a single eyebrow and calling to William. “Very good. I can see why Bariss invited you here.” Cole clapped William on the shoulder, leading him back towards Pero. “Let us look at señor Tovar’s blades, then get some food.”

/////

Hours later, Pero was dripping in sweat and aching from head to toe, but the claps on his shoulders from the other bladesmen made it worth it. Sir Cole had been impressed and led him and William to a large communal tent where many of the gathered men were eating.

“Help yourselves to anything you like.” Cole gestured to the large pots of broth. “Our cooks always have something to fill empty stomachs. Once you’ve eaten, come find me, and I’ll finalize your contracts and take you to meet my Lord Voren.”

“Thank you kindly.” William bowed slightly as Cole left before turning excitedly to Pero. “What do you think? Seems like a fair deal.”

“Sí,” Pero nodded, heading straight for the broth and getting a bowlful. “Very good.”

“Well, that’s glowing praise coming from you.” William chuckled, grabbing his own bowl and joining Pero at a table.

After eating their fill, Pero joined William as they returned to find Cole. Asking a few of the soldiers quickly had them pointed in the right direction, and they soon found themselves outside one of the larger tents. The guard stationed at the entrance simply nodded and held the flap open for them as they headed inside.

“Ah! I hope your bellies are full, my friends.” Cole greeted them again with a large smile before gesturing to a set of chairs around a table covered in papers. “I have your contracts here, the standard fare, although you may read them if you wish.”

Pero saw William blush out of the corner of his eye. Although he was quick with a bow and quicker with his words, William’s reading was limited. Since they had been traveling together it had been up to Pero to read over their contracts to ensure they weren’t being swindled.

Reaching out to take one of the contracts, Pero noticed Cole’s eyebrows raise.

“You read señor Tovar?”

“A little.” Pero glanced through the contract, picking out the words he could and checking the usual areas for the correct details. “My father was a blacksmith. He had a lot of commissions. He learned, and so I did.”

“Interesting.” Cole leaned back in his chair as Pero nodded to William. “I was impressed by your skill with a blade, but since you can also read, you might be better suited as one of my Lord’s personal guards with me.”

“Does it pay more?” Pero replied gruffly and bluntly.

Cole let out a warm laugh. “Yes, it does.”

“This is a gracious offer,” William interjected, looking over at Pero with a hard stare. “But we cannot stay longer than the stated six months.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” Cole took one of the contracts from Pero and began to make the adjustments. “By the time your contracts are up you may have changed your minds, but regardless, we will be back at my Lord’s home with the rest of his men.”

“Very well.” William nodded, placing his mark on his contract. Pero could hear in his voice his concern. He knew Pero wasn’t completely sold on going east for the fabled black powder, but with few prospects, he had followed William. With better money, there was no doubt William would be concerned Pero would abandon the venture altogether.

Once Pero had written his name, Cole clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Master Garin, our scout and guard captain, will want to talk to you. After he has assigned you your duties, he will take you to see my Lord Voren. Seek out Captain Roe over nearly the range.”

“Thank you, Sir Cole.” William stood up and bowed slightly. “I shall see you later, amigo.” He whispered to Pero as he left Cole’s tent.

Finally alone, Pero turned back from watching William leave to see Cole once again looking at him with unadulterated lust. His eyes roamed over Pero’s face and form, a playful smile gracing his lips.

“As part of Lord Voren’s personal guard, you’ll be a part of a small group of men who are expected to be at my Lord’s side at all times. I am in command of this group.” Cole smirked at Pero. “You’ll be directly under me.”

“Good,” Pero smirked back. He was enjoying the game already. The thrill of flirting with another man, the knowledge that soon he would get to have Cole’s cock. His own cock twitched at the thought as Cole licked his lips slowly.

“Lord Voren has rigorous criteria for his personal guard. They must be excellent fighters to defend him, but they must also possess other attributes he deems crucial.” As he spoke, Cole began to pull off his gloves before setting them on the table. “Intelligent is advantageous, as are certain flexibility in desires.”

Pero remained silent as Cole stood and set about loosening the laces of his heavy leather armor. His cock strained against his trousers as Cole methodically removed his armor until he wore only his shirt and cloth pants.

“My Lord expects me to make sure all men presented to him meet his criteria.” Cole turned back to Pero, his erection plainly in view through his pants. “Please, stand and remove your clothes for me. I wish to look at you.”

Pero didn’t need to be told twice, standing from the table with a smile on his face before making short work of his armor. As he removed each piece, Cole took it from him and carefully placed it on a wooden stand beside his own armor. Finally, as Pero stood in nothing but his underclothes Cole approached him.

“How long has it been since you were with a man?” Cole gently stroked down Pero’s chest with one hand.

“Many months.” Pero pushed his underclothes down to reveal his swollen cock hanging heavily between his legs. “We only used our mouths. It has been longer since I was fucked.”

“I’ll be gentle then.” Cole took Pero’s cock in his hand, smoothly pulling back the foreskin to reveal the dark red head. “Very nice, but why don’t you show me your skills with your mouth first.”

Tugging open his pants Cole pulled free his hard length. Wasting no time, Pero lowered himself to his knees, taking the sight of Cole’s twitching cock. With one hand, Pero took the shaft in his hand, feeling the weight of it, while with the other freed Cole’s balls from their cloth prison.

Dragging his tongue up Cole's cock Pero began to swirl it around the head in slow, languid circles. He could feel Cole's hand in his hair, just resting on his head. Teasing the slit of Cole's cock Pero parted his lips and engulfed the head with his mouth.

"Yes." Cole panted. "Touch yourself as well. I want you to, ah, stroke your cock."

Never one to pass up the chance to touch his own cock Pero reached down with his free hand and began rhythmically pumping his cock in time with his attention to Cole. With each bob of his head, his hands would pump the cock they held. One Cole's and one his own. Soon Pero could hear Cole muttering above him, the hand tangled in his hair gripping tighter.

But Pero knew he could do better, letting go of his cock to brace himself on Cole's thighs. Taking Cole to the back of his throat, Pero swallowed around him, opening his throat and allowing Cole deeper. He'd learned this technique early in his youth, taught by a particularly well-endowed traveling merchant. Above him, Cole gasped and bit back a moan making Pero inwardly. Glancing up through his eyelashes, Pero could see the sweat glistening off Cole as the older man fucked into Pero's mouth.

Cole's cock was a solid weight in Pero's mouth as the older man filled his mouth, thrusting into him, causing him to gag and sputter. But Pero didn't mind. He'd learned long ago he liked it rougher, and this wasn't the first time he'd had his face fucked by another man.

Returning one of his hands to his own cock Pero rolled his hips, rocking into his fist with each thrust of Cole. He could feel Cole's balls swinging, slapping against his chin as he focused on his breath and chasing his own climax.

With one hand still on Cole's thighs, Pero could feel as the older man start to tremble. The pace was faltering, and Pero too, could feel that heat pooling in his stomach ready to erupt. The bitter tang of precum filled his mouth, and he could feel his own covering his fingers providing lubrication for his stokes.

Releasing Pero's hair Cole took a step back, pulling his cock out of the Spaniard's mouth with a lewd pop. Pero barely had time to register the emptiness before Cole groaned, painting Pero's face and chest with his seed. The obscenity of it shot straight to Pero's cock as he reached his peak with a low growl. Arching his back, he spilled himself onto the tent floor, quickly covering his mouth to silence a long moan as the wave of pleasure crashed over him.

Pero hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until, still shaking from the aftershocks, he opened them once more to see Cole looking down at him.

"Perfect." Cole soothed, reaching out to run his finger through his own release running down Pero's chest. Lifting it to Pero's mouth, the Spaniard parted his lips allowing Cole to feed him the sticky essence. Sucking Cole's fingers clean, Pero locked eyes with Cole, who beamed. “Absolutely perfect. Come, let’s get you cleaned, then I can begin preparing you to meet Lord Voren.”

Slowly standing, with some assistance from Cole, Pero followed Cole to the back of the large tent. There he was surprised to see a smaller second entrance, which Cole held open for Pero to follow him.

“Someone will see us.” Pero gestured to his naked, cum covered form as well as Cole’s still-exposed cock.

“Not this way.” Cole offered Pero a reassuring smile. “I promise you. Come, I have a private area with tubs for Lord Voren’s personal guard.”

Cautiously following Cole out of the tent towards the bathing area, Pero couldn’t help but marvel at the situation he’d found himself in. If this was part of the test to become one of the Prince’s personal guards, that naturally meant all the men he would be serving with for the next six months would be of the same inclination as him. Patting barefoot behind Cole, shielded from the rest of the camp, Pero Tovar broke out into a grin.

/////

“¿Prefieres que hable español?” - Do you prefer that I speak Spanish?

“Quizá deseo practicar contigo.” - Maybe I desire to practice with you.

[jatish419]

Your Guide to Booking Flight Tickets to Mumbai

Mumbai, also known as the City of Dreams, is a bustling metropolis that serves as India’s financial, entertainment, and cultural hub. From its iconic landmarks like Marine Drive and the Gateway of India to its vibrant street life, Mumbai offers a mix of old-world charm and modernity that attracts millions of visitors every year. Whether you’re traveling for business, leisure, or to experience Bollywood’s magic, booking flight tickets to Mumbai is the first step in planning your visit to this exciting city.

In this blog, we’ll guide you through everything you need to know about booking flights to Mumbai, tips to find cheap fares, and what to expect when you land.

Why Visit Mumbai?

Mumbai is a city like no other, offering a diverse range of experiences for every traveler. Here are some of the key attractions you can enjoy in the city:

Gateway of India: A historical monument that overlooks the Arabian Sea, symbolizing Mumbai’s colonial past.

Marine Drive: Known as the Queen’s Necklace, this scenic promenade is perfect for evening walks with stunning views of the city’s coastline.

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST): A UNESCO World Heritage Site, this grand railway station is an architectural marvel blending Victorian Gothic and Indian styles.

Bollywood: Mumbai is the heart of India’s film industry. Don’t miss the chance to visit a film studio or even catch a live shooting.

Elephanta Caves: Located on Elephanta Island, these ancient rock-cut caves are a UNESCO World Heritage site, showcasing intricate carvings of Hindu gods.

In addition to these attractions, Mumbai is famous for its bustling street markets, delicious street food like Vada Pav and Pani Puri, and its vibrant nightlife.

Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport (BOM)

Mumbai is served by Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport (BOM), which is one of the busiest airports in India. Located about 20 kilometers from the city center, the airport is well-connected to domestic and international destinations. It offers modern facilities, world-class lounges, and various dining and shopping options, making it a comfortable entry point for travelers.

Domestic Flights to Mumbai

Mumbai is connected to all major Indian cities with frequent domestic flights. Popular airlines like IndiGo, SpiceJet, Vistara, Go First, and Air India operate regular flights to Mumbai from cities like Delhi, Bangalore, Chennai, Kolkata, Hyderabad, Pune, and Ahmedabad.

Given the high frequency of flights to Mumbai, travelers have plenty of options to choose from, making it convenient to plan both short and long trips.

International Flights to Mumbai

Mumbai’s international airport is a major gateway to the rest of the world. Airlines such as Emirates, Qatar Airways, British Airways, Singapore Airlines, and Etihad Airways operate flights to Mumbai from key international cities like Dubai, London, New York, Singapore, Bangkok, and Doha. The airport is also well connected to major destinations across Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and North America, making it easy for global travelers to reach Mumbai.

How to Find Cheap Flight Tickets to Mumbai

If you’re looking for affordable flight tickets to Mumbai, here are some tips that can help:

Book in Advance: Airfares tend to rise closer to the travel date, especially during peak seasons. Booking your tickets a few weeks or months in advance can help you secure lower prices.

Use Flight Comparison Tools: Websites like FlightsMojo allow you to compare airfares across multiple airlines, ensuring you get the best deals on flights to Mumbai.

Flexible Dates: If your travel dates are flexible, consider flying on weekdays or during off-peak seasons to save money. Flights during mid-week or at odd hours are often cheaper.

Look for Discounts and Offers: Many airlines offer seasonal discounts, festival offers, and loyalty rewards. Keep an eye out for these promotions, as they can significantly reduce your ticket cost.

Book Round Trip Tickets: Booking round-trip tickets often comes at a lower price than booking one-way tickets separately. If your travel plans are fixed, consider booking a round-trip ticket to save money.

Best Time to Visit Mumbai

The best time to visit Mumbai is during the winter months from November to February, when the weather is cool and pleasant, making it ideal for sightseeing. This is also a peak tourist season, so be sure to book your flights and accommodation in advance to avoid higher prices.

The monsoon season (June to September) brings heavy rainfall to the city, which can sometimes lead to delays in flights and public transport. However, if you love the rain, visiting Mumbai during the monsoons offers a unique experience as the city transforms into a lush green landscape.

The summer months (March to May) can be quite hot and humid, so plan your visit accordingly if you’re traveling during this period.

What to Expect Upon Arrival in Mumbai

Upon arriving at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport, you will find various transportation options to reach your destination. Taxis, app-based cabs (Uber, Ola), and prepaid taxis are available right outside the airport terminals. The airport also has excellent connectivity through Mumbai’s suburban train network and buses, making it easy for you to get to different parts of the city.

Many hotels offer airport pickup services, adding convenience for travelers who prefer pre-arranged transport.

Exploring Mumbai

Once you’ve arrived in Mumbai, there’s so much to explore. From historical landmarks and cultural hotspots to street markets and the glamorous Bollywood scene, here are some of the top experiences you shouldn’t miss:

Gateway of India: Visit this iconic landmark, take a boat ride to Elephanta Island, or enjoy the vibrant street food around Colaba.

Marine Drive: Walk along this famous boulevard and enjoy stunning sunsets over the Arabian Sea.

Crawford Market: A bustling market where you can shop for spices, fruits, handicrafts, and more.

Sanjay Gandhi National Park: For nature lovers, this park offers a chance to explore lush greenery and even see wild leopards.

Juhu Beach: Relax at this popular beach and enjoy local snacks like Bhel Puri while watching the waves.

Conclusion

Mumbai is a city of endless possibilities, offering a rich blend of history, culture, and modernity. Whether you’re visiting for business, leisure, or cultural exploration, booking flight tickets to Mumbai is your gateway to experiencing everything this dynamic city has to offer.

By using flight comparison tools, booking in advance, and staying flexible with your travel dates, you can find affordable flights and make the most of your visit to India’s City of Dreams.

[nelsonenginepro]

The Ultimate Guide to Planning a Stag Do in Bucharest

Planning a stag do in Bucharest is an adventure of its own. This Eastern European gem offers a thrilling mix of vibrant nightlife, historical landmarks, and adrenaline-pumping activities, making it a top destination for an unforgettable stag party. Whether you’re looking for wild nights out or something more laid-back, Bucharest has it all. This guide will walk you through the essential steps to plan the perfect bachelor party in Bucharest.

1. Organize Centrally-Located Accommodation

Your first step in planning a stag do in Bucharest is to secure accommodation in the city center. Opt for areas like Calea Victoriei, Piața Unirii, or Piața Universității. Staying in these prime locations will put you within walking distance of the city's hottest bars, clubs, and restaurants, making it easy to dive into the action as soon as you arrive.

2. Best Times to Visit Bucharest

Timing is crucial when planning your trip. The best times to visit Bucharest are from March to June and September to December. During these months, the weather is pleasant, and the city is bustling with activity. However, it's wise to avoid the summer months (July and August) when the city tends to be quieter as locals leave for holidays. To get the most out of your trip, plan for at least a three-day weekend.

3. Hire a Specialised Party Planner

To make your stag do stress-free and fun, consider hiring a specialised party planner like Bucharest 2Night. They know the city inside out and can arrange everything from nightlife experiences to transportation, saving you time and ensuring that everything goes smoothly.

4. Don’t Miss a Weekend Bar Crawl

A bar crawl is a must for any stag in Bucharest. The city is famous for its eclectic nightlife, offering everything from cozy pubs to high-energy nightclubs. A guided bar crawl will help you discover the best spots, ensuring that your group hits the most happening places in town.

5. Opt for Private Transportation

Navigating Bucharest with a large group can be challenging, so it's best to opt for private transportation for all your activities and airport-hotel transfers. This will give you peace of mind and allow your group to travel together comfortably, without the hassle of public transport.

6. Plan a Fancy Night Out

For a touch of luxury, plan a fancy night out at one of Bucharest's top restaurants followed by a visit to an exclusive nightclub. Consider booking a VIP BUCHAREST CLUBBING, where you can enjoy bottle service, private tables, and party like a rock star.

7. Mix Adrenaline Activities with Relaxation

A well-rounded stag does include a mix of high-energy activities and relaxation. Consider adding some adrenaline-pumping activities like paintball, go-karting, or a shooting range to your itinerary. Balance these with more relaxing options like a day at Therme Bucharest, the largest spa in Europe, a leisurely city tour, or catching a football game. This way, everyone in the group can enjoy something that suits their vibe.

8. Explore the City by Foot

Bucharest is a city rich in history and architecture, best explored on foot. Take some time to wander through the streets and soak in landmarks like the Palace of the Parliament, Old Town, and Herastrau Park. You’ll be amazed by the blend of modernity and tradition that defines this city.

9. Don’t Overload Your Schedule

When planning your activities, remember that less is more. Avoid overloading your schedule with too many events. Instead, focus on quality experiences and ensure you have plenty of downtime. A good rule of thumb is to plan two daytime activities and one nighttime activity per day. This relaxed pace will keep everyone happy and avoid unnecessary stress.

Conclusion

Bucharest is an ideal destination for a stag do, offering everything from wild nights out to cultural and relaxing activities. By following this guide, you can plan a balanced and memorable trip that everyone in your group will enjoy. Remember to stay flexible, take time to enjoy the city, and most importantly, have a blast!

FAQs

1. What is the average cost of a stag do in Bucharest?The cost can vary, but Bucharest is known for being budget-friendly compared to other European cities, offering great value for money.

2. Is it necessary to hire a party planner for a stag do in Bucharest?While not necessary, hiring a party planner like Bucharest 2Night can take a lot of stress out of the planning process, especially if you want a seamless experience.

3. What should we include in our Bucharest stag do itinerary?A mix of bar crawls, adrenaline activities, and relaxation, with plenty of time to explore the city, makes for a well-rounded itinerary.

4. Is Bucharest safe for a stag do?Yes, Bucharest is generally safe for tourists, but it's always a good idea to stay aware of your surroundings, especially at night.

5. How can we get around the city easily?Private transportation is the most convenient option, but Bucharest also has a reliable public transport system, including buses, trams, and the metro.

[heartlikeawound]

"'Try putting soldier of fortune down on your tax return and see how well that works.’”

HISTORY:

tw: death, war, injury, weapons, violence, blood, scars, self-loathing, guilt

'10s

Will never met his father, but he knew him. Everyone did. James Locksley was one of the richest men in New York City in the early 1900s, happily married with a son that was his pride and joy, so of course he could never be associated with a scandalous affair with a woman from the wrong side of town. Iris Hendricks struggled to make ends meet, and though she never explained some of the things she had to do so they could survive, Will understood. As soon as he was old enough–-before that, really–-he was taking any job he could to support her, many of them on the wrong side of the law, and quietly resenting the man who had left them both without a backward glance.

'30s

When she died suddenly just before his eighteenth birthday, Will was blindsided. The next couple years were a blur of drinking and bar fights and scraping by. It was by far the lowest point of his life, and he didn't much care if he lived or died. He thought death had finally come for him when something attacked him outside the city. He didn't know there were wolves that close--if that was even what it was--and he didn't understand how the wounds could be healing so fast. He had no idea what was happening to him until Andrew Grant stepped in. He was the alpha of a small, wandering pack, most of them career soldiers.

He never even knew the wolf who turned him. It was Grant who helped him through those first full moons when he was terrified and still half-believed this was some sort of delirious fever dream, who gave him a place in his pack and on his team when World War II found its way to the States. Will had a documented allergy to authority, but it was different with Grant. He'd finally found someone worth following, someone worth his loyalty, and perhaps he'd never known just how deeply loyal he could be. The pack was family, brothers, comrades in arms, and as far as he was concerned, that was the whole world.

'70s

There was always a war to fight somewhere, and he spent decades as a soldier, eventually working his way up to Sergeant and Grant's right-hand man. Slowly, though, the pack dwindled as members drifted off to put down roots or fell in battles. Even supernatural healing wasn't always a match for modern warfare, and the better they were at what they did, the more dangerous the ops got. He wasn't prepared to be the last man standing when one of them went wrong.

It wasn't the first time Will wished he was dead. For all intents and purposes, he was, his identity dying with his squad, since there was no way he could explain how he'd healed from that. He was back where he'd started, aimless and looking for a purpose, although this time he didn't limit himself to one city. He spent time with various packs as he traveled first Europe and then the States, many of them the new homes of his old pack members, but nothing stuck.

Present

He was more or less back where he'd started before he met Grant, only now he was cursed with a longer life. He traveled the world, reluctant to join another pack only to lose them again, and finding none that inspired the kind of devotion of his old alpha. Will knew his way around mechanics and weapons, so it was easy to settle in a town and make himself useful for a few months. The wanderlust never completely left him though, and when that restless feeling started growing in him again, he took jobs as a bodyguard or a mercenary, even signing up for the occasional tour of duty, his most recent a four-year circuit in Syria.

"‘You fall asleep in the foothills, and the wolf comes down from the mountains. And you hope someone will wake you up. Or chase it off. Or shoot it dead. But when you realize that the wolf is inside you, that’s when you know. You can’t run from it. And no one who loves you can kill the wolf, because it’s part of you. They see your face on it. And they won’t fire the shot.’"

PERSONALITY:

Depending on the context, there are two sides of Will you're most likely to get. The more common is the easy charmer who can make small talk with anyone (probably while he's stealing your wallet), the casual flirt who's quick with an irreverent joke or a slightly wicked smile. Heads or tails how much of it is real or just sleight of hand at any given moment, but it's the one most people are familiar with.

When it comes to conflict, the charm falls away, and it's all business. He can deflect just about anything aimed at himself, but he has no tolerance for people who come for his people, or for bullies in general, and he'll fight for those who can't do it themselves. On the battlefield, it's dead-eyed sniper stares and clean, efficient fighting, nothing wasted. He's there to get a job done, and he's gotten very good at it after almost a century.

The nightmares are less about the people he's killed than the one's he's failed, and there's a bit of a self-hating streak buried under the rest of it. Deep down, Will doesn't believe he's a good person. He's not even sure he's aiming to be a good person most of the time, when so much of his life has been purely about survival. It's not the best way to live, but it's a good way not to die, and no matter how self-sabotaging he can be at times, he's not the type to let himself give up.

RELATIONSHIPS:

platonic

Platonic is where Will excels, whether that's family or pack (not a lot of distinction between those for him), and he's always made casual friends easily. He'd always been fascinated by cameras, some of the skills oddly transferable from aiming a weapon, and photographs are some of the only things he's saved over the decades. When he's bothered to unpack instead of leaving his stuff in storage, framed pictures cover his walls, and when the talk over drinks turns to stories about the past, he's always got a few. It's the only real way of keeping their lost loved ones with them.

He struggles when it comes to deeper connections. He's a deeply loyal friend, and there isn't much he wouldn't do for the people close to him, so by necessity he can't give that much of himself to just anyone. He'd do anything for the his pack when he has one: fight, steal, or die for them on a dime, but there's a wall there that didn't exist before. Losing Grant almost destroyed him, and he doesn't think he has that in him again. If his life has taught him anything, it's that everything ends. Better not to have anything he can't live without.

romantic

All casual, and he'll be the first to admit he's not looking for anything serious, or ever had anything he'd consider serious, and that's entirely by design. He knows he tends to hurt people simply by being himself (and no matter how often he says it, some people won't hear him on it), so it's safer just to keep it simple. He's out the door when either side starts to catch feelings.

Of course, that's just as much a self-preservation instinct. He loves deeply and recklessly when he lets himself, and he's a little afraid of how that would translate in a romantic relationship. He's already lost the two people who were most important to him, one family and one pack, and watched his pack members survive the loss of their mates, and he's not sure he can do it again. Letting someone that close just to lose them might wreck him permanently.

antagonistic

Will tends to take people not liking him as a personal challenge, but it's even money whether he'll try to win them over or find the exact thing that irritates them and lean on it, so there's probably no shortage of petty antagonism. Typically, he's not one to take it seriously though, or to find offense where none was meant.

Of course, it's a different story when his pack is at stake, and he'll take a battlefield approach on that. Nobody wants to be standing too close if it's bad enough to call up the soldier. He wouldn't choose vengeance for its own sake, but he wouldn't hesitate to make a point either. He can make it clean with no evidence, or he can make it messy enough to be a warning against coming at them again, but neither will trouble his conscience. Don't fuck with family. Don't fuck with people who can't fight back. The rules are simple but unbreakable.

"This was his territory as much as it was mine. I would get angry, and then he’d step in, not to defuse the situation, but to cover it with napalm.”

STATISTICS:

≛ Age: 106 ≛ Height: 6'0" ≛ Build: Lean and packed with muscle from a dedicated gym routine that includes weights, cardio, and sparring practice ≛ Eyes: Blue that shifts in shade depending on his mood, the lighting, or the shirt he's wearing ≛ Hair: Dark brown, cut close when he's been overseas, but he's been known to grow it out in the intervening years, sometimes long enough to brush his shoulders and with the scruff to go with it ≛ Distinguishing Features: Faded scars from the attack that initially turned him, along with a couple more recent here and there from silver, but nothing he pays a lot of mind to. There's a tattoo of a howling wolf and an iris flower on his ribs for Grant and his mother, and various military ink scattered here and there.

strengths

≛ Physical strength, agility, and endurance. He's a ruthless and efficient fighter in either form, with decades of martial arts and weapons training. A high tolerance for pain lets him push through all but the most severe injuries to get a job done (and he'll spend most of the first month after a tour sleeping off the physical and mental effects). He won't flinch at violence or doing the dirty work to protect the pack or discourage further threats--and if he's pushed that far, he might even enjoy it a little.

≛ Extensive weapons training, in both long-range and melee, from years of military ops. He's a sharp eye behind a sniper rifle or a blade between the ribs before you even knew it was coming, and hiding knives or smaller guns among his regular clothes has become a bit of an art form. While he has the usual weakness against silver like all wolves, there are silver bullets and knives in storage with the rest of the weapons that aren't for daily use, and a little nausea won't stop him from using them if he's up against another pack or rogue wolves.

≛ He's always been able to make easy small talk with strangers, swiftly charming them into letting their guard down. It was partly a survival tactic at first (watch this hand while the other robs you blind), but it's so much a part of him he can't separate it anymore. He's good at character assessments after short interactions, getting a sense of someone's strengths and weak spots, and they're usually pretty accurate. That's not to say his own issues don't cloud his judgement from time to time, and he's a little too capable of turning that critical eye on himself.

weaknesses

≛ Will is his own worst enemy, and while he's aware of his self-sabotaging streak, he's probably not conscious of just how deep it runs or the way it shapes almost every aspect of his life. There's too much blood on his hands for him to ever consider himself a good person, and there's still a fair bit of survivor's guilt in him over his mother's death and Grant's. If people got what they deserved, they'd still be standing instead of him.

≛ Going hand in hand with this self-sabotage is the fact that he's a proven flight risk. He's always got one foot out the door on any romantic relationships. No matter what he's temporarily committed to, there's a part of his mind that's always going to be making contingency plans. It's safer to assume nothing is permanent, and it's become a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy for him.

≛ What's that they say about poking a sleeping dragon? Will usually knows where the lines are, but that doesn't always stop him from deliberately stepping over one. It's not something he turns on friends or pack members regularly, since he actually likes and respects them, but he will occasionally entertain himself (or them) by seeing how long it takes before a stranger takes a swing at him. Fighting back would be unfair, of course, so he'll just smile with blood on his teeth, offer up a mocking salute, and walk away.

aesthetics made of mischief ≛ heart like a lit fuse ≛ click of a camera shutter or a sniper rifle ≛ blades twirling between fingers ≛ polaroids all over the fridge ≛ how sharp is your knife (flirting) ≛ permanent five o'clock shadows ≛ I am being perfectly fucking civil ≛ roar of a bike ≛ cocky smirks ≛ blowing smoke in your face ≛ leather and motor oil ≛ sorry about the blood in your mouth ≛ open road at sunset ≛ middle fingers hanging out the window ≛ baking asphalt ≛ wolf stares ≛ desert sun ≛ sticky fingers ≛ allergic to authority ≛ mocking salutes ≛ loyal to a fault ≛ the fire was put out as quickly as it started

[cinemctize]

( emma d’arcy + nonbinary + they/them) tempest by deftones is a song that describes casey ivers to a tee !  the thirty year old has been on the island for two months. I heard you can find them walking around avalon hills or working at news agency as a/an freelance photojournalist. rumor has it they can be pretty - perfectionist but if you ask their friends they would say they are more + passionate. i’m pretty sure they remind everyone of black and white photographs hanging on a wire in darkroom; vintage denim jackets; sore muscles after long shooting sessions; apple flavored disposable vapes, but that’s for you to decide ? you’ll meet them soon enough, the island is only so big. - efka. 24. they/them. gmt +2. n/a.

GENERAL STATISTICS:

NAME:  casey ivers NICKNAMES: cas BIG THREE: capricorn sun, aquarius moon, virgo rising  AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: thirty / december 28, 1993 PLACE OF BIRTH: portland, oregon CURRENT RESIDENCE: avalon island, california OCCUPATION: freelance photojournalist HOBBIES: photography, bowling, surfing, traveling  PRONOUNS: they/them  GENDER: nonbinary   SEXUALITY: queer

APPEARANCE:

FACECLAIM: emma d’arcy EYE COLOR: sky blue HAIR COLOR: brown / usually dyed HEIGHT: 5'7 / 1.71 cm  TATTOOS: compass tattoo on their left sleeve serving as a constant reminder of their direction in life SCARS: n/a

RELATIONSHIPS:

PARENTS: sean ivers (father); grace ivers (mother)  SIBLINGS: n/a PAST PARTNERS: madeline avalon CURRENT PARTNER: tba  SITUATIONSHIPS: tba

PERSONALITY:

POSITIVE TRAITS: kind, loyal, honest, persuasive, protective, idealistic NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, self-critical, workaholic, callous, perfectionist, private LOVE LANGUAGE: acts of service / quality time MBTI: isfj (defender)

BRIEF BACKSTORY:

casey was born in portland, oregon, to sean and grace ivers. their father, being a truck driver, spend considerable amount of time away from home. therefore casey was mostly raised by their mother, who has been working as a social worker all her life, trying to help those that were in need. 

even in cas’ early childhood it was apparent that sean’s income as a truck driver will not be enough to cover all family’s expenses. with a husband away from home for long periods of time, grace struggled to make the ends meet. 

casey grew to know responsibility early in their life as dedication to help their parents out and especially their mom pushed them through the early stages of their life. as a teenager, they had to juggle school with part-time jobs in various local stores, libraries and the like to bring in some extra cash to the table. they graduated high school with excellent grades, which was a crucial aspect of them later on securing a spot in the school of journalism and communication at oregon’s university. 

having seen the rough reality of life up close and thanks to their mom’s heartbreaking stories from her work, casey found their primary passion quite early in life. while grace was trying to help different individuals get back to their feet, casey’s goal was to bring these stories to the masses and reveal the truth of many unfortunate situations people were going through. 

they started out their career in news agency as a camera operator while building their photography related portfolio. as years went by, casey excelled in their field of work and became a junior photojournalist, providing high quality photographs of various stories the local news agency wanted to publish. 

during the recent years, they had picked up a few projects that required them to travel to different hostile locations within the states and on occasion, to several countries in europe and document the reality of life and death in battlefields of ongoing wars. although signing up for these projects was potentially dangerous, the stories that were prepared alongside casey’s documented footage, later proved to be quite successful, bringing the young photojournalist the amount of recognition casey had never dreamed of achieving. soon after a few articles of their success story were published in several online newspapers. as a result, the gateway to numerous different news agencies cracked open, allowing them to choose the stories they wanted to invest their time into and teams they’d preferred to be a part of. 

the years that followed with casey being a fresh independent photojournalist, they embarked on quite a few journeys, picking out countries and locations that spiked their interest. during one of those travels they met madeline avalon - a woman of their dreams. or so they thought in the course of their short-lived relationship. the pair had hit it off right away as mutual attraction had brought them together and what started from a spark of chemistry soon turned into something more serious, tangible. the development of feelings followed, only for everything to come crashing down when madeline did not show up for one of their dates. communication was cut short and it seemed as though the woman had never existed to begin with. that was one of the very rare instances in their life that casey had allowed themselves to get emotionally invested into somebody else. each time they did, the dynamics never seemed to be able to get off the ground, for one reason or another. so, after those few tries, casey has had enough of dating and decided to leave that aspect of their life locked away. 

now casey strives to bring injustices in the world to the surface with their documented footage, both by taking photographs or filming videos with a goal of shedding light on important matters that are usually overlooked or not discussed enough. achieving that purpose, though, required continuous traveling to locations that called out to them. thus, casey found themselves in avalon island, a place of great wonders. it was supposed to be a short vacation away from the constant chaos of their life, but with the passing days, it became apparent that perhaps this particular place could serve as something more than just a temporary stop to be checked off their never ending list of locations to visit. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

Best friend / ride or die – could’ve met literally anywhere thanks to cas’ constant traveling around. It was an instant connection which did not require additional work to be maintained. there is a strong sense of loyalty and trust between the two as they have helped each other through some challenging times in their life. the pair might have often been in separate locations due to casey’s hectic work schedule, however that had never stopped either of them from keeping the other one in the loop. one of the very few people who casey trusts with their life.

Casual friends – people casey met throughout their travels. could’ve been involved in one of their many projects.

Flings  – feelings are not their strongest suit and given their workaholic nature, there isn’t much space for anything else. however, there is a possibility for a few casual flings here and there.

Situationships – any connection that had/has the potential to become something more, but either never managed to properly get off the ground, one or both of them were unsure of how to approach it or it is still in its early stages. 

Rivals – fellow journalists they competed with in the past or are competing currently. once you are in the field, there is no coming second. It’s always about who got the best story, best photographs, got to the ‘hottest’ locations first. 

Mentee / younger sibling figure – although casey is an only child in the family, the ever persistent need to stand up for someone might steer them in certain situations with a potential to form a connection where they could apply their protective nature. 

[aspacetobe]

Hello!

I’m sitting on some bench in the MSP airport drinking a Mighty Mango Naked juice. Just chugged some OJ. And I have a White Mocha from Starbucks within reach. I feel by the time I get to consuming the Starbucks it’ll be lukewarm. and then when i board the plane in 30 minutes i’ll have to pee like a pregnant lady with no time to wait. But we’ll reach that point when we reach that point. (update: my bladder was tested. the minute that ding came on overhead letting you know the plane has reached 10,000 feet i was that person who shot up from their seat. and i can’t wait until we land bc the first stop is the bathroom.)

I should also explain I’m traveling for 3 months (that’s the max because of the whole 90 days without a visa thing) or, whenever my savings hits $0.

i’m shooting for the stars and hoping the 90 days comes before i run out of money.

why tumblr?

a part of me wants to shrug and say idk instead of explaining my thought process. i’m self conscious that it’s too over the top for explaining one’s presence or lack there of on a certain social media app.

why does it matter that much?

it doesn’t.

yet, i’m still here, proceeding to pour out my entire mind without much of a filter.

my relationship with instagram tends to go as follows: posting stories every day. feel annoying. deactivate my account. feel great. download instagram again. share everything. feel insecure. deactivate instagram.

horrible cycle.

lately it got worse.

it got worse after i started liking a guy.

lol.

classic.

so yeah.

i like said guy a lot.

but i’m headed to Europe.

And for three months.

And...

timing just isn’t right.

and…

i don’t seem to have the patience for anything not serious.

i wish i had the patience.

the lack of my patience has come from my insecurities. has come from me not wanting to confront why i’m feeling the way i’m feeling. why i’d rather run away than just wait and see what will happen (which is probably that whole anxious avoidant thing i’ve been labeled with). why, at the first sign of a possible (guys possible) i don’t know what to call it, communication issues (?), i say bye. instead of just, ya know, seeing how life plays out. although, i will give myself credit and say i tried.

and i did feel serious about him. like, he feels like home. this feels right. this feels comfortable. this feels like i can be myself. this feels like someone i want to share life with.

i just gathered after 5 months, serious isn’t what anyone is looking for right now. i even said something along the lines of “i want to feel free” while in europe. so there’s that.

i could be wrong but that’s what i felt.

and, if i did have one thing to be confident in, it is my ability to read emotions & body language. i’m hyper vigilant to other peoples subtle ques. and thus, when in person i picked up on a few things.

at this point, the only information i have is what i’ve been told and what i feel. and as best as I try not to assume, i just have to take what i know and proceed.

i’m just hoping there is an us in the future. that sometime in the future there’s still a possibility.

so…

i like a guy. i post on instagram. i check who’s viewed it. look for one name. cringe at myself. delete the app from my phone. wait 24 hrs until stories expire. search ‘instagram’ in the app store. download the app again.

rinse. repeat.

and that cycle increased in rotation exponentially over the last month. exhausting. really emotionally exhausting. and i hated myself for it every time.

when i got down to the nitty gritty of my emotional psychology as to why i’m in that cycle, I came to the conclusion that i was trying to be seen. and a want to be seen, for me, is an example of outsourcing validation. and the only person who can truly validate me is me.

I also get really insecure about being annoying on instagram. another shadow that needs to be worked through. if someone finds me annoying that’s okay. I don’t need to shrink or hide or not share for fear of what others might think. that’s really on them to control their input of information on social media. not for me to limit who i am as a person for the comfort of others. i’m not in charge of someone else’s comfort. i’m only in charge of my own. as of this point in my life, i am my only priority. and that’s who i want to focus on.

i’ve worked really hard over the past 3 years to get to a balanced & healthy mental space.

the past few months were honestly great because it was a clear mirror to the spaces and places within myself i needed to work through. especially the issues i suppressed for the past 10 years that had resurfaced. and i’ve worked through them (with and without a therapist) and will continue to work through them. i was /am ready to let it all go. and i did, for the most part.

so, with all the above in mind, i’ve been wanting to deactivate my account again but instagram is a wonderful place to connect with my family and friends around the world. i was a bit unsure of what to do.

when i was parting from my friend Katie on the 4th, she said, ‘go crazy with the stories on instagram!’ and my heart sank because i didn’t want to. and she’s not the only person who’s said something along the lines of, ‘i can’t wait to see your stories.’ so when i told her i don’t think i’ll be on instagram she immediately came up with a couple alternatives, ‘what about a tumblr or vsco?!’

i perked up. tumblr.

tumblr i know is an easy space to post all forms of media. i can make it password protected (i mean, i was hoping). and i can’t see who views it (and if there is a feature on here where you can, i don’t wanna know about it).

and so became this tumblr.

i’m excited about it. i can post my lengthy writings in addition to pictures & videos.

and the point of this trip, well, one of the points is to write.

the perfect space.

a space to be 100% me.

and now i’m sitting at JFK really hungry but don’t wanna spend money, 1 hour into my 8.5 hr layover.

but i should get food. bc 8 hrs is a lonnnnng time.

xx

[pracstyles]

Ever heard of abortion?

Imagine - Y/N finds herself pregnant unexpectedly and now Harry and her marriage is on the test.

Warning - this series concludes the mention of abortion, angst, panic/anxiety attacks, mention of pregnancy

Part 2 will be out soon!

masterlist

___

Fans screeching, screaming Harry's name, laughing at his jokes are the things she is used to by now. She knows how crazy people are for her husband. Y/N sits on the VIP booth, Jeff by her side as they both watch Harry performing Fine Line. It's one of her favorites, although the whole album is a beauty, that song steals away her heart every time she listens to it.

"When's this over again?" She raises a question through the loud music. Jeff glances at her, checking his wristwatch.

"Only thirty minutes left."

She's excited for it to end as well as upset. It's the final concert of his Europe tour, making her all bittersweet. With the tour going on, she had arranged some free time out of her schedule. Y/N is a well-known, infamously talented actress. While her manager whined at the idea of her going on a vacation unannounced for two months upright, she didn't falter to cancel all the movies she was offered, just to be with her husband.

Some would say they are still experiencing that honeymoon phase where the couples couldn't get enough of each other and are in ultimate love but that's partially the case for the Styles.

They had dated for three years before tying themselves together in this forever commitment. Now, it's been more than a year, both still going strong, their bands still decorating on their ring fingers like a daily reminder for them that they have each other to love dearly.

When the last chorus of Fine Line enters her ears, she smiles fondly, dreaming about how both of them would be free for a few more weeks before going back to her shootings, away from him.

"Here you go." Jeff handles her some chicken nuggets that were especially been served for them. Thanking, she takes the foil from him. The moment she looks down at the served snacks, her nose crinkled together in repulsion as the awful smell reaches her nose, devouring her mind into nausea.

She feels like puking her guts out. Quickly and almost throwing her packet on Jeff's lap, she makes a run towards the exit, going directly for any nearby washroom. It didn't take much time for the manager to comprehend what's about to happen when he too rise from his seat, following her.

Y/N opens the wooden door of a vacant bathroom, not caring for the world that Jeff has entered too in the ladies washroom. He's here to help, she thinks.

Crouching to the level of the toilet seat, she throws every food particle she had eaten before coming with Harry. She feels Jeff behind her, maintaining his distance and only letting his arm soothes her back to ease her.

"You alright?" He asks, worriedly the second she lifts her head. Y/N only nods, her head paining and back aching all of a sudden.

"Let's get you back. Harry would panic if he won't see your face there." Jeff walks out once making sure she is stable enough to stand up by herself.

Lazily, her legs drag her in front of the large mirror where she looks up to see her face. She has a distorted look on her face, her tummy burning into a sensational feeling, and her hair all disheveled.

Numerous voices inside are telling her that something is not right. But according to her consciousness, nothing is wrong. Before all this disaster, everything was going how it was deemed to be. She came here to support her husband, make him happy that his wife is here, smiling and happy. Healthy.

As long she puts her brain into intuition of what might have gone wrong, nothing comes into thinking. Was it something she ate early that led to this sickening condition? She can't grasp any of it.

Her eyes travel to a nearby dustbin, she can see the box is full of items, the garbage almost touching the lid. One thing that catches her vision is the surface of a clean sanitary pad thrown, it's one side fully tarnished making the inside cottony material spewing out.

Then it clicks her. It's been one month without her periods, without any reassurance from mother nature.

She's late on her periods.

___

"What will we name our first kid, Harry?" She asked, staring at her naked fiancé roaming around the closet. He knew he's with her love who he had sex considerable times, so nakedness was something they were wholly okay with.

His cock bounced every time he crouched to the lowest cupboard and then stood up, continued his parade of finding his Gucci shirt. His favorite amber-colored shirt.

"Nice idea, lovie." He hummed, not taking any interest in what's she has been saying. Out of nowhere, he felt a stinging feeling on his hip followed by a peal of evil laughter. He turned around his hand rubbing his red hip.

"It hurts." He moaned, kicking Y/N’s ego more.

"I'd smack you again if you ignore me."

"Then it will turn into a hot make-out," Harry smirked. "Then, as I'm already naked, it wouldn't be a hustle for me to undress you and fuck you in our closet." His grin grew bigger.

"And because of all this, you'd forget to wear a condom, hence knocking me out."

Though it was more like a joke considering the comments made by him in the first place were snarky ones, his facial expression melted into a frown.

"What?"

"Anyways, I asked you what should we name our first baby, huh?" Still not acknowledging him, she babbled. "Maybe, if we use some ancient Greek names..."

"Hold on!" Harry finally broke out of his trance. "We discussed this, didn't we?"

"Discussed what?"

"That we wouldn't have a baby right now?"

"Oh. No, Harry. I'm talking about after marriage of course. We had waited this long, why not wait for a little more." She pecks his lips, making sure to stroke his erection before leaving him alone in the closet.

Quickly Harry followed her. "Yes but how fast do you want one after we marry?"

This question made her stop, turning around she eyed him. "Maybe after one year?"

"It's a little early, don't you think?"

"Early? What do you mean?"

"I mean we still have lots of exploring to do once we marry. Like traveling together and not to forget securing our careers first before trying for a baby. I don't think so that is possible to happen in one year."

"Oh." She flashed a small smile through the upset mood. "You're right."

Sensing her discomfort, he took her hands in his. "I'm not saying I don't want one but I'm not ready for our love to get shared and raising a baby in this busy schedule of ours could be a big thing. I think we should try for one when we both know we have achieved what we’ve always wished for.”

He was right back then, she had completely agreed making sure there was no tension between them that night. If he wasn't ready, then how could she be selfish enough to change his mind?

But, now gaping at the stick beneath her palms, the vicious smell of her pee reeking her nostrils, she could care less of it when two pink lines appear on the display screen, a word beside it, enough to shatter her world.

Pregnant

Y/N first made sure to use three other pregnancy sticks but now putting all the four in front of her she feels suffocated at the words written in each, announcing her own pregnancy in the hotel's big ensuite alone.

Her fingers tremble at the thought of him rejecting the baby. Y/N is an educated woman. She knows that the baby growing inside her is just a clamp of cells right now, barely has a heart, let alone a body. She feels this giddy feeling though, like a bond already been formed. But her marriage breaking in front of her flashes before eyes, she quickly dismisses the unravelling thoughts.

She is not feeling emotional at this moment, confusion would be a better word to describe what's she is going through. What if he declines the baby? What if he asks for the divorce? But also, what if he becomes the best father to the baby and leading their lives into a happy small family?

There are many what ifs. Some positive, making her believe that they will get past this. Some are negative, restraining her to go this exact moment and tell him.

She understands why Harry was little rationed for a baby. Their careers are hectic one and they always find themselves busy and travelling. A baby, however, needs full attention. They are still trying to maintain their married and professional lives, so a baby would add more difficulty at the task.

"Y/N, you good in there?" Harry's voice jerks her attention back. She quickly wraps the four used sticks in a newspaper, throwing the package in the dustbin.

"Yes, Harry. Be back in few minutes, love!" Y/N makes sure to keep her voice uptight, the usual one so that Harry wouldn't doubt.

"Alright then." He pauses and then continues. "Jeff told me that you vomited earlier. Are you alright? Do you need to visit a doctor?"

Pacing back and forth, she hesitates before shouting back an answer. "I'm fine, babe. It was probably because of the junk we ate before. Nothing to worry about."

"If you say so." She hears him mumble, later his footsteps backing to the bedroom.

She let out a huge sigh. She's fucked up and she quite knows it. All together, she acknowledges that soon she has to consult a doctor for the baby. The nausea that had hit her earlier was the first one, followed by backpains and headache. She can tell it's the early stage of the pregnancy.

For the ten minutes, she tries calming herself down, breathing heavily in and out. She doesn't want to cry, not knowing the consequences of the future. Crying will make the situation more worse.

With a final nod to herself, she walks out of the door with heavy feet. Every step she takes, she gets a reminder of her husband and her unborn child happy together while she looks at them afar, lovingly. Her small happy family.

As Harry lays on the bed, seeing tonight's photographs of the concert, he hears the bathroom door being closed. The fragrance of her shampoo comes through his nose, he inhales it softly. Y/N's is like a new fresh air of love to him, every sniff of it and he finds himself needy of her again and again.

"You looked beautiful tonight, love." He says aloud, sensing her body behind. "Not that you don't look beautiful every fucking day." A goofy smile comes on his pink lips as he turns around to see her.

She looks at him, slowly becoming pale. Her mind instantly backed up, declining her decision of telling the little secret. He looks so happy, way too happy to get his mood dampened.

"Oh my god, lovie, are you alright? Is it happening again? I'm calling the doctor." His panic voice fills the room as he reaches to pick up his phone from the bed.

If he is so concerned about her ill self, then he will surely be the same when she tells her about the pregnancy. She watches his thumb about to hover over the call button, she takes a long breath before spitting out the words.

"We gonna have a baby!" Her voice wavers at the end as Harry's face dropped into a frown. He looks at you, indicating her to repeat.

"Pardon?"

"I am pregnant." The phone in his hand drops on the floor with a thud and suddenly Y/N is surrounded by the thick air of her own insecurities.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” And the hell break loose.

___

Like and reblog? 🥺

Mention on the comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapter whenever i update

[imaginesandbandfiction]

can you do a fluff one where harry confesses his feelings to fem reader? :)

I literally had so much fun with this so I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Harry Styles — Causing Trouble up in Hotel Rooms

Oneshot

Excerpt from an article in OK! Magazine — 1 June 2013

I sat down with the girls of Calamity Disco before they took the stage for their second show in Madrid. After releasing their debut album ‘whatever’ (named after their 2012 hit single of the same name), they joined One Direction’s Take Me Home Tour and have spent the last four months performing across Europe. The North American leg of the tour begins with back-to-back shows in Mexico City on the 8th and 9th of June.

All four girls are squeezed onto one love seat in guitarist and lead singer Y/N’s dressing room.

“They usually give us our own dressing rooms,” says June Hutchinson, who plays the keyboard. “But we like getting ready together.”

“Plus, it makes it easier on the hair and makeup girls,” bassist Noelle Rush adds.

“And you don’t get sick of each other?” I ask.

“We have separate hotel rooms, so that helps,” drummer Clare Chase says.

Eventually, our conversation turns to their tour mates, the boys of One Direction.

“Based on the photos I’ve seen, it looks like you and Niall are pretty close, is there anything happening there?” I ask Y/N, who has been pretty quiet throughout our time together, content to let the other girls lead the conversation. She blushes a deep red and the other three girls break out into giggles. Clare laughs so hard she falls off the arm of the loveseat.

“Okay, what am I missing?” I ask, shooting a sly smile at Y/N.

“Niall and I are friends,” she says cryptically, blushing even darker.

“Actually, it’s Harry and Y/N that are the closest,” Noelle teases, poking Y/N in the side, making the other girl squirm.

The smile on Y/N’s face tells me everything I need to know about that.

14 June 2013

The day after the Miami show was just a travel day, so you were blissfully free from your manager’s hovering, making sure you drank enough water and got a good night’s sleep. You still dutifully filled up your 32-oz Hydroflask before leaving the arena, knowing that without it, your vocal cords would be sore tomorrow.

The other girls were taking forever to get changed, so you decided to head out to the bus without them. You had barely made it out of your dressing room when a mess of brown curls darted past you.

“Race you there!” Harry called over his shoulder as he sprinted down the hallway.

“No fair!” You shouted, taking off to follow him. He didn’t respond, but his cackles echoed their way back to you. The back door was just about shut when you finally reached it, so you made one last-ditch effort to win, bursting through it and dropping your bag to the ground so you could sprint faster. In the end, though, you were no match for Harry’s long legs (and his head start), and his hand touched the side of the bus about twenty seconds before yours did.

“I win!” He exclaimed with a bright smile, and you glared at him.

“You had a head start!” You protested, crossing your arms across your chest.

“We can have a rematch in Louisville.”

You leaned against the bus to catch your breath, thankful for the barricades separating you from the fans that were screaming from the other side. Though other venues let them get a closer look as you left, there was a wall around the back parking lot that was only accessible through a locked gate, giving you some privacy. Harry slid down the side of the bus and plopped down on the ground; some of his hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and he was still panting slightly. You joined him on the ground, letting your legs have a second to rest.

“You were great tonight,” Harry said, voice low, and nudged your foot with his.

“You say that every night,” you replied, sticking your bottom lip out in a hint of a pout.

“I mean it every night.” You felt your cheeks heat up and ducked your head.

“Well you’re great every night, too.”

Before Harry could respond, Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn exploded out the door in a burst of loud laughter.

“I’m serious, guys,” Niall whined, lagging behind the group a little as they approached the bus. “I think I sprained it!”

“Well maybe don’t jump off the speakers, then,” Liam said through his laughter. Harry stood up and turned around to offer you his hand, and you grabbed it, grateful for the help. After back to back shows in Florida, you were extremely sore and looking forward to a night off.

“What’s all this wingeing about, then?” Harry asked as they joined your little group.

“Niall thinks he sprained his ankle,” Louis explained, rolling his eyes.

“I know I did!” Niall protested. “Y/N, you saw me, I was limping, right?”

“Ehhhh… maybe a little?” You said, though you were pretty sure he looked fine.

“Ha! Told you. If Y/N thinks you’re overreacting, you’re definitely overreacting,” Liam gloated, shoving Niall a bit as the four other boys got on the bus.

“Guess we should join them,” Harry said, jerking his head towards the bus.

“Guess we should,” you agreed, but neither of you moved. The air between you was thick and heavy, and his green eyes were darkening under your gaze. You could feel a magnetic pull luring the two of you closer, but you had only leaned in about an inch or so when the moment was interrupted by the loud chatter of your bandmates.

“Oh, now I see why Y/N ditched us,” Noelle teased as they passed you and Harry on their way onto the bus. June, always the mom friend, had picked up your bag on her way out and was carrying it along with hers.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. You ducked your head to hide your blush, and turned away from Harry to follow your bandmates onto the bus. The boys had taken over the back row, and the girls were sitting towards the middle. You slid into the open seat next to June and slid your bag under the seat in front of you, thanking her for grabbing your stuff. Harry made eye contact with you as he walked past on his way to the back and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. The blush returned to your face and you had to work to keep your own smile small.

The ride back to the hotel was short, and you spent it chatting with the girls, dodging the random objects Louis and Niall kept throwing at you (“10 points for hitting a head!”), and ignoring the slight tingle in the back of your neck.

The whole crew piled into one elevator and rode it up to the 17th floor. As the adults dispersed, you lingered behind with the boys and your bandmates.

“My room?” Harry suggested, and everyone nodded before heading to their own rooms to drop off their stuff.

Five minutes later, the nine of you were squeezed into Harry’s room, lounging on the beds or sitting on the floor. It had become a tradition on tour to hang out for a while after the shows when you had the next day off, riding out the after-effects of the adrenaline rush that performing gave you.

Being back in the US after almost 4 months was weird. The record label had been a little more lax during the European leg, turning a blind eye to the beer bottles in the trash cans the morning after a show, but the hotel minibars on the North American leg had been emptied of anything stronger than Coca-Cola. Which, okay, everyone except Louis was technically under the legal drinking age here, and paparazzi were more aggressive stateside, but it was still a bit of a shock to have that taken away so suddenly.

Not that you needed alcohol to have fun, the boys of One Direction were very entertaining, even while sober. And after a show, when your body was still on high-alert but your brain felt like mashed potatoes, literally everything was funny.

Harry had put on old reruns of Friends to serve as background noise, but you could barely hear it over the chatter. Holding a conversation with nine people was difficult, everyone talked over each other and banter ebbed and flowed between the whole group and smaller subgroups.

After about an hour, Louis got antsy and started drumming some random beat on one of the bedside tables. The boys took turns freestyling, much to your amusement.

“Gonna hit you in the bum ‘cause I fucked your mum and I made her cum,” Louis rapped, taking the last turn at spititng some rhymes.

“Thank god y’all aren’t a rap group,” June said when he finished. Her soft southern drawl made the dig sound more like a compliment and the room filled with laughter.

“I’d like to see you try, then,” Louis said, resuming his drumming. “Go on.” June glanced over at you for encouragement and you gave her a nod that prompted her to bust out the smoothest, most creative rap you had heard yet (and best of all, it wasn’t vulgar!). Everyone sat in stunned silence for a few minutes before Clare stood up and started a slow clap that descended into madness as the rest of the group joined in. June was blushing darker than you thought was possible, and slipped out of the door as soon as the applause died down, mumbling something about calling her boyfriend from home.

The energy in the room died down considerably after that as exhaustion started settling in. Niall was the next to duck out, yawning as he waved a general goodbye to the room. Noelle and Liam left together and barely made it out the door before they were whispering to each other. You and Clare shared a knowing look, rolling your eyes at each other. Noelle denied it, but something was definitely happening between her and Liam. Louis and Zayn followed, and Clare looked between you and Harry before shaking her head and making her own exit, leaving the two of you alone.

You were sitting on Harry’s bed, with your back against the headboard and legs crossed in front of you. He was laying on his back next to you and you looked down at him as soon as the door swung shut. His eyes were closed and his hands were folded, resting on his chest. You didn’t want to interrupt his peace, so you moved to get off the bed, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. Slowly, you turned your head back to see Harry looking at you with wide, pleading eyes. He tugged on your hand, trying to pull you back, so you laid down next to him, staring up at the ceiling, afraid that if you looked at him he would be able to see directly into your soul. Afraid that he would see every daydream and late-night fantasy, the way your heart started beating just a little bit faster around him, how your eyes shined and smile widened whenever the two of you were alone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Harry prop himself up on one elbow so he was on his side facing you. You struggled to keep your gaze focused on the ceiling as the air in the room thickened and settled on your chest like a weighted blanket.

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, sliding his hand across the comforter to lace his fingers in yours. You squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath, trying unsuccessfully to force the butterflies out of your stomach. When you decided that there was no use fighting your emotions, the air in your lungs puffed out in a sigh and you opened your eyes, rolling onto your side to face Harry. His pupils were huge, only a sliver of green was visible. A wave of something nausea-adjacent washed over your body, twisting your stomach into knots. Harry pulled his fingers from yours and your face fell for just a moment until you felt his fingertips brush against your forehead, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear.

That same magnetic force from outside the tour bus came back even stronger, and you found yourself curling inwards, towards Harry.

“I’ve liked you for ages, you know,” his voice is deep and husky, igniting a fire within you. “Been trying to tell you all day, but we kept getting interrupted.”

“How long is ages?” You whispered, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Since the beginning of the tour, but probably since we first met at the VMAs last year, if I’m being honest.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words; a small part of you thought that maybe this was just a trick, but you ignored that part and slid your hand across his cheek, burying it in the curls just behind his ear. You scooted closer, meeting him halfway across the space between you.

“I’ve got you beat,” you breathed with your lips poised just millimeters away from his.

“Oh yeah?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I’ve liked you since I first saw that close-up of you thirty seconds into the What Makes You Beautiful music video.” His lips curled upwards into a smile, exposing his dimples.

“So I take it, you've watched it a few times, then?”

“Maybe once or twice.” You lowered your head slightly in mock-embarrassment and when you tipped it back up, Harry captured your lips with his. A constellation of stars burst to life behind your eyelids the second you felt soft flesh meeting soft flesh and you leaned into the touch, craving more of him. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You regretted your decision to put on a hoodie and sweats after the show, wishing you could feel more of his skin on yours. As consolation, you trailed your hand from his hair and down his neck, searching blindly until you found the strip of exposed skin between his waistband and where his t-shirt had ridden up. He gasped against you and you took the opportunity to part your lips slightly, allowing your tongue to slip out and caress his bottom lip, just for a second.

The energy in the room switched from soft and sweet to something more intense after that. Harry opened his mouth wider, grazing his teeth first along your bottom lip, then your top lip, before sucking your bottom lip back into his mouth. The soft ‘pop’ sound it made when he let it slip back out was absolutely filthy, and you had to bite down on his lower lip to keep yourself from moaning. Harry pulled back slightly to press three consecutive pecks into your lips before pulling back fully to catch his breath. Heavy breaths filled the space between you for a minute before Harry broke the silence.

“So you’re telling me we could’ve been doing that for the past four months?” He said, breathless, lower lip stuck out in a pout. You barked out a laugh and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his stuck-out lip.

“Maybe if the label wasn’t obsessed with trying to shove Niall and I together we would’ve figured it out sooner,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“I’m gonna have to talk to Paul, see if he can tell the label to stop doing that,” Harry grumbled.

“Nothing we can do about it but make up for lost time.” With a sly smirk, you rolled over, using your hands to push you up until you were straddling Harry’s hips. You only caught a glimpse of the grin on his face before you swallowed it. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, burning hot against the bare flesh of your stomach, and when he kissed you back, you felt like you were floating.

Photo in Ok! Magazine — 17 September 2013

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N of Calamity Disco spotted flirting in the front row of the the Burberry Prorsum spring/summer 2014 show in Kensington Gardens last night. These two have sparked dating rumors recently after fans noticed Harry blowing kisses to her during the third night of One Direction’s show in Los Angeles on August 10. Calamity Disco will continue traveling with One Direction’s Take Me Home Tour when it starts back up again at the end of the month with three shows in Adelaide, Australia.

[duskholland]

Had to send this to you bc your writing is so amazing 😩 friend! Tom showing you pictures on his camera roll of a trip he was on and forgetting he had nudes in there, and you scroll to accidentally find them and you’re both stunned for a second but he shoots his shot by telling you that there’s more, you can look at them if you want. and you do, and toms behind you watching you look at them. he even tells you there’s a video too, if you wanna see it. and you’re like now or never, so you tell him yes. bc the sexual tension would be so high bc it’s uncharted waters and I could see Tom dragging you into his lap to watch the video together and him being like am I big enough for you? I was thinking about you and it would be SMUTTTTTTT whew I need to lay down 🥲🥵

ugh...your mind. I love this! 18+ nsfw !!!

– clearing out the askbox – 

“Hey, do you want to see..? I took some photos of it- Wait, let me just find them.”

You wait patiently as Tom digs around in his pocket, his tongue between his lips as he focuses on procuring the device. He makes a loud tada sound as he whips it out, his eyes sparkling as he quickly starts to scroll through his photos. You watch him closely, admiring his side profile discreetly.

You’ve known Tom for years, met him at a function in London through a mutual friend. When he’d moved into a large townhouse just in the outskirts of the city a few months ago, you’d been one of the people to move in with him. He’s been away for several weeks, on press in Europe, but now that he’s back, he’d dragged you down onto one of the sofas in the living room to share his stories and show off his photos.

“Is it really as big as they say?” You wonder. “I’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower before.”

Tom hums, and you watch as he scrolls through his photos, eyes focused. He looks very good today -- biceps pressing out against his black t-shirt, his Rolex glinting on his wrist. His hair lies naturally over his forehead too -- soft, brown, wavy. Your friend is very attractive, something you’ve always been aware of, but the time apart has made your feelings sharpen.

“Yeah, it’s bloody huge,” Tom muses. “Ah! Here you go, love.”

Tom carefully passes you his phone, and you swallow harshly when your fingers brush his and you feel sparks light off at his touch.

“Wow,” you exclaim, squinting as you admire the photo of the tower, soaring up into the sky. “You’re right. It is big.”

“Mmm. There’s more. You can scroll if you want.”

You start to flick through the photos, smiling as they change a little with each shot. Some of them are blurrier than others, and after a while they change as Tom moves from the ground below the monument, to climbing the staircase, then getting in the lift, then travelling to the top. You enjoy watching the story progress, seeing the shots of some of Tom’s friends, then a few selfies of Tom in sunglasses with a wide cityscape captured behind him, then--

You gasp softly as you scroll a little bit too far, and find yourself staring at a photo of Tom’s cock.

“Oh shit,” Tom mutters. You feel him go very still beside you. You’re sitting so close together that you can feel his thigh, warm to touch. “I… Forgot that was on there.”

You swallow dryly, suddenly feeling your pulse throbbing in your ears. You can’t stop looking at the photo, marvelling at the sight of Tom’s cock, red and erect, sitting in his hand. He’s clearly in a hotel room, and the lighting and the angle are very good, leaving little to the imagination. You bite your lip as you notice the way he has a strong vein curving down the side of his member, and find yourself squeezing your thighs together as you try, desperately, to snap out of it.

“It-it’s okay,” you mutter, voice hoarse. Your face feels hot with embarrassment, but you can’t deny the arousal coursing through your system too.

“There’s more,” Tom says, voice low. You can feel him looking at you, and there’s no doubt in your mind that your friend can tell, just from your reaction, that you like looking at his nudes. “You can look at them too, if you want.”

You tilt your head slowly, glancing at him, your eyes taking in his expression: cheeks slightly rosy, smirk on his lips, gaze pooled with lust. It makes you shiver.

“Okay.”

Tom moves closer, and you can feel his breath on your neck as his fingers slowly shift into your hair, moving it out of your face very delicately, gently. You swallow, your heart beating roughly in your chest as you continue to scroll, your eyes widening as you enjoy the different angles of his cock, each captured crisply by the camera. You feel yourself getting wet, partly from the photos, but also due to the way Tom’s so close. He dips his head down and your breath hitches as he ghosts his lips over your neck, kissing you so softly that it’s almost as if he isn’t there.

“There’s a video too,” he adds, husking into your ear. You moan softly when he sucks on the tender spot behind your jaw. “Watch it.”

You oblige, scrolling past more shots of his cock before arriving at the video. With slightly shaky fingers, you press the play button, biting your lip as you watch the short clip. The air fills with the sound of Tom’s groans, distant and buzzed with slight static, but still hearty enough to make you whimper. He’s kissing your neck with renewed strength, both hands wrapping around your middle, fingers caressing your sides as you stare at the phone. The sight of his arm veins flexing as he gets himself off makes you squirm, aroused not even beginning to cover how turned on you are.

The air is thick as the video ends, Tom cumming with a low cry, his seed shooting out over his hand as his upper stomach. You let the screen fall dark, your breathing heavy and unsteady as he stops kissing your neck.

“What do you think?” Tom asks, his accent hanging heavy in his voice. “Am I big enough for you, darling?”

You nod. With nervous hands, you put the phone down and turn to face him, feeling a surge of confidence as his hold on your waist guides you to sit in his lap. You straddle him, grunting as you feel his cock straining up against his grey sweats, and the pressure that it provides to your aching clit makes you whimper and repeat the action.

“Definitely big enough,” you mutter, looking at your friend closely. He seems to be just as aroused as you are, his hands guiding your movements as you slowly grind down against him.

“I was thinking about you,” Tom admits, “when I was filming the video. Thought about sending it to you, just to see if you’d like it.”

You bite your lip, realising that the attraction you feel towards Tom hasn’t been one-sided.

“Why didn’t you? I would’ve liked to see it.”

Tom’s eyes twinkle with arousal. “Wanted to do it in person, watch your face when you saw my cock.” One of his hands moves away from your waist, and he slips it between your legs. You’re so glad you’re wearing a skirt, because all you have to do is part your thighs and then he’s able to slip two slender fingers between your folds. Tom gives your clit a few teasing rubs before slipping his fingertips down to your entrance. You whimper when he slips them into your heat, meeting no resistance, and you moan loudly as he curls his fingers and starts to stroke up against your g-spot. “Fuck, darling. You’re soaked for me.” He leans in to peck your cheek, leaving his lips by your ear as he adds, “Do I turn you on?”

“Yes,” you whine immediately. Your moans grow louder as Tom continues to fuck your heat, his thumb shifting up to nudge against your clit. You reach up and grab at his shoulders, grinding down to meet his fingers every time they thrust up into you, feeling arcs of pleasure spiral out from your cunt with each movement. “You feel so good, Tom. Been dreaming about this for months.”

“Mmm, should’ve just said, love.” Tom’s back to nibbling at your neck. “Anything else you’ve thought about doing with me?”

As good as it feels to have his fingers working you open, you know there’s one thing on your mind.

“Yeah,” you admit breathlessly. You look him straight in the eye. “I want you to fuck me, Tom.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirk intensifying. “Oh, really?”

You hum. “Yeah. I want to ride you right here, right now. Feel how big your cock actually is.”

Tom swears, his fingers leaving your centre. “Okay,” he agrees, voice tight. “There’s a condom in my jacket, I’ll go-”

“I’ll get it,” you say instead. You kiss his cheek before standing from his lap, your legs a little shaky as you walk from the living room to the porch, thankful that you’re the only ones home. By the time you return to the lounge, Tom’s stripped off completely, sitting bare on the comfortable sofa with his hand around his cock. You toss him the condom as you take a few moments to pull off your tight shirt, your skirt, and your underwear, keeping your bra on before settling in his lap.

“You’re so hot,” Tom mutters, running his hands all over you. His touch against your bare skin feels electric, and you find yourself pushing into him as you enjoy feeling him map you out. “Bloody stunning.”

“Thank you,” you reply, almost a little bashful. You sit back and watch as Tom pumps his cock, hard and leaking precum, just like the video, before he rolls down the condom. Your eyes admire the lines of his abs, strong and defined, and the rest of him, equally attractive, and you feel your cunt clench as you imagine how good it’s going to feel to have him unravel you. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

With the condom on, Tom’s hands go back to your hips. He gently pulls you forward and you sit up, reaching down to guide his cock between your folds.

“Neither can I,” he admits, eyes trained between your legs. “Been thinking about- fuck- about your sweet little pussy for months, sweetheart, I--” He breaks off completely when you slide down onto him, your walls expanding to accommodate him. Your forehead falls to rest on his shoulder as you breathe deeply, moaning as he fills you up. “So good.”

“You’re so big, Tom,” you whimper. After leaving a moment to adjust, you sit back up and slowly start to ride him, taking your time as you get used to the fit of his body. You can’t stop yourself from whimpering, loudly, as his tip brushes up against your g-spot repeatedly, igniting a deep frenzy of sparks in the pit of your stomach. “Feels so fucking good inside me.”

Tom’s face is pulled tight with enjoyment, and you moan as you see his jaw clenching and the deep line of concentration furrowed between his brows. When he opens his eyes, you see nothing but appreciation and arousal webbed across the depths of his gaze.

“Love your pussy, Y/N,” he moans, cheeks flushing deeper. One of his hands stays on your hip, guiding you, and the other goes to touch your clit. He grins as he rubs your bud and feels you clench around him. “You like that, yeah? Like the way it feels for me to be inside you?”

“Yes, Tom,” you whisper.

“I know you do, I can feel how wet you are.” Tom’s watching you like you’re a spectacle, his words interspaced with small grunts as he lifts his hips to meet your movements. “So fucking snug for me, aren’t you, love? Your pussy feels so good... I’m not going to last long.”

“Neither am I,” you warn. You can already feel it building, building, building, and with each slap of skin on skin, coupled with the noise of your wet arousal getting fucked by his member, you get closer. “Fuck, Tom, ‘m gonna cum-”

“Do it,” he coaxes, his own voice strained. “Wanna watch you fall apart for me, love. Go on.” He rubs your clit a little faster. “I’ve got you.”

Tom’s grip on you is unwavering as you peak with a loud moan, your walls spasming around his cock as your orgasm sweeps across you in an intense wave of unyielding pleasure. You grip at his shoulders, shuddering as you continue to bounce on his length, not stopping until Tom climaxes as well. You feel his cock pulse as he finishes, his breathing coming out in low, grunting pants, and as the two of you ride it out together, his forehead falls to your shoulder.

“So good,” he whimpers, lazily kissing up your neck. You still in his lip, recovering your breath, and then both of Tom’s hands move to your face. He looks at you, eyes full of appreciation, and you find yourself smiling softly at him. “Can I kiss you?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Seems like we’re doing this in a bit of a backwards order,” you point out.

Tom smiles before uniting your lips, his mouth feeling hot against yours. He’s still smiling when he pulls back, his eyes slightly nervous.

“We are,” he admits. “Would you like to come out on a date with me?”

You nod, your heart warming in your chest.

“Yes, Tom,” you say, pausing to kiss him again. “I’d love to.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Prince Philip’s Internationalism

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Prince Philip and the modernisation of the monarchy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Prince Philip’s legacy

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. Prince Philip’s character

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In conclusion then....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for your question.