#which on that note THANK YOU FOR INDULGING MILES AND I WITH THIS. IT'S SERIOUSLY SO CUTE

[phoenix-flamed]

[ from  @hideawaysteward

Otto isn’t a *terrible* fighter, but he’s not Cursebreaker level or anything; get him in a tavern fisticuffs brawl and he’ll likely clean house tho  💪

and he is self-conscious about being silly in public, but in more private settings he can loosen up

those two aside it’s a blackout bingo loool hell yeah  👀 ]

I love these two so much ;; A ;; OTTO IS SO GOOD DFGLKJS

Also congratulations Otto, it’s now Miles’s new life mission to get you to smile and laugh out in the open, at least once!

[shogunish]

𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗲.

pairing. gojo satoru x f! reader

genre. smut, pwp, friends to lovers

warnings. explicit sexual content, hair-pulling, raw sex, female masturbation, handjob, fingering, mating press, lots of cum, squirting, loss of virginity, uneditet

words. 5k

summary. Gojo Satoru has absolutely no business knowing that you're still a virgin. It will only result in your demise: never-ending comments about your lack of experience until you have no choice to smack him over the head upside-down.

note. special thanks to @cinnamonmon for indulging my fantasies and pouring gasoline into the fire ✨

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Discussing Shoko's and Gojo's sex life is most certainly not how you expected your day to go.

Gathered at a table on a terrace, surrounded by lovely flowers blooming and the serenity of the Jujutsu Campus, you unhurriedly sip your soda. Depending on who is talking, wide, curious eyes jump from Shoko to Gojo and vice versa.

While you are happy to be spending time with your friends, you can't contribute anything to the conversation.

Apparently Gojo's awkward sex moment was when he was drunk and rubbed a girl's thigh for 10 minutes straight, firmly believing he had found her clit. Laughter bursts from Shoko's lips and you swear her coffee almost came out of her nose.

"No way! That sounds like something you'd do sober, too," she teases once her giggles die down.

Satoru pouts as though he is seriously wounded by his friend's words that stung like needles. "So that's how you think of me? I assure you this was a one-time fuzz up!" He smacks one hand to his chest where his heart is and raises his other hand much like he's vowing to never fuck up so majorly again.

Admittedly, this is one of those stories that have even you grinning into your glass. But the conversation quickly moves on; Shoko talking about the guy who took her virginity, Gojo confessing his favorite position (a string of words you had never heard of) and the several reasons why he liked said position so much.

It is a stretch of time ㅡ or maybe only 5 minutes ㅡ until Satoru puts the spotlight on you.

"You've been awfully quiet, [Name]. Cat got your tongue?" His voice has a teasing lilt to it and a smart comment lies on the tip of your tongue, but Shoko decides to answer in your stead.

She twirls a strand of hair between her delicate fingers. "[Name] can't add to the conversation because she's still a virgin," Shoko deadpan with not even a hint of a teasing tone laced in her voice.

"Shoko!" You look at her, betrayal and embarrassment written all over your face. A jumble of words, or rather letters, spill from your mouth like water from an overflowing sink, trying to save the situation. You flail your hands through the air, making all sorts of wild gestures and attracting quite a few curious looks from sorcerers and students alike.

Gojo Satoru has absolutely no business knowing that you're still a virgin. It will only result in your demise: never-ending comments about your lack of experience until you have no choice to smack him over the head upside-down. If annoying people was a sport, Satoru would definitely win the Olympics with flying colors.

"Are you for real?" Despite the blindfold hiding his eyes, you can tell that he's genuinely surprised. "And here I thought you'd have several men at your feet by now." Ah, there it is. His trademark grin which you can recognize from miles away.

Satoru would never say it out loud, but he thinks you're really pretty. You're blessed with humor, intelligence, strength in battle that even he recognizes and a smile that melts hearts on the spot. All these attributes that he silently adored about you are obvious as day to him. To think that no other man sees it proves that he sees more through his blindfold than some other folks do with a pair of lame glasses.

Yet, Gojo thinks that it's better this way. At least, he doesn't have to worry about someone else sweeping you off your feet.

Shoko rests her cheek on her fist, a warm breeze blows through her chocolate hair. "Right? [Name] most certainly is pretty, but she prefers to stay at home on her days off and play video games. The only thing she pulls is the blanket over her head. It's a shame," she muses.

Has Shoko just..roasted you? You're flabbergasted.

"I'm still here and can hear you, you know!" Heat sits high on your cheeks, threatening to melt you from within, but you have to get a point across. Embarrassed, you gaze to the side; the sliding door to your right is suddenly much more interesting than your oh-so-beloved friends. "There's no shame in not having had an..well..you know..yet," you grumble.

Satoru snaps his fingers. "You mean an orgasm."

Oh, you've just dug your own grave, haven't you? You wish for the ground to swallow you whole and never spit you back to the surface again if it means escaping this ridiculous situation for good. If you could, you would just drop your forehead onto the table and groan in agony.

You will never hear the end of it.

"So not even an orgasm by yourself?" Satoru digs and stuffs a chip or two into his mouth; they're your favorite flavor and usually you would steal 70% of the bag's content, but you have a reputation to defend right now.

A reputation that's crumbling, because lying to Gojo is impossible.

Defeated, you meet his gaze and sigh. "No. But it's no big deal, anyways. I don't have time for any of these things."

"No time, huh..," Satoru echoes your words quietly and slouches back into his seat. It's almost suspicious how easily the 1,90m tall bother on legs drops the subject, but maybe it's because he knows you're lying through your teeth.

The clock strikes 10 in the evening when you're in bed, the lights in your bedroom dimmed and dipping the room in sweet orange hues. Your shirt is pulled over your chest, tits exposed to the air and nipples hardening at the change in temperature. Nimble fingers slide from the valley of your breasts down to your stomach and linger just above your panties.

How stupid, you think. Who couldn't make themselves cum?

Perhaps, the earlier conversation you had with Shoko and Satoru still weighs heavily on your mind and perhaps you have a point to prove that you aren't as clueless as everyone (including yourself) believes.

"Hmph, this is ridiculous," you huff, push your panties to the side and slide your finger through your folds. They're already wet and sensitive, probably glistening in the dim lights. A content sigh escapes your lips.

But when you slide a finger into your pussy and can't reach that oh-so-sweet spot everyone keeps talking about, you groan in frustration. Thrusting your finger into your cunt does nothing but spread the slick and no matter how much you rub at your pussy, it doesn't feel quite right.

Frustrated moans and groans grow in volume. At some points, colorful curses leave your mouth and you give up on pleasuring yourself.

"Fucking hell, this is stupid!," you yell and continue your little rant until a knock on your door interrupts you, ripping you out of your headspace. Once your clothes are back in place and you look acceptable enough to be seen by people, you trot to the door with bare feet. "Coming!"

When you open the door, you certainly don't expect Gojo to be on the other side, a concerned look on his face which isn't obstructed by a blindfold or sunglasses for once. "Are you alright? It sounded like you got injured."

"Injured..? I'm not.." Confused, you look up at the taller man until it clicks and heat explodes on your face. Oh dear lord, no. He must've heard you trying to touch yourself and mistook your pathetic attempt at pleasing yourself for having hurt yourself on accident. "Oh..Oh fuck.."

You drop your forehead against the wooden door frame, not daring to meet Gojo's eyes. The fact that they're not covered makes the entire situation even worse, somehow. "It's not that, I was..just busy."

Gojo cups his chin in thought, mulling over your words and you can visibly see the gears in his head turning. Unfortunately for you, Satoru is smarter than he acts. A smirk graces his lips as he laughs. "So that's it? Oh man. You really suck at touching yourself, you know?"

"What the hell do you know about my body?!" You cross your arms over your chest and turn your head to the side, not sparing your dearest friend another glance. Having this conversation with him in the hallway is embarrassing enough already. "It's not as easy as it sounds! And keep your voice down!"

"You're the one making a fuss right now," Satoru states and pops into your personal bubble, scrutinizing your face from your eyes swimming in embarrassment down to your trembling bottom lip. "Seeing you all pent-up like this almost makes me want to teach you."

The idea popping into your head is the dumbest thing you have ever thought of, but what other choice do you have? At least once, you want to taste the ecstasy everyone keeps talking about and there's no one you trust as much as Satoru, even though he could be annoying.

"Could you?"

"Could I what?"

"Teach me how to touch myself."

To your surprise, Satoru agrees and you invite him into your place. It's exactly this dumb request that lands you in your bedroom with Gojo Satoru sitting on your bed and asking you to strip down first. To his surprise, you're oddly compliant and do as you're told.

"Get comfortable and relax, [Name]. It's just us." Satoru's voice is calming as you lie nearly naked in front of him. Your entire face feels hot as you catch him eying your boobs, the curve of your waist and the cute panties that separate his gaze from your bare pussy.

"Touch your tits. Take your time and don't rush," Gojo says with a slight tilt of his head. "You're supposed to enjoy it."

You gulp down the lump in your throat, muttering a "fine" as your hands slide from your collarbone down to your breasts. Insecurity fills your veins, you hesitate and your eyes flicker up to Gojo who's comfortably watching you and assuring you with a nod of his head. You cup your tits, fondling and squeezing them lightly at first.

For a reason you couldn't quite place your finger on, your tummy is already feeling funny. Is it because Satoru's watching you or..?

"Good. Now go ahead and play with your nipples. No need to go all out just yet, be gentle at first." Eyes blue like the skies intently watch your fingers flick your nipples before rubbing them in slow circles. Gojo would be lying if he said that he isn't feeling himself getting hard merely because you're touching yourself in front of him. "That's it.."

After some time, you pinch and tug at your nipples until a whimper slips your lips and goosebumps are scattered all over your skin. It feels good, you notice. The previous hesitation goes up in smoke as you get comfortable with yourself, with Satoru watching you closely.

"Feels good, doesn't it?," he questions to which you nod your head yes. "It does," you whine.

Oh, you have absolutely no idea how sweet you sound, do you? Gojo has to adjust his sitting position or else you'd sooner or later see the boner in his sweatpants, asking for your attention and sweet release. He doubts his right hand will get the job done tonight.

"You know, it's not fair," you suddenly speak up, voice shaky and uncharacteristically insecure. "I'm nearly naked and you're fully clothed..," you trail off, cheeks burning.

Gojo chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Are you saying you want me to undress like you did?"

In the past, you've seen Gojo shirtless quite a few times and it never fazed you. But now that you are half naked in front of him, pussy wet and aching for some friction, you are painfully aware of the way he's built as he strips down to his underwear.

He's broad and buff in all the right places, the muscles in his arms bulging whenever he flexes his biceps. Not to mention his slim waist and the white happy trail disappearing into his boxers, leading to the erection between his legs.

"Go ahead and touch your pussy, rub on it. Get to know what feels good for you."

Following his words, you shimmy out of your panties and dip your hand between your legs where your folds glisten with your arousal. It's wetter than it was before, allowing you to slide right through the slit and making you sigh in pleasure. You spread your folds, circle your entrance with the tip of your finger and moan at the sensitivity.

Gojo watches your pussy flutter around nothing at the feather light touch and has to ignore the throbbing and twitching of his cock. If he could, he would jerk off while guiding you, but he can't do that. At least not yet.

"Now you rub your clit. Slowly," Satoru instructs. His icy blue eyes are glued to your nimble finger sliding through your slick folds, searching for the bud and glistening in the dim light of your room.

A frustrated huff slips your lips. "I can't find it.."

"Are you serious? It's right there."

"Where..?"

Gojo takes pity on your pathetic attempts of pleasing yourself. Grabbing your knees, he spreads your thighs apart, scoots closer to your heated body and presses his thumb right to your clit. "There."

Immediately, your back arches off the mattress as Gojo draws a high-pitched, pleased moan from your glossy lips. Thighs twitching, you buck your hips into his hand and whine. "Again," you demand through a haze of longing and desire.

Gojo has to take a breath through his nose to compose himself. How often had he dreamed of you asking for his touch underneath him, soaking his fingers and thighs spread apart so prettily? His right hand can't compare to the real thing.

"Are you sure?" He strokes the pad of his thumb over your clit and watches you tremble with mesmerized eyes. White strands of hair frame his face as he tilts his head to the side.

Frantically, you nod your head, but Gojo tuts at this. "Use your words, sweets," he commands and you give in to his every word.

"I-I'm sure," you stumble over your words and catch his gaze, holding it with heat on your face and a softened look resting upon your features. "Please, touch me, Toru.."

"That's a good girl," Satoru smiles to himself as he drags his finger down to your fluttering hole and circles the slick flesh. Slowly, he inserts two of his fingers into your cunt, curves them upwards and rubs that sweet spot within you. "This is the spot that you'd wanna rub when you finger yourself, but now that I look at your hands.." Gojo trails off and takes one of your hands into his own, smirking when you squeeze it. "You probably won't reach it on your own."

Moan after moan spills from you, hips buck into his hand for more, more, more. You throw your head back into your pillow and dig your nails into the sheets until your knuckles go white. Heat pools in your lower abdomen and slides up your spine until it spreads to the very tips of your fingers. "A-ah, Toru! Right there," you whine. "Don't stop.. Feels s'good."

Satoru chuckles. "You're so sensitive, it's cute. I'm so lucky to be the first to see you all wet and needy, ain't I?"

Each squelch of his fingers is followed by a moan or whine, sounds that Gojo could listen to all day if you'd let him. Your slick trickles down to his wrist, stains your inner thighs and leaves a damp spot on your once clean sheets. The heel of Gojo's palm rubs your clit with each precise movement of his hand, leaving you no choice but to squeeze your thighs shut.

"Aw, is it too much for you?," Satoru coos in faux sympathy and uses his free hand to grab your face, making you look up at him through half-lidded eyes with your lips all puckered. "Fuck, aren't you a pretty little thing for me," he groans.

You want to answer, but all that comes out is a string of letters that sound an awful lot like his name, all fucked out and gone.

Gojo forces your thighs open again, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt over and over again until he's pounding them into you, juices dripping down to your ass. Your gummy walls tighten around his digits until Satoru is sure you're about to suck him in.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of your fluttering hole.

"Why'd you stop?," you whine in pathetic tones as the sweet tension leaves your muscles and the knot of warmth disappears from in-between your legs.

Satoru caresses your thighs; from your knee up to your inner thigh and across your stomach until his hands caress the underside of your tits, his thumbs flicking your hardened nipples. Just like that, he draws a whimper from you. "If you're gonna cum, it's gotta be on my cock."

It takes a moment for your brain to process his words, but when they do, your gaze travels from Gojo's stupidly handsome face down his abs and stops at the twitching bulge between his legs. A damp spot of pre-cum rests on the top of his erection, making you lick your lips.

"Your cock, huh..," you echo his words like you're drunk on him, his touch, like you're drunk on love. Absent-mindedly, you sit up and place your hands on Gojo's broad shoulders. You had never realized just how well-built and firm he really is and it makes you gulp.

Slowly tracing your hands down his body, you slide his boxers down his legs and toss them into some corner of your room. Gojo's cock springs free, smacks against his abdomen once and stands at attention. Pre-cum pools from the tip and a delicious vein travels from the base all the way to the red, swollen head.

"Teach me how to touch you," you whisper.

Gojo has a hard time controlling himself when you say these things in that voice of yours and give him those doe eyes. But he also has a hard time saying no to you. "Wrap your hand around the length like this.." Grabbing your hand, he makes you wrap your palm around his cock; a shiver goes down his spine as your fingers nearly don't fit around the girth. He's hot and heavy in your hand.

"Then you wanna rub it and twist your hand a little," Gojo instructs and guides your hand up and down his cock just like he said. His head falls back into the nape of his neck and a groan vibrates deep in his chest. "Rub the tip with your thumb. The slit is fine, too."

And you do just as you're told. Carefully, you rub the swollen tip with your thumb all while gliding your palm along his cock. Sticky pre-cum pools from the slit and when your thumb catches some of it, making the slide so much warmer and wetter, a loud groan escapes Gojo's lips. He wants to thrust into your palm so badly, but just before he could..

You're apologizing and pulling your hand away, shock and guilt written all over your face. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn't mean toㅡ"

"Hell no." Satoru is quick to wrap your palm around his cock once more and tighten your grip to thrust into your fist. "You feel fucking good. Keep going, sweets."

When his hand releases yours, you nod at him and drag your fist down to the base of his cock and slide it right back up where your palm squeezes the tip. His pre-cum now sticks to your palm, each rub sounding wetter than the one before.

Groans and moans spill from Gojo's mouth. He no longer feels the need to thrust into your hand; not when he rests his forehead on yours, his hot breath fanning your cheeks and basking in the feeling of your hand wrapped around him. Large, calloused hands glide from your shoulders to your arms and cup your tits. Satoru fondles them, squeezing and groping you to his heart's content.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters. His curious hands are now cupping your cheeks, skilled fingers move away some stray strands of your hair before his thumb catches your bottom lip. "Can I ㅡ ah, shit ㅡ kiss you?"

Your grip around his cock tightens, making him hiss. You smile at him like you're in love. "Yes, please. Kiss me, Satoru."

Gojo crashes his lips into yours, one hand keeping you in place by the back of your neck while the other one grabs your ass, pulling you closer to him. You moan at his touch, at the way he bites your bottom lip and sneaks his tongue into your mouth to dance with your own.

Satoru groans into your mouth when your fingers graze his balls, squeezing and fondling the flesh lovingly. He wraps his tongue around yours, sucking on the slippery muscle until a combination of his saliva mixed with yours trickles from the corner of your mouth. Delicate fingers get caught in Satoru's hair, pulling and tugging at the roots and always asking for more.

Gojo pulls you impossibly closer until you're on his lap, your pussy kissing the length of his cock and slicking it up. He can't take it anymore.

Breaking the kiss, a string of saliva connects his lips to yours and you find yourself pushed into the mattress.

"I need to be inside you. Now." Gojo towers over you, easily covering your frame with his buffer one. His eyes, once as bright as the clear skies, are now as dark as the depths of the ocean. Drops of pre-cum land underneath your belly button, pooling there and warming the skin. "Will you let me fuck this pretty pussy? I promise I'll be gentle."

Briefly, your eyes flicker down to his cock and you wonder how he's supposed to fit inside you when you had been clenching around his fingers already. But your need to feel Gojo inside you is greater than the questions floating throughout your mind. "Please. Fuck me, Toru."

Something akin to boyish delight lights up the blue of Satoru's eyes. Grabbing his cock, he makes sure to slide through your glossy folds and groans at the warmth you gift him. When the head catches your clit and Satoru smacks it with the tip, he smirks at the way you arch off the mattress.

"Ugh, stop teasing and fuck me already!"

"Who knew you were so bossy in bed?," Gojo teases and the next smart comment lies on the tip of your tongue, but it's wiped clean when Gojo presses his cock into your sloppy hole.

You dig your nails into his bicep, whimpering at the burning stretch but it feels too good to complain about it. Your pussy sucks him right in until he's nestled within your gummy walls, tip pressing into all the right spots and twitching within you.

"Fuck, you're so tight and wet..," Satoru groans, wraps one of your legs around his waist and drapes the other one over his shoulder. He sinks a bit deeper into you until his balls are pressed to your ass. "It's so much better than I imagined."

Drawing his hips back, Gojo thrusts into your pussy with a groan and sets a pace that makes you wrap your arms around him, digging your nails into his back. His weight pushes you into the mattress, each stroke of his cock making you moan louder than before.

"You're feeling good, huh?" Satoru smirks above you and grabs your hips to hold you in place, picking up the pace. Skin smacks against skin, your pussy squelches and leaves a white ring of cream around his cock. "Gonna turn you into a pretty mess once I'm done with you."

All you can do is take whatever Gojo gives you. The leg draped over his shoulder dangles in the air, your tits bounce in tune with his thrusts. "Fuck, gimme more, 'toru.. Need all of you..," you babble.

"More? You're a greedy thing, aren't you?" But Satoru fulfills your wish regardless. Sneaking a hand between your bodies, his fingers are quick to find your puffy clit, rubbing figure eights into the nub. Tears spring to your eyes, brimming your waterline and blurring your sight.

"Toru! Ah, fuck! Hah..shit, yes!" You chant his name like a prayer, throw your head back into the soft pillows and drag your nails down his back. You'd certainly leave some scratches, but Gojo doesn't mind. Not when it makes his cock twitch within your sloppy walls, leaking of pre-cum.

"There, yes, there! Just like that." Hot tears roll down your cheeks and into the clavicle of your collarbone as Gojo hits that sweet spot which makes you see stars over and over again.

"Right there, huh?" Sweat trickles down Satoru's temple, a few strands of snow white hair sticking to his forehead as he pounds you into the mattress. He grips the back of your thighs, folding your legs up to your chest and putting his full weight on top of you.

You cry his name, grasping at anything that was Gojo; his back, his flexing bicep, his tousled hair. Anything that you could reach as he abuses your poor cunt. "That's it. Take my cock just like this and I'll make sure to fill you up," he praises all while digging his blunt fingernails into the flesh of your thighs. He'd definitely leave his mark on you.

Mewling at Satoru's promise, your hole flutters around his cock and sucks him right in before it clenches down on him.

"T-Toru," you stutter as he drills his cock into you, a sob rocking your shoulders. "H-How do I know I'm about to ㅡ fuck ㅡ cum..?"

And when Gojo pinches your clit, his cock pressing into your sweet spot and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your orgasm comes crashing down on you in waves.

A loud scream of Satoru's name is ripped from your throat and your back beautifully arches off the mattress. Clawing at his back, several sobs spill from your chest and it's so fucking wet. Your pussy is gushing all over his cock, wetting not only his lap but your stomach and sheets as well.

Satoru rubs your clit in hard circles, letting you ride out the waves of your high. "That's fucking nasty, baby. When I said I wanted you to wet my cock, I didn't think you'd squirt," he laughs and pounds into your spent cunt until you're moaning again, begging him to stop.

"Too much..Toru, 's too much!" Your squirm underneath Gojo but all he does is hold you still as he presses his hips flush to your own. He buries his face in your neck, holding you so close that your tits get pushed up against his chest.

"Shh, let me fill your pussy, pretty girl," he shushes you and with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum fill up your insides until it leaks out from where his cock plugs you. Gojo groans right into your ear, grinding his sticky cum deep into your cunt before he slowly pulls out.

His tongue sticks out to sweep over his bottom lip as he admires the creamy mess he's made of you; covered in not only his but your cum alike, lips swollen from his kisses and the several prints of his fingers on your skin. Satoru smiles at his handiwork.

"I don't think you've ever looked prettier," Gojo swoons, a soft look in his eyes.

"Ugh..," you groan, feeling full of his cum that seeps out of your cunt. "Shut up, Satoru.."

Contrary to popular belief, Gojo Satoru has the decency to take care of you after he has folded you in half and drained every last bit of energy from your body. He is gentle when he cleans you up with a warm washing cloth, but still an asshat about it when he says "Whoops, there's more coming out. You should really focus on keeping my cum in, love."

You want to slap the grin off his face, but lack the strength to do so.

So instead, you let him dress you into a fresh pair of panties and a hoodie that was several sizes too large. Gojo is dressed in casual sweatpants and a loose shirt. The bed is made and a couple of snacks are now in front of you and Satoru, the heat of the moment gone just like the Earth-shattering high he gifted you.

"Satoru..What does this make us?," you cautiously ask with a mouth full of a couple of gummy bears. There is nothing else that you cherish as much as his friendship and trust in you, but sex destroys every friendship, right? Fuck, you shouldn't have gotten carried away.

"Hmm..," Gojo hums an leans back, supporting his weight with his hands behind him on the soft mattress. A pair of pitch black shades now rests on the bridge of his nose, yet you can clearly see the playful glint in his annoying, beautiful eyes. "I guess I gotta think of a way to introduce you as my girlfriend now."

Your head whips towards Satoru, owlishly staring at him. "Eh? Are you serious?"

"I, Gojo Satoru, would never lie about this!" He raises his hands like he's surrendering, like he's about to whip out a white flag and it makes you chuckle. "So, what do you say?"

With your knees tucked underneath your hoodie and pulled to your chest, you let a pout grace your lips. "I guess I would love that.."

"It's official then!," Gojo exclaims, tosses his arm around your shoulder and pulls you flush to his side. Playfulness quickly turns into tenderness as he presses a soft kiss to your hairline.

"You're mine now."

[happyandticklish]

Messing With His Brain

Notes: Commission for @ticklishraspberries. Teasy Miguel + an incredibly flustered Connor is my favorite combo to write, so I hope you enjoy this collective self-indulgence~ Thanks again for commissioning!! 

Summary: Connor’s in a giggly mood. 

“Connor.”

“What?”

“Stay still, please.”

“I am!”

He was not. In fact, Connor wasn’t sure he had been able to sit still for the last hour now, his whole body one twitchy, fidgety mess. A small part of it had to do with the edibles they’d decided experiment with that night. It was supposed to be slowing his brain processes down, which it was, technically, but his body had not yet got the memo it seemed. He felt hyper in a tired sort of way, as though he were full of kinetic energy with no motivation to burn it. So, he fidgeted.

A much larger part of it now had to do with Miguel’s hands which were dangerously close to his neck and making it very hard to stay still.

Miguel reached for the strand of hair once more to try to capture it where it had flown away, and Connor scrunched up with a giggle at the movement of the air around him.

“Connor!” Miguel sat back in exasperation, staring him down. Connor, reluctantly, released the hand he had captured in defense, crossing his arms and wiggling back into the couch. “Are you okay? Like, seriously? Is the weed messing with your head or something?”

“I’m fine,” Connor insisted, trying for a placating smile, though it came off giddier than intended. His gaze was zeroed in on Miguel’s hands which had retracted to his side of the couch—for now, anyway. “I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.” He tried for reasonably indignant. “Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?”

Miguel did not appear convinced. “If that’s all this was, then I would agree that yes, you’re more than allowed. After all, you’re normally giggly while high—”

“I’m not giggly—”

“—but you seem especially… I don’t know. Amped up tonight.”

He sat back on the couch, scanning Connor over like he was going to find the source of his hyper mood plastered onto him somewhere. Connor squirmed under his eyes, ducking his shoulders up in feeble protection. If he could have curled up tighter than he was, he would have. Miguel’s attention, normally an incredibly addictive phenomenon, felt predatory that night as though he were pursuing something. In a sober state of mind, Connor could have deduced his boyfriend’s innocent intentions, but with his mind racing a mile a minute and his paranoia amped up by drugs, he was absolutely certain that Miguel was hunting him and he had a pretty good idea of what that hunting entailed.

So, when Miguel started to advance towards him on the couch, he couldn’t help the way his foot kicked out instinctively into the other boy’s side in an attempt to shove him away. Miguel grunted, his lips tugging up slightly as Connor’s foot dug ticklishly into his side. “Why are you acting so weird tonight?” he groaned, trying to reach for his foot to tug it away. There was no way Connor was allowing him to get ahold of his ankle however, and his kicking increased tenfold as he yelped and tried to squirm further back into the couch somehow.

“What the fuck—?”

“Don’t, I swear to god, Miguel—stop!” Connor shrieked when Miguel, powered by intense annoyance and confusion, managed to grab hold of the kicking leg in his curled arm. “Stop, c’mon, please just let go!”

“I’m not even doing anything, what are you—oh.”

Connor could practically see the lightbulb going off in Miguel’s head as he glanced between Connor’s trapped leg, his defensively curled position, and the blush spread across his face that accompanied his bitten-back giggles. The grin that curled across his face kicked Connor’s heart rate into high gear.

“Oh, you thought that I was going to—that’s really cute.” Miguel swept a leg atop Connor’s free one, effectively holding it back as he shook his head. “No wonder you were so squirmy.”

Embarrassed heat crawled down Connor’s chest and he shrunk into his shirt, attempting to tug his leg out of Miguel’s hold uselessly. “Shut up. You were giving me a look.”

“I was not!”

“You were, you get this stupid look on your face, the I’m-about-to-wreck-Connor face—”

“Oh, I have a face now?”

“Yes, you do, and you were getting handsy—”

“I thought you liked it when I’m handsy.”

Miguel raised a brow and Connor snapped his mouth shut, glaring off to the side. He could feel Miguel’s eyes on him and it was not helping the bundle of nerves building in his lower stomach. “Not that kind of handsy.”

“Is that so?”

Connor tensed as Miguel raised his free hand to his trapped foot, which he had almost forgotten was in the other’s possession. Immediately, he attempted to jerk it free, but he was no match for Miguel’s strength—a fact he was usually glad for. He inhaled sharply as Miguel’s fingers carefully landed on his foot, forming a still claw over the thin material of his socks.

“Well?”

Connor’s throat had gone dry and he coughed to clear it, coming out of his reverie at the question. “Well, what?”

“C’mon.” Miguel’s fingers twitched and giggles built-in Connor’s throat, threatening to spill out once more as they had been all night long. “After all, you seemed pretty sure I was going to tickle you before, and now that I have you trapped it would seem a shame to waste all that energy you spent working yourself up over it.” Carefully, he circled his index finger over the top of his sole and Connor felt the dam inside him crumbling. “So what do you say?”

It was at that point that Connor was presented with a couple of different options. Connor in a stable state of mind would tell Miguel to fuck off, which usually resulted in Miguel teasing him for the rest of the night but leaving him alone. High Connor was different, however. High Connor was feeling daring and cuddly and starved for affection, and as such, he was more willing to test the waters.

He mumbled something under his breath, cheeks burning despite himself. Miguel stared, unsatisfied. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Yes, god, alright?”

“Yes, what?”

Clearly, Miguel was going to be an asshole about this tonight. Connor glared at him in possibly the least convincing show of aggression recorded in history and gently thwacked his chest with his captured foot. “Yes you can tickle me, you dick. For a bit. Five minutes. Tops.”

“Ah, okay, ‘just five minutes.’” There was absolutely no need for him to look so smug about this. “You sure you don’t want me to go longer?”

Connor thwacked him again and attempted to wiggle off of the couch, but Miguel merely chuckled, tugging his ankle to keep him in place. “Alright, alright, okay, I’m sorry. Five minutes it is.” He paused. “Unless you decide you want me to continue once our time’s up.”

“Miguel—ahA!”

Evidently, Miguel had not been content to wait through the rest of that ensuing argument. Nails curled against his sock, the sensation muted due to the fabric but certainly not absent. Connor bit his lip after that first yelp, closing his eyes as he gripped the edge of the couch cushion for support. Laughter built up in his throat, begging to be released, but Connor struggled to hold his composure just a little longer. There was something unbearably flustering about Miguel trying to break him, and that night Connor wanted to be flustered. Needed it, almost.

Miguel noticed, as he always did, and dug into the spot on his arches that had Connor cringing back into the cushion. “You just gave me permission, and now you’re trying to be tough? Who exactly are you trying to fool here? I already know how much this tickles.”

His tone had a teasing edge to it that multiplied the veritable butterfly atrium forming in Connor’s stomach. He curled his toes, instinct forcing him to tug his captured leg. “Doesn’t.”

“This doesn’t tickle?”

A grin split his face. Pull your shit together Connor. “No.”

“Mm.” Miguel crawled his fingers up to his toes suddenly, digging underneath them. Connor could hardly be blamed for the bubble of giggles that jumped out as a result. “Not even this?”

“N-Noho!”

“Why are you laughing, then?”

Connor had curled up into the side of the couch, one hand covering his face to preserve at least some of his dignity. “This is for y-your benefit. I just feel bad, is ahAll—ghnn!”

Miguel was nodding along sagely in a condescending manner that Connor would have found annoying if it wasn’t so cute. “Oh, I see, for my benefit. Well, I have to say I’m honored Connor, that’s uncharacteristically nice of you.”

Connor gaped at him, peeking out from his fingers momentarily at the dig. “Hey, I’m nice all the fuckiHING—SHIT!”

Tumbling laughter exploded out of him as he fell back on the couch. Miguel had reached forward suddenly to grab his knees, using his ankle hold to force his leg into a straight and easy-to-pinch position. His fingers had somehow targeted the exact tendon that drove Connor insane and he arched back on the couch in a mess of babbling pleas and cackles. 

So much for making him work for it.

“Tihihickles, h-holy fuck, oh my gahahad, that fuhuhucking tihihickles!” Connor was blindly reaching forward to grab at his hands, but each clumsy attempt was easily thwarted by Miguel squeezing the bone once more and sending shocks of lightning shooting through his limbs. Connor eventually decided on grabbing a nearby throw pillow and gripping it to his chest in an attempt to cope with how unfairly tickly this method was during out to be. “Miguehehel!”

“Ah, ah, ah, we agreed on five minutes, remember?” Miguel reminded him. “We’re barely a minute in. Just relax. Surely it can’t be that bad.”

It was that bad, which was turning out to be a horribly conflicting situation for Connor. His knee twitched horribly under the unfair tickle assault, begging for a break, even a brief one, from its torment. Yet, despite how unbearable it was, or maybe because of it, Connor would have been willing to stay there for the rest of eternity if it meant Miguel’s eyes on him, Miguel’s hands on him, wringing such frantic reactions from him. He was simply having a hard time reconciling this issue with his nervous system, which appeared to have the exact opposite stance on the matter.

That all changed when Miguel’s nails slipped under his knee, wriggling against the unwisely bare skin underneath (summer weather and wear might actually be the death of Connor). Connor screeched, scrambling up and reaching over his pillow to try to push off Miguel’s hands.

“Oh, good spot, huh?”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, seriously, MihihihigueheheEHEHEL!”

Miguel briefly paused, glancing up at him but noticeably not moving his fingers from their current stance. He searched Connor’s face, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Do you want me to stop? Genuinely?”

Connor froze, his laughter choking up in his throat as his body realized he was no longer being tickled. He felt oddly like he had been caught in a lie. He shifted on the couch, or as much as he could in his current position. “I—ah. I mean. It’s just intense. But you don’t have to… I mean, I don’t want… I don’t—it tickles.”

Miguel’s grin shyly returned at his stammering. “Well, yes, I figured that might have been the case.”

A flush ran hot down the back of his neck. “Just… maybe if you were a bit gentler.”

And there was the grin in its full glory, a dazzling smirk that made Connor want to crawl underneath the couch cushions and hide for the rest of eternity. “Of course I can do gentler. Which I can only assume means… you’re good for the next four minutes, then?”

“Or more.”

“I’m sorry?”

Connor twisted the edge of his shirt by his shorts, staring at every inch of the room except, quite obviously, at Miguel. “I just mean, if it goes over five minutes, you don’t necessarily have to stop. You... ah, you have my permission. To tickle more. If you’d like.”

Subtle, Connor. He knew he was being obvious by this point, but perhaps Miguel was right and perhaps he did like this more than he let on. He would never dare admit it normally, but now, with weed as his excuse, the confession seemed safer.

His shoulders turtled forward defensively when Miguel started laughing, but he hardly had time to be embarrassed before fingers were once again scribbling under his knee and he lurched into a fit of giggles anew. “You’re unbearably cute, Murphy, and of course I can tickle you for longer. Especially since you were so kind as to grant me permission.”

“Fuhuhuck yohohou!”

“We’ll see if we have time later.”

In the end, Connor lasted another fifteen, then twenty, then thirty-five minutes before Miguel finally gave him a break to breathe as it was evident Connor wasn’t going to give up of his own volition. That trend continued throughout the night, with Connor and Miguel playing some twisted version of cat and mouse that was more often than not provoked by the latter. 

After that night, Miguel insisted that they indulge in edibles more often, a suggestion he received a punch in the arm for and a mumbled agreement later on. 

[dani-escribe]

A Place To Call Home

Chapter 1 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F! Reader 

Wordcount: 1,594 

Summary:  Who would have known that a day at the art museum could lead to meeting an extremely handsome FBI Agent ;)

Warnings:  An incredible amount of fluff (seriously, like cotton candy level). SLOW BURN (buckle up for the ride!). Reader is a pediatric nurse, so a few mentions of kids and medical procedures in later chapters. 

A/N:  Thanks so much for reading and I really hope you like it! This is my comeback into writing and I am honestly so excited to keep writing this series. After watching the Mentalist and seeing how it ended I wanted to give our precious Marcus a happy ending (this is totally self-indulgent bc why not!). I want to thank @lowlights @fastandfeminist @wbl75 for being my beta readers and for all of their support. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :) 

Read here on ao3 

You didn't know what possessed you to go visit the art museum on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, but you’re sure glad you went. You hadn't really had time to go to many museums in the last couple of years and wanted to really take in the experience. You’d been walking around looking at all of the intricate paintings and reading the descriptions of each one to try to understand what they were about when you saw a man that fit right in with the artwork. His pensive stance and deep brown eyes drew you in right away. 

He was reading the description of the painting in front of him. He let out a short stifled laugh as if he knew something more about the painting that wasn't included in the description. The grey suit and black tie he was wearing made you wonder if he might be here on a date with someone or if he worked here. You were truly hoping that it was the latter of the two.

 When you noticed that you had been staring at him for a creepy amount of time, you started to turn away, and in that exact moment he seemed to catch your eye. The way that he smiled made it seem like the world stopped for a short second. Before your flirty gaze turned into an awkward stare, you gave him a smile back and retreated to look at other artwork. 

Walking around the other exhibits and looking at the sculptures and canvases from different time periods you began to think about all the wonders that you missed moving around as a kid. Your parents were teachers/potters and their jobs came with the occasional relocation to different places. They said that while teaching was their passion, ceramics had been their first true love. This meant that while you were usually in a stable place for a few years, during summer you and your sibling moved around with them to sell their art in different fairs. While you had seen and sold a lot of different types of art over the years, you never really had much time to appreciate it. 

Your parents had been incredible in providing for you, and had only moved to ensure you had the best opportunities; but you always wondered about the experiences that you missed while being in a hurry to assimilate for half of your life. You knew that their teaching jobs didn't pay much, and that they used the money they got from their art to help cover the bills. This is why you had decided to move close to your family after starting a job at a local hospital in order to find a permanent place for yourself, a place that you could call home. 

After making sure to see all of the exhibits at least once, you walked out of the museum with a sense of satisfaction: one, because you felt like you were catching up on lost time, and two, because of the interaction that you had had with a handsome stranger. 

One of the best things was that the drive back to your new apartment from the museum, and pretty much everything else, was only about 5 minutes (10 if you counted traffic during rush hour). This also meant that everything was within walkable distance, which was also good because you sure as hell needed to start buying some supplies if you were going to clean up the pile of unpacked boxes at your new apartment. 

As the night went on you were able to get most of your unpacking done, and you thought back to the stranger with those big brown eyes and gorgeous smile. He had a kind smile, one that made you feel like you could trust him, which was rare in a man you had just met. God, not only that but the suit that he had on made him seem like he was straight out of a James Bond movie. While putting away the last of your clothing, the blue scrubs that you had bought for your new job fell from the pile that you were carrying. This was enough to snap you out of your train of thought. You really needed to focus on thinking about that instead of daydreaming about a person you haven't even talked to, even if he had some of the cutest dimples you had seen. After trying to get him out of your thoughts unsuccessfully, you figured that it was either stressing about your new job or thinking about him. Ultimately you decided that a little daydreaming couldn't hurt too much. You wondered if you would ever see him again, and hoped that by some twist of fate you would. 

--- 

With your job starting today you figured it would be a sign of good comradery to bring your new coworkers some coffee from the cute diner down the street. Also, you found social interactions to be quite tricky at first and an ice breaker couldn't seem to hurt. Plus who doesn't like free breakfast, especially on a Monday morning right? 

As you got dressed in your blue scrubs you headed for the door a whole hour early to avoid being late and to try to make a good impression. Making sure to note as you entered the diner to grab some scones or muffins for those who don’t like coffee, you accidentally stumbled into the man exiting with his coffee. The splash drenched his tie and shirt, only leaving his pants unscathed. Starting to profusely apologize and grabbing a handful of napkins to clean up the mess, you almost missed the fact that the brown eyes that were looking at you right now were the same ones that had held your gaze in the museum. 

“I am so sorry, I can totally pay for your dry cleaning,” you gasped, both out of embarrassment and amazement that you were seeing the gorgeous stranger that had plagued your mind for the past couple of days. 

“No worries at all. I actually needed an excuse to get out of wearing this tie that I got as a gift last year, so to think of it you really saved me,” he let out a chuckle. Now that you're looking at it, it is a very… bold choice of clothing. It was a striped neon tie with pink and orange interchanging lines. 

“I got it as an office exchange party gift and now have the perfect excuse to change out of it.” Those killer dimples were showing along with the smile he gave you that helped to put you at ease. 

“Well at least let me replace your coffee,” you said with a laugh at his honesty. 

You went back inside to pay for his and your coffee orders and got to talking a bit before your orders were out. 

“So what brings you around here, besides the coffee of course. I haven't really seen you here before,” he stated as he moved slightly closer to hear your answer over the clinking of cutlery and dishes. 

“Oh I actually just moved near here. I’m starting today at the nearby hospital as a pediatric nurse. ” His proximity made you suddenly aware of how tall he was. He had at least a few good inches on you, and he leaned in to listen when you spoke. This didn’t help with your already flustered state to say the least. 

“That sounds really exciting, congrats! The closest I get with kids at my job is the ones on an oil painting,” his eyes crinkled a bit as he laughed. 

“Yeah, I totally understand. Little kids are such a wonder but working with them is not for everyone,” you chimed in with a bit of a laugh “Are you a curator then, is that why you were at the museum the other day?” You asked with a hope that he hadn't been there with anyone as a date. 

“Oh no, I actually work with the FBI. I’m in the art crimes division. I was doing research on a new case which is why I was down in the museum. Some inspiration never hurts.” Now it was your turn to be amazed. You didn’t actually think he would be an agent like James Bond, but you weren’t complaining. 

“I guess it doesn't hurt that it's really close to here too huh.” You added noting that it was a bit serendipitous to have met him twice in a few days within the same five mile radius. 

Just as you were about to say something else your name was called and your orders came out. When you were about to turn to leave he called to you. 

“I never did get your name,” he noted before heading out. 

You told him your name and he repeated it in a way that made it seem like he was trying it out. 

“And I feel like the least I can do is learn the name of the person who I so viciously attacked with a coffee cup.” You stated as you gave him a sheepish smile.  

He let out a short laugh and replied, “The name of the person who you saved from having to continue wearing a highlighter tie is Marcus.” You shook your head at his joke and turned to leave. 

As you grabbed the door handle you took one last look back and said “hope to see you around, Marcus.” You waved and parted ways to head in for your first day of work.

[heart-eye-harrington]

i wanna get stuck in your head

(gif credit to @harringtown​, thank you!)

Summary: There was so much you wanted to tell Steve, but the words always seemed too scary. When an even scarier situation arises and you find yourself trapped in a Russian base, what do you have to lose?

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: A few curse words, implications of death

Author’s Note: Hi! Based on the song pancakes for dinner! I hope enjoy! I love you! 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The soft hum of distant machinery and Russian chatter filters into the small room you’ve found yourself in. Blinking through the fluorescent lights and tears is all you can manage with the thick leather straps keeping you bound to the chair. What feels like hours of screaming has robbed you of your voice, leaving words and cries stuck in your throat,  forcing them to tumble around your head. It’s you, your thoughts, and an unconscious Steve Harrington. 

When you were first thrown in here and your voice still worked, you tried for two things; pleads for help in the off chance someone would hear, and for Steve to wake up. In some twisted way, you were thankful they had you strapped together. 

If you’d been left apart you wouldn’t be able to feel his soft breathing or the warmth trapped beneath his skin. The small indications that his injuries, though bad, weren’t bad enough to make him lose himself. If you were apart you’d be losing your mind wondering if he were okay. At least with his back pressed against yours, he was here, even if he wasn’t. 

Your head falls on Steve’s shoulder, tears freely flowing like raindrops down a car window. They race one another down your face and onto the fabric of his sailor uniform. 

There were so many things you wanted to say to Steve but never found the courage to, and the realization that you might never get to causes your eyes to screw shut, squeezing more tears down your temples. You’d never been forward, not wanting to cross any lines. 

There were moments where you tried saying something else instead. After hearing his off-handed comments to Robin about nightmares, you made an effort to ask him how he slept, covering his shifts on the days the nightmares were bad. When he’d talk about bands he liked, you listened, even getting him a new Queen CD after his got scratched. 

There were glimmers of hope that he was doing the same, maybe even feeling the same way. After learning that you’d bike in the dark after the closing shift, he insisted on driving you home, even oh days he wasn’t scheduled. Whenever he went to the vending machine he’d buy you a cookie, the chocolate chunk kind, because you stole a piece of his on your first day at Scoops. 

But that was it, small actions with nothing explicitly being said. He was probably just being nice, nothing more. You were reading too into things, like an English teacher who took their job way too seriously. 

You’re jostled from your thoughts when Steve rolls his shoulders, carrying your head with his movements. He groans, letting the waves of pain escape through the small noise. 

“Steve?” your question barely a whisper, both for his benefit and yours. Any noise leaves your throat stinging and his ears pounding.

“Hey”, his voice groggy, head still slumped forward. You sniffle, quickly trying to compose yourself. Steve was always the brave one, as you just saw with him stepping up to deal with rude customers and even more extremely charging and fighting the Russians guard. The least you could do was be brave for him now. 

“Are you okay?” you will your voice to come out louder, more solid. He answers you, not initially taking notice of your shaky performance. 

“My ears are ringing, and I can’t really breathe. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but-” he sucks in a breath, just speaking winds him, “-ya know, apart from that, ya know, pretty good.” You sniffle again and nodding, then realize he can’t see you. You hum, not knowing what to say or do. The moment of silence is all Steve needs to process what’s going on with you.

“What about you? Are you okay?” He tries to push through his unsteady voice, trying to find a more solid, comforting one. Steve lifts his head enough to look straight in front of him, wishing he could see your face. He knew you were never completely honest with your words, but your eyes always gave away what you were really feeling. He knew it was a clique, but he could look at your eyes for hours, trying to crack the case of your hidden thoughts. But instead of getting playing 007 as he usually does, he’s faced with the stark contrast of a metal door and fluorescent lights. 

“I’m okay. Just, ya know, never saw myself in a situation like this,” a deep breath fills your chest, puffing it out in an attempt to dislodge the weight settled inside. “I never knew what I pictured, never really wanted to think about it, but I thought I’d be older. I thought I’d have grown old with someone.” You curse your damn nose for running again and the sniffles it caused. Steve shifts, craning his neck in vain to try and see you, to comfort you. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t cry, please,” his voice soothing, soft yet delicate, like an old teddy bear so well-loved the stitches become exposed. “Listen, we’re gonna get out of here. I just need to think.” The strength is back behind his words, conviction trying to drive his point home. His words do register, but your mind is somewhere else. It’s screaming to say something, what do you have to lose? Your stuck what must be miles under Hawkins tied together by a foreign enemy. The words you want to say somehow seem scarier, so you opt to say something else instead. 

“There was so much I wanted to do.” the words float out before better judgment can stop them, your head still leaning against Steve’s shoulder. 

“And you’re going to. C’mon, we’re gonna get out of here.” Steve seems a bit more frustrated, not exactly thrilled with the direction you’re taking. His brain continues to race, eyes jumping around the room as he looks for any way out. While he becomes more frantic, you only seem to relax. Steve’s focused on the present, while you’re off in dreams of the future, of what could have been. 

“I want to eat pancakes for dinner. I wanna watch a T.V. show together, and when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed. I wanna go out on the weekends. I wanna dress up just to get undressed.” the window into your daydream now wide open, the air catching the visions and letting them flow. They hang there a moment before tugging at the corner of your lip. As quickly as it opened, the window snaps shut and reality sinks back in.

“I’m sorry, I just think that I should probably tell you this, in case something happens, something worse than this.” the weight of your words sinks into Steve’s heart, and you’re able to feel the slight difference in his breathing. 

Images dance in his head of you using too much syrup for pancakes as the glow of his kitchen lights catches your grinning cheeks. He hears the static of a tv as you laugh at how overdramatic he’s being over a common cold, but play along to indulge him. You’re dancing at house parties, happiness twinkling in your eyes as he tries to slow dance to the pounding upbeat music. He sees his reflection in the mirror as he does his hair for an obscene about of time, just for you to stand behind him and rustle it undone. 

After all that, he realized you never the words, but he knew. 

A weight sits on his chest as he feels your tears land on his shoulder.

 After flirting with customers all summer, he realized he was never saying anything. Sure he spoke to them, and he thought the words were true, but they were hollow. He was saying something with evening drives when he picked you up and played the cd you got him. He was saying something when he bought you cookies. Most importantly, you were trying to say something all along, but he was never listening for it. 

Red hot embarrassment burns the rope holding the anchor in his stomach, which burned into a new blaze behind his eyes. If he was determined before, he damn sure was now. He shifts against the restraints, cursing at their tightness. 

Before he can say anything to you, the Russians return. 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The reflections of the mall’s neon lights melds with the emergency crew’s on the wet parking lot. You stare at it all from the back of the ambulance, tugging the blanket they paramedics had given you tighter. Your well-check was quick, you were luckier than most you’d escaped the night. 

You watch how the rain catches the vivid color before you feel a presence next to you. You turn to see a bandaged Steve giving you a weak smile, which you return. There’s a moment of comfortable silence before you speak up. 

“I’m sorry if I crossed any lines while we were down there. I just-” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut as if your eyelids could hide you from your actions. “I had to say something.” 

“Are you hungry?” A small smirk plays Steve’s lips as he looks at the confused expression on your face, knit brows and all. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but not outright avoidance.

“Cause I make some mean pancakes.” 

The offer causes a light laugh and your eyes to meet his. He’s smiling like a dork, obviously proud of himself. Joy washes over you, warmer than any emergency blanket ever could. You throw your arms around him in an awkward side hug, face smushed into his chest despite his soiled uniform. 

“I’d love some.” your words muffled through the fabric and his arms wrapped tightly around you. Nothing else needed to be said as his hands rub up and down your back. Words would eventually come, but for now, the promise of pancakes for dinner was more than enough.

[taehyungiejiminie95]

BTS Reactions – You’re a pastry chef

The homely smell of freshly baked pastry washes over your boyfriend as he comes in from work. He sighs happily as he puts away his coat and shoes before heading towards the kitchen to see what amazing creation you’ve made today. Ever since you found your passion in baking, you’ve been so much happier! A new job really was all it took to turn your life around. Now you look forward to every day, baking and selling your little pieces of heaven to those who come to your bakery. In fact, you love it so much that you bring your work home with you, trying out new recipes to add to the ever-growing list of treats you sell!

“Oh! You’re home, perfect. Try this,” You chirp brightly, handing your boyfriend a small sample of your latest recipe. After all, how can you judge if it’s good enough to sell without your chief pastry taster?

Jin

Jin’s eyes light up as the pastry hits his tongue, and your shoulders sag in relief at the obviously good reaction. He chews carefully anyway, despite the initial great reaction. He knows there’s more to a treat than the first bite! That’s what’s so great about your Seokjin. He tries his best to be honest with you and give you honest feedback, and it’s helped you grow your business to what it is today,

“It’s great!” Jin tells you, smiling widely when he swallows his mouthful, “Is that cinnamon you’ve used? It’s got a lovely flavour,” You giggle excitedly as you nod, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his cheek affectionately before heading back to your notebook, pencilling in the last few steps of your recipe so that you don’t forget,

“Anything to keep in mind? I know the first attempt is never perfect,” You probe gently as Jin’s arms snake around your waist, so he can pull himself up close against your back to cast his eyes over your recipe book. It was clear in his eyes – he enjoyed the pastry very much, but there’s something more to be added (or left out!) that he’s wanting to share with you,

“You caught me,” He teases, leaving a sweet kiss on your neck, “I think it’s a little too sweet, especially with the cinnamon. It’s only a little tweak, but with the two powerful tastes there, it feels a little much,” You hum in agreement, scribbling in a little not e next to the ingredients to re-try the recipe with a little less sugar. In the same movement, you untie your apron and turn around to Jin, eyes brimming with thanks and gratefulness for his help. You can’t think of a better person to share your dream with!

Yoongi

“For goodness’ sake, I’ve barely got my feet through the damn door,” Yoongi grumbles, no real venom behind it as he takes what you’re holding out to him graciously. You smile affectionately at his reaction, and busy yourself loading up the dishwasher with the bowls and pans you used to cook up quite the storm. Most people hate this part of creating (whether that be baking, painting or the like) but you don’t mind it all that much. Seeing your kitchen slowly progress from a bomb site to a show room is pretty satisfying, and it gives Yoongi the peace and quite he likes when he gets in. He’s slowly settling into a seat at the dining table, taking a few bites out of the treat you handed him,

“What do you think of it?” You ask a few minutes later, perching yourself on his lap with a sigh. The kitchen is mostly done, you just need to wipe down the counters. You’re honestly pretty eager to hear Yoongi’s feedback, knowing it will always be honest and constructive. He smiles slightly at your expression and wraps an arm protectively round your waist to hold you where you’re sat,

“It’s pretty good, really. I think the portions are a little small, so maybe try selling a couple in a box or something. Given your buyers, they may not go for something so small if it’s just one of them,” He suggests, leaning forward to rest his head on your neck, “But yeah, the last is spot on. Well done,” Yoongi praises gently, pretending not to see the stupidly wide smile you always get when he tell you that you’ve done a good job,

“Thank you. Suggestion noted,” You reply after a beat, leaving a delicate kiss on his lips (which are ever so slightly dusted with using sugar) before getting up to finish your cleaning rounds, leaving Yoongi to sneakily grab a few extras on his way to the shower.

Hoseok

“This looks amazing!” Hoseok chirps, opening his mouth wide for you to pop the treat straight in, his eyes lighting up as you do. You smile fondly and pat his hair cutely as you step back to watch his reaction. Hoseok chews thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as he thinks about what he can taste. Your boyfriend is the brightest sunshine in existence, but if theres’s one thing he’s always serious about, it’s work. No matter whether it’s yours or his, he has a way about him when it involves your livelihoods. In all honesty, it’s pretty sexy,

“Come on, Hobi. You’re killing me! What do you think?” You whine a couple moments later. You can see Hoseok’s thinking face fixed firmly on his features, and it’s starting to worry you a little. Is it that bad? Does he hate it? Is it completely inedible?

“I think…” He trails off dramatically, squealing inside at the admirable reaction you’re giving. Ever since you started baking seriously, you’ve been so worried about what he thinks. Sometimes he thinks you give more thought to his opinion than that of your customers! He can’t help but have a little fun with it, knowing what you bake is never far off from perfection, “It’s amazing!” He finally finishes, when you finally start squirming, “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You’ve been working on this recipe for weeks, and it’s paid off. I really do love it,” Hoseok reassures you, holding out his arms to wrap you up in a hug, “Don’t worry that beautiful little pastry-making head of yours,” He implores, leaving a small kiss on your forehead,

“I can’t help it, Hobi. But thank you for loving it,” You thank him sweetly, looking up into his eyes. They always look so warm and inviting… maybe cleaning up can wait a while. His lips are just too tempting.

Namjoon

“I swear, if you keep feeding me pastry snacks I’ll gain weight,” Namjoon chides gently as he takes the treat from your hands, blowing on it gently to cool it down before he tries it. One too many times he’s been a little over-excited about trying your latest creation and burned his mouth as a result of forgetting it’s fresh from the oven, “It smells good though, better than the last batch by a fair bit,” You snort at that comment, remembering last night when you’d accidentally added way more cinnamon than you meant to and nearly died coughing when you opened the over from the sheer strength of it,

“Yeah, I reined myself in a bit this time. I also shaped them a little more curved, like you suggested, and I think it’s made them prettier,” You muse, leaning up to kiss Namjoon on the cheek as you pass him with a dirty baking tray, ready to go in the dishwasher. He smiles at the cute moon-shaped pastry before taking a bite, fingers crossed that it’s as good as you were hoping. He knows you have serious talent for baking, but even talent takes practice and refinement. Namjoon remembers all too well the late nights and early mornings you’ve committed to your passion, much in the same way he’s done for his music. You’re both artists in your own rights, and Namjoon has enjoyed watching you flourish,

“Oh! I can definitely taste the difference! I think this is miles better, honestly. You’re getting so much closer to what you described to me that you wanted. The flavour is beautiful, but still… I’m not sure what it’s missing. Have you tried vanilla extract?” Nearly dropping your bowl, you whirl round to face Namjoon with wide eyes,

“Namjoon! No! I haven’t!” You cry, hurrying back to your recipe to make the note, “Is there anything you aren’t a genius at? Why are you better at solving my baking problems than me?”

Jimin

“Every time I try to go on a diet again you do this to me,” Jimin whines playfully, opening his mouth to let you feed him, “I’ll get fat if you keep making me eat your new recipes,” He complains around a mouthful of pastry. You just laugh and wrap your arms around his waist as he chews slowly, wanting to tell you in as much detail what he thinks. You see a slight frown on his face as he thinks, and you can’t help the way your heart swells with love, “It’s definitely good, baby,” He reassures you, unwrapping your arms from him so he can look at the tray of freshly baked goods, “I think you maybe cooked them a little too long, though. They feel a little tough,” Jimin’s eyes are cautious as he looks back at you, hoping he didn’t hurt your feelings,

“I was worried about not cooking them all the way through. Maybe if I make them a little flatter and then cook them for less time that will help,” You offer, and Jimin nods in agreement. You immediately reach for the tray of unbaked goods, and carefully set about flattening them slightly to see if that fixes the little problem, “Thank you, Jiminie. You’re the best baker’s assistant a girl could ever ask for,” You tease when you’ve finally put the tray into the oven at a lower heat. Jimin smiles as he sidles up to you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both watch the oven,

“I’m glad I can help,” He tells you, his lips just barely ghosting your shoulder. You shiver with a smile as you feel Jimin start to leave the sweetest kisses up your neck. You’ve got a timer set for when you need to check on them, so you have time to indulge his little make-out session…

Taehyung

“The best part of my day! I’ve been waiting for this forever, you have no idea,” Taehyung all but sings as he prances into the kitchen, hands cupped at his chest, ready to receive the latest beauty you’ve whipped up in the kitchen. There are no words for how delighted Taehyung was when you decided to quit your old job and pursue something you had honest love and passion for. He’d struggled for years with the idea that he is so happy in his job (as hard and demanding as it may be having to be Kim Taehyung the Idol all day, every day) and yet you were so miserable. At times, he even felt bad for enjoying his job as much as he did because of how you suffered. Taehyung is so glad that part of your life is over,

“You flatter me,” You blush, handing over the small sample, “It’s my first go at this, and it’s my own recipe too, so it’s not going to be perfect. Let me know what you do like, and what you want to change. I’m never fair enough, you know I’m too critical of my work,” Taehyung nods knowingly as he takes a tentative bite. He has complete faith in your skills, but he knows better than to assume it will be perfect first try, “What do you think?” You wince, seeing Taehyung’s blank expression as he swallows,

“It’s… it’s actually really good,” Taehyung’s face lights up as the taste spreads across his tongue, “Sure, its not perfect, but it’s an amazing start! Nothing like those tarts you made last month,” He teases, and you blush shyly. Probably not your best work, “I think it’s a little too sweet though. How much sugar did you use?” Taehyung probes, linking an arm around your waist to guide you back to your recipe. Now this is the best part of your day. When Taehyung’s supports and listens to you so fully… you can tell how much he really does love you.

Jungkook

Jungkook’s hand darts out and grabs the snack from your hand, and it’s gone in a flash down his throat. He smiles childishly as he laughs at your expression, barely even chewing the pastry before swallowing it. You fix Jungkook with an unimpressed look as he grins,

“You didn’t even chew it, how are you supposed to taste it properly and tell me what you think?” You scold teasingly, unable to keep up the charade for more than a couple seconds before you start laughing, “Go on, Golden Maknae, impart your expert baking knowledge on me, but a humble baker,” You probe further, and Jungkook’s eyes glint at the challenge. He daringly grabs another one from the baking tray and throws that one down the hatch as well, pushing his luck in the way that makes you love him just that little bit more,

“They’re very good, and you are a very talented pastry chef,” He begins, bending down to kiss you gently before pushing on with his impromptu review, “I like the icing sugar dusted on the top, I think it would be a little too savoury without that, but maybe some kind of fruit like a cherry or strawberry would add to that. It’s a little dry in the middle, but the texture is very nice. An overall very enjoyable experience,” Jungkook ends with a flourish of his hands, seeing your eyebrow raise at the theatrics,

“I’d kick you out if you weren’t so damn helpful,” You tease, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s shoulders to pull yourself up to his lips. He laughs lightly into your mouth as you kiss him, hands resting naturally on your waist,

“I brought takeout with me. Figured after working so hard you wouldn’t feel like cooking,” Jungkook changes the topic tactfully, gesturing to the plastic bag he had brought in with him. You nearly squeal with excitement as you kiss him again, darting over to the bag. Watching you with hearts in his eyes, he remembers to note down his comments on a sticky note for you, knowing you always forget to remember when there’s takeout up for grabs.

[rational-mastermind]

Day 10 and I know I’m late with this one, but to be fair the internet was acting funky due to weather. XP Anyway, that aside, today’s otp is Fluttercord. And I wanna take a minute to mention just how important this couple means to me, because they remind me so much of my own relationship with my husband. n//n So this prompt (”First Date”) was picked by my love and this is written in dedication to him.

Love you @lordofsubspace! <3

--

  “Wait, you.. don’t mean...” Discord furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to wrap his mind around the concept. “..Like a 'date' date? Not a.. a tea party date? Or a sleepover date? A friendship kind of date?”   Fluttershy chuckled. Her face was warm and heart fluttering. She was nervous and excited. She knew it would be a strange concept, especially to Discord. Taking their relationship into new and unknown territory. But she wanted this. She’s been wanting to ask him to be her Hearts and Hooves date for so long. Always too scared to fully commit at the last minute.   “Well.. Yes. I do mean like a...” her voice dropped lower, her blush burned brighter. “‘Date’ date...”   She looked back and saw Discord’s face drop into genuine surprise.   “Oh! Oh.. W-well um..” he stammered, and it was a surprise, seeing him get flustered and uneasy for a change. “Um.. I.. S-sure.”   “Really?”   “Of course.” he seemed to regain his composure and once more spoke with that brilliant confidence. He grinned widely at her. “It’ll be fun! It’ll be the best Heart and Hooves date you’ve ever been on!”   “Well.. Technically it would be a first.”   “All the better.” Discord beamed happily.   “Wait, isn’t this.. I mean..” Fluttershy tapped her chin, thinking for a moment how to phrase it politely. “...Have you..celebrated Hearts and Hooves before?”   “Well... No...” Discord looked a little disappointed. “Um.. Not really. No one’s... I mean, who would ever...?”   Fluttershy smiled gently and leaned up to hug him.   “Then I guess it’ll be a first for both of us.”   “..I.. Suppose it would be.” Discord smiled back, a little shy, and hugged her. “So.. Remind me again, when is it?”   “This weekend.” Fluttershy giggled. “Around noon?”   “Right. Got it. I shan’t forget.”   They pulled away and Discord snapped off somewhere else. Fluttershy was happy and excited to see what this weekend had in store for her. She wondered too, what Discord would possibly plan for their first date?

  “THERE you are!”   “Oh hey Discord.” Spike took a sip from his hot cocoa and turned another page in his comic.   “...That was oddly calm.” Discord noted, momentarily surprised.   “Discord, it’s you.” Spike rolled his eyes and smiled a little. “I mean.. I don’t know how, but just.. I kinda knew it was too quiet today. Anyway, what’s wrong?”   “Wrong? I didn’t say anything was wrong.” Discord shrugged.   “...Right. And that’s why you pop in, the day after a session of Ogres and Oubliettes.” Spike looked at him skeptically. He sat his comic aside and grinned.   “Well maybe I’m not the one with the problem.” Discord huffed. “Maybe I just came and wanted to ask you for advice for a friend.”   “Okay.. So what’s going on with your ‘friend’?” Spike asked, already knowing full well what Discord was hiding.

   “Well he um.. He.. Well.. See, he um kind of has this.. This other friend.” Discord stumbled over his words, trying hard not to show just exactly how rattled he felt. “He has another friend, who’s a good friend, and um.. Well that friend of my friend has asked him out on a date.”

   Spike’s eyebrows jumped a mile high at the word, genuine shock crossing his face.

   “Wait. Like a ‘date’ date? Like a real, not-friendship-date?”

   “Yes! Exactly! So ummm...” Discord fidgeted a little, obviously uneasy with asking this. “...S-say.. This is his ummm.. His first..?”

   “Ohhh...” Spike cringed. “First? First date?”

   “...Y...yeah..” Discord hated how hot that made his face flush. “...Any um.. advice?”

   “...You’re seriously asking me for advice for your first date??”

   “NO. I’m asking for my FRIEND’S date.” Discord scowled. “I wouldn’t bother with it but he knows how much you’ve helped Big Mac and his...special somepony.”

   Discord was reminded that technically, Fluttershy would be his special somepony. And that was weird. And the fact that it made him feel weird was perpetually even more weird. He's the god of chaos for Celestia’s sake! Weird should be normal! But Discord tried to ignore the feeling for now as Spike continued, having given it a bit of thought.

   “Well.. I take it this is for Hearts and Hooves?”

   “Yes? Why? Is that important?”

   “Uh, yeah, it kinda is.” Spike gave him an incredulous look. “It’s a good romantic day, there’s a lot to do that you can choose from, and even though I’m sure your ‘friend’s date’ is super understanding and patient, she might still be kind of hoping for something more romantic.”

   “Ohh.. Romantic? Yes, I suppose she..actually would be.” Discord stroked his beard, thinking carefully. “Something romantic.. Like what?”

   “Well.. I don’t know. Depends on whatever sounds like a good time.” Spike shrugged. “There’s lots, and I mean, lots you could do. Could go for a walk. Go shopping. Give her flowers. Chocolates. Have a romantic dinner by candle light.”

   Discord frowned more and more, each suggestion sounding worse than the last.

  “How horribly boring...” he huffed.   Spike rolled his eyes. “Well.. you could try doing something she likes. That’s always romantic.”   “Something she would like.. Well..” Discord suddenly brightened with a smile. “She loves tea! But.. No.. That wouldn’t be romantic, would it?”   “Probably not.” Spike gave a sheepish grin.   “Well.. Perhaps.. Um.. No..” Discord’s mind whirled, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of something special enough for Fluttershy to enjoy. “Well.. There’s the animal sanctuary?”   “You mean where Fluttershy works all day?” Spike subtly reminded him. “Normally dating means not doing anything work related.”   Discord sighed in frustration and rubbed his eyes with the fluff of his tail serving as a hand.   “Why is this so difficult? I KNOW her! I’ve known her for years now!”   “Well.. If ‘she’ is anything like Fluttershy, then maybe something.. Small.” Spike offered.     “No, that simply wouldn’t do. It should be special!”   “Maybe not so dramatic?”   “But this is the best chance to go all out!”   “Maybe something personal?”   “Personal?" The draconequus fell on to his backside. He tugged at his beard, considering the pony for a moment. "Like… a clone or something?"

   “How would a clo-? No. No…” Spike shook his head. “Discord, come on. You know what I mean. Something she would like. Something that she personally enjoys. What does Fluttershy enjoy?”

   “Well.. Nature, mostly. Um.. Butterflies? Tea? I..” he groaned. “Didn’t I already go over this?? And it’s not for Fluttershy!”

   “Discord, I’m really just kinda surprised you’re having such a hard time with this.” Spike rolled his eyes. “You’re Discord for crying out loud! You know her well enough to just snap anything you want to give her in existence! You’re the god of chaos and you can’t just summon some kind of dreamy getaway date for her?”

   Suddenly Discord perks up as a lightbulb flashes into existence and blinks on.

   “Wait a minute, that’s it! Oh ho ho! It’s perfect!” a grin splits his face and he springs up on his hind legs and grabs the dragon’s claw to give it a hard shake. “Thank you! Oh this is going to be a delight! She’s going to love it! I knew talking with you was the right thing!”

  The poor dragon was shook violently, up and down, along with his arm.

   “Y-y-y-y-y-y-you-ou-ou-ou’re-re-re-re we-e-e-e-e-elco-o-o-o-o-ome!”

 Before Spike could finish, Discord pulled his body away, leaving his hand to continue shaking Spike’s. He simply grew another to replace it.

  “I better get started! This is going to take me all week to get just right!” and with that, Discord snapped away again, leaving the poor dragon still quaking with his gratitude.

   The days passed and Hearts and Hooves came. Fluttershy had been left wondering all week what Discord was planning. She hadn’t even seen him for their tea party, which could’ve only meant he was planning something big.  Actually knowing Discord as well as she did, he would probably plan for something loud and showy. A trip to Las Pegasus? Or Manehatten? Perhaps he would take her to Canterlot’s botanical gardens?

   Fluttershy actually felt excited to see what kind of adventure they would get into. But she planned accordingly, packing herself a pair of ear plugs, if it got too loud, and a small snack if they got hungry. Extra bits for anything fun and spontaneous. She cleaned herself up, brushed her mane, and made sure to give herself a calm day, hoping it would help her handle whatever excitement would come at noon.

   “Alright. Everything’s packed. I’m all set.” Fluttershy sat on her couch and proceeded to indulge in a couple of hours of reading.

   Noon came.

   No Discord.

   Hours passed.

   Still no Discord.

   Fluttershy began to worry as the sun began to set. The day was nearly over. Where could he be?

   “Surely he didn’t forget?” Fluttershy turned to Angel, who was lazily gnawing away on a carrot. “I mean.. Discord wouldn’t forget, would he?”

  Angel scoffed, uncaring and indifferent to what the large, tall, mismatched creature did or how it affected Fluttershy. Any time that thing wasn’t around was a good time as far as the rabbit was concerned.

   “Terribly sorry I’m late!”

   ‘Apparently this isn’t one of those times..’  the rabbit thought miserably to himself as Fluttershy jumped up onto her hooves, smiling widely at Discord’s sudden appearance.

   “Discord! Where’ve you been? You had me worried!” she flew up and hugged his neck tight.

   “I’m sorry, Fluttershy, I was just putting on a few last touches. I didn’t mean to run so late.” Discord smiled and hugged her back.

   “Aw.. You’re working on something? For me?” she smiled, touched.

   “Yes, actually. I’ve been planning this all week. The perfect Heart and Hooves date.” Discord grinned and moved to Fluttershy’s door. “Ready to go?”

   “I’m ready for just about anything.” Fluttershy beamed and hurried after him. “So where are we going? Canterlot? Neigh-agra Falls?”

   “Even better.”

    Discord opened the door and Fluttershy stepped out onto a wooden balcony, that overlooked a large ravine. Mountains surrounded her, covered in a deep dark green carpet of thick trees. Birds sang a beautiful song in the distance. The sun was setting over the horizon, behind the cotton candy pink clouds, coating the world in a rosy tint, as if everything was filled with magic.

   There was a large waterfall further along the mountain range she was standing on, but its roar was dulled, as if someone had turned down the volume. A cool, refreshing breeze blew by her, ruffling her feathers and fur. She stared in awe of the quiet beauty around her.

   “Do.. you like it?” Discord asked, stepping up behind her, leaning his upper body against the railing.

  “Discord where in Equestria did you find such a place?” Fluttershy smiled at him.

  “Oh Fluttershy, please. As if any place in Equestria would do.” Discord smiled at her lovingly. “I made this.. A small pocket dimension just for you.”

   Fluttershy’s face was perfect. A beautiful mix of surprise and utter affection. Discord smiled more, excited and happy it worked so well. His heart swelled with joy, and pride and love for the little pony.

   “Care to take a look around?” he offered, sliding over the railing with ease and sitting in the air, waiting for her.

   They flew through the woods and all around Fluttershy were flowers and vines and beautiful things. There was a small clearing, down the river from the waterfall, where there were hundreds of tiny flowers. Fluttershy’s eyes couldn’t be any wider with wonder. Discord chuckled and dropped straight into the pile. Suddenly a flurry of butterflies came flying up, surrounding Fluttershy and she was caught in a gentle whirlwind of mixed colors and fluttering wings. She felt Discord’s paw and claw gently hold her and guide her down to lay in the flowers with him, and watch as the butterflies continued hovering about, speckling the darkening sky with pastel colors. Discord’s arms tightened around her middle and Fluttershy turned her head into his and nuzzled it.

  “Is it good?” he asked.

  “This is perfect..” she hummed. “I love it.”

   Discord’s heart was hammering, his nerves were admittedly shot, the sweet smell of wild flowers and that sugary distinct scent that was undeniably Fluttershy was making him dizzy, and he knew he was feeling anxious, but turning and seeing the peaceful, content smile on her face, helped melt away his fears. He gently cupped her cheek, noting how it felt a little warmer in his claw, and leaned a little closer.

   “I..love you..” he admitted.

   Her face flushed a pink that matched her mane as she smiled shyly.

  “I love you too..” she said softly.

   He pulled her close, and cuddled her lovingly. She leaned up and lips met his cheek in a motion almost too fast to notice.

   Almost.

   He leaned down and their lips met with a gentleness she never would’ve expected of him. They slowly moved against each other and Fluttershy could feel her heart beating harder, but slower. Nervous, excited, calm, happy, all these things felt so crazy and exhilarating, but she was calm and content and blissful and it was chaotic and beautiful.

   And when they pulled away all that came up in a bubbly fit of giggles as she grinned back at his face turning literal shades of bright red. And her laughter was contagious as he started laughing too.

  Time seemed to be meaningless here, as Fluttershy had lost track of how long they cuddled there in that soft meadow, enjoying the sound of their heart beats and sharing tentative kisses. The sun didn’t set still as they lazily strolled through the field and woods. They came back up to the cabin eventually and Fluttershy realized then that the door didn’t lead back to her home, but rather to a small, one-room cabin. There was a large hearth, where a warm, rosy pink fire crackled, a few bookshelves, a small coffee table with a tea set, and a pile of embroidered pillows, blankets, and quilts.

   Fluttershy picked a book, they curled up together with warm drinks and good food, and read aloud to each other. Of course, whenever Discord read he would always affect some kind of voice, making it more fun and sharing more laughs. And when they grew too tired to read, they simply cuddled. Discord wrapped himself around her, keeping her warm and comfortable. They nuzzled each other and shared a few more kisses.

   “Happy Hearts and Hooves, Fluttershy.”

   “Happy Hearts and Hooves, Discord.”

   “I love you.”

   “I love you too.”

[theshatteredrose]

Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 13) - Original Fiction

AN: Kinda depressing just how long it took me to write this chapter. I’m sorta, kinda coming off of hiatus, but I have no idea when I’ll return to weekly updates. The main point is that I am enjoying writing and planning this project, and I am essentially writing this for me. If anyone takes issue with anything I’ve written, that’s not my problem. I’m just here to indulge in my own interests.

Anyway, enough of that. If you do read, I hope you enjoy. If not, then I hope you move along and have a nice day <3

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 13:

The morning air was cool and crisp as Eishirou stepped out of the helicopter and onto the dew-laden grass. The rising sun cast the Flutterlight Forest in a golden glow. Draping the greenery in an almost ethereal light. Inviting the unwary into letting their guard down.

Eishirou had to remind himself to stay vigilant. The lush green leaves, golden bark, and small colourful flowers shifting in the light breeze hid dark and dangerous ShadowDwellers. And those ShadowDwellers were not averse to destroying the environment around them to engage in battle.

He had to admit he was both excited and nervous about the expedition.

Heading out into the field with just Team 3 was a little bit daunting without Jacob there. But he got along extremely well with Zayne. Rinka was good company, too. And it wasn’t like they would just leave him out in the middle of nowhere. Jacob would never place him with a team he didn’t himself find trustworthy.

While it was essentially Eishirou’s personal assignment, Jacob did have one request of him during this expedition. And that was the map as much of the area as possible. A reasonable request.

He was also rather curious whether that centipede ShadowDweller created new paths for them to use. And whether its reckless freight-train like tendencies opened the way for new locations or ruins to discover.

Still, he hoped not to run into another.

Eishirou glanced around the landing area in mild curiosity as the Elite team gathered their previsions and equipment. His attention was soon drawn to the small pockets of red and blue flowers. There was a small patch of flowers close to him, so he knelt down and got out his tablet to take a photo. He then cross referenced that photo through the database of already discovered plants and flowers.

He wasn’t surprised when he got a match.

Felicia mauve cloud. Ah, blue daisies. Of course.

And the red flowers were…Ixora coccinea, or Flames of the Woods. Fascinating. He wondered if these flowers had any medicinal use. He’d have to talk to Neriah about it sometime.

“Well, shall we begin this assignment?” Ernesta stated more so than asked as she took the commanding role. “Zayne, you are the one who will see to Eishirou’s safety.”

“Got it,” Zayne replied without any hesitation.

“Eishirou, feel free to concentrate fully on your research. We’ll ensure that ShadowDwellers do not interrupt this expedition.”

Eishirou nodded. “I’ll try not to get in the way.”

Ernesta gave him a placid smile. “How would you like to begin this expedition?”

He didn’t answer immediately as he needed a moment to consider his options. It was his first solo expedition, after all. He didn’t want to be frivolous. “Our best bet is to head for the clearing and work our way around from there. I’m curious to see if that Centipede ShadowDweller unearthed new ruins or possibly another entrance to the mine tunnels below.”

“Very well. Zayne shall take the lead with your guidance, while the rest of us will concentrate on security and protection,” Ernesta commanded.

After securing his bag across his chest, Eishirou pulled out his tablet and the map function. With Jacob’s map overlaying his, he was confident that he could lead the team to the clearing. And ultimately back to that underground chamber with the mosaic. That was his ultimate destination in all honesty.

He was curious to know if his dream from the previous night was just a figment of his imagination filling in the blanks.

With Zayne right next to him, Eishirou took the lead through Flutterlight Forest. The name was quite accurate. Other than a few broken branches here or there, and thick shrubbery having been pushed to the side for a make-shift path, there was little change to the surroundings.

The birds were chittering and the insects were chirping noisy. The air fresh with only a slight morning chill. The wind was still for the most part, with only a tender gust every now and again.

Their trek to the clearing was a thankfully uneventful one.

The clearing where they first discovered the runestone and hidden wooden chest had seen better days, though.

“That ShadowDweller torn up this area more than I thought,” Zayne commented as he glanced around warily.

Eishirou nodded. It really did. Broken branches and heavily damaged trees. Torn up patches of grass and soil. There were even a few depressions that weren’t there the other day. It was highly likely that there was a partial collapse of a mine shaft just below the surface. And it was likelier still that there were numerous tunnels crisscrossing the entire area.

They had better be careful were they stepped.

That Centipede ShadowDweller had also opened up some new paths, rendering his map from back then out-of-date. But only slightly. So, it wasn’t anything to be overly concerned about.

Eishirou felt the distinct feeling of having dropped a few inches. It wasn’t overly dramatic, but it did startle him. Enough for his heart to skip a beat.

Before he could react, however, Zayne did. He swiftly scooped Eishirou up into his arms and jumped back a couple of feet. As he landed in a crouched position, his mana wings flickered into existence and one shifted toward Eishirou in an attempt to shield him.

Just as the ground where Eishirou had stood open up.

And a scorpion ShadowDweller crashed into view.

“I’ve got it!” Leon announced.

The ShadowDweller was still half-in the hole it had created when Leon used his mana-claws to effortlessly cut through the ShadowDweller’s large claws, rending it incapable of attacking him in return.

As the two dismembered claws fell to the ground and dissipated into that mysterious dark mist that seemed to make up the entirety of ShadowDwellers, Leon moved in to finish the creature off for good.

Zayne stood to his full height before he placed Eishirou back onto his own feet. But he kept his hand on his shoulder and pulled him close toward him in a protective stance.

Eishirou stared as mist rose from the corpse of the ShadowDweller, flittering it out of existence. The whole thing happened so quickly that he honestly didn’t even have time to feel frightened or even nervous. Startled, yes. Afraid? No. It was an odd feeling. He felt detached, in a way.

Yet, somehow comfortable.

It was likely because he had seen Zayne in action before. He had protected him numerous times before. So, there wasn’t like he had anything to fear, really.

Still, he was grateful that Zayne had been there. And reacted so quickly. He didn’t fancy another tumble down a hole into utter darkness below.

“Ambush predators, yet recklessly confrontational,” Ernesta mused aloud, both oddly curious and yet dismissive of the previous event. “We best practice extra caution.”

Eishirou returned his attention to his tablet and added a few notes of caution. The mines below made the area ideal for ShadowDwellers to ambush unsuspecting victims, be them Elites or Passive.

“We should move on from here. The ground is clearly unstable.”

The location of where that ShadowDweller appeared from indicated to him that the mining tunnels reached further than previously thought. Also, narrow paths may be more stable thanks to the tree roots and thick shrubbery keeping the ground compact. Though it did lead to the problem of a smaller battle area.

From what he had seen, Zayne and the others didn’t find the scorpion ShadowDwellers exactly difficult to battle. Their reflexes and level-headedness were quite astounding.

But that was what Elites did. They battled expertly against ShadowDwellers. They were truly amazing at what they did.

“Let’s move on to that underground chamber,” Eishirou suggested. “I need to give that a proper inspection.”

Once more, Eishirou took the lead with Zayne close to his side, taking his role of bodyguard seriously. Which Eishirou was honestly grateful for. As the path before them caused him to feel a sense of trepidation.

Broken limbs and felled fully grown trees littered the path. Broken into splinters. Thrown aside with ease. Telling indentations marred the soil. Created by hundreds of black, insect-shaped legs scuttering at an abnormal speed.

“Is this where that ShadowDweller chased you?” Leon asked nonchalantly as they walked cautiously down the path.

“Came barrelling through like a freight-train,” Zayne replied. “Able to hear it coming a mile away, though.”

Well, unlike the scorpion ShadowDwellers that liked to burst in from underground, the Centipede at least gave them a warning. A terrifying warning of breaking trees and thundering feet. But it was better than no warning.

The recently forged path might be a blessing in disguise. From what he could tell from his map, a new path to the underground chamber had opened up. Allowing them to reach it sooner.

They moved through the forest in silence. The birds and insects continued to make their noise, unconcerned by their presence. Other than a few fallen trees that they needed to climb over, there were no other obstacles to slow them down.

Minutes later, they finally reached the entrance that led to the underground chamber.

Eishirou pulled to a stop just outside the entrance, however. He felt the urge to inspect his surroundings once more. Lush foliage, thick shrubbery, flowers of red and blue in small patches.

Huh…the area around the entrance wasn’t damaged. No broken trees or torn up earth. Nothing to indicate that that centipede ShadowDweller emerged underground from here. So, it emerged from somewhere else, obviously. But where?

He…couldn’t see any place it could have appeared from. The area around the entrance looked untouched. Not a shrub disturbed. Not a twig broken. Nothing.

That would be something he would investigate later. He was more interested in inspecting the mosaic and underground chamber.

The stone doors that once barred the way had remained opened. Eishirou wasn’t all too concerned about them, even if they closed behind them. He knew how to reopen them. If they worked once, they were sure to work again. But if push came to shove, he was sure one of the Elites would just blast their way out.

“Hm,” Ernesta murmured as they moved to the centre of the chamber, her gaze forward. “So, this is the mosaic that Professor Chryses was referring to.”

Eishirou turned to look at the mosaic, too. Unmarred and in the same condition he had left it. Which was a relief. “That’s it.” He then pointed toward a small opening to the left of the room. “That leads to the underground tunnels. And they’re connected to mining tunnels.”

“And where we first encountered that centipede,” Zayne added.

Ernesta glanced over toward the tunnels and a frown soon spread across her face. “Hm. I am not comfortable with exploring those tunnels. Especially not with the possibility of encountering other ShadowDwellers in such a restricted environment.”

Especially that large centipede ShadowDweller.

“Unfortunately, if we’re to map the area fully, we’ll need to,” Eishirou explained as he pulled out his tablet. “Though, I’m reluctant, too. I’d feel better if there was a way to get in and out of the mines should we encounter trouble.”

“Blasting through the roof not an option?”

Zayne’s sarcastic quip caused a laugh to escape Eishirou’s lips. “I guess. I mean, if the situation was that serious.”

In all seriousness, though, he hoped they wouldn’t need to resort to such drastic measures. If only they could find a way to monitor ShadowDwellers from a distance or at least discover how far and deep the tunnels actually go.

Eishirou glanced down at his tablet screen. He just remembered how his map had alerted him to that centipede ShadowDweller a couple of days ago. A red dot that moved across the screen. He had honestly forgotten about it due to everything else that occurred. He could only assume that the map function had registered the presence of the ShadowDweller and added it to the data also.

Did that mean that if he encountered a ShadowDweller that didn’t immediately attack them (or is immediately destroyed), it will be registered to the map?

“Eishirou?”

Ernesta’s voice pulled Eishirou from his thoughts and he snapped his head up. “Yes?”

“Professor Chryses mentioned that you are able to see recordings from objects containing mana. Are you able to control what information is given to you?” she queried.

Eishirou was momentarily startled by the question. “Ah, well, it depends.” His gaze flickered over to the mosaic once more as a thought occurred to him. There was an abundant amount of mana contained within. “I could give it a try. Maybe if I try to receive a recording from the mosaic, I might learn just how far these tunnels reach.”

He slipped the tablet into his carry bag as he walked toward the mosaic. He ascended the stairs to the altar. The painting upon the wall was exactly the same. That shouldn’t be a surprise to him. Elites wouldn’t be interested in the chamber or the mosaic on the wall. Their first concern was ShadowDwellers.

But he was somewhat startled to note that his dream of the painting was the same. The rainbow-coloured hair, the flawless face. There was only one minor little difference; the eyes were open in his dreams. The painting before him had the eyes close.

…It was probably nothing.

Pushing his musings aside, Eishirou raised his hands and placed them upon the painting once more. He closed his eyes and attempted to use his own mana abilities to draw out the mana residing within the cave wall. And the mosaic itself.

Just like before a series of still images appeared in his mind. Quick flashes of moments in time so long ago. There was…there was a story attached to the images.

Men dressed in blacken overalls. A partially collapsed wall. Miners moving through the narrow tunnels. Torches illuminating shadowy creatures. Miners running in panic.

An entrance high on a hill side. Framed with wooden beams. With steel and wooden planks hastily baring the entrance.

The recording came to an abrupt end and Eishirou found himself taking a stumbling step backwards. Only to fall back against someone and an arm wrapped around his shoulders firmly.

Eishirou didn’t need to open his eyes to look at the one holding him upright. It was Zayne.

“You all right?”

Eishirou clutched his forehead as he nodded his head. “Yeah. I think it worked. There’s another opening. One…of the ancient tunnel. Connected to a mine shaft not far from here. But…the first appears only accessible from underground.”

Those other images; they told a story of how miners broke through into the ancient tunnels. They inspected the tunnels, curious and amazed. Until they encountered tall shadowy beings. Humanoids of the darkest of black. They ran, terrified. What happened to those miners was up to speculation. But the boarded-up entrance to the mines indicated that the mines were closed.

Was that a fraction of the history of these tunnels?

Were…ShadowDwellers around back then, too?

“Ernesta.” Tatsu’s terse voice prompted Eishirou to open his eyes and return to the task at hand.

“Hm?” Ernesta turned to regard Tatsu with a curious expression. But that soon changed in confused one when the other Elite handed her something. “That’s-?”

“It seems to be a badge from one of the Elite teams,” Tatsu informed briskly. “They must have inspected this chamber, too.”

A deep frown marred Ernesta’s face. “And dropped their badge.”

Zayne kept a secure arm around Eishirou’s shoulders as he guided him down the stairs and back to where the rest of the team gathered. He could see their puzzlement and concern easily. Which he understood. An Elite’s badge was a symbol of their superiority. A badge of honour, so to speak.

…If he was able to see images from an ancient mosaic, could he receive a recording from a badge? Though, that likely depended on the intent of the owner of said badge.

“Can I try something?” Eishirou asked as he reached for the badge.

Zayne frowned slightly. “Another recording?”

“Hm. Maybe there’s enough mana here for me to see what occurred to lead to this being dropped.”

He wrapped his hands around the badge and closed his eyes.

The images didn’t hit him as suddenly or as profoundly as the ones of the mosaic did. He saw an animated recording; one he hadn’t experienced before. It was from the point of view of the fallen badge.

A group of Elites walked through the chamber and headed straight for the side path. Like they had known it was there. The group seemed to be…huddled together. He could only see four members. Yet, Elite teams were made of five.

There was a sense of…uncertainty and fear from the badge. From the owner of said badge. They were confused. Startled…betrayed?

But then…a dark shadow appeared from somewhere behind the badge. It…scurried across the ground. Four limbs. Yet, it appeared human like.

…Just like those shadowy beings he saw from the mosaic.

The recording ended abruptly and Eishirou shook his head. Once again, thankful for the strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. He couldn’t help but feel threatened. And that the life of the Elite which the badge belonged to might be in danger.

“What’s wrong?”

“They entered the tunnels,” Eishirou explained, his voice surprisingly shaky thanks to the remnants of the recording. “But there was something following them. A ShadowDweller, I think. But…I can’t be too sure. They definitely headed deeper in, though. I do know that much.”

“I see.” Ernesta frowned as her eyes flickered toward the side path once more. “We…may need to follow, if nothing more than to sedate our curiosity.”

[today-only-happens-once]

Always

Title: Always

Word Count: 3,651

Summary: Pop-Star!Roman AU. Months after their first meeting during which the two of them dated in secret, Virgil shows up at Roman’s apartment at one in the morning barely able to stay standing. This is unapologetic hurt/comfort romantic Prinxiety for you all. Hints of Logicality. Platonic Analogical and Royality. Companion piece to Acoustic, but can be read separately.  

Warnings: (heavy on all so please heed them, friends) injury, blood, bruising, cursing, concussion, tropes.

Author’s Note: This is super self-indulgent and similar to other things I’ve written but I had fun with it. Sometimes its really nice to just. Write self-indulgent, tropey things. Hope you enjoy it! Also, I’m like, one person away from a huge follower milestone so this is a perhaps premature celebration of that fact. <3 You all are amazing and ily. Thank you for all the support. Seriously. This fic was edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34

 ...

Roman hears a knock at the door to his apartment at a little past one in the morning.

He groans and kicks off the blanket as he pushes up from the couch and pads across the hardwood and tile. He’d been watching Queer Eye much, much later than he should have been, but what could he say? It was a Friday night. And Remy had put him under figurative house arrest since he had a concert tomorrow night.

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door. It’s not exactly like he had been too loud, so it couldn’t be a neighbor with a noise complaint. He hadn’t ordered food. But he’s the sleepy brand of tired—he’d been probably moments from falling asleep—and doesn’t really think too hard about it as he opens the door.

He’s suddenly wide awake when he sees that it’s Virgil standing—swaying—in his doorway.

“Virgil?” he asks, his brow creasing in concern as he really looks at him.

Virgil looks white as a ghost, trembling so hard he’s vibrating. There’s a cut surrounded by a dark, angry bruise along his left cheekbone that takes up nearly the whole side of his face. Around his right eye, Roman can see that there’s some swelling. His lip is split open, though most of the blood has dried.

Virgil grimaces and doubles over slightly. It’s then that Roman notices he’s got one arm wrapped around his ribs, fisted in his purple shirt underneath his plaid patched hoodie that is torn in a few places. Virgil’s knuckles are split open. Blood leaks out as his grip on his shirt tightens slightly.

He sways, then stumbles. Roman catches him. “Hey,” he says softly as he guides Virgil’s other arm around his shoulders. “Easy. I got ya.”

“Sorry,” Virgil grits out. “Sorry.”

Roman swallows hard and just shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he assures. “C’mon.” He wishes Virgil would lean on him a little more—he can hear the pained catch in Virgil’s breath as Roman helps him into the apartment—but he doesn’t know how to speak past the lump in his throat anymore.

Roman helps Virgil over to the couch in front of the TV. The pop star doesn’t miss the slight whimper that Virgil makes in the back of his throat as Roman gingerly helps him take a seat on the couch. When Virgil tries to cover it with a cough, Roman lets him and pretends his stomach doesn’t twist sharply.

“’m sorry,” Virgil murmurs quietly. It’s then that Roman notices his eyes look hazy and unfocused. “Didn’t know where else to go…”

“Don’t—” Roman tries, but his throat closes up. He coughs slightly in an effort to get it open again. “It’s okay,” he says tightly. “I’m gonna grab the first aid kit. I’ll be right back, Virge, okay? I promise.”

Virgil makes a vague sound of acknowledgement and Roman disappears down the short hallway. He turns into the bathroom, fishing his phone out of his. He pulls up the caller ID and pins his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he digs around for the first aid kit in the cabinet below the sink.

It rings twice before a familiar if groggy voice answers back. “Roman? Might I inquire as to why you are calling me at 1:14 in the morning?”

“Logan,” Roman says, his voice heavy and thick with relief. “Logan, I need your help. I don’t know what to do because Virgil just showed up and he’s not okay and I don’t have any kind of training in this and I know you’re going to school to be a paramedic so maybe you know more about—”

“Roman,” Logan says, sounding abruptly more alert now. “Slow down. What, specifically, is wrong with Virgil?”

“I don’t know,” Roman says and he suddenly realizes that his voice is a little shaky. He takes in a deep breath. “He looks… I dunno, Lo, he looks beat up or something and he was swaying and I think maybe he’s gotten broken ribs or something and maybe a concussion but I don’t know how to check for these things—”

“Breathe. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“I can’t find it,” Roman says, wondering why his voice sounds higher than normal to him. He starts shoving medicine bottles, hair products, and toilet paper out of the way. They spill onto his bathroom floor and he doesn’t care. “Wait,” he says, almost to himself as he spots the small red box shoved into the back of the cabinet. He grabs for it. “I got it. I found it. It’s found.”

“Good,” Logan says, and Roman can’t tell if he’s speaking slowly on purpose or if Roman just feels that way. “Patton and I are on our way. Virgil might need to go to the hospital, but for right now just keep him awake and take care of what you can.”

Roman swallows hard and nods. “Right, right, right. Okay, okay. Yeah, I can… I can do that. I can do that stuff.” He realizes he’s repeating himself a lot but he can’t stop. His thoughts are going a mile a minute. “Logan why…” He scrubs a hand down his face. “If he needs to go to the hospital, why he’d come here?”

The question is met with a moment of silence. “He may be a bit out of it. Depending on the circumstances surrounding his injuries, a sense of safety was probably at the forefront of his mind and, as a result, he went to the closest place that an intrinsic part of him knew could provide that sensation.”

Roman makes his way back down the hall towards the living room. “What?”

A sigh. “To put it more simply, Virgil came to you because he feels safe with you. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.” There’s a pause. “Call me if there’s any change.”

A click. Roman lets the phone fall into his hand and slips it into his back pocket. Virgil looks even paler in the dark under the flickering glow of the TV screen across the room. The dark brown couch beneath him also doesn’t help. His eyes are closed and Roman feels his heartbeat jump to his throat for a moment before he sees him crack his eyes open at Roman’s reappearance.

Roman flashes him a smile. “Never fear,” he announces with a bravado that feels as thin and brittle as Virgil’s answering smile. “I have returned.” He brandishes the first aid kit as he crosses back towards him.

“I think this is where I say ‘you should see the other guy’ or something, right?” Virgil’s voice isa little too tight to sound as casual as he’s clearly trying to.

Roman flicks on the lamp beside the couch to bathe the room in a warmer glow. He switches the TV off as he kneels between Virgil and the coffee table as he sets the first aid kit down. “Only if you want to be a cliché,” Roman replies with more ease than he feels. He pulls out a cleansing wipe from its paper packaging.

“What would be original, then?”

Roman ever-so-gently takes one of Virgil’s hands in his own. He hums in thought. “Never hurts to embellish the story a little. You could claim you fought off a Dragon Witch.”

Virgil leans his head back against the couch cushion. He cocks an eyebrow as he looks down at Roman. “A Dragon Witch? That’s certainly… unexpected.”

Roman’s mouth quirks slightly. “I’m full of surprises.” He presses the cleansing wipe to the tender, angry skin around Virgil’s knuckles. Virgil hisses a breath, but his grip around Roman’s hand tightens instead of jerking away.

“Shit,” he grits out behind clenched teeth.

Roman winces in sympathy, feeling a twinge in his chest. “Sorry. Like I said. Full of surprises?” Roman swallows and pauses. “Ready?” he asks, softer.

Virgil’s death grip on Roman’s hand loosens slightly. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, go for it.”

Roman gingerly presses the wipe back to Virgil’s hand and sets to work at cleaning the wounds. Roman doesn’t know what to say, but he remembers that Logan told him to keep him awake and Roman knows the easiest way to do that is probably to just keep him talking.

Virgil surprises him by speaking first. “Guess I owe you an explanation, huh?” His voice is breathy and tired.

Roman doesn’t meet his eyes. He reaches instead for some gauze to wrap his hand as he finishes cleaning it. “I’ll have you know, people showing up at my door needing to get patched up at one in the morning is a regular occurrence.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, huffing a breathy laugh. “Good, I’m glad. Knew I came to the right place.”

“Casa de la Roman, open 24 hours,” Roman quips back as he gingerly rests Virgil’s now bandaged hand to the side and turns his attention to the other one. “Free room and board.”

“That’s a terrible business model,” Virgil murmurs quietly. “Imagine if word got out.” Roman smiles faintly. He glances up to see Virgil’s eyes are closed. He nudges Virgil’s leg.

“Wake up, Scooby Doom.” He doesn’t miss the slight way Virgil jerks away from the touch, the faint whimper. Something twists in his stomach.

“Your bedside manner sucks,” Virgil replies before Roman can apologize, but his voice is tight with lingering pain. Roman can feel his throat closing up again suddenly and he busies himself with cleaning and bandaging Virgil’s other hand.

Roman licks his lips as he moves from kneeling to the balls of his feet. He grabs another wipe and a butterfly bandage. Roman takes a seat on the couch beside Virgil and turns to face him.

He’s caught off guard by how close they suddenly are. Virgil is still leaned back into the cushions of the couch, but Roman is very aware that his leg is barely brushing Virgil’s. He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly so aware of how close they are for a moment. It’s not like they haven’t sat beside each other. Virgil, however, doesn’t seem to even notice. He’s pulled the hand that Roman had just bandaged closer to him, flexing his grip with vague interest.

“Thank you for this,” Virgil tells him, turning his dark brown, still slightly hazy eyes onto Roman. Roman flushes slightly for reasons he can’t quite explain.

“Hold still,” Roman tells him in a soft voice instead of replying. He cups Virgil’s jaw gently with one hand and presses the wipe to the cut along his cheekbone with the other. Virgil winces and closes his eyes. Roman whispers an apology, brushing his thumb along his jawline soothingly.

Neither of them says anything as Roman gingerly presses the bandage to the wound. Roman looks at him for a long moment, his hand still against Virgil’s jaw. Virgil’s eyes flit open again, his eyes focusing on Roman for only a moment before they unfocus again. He blinks a few times. There’s something in his eyes that brings Roman up short for a moment. Something soft and vulnerable.

Roman sighs softly as he lets his hand fall. “You might need stitches. And… you might have a concussion.”

Virgil nods a little, then stops suddenly and hisses a breath. “I… yeah. Yeah, okay.” He averts his gaze.

Roman clears his throat. “Logan and Patton are on the way to help, actually.” He tries to grasp the bravado and facade he’d had a moment ago. Before Virgil had looked so small. And scared. “But I… I can keep going. What else hurts?”

Virgil hesitates a moment too long. “I’m fine, Ro.”

“Yeah, and I’m straight.” Roman gives him a pointed look. “C’mon. What else? Ribs?”

“You’ve already done more than enough—”

Roman reaches towards Virgil. “Where is this sudden deflection coming from?”

“Nowhere. You just don’t need to be wasting your entire first aid kit on me.”

“It’s not a waste.” Roman is staring at him.  

“No, really, it’s fine, Roman--” Virgil’s comment is cut off by a sharp yelp as Roman’s hand grazes Virgil’s side. “Fucking shit,” he wheezes.

Roman’s hand jerks back. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Shit.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Roman snaps, and then immediately regrets it at the flash that passes through Virgil’s eyes. “Please,” he says, softer. “I just… let me help you.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a long moment, then sags a little and nods. Carefully, Roman reaches for the hem of Virgil’s shirt. He waits for another nod before he starts sliding it up. Roman feels his stomach roll at the smattering of yellow, purple, red, and blue that has blossomed across his chest. He thinks some of the bruising looks like shoe prints.

“Jesus, Virge.” Roman’s breath hitches. “What did they do to you?”

Virgil looks away. He doesn’t respond. Roman opens his mouth, a part of him wanting to press the issue. He closes it again, his finger tips just barely ghosting over his torso. Virgil jolts slightly before giving a sharp cry at the evident flash of pain from the sudden movement. Roman freezes for a second as he hears Virgil suck in a quick, shallow breaths.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Roman hushes. “Breathe.”

Virgil screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Can’t. Can’t, can’t, can’t—” As if in slow motion, Virgil leans towards Roman until his head is against his chest.

Roman’s heart gives a clenching squeeze. “Oh, sweetheart…” he breathes without thinking. He cards his fingers through Virgil’s hair softly. It’s greasy with sweat and dirt. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s okay.” When Roman tucks part of his face into Virgil’s hair, it smells like copper.

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Roman glances down at Virgil’s partially exposed back and notices the bruising doesn’t seem much better there either. In fact, Roman can see a few places where they broke skin. And he can’t quite tell whether the darker color against Virgil’s pale complexion is dirt or dried blood.

“I’m going to try to clean you up a little, okay?” Roman murmurs softly against Virgil’s hair once his breathing has evened out a bit. It still sounds a little shallow to Roman but its better and that’s something. “I just… don’t want anything to get infected.”

Virgil doesn’t respond, but he reaches up and fists a hand in Roman’s shirt before giving a slight nod. He grabs a wipe from the coffee table, doing his best to limit the amount of shifting Virgil does as a result, and presses a small kiss to the top of Virgil’s head against his chest before he dabs at some of the broken skin with the wipe. Roman feels Virgil’s clenched grip around his shirt tighten even more.

Roman works to clean what of Virgil’s bruises he can as gingerly as he can. Neither of them says anything, but Roman can tell Virgil is still awake from the stifled gasps and hisses he makes as Roman works. The pop star just keeps whispering apologies over and over.

“Logan and Patton should be here soon,” Roman says softly when he’s finished, gingerly lowering Virgil’s shirt back down, mindful of the wounds. “We’ll get you the help you need, okay?”

Virgil hums and doesn’t pull away from Roman’s chest. “’m glad you opened the door,” he says quietly, his voice slightly muffled.

Roman swallows hard. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Virgil takes a breath and his lungs shake a little on the inhale. “Jus’. Y’know. You’re… good.”

“Excuse you, but I’d like to think I’m better than just ‘good’.” Roman figures it would sound more teasing if his voice didn’t sound weirdly strained.

“Mhm,” Virgil agrees a little too readily. Roman’s brow furrows with concern. “’s why you were worth it.”

Roman tries to pull back to look at him, frowning in confusion, but Virgil’s grip on his shirt only tightens. “Virge, what do you mean?”

“Those guys,” Virgil explains vaguely.

Roman’s heart is beating a little bit harder and a little bit faster. “What guys?”

“They were strong an’ mad ‘cause I love you, I think,” Virgil tells him.

Roman’s stomach plummets to the floor. Virgil got beat up because of him? Roman pulls back a bit more insistently, catching Virgil’s chin in one of his hands to askingly tilts his head up. Virgil looks up at him. His eyes look unfocused and clouded again, and Roman realizes that Virgil’s moment of clarity earlier seems to have been a relatively fleeting moment of lucidity.

“Virgil, darling—” Roman’s urgency is interrupted by a knock at the door. He swallows the words down and tries to give Virgil a soft smile even though he feels more like throwing up. “It’s open!” he calls out. Virgil winces at the sudden loud noise.

Logan appears in the doorway first, his gaze zeroing in on the two of them on the couch. Patton appears behind him, still in his pajamas. Patton’s warm eyes widen at the sight before him and he pauses just inside the doorway. Logan wastes no time—he doesn’t even look phased—in crossing the distance between the door and the couch.

“Hey, L,” Virgil says quietly, almost sheepishly. Roman is distantly relieved that he at least seems to recognize everyone still.

Logan sets his first aid kit—a larger box than the one Roman has—beside Roman’s and starts digging through it. “Salutations,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Virgil Shea,” Virgil replies.

“Where are you?”

“Roman’s apartment.”

“What year is it?”

Logan gives a patient look towards Roman as Virgil rattles off answers to his questions. Gradually, Logan guides Virgil to face him and pull his attention away from Roman. Roman takes the pointed look from Logan as cue to stand up and give them a moment of space.

It’s not until he’s standing in the kitchen—Logan’s and Virgil’s voices the only noise floating through the apartment—that he realizes his hands are shaking.

Roman grips the counter and bows his head, taking a deep breath. He scrubs a hand across his mouth as hears someone step up behind him.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“You saw him, Patton,” Roman replies without turning around. “He’s…” His voice catches unsteadily and Roman lets the thought go unfinished.

“I know,” Patton says with a soft understanding. “But I was asking about you.”

“It’s my fault.” Roman hadn’t even met to say it, but the weight of the confession lingers heavy in the air around him.

“Roman—”

“I mean it,” Roman insists. His eyes focus unseeing on the salt and pepper shakers on the gray kitchen counter. “He told me some guys beat him up because he loves me? I mean.” He waves an arm, his eyes burning. “What do I do with that?”

“Roman…”

Roman finally spins around to face him. “We were so careful, Pat. Or we… we tired to be. Ever since that first time we met at your coffee shop, we avoided public eye and the tabloids and the press. So much sneaking around and late night excursions and video chats and… I knew it was risky. Hell, we both did. But I thought, at worst, it’d be risking careers. Not… not that. Not him showing up at my doorstep barely able to stay standing, I mean, Jesus, Patton.”

Patton watches him quietly for a moment, then crosses over towards the cabinet above the sink. He pulls out a glass and fills it with water. “That doesn’t make this your fault.”

“He’s hurt.”

Patton hands him the water. “Drink this.” Roman stares at it for a second before accepting it. “I think you’re missing an important detail, Ro.”

Roman downs half the glass before setting it on the counter behind him. He rakes a hand through his hair to push the bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“That despite what happened tonight, Virgil came to find you,” Patton reminds him, gentle but firm. His eyes are earnest behind his black glasses frames. “That despite everything you just said, Virgil decided that he felt the most safe with you. That’s not for nothing.”

Roman turns bright, pained eyes onto the coffeeshop owner. “What if his trust is misplaced?”

Patton gives him a soft look. “You know, I don’t think that’s true, kiddo. You know why?”

Silently, Roman shakes his head.

Patton nods his head back to where they can hear Logan and Virgil speaking to one another. “Because when we walked in, you can bet the first thing we both noticed was that Virgil’s hands had been bandaged, as had the cut on his cheek, that you had the first aid kit out and several wipes used. And you were holding onto one another.”

For a long moment, neither of them says anything. “I’m scared for him, Patton,” Roman admits in a whisper.

“So am I,” Patton agrees. “I’m scared for both of you. But you’ll figure it out.”

“How are you so sure?”

Patton opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by Logan appearing in the entryway to the kitchen. “Virgil almost certainly needs to go to the ER. I feel reasonably confident about a concussion, but an official diagnosis would be preferable. I will be driving him, if either of you would like to come as well.”

Roman is already grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair in the kitchen. “Lead the way, doc.”

Logan sighs as he steps back. “Roman, for the last time, I am not a doctor.”

Virgil is standing a few feet away and Roman crosses past Logan, ignoring his clarification, and guiding Virgil’s arm to wrap around his shoulders. “I got ya,” he says to Virgil quietly.

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks upwards slightly, and he lets Roman shoulder some of his weight. “You always do.”

[littlemisssquiggles]

You know this has been bothering me for a while now... How do you feel about people dropping the show? I mean, I'm currently not that close anymore and I am willing to give Volume 7 another chance (but I keep my expectations veeeery low since I am so tired of being disappointed like I was with Volume 6 - it started out good and I really much liked the two Apathy episodes, even though they had narrative weaknesses in my opinion), also thanks to you. I just want to know what you think about it.

Hello again Mizu! Firstly, let me apologize for taking so long to respond. I’mbacklogged on questions to answer in my inbox so I’m slowly working my waythrough them. Secondly pleased to hear you’ve decided to give the new season achance. 

To be honest with you fam, I honestly have nothing against folks who wish to drop RWBY. As I’vebeen telling you before, folks are entitled to feel the way they feel---be itgood, bad or indifferent. 

Basically what I’m saying is, I understand that everyone’s viewson RWBY aren’t the same and I respect that. I respect the fact that there arefolks who are genuinely loyal to the series and will continue to support it tothe very end, just as much as I acknowledge and respect the views of the folkswho are genuinely disappointed with the series or rather, they’re disappointedwith the direction in which the series has changed since V3---the last seasonits original creator---Monty worked on, I believe, before he sadly passed away.

When it comes to indulging in media, myideology stands as this: if you’ve come to a point where you’re watching apiece of media that you used to indulge in but the overall positivefeelings--- love, joy and entertainment--- you once felt for it when you firststarted is no longer there, then you’re more than welcome to drop it if you sodesire. 

Or you can take a break from it and come back later. Heck you can evendrop it but still remain a part of its FNDM, not necessarily following the showanymore but still enjoying other things like fanart and fanfic. No one is atfault for wishing to stop watching a series they once loved nor are they atfault for wanting to leave it/ take break from it only to come back later. Youdo you, dude.

In terms of RWBY, I’m half and half. Iunderstand why folks would wish to continue to watch the series; but at thesame time, I understand why folks would wish to drop it. The series, whilestill entertaining and enjoyable in some parts (at least to me) has admittedly madesome rather questionable choices in regards to certain aspects of the writing within therecent last arc. 

Questionable choices which unfortunately left a lot of fansdisappointed. As a matter of fact, I think disappointed is an understatement.But like I said before, folks are entitled to feel the way they feel andthey’re allowed to express their feelings, thoughts and opinion if they feelthe need.

Where I may take issue with folks whodrop RWBY, however, is if they turn into one of those kindred spirits over inthe RWBY Hatedom. RWBY is the one series I know where it has a community of people who dislike the show as much as the ones who love it. And they’ve very vocal about it too. 

It’s perfectly cool if you feeldissatisfied with the way things are being done with RWBY but where that becomes problematic, in my opinion, is when it turns to bitterness which then leadsto you attacking people and downright disrespecting them. This is inclusive of notjust the fans who still support RWBY but also the members of theCRWBY.

I get that people didn’t like the waythings were done with the show but that still doesn’t give you the right todisrespect the people working on it. One habit that I’m tired of seeing from theHatedom is their incessant use of throwing Monty’s name around as a means toridicule the current state of the show. 

Regardless of whether or not you don’tlike the way the showrunners have written the show, you still have to show themsome level of respect. And continuing to use the name of the show’s deceasedcreator to scrutinize the efforts of the same people---some of which wereMonty’s friends and original colleagues---is just beyond disrespectful.

If I may talk about Monty here for abit, it honestly disgusts me whenever I go into forums discussing fan reviewsof RWBY and still see people leaving comments such as “Monty wouldn’t have liked this” or “You’veruined Monty’s vision”  and all that jazz.

Seriously, how entitled of a fan must you be to act as if you knew Monty personally enough toimply that he wouldn’t have liked the way RWBY is now?

Who do you think will have the moral high ground in this predicament of deciding how RWBY should continue? The people whopersonally knew and worked with Monty when RWBY first started and are doing thebest they can to keep the show running? Or the so-called fans who continue towatch the series just to mock the efforts of Monty’s former friends and colleagueswhile constantly throwing his name in their faces as an insult.

You tell me.

What happened to Monty was sad and I’mmostly saying that as a longstanding fan of his. Like many RWBY fans, I didn’tknow Monty personally. I knew him mostly through his work. Monty was a creatorwho got an opportunity that most of us creatives with our our stories to tell couldonly dream of. He got a chance to bring his story to life only to unfortunatelypassed away while working on it.

It’s one thing to be disappointed withsomething you used to love but it’s another thing when your anger andresentment makes you disrespectful. It’s not cool when former fans of RWBY become people whoconstantly look for ways to talk down the show. I can sympathize with the FNDMfam members who were upset with the development of the show but where Ican’t take your side is if that dissatification leads to contempt.

I’ve said this before and I’m going torepeat it again. RWBY isNOT a flawless show. It never has been and quite frankly,it’ll probably never be as perfect as fans want it to be. But what I havelearnt is that RWBY is a show that’s much like the man who created it. It keepsmoving forward. Each season it tries to do better than the last and it shows.

I know certain parts have not been sogreat but I have to acknowledge the ones that were. I know some of usweren’t 100% pleased with how V6 turned. However, I will say this. Prior tothat season, the Writers promised that they were looking into some of the criticismsleft behind from past seasons and were working to fix him. Did they live up tothat? To quote Ozpin, in some ways yes and in other ways, no.

V6 still unfortunately suffered fromthe same issues with the writing that fans disliked back in V5. But what I willpoint out that it didn’t start off that way. I think we can all admit that thefirst half of V6 (C1 to C7) was done well. The other half….....er....not so much. Butit’s still worth noting that there is good within the bad.

This is why I personally will keepgiving the series a chance. Speaking for myself here, I’ve been on the RWBY train since thevery beginning and sink or swim, soar or crash, I’m staying on-board till thisseries reaches its final destination. Because outside of that fact that thereare still things about the show that I enjoy and love, I’m also very, verycurious to see where exactly the CRWBY Writers are taking this story of theirs.

Monty may not have been able to joinMiles and Kerry in progressing the show he made; however Miles and Kerry arecontinuing it. They are telling theirstory now in direct correlation to the onethey kicked off with Monty. 

What that story is overall? How is it gonna go for future seasons and arcs andmore importantly, how is it all gonna end? Those are questions with answers I’mstill interested to know. And until the day comes when I no longer care aboutthese things with RWBY, I’m gonna stick around and try my best to enjoy the ride alongthe way---whether it cruises calmly or runs over a couple of rough patches andbumps. It’s fine. I’ve got plenty of tolerance. 

I see a lot of potential for betterwriting in RWBY. I’m just patiently waiting for the season where the Writersfinally find their groove since I think they were struggling during the MistralTrilogy. RWBY isn’t perfect but it’s a show with folks who admittedly do theirbest to improve on it as the seasons go. 

They may not land every time but theeffort is still worth appreciating in some sense-- well at least I know appreciate it especially when they get things right cause, contrary to what othersmight believe, not everything about RWBY is completely bad. As a matter offact, some of it is arguably not as bad as folks let it out to be. But I understand that’s amatter of opinion. Can’t honestly speak for other FNDM members. Only my squiggly self here.

Now mind you, none of the stuff I’vementioned about the RWBY Hatedom applies to you Mizu. I know we’ve only chatted once or twice between Q&A but forthe most part, you’ve been quite humble and a pleasant person to talk to. 

Despite your voiced issues with the current run of RWBY, you’vemaintained a cool, respectable air about yourself and that’s great. Please keep that up. Regardless of what happens during V7. Regardless of whether youchoose to stay or go with RWBY during or after V7, do your best to remain as humble as you as much as possible. That’s basically the bottom line point I’m trying to say here.That goes for you and anyone else who’ve been feeling the same way you haveabout the show.

Just stay humble guys. Opinions can be different but still maintain that R-E-S-P-E-C-T and that goes for both sides.

And, yeah, that’s pretty all I gottasay. I hope I actually answered your question. I feel like I did. As always,feel free to let me know. In the meantime, take care.

~LittleMissSquiggles(2019)

[fortheheavenssake]

💟💟 PG MM Anon(II) 💟💟 Interpretation Collection -10

64. July 15

MM ANON …… Now a “married”abomination ………… girlfriends!! …………… HMTQ,will she , won’t she…………… Kate’s amazing ascension ……………… the feeding machine ………… a future Queen in all but name. …………… “ Yes!! A homogeneous bubble” …………… a sterile palace ………black Colorado ……… sir Tom?? …………… a hush hush holiday. …………… awoke to a scathing review.

Entertainment purposes

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈Thank you MM Anon🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜

July 15/2020. RIDDLE #64

💜💜💜💜JD wanted to test DNA bm on sheet to determine their origin and complained ‘my wife left a whooper poo on my bed’ before telling AH he wanted a divorce on conference call with assistant. I had to add this because I was only joking about this the other day in the riddle that they would do DNA and here they are, so obviously he saved the BM is that not special eh? Most people save dried rose petals , cards , concert tickets , pictures of their relationship , but not with these kids, they save bm wowza! Wowza!🥺🥺🥺🥺🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢💜💜💜💜💜💜

I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to finally see some content involving our royal family it’s been quite fun where I’ve just been spewing the daily news back at you kids so this is great!!!

Now a “married”abomination

GM is secretly married but refuses to name her mystery spouse, US prosecutors revealed. Can you believe this garbage? What on earth would be the point of her being secretly married? There must have been some legal benefit to it. I know in some of the United States you do not have to testify against your spouse. I don’t know if that’s going to come into play here but who would marry her?? MONEY DUH?! Or blackmail!? Oh my stars and garters! The shocking news came during her plea of not guilty via video link to charges related to his sex trafficking ring on Tuesday. The marriage was disclosed by US Attorney Alison Moe at the detention hearing. She did not say who she believed the spouse was or give any indication as to how long they had been married. The only other mention of her being married is when Moe said her client had toured a home with a man, both giving their last names as Marshall - his first name Scott. Last summer she was at in Manchester-by-the-Sea, living at a $2 million home owned by her tech CEO lover Scott Borgerson. She is accused of grooming girls as young as 14 for JE to abuse between 1994 and 1997, a period when she was his girlfriend. She pleaded not guilty via video link but was denied bail at the hearing in New York!! Thank goodness she was denied bail!!

………… girlfriends!! ……………

I don’t know if this romantic picture of the ‘ young lovely couple’ taking a stroll will show up but I’ll try and submit it separately. Well this girl plays for both teams wow she’s an all-around user abuser narcissist oh that’s sickening!! Not her being bisexual, I’m talking about her narcissistic and picking on all targets!

AH indulged in some retail therapy after spending another day giving evidence against her estranged husband in court. Yeah I think this is what most people do after a traumatic day in court after day after day after day in court they walk around the street with their lover shopping looking for the for the photo opportunity my Lord in heaven she is an evil woman oh sick! The actress and her partner BB strolled hand-in-hand through London accompanied by her sister Whitney and personal assistant. Today, the group are back in court as it gets set to hear from JD’s ex-fiancée WR.

HMTQ,will she , won’t she……………

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜She will never add the cake ever.🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂She’ll never advocate inertial never abdicate she will advocate but she won’t abdicate. I decided to leave that sentence in there because it just is so true she’ll never add the cake she’ll never advocate inertial she will never advocate she will never make a cake it’s almost like Dr. Seuss yes I am Sam I am oh. That was just to give you a feel of how it is for me to use the audio software it hears things the way I pronounce them and it’s not always correct but I just wanted to share that with you because it’s kind of funny and good night shows we all need to laugh. What I want to show you just how difficult it is to do a riddle it may look easy as you’re reading through it and it’s all Lottie doll funny and whatever but it’s a lot of work.💜💜💜💜💜💜💜OK all seriousness now this yammering on and on and on about will her Majesty abdicate or won’t she she will never abdicate, FULL STOP NEVER!!! I have no doubt that there are plans in place to make things workable. They will have to be creative but yes, maybe the days of the walkabouts are over , in the public contact , but look at all the positives that come out of a zoom meeting with like yesterday? I think she’s got a lot to contribute yet and to count her out now would be a fools errand!

Kate’s amazing ascension ……………… the feeding machine ………… a future Queen in all but name. ……………

For the millionth time I’m going to say are Catherine has come into her own since about 2015 and especially since Madam has arrived on the scene! She’s so multi talented she’s raising three children she’s she’s a patron of Wimbledon, of the photography right now , she’s working on the Tiny Happy People initiative, Heads Together and she’s working on that so Hold Still Covid19, the photographic campaign!! That is only a tiny bit that I know that she’s working on. Her confidence level is through the roof and that’s so evident in any of her public speaking before COVID-19 and any of the zoom zoom meetings her just she’s just so so excellent I just cannot say enough how great she is! she is an excellent partner for William in every way and she conducts herself above reproach all times. She is well groomed for her future role when their time comes to be king and queen like it if they could not be a better individual suited to be Williams partner! I harken back to last year‘s Christmas special with Mary Berry, how sweet that was and yes there were the note negative Nellys criticizing this and that or the moment when she chose to change her seating position on the fireplace was the time when he wanted to put his arm around her shoulder and all the sugars screamed divorce thing they’re divorcing they’re divorcing people went nuts.

I know this is a right answer but this is the third time in a row this week that I have said this. Catherine was interviewed by the BBC earlier this week and she talked about what hollow legs, well, she didn’t use the phrase hollow legs, that’s my phrase , she said what eating machines her children are and she feels like she’s just a feeding machine there to continuously feed these growing children how wonderful is that! They’re healthy they’re happy they’re well adjusted they’re well taken care of their loved their emotional status is attended to and they’ve got good healthy food that’s so awesome!

“ Yes!! A homogeneous bubble” …………… a sterile palace ………

Here’s what I have been thinking might be the plan. They have been working been working on is yesterday the clue is Ken.palace bubble and I think they’re working on having the palace be bubbles so Kensington Palace will be the bubble for the Cambridge family.Somehow, can they make Buckingham palace, with this construction going, on I don’t know if that’s feasible, but somehow they’re going to make a palace bubble for her Majesty where she can continue to do her work out of. They have had another team actively working on that and they have been I have no doubt! That will entail sterilizing the whole place , ongoing thorough cleaning , it will entail staff being quarantined for several weeks before they go in, the whole shebang!! But you know! HMTQ is not abdicating they’re going to have to make this work. I have full confidence in that! I look forward to hearing all the details that we will be privy to naturally we will not be privy to everything, but I’m looking forward to this and I’m glad to see it in the clues! I’m glad to see once again that we’re talking about our beloved royal family which is why were all here in the first place!!! So thank you for that MM Anon!!! We can all read the daily mail on our own time , I mean no disrespect, but that makes a real easy to do but this is why we are here , praying and fighting for!!!

black Colorado ………

A report has found, yuck , who has this job? Wowza! Squirrels are testing positive for the bubonic plague in Colorado amid fears Black Death will jump to humans. Are you kidding me?? I do know rats and mice can carry it and do carry it. I also know they can and they do carry the Hanta virus too, so we shouldn’t think these things are gone just because you know they’re not in the front page of the news. A squirrel in Colorado has tested positive for the bubonic plague thought to be the first case of plague in Jefferson County 18 miles southwest of Denver. There was yet another case was previously found in Broomfield county northwest of the city. Plague is an infectious disease caused by the bacteria Yersinia pestis, and can be contracted by humans and pets, mainly through flea bites. The Bubonic plague is known as the ‘Black Death’ that killed millions in 14th century. An outbreak, remember that film ??was also confirmed in Inner Mongolia region of China last weekend.

Boy it seems all roads lead to China!

sir Tom?? ……………

Captain Sir Tom Moore is to receive his knighthood from the Queen in his own personal ceremony. The story of Captain Tom is no doubt the best story to come out of COVID-19 hands-down! The event to honour the 100-year-old, who raised more than £32m for NHS charities, will take place at Windsor Castle on Friday.

In May, Prime Minister Boris Johnson, nominated him for Knighthood! Captain Sir Tom said he “could never have imagined this would happen” and that it would be “the most special of days”.

Royal investitures were put on hold during the coronavirus pandemic with those scheduled to take place at Buckingham Palace and the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh in June and July postponed.

However, HMTQ, the Queen, who has been staying at Windsor Castle during the lockdown, will carry out the official engagement in person.

People have been asked not to go to Windsor and there will be no viewpoint available to watch the ceremony. How I wish this would be televised this would be something to see! And for him to receive it in person from her Majesty oh my heart is just so overflowing right now it’s just so amazing!

a hush hush holiday. ……………

There have been a few hints in the riddles over the last couple of weeks about a family holiday and the Cambridge family needs a holiday, they usually take one. I have a strong suspicion they’ll take their little private plane and be out and home before we even know about it or where they’ve been. They are likely to take along her parents and Pippa and her family and James and his fiancée have a whole family time of it. I also have a feeling they might be taking Harry along because I don’t think, that at this point in the game , I said this before, but I just truly do not think they would be going anywhere unless the eyes are dotted and the tees are crossed on that divorce/annulment and all the settlements and so it could very well be that Harry will accompany them but not be wonderful!!

awoke to a scathing review.

Can you imagine how angry the head bosses of the tube must be when they found out this morning oh my goodness! cleaning staff removed Banksys ‘art’ unaware of graffiti being “art” by BANKSY worth as much as £7.5 million😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮! Are you serious are you really serious? Thinking It was graffiti and needed to be cleaned and needing removed, he did his job and cleaned and removed it. Now the bigwigs are pleading with Banksy to redo it again oh my oh that’s a double positive for me not redo it again to do it again. How can you do art again I mean to copy then I don’t know I don’t know how graffiti is art anyways but that’s a whole other thing! I feel soooooo sorry for that staff person, l am sure his boss gave him a very hard talking to, l hope he keeps his job. I describe the piece in yesterday’s riddle if you want to go back and read that you can also see pictures of it online very easily found.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

——————

65. July 16

💜RIDDLE#65 Technically this is history, LIVING HISTORY!!💜

💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻PG HONOUR TO DO THIS , MM ANON INTERPRETATION 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜

MM ANON …… HMTQ ……… The engagement …… The courtship …… The wedding …… The commonwealth tour……THE CORONATION …… The dalliances of Philip ……Her stoicism……… The children …… The 50/60/70/80/90…………PC/… W&K…… OUR MAGNIFICENT MONARCHY ……… The future legacy. ……… GBHMTQAOGC 🇬🇧

Entertainment purposes

💜💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻😊😊😊😊😊😊Thank you MM Anon. It will be a great honour to tell the great story.😊😊😊😊😊😊🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜of notes I have never seen the Crown television program I don’t have Netflix just so you know.

RIDDLE#65 Technically this is history, LIVING HISTORY!!

July 15/2020 FIVE HOURS PLUS, I DID THIS WITH LOVE AND REVERENCE TO HMTQ.💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜

👑 HMTQ ………

The history begins long before her Majesty or even before she was expected to become the Reigning Monarch and to be known as her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth ll. 🍼 Elizabeth was born at 02:40 on 21 April 1926, during the reign of her paternal grandfather,King George V. Her father, the Duke of York, was the second son of the King. Her mother, the Duchess of York was the youngest daughter of 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Scottish aristocrat the Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne. I think it is essential here to note that the ‘York’ title. Prince Andrew is the current Duke of York and one cannot help but feel the pain, for HMTQ. I will not say anymore about that but we know our royal family has been attacked and that is just added pain inflicted for her Majesty which I had not put together until now. She was delivered by Caesarean section surgery, at her maternal grandfather’s house in Mayfair(London). The exact address being 17 Bruton Street, in Mayfair. She was baptized by the Anglican Archbishop of York, as her father was the Duke of York. The Archbishop was Cosmo Gordon Lang. It took place in the private chapel of Buckingham Palace on the 29th of May, 1926. She was given the name Elizabeth Alexandra Mary. The Elizabeth was after her mother, the name Alexandra was named after George V’s mother who had passed six months prior and the name Mary was after her paternal grandmother. She has the sweet nickname “Lilibet" by her close family,based on what she called herself. She was cherished by her grandfather George V, and during his serious illness in 1929 her regular visits were credited in the popular press and by later biographers with raising his spirits and aiding his health.

Princess Margaret 🍼 was born in 1930, and was her only sibling. As was custom at that time, the two princesses were educated at home under the supervision of their mother and Governess Marion Crawford. Varieties of their studies were concentrated on history, language, literature, and music. A major breach of trust occurred when the Governess went public, yes even then they had this sort of trust breaking. She published a ‘tell all’ as it would be called today. The book all about the girls was entitled The Little Princesses published in 1950. This resulted in a great deal of upset. I wonder if they had NDA’s back then? In the book while describing Princess Elizabeth mentions her love of horses, dogs, her organization, being a very responsible young woman and that fits very well with how we know her Majesty to be now doesn’t it? Sir Winston Churchill commented, when she was two years old that she was “a character and she has an air of authority and reflectiveness astonishing in an infant.“

During her grandfather’s reign, Elizabeth was third in the line of succession to the throne behind her uncle Edward and her father. Although her birth generated public interest, she was not expected to become queen, as Edward was still young and likely to marry and have children of his own, who would precede Elizabeth in the line of succession. When her grandfather died in 1936 and her uncle succeeded as Edward VIII, she became second in line to the throne, after her father. Later that year, The whole Wallace Simpson fiasco occurred which resulted in Edward eventually abdicating the throne and her father becoming King. Thusly, she became the heir apparent!

If you have not seen the movie the king speech I think it’s essential that you do. He struggled valiantly with a speech impediment and stuttering and a marked lack of confidence and bless the Queen mum, she found someone to help him to get over this and to work through it. What came out of that was the horrendous abuse that he had suffered at the hands of his governesses who were meant to protect him but who were very abusive. You must see that movie.

If her parents had had a later son, he would have been heir apparent. and above her in the line of succession, which was determined by male primogeniture.

Elizabeth received private tuition in constitutional history from Vice Provost from Eton College. She learned French from a succession of French governesses. A Girl Guide she was too!! A company, entitled the 1st Buckingham Palace Company was formed! specifically so she could socialise with girls her own age.

This was not a child and young woman that was idle, laying around with fancy clothes and hair and that sort of thing oh no no no no she was she was into everything and learning and constantly constantly learning.

During the second world war they were encouraged to have the princesses evacuated can to Canada to avoid the air raids that were occurring regularly in London. However the queen mother absolutely refused that just like she refused to leave her husband and refused to leave the city she felt it was important that they remain there to be there for their people. as the queen mother famously said “The children won’t go without me. I won’t leave without the King. And the King will never leave.” The princesses Stayed at Balmoral Castle in Scotland until the Christmas in the year of 1939 when they moved to Sandringham House in Norfolk. From February to May 1940, they lived at Royal Lodge, Windsor, until moving to Windsor Castle where they lived for most of the next five years.At Windsor, the princesses, Per English tradition, staged pantos at Christmas in aid of the Queen’s Wool Fund, which bought yarn to knit into military garments. In 1940, the 14-year-old Elizabeth made her first radio broadcast during the BBC children’s hour addressing other children who had been evacuated from the cities.She stated: “We are trying to do all we can to help our gallant sailors, soldiers, and airmen, and we are trying, too, to bear our share of the danger and sadness of war. We know, every one of us, that in the end all will be well.” I know I’ve heard that a number of times and I can still hear her young voice saying those words.

In 1943, Elizabeth undertook her first solo public appearance on a visit to the Grenadier guards, of which she had been appointed colonel the previous year. As she approached her 18th birthday, parliament changed the law so she could act as one of five Counsellors of the State in the event of her father’s incapacity or absence abroad, such as his visit to Italy in July 1944.In February 1945, she was appointed as an honorary second subaltern in Auxiliary Territorial Service. with the number of 230873. She trained as a driver and mechanic and was given the rank of honorary junior commander (female equivalent of Captain at the time) five months later. We all love seeing the pictures of her in uniform and her working on the jeep engine, just amazing ! totally amazing young woman! I think it was just a mere foreshadowing of what the future held for her.

May 8, 1945 was VE day and the royal family along with the Prime Minister Winston Churchill on the balcony of Buckingham palace as the maybe millions of citizens were in the streets just celebrating the end of the war. Both Elizabeth and Margaret snuck out into the crowds and were anonymously celebrating amongst all the citizens and she later said they had asked their parents but they were still terrified of being recognized amongst the crowd. Before they knew it, they were swept along with a bunch of people cheering and dancing and going down the street in joy, just pure joy marvellous that she had that opportunity , the both of them did just marvellous!

The engagement 💍

She met prince Philip in 1934 and then again in 1937. He was known then as Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark. There actually is a family connection between the two of them, they are second cousins once removed, through a king in Denmark and also third cousins through ,who else, her Majesty Queen Victoria! They met again at the Royal Navy college in Dartmouth in July 20, 1939. Princess Elizabeth was only 13 years old at the time but she said she had fallen in love with Philip and they began to exchange letters. During the course of writing these letters Philip declared his love for her. Prince Philip was born June 10, 1921. So if I do the math correctly he was 18 and she was 13 when she fell in love with him. Oh my oh young love. She was 21 when their engagement was officially announced on 9 July 1947.

Nothing is ever simple in this life and their engagement was certainly not without a controversy. Philip had no financial standing, Was foreign born the British subject with served in the Navy, and had sisters who had married German noblemen with Nazi links. There was a lot of chatter amongst the aristocracy probably the most regular folks to have about that he wasn’t good enough for her and he was just kind of love a suave kind of guy. Well no one’s gonna argue that he wasn’t an absolutely handsome man and put that together with a navy uniform and a 13-year-old girls hormones boom you got love right there! No joke! Even back then the British papers were ruthless and I think he was dragged through whatever else everyone else has been dragged through since, Diana, and Catherine Sophie etc. Later biographies reported Elizabeth’s mother had reservations about the union initially, and teased Philip as “The Hun”. In later life, however, the Queen Mother told a biographer that Philip was “an English gentleman”. Before the marriage, Philip renounced his Greek and Danish titles, officially converted to the Anglican and adopted the style Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten, He took The surname of his mothers British family.Just before the wedding, he was created Duke of Edinburgh and granted the style His Royal Highness.

The courtship 🖊 📝 🚢

A diary made reference to the future marriage of Elizabeth and Philip was made as early as 1941, “He is to be our Prince Consort, and that is why he is serving in our Navy.” The couple became secretly engaged in 1946, when Philip asked King George VI for his daughter’s hand in marriage. The King granted his request providing any formal engagement was delayed until Elizabeth’s 21st birthday the following April. Their engagement was officially announced on 9 July 1947.Philip proposed to Elizabeth with a 3-carat round diamond ring consisting of “a centre stone flanked by 10 smaller pave diamonds.” The diamonds were taken from a tiara that belonged to Philip’s mother, Princess Alice of Battenberg and were also used to create a quatrefoil bracelet for Elizabeth. According to Philip Eade, the author of Young Prince Philip: His Turbulent Early life, the young man wrote: “To have been spared in the war and seen victory, to have been given the chance to rest and to re-adjust myself, to have fallen in love completely and unreservedly, makes all one’s personal and even the world’s troubles seem small” Prince Philip designed the square-cut diamond engagement ring with jewellers Philip Antrobus Ltd.The ring is a platinum ring set with eleven diamonds, a 3 carat round solitaire and five smaller stones set on each shoulder. Even though Prince Philip was born a Greek prince, his family were not extremely wealthy. His then-girlfriend was heir to the British throne, so using these diamonds may have been a way to save money as well as a sentimental gesture. According to current money, the ring is likely to be worth around £207,082.

The wedding 👰🏽 🤵 🥂

Oh what a glorious day! The wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten took place on November 20, 1947 at Westminster Abbey in London. Prince Philip had been made the Duke of Edinburgh, the Earl of Merioneth and Baron Greenwich on the morning of the wedding.

Princess Elizabeth had eight bridesmaids women who were very close to her princesses ladies and I remember reading somewhere they were all giddy and ready to go and they were all giggling and she looked around as she said OK girls are you ready let’s go. So I’m not sure if that’s true or not but I think it might. The bridesmaids wore wreaths “in their hair of miniature white sheaves, Lilies and London Pride, modelled in white satin and silver lame”, while the pages wore Royal Stewart tartan kilts.

The best man was the Marquess of Milford Haven, the groom’s maternal first cousin.

For her wedding dress, Elizabeth still required to ration couponsto buy the material for her dress, designed by Norman Hartnell.The dress was “a duchesse satin bridal gown with motifs of star lilies and orange blossoms.“ Elizabeth’s wedding shoes were made out of satin and were trimmed with silver and seed pearl. She ( like Catherine) did her own makeup for the wedding. Her wedding bouquet was prepared by the florist M. H. Longman, and consisted of "white orchids with a sprig of myrtle”. The myrtle was taken from “the bush grown from the original myrtle in Queen Victoria’s wedding bouquet.

On the morning of her wedding, as Princess Elizabeth was dressing at Buckingham Palace before leaving for Westminster Abbey, her tiara snapped DISASTER! The court jeweller, who was standing by in case of emergency, was rushed to his work room by a police escort. The Queen mum reassured her daughter that it would be fixed in time, and it was.Elizabeth’s father gave her A pair of pearl necklaces which had Belongs to Queen Anne and Queen Caroline,as a wedding present. On her wedding day, Elizabeth realised that she had left her pearls at St James’s palace.Her private secretary was asked to go and retrieve them. He was able to get the pearls to the princess in time for her portrait in the Music Room of Buckingham Palace.

The royal parties were brought in large carriage processions, the first with the Queen and Princess Margaret and later a procession with Queen Mary. Philip left Kensington Palacewith his best man, the Marquess of Milford Haven. Princess Elizabeth arrived at the Abbey with her father, the King, in the Irish State Coach.

The ceremony was officiated by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Geoffrey Fisher, and the Archbishop of York, Cyril Garbett. The ceremony was recorded and broadcast by BBC Radio to 200 million people around the world. Like her mother’s, Princess Elizabeth’s wedding band was made of Welsh gold. The ring was made from a nugget of Welsh gold from the Clogau St David’s mine, near Dolgellau;( 💜💜💜💜lhave a gold ring made by Clogau, Celtic design l absolutely love it, it’s gorgeous💜💜💜💜💜💜)this nugget had been given to the then Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, the Queen mum, and used to make her wedding ring and subsequently the wedding rings of both of her daughters. The same nugget was later used to create the wedding rings of Princess Anne and Lady Diana Spencer.

William Neil McKie, music 🎼 🎶 the Australian 🇦🇺organist and Master of the Choristers at the abbey, was the director of music for the wedding, a role he again filled at Elizabeth’s coronation in 1953.McKie also wrote a motet for the occasion, "We wait for thy loving kindness, O God”. Psalm 67, “God be merciful unto us and bless us”, was sung to a setting by Sir Edward Cuthbert Bairstow. The anthem was “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” by Samuel Sebastian Wesley; the hymns were “Praise, my soul, the king of heaven”, and “The Lord’s my Shepherd” to the 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Scottish tune “Crimond” attributed to Jessie Seymour Irvine, which was largely unknown in the Church of England at the time. A descant to “Crimond” had been taught to Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret by a lady-in-waiting, Lady Margaret Egerton; the music for the descant could not be found two days before the wedding, so the princesses and Lady Margaret sang it to Sir William McKie, who wrote it down in 🖊📝 shorthand.The service started with a specially composed fanfare and finished with Felix Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March”. The abbey choir was joined by the choirs of the Chapel Royal and St George’s Chapel, Windsor.

After the ceremony, Elizabeth and Philip then proceeded to Buckingham palace where the couple waved to the crowds from the balcony.Their wedding breakfast was held in the Ball-Supper Room of the Palace. The menu included Filet de Sole Mountbatten, Perdreau en Casserole, and Bombe Glacee Princess Elizabeth.Music was played by the string band of the The Grenadier Guards.

The official wedding cake 🎂 was baked by London bakery McVitie&Price. A fruitcakemade of four tiers, it stood nine feet high,and weighed about 500 lbs. It was made with 80 oranges, 660 eggs, and over three gallons of Navy Rum. As World War II had ended a mere two years earlier and certain things were still subject to rationing, some of the ingredients used to make the cake were shipped to Britain from around the world; this led to the cake being given the nickname “The 10,000 Mile Cake.Decorations included the coats of arms of both the bride’s and the groom’s families, as well as the bride and groom’s individual monograms, and sugar-iced figures depicting regimental and naval badges, as well as the couple’s favorite activities.The couple cut the cake with the Duke of Edinburgh’s Mountbatten sword, which had been a wedding gift from his father-in-law, the King.

The couple received over 2,500 wedding presents 🎁 from around the world and around 10,000 telegrams of congratulations.The gifts were put on public display at Saint James‘s palace made available for public viewing.The day after the wedding the wedding bouquet was returned to Westminster Abbey and placed on the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, a tradition that began with the Queen mum.The flowers in the bouquet were supplied by the Worshipful Company of Gardeners and were arranged by florist MH Longman.

The commonwealth tour 🚢

Queen Elizabeth II’s reign commenced with her longest ever tour of Commonwealth nations.

Between November 1953 and May 1954, the Royal Family visited 13 countries in the West Indies, Australasia, Asia, and Africa, covering more than 40,000 miles by land, air and sea.

Commonwealth Tours: 1953-1954

On this tour the Queen visited…

Bermuda: 24-25 November

Jamaica: 25-27 November

Fiji: 17-19 December

Tonga: 19-20 December

New Zealand: 23 December-30 January

Australia: 3 February-1 April

Cocos Islands: 5 April

Ceylon: 10-21 April

Aden: 27 April

Uganda: 28-30 April

Malta: 3-7 May

Gibraltar: 10 May

On britishpathe.com there are endless videos one can watch of the various places they visited on this extensive tour.

They have been so many visits to so many parts of the Commonwealth. I remember the last time HMTQ and Prince Philip were in my area and they were opening a bridge and it was summertime and it was 35°C I think and it was probably 40-42C with the humidex.He was in his suit and tie and she was in her hat and her gloves and her day dress with the coat over and they stood there for a good hour. Well they had to walk across the, they drove across part of the bridge and then they got out and walked the rest of the way. But then they had to stand and listen to different politicians pontificate about this beautiful bridge. Then she had to say her little speech and like I could I just kept waiting for one of them to fade they neither of them or even sweating it and then she pulled a little drawstring and then the curtain opened so you can see the plaque of the bridge and name of the bridge or whatever I forget, the day it doesn’t matter what the name of the bridge was but the whole thing it was like well over an hour and then they got walked back to the vehicle and got in and then they went and they drove to a park that was nearby and they are thank God they had seats for them under some shade but then they proceeded to have to listen to I don’t know how many musicians and performers in and they are they and like I tell you I did not I am just I just couldn’t believe it I just could not believe it and everybody was sitting on picnic blankets and stuff and drinking cold water water and sweating and dressed in tank tops and shorts and sandals and like just sweating away and they are the two of them were looking just right as rain as if it was just a regular day it was just astounding to me absolutely astounding!

Kids I realize this is one big run-on sentence and I’m not doing any of the same paragraphs but I’m I’m not doing this for a book or for an editor I am doing this to do honour to her majesty so love me or leave me I’m doing my best here OK.

The Coronation 👑

During 1951, George VI’s health declined, and Elizabeth frequently stood in for him at public events. When she toured Canada and visited President Harry S. Truman in Washington, D.C., in October 1951, her private secretary, Martin Charteris, carried a draft accession declaration in case the King died while she was on tour. In early 1952, Elizabeth and Philip set out for a tour of Australia and New Zealand by way of Kenya. On 6 February 1952, they had just returned to their Kenyan home, Sagana Lodge, after a night spent at Treetops Hotel, when word arrived of the death of the King and consequently Elizabeth’s immediate accession to the throne. Philip broke the news to the new queen. Martin Charteris asked her to choose a regnal name; she chose to remain Elizabeth, "of course”. She was proclaimed queen throughout her realms and the royal party hastily returned to the United Kingdom. She and the Duke of Edinburgh moved into Buckingham Palace.

With Elizabeth’s accession, it seemed probable the royal house would bear the Duke of Edinburgh’s name, in line with the custom of a wife taking her husband’s surname on marriage. The Duke’s uncle, Lord Mountbatten, advocated the name House of Mountbatten. Philip suggested House of Edinburgh, after his ducal title.The British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, and Elizabeth’s grandmother, Queen Mary, favoured the retention of the House of Windsor, and so on 9 April 1952 Elizabeth issued a declaration that Windsor would continue to be the name of the royal house. The Duke complained, “I am the only man in the country not allowed to give his name to his own children."In 1960, after the death of Queen Mary in 1953 and the resignation of Churchill in 1955, the surname Mountbatten-Windsorwas adopted for Philip and Elizabeth’s male-line descendants who do not carry royal titles.

Amid preparations for the coronation, Princess Margaret told her sister she wished to marry Peter Townsend, a divorcé‚ 16 years Margaret’s senior, with two sons from his previous marriage. The Queen asked them to wait for a year; in the words of Charteris, "the Queen was naturally sympathetic towards the Princess, but I think she thought—she hoped—given time, the affair would peter out."Senior politicians were against the match and the Church of England did not permit remarriage after divorce. If Margaret had contracted a civil marriage, she would have been expected to renounce her right of succession. Eventually, she decided to abandon her plans with Townsend.In 1960, she married Antony Armstrong-Jones, who was created Earl of Snowdon the following year. They divorced in 1978; she did not remarry.

Despite the death of Queen Mary on 24 March, the coronation on 2 June 1953 went ahead as planned, as Mary had asked before she died. The ceremony in Westminster Abbey, with the exception of the anointing and communion, was televised for the first time. Elizabeth’s coronation gown was embroidered on her instructions with the floral emblems of Commonwealth countries:English Tudor rose; Scots thistle; Welsh leek; Irish shamrock; Australian wattle; Canadian maple leaf; New Zealand silver fern; South African protea; lotus flowers for India and Ceylon; and Pakistan’s wheat, cotton, and jute.

The coronation of Elizabeth II took place on 2 June 1953 at Westminster Abbey, London.She acceded to the throne at the age of 25 upon the death of her father, George VI, on 6 February 1952, being proclaimed queen by her privy and executive councils shortly afterwards. The coronation was held more than one year later because of the tradition of allowing an appropriate length of time to pass after a monarch dies before holding such festivals. It also gave the planning committees adequate time to make preparations for the ceremony. During the service, Elizabeth took an oath, was anointed with holy oil, invested with robes and regalia, and crowned Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Pakistan, and Ceylon (now Sri Lanka).

Celebrations took place across the Commonwealth realms and a commemorative medal was issued. It was the first British coronation to be fully televised; television cameras had not been allowed inside the abbey during her father’s coronation in 1937. Elizabeth’s was the fourth and last British coronation of the 20th century. It was estimated to have cost £1.57 million (c. £43,427,400 in 2019).

The dalliances of Philip ……😳😤🤭🤫🤔🤭🤭🤭🤭

There is extensive information online about this and it’s very easy to find. I have thought long and hard about this I love Her Majesty, The Queen. The last thing I would ever want to do is cause her an ounce of pain. She has been through enough! Therefore MM Anon, respectfully, I am not going to share any information under this clue. I hope you can understand I have a moral code. That moral code is calling me right now and I I just, I cannot, l will not do this clue.

Her stoicism……… 🤔🙏🏻

Queen Elizabeth has been a steady, stoic leader for some 63 years, making her the longest-reigning monarch in British history. There must have been vulnerabilities , a young bride, children, the loss of her beloved father, which all were warranted considering she ascended the throne at 25, as she was already navigating two new roles as wife and mother. And while, in this ominous stage of life, HMTQ struggled to strike a power balance with the far elder, far more experienced prime minister Winston Churchill, she similarly, according to the series, clashed with her husband. Philip quickly found himself forfeiting his naval career to support his wife—an uncomfortably advanced spousal dynamic, especially for a headstrong officer in the 1950s.

If having to walk several paces behind his bride was not emasculating enough, HMTQ also rejected his request to give their children his surname on advice from Churchill. “I am the only man in the country not allowed to give his name to his children,” Philip said, according to a biography of Elizabeth by Sally Bedell Smith, I’m nothing but a bloody amoeba.”HMTQ did her best to give Philip responsibilities—making him the chairman of her coronation committee, for instance. But at every turn, Philip is regularly reminded of his unique limitations. However he was integral in absolutely insisting that the entire coronation be televised. At that time that was absolutely groundbreaking. We take it for granted now that royal weddings and events are televised but at that time nothing like that has ever happened before. And we have Prince Philip to thank for that because he fought for that literally. She also convinced governing bodies to let Philip learn to fly, but only after he agreed to take some risk-minimizing measures.

She has dealt with I believe 12 Prime Ministers, second world war, various terrorists issues, the Falkland Islands war, A man breaking into her bedroom at night, A man attempting to kidnap her daughter, family issues, the divorce of three of her children and the most difficult in terms of the public is when Diana was killed. They were up at Balmoral with the boys when this accident happened and they felt that was the best thing is to keep the boys away, from far from the madding crowd so to speak, but the public drumbeat louder and louder and louder and Prime Minister at the time Tony Blair insisted that she makes some sort of statement or something because the people were very upset. Well now we know what ended up happening they came outside to see first of all their flowers at Balmoral and they went out to look at them with the boys. Then they came back to London and they all, her Majesty, Prince Philip and the boys went out to look at the flowers and in front of the palace Buckingham palace. Do you remember all the flowers in front of Kensington Palace?? It was unbelievable. And the ultimate stoicism is her when she nodded as Diana’s coffin rode by her, that was unprecedented for a reigning monarch bow their head to anybody. We’ve seen subsequently so many things. I think the last four years with Madam in the picture I know she talked about the annus horribilis with the divorce is years ago, but there’s nothing like what’s been happening like the attack on the monarchy in the last four years! Keep calm and carry-on, she’s done that every single day! One would never know she was under any stress, she always looks beautiful , she’s well put together! One never would know that she had a sleepless night. I , just my whole life,she has been there , as a symbol, a profile in courage , strength , family , safety, country, duty, honour, valour, love, compassion, welcoming. I could go on and on and on she is she is someone to be admired above and beyond she is I believe should be the most admired woman on the planet.

The children …… 🍼 🍼 🍼🍼

HMTQ and Prince Philip were blessed with four children. What the Queen was like as a mum to their children.The Queen treated Prince Charles and Prince Edward very differently.HMTQ became a mother more than 70 years ago, when she welcomed her first son Prince Charles in 1948. Prince Charles🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

Charles, Prince of Wales, was born Charles Philip Arthur George on November 14, 1948. Charles was born in Buckingham Palace. According to biographer Sally Bedell Smith, while Elizabeth was "delighted” by her first baby, she was often absent when Charles was an infant, instead traveling to be with Prince Philip in Malta where he’d been posted for Royal Navy duty. Smith claims “Prince Philip scarcely knew his son for the first two years of the boy’s life, though on his return from overseas duty he did take the time to teach Charles to shoot and fish, and to swim in the Buckingham Palace pool."Prince Charles was four years old at the time of his mother’s 1953 coronation, and her royal commitments, including a six month Commonwealth tour, took her and Philip around the globe while Charles and his sister stayed at home with their caretakers. Historian Robert Lacy, who has served as an advisor for the Queen “had been brought up in that style herself, after all, with her parents leaving her at home and entrusting her entire schooling to a governess and home tutors.” Prince Charles is the longest-serving heir apparent to the English throne in British history. When asked by a journalist when he first realized he was meant to be king one day, Charles said, “I think it’s something that dawns on you with the most ghastly inexorable sense. I didn’t wake up in my pram and say: ‘Yippie, I…’ But I think it just dawns on you slowly that people are interested in one, and slowly you get the idea that you have a certain duty and responsibility."🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼Princess Anne, Elizabeth’s only daughter Anne Elizabeth Alice Louise was born on August 15, 1950, at London royal residence Clarence House where Elizabeth and Philip lived until 1953. She currently holds the title of Anne, Princess Royal, and at the time of her birth she was second in line for the throne after Charles. Since then, subsequent royal births have moved Anne to fourteenth in the line of succession.

Anne was a tot when her mother and father began leaving her and Charles at home for royal obligations, often for extended amounts of time. But she’s publicly dismissed any narrative that paints Queen Elizabeth as emotionally distant.

"We as children may have not been too demanding in the sense that we understand what the limitations were in time and the responsibilities placed on her as monarch in the things she had to do and the travels she had to make,” Anne told the BBC in 2002. “But I don’t believe any of us for a second thought she didn’t care for us in exactly the same way as any other mother did."Like every British royal, Princess Anne’s public image is largely formed by how the U.K. media infers her every move. In Anne’s case, certain members of the press gave her the (very harsh) nickname Her Royal Rudeness, though accounts of her supposedly rude behavior suggest a possibly sexist discomfort with her forthright manner. She explained her longtime dislike for the custom of royal walkabouts. "I mean it gets easier but, can you imagine? I mean how many people enjoy walking into a room full of people that you’ve never met before?” she said. “And then try a street. I don’t think many youngsters would actually volunteer to do that.”

Anne’s reputation as a gutsy, no-nonsense lady was bolstered by her reaction to a failed kidnapping attempt against the princess in 1974. At his demand for a hefty ransom, she reportedly responded, “Not bloody likely."Princess Anne, like her brother Charles, has been married twice. She married Captain Mark Phillips in 1973, with whom she shares children Peter Phillips and Zara Tindall. Shortly after their 1992 divorce, she remarried to Vice Admiral Timothy Laurence, her current husband.

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼Prince Andrew.Elizabeth didn’t have another child for an entire decade after welcoming Princess Anne (being the Queen of England is a pretty time-consuming gig). Her Majesty gave birth to Andrew Albert Christian Edward—or as we know him, Prince Andrew, Duke of York—at Buckingham Palace on February 19, 1960. He is currently eighth in line to the throne and the first baby born to a reigning British sovereign in 103 years was cause for a lot of excitement. While custom and circumstance kept the Queen away from her first two kids in their early years, the queen took upwards of 18 months to "produce and enjoy” Andrew and Edward, biographer Lacy claimed. Home-schooled until age 8, after prep school he went on to Gordonstoun, the same Scotland boarding school his father and older brother both attended. Prince Andrew married Sarah “Fergie” Ferguson in 1986, had daughters Beatrice and Eugenie, and divorced in 1996. However, Fergie reportedly still lives with Prince Andrew in the Royal Lodge in Berkshire, England, and she’s called them "the happiest divorced couple in the world.“Prince Andrew has more recently been at the center of another tabloid scandal: He’s accused of taking part in the sex trafficking ring of late financier and convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein—allegations both the prince and the Palace deny. The Prince’s denials, which he attempted to elaborate upon in a high-profile interview on BBC’s Newsnight, were followed by a November 20 announcement that the Duke of York will "step back from public duties for the foreseeable future.”

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼Prince Edward, the Queen’s youngest child!Prince Edward Antony Richard Louis’s birth was a major break from tradition: He was the first of Elizabeth’s children to be born with Prince Philip in the delivery room. As the Independent notes, royal biographer Ingrid Seward wrote that “The Duke of Edinburgh was actually holding his wife’s hand as their youngest was born on March 10, 1964."The Queen, by then aged 37, had asked him to be there,” Seward claims in her book My Husband and I: The Inside Story Of 70 Years Of Royal Marriage. “She’d been keenly reading women’s magazines that stressed the importance of involving fathers in childbirth and had become fascinated by the idea. In 1968, when Edward was four, the royal family allowed a production crew into their home in an attempt to give viewers a look at how (supposedly) normal they actually were. The documentary—and the public’s mixed reaction. Edward has stayed out of the spotlight (and tabloid headlines) more than his brothers have, and the baby of the royal family is rumored to be the Queen and Prince Philip’s favorite child. He married Sophie Rhys-Jones in 1999 and the couple have two children, Lady Louise Windsor and James Viscount Severn.

While he previously worked in television, his production company, Ardent, was dissolved in 2012, he’s currently a full-time royal. As Prince Philip retired from public service in 2019, Prince Edward is reportedly taking over many of his responsibilities.

The 50/60/70/80/90………… 🕰 ⏰ 🕰 ⏰ 🕰

By the time of her accession in 1952, her role as head of multiple independent states was already established.In 1953, the Queen and her husband embarked on a seven-month round-the-world tour, visiting 13 countries and covering more than 40,000 miles by land, sea and air.She became the first reigning monarch of Australia and New Zealand to visit those nations.

In 1956, the British and French prime ministers, Sir Anthony Eden and Guy Mollet, discussed the possibility of France joining the Commonwealth. The proposal was never accepted and the following year France signed the Treaty of Rome, which established the European Economic Community, the precursor to the European Union. In November 1956, Britain and France invaded Egypt in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to capture the Suez Canal. Lord Mountbatten claimed the Queen was opposed to the invasion, though Eden denied it. Eden resigned two months later.

Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II and Commonwealth leaders met at the 1960 Commonwealth Conference.

The absence of a formal mechanism within the Conservative Party for choosing a leader meant that, following Eden’s resignation, it fell to the Queen to decide whom to commission to form a government. Eden recommended she consult Lord Salisbury, the Lord President of the Council. Lord Salisbury and Lord Kilmuir, the Lord Chancellor, consulted the British Cabinet, Churchill, and the Chairman of the backbench 1922 Committee, resulting in the Queen appointing their recommended candidate: Harold Macmillan.

The Suez crisis and the choice of Eden’s successor led, in 1957, to the first major personal criticism of the Queen.

In 1957 she made a state visit to the United States, where she addressed the United Nations General Assembly on behalf of the Commonwealth. On the same tour, she opened the 23rd Canadian Parliament, becoming the first monarch of Canada to open a parliamentary session.Two years later, solely in her capacity as Queen of Canada, she revisited the United States and toured Canada.In 1961 she toured Cyprus, India, Pakistan, Nepal, and Iran.On a visit to Ghana the same year, she dismissed fears for her safety, even though her host, President Kwame Nkrumah, who had replaced her as head of state, was a target for assassins.Harold Macmillan wrote, "The Queen has been absolutely determined all through … She is impatient of the attitude towards her to treat her as … a film star … She has indeed ’the heart and stomach of a man‘ … She loves her duty and means to be a Queen."Before her tour through parts of Quebec in 1964, the press reported extremists within the Quebec separatist movement were plotting Elizabeth’s assassination.No attempt was made, but a riot did break out while she was in Montreal; the Queen’s "calmness and courage in the face of the violence” was noted.

Elizabeth’s pregnancies with Princes Andrew and Edward, in 1959 and 1963, mark the only times she has not performed the State Opening of the British parliament during her reign.In addition to performing traditional ceremonies, she also instituted new practices. Her first royal walkabout, meeting ordinary members of the public, took place during a tour of Australia and New Zealand in 1970.

In Queensland, Australia, 1970

The 1960s and 1970s saw an acceleration in the decolonisation of Africa and the Caribbean. Over 20 countries gained independence from Britain as part of a planned transition to self-government. In 1965, however, the Rhodesian Prime Minister, Ian Smith, in opposition to moves towards majority rule, unilaterally declared independence while expressing “loyalty and devotion” to Elizabeth. Although the Queen formally dismissed him, and the international community applied sanctions against Rhodesia, his regime survived for over a decade.As Britain’s ties to its former empire weakened, the British government sought entry to the European Community, a goal it achieved in 1973.

During the 1981 Trooping the Colour ceremony, six weeks before the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer, six shots were fired at the Queen from close range as she rode down The Mall, London, on her horse, Burmese. Police later discovered the shots were blanks. The 17-year-old assailant, Marcus Sarjeant, was sentenced to five years in prison and released after three.The Queen’s composure and skill in controlling her mount were widely praised.

Months later, in October, the Queen was the subject of another attack while on a visit to Dunedin, New Zealand. New Zealand Security Intelligence Service documents, declassified in 2018, revealed that 17-year-old Christopher John Lewis fired a shot with a .22 rifle from the fifth floor of a building overlooking the parade, but missed.Lewis was arrested, but never charged with attempted murder or treason, and sentenced to three years in jail for unlawful possession and discharge of a firearm. Two years into his sentence, he attempted to escape a psychiatric hospital in order to assassinate Charles, who was visiting the country with Dianaand their son Prince William.

From April to September 1982, the Queen was anxious but proud of her son, Prince Andrew, who was serving with British forces during the Falklands War.On 9 July, she awoke in her bedroom at Buckingham Palace to find an intruder, Michael Fagan, in the room with her. In a serious lapse of security, assistance only arrived after two calls to the Palace police switchboard.After hosting US President Ronald Reagan at Windsor Castle in 1982 and visiting his California ranch in 1983, the Queen was angered when his administration ordered the invasion of Grenada, one of her Caribbean realms, without informing her.

Elizabeth riding Burmese at the 1986 Trooping the Colour ceremony. Intense media interest in the opinions and private lives of the royal family during the 1980s led to a series of sensational stories in the press, not all of which were entirely true.As Kelvin MacKenzie, editor of The Sun, told his staff: “Give me a Sunday for Monday splash on the Royals. Don’t worry if it’s not true—so long as there’s not too much of a fuss about it afterwards."Newspaper editor Donald Trelford wrote in The Observer of 21 September 1986: "The royal soap opera has now reached such a pitch of public interest that the boundary between fact and fiction has been lost sight of … it is not just that some papers don’t check their facts or accept denials: they don’t care if the stories are true or not.” It was reported, most notably in The Sunday Times of 20 July 1986, that the Queen was worried that Margaret Thatcher's economic policies fostered social divisions and was alarmed by high unemployment, a series of riots, the violence of a miners’ strike, and Thatcher’s refusal to apply sanctions against the apartheid regime in South Africa. The sources of the rumours included royal aide Michael Shea and Commonwealth Secretary-General Shridath Ramphal, but Shea claimed his remarks were taken out of context and embellished by speculation.Thatcher reputedly said the Queen would vote for the Social Democratic Party—Thatcher’s political opponents.Thatcher’s biographer, John Campbell, claimed “the report was a piece of journalistic mischief-making”.Belying reports of acrimony between them, Thatcher later conveyed her personal admiration for the Queen,and the Queen gave two honours in her personal gift—membership in the Order of Merit and the Order of the Garter—to Thatcher after her replacement as prime minister by John Major. Brian Mulroney Canadian prime minister between 1984 and 1993, said Elizabeth was a “behind the scenes force” in ending apartheid.

By the end of the 1980s, the Queen had become the target of satire.The involvement of younger members of the royal family in the charity game show It’s a Royal Knockout in 1987 was ridiculed.In Canada, Elizabeth publicly supported politically divisive constitutional amendments, prompting criticism from opponents of the proposed changes, including Pierre Trudeau.The same year, the elected Fijian government was deposed in a military coup. As monarch of Fiji, Elizabeth supported the attempts of Governor-GeneralRatu Sir Penaia Ganilau to assert executive power and negotiate a settlement. Coup leader Sitiveni Rabuka deposed Ganilau and declared Fiji a republic.

In 1991, in the wake of coalition victory in the Gulf War, the Queen became the first British monarch to address a joint meeting of the United States Congress.

Philip and Elizabeth in Germany, October 1992

In a speech on 24 November 1992, to mark the 40th anniversary of her accession, Elizabeth called 1992 her annus horribilis (horrible year).Republican feeling in Britain had risen because of press estimates of the Queen’s private wealth—which were contradicted by the Palace—and reports of affairs and strained marriages among her extended family.In March, her second son, Prince Andrew, and his wife, Sarah, separated; in April, her daughter, Princess Anne, divorced Captain Mark Phillips;during a state visit to Germany in October, angry demonstrators in Dresden threw eggs at her;and, in November, a large fire broke out at Windsor Castle, one of her official residences. The monarchy came under increased criticism and public scrutiny.In an unusually personal speech, the Queen said that any institution must expect criticism, but suggested it be done with “a touch of humour, gentleness and understanding”.Two days later, Prime Minister John Major announced reforms to the royal finances planned since the previous year, including the Queen paying income tax from 1993 onwards, and a reduction in the civil list.In December, Prince Charles and his wife, Diana, formally separated.The year ended with a lawsuit, as the Queen sued The Sun newspaper for breach of copyright when it published the text of her annual Christmas message two days before it was broadcast. The newspaper was forced to pay her legal fees and donated £200,000 to charity. In the years to follow, public revelations on the state of Charles and Diana’s marriage continued.Even though support for republicanism in Britain seemed higher than at any time in living memory, republicanism was still a minority viewpoint, and the Queen herself had high approval ratings.Criticism was focused on the institution of the monarchy itself and the Queen’s wider family rather than her own behaviour and actionsIn consultation with her husband and the Prime Minister, John Major, as well as the Archbishop of Canterbury, George Carey, and her private secretary, Robert Fellowes, she wrote to Charles and Diana at the end of December 1995, saying a divorce was desirable.

In August 1997, a year after the divorce, Diana was killed in a car crash in Paris. The Queen was on holiday with her extended family at Balmoral. Diana’s two sons by Charles—Princes William and Harry—wanted to attend church and so the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh took them that morning.Afterwards, for five days the Queen and the Duke shielded their grandsons from the intense press interest by keeping them at Balmoral where they could grieve in private,but the royal family’s seclusion and the failure to fly a flag at half-mast over Buckingham Palace caused public dismay.Pressured by the hostile reaction, the Queen agreed to return to London and do a live television broadcast on 5 September, the day before Diana’s funeral.In the broadcast, she expressed admiration for Diana and her feelings “as a grandmother” for the two princes.As a result, much of the public hostility evaporated.

In November 1997, the Queen and her husband held a reception at Banqueting House to mark their golden wedding anniversary.She made a speech and praised Philip for his role as a consort, referring to him as “my strength and stay”.

PC/…

Prince Charles he is the prince of Wales and the heir to the throne. He was married to Lady Diana Spencer.They had two sons we all know is William Arthur Philip Louis and Henry Charles Albert David otherwise Harry! He married Lady Diana Spencer on July 31, 1981 and they had a very rocky marriage and the long and short it ended very messy and finally HMTQ had to step in and tell them to divorce. It ended in divorce and we all know what happened with dear Diana and the subsequent effects on the boys and the family. Charles eventually did marry the love of his life in a civil ceremony HMTQ did not attend that because they’re they’re both divorced. They are now the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall. Camilla has done a lot of work very quietly and slowly to build a rapport with the people. I think she’s done a really good job of it and them together are very sweet, just a very sweet couple. When Charles ascends the Throne it’s well-known that his goal is to shorten or cut the budget. I guess to streamline things. He is very forward thinking that way. I think his agendas will be very much as they have been, very focussed on sustainability and environmental issues, that sort of thing. He she was environmentally aware before anybody. I remember when I was a kid, the press and others, they were laughing and made fun of him for talking to his plants and being out in the garden, all these kind of things and how awful look at that you know that we shouldn’t be doing that.I’ll look at it’s a thing to do sustainability and farm to table and he was way ahead of the curve on that one. That’s also way ahead of the curve in terms of architecture in his opinions on that he’s been criticized for but he did did become quite vocal about how with with the classic buildings that are centuries old and in these new modern buildings being built right next to it it just doesn’t fit somehow.

I don’t know for certain and I have never read it anywhere but I do believe he has some sort of auto immune disease because his face is so red so often and his hands are so red and they look so swollen and it in it just looks like it must be so painful. I don’t know what he has but I sure hope they’re giving him some I’m sure they’re giving him something for comfort and all that but I don’t know lupus I don’t know but he certainly has certainly his hands look so sore I just feel every time I see those swollen red hands I just saw my heart goes out.

W&K…… 💜💜🍼🍼🍼💜💜

Prince William was born June 21, 1982. Loved to see him squirming in the blanket as they walked out of the Lindo Wing, Charles all proud and Diana’s face flushed, dressed in the green and white polkadot dress with the bright red flat shoes oh my that was exciting how we waited for that little baby my goodness that was that was a great day!

Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, KG, KT, PC, ADC (William Arthur Philip Louis;[fn 1] born 21 June 1982) is a member of the British royal family. He is the elder son of Charles, Prince of Wales, and Diana, Princess of Wales. Since birth, he has been second in the line of succession to the British throne.

William was educated at four schools in the United Kingdom and studied for a degree at the University of St Andrews. During a gap year, he spent time in Chile, Belize, and Africa. In December 2006, he completed 44 weeks of training as an officer cadet and was commissioned in the Blues and Royals regiment. In April 2008, William completed pilot training at Royal Air Force College Cranwell, then underwent helicopter flight training and became a full-time pilot with the RAF Search and Rescue Force in early 2009. His service with the British Armed Forces ended in September 2013.He then trained for a civil pilot’s licence and spent over two years working as a pilot for the East Anglian Air Ambulance.

The greatest tragedy of William life with losing his mother Diana in a car accident when he was young and the greatest thing to happen to William ever was Catherine Middleton coming into his life! She was patient and the media or routes to her that you called her all sorts of names but she was patient. She loved him and he was not ready to commit and she waited and he was worth the wait and look look at the results now! A power couple that truly fit to get the name power couple and three beautiful amazing children.

Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, GCVO (born Catherine Elizabeth Middleton; 9 January 1982), popularly known as Kate Middleton,but prefers to be called by her proper name , and has NOT been Middleton since her marriage to William!Catherine is a member of the British royal family. Her husband, Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, is expected to become king of the United Kingdom and 15 other Commonwealth realms, making Catherine a likely future queen consort.

She grew up in the village of Chapel Row, part of Bucklebury near Newbury, in the Englishcounty of Berkshire.She studied art history in Scotland at the University of St Andrews, where she met William in 2001. Their engagement was announced in November 2010. They married on 29 April 2011 at Westminster Abbey. The couple’s children, Prince George, Princess Charlotte, and Prince Louis of Cambridge, are third, fourth, and fifth in the line of succession to the British throne, respectively.

The Duchess of Cambridge’s charity works focus mainly on issues surrounding young children, addiction, and art. To encourage people to open up about their mental health issues, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and Prince Harry (now the Duke of Sussex) initiated the mental health awareness campaign “Heads Together” in April 2016.The media have called Catherine’s impact on British and American fashion the “Kate Middleton effect”.In 2012 and 2013, Time magazine selected her as one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World.

In 2011, Prince William was made Duke of Cambridge and marriedCatherine Middleton. The couple have three children: Prince George, Princess Charlotte, and Prince Louis.

OUR MAGNIFICENT MONARCHY ……… 👑💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Couple years ago I think it was ITV did add a series Victoria based on Queen Victoria’s life and that really brought things out again made people interested and watching that. I have read a bunch of books about Queen Victoria she lived a fascinating life. She was open to anything any culture any she was so wise at such a young age and an ash as her rain progressed and different things happen so she was open to things and yet close to some other things. She had her Beautiful relationship with Prince Alberts. He was instrumental in so much of modernizing the UK the train rail the Parliament buildings and on and on the Royal Victoria and Albert Hall and on and on and on. Her brain was legendary! She wrote a journal she wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and as she aged her daughter I can’t recall her name just now but she destroyed some of it and we wrote it in her own handwriting because she thought her mother wouldn’t want people to read certain things. Even with her having done that, there are still just tomes and tomes of writings in Queen Victoria’s hand and it’s all available, I forget the website, but they put it all online. The national treasure Dr. Lucy Wursley has done awesome documentaries on the monarchy, just she’s outstanding! She is a national actually has an international treasure a commonwealth treasure!

Architecture music gardening scripture design it’s just an endless traditions recipes different dialects it’s just on and on and on and on that exists within the monarchy.

I love the traditions, Trooping the Colour, opening of parliament, the banging on the door the door slamming on the balcony with the fly past.I love the royal wedding. I love when they go to church at Christmas and then they walk out and I just love all of that stuff.I love seeing her Majesty every Sunday in the car looking to see what pin she’s wearing. I love brooches. I have, from Buckingham palace, to the official copy of the Mapleleaf brooch! My sister got that for me one year when she was in London and she went to Buckingham palace specifically to get me that brooch because I collect brooches so I proudly on that.and I am all I have a book that was published in 1987 again the author part part of my brain is not working 100% right now but I got it for my birthday from my sister and it’s a vintage book from 1987 and it’s the Queen’s jewelleryCollection which I absolutely love and I also have Angela Kelly’s new book which my sister got me for Christmas so. You wouldn’t even want to know how much royalty stuff I have collected and I inherited them from my mother and I wouldn’t get rid of any of it I still have the newspapers from July 31, 1981 that we had to city newspapers at that time and so I have Charles and Diana’s wedding on on both of those and that was from my mom my mom say that so after my mom passed away no one else wanted that and of course I went out I took it faster than the end the year of the queens Jubilee Canada posted a whole Book of stamps special stamps and my sister got that for me and they were released each book of stamps and then at the very end then they release the book that way you can put your stamp in so I have that. And I ordered from the royal mail one last year when they did the Queen Victoria stamps I think it was 100 years since her death I think that’s what it was but it oh that’s awesome and I have a big board in my spare room where I keep all the stamps I have William and Catherine their engagement I have William and Catherine their wedding and I have her majesty and that you believe that these are all Canada post and I have that one from the royal mail I just wanna have postcards in there at all I just have so much stop and I love it all!

The future legacy. ……… 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻😊😊😊😊😊🔮

How bright is the future of our monarchy! Despite outside influences, attacks , invading, riots in the street, whatever put all that aside put all that aside right now. We have a Queen who continues to reign. It does not matter if it is in Windsor Castle or Balmoral or Buckingham palace, she is cogent!! and she is in charge!! make no mistake about that!!!! Put all that abdication garbage aside!! She will not ever abdicate her duties ever! She saw what was done to her father when, someone didn’t take their duties seriously, she would never ever do that! Besides, she is just a woman of a high moral code and public service she will never abdicate! So we have her continuing reigning at this time. When the time comes we have prince Charles and by his side a woman he loves very much, which which the public has come to accept and quite admire. I think he will do well. He will downsize the numbers on the balcony, there will not be full of 13 generations he will definitely downsize.He is definitely very intelligent and very educated with regard to climate change with regards to farming gardening all the things that are essential in food production. He has such a gentle manner about him and I think he is elegant. They are such an elegant couple. And wow coming up William and Catherine we have nothing to fear what a powerhouse those two are amazing loving, intelligent, well balanced, centred, strong ,motivated, loving, the endless energy, endless ideas, things could not bode better for the future and it’s all down to Her Majesty! She has set the tone and they have learned from her in conversation and observation and experience and I just think the monarchy could not be in any better hands. And then we have George Charlotte and Louis I mean they’re being raised to be such healthy, wise, mentally balanced, physically active, community awareness, they’re being raised by two of the best so there’s we can’t lose!! We can’t lose, it is all amazing I think I see the future is so bright! And soon we will have our Harry back and all of this other stuff will be put away and dealt with and then we can have our Harry and he can he can start start fresh and rebuild! Harry, l believe in you, I pray for you, I love you dearly since you were just a baby and there’s many many many many many more like me that are supporting you all the way and we know that you are doing the right thing you’re doing the things that you have to do to deal with the situation and we all know that and we’re out we’ve all gotten back and whenever time comes for you to come back to us you will find open arms and lots of love!!

GBHMTQAOGC 🇬🇧🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

I say GSTQAOBC mine means, a God save the Queen and our beloved Commonwealth. Her Majesty is the head of the church of England a woman of faith a woman of moral code. My mother was a woman of faith very strong faith and she loved her Majesty. I think we need to be very protective of our faith because it is under attack right now it has been for a number of years but it’s become much more overt and I think we all need to speak out and supported and those of us who love and support the monarchy we need to continue to raise our voice and continue to work on our blogs to show. There are people who have faith who love the monarchy who love the queen who want it to continue! And the more of us there are the better. Nothing to use this audio software I don’t do upper case anymore because I speak and it types as I speak so but I am up till now if you kids know I have always done upper case so those of us who are commonwealth members we know how valuable it is. The Commonwealth games in our own little Olympics sort of thing. It’s just we feel part of your community and connection and I mean I’ve had royalty every day of my life! HMTQ was it at at the front in school there’s a picture of her every at the end of every school day we sang God save the Queen , she’s on our money , our lawyers are the crown prosecutors a court of Queens bench everything here where I live it is there’s some part of the monarchy involves and I love it and I wanted to continue. And I want to conclude this by saying how very much I love and admire you your Majesty I just I do that’s a sincere serious as I can be.

THIS WAS DONE WITH 119% LOVE. FIVE HOURS!!

💜💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻😊😊😊😊😊PG😊😊😊😊😊😊🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

—————-

66. July 17

I wish you could all hear that heard me read the riddle as I typed it because I did it in her voice and then his voice as I was doing it and it was actually pretty funny!🥂🥂🥂🥂PG😊😊😊😊

MM ANON …… Bea-discreet …………… “ give them a wave Philip, its a wedding “…………… “ I’m looking forward to congratulating the happy couple and sharing a few jokes “ ………… “ No Philip”…………… “ don’t be silly, I won’t say anything ……… “ NO PHILIP!! “ …………” what’s this Philip” ……… “ just a few notes” …………… “ you can’t say this!! ……… “ OK… bloody hell , it’s a joke” …………… “ if you said this , Italy would declare war!!” ……… “ bloody hell !!”

Thank you. What a wonderful surprise this wedding has been.😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

Entertainment Purposes

JULY 17/2020. RIDDLE #66

🥂🥂🥂🥂THANK YOU MM ANON🥂🥂🥂🥂

🥂🥂🥂🥂CONGRATULATIONS🥂🥂🥂🥂TO PRINCESS BEATRICE AND EDO

Bea-discreet ……………

Oh ahead of them and I asked that we deleted it again. I must say a hearty big congratulations to the happy couple! How wonderful that they were able to pull this off discreetly and it sure explains a big smile prince and your head on a picture of him that I saw in the paper the other day. He look like the cat that ate the canary and now we know why big big big special day wonderful! Congratulations to the two of them they’ve been patient through more than I think any young couple has publicly and now they’re finally together as a married couple and if they can get through this they can get through anything!! Congratulations🥂🥂🥂🥂 The other thing that tells me is Harry is safe and Harry probably was at the wedding!!!

“ give them a wave Philip, its a wedding “…………… “ I’m looking forward to congratulating the happy couple and sharing a few jokes “ ………… “ No Philip”…………… “ don’t be silly, I won’t say anything ……… “ NO PHILIP!! “ …………” what’s this Philip” ……… “ just a few notes” …………… “ you can’t say this!! ……… “ OK… bloody hell , it’s a joke” …………… “ if you said this , Italy would declare war!!” ……… “ bloody hell !!”

This paragraph it’s funny it’s a salute to her majesty and prince Philip but much less formal than the extensive tome I did yesterday. Her Majesty is encouraging prince Philip to get the married couple a wave! He replies to her I am looking forward to congratulating the happy couple sharing a few jokes wink wink nod why nod nod😄😄😁😁😁😁😁!! Her Majesty knowing full well what kind of jokes he likes she just says in capital letters no Philip! he’s ruffling with some thing and then she notices a paper in his hand and so what’s this and he’s kind of trying to avoid her seeing it and I was just just some notes just some notes all just some notes. She gets a hold of it and she was aghast you can’t say this Italy will declare war! I wish you could hear my intonation my voice because I’m doing it as if it’s her and it’s him it’s actually quite funny to me at almost 4 in the morning! OK you says OK it’s just a bloody joke can’t you not hear him say that oh! Oh my and then of course he hast to get one more one more of his favourite words in there before the end of this beautiful paragraph!

💜💜💜💜😁😁😁😊😊😊MM ANON🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧😊😊😊😊💜💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

——————

67. July 20

MM ANON ………… honeymoon Italia…… “hello my old China “…………… more engagements ………… Balmoral cottages ………… secret snaps ( eyes only) ………………”once upon a time “…………T. R. Ah. …………… the green eyed trasher ………… close the beaches …………… a coach full …………… Bea-frugal ……… unknown posie.

🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜Thank you MM Anon💜💜💜💜💜😊😊😊😊🌈🌈🌈🌈

July 20/2020. RIDDLE#67

honeymoon Italia……

Despite a world, okay not the entire world due to COVID-19, they have several options, all romantic, but l do believe our happy couple is honeymooning in Italy! Totally makes sense as were Edo is from, it is where they got engaged and I’m sure he knows all the most romantic spots to take her to. i’m also sure he knows some out-of-the-way places where they will not be bothered by any paparazzi. Villa Mapelli Mozzi, in the north of Italy, is the groom’s family estate. be another convenient destination which is less than an hour away from Milan. The 13-bedroom residence is surrounded by parkland, where tall trees are housed in an English garden. There is also an outdoor swimming pool and stable house. This would be the most private option I think for them.

They got engaged on the Amalfi coast in Italy that might be another option that would be more public that would mean staying in the hotel where they stayed when they got engaged which would be quite romantic. The Sirenuse Hotel is nestled within the pastel-coloured houses that make up Positano village, the hotel is perched on a mountain boasting breathtaking views over the bay. Oh doesn’t it all just sounds divinely romantic? Love sweet love!🥰🥰🥰

“hello my old China “

In the UK there is so much slang, different manners of speech and local colloquiums. In Cockney, rhyming slang, when referring to a friend/ mate they would say China plate. I have no idea why, they just do.

This is very sarcastic because then the UK has just refuse Huawei the access to 5G network in the UK. And now that’s added to Canada and America that have also refused them and in fact as I said a number of times we have incarcerated currently the head of wild with a daughter she’s also high up in the company. All repairs in case people don’t know she was in Canada I think for business and she was so picked up on a warrant which is an American warrant but because Canada and the United States have a reciprocal relationship like that the Canadian law enforcement arrested her took her into custody based on that American war inch. She applied for bail which the judge denied. She very much assumed that she would just be released an allowed to leave to go back to China. So all that issue is money right money and also Huawei has been widely speculated for hacking and stealing intellectual property and technology by many countries.Of course they strongly deny this. The other huge huge huge massive issue is Hong Kong. They was the agreement in which China took possession of Hong Kong was it was based on the original agreement between them and the UK. That agreement included a clause called one country two governments which allowed Hong Kong to remain free or capital enterprise. However that has not happened and a slippery slope has occurred with many arrests and riots and this resulted in China removing the entire The entire constitution, outlawing free-speech and invading and instituting martial law.

Mike Pompeo the United States secretary of state is in London today meeting with Boris Johnson the Prime Minister. I’m sure they have many mutual issues to discuss the top of the list likely is China. I do believe on that list also might include some issues regarded to our Madam situation.

The family of Harry Dunn, the young chap who was killed on the on his motorbike by the wife of a US a spy driving on the wrong side of the road. She and her family fled the country and there is an outstanding warrants for her in the U.K. The United States is not inclined to extra extradite her to the UK. His family is pleading with Boris Johnson to make that a priority on the meeting today with Mike Pompeo. I think there are huge world issues to discuss and how do I put this , I’m not sure that they will get to that I’m not sure that that extradition will ever happen.

more engagements …………

With all the wedding talk still in the air, I think peoples first thoughts would go to thinking who else is engaged? who else is engaged! However I do not think that is what this clue is about.

I have noticed of late and I saw it again today on the daily mail that the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall are doing yet another engagements. I truly think Camilla has truly come into her own as well in her role. And people have grown to be really quite fond of her and deservedly so. Today they were in Cornwall seeing a new bridge called the Tintagel bridge. Everything in the UK has cute names. I’d like to know where they all come from.🤔😊.Today it was a start of their annual visit or tour of Devon and Cornwall where they will have three days visit. They both appeared chipper while meeting paramedics and unveiling a new air ambulance named in her honour.

The naming ceremony for the new £7.5million chopper for Cornwall Air Ambulance Trust was briefly interrupted by an alarm sounding alerting paramedics to an emergency call-out, with the Duchess saying she was keeping her ‘fingers crossed’ for the injured patient. Can you imagine having a helicopter air ambulance named after you how awesome would that be wow!

Balmoral cottages …………

Her Majesty, the Queen and Prince Philip will be going up to Balmoral next week I think, shortly anyways. Family will be visiting and I don’t know which family because Buckingham Palace has said in response to that question, family time and vacation is private and they will not give out that information. Nonetheless whoever goes to visit will not be allowed to stay in Balmoral proper because of COVID-19. However the estate does have many cottages and places on the state itself where they can stay which I think they will be very comfortable in. They will be able to visit outside, ride horses, fish picnic etc do all the things that they usually do but most of it will be outside. Which actually is not going to be all that different than their usual time up there with the exception they probably will not be the Ghillies ball. It is just too bad but this is better than nothing and they will greatly enjoy the time together. I just could not believe how excellent her Majesty and Prince Philip looked at the wedding in those photos in the photo I saw oh my goodness! His shoes were shined within an inch of their life EXCELLENT JOB SYDNEY!!!

secret snaps ( eyes only) ………………

The first thing I want to say is the press keeps going on and on about why are there no pictures of Prince Andrew at the wedding. Why on earth would they give the press pictures of him? All they would do was rip them apart in words and criticize even more than they already have.I doubt that they are ever going to see the light of day. Those photos will be for families eyes only family and close friends. There will be no way that pictures of him will be made public!Nor should they!

The other possibility is some that there are some intelligence photos that have been taken, that prove a myriad of things. It may be regarding prove oh what China has been up to, Russia been up to. It might be regarding the Covid. It might be regarding intelligence stealing it regarding a hacking regarding oh some of the websites that have been brought down recently.

When I see it in brackets 😮😮😮😮😮(eyes only)🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔, that makes me think immediately of five eyes, of the five eyes of intelligence.Those being 🇬🇧 UK, the 🇺🇸 the United States, Canada 🇨🇦, Australia 🇦🇺, and New Zealand🇳🇿.We all know that there is an international investigation into JE behaviours and business. GM is now in custody. I never knew she was an American citizen they always talk about her as a British socialite I thought she was British. But I was reading and apparently in 2002 she moved to the United States and became a naturalized citizen. So that’s why she wasn’t in whatever country because they have it extradition treaty with America and that’s probably why she was hiding in America. Maybe you kids all knew that she was an American, but I didn’t. I thought she still had her British citizenship. They are big names big big big big big names at play here, that I don’t know. Frankly I don’t know any of them but I do know this is investigation has been going on for years. We all know this is the reason for the attack on our royal family which was planned years ago, even down to the point where there wasn’t supposed to be a wedding but there was. It has been planned that these riots occur to regarding racial tension to disrupt the United States and the UK from within. They can’t attack them and destroy the outside so they burrowed in and they’re going to try and destroy it from within. We have seen it happening in real time, right before our eyes. Could you ever have imagined even two years ago that the world would be in the state that it is now? And when I say the world, l mean the free countries like America and the UK. Lack of respect, rioting, fires, violence, anarchy, statues being pulled down, revisionist history I don’t know what this new generation is called post millennial whatever but a sense of entitlement beyond beyond the pale oh my I can’t even think of anymore words right now.We cannot let them we just cannot let that happen!

“once upon a time “…………

Beatrice and Edo have known each other since they were children. Their parents have been acquainted and travelled in the same circles for forever. So this is not a sudden, meet me in the bar, move in together and get married kind of thing. It truly is the stuff of romance stories! Once upon a time a handsome Italian Count meets a beautiful English princess. True love blossoms real true love blossoms. And as most stories go they have tremendous odds stacked against the. As this young couple did. It was between the press issues and COVID-19 they had everything going against them. The press was hounding about the wedding. And they managed to pull off the most beautiful private wedding and the best absolutely important thing was that her Majesty and Prince Philip were there which was what Beatrice desperately wanted and wanted so badly! I truly think this will be a story that ends happily ever after!! I’m still swooning and it is days now since the wedding.! 👰🏽🤵 🥂

T. R. Ah. ……………

Tiara! The absolutely gorgeous Fringe a Tiara worn by her Majesty on her wedding day, worn by the Queen mum on her wedding day and worn by Queen Mary on her wedding day. Now it was worn by Princess Beatrice, living history!! The ah is me and many others sighing aaaaahhhhhhhh☺️☺️☺️☺️ at the sight of beautiful fairytale Princess in gown and that tiara🥰🥰🥰🥰!

the green eyed trasher …………

Well Madam wanted that emerald Tiara in the worst way and she ended up having to wear a fake $30 tiara from the dollar store sorry not sorry! HMTQ wore it to the state dinner! That was so great, that is so great. I could only imagine the trash is the right word she is trashy in her behaviours. I cannot imagine rather, I would love rather to been a fly on the wall when she found out about this wedding and saw the pictures, seeing that gown and tiara. Oh my oh I can only imagine. Her life is imploding. I don’t even know what her mental state would be now but now with this whole thing about the investigation of the charities and Harry putting out that statement and in none of it! in none of it! Nowhere was her name mentioned? So a notice has been filed to investigate where the money went. They are of looking into where the moneys gone too. And she’s in a world of trouble. I had not realized until reading today, that she had delayed filing taxes this year. When I read that today, that is the first I have heard that anyone has mentioned a fact about her taxes. Evidently somewhere somebody must have learned that she had filed for an extension to delay filing taxes this year. I guess people were given that opportunity especially due to COVID-19. So she is only delaying the inevitable really she really is but that’s OK we just sit back and watch. We have our royal family back and now we can just sit back and watch her reality show. She wanted to be in the public eye, well she’s going to be more in the public eye than she ever ever thought she could be. Once all everything comes out publicly and I don’t even know if everything will but oh yeah wow l would not want to be her! I am only talking about the stuff with the royal family the money in the marching in the all the carrying on and the full pregnancy and everything like that. I am not talking about anything that happened in the last year‘s or prior to 2016 if there’s a whole decade or more stuff that there’s lots of rumours about online. Friends, SoHo, connections, behaviours,yachting, hobbies,. I think she can pretty much write off any money that she thought she of making from that book by Scooby Doo and that Durand lady. It has been marked down on Amazon so yeah I don’t think that book is going to be selling that well.

close the beaches ……………

I could not believe how crowded the beaches were in the UK on the weekend the pictures that I saw were unbelievable! Until the rains came in the temperature got called in and everything everybody ran off home. No social or physical distancing was evident at all, nor possible with that many people!

I could not believe how crowded the beaches were in the UK on the weekend the pictures that I saw were unbelievable! Until the rains came in the temperature got called in and everything everybody ran off home. No social or physical distancing was evident at all, nor possible with that many people!

“Sunbathers fled to safety today when an inferno erupted inside a Bournemouth beach hut and ripped across the heath-covered cliff above the sands. The was started by a gas stove being used inside one of the wooden huts along the busy promenade just 400 yards from the four-star Highcliff Marriott Hotel. A man rushed out of the timber cabin shouting for people to get back as there was a gas canister inside that could explode. Beachgoers abandoned their possessions and fled as the hut became engulfed in flames and a loud ‘popping’ sound was heard from within. The flames spread to two adjacent huts and onto the grassy cliff face behind. Due to the gorse being tinder-dry and a strong southerly breeze fanning the flames, a huge 100ft long strip of the sloping cliff was set alight. Eight fire crews raced to scene at 3.50pm and put out the fire in the beach huts and set about tackling the fire on the cliffs. “DM

a coach full ……………

Her Majesty the Queen has her own train. And they’re gonna be heading up to Balmoral Castle and Aberdeenshire Scotland’s. Are usually spend 12 weeks there a nice long summer holiday. I am not certain how long they will be staying this time. But they will create a Balmoral bubble. They’ve heard about bubble here bubbles there bubbles at Windsor Castle bubbles at Belmorrow bubbles in the airplane bubble you know you know what a bubble by now. So obviously they are going to need some stuff to go with them. I was reading yesterday the list of stuff that is going with them and I was mad they looking for that now I know I found it in the daily mail so this is all who’s going with them. They include Vice-Admiral Tony Johnstone-Burt, master of the household; Sir Edward Young, the Queen’s private secretary, and Paul Whybrew and William Henderson, her pages.

Major Nana Kofi Twumasi-Ankrah, her equerry; Terry Pendry, her head groom; Angela Kelly, the Queen’s personal assistant and her senior dresser; Jackie Newbold, Kelly’s PA; and three assistant dressers will also join. Just as an aside I think that her equerry wasn’t that the man that Madam made that snooty face at in the one picture I could be wrong.

Well with all of the clothes and personal items for the royal couple plus for all the staff and all the incidentals this is going to be one full train coach I am sure wow! physical distancing still applying. I am sure although they have all been like quarantined however l am sure they will still physical distance.

I hope they have a wonderful vacation filled with good Scottish air. Time to just relax and be away from everything! Have a wonderful time with family and make up for all the stress of the last four years.

Bea-frugal ………

Princess Beatrice is being lauded for not having an over the top , multi million dollar wedding in this age of where the world is at now. Unlike some Madam who wasn’t even wanting to be a family member.There was a nasty headline and I am not going to repeat it. I think it was in Sunday’s paper about her parents, which was so needless because actually the article was quite lovely. But a small private wedding only the most important people there! Oh that Norman Hartnell vintage dress and the Fringe Tiara 👑 that has so much history and meaning to it. It also happens to be my very favourite Tiara! 😁So she’s being commended for being frugal and their batting that word around. I think she wanted just a private wedding anyways there has been so much going on in the press. They just wanted to have a private wedding away from all the nonsense and I’m so glad she got it! I’m so glad nobody got wind of this. I mean many people had to know and they all kept it secret marvellous! And like I said yesterday in my post, I feel like we have a royal family back I feel like things are right the way they have always been out everything that happened that day it just felt so good!!

unknown posie.

As per tradition starting with her Majesty the Queen mum, Princess Beatrice’s wedding bouquet was laid on the tomb of the unknown warrior at Westminster Abbey. There’s a nice video the showing it. The bouquet was brought straight to Westminster Abbey after the nuptials and placed on the tomb by Reverend Anthony Ball, Canon of Westminster. He was showing a young boy and I’m not sure what the purpose was that he was a guest or what but he included the young boy in the actual laying of the flowers on the tomb it was quite moving.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

——————-

68. July 22

MM ANON ………7 into 99…………The “wishing well”……… “ I can hear a canary singing “ …………… “ good news MM ANON, it’s not c***er🙏🏻………… By-polar …………… “ what , not the nurses” …………Biker Justice …………… Cor,i bin apologising …………… “ I wish her hell”……………… LA to stay away ……………… kiss and MAKE UP ………………Colonel Cam. ………… scouse rouse.

July 22/2030. RIDDLE #68

💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈THANK YOU MM ANON🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜FANTASTIC NEWS🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

7 into 99…………

What a magnificent day! Our dear prince George turns seven and aren’t the photos gorgeous!! Oh it’s such a wonderful age I hope he’s had a wonderful birthday! Keeping them laughing as he goes! Sprightly Prince Philip, 99, proves retirement hasn’t dulled his legendary wit as he cracks joke about Army bugler’s weight during rare public engagement at Windsor Castle to hand over historic military title to Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall! If that doesn’t show you how highly she is regarded nothing well it’s marvelous! The Duke of Edinburgh transferred role as Colonel-in-Chief of The Rifles to the Duchess of Cornwall today.Prince Philip, who retired in 2017, was nearly 100 miles apart from Camilla, as they both carried out ceremonies. Prince Philip, 99, was at Windsor Castle in Berkshire, while the duchess was at Highgrove House in Gloucestershire. The Duke was pictured with Queen to mark his 99th birthday last month - and at Beatrice’s wedding last.

The “wishing well”

A small ornamental garden wishing well, with coins to wish for

A wishing well is a term from European folksy to describe wells where it was thought that any spoken wish would be granted. The idea that a wish would be granted came from the notion that water housed had been placed there as a gift from the God. This practice is thought to have arisen because water is a source of life and was often a scarce commodity. We still have Wishing wells today. We also use fountains where you walk past it and you throw a coin over your shoulder for good luck and you make a wish, or just like when you see a falling star make a wish as quick as you can or blow out all your birthday candles and make your wish and your wish will come true! So who is throwing money into the well for a wish? We know that Madam’s PR is getting more and more bizarre as the days go on it could be her. It might be GM singing a song telling them what they want to know I’m trying to wheel and deal. She’s got a husband on the outside and 15 bank accounts. If she says she has 15 bank account then she’s probably got 50. And I’m sure she’s probably got a number of fake passports as well. If she ever gets bail she’ll be gone. So I think she’s hoping to have her wish is granted by complying and giving information as much as she can that’s what I think this means. I could be wrong I’ve been wrong before and I will be wrong again.

21 Jul2020

“I wish her well,” @realDonaldTrump says of Jeffrey Epstein’s associate Ghislaine Maxwell. There is a ton of talk on this online wondering if he was actually meaning to say H***instead of well. Who knows I don’t know but there’s chatter about it anyways.

“ I can hear a canary singing “ ……………

Years ago when they were mining for coal and in the north of England and places, have you ever seen the movie 🎥 a green was my valley 🎥that’s an excellent movie! Anyhow I’m sure your fruit heard the phrase a canary in the coal mine? Used to be they kept the canary in the coal mine and as long as he was the bird was chirping and happy they knew that there was enough oxygen for the men to keep working but once the canary died they had to rush and get out of there pronto! So who is hearing the canary thinking on it’s a “”? The UK, perhaps more than any other country in the world, was built on coal.The first successful steam engine was invented to pump water out of British coal mines. Coal powered the railroads and ships that built the British empire. It helped the country survive two world wars, and at its height between those wars, coal mines employed 1.2 million people. So this winter, when the UK announced its plan to stop burning coal for electricity by 2025, the shift was seismic.The announcement signaled the dethroning of King Coal in a country where it had reigned for more than a century, and where just six years prior it provided more than 40 percent of the nation’s energy. How did this happen in the UK at a time when leaders in the US were moving in the opposite direction by promising to end the “war on coal”?The answer lies not in technological innovation, but in a profound cultural shift that began decades ago in coal field communities across the UK.

Having blathering on and on and on about this I do believe we are talking about GM here. She is in custody in New York as you all know and there are rumours upon rumours of how she’s being watched now she’s being moved around how she’s being looked after her etc. There’s also rumours that she’s got videotapes, she’s got a diary a little black book all those details. And also there are rumours that she is looking to make a deal. She is afraid for her life and rightly so in jail or out of jail makes no matter she is she is she is rightly afraid for her life given the people she’s been in contact with any information she possesses. So she’s looking to make a deal and when someone startsTalking to law-enforcement and spilling their guts and sharing information about other people on the rocket they’re running that often is referred to as a canary singing so sounds like she may be singing her little heart out. She can sing and sing and sing as long as she wants to what’s done is done. And the people that are involved have long memories and I wouldn’t want to be here her for all the money in the world! Ghislaine Maxwell paid $25K to fake news purveyor Jacob Wohl to ‘smear Epstein victims and to get prosecutor Geoffrey Berman fired in attempt to stall sex trafficking investigation against her’. Ghislaine Maxwell hired Jacob Wohl to smear alleged victims of Jeffrey Epstein and her, a former friend told the DM in an exclusive interview.As part of a $25k deal, Wohl and his lobbyist colleague Jack Burkman also allegedly pushed to get former New York US Attorney Geoffrey Berman fired.Wohl and Burkman are far-right lobbyists who have become a laughing stock in DC after several failed attempts to smear top political figures. Maryland paralegal Kristin Spealman claims she was initially contacted by the duo to use her in a smear campaign against Nancy Pelosi and Ted Cruz. Spealman told DailyMail.com they bragged to her they had been hired in early June for $25,000 to dig up dirt on Maxwell’s alleged sex trafficking victims. Federal documents filed this month show a company linked to Maxwell had hired Wohl and Burkman to lobby on ‘issues relating to US DOJ, Senate Judiciary, House Judiciary.Berman’s removal was intended to stall or stop the criminal investigation into Maxwell, Spealman said. Berman was ultimately pushed out by Barr in June, but two weeks later Maxwell was charged as part of Epstein’s sex trafficking ring.

“ good news 💐💐💐💐💐MM ANON💐💐💐💐💐,it’s not c***er🙏🏻…………

💜💜💜💜💜💜THIS IS MARVELLOUS NEWS, JUST A GIFT FROM GOD💜💜💜💜💜!!💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜. 💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐

By-polar ……………

I think this could have two meetings possibly the first one being actual bipolar disorder the Axis l psychiatric diagnosis.. Kanye West has been all over the place in the last week or a bit more giving speeches and just saying if you run for president and then changing his mind and you will see what you have all seen the media.. He’s being made a laughing stock! He is being laughed at and joked about when it is so obvious obvious to me, because I’ve worked in mental health, but I think it would be obvious to anyone, that he is not well and needs to be formed or that’s what we call it formed if he doesn’t agree to go into hospital for treatment. This is so sad to watch somebody just implode like this it is it’s just it’s heartbreaking!

The other option might be actually true bipolar from the northpole and the south pole. We’ve seen COVID-19 spread from China across if you can on this track it like a weather storm and if you look at the cases now from South America the United States is almost all covered in red it is truly affecting the whole world! With flu season coming up in the fall and the symptoms being similar it’s going to be very difficult.. I am already stocking up on toilet paper and like non-perishables I don’t want to be caught up in another lockdown situation where we can’t get the things that we need. So they’re working hard on a vaccine and that can come sooner the better. But I highly recommend everybody over 50 or if you had chronic medical conditions to get the flu vaccine this year. I’ve taken the flu vaccine every year since I was 18 when I started nursing school. I’ve had lots of head cold and sinus infections but I’ve never actually really had the exact flu. That’s just my encouragement to you. I’ve been lucky the last five or seven however many years more than that that the public health nurse comes right into my home to do my flu vaccine. And when I had my appointment with the doctor via phone last week he said that would happen again this year so I was very relieved to hear that.

“ what , not the nurses” …………

Consistently when statistics are collated nursing remains in the top five most high risk , violence encountered on the job. The field that I worked in, Psychiatry, was especially so! Also nurses working in long-term patients with Alzheimer’s geriatric patients. Every shift I worked, hardly a shift went by for me, or my co-workers, that I or someone, didn’t get sworn at, called every name under the book, spit at, stuff thrown at including bodily products, punched and I’ve had a couple serious assaults. I won’t go into that, but some it’s a very dangerous profession and it’s not one for the faint of heart that’s for sure. in addition to double shifts, mandated overtime, staff shortages, critically ill patients, life and death, arrogant doctors. But it’s a calling, l did in service of my faith.🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Tv news viewers and those who witnessed are left horrified after NHS nurse is bitten and punched while trying to treat a patient under arrest in 24 Hours in A&E. Getting better and is the worst. I knew a nurse that worked in long-term care and she was bitten on the thumb and she ended up losing whole function her arm she developed an infection and went all the way up her arm and she wasn’t able to work she was so so so so sick for so long and yeah it’s no joke! Staff nurse Graeme, from UK, was bitten and punched by a patient under arrest. The team tried to restrain patient while continuing to give him the care he needed.This Appeared on last night’s episode of Channel 4’s 24 Hours in A&E. I hope that nurse is OK physically and she’s being looked after mentally with debriefing and the support from her management team that’s critically important.

Biker Justice ……………

Poor lad Harry Dunn. He las killed last year by the wife of an American spy, driving the wrong side of the road. She and her family immediately fled the U.K. returning home to America. His family has been very actively seeking justice. There is an active warrant for her arrest valid in the U.K. Until now the U.S. has refused to extradite her back to the U.K. The mother of the teenage motorcyclist who was killed in a collision with a US diplomat’s wife accused Dominic Raab of being a “lost child in an adult’s world” as he greeted the US secretary of state on Tuesday.Charlotte Charles was at the gates of Downing Street to watch the arrival of Mike Pompeo, the U.S Secretary of State. said that “words are not enough anymore”.A Downing Street spokeswoman said the prime minister emphasised the need for justice for a Harry Dunn and his surviving family! “He said there was a strong feeling among the people of the UK that justice must be delivered,” she said. Charles, who was accompanied by her partner, Bruce, and lawyer, Radd Seiger, said that she had come “to show Mr Pompeo and Mr Raab and Mr (Boris) Johnson that I’m not just going to stick on my TV and watch them at home.This far , Justice remains elusive. When they went to America, the driver was waiting to meet with them but they refused unless she returned to the U.K. Well as we know, she has failed to do that. Her conscience must be eating her up, she has young children. Sad from all sides, tragic!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻Parts from the DM.

Cor,i bin apologising ……………

Typical British and Oz slang Cor, for Christ. Jeremy Corbin, former as of April 2020, Keir Starmer is the leader now.Labour Party Leader is furious. Jeremy Corbyn facing legal action by Labour anti-Semitism whistleblowers and journalist after he attacked Keir Starmer’s ‘disappointing’ apology and £500,000 libel payout to them over Panorama investigation into the party under his leadership.Sir Keir Starmer’s Labour Party made formal apology to whistleblowers today at the High Court in London. The move came as part of a settlement that seeks ot make a clean break with policy under Jeremy Corbyn.Whistleblowers sued party for defamation over its response to a BBC Panorama investigation last year. DM

“ I wish her hell”………………

21 Jul2020 “I wish her well,” ‪@realDonaldTrump‬ says of Jeffrey Epstein’s associate Ghislaine Maxwell. I’ll put this here as well because I think their part and parcel of the same the Wishingwell and I wish her that that word that’s there. So President Trump was tweeting with regards to GM and he tweeted in the previous crew there it said wishing the ““Wishingwell“ and so here it is more the chatter online about what he really should have said or wanted to say maybe. It’s odd it’s on my copy can you resubmit it again OK

LA to stay away ………………

Poor poor Rachel, my hearts bleeds for you NOT!! ‘Cooped up’ Meghan wants to leave (her ? Since when is it hers?.??). The $18M sprawling mega-mansion, that belongs to Tyler Perry NOT HER!! , to celebrate her August birthday - and will make guests get tested for Covid-19 beforehand. I still don’t believe she was there not for one single solitary seconds! If she was there she would be posting pictures of her sitting on the marble counters and on the huge bet there would be pictures from here to Hells half Acre of her all over that place! Her PR is saying her and Prince Harry are feeling cooped up. Well he is not with her. so I don’t think she knows if he’s cooped up!🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. I believe that she is cooped up because she is probably in a one bedroom bachelor apartment of some sort certainly not an $18 million mansion! The 38-year-old’s birthday is around the corner on August 4. Oh please don’t tell me I share my birthday month with that SEAHAG!😳😳😳😳😳😳. The friend, now which friend might this be interesting?explained madam thinks a change of scenery. Madam thinks it would be nice in Montecito, outside of Santa Barbara, where friend OW lives!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂! Now SHES using her PR screaming to OW for help. Madam would require anyone who attends her soiree to get a fast-tracked Covid-19 test, but stressed the guest list would only be her closest friends.Soiree? She doesn’t even know that word she’s never heard of it before soirée how very 1940s love you Madam. The mysterious friend chimed in again ‘Meghan said it will be low-key. She said she doesn’t want to come across as being careless and irresponsible. After all we’ve seen and heard she doesn’t want to come across as careless and irresponsible oh my goodness!😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

kiss and MAKE UP ………………. Puh-leeze🥱🥱🥱🥴🥴🥴🤢🤢🤢.In court in the Daily saga of JD and AH we have learned from her truthful, sane, reliable, honest, sincere testimony, we learned this. Last year sometime, l don’t know the date, ow l do, December 16/2015, she appeared on a show called James Corden Late Late Show. I have never heard of him or the show. Anyways, she alleges, she had to cover her face with makeup because JD tried to smother her with a pillow. Wow she must have sharp pillows eh? It was almost like this court case was planned an ordained to be occurring at this time because the behaviours so much similar to Madam just a eerie! how come she wears so much make up every other day then? How does she account for that? Have you get scratched like that an injured with a pillow like my pillows or soft pillowcases or soft???

Colonel Cam. ………… The Duke and Duchess of a Cambridge on Tuesday released two new photos of their eldest child Prince George for of his seventh birthday on Wednesday, including one of him wearing a camouflage print T-shirt, or camp as the kids here call it. His choice of clothes is remarkably similar to those worn by his father In his childhood. As a young boy, William loved to dress up in army uniforms with his younger brother Harry. He was also pictured playing in the garden of Highgrove 1986, aged four, wearing the parachute regiment uniform, including a maroon beret. The Prince of Wales was appointed Colonel-in-Chief of the Parachute Regiment in 1977 and completed the regiment’s course the following year, where he had to take two parachute jumps in one day. Our George is really growing up isn’t he?💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻😊😊😊💜💜💜💜Too fast, George slow down please.😊

scouse rouse.

Anyone from Liverpool knows that’s a local slang word for somebody real scouse! Scouse or scousers users formally known as Liverpool English or Merseyside English) is an accent and dialect of English originating in the northwest county of Merseyside. The Scouse accent is highly distinctive and has little in common with those of the neighbouring regions.Wiki

Scousers had a massive street party! Thousands of Liverpool fans feel the streets as a premier league trophy was lifted for the first time.! Social distancing was ignored and please demands to go home or ignored so they and they were also setting off fireworks in smoke farms. Another words doing whatever the other group of fans does when their team wins the championship!DM. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[thehighlandhealer]

Iceland Vacation || Torstwyn, Vincent, & Flora

Torsten: The air was more humid than Torsten was accustomed to. Again he reached for the nearest book to fan his chest and neck.

"How can you people do it?" he frowned. "Five hundred years and this is still miserable."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled as she folded more clothes. "Darlin', I don't have the slightest idea how people do it. When I lived in Montana it was too hot. Now?" The clothes went into her suitcase. "We might as well be in Hell's drawin' room."

Just a couple more things and her clothes and shoes would be all packed. Her toiletries and makeup were another small battle altogether.

Torsten: "I can only hope being Scottish and druid that you're strong enough to handle Icelandic winters." Dark eyes fell to her glaring bag in the master bathroom.

"Do you really need all of that?" he laughed.

Bronwyn: "Och, aye. I've seen my share of harsh winters and apocalyptic blizzards, in Scotland and Montana. One mornin' in January I woke up, opened my door, and the snow was up to my waist and invitin' itself in."

She looked at her (admittedly large) gold and pink makeup bag. "Of course I do! Ye know how much ye love my face? The stuff in my bag is why ye love my face."

Torsten: "I love your face because it's your face, woman. The paint you apply only enhances what makes you stunning. It's that way with war paint, and it's that way with modern women."

Finally, a worthy excuse to tease. "At your height, you mean two feet of snow?" said so casually.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn melted. "Look at ye sneakin' in compliments to take my mind off how nervous I am." That earned him a kiss. "I like my war paint. It's shimmery and makes my eyes look mermaid-y which I'm pretty sure is key when meetin' yer fiancé's sister for the first time. Besides, it's only half makeup. The rest is skin and hair care."

She squinted at him. "Two and a half, thank ye verra much."

Torsten: "Fauna had an obsession with dark eyeshadow. She was a warrior and it reflected in the makeup she wore."

Oh. He grinned. "Cannot forget that half-foot, can we? It's life and death for you."

Bronwyn: "Dark eyeshadow makes me look like Elvira. Or like it's 2005 and I play guitar in an emo band and spend all my time on MySpace. The curse of pale skin and black hair."

Torsten was poked in the ribs. "No we canno', because that half-foot is the diff'rence between me bein' teeny and just petite. Which perfume or perfumes o' mine would ye like me to bring?"

Torsten: "What's an Elvira? I do know this MySpace. The original social degradation platform. No...I think there was something else. I can't recall the name." Not nearly as important as their second subject they were juggling.

"I would prefer your natural scent. Soap at most. Your skin is all I need."

Bronwyn: "She's from this 80's movie called Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Her hair defies gravity in all its hair-sprayed 80's glory."

There he was, making her melt again and earning another kiss. "Soap and my normal, ev'ry day perfume oil it is. The one I made that smells like my garden."

Torsten: "Lavender and roses will be the base notes, with honeysuckle at the forefront?" Her hair was kissed and breathed in. Flora, of course, would love her scent. Fauna would have hated it.

"Nervous?"

Bronwyn: "Mhmm, with just a wee hint o' jasmine. Good memory." She kissed him again, indulging herself by slipping into his lap.

"Aye. I barely slept last night. My heart's goin' a mile a minute."

Torsten: Of course she was adjusted in his lap to sit comfortably. "There's no need for that. Why is your heart fluttering?"

Bronwyn: "There's ev'ry need." She leaned into him, snuggling against his chest. "I'm meetin' yer family. What if she doesn't like me?"

Torsten: "Not Flora. You'll be alright. A welcome distraction from losing her sister, I can guarantee."

Bronwyn: "Are ye sure? What if she doesn't like that I have two kids or the gift I got her or..." Bronwyn listed many other things, the product of her overthinking and worrying.

Torsten: Two fingers pressed against her lips. Silence.

"None of that. She's a very, very old vampire. The little things are not what matter to her."

Bronwyn: "More and more little things keep poppin' up in my head," she said against his fingers.

Torsten: "Tell your head to stop," he smirked.

Bronwyn: "It stopped listenin' to me. Maybe it'll listen to ye."

Torsten: Well, as this requires some level of seriousness, both hands were placed on her temples.

"Shhh..."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Torsten's, letting his touch soothe her. He couldn't take her nerves away completely but oh, was he a huge help.

"Thank ye," she whispered.

Torsten: "This is why I suggested going to Scotland first on our trip. Your family, I feel, would prepare you, soothe you."

Bronwyn: She gave a humorless chuckle. "As much as I love her, my sister is no' a soothin' person. I need to prepare you for that. And apologize in advance."

Torsten: "I'll live with an interrogation. She's not the first hunter I've crossed paths with."

Bronwyn: "She could test the patience of a saint, but my mama and my grandmama and my grandda and I will protect ye."

Torsten: "You don't speak of your grandfather. I can't recall a single time." He leaned back in their seat and adjusted her weight. "Tell me something about him."

Bronwyn: "Haven't I? I could swear I have." She shifted as he shifted, snuggling in again when he was settled. "My grandda Liam married my grandmama Sorcha when they were nineteen. He loves shortbread, takes afternoon coffee instead of afternoon tea, and he makes the best grilled salmon ye've ever had in yer life."

Torsten: "Is he a druid like the rest of your family, or a human Sorcha happened to fall in love with?"

Bronwyn: "Druid. His da, my great-grandda, was human though. His family moved to Arran when my grandda Liam was a baby. He was born in Inverness."

Torsten: "How much of your family is actually human? How many know what you are?"

Bronwyn: "Let's see..." She squinted as she thought. "My da, great-grandda Robert, Callum's mama Mairi, some other aunts and uncles, another great-grandparent somewhere. There are a good few and they all know."

Torsten: "Your father, and having to raise two warrior daughters. What a stout man he must have been."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face softened. "He was. The man won the caber toss ev'ry year durin' the Highland games."

Torsten: The revenant chuckled. "Stout is the correct word to use, then. I'm going to assume he took the truth of your mother in stride."

Bronwyn: "Absolutely, on both counts. She waited a long time to tell him when they were datin' and when she finally did he just looked at her for a second and said, 'So what? Be a Druid or grow two heads and a fish tail, it won't change how I feel, Kenna MacGillivray.'"

Torsten: "He did not," he laughed. Truth or not, she loved that man. He had quite a man to live up to. His hands were steady. He would do fine.

Bronwyn: "He did!" Bronwyn chuckled. "My mama loves to tell that story, and so did he. Ye know he brought her a little sprig o' heather ev'ry day? She kept them in a case in the kitchen then she would dry them and put them in a jar. She still has them all."

Torsten: "Stories for his growing daughters, show them how a real man should be, you think?" Ah, heather. He smiled. Now that story he enjoyed. "Do you mind that I call you Thistle?"

Bronwyn: "There's a chance he was embellishin' a wee, but the way he looked at her? Whether she was doin' magic or hangin' up laundry or scoldin' him, it was like she was the best thing he'd ever seen. The way the two o' them were together could make even gods believe in true love."

Bronwyn returned his smile, kissed the corner of his mouth. "I love that ye call me Thistle. Enough to think about gettin' one tattooed on me."

Torsten: Her adoration for her family just affirmed his belief. There was a lot of man to live up to. Worth the effort.

"I've been thinking the same thing. I would prefer a more traditional method. I've seen it performed many times. As it is, I have just the one." The simplistic symbol for Journey on his inner wrist. He was as his sister Fauna once called him, a simple canvas. She herself had been littered from head to toe in various symbols. She had been living history.

Bronwyn: "Can't get more traditional than pokin' and injectin'," she said, rubbing her thumb gently over his wrist. "That's how Druid ones are done, both the special ones and the normal ones. I'll bet Avalbane could do it for ye. She did mine and it took ages and hurt like hell but I love it. We could get matchin' thistles."

Torsten: "Matching thistles that sting like hell. I love it. What if we do it on our wedding day, or honeymoon?"

Bronwyn: Torsten's suggestion had the biggest smile in the world spreading across Bronwyn's face. "Yes, I love it! Where should we get them?"

Torsten: "Your Avalbane. She's done an excellent job on your art."

Bronwyn: She beamed with pride. "She did, didn't she? Tattoo artist, Druid Elder, healer, midwife. A renaissance woman if there ever was one."

Torsten: "Didn't she aid you in your pregnancy?"

Bronwyn: "She did. From Aedan's conception all the way to his birth."

Torsten: "I love your life. Your story, your heritage. I love your child." As my own.

Bronwyn: There was nothing Torsten Glockner could've said that would've touched Bronwyn's heart more. She could all but feel her love for this man rushing through her veins.

"Tha gràdh cho mòr agam ort," she whispered in Gaelic, resting her forehead against his.

Torsten: "Ég elska þig, líka," he returned before kissing her delicate lips. "Just breathe, my thistle."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him in a hard hug as she did just that. "I'm tryin'. I should finish up and see if Vincent's all done." But she was so reluctant to leave his lap.

Torsten: "Flora will want to keep him for herself. We have a collection of pets and she'll fall in love. Might want to reconsider bringing him."

Bronwyn: "Ev'ryone falls in love with Vincent. He's the sweetest corvid there ever was." She smiled. "If yer sister wants a birdy o' her own, I'm sure we can find her one that isn't my familiar."

Torsten: "You know of others with his intelligence and power?"

Bronwyn: "No' personally, but I know lots of people who might."

Torsten: "Well, that might distract her. There is a chance that she'll offer to buy him. Rubies or charmed items."

Bronwyn: "Does she like rubies? Never too early to start thinkin' about Christmas presents."

Torsten: "She does. Rubies, sea glass, crystal..."

Bronwyn: "Huh. Verra interestin' indeed."

Torsten: "You're making a shopping list, aren't you?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned. "Perhaps."

Torsten: "I promise you there is no need. You'll understand when you see our home. We should have been dragons."

Bronwyn: "There's always a need for pretty shiny things. Ye've seen all my shoes and jewelry. I'm a dragon in my own right."

Torsten: "Yes you are." Both hands held firmly to her rear, standing to carry her out of the room and into the kitchen. "I knew that when I chose your ring."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn immediately clung to him, admiring the glint of her engagement ring. "It was a beautiful choice," she said. "I love it. Where are we goin'?"

Torsten: "I'm hungry...for more than...but I have to settle for toast."

Bronwyn: "Oh, don't worry, darlin'. Ye won't have to settle for toast. I made shrimp and grits."

Torsten: His smile grew wide enough to reach his ears and eyes. "I'll be gluttonous today and have everything you cook for me, and perhaps between your legs before we depart."

Bronwyn: "Shhh!" She covered his mouth, looking around to make sure Vincent was in his room and safely out of earshot before chuckling and shaking her head.

"Naughty revenant ye are." She kissed him. "Soon. In the shower maybe."

Torsten: "In the shower? I think you mean out in the garden surrounded by roses, and then in the bath."

Bronwyn: "Oh, my." Was she blushing? Why, yes she was. "Someone's been givin' this a lot o' thought."

Torsten: "Of course I have. Every day I plan the next."

Bronwyn: "Ye spoil me, Mr. Glockner. Ye've definitely earned yerself shrimp and grits and blueberry pie."

Torsten: "Oh my, really? And blueberry pie? My word, Mrs. Glockner."

Bronwyn: God, she loved the way that sounded. "Really, really." More kisses. All of the kisses. "And ice cream if ye want it. And whipped cream."

Torsten: "Maybe on your breasts," he grinned.

Bronwyn: "So cheeky today," she chuckled. "It's a good job our flight leaves in the evenin', otherwise we wouldn't be able to do ev'rythin' ye have planned."

Torsten: "Exactly." He kissed between her breasts, clothes be damned. "Where shall we begin? On a full stomach?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and nodded. "Aye, let's shall. I made sweet tea too if ye want some."

Torsten: "Then a feast we shall have. Perhaps it'll distract you."

Bronwyn: "Ye've already been doin' a wonderful job. Now the only thing I'm worried about is traffic on the way to the airport."

Torsten: "If it's so daunting just have your bird assist."

Bronwyn: "We should be fine if we leave with plenty o' time to spare and if I employ the Deirdre Method."

Torsten: That telling grin returned, the one which reached his eyes, the same one he'd given the first chance she'd allowed. "I don't think I'll be leaving enough time to even breathe."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I don't doubt that in the slightest." She'd just have to make sure everything was ready to go before they distracted themselves with...other matters.

"All right, ye cheeky revenant, let's eat."

Torsten: Breakfast was devoured with the bare measurements of manners. The man was impatient for the meal he truly desired. Dishes would be rinsed and put away, and finally, finally he would have his prize before their flight.

Bronwyn: There was a giant, unmoving smile on Bronwyn's face the entire meal. She couldn't remember the last time she saw someone eat with such purpose, and it gave her a warm, tingly feeling knowing she was the reason.

"I don't think anyone has ever cleaned up with such a single-minded intensity," she murmured when they'd finished, pulling Torsten down for a lingering kiss.

Torsten: "You're worthy motivation," murmured between kisses. His fiancée would be carried into the bedroom only for the sake of her familiar.

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Am I now?"

Bronwyn pressed tiny kisses to his jaw as she was spirited away, letting them roam and become more heated once they were in the privacy of her bedroom.

Torsten: The door would be kicked behind them. There was no one else in the world. Now he could strip her as slowly as he pleased, bury his face between her breasts and kiss down her body. He would have his fill of her before the afternoon.

Bronwyn: Torsten's touch was welcomed, and Bronwyn's delight in it shown with soft gasps, quiet, breathless moans, and whispered endearments in a language older than both of them.

And just as he undressed her, Bronwyn undressed him, reveling in the feel of him as he worked his way down her body. She wouldn't allow this afternoon to pass without bringing him as much pleasure as he brought her, however.

Torsten Glockner was about to be lovingly devoured.

Torsten: Torsten hadn't paid attention to the clock. As long as her familiar was an option, time was of no consequence. Right now he was much more entertained between her thighs, licking the lovely mess he had made.

"Was that three, or four?" he purred.

Bronwyn: "I haven't the faintest idea," she chuckled between panted breaths, legs shaking. Sometime after the second one she'd forgotten clocks even existed. "Four? Five? Could be seven for all I know."

Torsten: "Really?" he chuckled. Kissing a circle around her most sensitive area was for his personal entertainment. "That's new." He kissed again, tasted her. "I wonder if you have another in you. I'm sure I can coax it out."

Bronwyn: His entertainment was her glorious torment. "Me losin' count or ye makin'--" She was cut off by a high-pitched moan, all but arching off the bed as she grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it to ground herself again. She did indeed have one more in her, but by this point she was so sensitive and far gone that Torsten would barely have to do anything to pull it out of her.

Torsten: Oh, no. Now that hand belonged to him. Both hands in fact. Both taken and pressed into the mattress. Her accentuated breasts were something of a marvel.

"Are you ready for one more?"

Bronwyn: The only response Bronwyn was currently capable of was another moan, and perhaps a jerky nod.

Torsten: "Are you certain?" He licked again. "You're very wet, exhausted. We can stop." A challenge.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn lifted her head to give Torsten a very tired and very wicked grin. "Scottish," she managed around another moan. "I can handle ye, my beloved Vikin'."

Torsten: Her challenge was accepted, mouth finding its way back to paradise, where he would remain for as long as she would allow before pushing him away, be it for time or exhaustion.

Bronwyn: She laid--more like melted--back against the bed as Torsten picked up where he left off, where she remained for only a moment before her back arched again.

She couldn't have said if he brought her to climax again once or twice or if the second one was just an extension of the first one but it wasn't very long before she was tugging him back up so she could rest against his chest. A combination of exhaustion and oversensitivity had finally gotten the best of her.

Torsten: If ever she were to feel safe, Torsten wanted it to be in these moments, with his arms around her delicate body, with his face nuzzled into her damp hair.

"I think we're going to be late." Not that he cared. Washing together was much more important.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn snuggled in as she caught her breath, feeling the loveliest drowsiness settle over her. She so wished they could just fall asleep and stay like this for six or seven hours.

"We can make it," she murmured sleepily. "Just have to remember how to walk."

Torsten: "We don't know how. Can't get up. It's impossible. Might as well just lay here and sleep for a while, my wife."

Bronwyn: She gave a content little hum at that, kissing his chest. "We don't have a while. We have a little while." She yawned. "We can nap on the flight."

Torsten: "You can sleep in my arms. I'll carry you everywhere."

Bronwyn: "They're my favorite place to be," she whispered, tilting her head up to kiss him.

Torsten: Her revenant hummed into their kiss. Thoughts began to drift back home, only to return to the woman in his arms and the night they had met. He'd come a long way from threatening hunters for a young and broken human.

That human...

He touched the collar around his neck.

Bronwyn: She could see his mind start to wander, could see it return.

"We'll get it off." Bronwyn's hand closed over the one touching the collar, squeezing gently. "I'll find a way."

Torsten: "Until then, I'll be wearing a turtleneck to the airport. I've been keeping my distance from Botan."

Bronwyn: "Good." She kissed his knuckles. "The less we tempt fate the better. Want to borrow one of my scarves? There are a few that are manly."

Torsten: "That might be a bit too much for the season," he chuckled.

Bronwyn: "Airplanes are always freezin'. And dry."

Torsten: "I'm Icelandic. There's no such thing as freezing."

Bronwyn: "I'm Scottish and I'm here to tell ye there is," she chuckled. "I'll bring it anyway. Never know when ye might need a good scarf."

Torsten: "You might need a scarf or two, and a wool sweater."

Bronwyn: "I've packed all those, and some good boots. If all else fails, I'm a Druid. I can regulate my body temperature with magic."

Torsten: "That's cheating," he grinned.

Bronwyn: She laughed. "It's no' cheatin', it's preventin' my delicate Scottish skin from burnin' in the Louisiana sun."

Torsten: "You'd have a better chance of burning in Iceland mid-winter on a bright day. Here you boil alive."

Bronwyn: "Ye've got to love when the sun reflects off the snow. But aye, we boil like lobsters down here. Unless you're magical like me," she added with a grin.

Torsten: "No one is like you, my dear." Time for an onslaught of kisses. "I suppose we must get up and shower."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled into each and every one of them. "Aye, we probably should. We have to look presentable for our flight."

Torsten/Vincent: "If we make it." He wasn't worried in the slightest. The thump of a ridiculous bird against the window, crashing into the grass and flowers in the neighboring window was exactly why.

Bronwyn: "We will. We have enough t--" Bronwyn practically yelped in surprise, immediately sitting up in alarm. "Was that Vincent?! Vincent, did ye just crash into the window?" That last was said both out loud and mentally to her familiar.

Torsten/Vincent: Torsten watched with good humor and subtle lust to the worried image of his naked bride to be.

'The windows are too clean!' the bird sulked.

Bronwyn: "Oh, Vincent." Again both out loud and mentally. "Are ye okay? Did ye hit yer head?"

Torsten/Vincent: 'I'm fine, ma'am. Just a headache and - I'm fine!' What was once a bird was now a grown man pouting beside the rose bush with a pink wallop mark on his forehead.

"He's alright," said the revenant, getting up and heading for the shower.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grabbed her robe and slipped it on as she went over to the window, giving her familiar a sympathetic smile. "I should think so, ye've got a bump the size of an Oreo on yer forehead. Come inside and smear some salve on it while I hop in the shower."

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes, ma'am," he sighed, getting up and climbing right through her window. It was open, so why not?

"You're such a mother," Torsten smiled in greeting.

Bronwyn: Poor thing. "There are shrimp and grits in the kitchen, and pie." Which, if she knew her familiar, would probably soothe the ache better than the salve.

She shed the robe again once in the bathroom, smiling at Torsten. "Yes, I am. And a world champion fusser."

Torsten/Vincent: "You're the opposite of everyone in my family, with the exception of Flora."

Vincent would make his way into the kitchen first. Food was far more important than a headache.

Bronwyn: "No' a whole lot of fussin' goin' on," she asked, starting the shower and testing the temperature before stepping in and holding a hand out to Torsten.

Torsten: Her hand was taken long enough to step in, soon traveling around her waist.

"Vampires and revenants and ghoul mothers. Raised in a village of humans and ghouls and had to find your way home in your own. If you died then it was, as they say now, Darwinism. No. No fussing," he chuckled.

Bronwyn: It seemed to her a very sad way to raise children, but then it had been a different time. A different time and a different culture.

"To us bein' raised by a village meant somethin' completely diff'rent. Half o' the people I call aunt and uncle aren't even related to me."

She pulled him down for a kiss. "Ye'll have all the fussin' from me."

Torsten: "Are you concerned at all about our raising a child together?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "No' in the slightest. We were raised in verra diff'rent ways but I know we'll find a balance that works."

Torsten: "Hmm." Her honesty was considered while washing his hair.

"Do you believe in physical sanction?"

Bronwyn: "I don't. There are more effective ways to get points and discipline across."

Torsten: To that he laughed, but only if she could read his mind. He stared at the ceiling while rinsing his hair. "Mm-mm. You'd detest my father."

Bronwyn: "Did he make his points with a switch?"

Torsten: "Think five hundred years ago, love."

Bronwyn: She didn't want to, but she could imagine. "Aye. He and I would've...disagreed." To put it mildly.

Torsten: "I'm sure you're aware of the saying. 'Spoil the rod, spoil the child.'" He reached for her shampoo to leather into her hair. "Not everything resulted in a beating, but the idea of love, fear, and respect in one being was very much relevant."

Bronwyn: "Oh, yes. Verra aware." Of both its existence and how many people sincerely believed it to this day.

"Children shouldn't fear their parents," she said softly, tilting her head back. "Love? Absolutely. Respect? Without a doubt. But fear? There are enough things in this world to fear. Home is our sanctuary. Parents should be as well."

Torsten: "It's an ancient belief, and one...I believe to an extent. If you fear, then you will fear disrespecting, disobeying, bringing shame to the family. You also fear for your skin. In my time, mostly your hands, with good hard labor as punishment."

Bronwyn: "If ye fear, love, there's always a chance ye'll do things for the wrong reasons. Work was a punishment for me as well, to a point. It was half punishment, half givin' me time to stew and think and do somethin' diff'rent next time. When I threw my sister's boots in the loch I had to earn enough money to buy her a new pair and never did it again."

Torsten: "When I stole food from my sister, as it was my hands which did the deed, I had to work them until they bled. If things are done correctly, then how it got there," he shrugged, "not really a concern in my time."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gently took those hands from her hair and held them for a moment.

Torsten: Rather than ask what she was thinking, he decided to wait patiently.

Bronwyn: It was a long moment before Bronwyn spoke again. "Have ye ever watched a blacksmith forge a sword?"

Torsten: "I have."

Bronwyn: "Ask a thousand smiths to make the same type o' sword and ev'ry single one will be diff'rent. They all sweat as they heat the metal and practically battle it into shape, they all take care when finessin' the details, but no matter how they make it or what it ends up lookin' like, the most important part o' that sword is the balance."

Bronwyn kissed his hands. "We're the smiths. We'll battle and finesse and the sword we make will have balance, and it'll be beautiful and loved."

Torsten: He watched, in awe of her beauty and patience. "The fact that you compare our future children with swords means the world to me, Thistle." Her fiancé's smile was as subtle as his tone.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's was more obvious and full of all the warmth in the world as she gently brought him down for a kiss. "I've been collectin' swords my entire adult life. I can't wait for us to make some of our own. A whole armory-full."

Torsten: He didn't need to question whether or not her body could handle "an armory". He laughed just the same. "I look forward to making a sword with you," he hummed.

Bronwyn: "So do I." One more kiss. "We really do need to get a move on."

Torsten: "I'm just going to rinse off and get out now. The shower is yours."

Bronwyn: "No, stay, it'll be hours and hours and hours before I see ye naked again. I'll be quick."

Torsten: "Perhaps not that long. We do have a stop before the final flight."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned as she conditioned her hair. "Are ye suggestin' airport nudity in New York, Mr. Glockner?"

Torsten: "There is a strong possibility we get bored waiting for the next flight."

Bronwyn: "There is indeed. Bored and tense because of the annoyin' people that'll probably be on the plane with us."

Torsten: "It'll be just us in first class to Iceland."

Bronwyn: "Wait, really?"

Torsten: "Your first time in Iceland. It had to be first class."

Bronwyn: "Ye giant, sweet Vikin'."

Torsten: "My darling little thistle."

Bronwyn: That earned Torsten another kiss. "I feel so spoiled."

Torsten: "You're my wife. This is how a wife should be treated."

Bronwyn: "I love when ye call me that," she said softly, feeling herself melt. "I can't wait for ye to officially be my husband."

Torsten: "Tell me what you want out of the wedding."

Bronwyn: "For it to be what we've both always dreamed of. And on a day that allows all the important people in our lives to come."

Torsten: "That's a very blanket statement. Tell me what you superficially want."

Bronwyn: "For it to be in Scotland, in my mama's garden."

Torsten: "Then Scotland. Which season?"

Bronwyn: "Which one speaks to ye?"

Torsten: "Winter, of course."

Bronwyn: She smiled. "Snowy winter or misty, dramatic winter?"

Torsten: "Rainy, eat into your bones winter, defied with white roses."

Bronwyn: "White roses, heather, mauve roses, lovely deep green plants."

Torsten: White on white with mauve was nothing he would complain about. "Sounds like our wedding."

Bronwyn: "Aye, it does." And it was giving her a lovely warm feeling inside imagining it. "What else would ye like?"

Torsten: "I have everything I need right here in front of me."

Bronwyn: "Ye're goin' to melt me, Torsten Glockner."

Torsten: "You're not so precious, flower," he chuckled.

Bronwyn: She stood on tip-toe to kiss him. "Keep sayin' those lovely things and I just might be."

Torsten: "I married a warrior that happens to have a green thumb." As she stood on her toes, Torsten took her by the rear and fondled.

Bronwyn: "No' yet, love, but ye will soon." She let herself drift away on their kiss and his for a few lovely moments before bringing them back to earth.

"Time for us to get out and get dressed."

Torsten: Ah. Yes. Not married yet, but soon. They had to get out of the shower and dress, go to Iceland, and spend the rest of their lives together.

"Go on. I'll be right behind you." He just needed to turn the heat off and bask in a frozen stream to calm his body.

Bronwyn: "All right." Bronwyn gave him one more kiss and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself and her hair in a towel. She'd already laid out the outfit she would be wearing to the airport so getting ready took no time at all.

Torsten: The airport was a familiar place to the revenant, but not always his first mode of cross-Atlantic transportation. If he had followed through with the prince of Edenton's agreement with his sister, a shipping container would have been his week-long home. He also wouldn't have a fiancée by his side. Bo had been sacrifice...

He didn't want to think about that.

"Are you still nervous?"

Bronwyn: It was familiar to Bronwyn as well, and perhaps that was what made her start to relax. It was easy to let go of her nerves as they went through the routine song and dance of checking in, going through security, and making their way to the gate.

"A little, but it's gotten better. What about ye? Excited to go home?"

Torsten: "Excited is too strong a word. Content is still too much. I want to know why my sister sold Bo for my freedom. A folly gesture. We're leaving now and Bo escaped."

Bronwyn: "My instinctual answer is worry and desperation but somethin' tells me the real reason is deeper than that." And maybe one that would be difficult for Torsten to hear.

She squeezed her fiancé's hand and looked around for Vincent.

'Are you still looking at the candy?' she mentally asked him.

Torsten/Vincent: "You do look in between the cracks of things. Usually you find the hidden weeds trying to bloom. You won't this time."

Vincent looked up from the marzipan.

'Are you sure this is alright?'

Bronwyn: Bronwyn kissed his cheek. "Maybe no', but we can always hope."

She smiled over at her familiar. 'Aye, love, I'm sure. Do you just want the marzipan? Or the chocolate too?'

Vincent: 'But is it also alright for me to fly with you like this? These papers you've given me...it'll work?'

Sweets were having to combat with anxiety for priority.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn waited until he looked over at her before nodding and giving him a reassuring smile.

'They will. Avalbane and I checked and rechecked everything and it's all in order. We won't have any problems. My real concern is how flying will be for you."

Vincent: 'I fly all the time, ma'am. Shouldn't be a problem.'

Bronwyn: 'That's true. I've got some candied ginger though, just in case."

Vincent: 'I miss the taste of limpë. Elves make the best drinks.'

Bronwyn: 'I'll bet we could concoct something similar. Maybe it could be another project for us when we get home.'

Vincent: 'It's said to turn man into elf! If you make that here there will be chaos!' The man standing in the food court began to laugh seemingly to himself. This was exactly why Torsten had given him a useless Bluetooth headset.

Bronwyn: 'Just the flavor!' she thought, chuckling herself. 'I don't think turning people into elves is one of the druid skillsets.'

Vincent: 'If anyone could do it, you can.'

Bronwyn: 'You flatter me, darlin'. We'll see what we can come up with.'

Vincent: His smile seemed as vibrant as ever.

'Do you want some of this marzipan? They have something here that looks like a pizza...pretzel?'

Bronwyn: 'Yes to both. Grab that chocolate, too.'

She turned back to Torsten. "Want a snack or somethin' to drink?"

Torsten: "I wish I could hear those conversations you have with him. I feel as though I'm missing key information at times. Also, just a bottle of water is fine."

Bronwyn: "They're mostly about food and me askin' where he is. Or tellin' me if someone isn't human. I don't notice the tingle in my hips sometimes."

To Vincent, 'Grab a bottle of water and some marzipan for Torsten, too, love.'

Torsten/Vincent: "I imagine in the world we live in that you'd have sensation there all of the time."

Vincent gathered and paid, returning to their gate with various bags.

Bronwyn: "Aye, I do. It never really happened when I lived in Montana but ever since I came to New Orleans it's been a constant thing."

She smiled as her familiar approached. "There he is."

Torsten: "He really is your third child."

Bronwyn: "He's my multi-faceted diamond who eats actual diamonds."

Torsten: "Diamond?" Perhaps too strong a word. "Your heart is probably too big."

Bronwyn: "Aye. In the words o' Callum, my heart is as boundless as the sea. And full o' the lovely diamonds that are my men."

Torsten: "All of which want you. How fortunate am I," he smirked.

Bronwyn: "They don't all want me," she chuckled. "Only ye, darlin'."

Torsten: "Mm, a certain name comes to mind," he grinned.

Bronwyn: "That certain name has someone he loves verra much. Who I owe a batch of shortbread now that I think about it."

Torsten: "His loss. Mine forever." Her palm was brought to his lips.

Bronwyn: "Yers and only yers," she whispered, nuzzling him.

Vincent: "You two remind me of love from Middle Earth," Vincent grinned.

Bronwyn: "Do we really?" Bronwyn chuckled, smiling at her familiar.

Vincent: "Most people live happily ever after or are destroyed by the most horrible of curses. Such as it goes."

Bronwyn: "Aye, magic is tricky that way. Luckily we've got better magic and an iron will. We'll get the happily ever after. And speakin' o' happy, how's the marzipan?"

Torsten/Vincent: Would their magic always be better? he wondered.

"It's - I can't believe I'm saying this - too sweet?" A piece was offered.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's brows shot up in surprise. "Seriously?" She took the piece, and as soon as she bit into it all her teeth screamed in protest. "Och, Christ. Are there any almonds in there at all or is it just powdered sugar?"

Vincent: "I could smell the sugar on the danish and knew it would make me sick. These looked kinda cute," he pouted.

Bronwyn: "I'm convinced the Great British Bake Off people have a secret team o' people that looks for people who can make good danishes and those are the people who get on the show. Ye know what we're goin' to do? As soon as we can, we're goin' to go to the best candy store in Iceland and buy them out."

Torsten/Vincent: Well of course that lit Vincent's face. "Really? What kind of candy is there in Iceland?"

Torsten simply chuckled.

Bronwyn: "Go on then," she said to her future husband. "Tell us all about the candy o' yer homeland while we wait to board."

Torsten: "I don't eat much candy. Licorice is popular. I do like Draumur. It's a chocolate covered licorice. That's all I can tell you."

Bronwyn: Well now that piqued Bronwyn's interest. "Licorice, ye say? Tell me more. What kind o' chocolate is it covered in?"

Torsten: "Milk chocolate and black licorice. You like that?"

Bronwyn: The dreamy expression on her face said yes. "I never say no to licorice. The good kind, no' the weird red American thing that sticks to yer teeth."

Torsten/Vincent: "How is this the first time I've heard this," he mused.

Meanwhile, Vincent was trying to imagine chocolate and licorice together.

Bronwyn: "Because I gave up tryin' to find it here. What I have found is like this marzipan. All sugar and nothin' else."

Torsten: "What is it with Americans and sugar? It's in everything."

Bronwyn: "I have no idea and I've given up tryin' to figure it out, and I like my sweets. I just don't like them to make my teeth hurt."

Torsten: "Every drink is ice cold. Even coffee. Everything has too much sugar. I could go on with the social commentary."

Bronwyn: "The ice cold I actually like, especially now that I live here. It took a few years to get used to it but now I miss it when I go to Scotland."

Torsten: "Give me mulled wine. That's my favorite treat. And licorice."

Bronwyn: "We really are perfectly matched," said Bronwyn, smiling as she kissed that beautiful face.

Torsten/Vincent: "Mulled wine? That sounds familiar. Did you make that for Christmas?" Vincent asked while the revenant stole her attention for more kisses. People were staring.

Bronwyn: They could stare all they wanted. She wouldn't let a bunch of strangers spoil their moment. Each one was precious.

"Aye. That and mince pies."

Torsten: "Remind me again why you partake in Christmas when you're druid?" Torsten smirked.

Bronwyn: "Because o' my grandmama Sorcha and the non-pagan side o' my family. Grandmama is the only one who goes to Christmas mass though, because o' her angel."

Torsten: "An angel she met?"

Bronwyn: Her eyes widened. "Have I never told ye the story?"

Torsten: "I don't recall."

Bronwyn: In that case, Torsten and Vincent were going to be regaled with the tale of four year-old Sorcha who had wandered into the woods one fateful day and had found herself sinking to the bottom of a very deep pond until, miraculously, an angel with glowing wings had presumably flown down from Heaven and rescued her from drowning.

Torsten/Vincent: "That's quite a tale. Four years of age and she believes what happened to be true? It could have been a villager."

"We've seen angels. Aedan is part of one."

"I suppose..."

Bronwyn: "I've wondered that, too. I think we all have at some point. But her faith runs stronger than anythin' I've ever seen, even after all these years. Far too strong for her to have imagined it. Her Mark? It's a pair o' angel wings. She wears her rosary ev'ry day, goes to mass."

Torsten: "No one takes offense to that, being what you are? Do you believe in such creatures?" For Torsten, acknowledgement was not the same as belief.

Bronwyn: She gave a small shrug. "It's no' really a matter of belief. They exist, they have their role in the universe. If there are any angels I believe in, I don't believe in them because they're angels. That's just what they happen to be, just like I happen to be a Druid and ye happen to be a revenant and Vincent happens to be a familiar. Grandmama Sorcha doesn't see it the same way though."

Torsten: "And what are her philosophies?"

Bronwyn: "She believes all angels are good and want to help humanity and she won't be told otherwise. Always says they're Druids for non-pagan people."

Torsten: "Her ideals are..." childish? "...going to get her hurt one day. That kind of belief of destined for failure."

Bronwyn: "I'm hopin' she never has an encounter with some asshole angel. I want that memory to be pure for her. I'd hate it if it got tainted.”

Torsten: "Your family is as close as mine."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "A comfortin' thought."

Torsten: "They are...vampires, Thistle. Loving as we are, and as pure as Flora tries to be, we are...still different."

Bronwyn: "So are we all, love. A family is still a family no matter the species."

Torsten: "It still might be a culture shock."

Bronwyn: "Perhaps less so now. I've gotten used to bein' around vampires." What with Callum being married to one.

Torsten: Her fiancé made a face. "That man."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye. Him."

Torsten: "I don't understand how your family can forgive him. Some of us are simply unforgiveable, or should not be understood."

Bronwyn: "Callum's really only told his da what Guildias is, and his da....I don't know how he feels."

Torsten: "Would anyone accept him?"

Bronwyn: "My sister definitely wouldn't. Neither would a good few of our cousins."

Torsten: "Yet you have."

Bronwyn: "There's acceptin' and then there's embracin'. I'm somewhere between makin' my peace and acceptin'."

Torsten: "Which is worse, a vampire like him with your cousin, or anything about the demon in love with you?"

Bronwyn: "He's no' in love with me, but knowin' my family, they'd try to find the good in both. No' all o' them mind ye, but definitely my mama and grandparents."

Torsten: "He's not in love with you?" Such incredulous in his tone.

Bronwyn: She shook her head. "He's in love with Charles."

Torsten: "But he -" He sighed. No sense in arguing, though the urge was there. He didn't believe the truth she claimed. Not with that demon.

"A demon, a vampire...me. Your family will lose patience with you and your cousin."

Bronwyn: "Trust me, love." She rested her head against his shoulder. "They've had to deal with far bigger things than who someone chooses to marry."

Torsten/Vincent: The weight of her head was a comfort. His own rested against hers. Vincent had taken a seat nearby, occupied reading the ingredients to their meal.

"Worse than Satan's servant? Tell me."

Bronwyn: She smiled to herself, comforted in turn. "Aye. They've had to deal with far too much loss, a fair bit o' potential loss. Some of it due to me, but that's far too deep a subject for an airport."

Torsten: "On the contrary. We're conversing of demons and their potential danger and that is a reality these humans can't grasp." Sheep, they were.

Bronwyn: "It's no' deep because of that. It's verra personal." And dark. And not something she was exactly proud of.

Torsten/Vincent: Well, he kissed her hand anyway. The coughing familiar was enough to divert his attention.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nuzzled him and turned to Vincent.

"Are ye all right, darlin'?"

Vincent: "Too much - big swallow," he coughed again.

Bronwyn: "Little bites," she reminded, chuckling softly. "Drink some water."

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes ma'am."

He really is no better than a child, he thought.

His humored smile flattened when the familiar looked at him with hurt eyes.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn noticed the hurt look immediately; the results of a bond such as theirs.

"Are ye all right, darlin'?" she asked gently, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

Vincent: "...Yes, ma'am." His tone quieter, laced with melancholy. He turned his eyes away.

"How much longer?" he asked.

Bronwyn: Well now that just wouldn't do.

'Vincent?' she mentally asked him, just as gently. 'What's upsetting you? You can tell me, love.'

She looked at their boarding passes and then at the clock. "About five minutes actually," this time spoken aloud. "Do ye want the window seat?"

Vincent: 'It's nothing, ma'am.' He didn't want to cause an argument between her and her fiance.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave his hand another squeeze. Whatever was bothering him, she would offer all the affection and distraction it took to comfort him.

"I had an idea for some magic to practice while we're in Iceland." She turned to Torsten. "I think Flora will enjoy it as well."

Vincent: "What kind do you want to practice?" He glanced around at all the humans. Perhaps a different word should be used. Wait, no. Magicians existed! They were fine.

Bronwyn: "Ye know those elemental crystals we make? And how Iceland has black sand beaches and a volcano?"

Vincent: "You want to use different elements?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned and nodded.

Vincent: "Excellent. Are we giving them as a gift?"

Bronwyn: "We can, or we can keep them and see what kind o' spells we can do with them."

Torsten/Vincent: "What about both? One each."

"Flora would keep them like jewelry."

Bronwyn: "Both it is! I'll bet we actually can make her some jewelry. A pendant or a ring maybe. Which would she prefer?"

Torsten: "She has a collection of necklaces and earrings. She's very, very old."

Bronwyn: "A ring then. Everyone could use more rings." She herself had dozens of them.

Torsten: "Well, then you'll get along just fine. She has centuries old jewelry."

Bronwyn: "A woman after my own heart."

Moments later the attendant behind the counter began calling first class to board.

"That's us. Come on, my darlin's. Time to go to Iceland."

Vincent: Vincent trailed behind his mistress and her lover. Two seats each meant sitting in the window seat behind his owner. He would have a stranger. He wondered if they would be human; if he would notice.

Bronwyn: The fact that they weren't sitting together meant Bronwyn was going to be extra vigilant and extra protective over her familiar. Being able to communicate telepathically helped with that.

'Do you see your potential seat mate?' she asked him, reaching behind her to offer the neck pillow she'd gotten him.

Vincent: 'I can't tell which one is for me,' he said, taking the pillow and hugging it to his chest.

Bronwyn: Vincent's favorite blanket was offered next. Bronwyn had indeed thought of everything when she was packing.

'I never can either. Could it be that older lady?'

Vincent: Sometimes he felt like a child with his mistress, other times he was her equal. Right now he wondered why it was he had to sit next to a stranger for hours across an unfriendly ocean.

'What if they stink?'

Bronwyn: 'Then we'll have to do some sneaky magic.' In fact, she was already thinking of a way for Vincent to avoid having to sit next to a stranger for hours on end.

She looked around. No one was really paying attention to them, but it would be too conspicuous to do it now. 'Tell me something, love.'

Vincent: 'Tell you what, ma'am?'

Bronwyn: 'Would you feel more comfortable in your bird form?'

Vincent: 'I can't do that here.'

Bronwyn: 'What if you could?'

Vincent: 'I'd sleep the whole time.'

Bronwyn: 'I think I can--'

Just then, a decently handsome and massively distracted gentleman seated himself beside Vincent. The man didn't so much as acknowledge his seatmate--he just sat, buckled his seat belt, and got out his laptop.

Bronwyn turned to smile at her familiar. Perfect.

Vincent: 'That one looks good,' he thought and smiled.

Bronwyn: 'The gods have blessed us with a traveling businessman. I think I can create a cloak around us so you can transform and come up and sit with me, all without anyone noticing.'

Vincent: 'Isn't the point of us traveling this way to save our energy? I'll be alright, ma'am. Promise.'

Bronwyn: 'I know, but I want you to be comfortable. That's the only downside to first class. The bigger seats mean there's only room for two in each row.' She reached through the space between the seat and the window for his hand.

'You know I love you, right? I couldn't imagine my life without you by my side.'

Vincent: Vincent squeezed his mistress' hand. 'Why do you say that? Is something bothering you? I love you, too. Without you and master I would be trapped in a cage in a book.'

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled gently and shook her head. 'No, love, I'm fine. A little nervous still but I'm sure that'll pass. I just wanted to remind you.' In case whatever is bothering you wants you to forget.

Torsten/Vincent: 'I won't forget, ma'am.'

Torsten watched his fiance. "A whole conversation I presume?"

Bronwyn: 'Good.' She squeezed his hand again before casting a glance at his seat mate. If the man did one so much as one rude thing, she was going to go forward with her plan.

Bronwyn nodded at Torsten's question. "Aye," she said with a smile. "We should find a way to allow us to do the same."

Torsten: "There's always something. My sister might have an idea."

Bronwyn: "That'd be nice. And if she doesn't, there's always the ocean of books in Avalbane's library."

Torsten: "Some research sounds appealing," he teased. "Very sexy, Ms. MacAllister."

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly, lifting the arm rest between them so she could snuggle against him. "I do try, Mr. Glockner."

Torsten: "Seatbelt fastened and chair in an upright position!" he whispered, laughing.

Bronwyn: "It is!" she whispered back, grinning. "The only thing no' in an upright position is me."

Torsten: "Are you tired? You've hardly sat since we began packing."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "A wee. I was too nervous and excited to sleep."

Torsten: The last passenger seated, a primed flight attendant with a pained smile began the pre-flight ritual on their tiny screens.

"Then sleep now."

Bronwyn: "Want to join me?" she asked, settling in more comfortably.

Torsten: "All the way to Iceland. I'm going to hibernate."

Bronwyn: "We'll hibernate together." As soon as she covered them both with the blanket.

'Going to sleep, love?' she asked Vincent.

Vincent: "I should," he whispered, not having realized what method of communication he had used. His neighbor blinked bewildered.

Bronwyn: Having heard him, Bronwyn smiled against Torsten's shoulder. 'Said that out loud, darlin'. Careful.'

Vincent: 'Sorry. He's handsome though, isn't he?'

Bronwyn: 'He certainly is. Very sharp jawline.'

Vincent: 'Nothing at all like Adrik.'

Bronwyn: She smiled again. 'Definitely not. Plus Adrik has that great beard.'

Vincent: 'I miss him.' Even in his thoughts his tone had drifted towards melancholy.

Bronwyn: Her own tone became gentle and comforting, heart going out to him. 'I know, love. When was the last time you spoke?"

Vincent: 'Months ago after Lucien's wedding.'

Bronwyn: 'Have you tried to talk to him since?'

Vincent: 'He wants space.'

Bronwyn: She reached behind her for his hand again, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

Vincent: Her hand was squeezed. 'Don't worry about me. I have a long time to enjoy with him...or anyone else.'

Bronwyn: 'He or anyone else would be massively lucky to have you. You're a handsome, kind, intelligent, funny man and one of the loveliest people I know.'

Vincent: 'You're supposed to say that. You're familiar is supposed to be everything you want.'

Bronwyn: 'My familiar is everything I want and more, and I'm not just saying that. We've been together long enough for you to know I speak the truth, love. Every day I'm grateful to Poe for bringing you into my life.'

Vincent: 'Thank you, ma'am. Have you talked to master recently?'

Bronwyn: 'No, no' recently. We should go see him when we return from Iceland. I miss him, and I'm sure you must, too.'

Vincent: 'I visit him from time to time. He doesn't speak except to ask how we are. He just sits on skyscrapers and smokes.'

Bronwyn: That made her sad. 'He's becoming more of a reaper, isn't he? It feels like he's...fading.'

Vincent: 'He is. No one with spells to make him feel. I've asked. He won't let me.'

Bronwyn: 'Do you think he'd let me? I don't want us to lose him.'

Vincent: 'I think he's already accepted his fate.'

Bronwyn: In her mind, Bronwyn sighed. 'What if we can't?'

Vincent: 'I don't know. We can't force him to change.'

Bronwyn: 'I know. Maybe we can persuade him somehow.'

Vincent: 'He loves two men he's not with.'

Bronwyn: 'Two?'

Vincent: 'His husband and a demon.'

Bronwyn: '...a demon? What demon?'

Vincent: '...The...one you don't like.'

Bronwyn: The one she-- '....fucking Christ.'

Vincent: 'I know your frustration, but they don't speak anymore.'

Bronwyn: 'Did Xavier hurt him?'

Vincent: 'I don't know how to answer that.'

Bronwyn: 'That means yes.'

Vincent: 'It's too complicated. They both have others to be faithful to.'

Bronwyn: How that insufferable man had found anyone who could tolerate him was beyond her. 'Maybe seeing him more often and being a bigger part of his life will help. He still remembers my birthday, and he gets me something for Christmas every year. Some part of him is still holding on."

Vincent: 'You want them to - You want to encourage Xavier to talk to Master?"

Bronwyn: 'God no. I want us to be in his life more.'

Vincent: "Oh." Oh no. He could feel his handsome neighbor's eyes on him again. He pretended to sleep.

'Of course. Whenever you want.'

Bronwyn: She smiled again. 'Yes, pretend you're talking in your sleep. Hopefully he gets lost in his laptop again.'

Vincent: 'This is not at all how I thought this trip would go. I should probably sleep before he tries to wake me.'

Bronwyn: 'I've a feeling there are going to be even more surprises waiting for us, but we should both rest.'

Vincent: 'What if his sister tries to hurt you? Am I supposed to defend you? Fight her?'

Bronwyn: 'I don't think she will. She really does sound like a lovely woman.'

Vincent: 'Is she the only one we're meeting?'

Bronwyn: 'Aye. His other sister passed away.'

Vincent: 'Oh. How much do you know about his family?'

Bronwyn: 'A fair bit. I know about his sisters and how he was raised. I'm sure I'll find out more on this trip.'

Vincent: 'I'm worried about the two of you.'

Bronwyn: 'Why, love?'

Vincent: 'He's too old for you.'

Bronwyn: 'Age differences are par for the course for our world.'

Vincent: 'But it - I shouldn't say.'

Bronwyn: 'You can be honest, darlin'.'

Vincent: 'I heard the differences in how you were raised...'

Bronwyn: 'Two completely different worlds. Completely different times.'

Vincent: 'That doesn't worry you, ma'am?'

Bronwyn: 'It would if he was someone else, someone inflexible and closed off.'

Vincent: '...I still worry. I -' his voice disappeared, reappeared a moment later. 'I worry.'

Bronwyn: Her sweet, protective familiar. She adored him. 'I know, love. We'll be okay, find a middle ground."

Vincent: What if you don't? he thought. Oh, he didn't want her to hear that. He opened his eyes and stretched. His rear felt numb and it had only been less than an hour. Already he was restless.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn sensed his unrest immediately, just as she'd suspected she would.

'Are you sure you don't want me to set up the cloak so you can turn into a raven?'

Vincent: 'I'll be alright, ma'am. You're too kind.'

Bronwyn: 'No such thing when it comes to you, love. If you get too anxious, please tell me, okay?'

Vincent: 'Okay.' Maybe he would. Maybe. 'You should sleep.'

Bronwyn: 'You should, too. It'll make the plane ride feel shorter.'

Vincent: 'Yes, ma'am.' He felt her mind. Had he upset her? No, that was rude to pry.

Bronwyn: He hadn't, but she was worried that he was upset or uncomfortable. She wanted this to be a good trip for all of them, and that began with the plane ride.

So, in lieu of letting him become a bird, she sent him calming energy as she drifted off to sleep snuggled against Torsten's shoulder.

Vincent: Soon, just as she expected, her familiar fell asleep. The man to his left glanced every once in a while. No one would notice. He studied the stranger who apparently talks in his sleep. Drinks were rolled out. Soda and whiskey for himself. Softly he tapped on Vincent's shoulder, asking in thick Icelandic accent if he wanted something. His mistress would hear the gentle murmur of conversation.

Bronwyn: Comfortable as she was, plane sleep was never really restful sleep. She woke more than once, checking to make sure Torsten and Vincent were still there and still okay before letting herself be pulled under again.

It was during one of these brief periods of wakefulness that she caught the soft conversation happening behind her.

"Making friends," she whispered to Torsten, snuggling further into him for the umpteenth time.

Torsten/Vincent: A snowcapped wonderland was not their May greeting. Forty-three degrees after a humbling storm the night prior was a warm welcome. Torsten inhaled the crisp frigid air. Sensation like an old friend.

"There are no trees," Vincent frowned, dark circles under his eyes.

"Some," Torsten corrected. "Birch trees. Black and white bark."

Bronwyn: If she closed her eyes, it was almost like being home in Scotland. The energy of the place was different, but the slap of brisk air, the smell of a storm still lingering in the air? That was more than familiar.

"I've always loved birch trees," said Bronwyn, closing her eyes and tipping her face up to the sky, as if trying to draw energy from the sun. "Especially in the snow."

Torsten/Vincent: "You'll love it as much as I do."

"What do people do here for fun?"  Displeased lines around the familiar's mouth had yet to fade.

"Exercise. Spelunking, surfing, hot springs..." Torsten gestured towards the aisle of brochures. "Be a tourist and enjoy," he smirked.

"Maybe I will!"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn felt for Vincent's hand and squeezed it. Even though her eyes were closed, she could hear his mood in his voice. She hoped it was simply the long plane ride that had him feeling a little grumpy.

"Soakin' in a hot spring sounds so lovely right now. My muscles all feel cramped."

Torsten: "When we get home and settled, we'll do just that. There's one nearby we can enjoy, just you and me."

Bronwyn: She gave a content little hum. "I'd like that. For now, I'm starvin'. My stomach is eatin' my backbone."

Torsten: "We're going to buy some lamb on the way home." He kissed her hand. "Lamb, mint, potatoes..."

Bronwyn: Another hum. "I do love ye, Torsten Glockner."

Torsten/Vincent: His smile only grew. "Good," he chuckled. "I'm going to rent us a car." He looked to Vincent. "Are you going to fly away?"

More scowl. "No. I'm staying with mistress."

Bronwyn: Vincent's hand was given another squeeze. "Yer muscles must be more cramped than mine. My offer to cloak ye so ye can change is still on the table. Ride around on my shoulder for a bit."

Vincent: "I have to carry my things, ma'am."

Bronwyn: "We'll get one of those wee carts for the luggage. It's all goin' in the car soon anyway."

Vincent: Slowly Vincent looked around. A quick study of their surroundings, the language, the lack of trees, the handsome man he had sat next to fading in the crowd. How many weeks had it been since he'd observed mankind from a perch?

"If it's alright."

Bronwyn: "Of course it is, darlin'." Bronwyn took a look around herself. Despite the cloak that was about to go into effect, it wouldn't do to have someone notice a man disappear into thin air.

When she was sure no one was looking, she began the routine of closing her eyes, letting the magic in, and beginning her incantation.

Vincent: With the necessary precautions taken, Vincent shrank to his more familiar and comfortable form, whistling his thank you before taking to his favorite perch.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, greeting her familiar with a gentle scritch to his head. "There he is. Once we're settled we'll go for a walk and ye can fly alongside me, just like we do at home."

Vincent: 'Thank you. My face was hot,' the jackdaw said. 'I don't know what came over me.'

Bronwyn: 'It was a long flight. Once you get a chance to fly and stretch you'll feel better." And so would they. First class or not, it wasn't nice being stuck in a tin can for hours on end with sneezing people.

Vincent: 'When we get there I'll fly.' For now, he was content with stretching and preening. It had been some time since he had used this particular form.

Bronwyn: 'Good.' She gave him another scritch on the head and turned to Torsten. "How far is it to yer sister's?"

Torsten: Rental keys were jingled and tossed into the air. "Not far outside of Reykjavík. Won't be long. Thirty minutes maybe."

Bronwyn: "I'm so ready for a short pretty drive. Shall we?"

Torsten/Vincent: "Ready," Vincent chirped. His bags were carried by Torsten, rolling his own marble-colored suitcase behind. Everything that could fit in the trunk of the small SUV was stuffed. What remained was tossed in the back. For a moment he had forgotten all about the bird on Bronwyn's shoulder, pulling his fiancé into a lingering kiss. He had little idea of the disapproving noises such a small bird could make.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn was positively giggling against Torsten's lips, partially shielding their amorous moment from little birdy eyes with her hand. Vincent's protectiveness was so sweet and at moments like this, just a little bit funny.

She pulled back with one last peck and smiled. "Okay, Vincent, we're done. Let's go, I'm excited!"

Torsten/Vincent: Vincent remained on his mistress' shoulder despite the drive, despite the grocery store, despite further drive towards what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. A vast plain at the mouth of a valley, a relatively modest black and white house front and center. Another SUV stuck out from behind the house. Only a single room appeared lit.

"Welcome home," he smiled.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn didn't mind having her familiar on her shoulder one bit. She loved seeing people's reactions, the initial confusion followed by delight and then more confusion. It made shopping for food that much more enjoyable.

But not nearly as enjoyable as watching the lovely little house tucked into the valley come into view.

"Torsten," said Bronwyn, delight evident in her voice. "I love it! Oh, it's lovely!"

Torsten: "It's very old. I'm not surprised you love it." After all, she was in love with a very old man. "Despite what...you know of vampires, I feel I must remind you that it is a part of my culture. You may hear things which shock you..."

Bronwyn: She smiled softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "It's happened before and I was okay. I'll be okay now. Nothin' I hear can make me no' love you, Torsten Glockner."

Torsten: "I wish you wouldn't say such bold statements," he frowned.

Bronwyn: "I'm a bold girl and I'm no' easily scared off. I love you, Torsten."

Torsten: We shall see. "Alright. And I you." Her hand was kissed one last time. "Leave the bags for now. I want to show you around."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. Rather than let his hand go, she twined their fingers together.

"Lead the way, love. Show me yer home."

Torsten/Vincent: Vincent was torn between wanting to see what his mistress saw, and wanting to flee the scene. The mountains to the north were enticing. However, if the unsuspecting-looking house was filled with horrors, he would be terribly remiss for his blight.

She was led by the hand towards the door to the left. Despite the season, the temperature difference would be felt the moment the door was opened.

The living room was as innocent as the exterior, made of wood and brick, aged several decades if not more. The fireplace lightly crackled with dying embers.

"Flora?" he called.

Bronwyn: The nerves were returning with every step they took toward the door. Bronwyn took a deep breath, squeezing Torsten's hand and scritching Vincent's head. Everything was going to be fine.

The moment they walked in Bronwyn was immediately reminded of Avalbane's house in Scotland. Not the look necessarily, but something about the energy--the feel of the place--was the same.

"It's lovely," she said softly. "It feels like Scotland."

Torsten: "I'm not surprised."

The house, though a comfort to Bronwyn, caused concern for the revenant. He squeezed her hand before letting her go.

"Stay here." Obvious it should be to the druid, whenever her companion's guard rose, polite was quickly interchanged with forthright.

Torsten disappeared through the narrow stone doorway leading to the rest of the house.

"Flora?"

His footfalls soon faded.

Bronwyn: Sensing the change in Torten's demeanor, Bronwyn nodded without hesitation. "Okay." Hurry back. Be careful.

She gently brought Vincent off her shoulder and let him perch on her forearm, close to her body. 'How are you feeling?' she thought to him.

Vincent: 'I'm alright. Are you? The house feels tense. I don't like it.'

Bronwyn: 'I don't know. Something's wrong. His voice changed and the house is too quiet.'

Vincent: 'It's a big house. He's below us right now.'

Bronwyn: 'Is his sister here as well? Or anyone else?'

Vincent: 'I feel two women. I'm not going to read their minds, though.'

Bronwyn: 'Both vampires?'

Vincent: 'They give me the willies.'

Bronwyn: Vincent was held closer. 'Is Torsten okay?'

Vincent: 'He's angry.' Even in their mind he seemed to whisper.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn felt the same impulse.  She looked around for the nearest chair and sat, placing Vincent on her lap.

'I'm sure it'll be fine.'

Vincent: 'If something happens, what do you want me to do, ma'am?'

Bronwyn: 'Just get us to safety, love.' She kissed the top of the birdy head. 'Just get us to safety.'

Vincent: 'Should I right now?'

Bronwyn: 'I think as long as we stay up here we'll be okay. But if Torsten tells us to go, we're grabbing him and going.'

Torsten/Vincent: Her bird didn't approve of grabbing the object of his jealousy, but he said not a word. His silence continued despite the return of the revenant, cheeks flushed pink, skin radiating with heat.

"Apologies, love."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn idly stroked her familiar and nuzzled him as they waited for Torsten to return, trying to stop her mind from conjuring all manner of awful scenarios for what could be happening downstairs.

The sound of Torsten's footsteps had her looking up and sighing with relief. "Is ev'rythin' okay?"

Torsten: "...No, but they will be. Flora is...alright." He offered his arm. "I'd like for you to meet her."

Bronwyn: That did not bode well at all. Still, Bronwyn trusted Torsten and the familiar in her arms to keep them all safe.

Vincent was carefully put back on her shoulder before she took her fiance's arm. "Lead the way."

Torsten: The house seemed to be in constant argument with itself over its warmth. Cold spots were followed by warm corridors. Cramped rooms all but burst with heat from fireplaces long since lit.

They were led down beige wooden steps surrounded by gray stone walls and ceiling. The temperature began to equalize on level ground. The shop was enormous. On rows and rows of steel shelving sat many fragile antiques of various sizes, most covered in glass domes or boxes. The walls were made of fabric; a dehumidifier quietly hummed in its corner. Across the vast room, a woman of Torsten's height had attempted to hide. The strangers were studied through the metal shelving. Her long white nails tapped and scraped over a frosted glass box. Flora felt her braids, her corset through her blouse. She glanced back to the large sliding door behind her, waiting for the click of the lock before emerging.

"Are these our honored guests?"

Her brother sighed. "Yes, they are. This is Bronwyn MacAllister, and her familiar."

Bronwyn: The constant changes in temperature were more than enough to keep Bronwyn alert. A very good thing once they got to the basement and her hip started prickling insistently.

She couldn't help but feel...watched as they made their way through row after row of beautiful, delicate antiques. Were entities attached to them, she wondered, or was someone--or something--observing them?

She pushed the matter to the back of her mind, realizing as Torsten's sister came into view that she'd momentarily forgotten her nerves.

Bronwyn took a calming breath, offering a hand and a smile to Flora. "It's lovely to finally meet ye."

Flora: Flora crossed the store to take her hand. A druid trusted by her brother, so she would offer without gloves. Despite her delicate beauty, her hands told the story of age and discipline, littered with scars and thickly padded. A contrast to her perfectly polished nails and otherwise flawless skin. Thick ruby lips hardly thinned with her smile.

"I've heard...so much about you. It's nice to place a real face with written word."

Bronwyn: She was beautiful. Her hands felt like her mother’s, like her sister’s, perhaps even like hers did after a life of working the earth and setting wounds to rights.

“And I’ve heard much about ye. Ye do yer name justice, Flora.”

Torsten/Flora: "You must be exhausted after your journey. Torsten, you should show her to your room and get settled."

The revenant offered his hand to Bronwyn without word.

"I shall. Your meeting is shamefully overdue."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and nodded at Flora. “I am, aye. It really is lovely to meet ye. I look forward to gettin’ to know ye more.”

Torsten/Flora: "We have plenty of time for all of that after you sleep."

Flora kept her gaze steady. She was not one to glance back to where she'd been standing, or to address out of pace. All in good time. She would not have another incident in her home.

"I'm afraid I have no culinary skills, but I have bought things. Our kitchen is small, but at your disposal."

"I'll take care of her. Don't let us disturb you."

Bronwyn: Why did it feel like there was...tension in the air? The atmosphere should feel joyous, shouldn’t it? Or at least optimistic.

Bronwyn squeezed Torsten’s hand. “That was verra thoughtful, thank ye.”

Torsten/Flora: Her hand was kissed. It's alright. You're alright.

"Let's make dinner before it gets later."

Flora nodded. "I'll see you both soon. You enjoy your evening. It's been a long journey."

Bronwyn: “Thanks again, Flora.” She smiled up at Torsten. “Lead the way, love.”

Torsten: She was led back upstairs, her hand cradled all the while. At the top of the stairs she was turned, face kissed several times.

"Are you alright?"

Bronwyn: “Oh!” Bronwyn chuckled softly as she was lavished with affection. “I’m all right, love. Nerves are pretty much gone. What about ye?”

Torsten: "Everything is as it should be. You're in my home. My life is as it should be. Is yours?"

Bronwyn: “It always is when I’m with ye.”  She pulled him down for a kiss. “Come on, let’s eat and rest. We’ve had a long day.”

Torsten/Vincent: "That we have. Lamb, mint, and potatoes." Past the cold spots and inconsistently heated rooms. Step by step to the top floor, where the groceries would be sorted, luggage still in a neat pile at the door.

It seemed as though her familiar had been holding his breath. Once in the kitchen his tiny feathered chest puffed out and sunk in.

"I think you have ghosts."

"Perhaps we do."

Bronwyn: “Yes, that sounds incredible.” She scritched Vincent’s head as she followed Torsten, inexplicably happy to be back on the top level.

“That would explain my hip. Can ye tell how many, darlin’?”

Torsten/Vincent: "Uhhh..." The bird chirped, turning his head this way and that. His beak slowly opened and shut as though tasting the air.

"Better in here than out there," said Torsten, gathering ingredients for a spice rub.

Bronwyn: “Ye’re no’ wrong about that. My hip stopped botherin’ me as soon as we came up. Must be a spirit attached to one o’ the antiques.” She looked to Vincent for confirmation.

Torsten/Vincent: "I think it's more than that..."

The revenant looked over his shoulder and frowned. He didn't want to have this conversation right now. There was enough on his mind.

"More than one, yes. Several kinds of things accumulated over centuries."

Bronwyn: “That’s the way it goes. My friend Lydia’s shop has a few ghosts of its own, mostly pirates and sailors.”

Vincent: "What does she do with them?" Vincent asked.

Bronwyn: “She leaves them be unless they’re destructive. I think she’s only had one or two that she had cleansed away.”

Vincent: "Why would she cleanse them?"

Bronwyn: “They’ve hurt her and her store and the other spirits.”

Vincent: "What happened to them?"

Bronwyn: “They moved on to wherever they were meant to go.”

Vincent: "Where are they meant to go?"

Bronwyn: “Heaven or Hell or maybe somewhere in between.”

Torsten: "You believe in those things?" Torsten looked over his shoulder.

Bronwyn: “No’ a matter of belief. They exist. I know people who’ve been there.”

Torsten: "Maybe for those that adhere to such religions."

Bronwyn: “Heaven and Hell exist independently of religion. Ev’ry culture believes in demons of some sort, angels too. Demons are made in Hell, angels in Heaven.”

Torsten: "Jews don't believe in Hell," he pointed out, smiling before returning his attention back to lamb.

Bronwyn: “And yet it exists. Independent of religion, remember? And that’s comin’ to ye from a pagan.”

Torsten: "I will go to neither place."

Bronwyn: “Neither will I.”

Torsten: "That's what I want to hear," he smiled again.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled back and kissed his cheek. “I’m goin’ to take the longest nap in the world once we eat. Haven’t been this tired in ages.”

Torsten: "Do you want to see your room now?"

Bronwyn: “I’d love to! But ye mean our room, right?”

Torsten/Vincent: "My sister demands you have your own, despite the fact that we will sleep together."

He looked to Vincent. "You also have your own."

Bronwyn: "Are they next to each other?" The thought of not having Vincent at her side made her uneasy.

Torsten: "On the same side of the house, yes."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. “Okay.” At least they would still be near each other. And they still had their link.

She stroked Vincent’s head. ‘If you see even one thing that scares or worries you, you come into my room, okay?’

Torsten/Vincent: 'Yes, ma'am,' Vincent thought in chirps.

They were led through a narrow hall with four doors like a mercury thermometer. The last on the left was a modest bathroom. The middle bedroom was opened. The white room with a log bed had been recently cleaned.

"This is yours," said to Bronwyn. Vincent was given a once over. "You may have the one there," the smallest, furthest from the bathroom.

Bronwyn: The feel of the room was clean and cozy and distinctly Scandinavian. Exactly what she would expect from Torsten's home. "It's lovely. Verra you. Are ye sure yer sister would object to ye stayin' in here with me?"

She turned to nuzzle her familiar. 'Remember, lovely, I'm just a couple of doors down.'

Torsten/Vincent: “Object? She wants to teach our children how to handle a sword and make their own clothes.  She wants more revenants,” his prideful smile gave way as she assured her familiar.

‘Is this where I leave you alone?’ he asked, paying no mind as Torsten excused himself to put his things away.

Bronwyn: 'Maybe for a wee. Let's get you settled in your room.' Out loud she said, "I'm goin' to take Vincent's things to his room. I'll be back in a wee."

She pulled Torsten down to kiss his cheek and grabbed Vincent's bags.

Torsten/Vincent: This was where he should change, thought Vincent. He didn’t want his mistress to burden herself. While the couple exchanged quick affection, Vincent swooped down to his secondary form. The long duration in his feathered body had caused his nose to ache. Always and only the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve got my bag,” he insisted.

Bronwyn: "Are ye sure? Do ye need anythin'? I brought some essentials from my work chest just in case any of us had need. Ye included, Mr. Glockner."

Torsten/Vincent: “What need would I have?” asked from their shared room.

“I’m alright, ma’am. I’m just gonna explore after I situate myself.”

Bronwyn: "I don't know. That's why it's a just in case." There was no such thing as too many precautions in her world.

"Okay, darlin'. Be careful, okay?"

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes ma'am. I won't be going far." Yet. Not until he had explored every inch of the house. Only then could he finally do what he wanted and fly away.

Torsten smiled as soon as the door shut behind his fiancee.

"He'll be fine. As will we. My sister sleeps underground. She has for a few centuries."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn returned his smile and moved to wrap her arms around his waist. “I know he will, I just can’t help worryin’. It’s what I do. She’s lovely, by the way.”

Torsten: "She is. She's always been more... graceful than Fauna."

Bronwyn: She gave him a squeeze. “I wish I could’ve met her, too. I’m sure it’s hard bein’ here without her.”

Torsten: There was hesitation on his part, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to coax warmth from friction.

"Well, I'm not...sure anymore, if you should have."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn’s head tilted. “Why’s that? Do ye think we wouldn’t have liked each other?”

Torsten: "No. It's too much to explain right now, but when I better understand, so will you."

Bronwyn: She gave Torsten a quizzical look but nodded and smiled. “All right, love.”

Torsten: "You smile through everything."

Bronwyn: “Smilin’ is the only way.”

Torsten: "I only want truth from your smile, not something for my benefit."

Bronwyn: “I’ve only ever given ye genuine smiles.”

Torsten: His own smile returned. "My beautiful warrior."

Bronwyn: "Hardly, but I try my best." She pulled him down for a kiss.

Torsten: Down? Then she would be pulled from her feet with a growling laugh.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave a delighted laugh, immediately wrapping around him in a well-practiced move.

"Well hello, Mr. Glockner."

Torsten: "My little thistle," he smiled. "Let's make dinner." She would be carried throughout the house to the back, to the old rustic kitchen of stone and wood.

Bronwyn: "Let's shall." She'd continue clinging and giving him tiny kisses as he took her back to the kitchen.

Torsten: "I must release you. Unless you want to ride on my shoulders while I chop."

Bronwyn: "Don't tempt me." She looked up at the ceiling as if gauging whether it was high enough to allow that.

Torsten: She would need to piggyback. The ceilings were enough for her fiance to touch with determination.

Bronwyn: That was just fine by her. She was perfectly happy to cling to him and nuzzle and kiss Torsten's neck while he cooked.

Torsten: "Comfortable?"

Bronwyn: She hummed and pressed yet another kiss to his neck. “Extremely.”

Torsten: "If I were to cook this properly, it would be in a coal pit and covered for a day, but we don't have that kind of time."

Bronwyn: “We can always make some time later on. We’re goin’ to be here for a good while.”

Torsten: "How long do you want to be here?"

Bronwyn: “I was thinkin’ we’d stay a couple of weeks at least. What were ye thinkin’?”

Torsten: "I was thinking a month."

Bronwyn: "A month? I don't think I can leave the store that long." Or Aedan for that matter. "Split the diff'rence? Three weeks?"

Torsten: "Your bird can take you where you need to be, but three weeks is...fine."

Bronwyn: "That's true," she said thoughtfully. "But I feel like it would be rude to pop in an out. Or trespass on yer sister's hospitality."

Torsten: "This is my home, too."

Bronwyn: She pressed another kiss to the back of Torsten’s neck. He was right, she knew that. She just couldn’t shake the odd feeling she’d gotten when they were downstairs.

“Yes it is. Ye’re right. A month it is.”

Torsten: Affection like that caused a subtle hum of satisfaction.

"What? A month now?"

Bronwyn: “Ye’re right. Vincent can take me to check on the store whenever I need and see Aedan.”

Torsten: "Does he know how to read?"

Bronwyn: She gave him a confused look. “Of course, Vincent knows how to read.”

Torsten: "Your son, Thistle."

Bronwyn: “Oh!” She laughed. “Sorry, the jet lag is startin’ to set in. He’s learnin’.”

Torsten: He smiled to her realization. "What crafts does your family want to instill in him. Archery? Potions?"

Bronwyn: “Gardenin’. Bein’ a part of nature, takin’ care of the land and nurturin’ it. Archery as well, but definitely gardenin’. Art. Music.”

Torsten: "Art and music," he mused. "I wasn't given those."

Bronwyn: She kissed his hair. “It’s no’ too late.”

Torsten: "I'm not saying it with shame. I love music, but that wasn't my purpose."

Bronwyn: “Did I ever tell ye I used to sing at Renaissance festivals?”

Torsten: "No, you did not. What would you sing?"

Bronwyn: “Folk songs, traditional Celtic songs, ballads, sea shanties.”

Torsten: "Sing me something."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn thought for a moment before settling on The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It probably didn't really count as a folk song, but she'd always thought it was haunting and beautiful, and in the quiet kitchen, her voice was echoing softly in a similarly haunting fashion.

Torsten: Her fiance paused his mise en place to listen, closing his eyes to better hear. He stroked what he could of her without knocking her balance.

Bronwyn: She adjusted ever so slightly so she could squeeze him tight, nuzzling him as she continued to sing.

Torsten/Vincent: Vincent closed his eyes, absorbing her melody like the most delicious medicine. The exploration of the ancient house was placed on hold.

The knife was squeezed; asparagus was trimmed and set aside. The knife was then placed at a safe distance. As the song ended, the little druid was placed to the kitchen island to sit. Hers thighs were slowly spread apart to fit his frame.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn continued humming the melody after the lyrics had finished, absently watching Torsten prepare the asparagus and settling in on the counter.

"Tired o' cookin' with me attached to ye?" she asked, smiling softly.

Torsten: "I'm restless," he explained, placing his lips on her throat.

Bronwyn: She smiled and hummed softly. "I'd be happy to indulge ye if I wasn't hungry. Maybe I can indulge ye for dessert."

Torsten: "I will have you for dessert, then." One final kiss to her lips.

Bronwyn: She smiled against his lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever anticipated dessert more.”

Torsten: "We have to get through dinner first, then," he grinned.

Bronwyn: “Yes we will.” She pulled him in for another kiss. “Better get back to it. I can entertain myself with starin’ at yer butt.”

Torsten: "Do you want me to cook naked?"

Bronwyn: “Is that an option? Because if so, yes.”

Torsten: "It's an option." Which began with the removal of his shirt, placed in her lap.

"Do I stop?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave a hum of approval, holding his shirt close as she admired him. "Don't let me stop ye. But if there's a chance ye'll burn somethin' delicate then aye, stop."

Torsten: Away with his jeans as well. He had no concern of his sister walking into the kitchen. It had been his alone for centuries.

She was given his underwear as well.

"I need to give you my back while I cook lamb."

Bronwyn: Her grin was positively cat-like as this glorious specimen of man she called her very own stripped down in front of her.

"By all means. I'll try to keep from distractin' ye."

Torsten: "Please do, woman. I'm going to be using a cast iron and far too much butter," he smiled.

Bronwyn: "Do try no' to distract ye or do distract ye?"

Torsten: "Do not distract me! Unless this is to test my agility in avoiding grease."

Bronwyn: "Okay," she said with a chuckle. "There are far nicer ways to test yer agility. I'll just enjoy the view."

Torsten: "We'll be testing our agility after dinner." The marinated racks of lamb were placed on the buttered skillet. Immediately the kitchen filled with the scent of mint, fat, and meat.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn didn't know whether it was the smell of food or the jetlag or her tiredness but she went into a sort of trance as she watched Torsten cooked, lost in the movement of every muscle.

Torsten: The skillet was moved to the small oven moments later. She was given his full attention for several kisses.

"You're so much more... enticing to eat."

Bronwyn: She hummed and smiled into each and every one. “I could say the same to ye, Mr. Glockner. That lovely bottom of yers will make a fine dessert.”

Torsten: Surprise. "Will it?"

Bronwyn: “Oh, aye. I’ve been wantin’ to bite it for the last ten minutes.”

Torsten: "Is that all you want to do?"

Bronwyn: “That’s priority one. I would’ve done it already but I figured that counted as a distraction.”

Torsten: "I think you need to be naked."

Bronwyn: “Ye need to help me off the counter first.”

Torsten: "Arms up," he smiled.

Bronwyn: Arms obediently went up, Bronwyn smiling all the while. She really hoped no one walked in.

Torsten: Her blouse was removed and placed with his clothes. Extra time was given to her bra, kissing her exposed shoulder and across her throat.

Bronwyn: She sighed softly and contentedly, letting her head tilt to the side and relaxing beneath Torsten's lips.

"Mmm, ye're verra good at that," he murmured, wrapping her legs around him to draw him closer and holding him there.

Torsten: "You don't want this to go further?" A question asked while peeling her panties to the side, feeling her velvet skin between her legs. "That's a shame. You should let us indulge."

Bronwyn: She groaned softly, both in pleasure and frustration. "I'm torn."

Or at least her mind was. Her body was all too happy to press into his hand and try to guide it to purpose.

Torsten: "I'm listening," he whispered, caressing two fingers from her swelling lips to her clit and down again in slow circular motion. "I'm hanging onto every word."

Bronwyn: He was rewarded with another long groan, that tapered into a laugh when her stomach grumbled.

"Do ye see my dilemma?"

Torsten: The revenant chuckled as well. "Dinner is cooking. I can't speed lamb without turning it to leather."

Bronwyn: "Ye did too good a job seasonin' it, part o' me can't stop thinkin' about all the food in the universe and the other part really wants an orgasm."

Torsten: "An orgasm while the lamb roasts," he mused. A single finger invited itself within, feeling for what he knew would welcome his touch.

Bronwyn: “Mm, an orgasm, two....” She sighed dreamily, bearing down on his finger and tightening her hold on him. Kissing his jaw. “Whatever yer heart desires...”

Torsten: "Whatever?" he grinned. Another finger slipped within. That was what he wanted. "How about this?"

Bronwyn: Another sigh and another kiss accompanied it, welcomed it. “Verra good,” she murmured as her hips began to move, encouraging him.

Torsten: "I don't think these are enough," whispered against her skin.

Bronwyn: She smiled to herself. “Ye might be on to somethin’. What do you suggest?”

Torsten: "Put your hands on the counter."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn placed her hands on the counter and leaned back, grinning in anticipation.

Torsten: She knew what he knew, that she would be lifted from the counter with a single arm around her hips. She would be held in place as he teased, rubbing himself against her to cause a squirm before entering. Dinner was the last thought on his mind as he pressed their bodies together, kissed her breasts and breathed her in.

Bronwyn: Oh yes, she knew this waltz of theirs very, very well but the ease with which he scooped her up never ceased to thrill her.

She laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing any and every part of him within reach until the teasing proved too much and she had to stop to just breathe. If gasping and moaning softly as he entered her could be considered breathing.

Torsten: He could hold her for as long as she was comfortable, moving their bodies in fluid motion, lifting and dipping her hips in time with his even breathing.

"My beautiful bride." He kissed her throat, licked from neck to ear and nibbled. "Give me your breasts."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn liked to think that after all this time together, she'd gotten quite good at wrapping herself comfortably around her fiance for extended periods of time. There had been days she'd hardly touched the floor.

She moved her head in tandem with his mouth, giving him all the access he desired and dreaming away under his affection. Liquid heat was rolling through her in gentle waves, spurring her movements and keeping her zoned in on nothing but him.

"All yers," she whispered, loosening her hold on him to give him more of that access.

Torsten: The way she arched her back was nothing as he'd ever seen from a healthy woman. She was so strong, and he was so proud and honored and in love. Her beauty was more than her flexibility and supple skin. He wanted to recite her poetry while fucking her. His tongue offered what it could over her nipples, growling in the way he knew she would enjoy before offering his tongue.

Bronwyn: Oh yes, she enjoyed it all right. Bronwyn groaned and bore down on him, trying to draw him even more deeply into her as she tasted the echoes of that growl in his kiss. She wanted another one.

Torsten: Miraculously, they would make love in peace. Vincent was across the house, studying and touching each and every item he crossed. The basement remained occupied. None of their fellow occupants were given any regard. Her breasts, her mouth, her throat, were far more important.

"I'm going to fill you," he whispered. Each thrust was a promise of his word brought deeper to fruition.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn liked to think their efforts to keep (relatively) quiet had something to do with that peace, but more likely it was the fact that they were completely focused on each other.

And it was hard not to be, with Torsten lavishing affection over seemingly every bit of sensitive flesh she possessed.

She pulled him into another languid kiss and groaned, squeezing him as hard as she could in eager encouragement.

Torsten: He could not love her more than he did in their wordless moment. Her mouth was his to possess as he fulfilled his promise. Their bodies were moist and burning. He licked a bead of sweat from between her breasts.

"Hold the table."

He dropped to his knees, burying his face between her legs.

Bronwyn: She squeezed and moaned softly as she felt that delicious explosion of heat, fully intending to milk every last drop and let it carry her through to her climax.

As such, she was very much ready to voice her protest when he pulled out of her and moved away, at least until she realized what he intended.

There were no words spoken, just a wicked grin as she held the table and cradled his head with her thighs. He loved being there so much, it was only right to give him a loving welcome.

Torsten/Vincent: She deserved an orgasm as shattering as his own. He wanted not only to hear, but to feel her struggle to maintain the quiet.

The house began to smell of lamb roast, and Vincent's mouth watered with anticipation. A small trinket sitting lonesome within the built-in shelves caught his attention. He felt with the grain of the wood and replaced it. Ignoring the kitchen was becoming increasingly difficult. Deeper into the house he explored. Again, he felt the same hot and cold spots, consistent in their area of effect. Roughly the circumference of a human, he thought. An antique shop below him, cold spots, an elder somewhere in the shadows.

"Spirits, of course," he whispered.

Bronwyn: The struggle didn't take very long to make its appearance. There was only so much deep, even breathing could do before Bronwyn's muscles began twitching and jumping in anticipation, before her legs and hips started jerking in an effort to bring Torsten even closer than he already was and offer even more of herself to his mouth.

Those breaths became shallow, her chest started to heave, and within moments those tiny, tell-tale whimpers started slipping past her lips before she could stop them. She was so close, she was right there, just a little bit more. Was that in her head, was she saying it out loud? Only Torsten knew for sure.

Torsten: Her uttered rapturous demands were answered with a growl. Her small legs were placed on his shoulders, and she was lifted from the counter. Nothing exceeded the entertainment of surprise. His cock though throbbing was ignored. Her weightless frame was pressed against the wall for leverage as two fingers entered her.

Bronwyn: A full body shudder rolled through Bronwyn at that growl. She could swear she felt it in every fiber of her being, felt him in every fiber of her being.

When he lifted her legs she nearly sobbed in relief, ready to finally crest that hill, only to yelp in surprise and then cry out in shocked pleasure when he shifted her and entered her in the same breath.

That was all it took. He wouldn't even get a chance or feel the need to move his fingers before Bronwyn was crying out again and falling apart in his hands.

Torsten/Vincent: Only after she exceeded her peak did he finally lower her body into his arms, holding her preciously.

"Sweet woman," he purred. The sweat which had pooled at the dip in her throat was lapped away.

Vincent had disappeared outside, subconsciously fleeing the sounds from the kitchen. Perhaps a stroll around the entirety would help him better understand the true size of the hidden home.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn was little more than a ragdoll in her fiance's arms, sated and exhausted and smiling serenely.

She hummed in response, turning her head to press kisses into his hair. Her hunger had been temporarily forgotten. The whole world felt like a cloud of pink candy floss and she wanted to float in it with him forever.

Torsten/Vincent: Torsten carried his blushing druid to the copper tub. Plenty of time for her so soak at her leisure while he finished dinner. A brief wipe down with a warm soaked washcloth. He would continue nude, should she desire.

Vincent had completed his circle, intrigued at the minimalist rustic exterior, concealing the depth of the underground shop and all of the many secrets. Like a dragon, he mused, protective of many well-earned treasures. Such items his mistress might have the tactile pleasure to study, should he pluck behind ignorant backs? Items he would love to hold between his hands and absorb their knowledge.

Bronwyn: Sighing happily, Bronwyn stretched like a cat in the tub, settling into the warm water. She could've stayed in for hours under different, less hungry circumstances. The hours of travel were already starting to kick in and the thought of a nap was starting to sound just as appealing as food.

Almost. It wasn't long before the scent coming from the kitchen lured her out of the tub and back at Torsten's side.

Torsten/Vincent: Torsten smiled at her reappearance. Dinner was nearly complete. The scent of fresh herbs jockeyed for dominance over cooked meat. Both scents which lured Vincent back inside and towards the kitchen. His adventures were kept to himself, knowing there was every possibility of being scolded.

'Dinner ready?' he asked.

Bronwyn: 'Nearly,' Bronwyn thought back to him. 'Why don't you go wash up before it's done? I'll tell you when it's ready and we can have a lovely meal.'

Vincent: 'Wash up? Here?'

Bronwyn: 'In the bathroom near our rooms. I brought some bubbles with me. The ones you say smell like caramel popcorn."

Vincent: 'A - You want me to take a bath?'

Bronwyn: 'If you'd like. Just took one myself and it felt lovely after the airplane.'

Vincent: 'I'm not mad anymore.'

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled softly to herself. 'I do love you, my little raven. When we go to town we'll find a sweet shop.'

Vincent: Sweet shop? Her familiar perked. 'I'll take a bath now.'

Bronwyn: 'Go on then, lovely. Dinner will be waiting when you're done.'

Torsten: Torsten looked up from his phone. "I can almost always tell when you're with your bird."

Bronwyn: “Really? How?”

Torsten: "The far-away look in your eyes, and a very subtle smile pulling back the corners of your mouth."

He stepped from behind the counter, still quite naked. "I should dress, if he's going to be eating with us...I suppose."

Bronwyn: The smile she gave him was far from subtle. "As much as I love lookin' at ev'ry blessed inch o' ye, aye, ye should. Come here." She pointed at her lips.

Torsten: "You'll get me started again," he smiled, bending down to accommodate her height.

Bronwyn: "Just a wee one." Or two.

Torsten: Her thoughts were easy to map. One long and gentle kiss should count as many. Still, he knew he should move. The bird would be here any moment, as far as he knew.

Bronwyn: It did, and she savored every moment of it.

"I'll keep an eye on dinner while ye get dressed." She smiled up at him. "And we can both content ourselves with the promise o' me devourin' ye whole later tonight."

Torsten/Vincent: "If you don't, I will devour you. That's a promise, thistle." He smiled, content for the time being, to dress in his dusty bedroom.

Minutes later, Vincent peeked around the corner, hair still very much wet. Was it safe?

"Smells good," he whispered.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled after him, indulging herself with a long look at his backside before directing her attention toward dinner.

She turned at the sound of Vincent's voice and smiled. "It does, doesn't it?" She held out her arms in silent request for a hug. "We're havin' lamb."

Vincent: "I love mutton." And the invitation was accepted. Just as her fiancé, her bird accommodated their height difference and snuggled himself in, damp hair cool against her skin.

Bronwyn: Vincent was hugged tightly and kissed on the cheek. "Did ye have a good time explorin', darlin'?"

Vincent: "I love new places," he answered, giving a subtle shiver from his ever cooling arms and back.

Bronwyn: She rubbed his back in response. "I know ye do. Did ye see anythin' interestin'?"

Vincent: "I did," he whispered. "More like...I felt interesting things."

Bronwyn: "Things or spirits?" she whispered back.

Vincent: "Maybe both? Can it be both? I think it can."

Bronwyn: "Aye, I believe so. Could ye feel specifically if they were benign or malicious or more neutral?"

Vincent: "Confused, I think? I feel like they were both, in some places. Like...happy to be angry. Does that make sense?"

Bronwyn: "Concernin'ly so. Darlin', was what ye felt alive?"

Vincent: "Alive in what sense, ma'am?"

Bronwyn: "Alive like we are right now."

Vincent: "No, ma'am. Not like us at all."

Bronwyn: "Like Torsten?"

Vincent: "I - I don't... I don't know, m'am."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave him another squeeze. "Let's stay on alert, aye? Especially at night."

Vincent: "I'll sleep during the day."

Bronwyn: "Ye don't have to go that far, love. Just make sure yer door and windows are closed. And come get me if somethin' happens."

Vincent: "What kind of somethings?"

Bronwyn: "Unexplained noises, shadows, ominous presences."

Torsten: "Well, that's the entire house, isn't it?" said Torsten from the doorway.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn turned toward the door. "Is it?" she asked Torsten.

Torsten: "It's what we sell. It's what we collect. If it sings, its ours."

Bronwyn: "Has anythin' ye've purchased ever had unintended consequences or effects?"

Torsten: "Oh, as you say, 'aye'."

Bronwyn: "Glorious. That doesn't concern me at all."

Torsten: "I've five centuries old - as far as I can remember - you shouldn't be as surprised, or as worried as you are."

Bronwyn: "I'll always worry, love. It's what I do."

Torsten: "It'll age you before your time. Carry battle scars! Not worry lines."

Bronwyn: "I'll inevitably carry both."

Torsten/Vincent: "Were you in places you shouldn't be, little bird?"

Vincent ducked his head.

Bronwyn: "He was just gettin' the lay o' the land."

Torsten/Vincent: "Hmm." Certainly he was. "Are you not cold?" He pointed to his own hair. Vincent looked to his bangs.

"Oh. No. Yes but no."

Bronwyn: "Want a towel for yer hair, darlin'? Or my hairdryer? It's inside the gray bag."

Vincent: "I'm fine. I want to eat. I'm famished."

Bronwyn: “Me too.” Bronwyn smiled at her revenant. “Is dinner ready?”

Torsten: "The plates are there," he pointed. "There's water, wine, and tea."

Bronwyn: “Lamb always makes me want red wine,” she said, grabbing plates. “What would ye like, Vincent?”

Vincent: "...Wine?"

Bronwyn: “Promise to take little sips?”

Vincent: "Yes ma'am," he smiled.

Bronwyn: “There’s a good lad. Come, help me set the table.”

Torsten: What little table there was. Small and round and easily a century old. The edge facing the window had begun to crack. This was not a loved piece.

Copper tumblers were passed for the wine. The window was cracked open before the revenant finally sat.

Bronwyn: Not loved perhaps, but Bronwyn liked it. She had a sentimental soft spot for kitchen tables, strange as it was.

Places set, food served, she took her seat. The lamb smelled so good she could burst into tears.

"So. What plans do ye have for this grand adventure of ours? Where are ye goin' to take me?"

Torsten: "We'll walk for miles until I must carry you. We'll circle the entire island if that's what you wish."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned. "That is what I wish. I want to see the blue lagoon and the black sand beaches and that volcano with the long name I can't pronounce."

Torsten: "Eyjafjallajökull," he said casually. "We'll go everywhere. And you, too," said to the staring familiar.

Bronwyn: "That one, yes," she chuckled. "I want to make more elemental crystals." She smiled at her familiar. "We're gettin' quite good at them."

Torsten/Vincent: Hold on to all of that for a moment. "What sentence did you just say?" Vincent asked.

"It's just one word."

"That was a paragraph."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "It's a verra long name for a verra big volcano."

Torsten/Vincent: "Is it, you know, on? Can we see it?"

"It was last "on" in 2010. Yes, we can see it."

Bronwyn: Her face lit. "We can make a crystal with lava!"

Torsten: "You'll do what?"

Bronwyn: "Make a crystal with lava!  I was already plannin' on makin' one from black sand and one with the water from the blue lagoon, this will be a perfect addition!"

Torsten: "You're not getting so close to lava as to make a crystal."

Bronwyn: "We don't have to be all that close. I just have to draw the lava toward us, like I do when we make sun crystals."

Torsten: Sigh. "Vincent stays with us. Yes?"

Bronwyn: "Of course." Bronwyn smiled at her familiar. "Fancy makin' some elemental crystals with me, darlin'?"

Vincent: "Can one be...just for me?" Something he could consume.

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly and nodded. "Aye, of course it can. What kind would ye like? One of the lava ones?"

Vincent: "That would burn my stomach! Maybe a spring?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn turned to Torsten. "Is there a spring nearby?"

Torsten: "They're everywhere. We can go to one tonight."

Bronwyn: "What say ye, Vincent? Want yer spring crystal tonight?"

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes!" But his smile quickly faded. "Is your...sister coming with?"

"She might."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn caught her familiar's eye and gave him a reassuring smile.

"Do ye think she'd enjoy watchin' us make it?" she asked Torsten.

Torsten: "I think she would. You'll see her again at sundown."

Bronwyn: "We could also make her one out of star light or moonlight."

Torsten/Vincent: "We'll see when she wakes."

Vincent began to fidget.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded and took a sip of her wine. She could feel Vincent's fidget just as much as she could see it.

"How are ye likin' the lamb?" she asked him.

Vincent: "I love it. I don't like the green twig."

Bronwyn: "That's rosemary. Don't bite directly into it, it's verra strong."

Vincent: "Rosemary is to burn?"

Bronwyn: "It's too powerful raw. Needs to be cooked and used sparin'ly."

Vincent: "It belongs in potions."

Bronwyn: "It has a great many uses," she said with a smile. "Just don't bite directly into it."

Torsten/Vincent: He would sniff the herb, then. Much to his surprise he'd made the revenant smile.

Bronwyn: The surprise was shared by Bronwyn but she wasn't about to point it out. She'd just enjoy the small, silent moment of bonding as she ate her food.

Maybe, just maybe, they could learn to like each other and be friends. She hoped so, anyway. Hell, she even considered this progress, and the fact that Torsten had wanted to make sure Vincent was coming along on their crystal-making sojourn.

"Ye did a lovely job, love," she said to her fiance.

Torsten/Vincent: "It should all be burnt. We were very distracted."

Vincent looked up and over and then back down to his food. My, what delicious lamb.

"Have you ever met a vengeful ghost?"

"We have a few in bottles."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn tried to conceal her smile, squinting at Torsten and mouthing 'behave'. They couldn't go and embarrass Vincent.

"Are they contained in artifacts or have people just sold you spirits in glass bottles?"

Torsten: "Both," he smiled. He'd found a new joy in his life over the past year in surprising his fiancée at every turn.

Bronwyn: Well, he'd certainly succeeded in this case. "Is it one o' those situations where they're better off contained and secure than out wreakin' havoc?"

Torsten: "Well, we're not about to find out. Someone put them in a bottle for a reason. The harm's done. I'm not going to exorcise the poor creature on consecrated ground."

Bronwyn: The reason was probably that they'd been unable to burn their remains and free them to whatever afterlife awaited them.

"Probably a good idea to put the bottles and artifacts in a sack of salt. Just in case."

Torsten: "Mm. Flora likes the company, though."

Bronwyn: "She can talk to the sack."

Torsten: "Don't come into her house changing things. You've already taken her brother."

Bronwyn: "I wouldn't dream of it. I just make observations." Bronwyn smiled. "I'm keepin' her brother though. I like him quite a bit."

Torsten/Vincent: "You can have him."

Vincent was back to rolling his eyes.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned and leaned over for a kiss. Just a quick one.

Vincent: "Want me to clean, ma'am?" Vincent's version of cleaning, which meant an elaborate spell.

Bronwyn: "That's sweet of ye to offer, darlin', thank ye."

Torsten/Vincent: He would set to work as soon as his plate was all but licked clean. It was an excuse to flex his telekinetic muscles.

Torsten watched one of the cups slowly float past. It was grabbed, testing the strength of his power. It was enough to have the familiar looking back with a scowl.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn used her hand to hide her smile. She was perfectly happy to let Vincent exercise his magic, still fascinated even after all this time at the things he did and could do.

And it made her even happier to know that Torsten was showing interest. It might seem like he was just messing with Vincent from an outside perspective but Bronwyn knew he was curious. Where there was curiosity, there was interest. Where there was interest, there was a desire to know more and grow closer and understand.

That turned what appeared to be mere magical cleaning into bonding. Whatever else happened on this trip, that small bit of progress already made it a resounding success.

Torsten/Vincent: An interest which Vincent would have adored had it been anyone else. He had no interest in quenching Torsten's thirst. He'd expected Callum MacGillivray to dislike this man as much as he did. He hadn't minded upon initial discovery. He'd been the catalyst to saving his and Botan Nowicki's life, as well as Fletcher Goodman. Not reason enough to accept his apparent interest in his mistress.

Flora would not make a reappearance for the remainder of the night. Torsten did not make a move towards the underground.

The next morning, Bronwyn would be awakened to the not-so-melodic-but-he-tried singing of her magpie.

Bronwyn: Despite the unfamiliarity of their present location, Bronwyn managed to get some light but restful sleep. Even so, there was an entire universe of thoughts swirling around in her mind even before she opened her eyes and heard Vincent sing.

She couldn't help but think about what Vincent had said about what he'd felt, what Torsten had said about the artifacts stored under their feet, why they hadn't seen Flora again, to name a few. It felt like there was...a shroud of mystery over this trip.

Sighing, she put on a cardigan and went toward Vincent's singing.

Vincent: Her familiar was sitting in the living room, on the windowsill he had opened at dawn. The air was brisk despite the season, but the fresh air was a must.

Bronwyn: She smiled the moment she saw him.

"Good mornin', darlin'."

Vincent: The bird waddled around to face her. "Good morning." He puffed his chest and shook his tail feathers. He would begin again for his private audience.

Bronwyn: His private audience was delighted to sit near him and listen, breathing in the crisp air and basking in the few rays of sunlight peeking through the clouds.

A beautiful start to a beautiful morning in a truly breathtaking place.

Torsten: Torsten would be heard before seen. His heavy sleepy steps making their way to the small living room, leaning his large frame against the entryway.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled over her shoulder. She'd know those footsteps anywhere. "Good mornin', love."

Torsten/Vincent: "Did you wake her?"

"Only the best way."

The way the revenant exhaled, Vincent could swear he was a dragon.

Bronwyn: "I woke on my own and followed the singin'. Come sit with me. Enjoy the mornin'."

Torsten: Only because she requested. He took beside her, causing the stiff cushion to raise the little druid by nearly two inches.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed softly as she leaned against him.

"How was yer first night apart from me in ages and ages? Perfectly respectable?"

Torsten: "It'll be the only night." He'd grown accustomed to having her settled against one of his arms.

Bronwyn: “Won’t Flora be scandalized?”

Torsten/Vincent: "She's survived worse."

Vincent turned back towards the open sky and mountains and settled himself in.

Bronwyn: “How is she, by the way? Haven’t seen any sign o’ her since we first arrived.”

Torsten: "She's a vampire, Thistle. You're not going to see her most of the time."

Bronwyn: “I thought we’d at least see her in the evenin’s. Doesn’t she want to spend time with ye?”

Torsten: "At her age, I won't see her for days. And not well after the sun is long asleep."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn hummed thoughtfully. She just couldn’t fathom not wanting to spend time with visiting family, no matter age or limitations. Perhaps it was normal for vampires.

“We should definitely invite her along when we make star and moonlight crystals.”

Torsten: He watched her contemplate, amused. "She can't be out during the day, my love." This was life; this was their culture. He didn't know how else to explain to her.

Bronwyn: “No, I know.” They’d both lived with a vampire for a while, after all. A vampire who went out of his way to spend time with his husband.

“Still, we should try to include her in our post-sunset activities.”

Torsten: It was rare for him to feel their age differences so blatantly. He was uncomfortable with feeling so disconnected from her wishes, but there it was. She didn't have to say it to feel her thoughts from her body language, tone, her eyes.

"We will make the attempt," he replied, still apparently tired.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and kissed his cheek. that was all she could ask. If Flora didn't want to that was perfectly fine, but Bronwyn felt strange not trying. "Thank ye, love. Want me to make us some coffee?"

Torsten: "There is no coffee maker. It's done without all that." His own way of testing her.

Bronwyn: "All of humanity got by without a coffee maker, it won't kill us." Have a kiss. "Where are the filters?"

Torsten: Oh his precious druid. "I'll show you how coffee is made." The elder creature got to his feet with a guttural moan.

Bronwyn: “Ye say that like I’ve never made coffee on the stove before. I grew up in the country, remember?”

Torsten: "You just asked for filters. You must relearn everything."

Bronwyn: “Because it’s easier with filters. Where are the coffee beans and grinder?”

Torsten: "And a grinder?"

Bronwyn: “Yes. Electric or a mortar and pestle.”

Torsten/Vincent: There we go, he shook his finger. She was getting closer to the trusted methods of a Gangrel.

"Coffee tastes like cigarettes," Vincent muttered, fluttering over to perch on his mistress' shoulder.

Bronwyn: "That's why there's sugar and cream," she said, giving Vincent a scritch. "This coffee will be lovely and smooth, ye'll see."

She searched out a pot or kettle to heat some water.

Torsten: Her pending husband gestured to the table. No. You sit. He would be gathering the mortar and pestle, the pot, and a ladle. This was all coffee required.

Bronwyn: "I'm the one who offered!"

Torsten: "And I am your husband."

Bronwyn: Well that was enough to get her to stop in her tracks and smile. Her husband. She rather liked how that sounded.

Torsten: Ah. He smiled as well, turning his broad shoulders towards the gas stove. The most advanced piece of technology above ground. He made short work with the mortar and pestle. A fistful of ground coffee was brought to a brief boil and turned low to steep.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn took a seat at the table, watching Torsten make coffee and gently scratching Vincent's head. It really was a beautifully peaceful morning.

"So what's on the agenda today?"

Torsten: "Crystals, isn't it?" He glanced over his shoulder. "I want to take you into the city. Meet Icelanders."

Bronwyn: "We can spend the mornin' makin' crystals and go into the city for lunch."

Torsten/Vincent: "And the night to ourselves."

A statement which made her familiar huff and puff his chest.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn quite literally smoothed Vincent's feathers. "Would ye still like a crystal made from spring water?" she asked him.

Torsten: "Yes, ma'am. May we make two? I'd like to keep one for - for someone."

Bronwyn: “We can make as many as we have the energy for. This might be a good opportunity to practice makin’ crystals of different sizes.”

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes ma'am. I'll stay as I am until you're ready." To conserve energy.

Coffee was carefully ladled into mugs older than the druid. "This, is coffee."

Bronwyn: "I never would've taken ye for a coffee elitist, Mr. Glockner." She grinned at him. "My coffee maker and French press are offended."

Torsten: "Spoiled woman."

Bronwyn: She chuckled. "Oh aye, I'm thoroughly spoiled with my newfangled modern appliances."

Torsten: "I understand the use of the internet, but some things needn't change."

Bronwyn: "All things must, love. Sometimes to a fault."

Torsten: "There is no must to it. When all the world goes cold, they will all be little children again."

Bronwyn: The morning had taken a decidedly poetic turn. "Even the world goin' cold is its own change. All the universe is a cycle."

Torsten: "You're so very druid, my love."

Bronwyn: "I try," she said with a smile, searching out cream and sugar for her coffee. "We Druids are big into cycles."

Torsten: "We revenants are big into eternity."

Bronwyn: “Verra profound.” She fixed up her coffee and curled up on a chair to enjoy it. “Come enjoy the mornin’ with me.”

Torsten: "And how is your coffee?"

Bronwyn: "Absolutely perfect," she said with a smile.

Torsten/Vincent: "Is it?" he smirked. A cup was made for himself. "Do you drink, bird?"

Said bird huffed. "No, thank you."

Bronwyn: “Of course it is, ye made it.” She turned to smile at Vincent. “What would ye like for breakfast, darlin’?”

Torsten/Vincent: "Eggs. Eggs and berries."

"I have one of those things."

Bronwyn: “The eggs or the berries?”

Torsten: "The eggs. Berries, you'd have to go hunting on your own."

Bronwyn: “We can look for berries when we go to the spring.”

Vincent: "We're coming back?" Vincent squeaked.

Bronwyn: "The spring where we're goin' to make the crystals, no' spring the season," she chuckled.

Vincent: "OH!" He was still waking up. Forgive him. But the back and forth made Torsten smile.

Bronwyn: “Ye definitely need some breakfast. How do ye want yer eggs?”

Vincent: "Raw." For I am a bird.

Bronwyn: "Want me to beat them first or just crack them into a bowl?"

Vincent: "On a plate. I got it!"

Bronwyn: "All right, darlin'." If they couldn't find any berries out in nature, they'd have to get some when they went to town.

Torsten/Vincent: Torsten watched the bird hack away at the shell, bobbing his head this way and that to devour the rich yolk. He could only watch a minute of that before excusing himself to prepare for their day.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn would keep Vincent company as he finished his eggs and she finished her coffee. She was excited for today, for the magic they would do and the sights they would see. This was going to be a good trip.

[caiuscassiuss]

Mile High Club (M)

NCT/WayV Ten ♡ Female! Reader

Description: The passenger in the first class cabin was getting a little bit... antsy. How convenient that you were a model air hostess that served to please.

Genre: PWP | humor WC: 4k Warnings: graphic smut (fellatio, semi-public sex, fingering, semi-dubcon, domination kink, dirty talk), alcohol, profanity

(A/N: y’all this is just a indulgent fic as a reward for 400+ notes on Muse! i’m going to hell but I hope you like it~)

 “Welcome aboard flight 8374 departing from Bangkok, Thailand on course to Seoul, South Korea. I am your captain Lee Junseo, and if you are in need of any assistance during the duration of the flight, do not hesitate to ask our wonderful flight attendants. We at Korean Stream hope you have an enjoyable flight.” Looking out the window at cruising altitude, you noticed the complete darkness outside only interspersed by the occasional red blinking of the beacon. While this has been a familiar sight to you, the wonder and delight of being 37,000 feet up in the air has not failed to keep you entertained and spirits, lively (as much as they could be in a cabin full of cranky passengers).    Taking the captain’s message as a cue, you and your fellow 5 flight attendants unclick your safety belts and quickly get to the carts.    “Sarah, Sooyoung, to the economy class. Katie and David, get to your positions in business class. It looks like I’m stuck with first-class duty,” you say with a sigh, looking over at the class assignments.    “Why do you sound to put-out? I’m the one dealing with entitled wannabes, here!” David snorted as he fixed his tie. The silver, gleaming name tag emblazoned with Kim, David: Flight Attendant was affixed firmly to the lapel of his dark blue blazer, while his gelled back hair shone.    “Oh, please! My termination could be one misplaced caviar egg away!” you shoot back, as you straighten the wrinkles on your dress you might’ve attained while sitting. You were so lucky that your employment began when Korean Stream upgraded their previous hideous uniforms to gorgeous, elegant outfits. The navy blue dress, with long sleeves and hemmed just above the knee, was set off by an orange-based red neckerchief.    “Our terminations could be a flight away if you don’t get your asses to your stations!” Katie, your chief flight attendant, scolded.    “Yeah, yeah,” the four of you hummed glumly.

   Ten gripped the cushioned armrests of his reclinable chair greatly, the butter-soft Italian leather feeling quite smooth under his incensed grip. He tapped his foot on the carpeted floor and squirmed in his seat, looking around the luxurious first-class cabin he had bought for himself.    Irritation was not an unfamiliar emotion on Ten’s fine-boned visage, whether it be seen screaming at incompetent workers or bossing around employees. However, this irritation was not caused by the little bumbling chit in the secretarial department (who couldn’t tell the difference between the hour and the minute hand) or his gambling step-brother (who seemed to think the company card was his own), but rather his own traitorous, male sexual organ.    Which was barely constrained by the cut of his tailored Savile Row trousers.    Ten hadn’t the slightest idea why this was happening. He hadn’t watched porn in the hours before the flight. No female had tried to impose their physical attentions on his body. Hell, he had gone to the bathroom in the first-class Korean Stream lounge so it couldn’t have been unintentional. All he knew that he had a painful boner in his pants, a slight fear of blue balls, and need to fuck any female at this point.    The successful entrepreneur huffed and opened the remote control panel underneath his armrest, and flicked on the TV. Perhaps the mindless static of commercial television would occupy his thoughts and off of his unfortunate erection. It buzzed on, the cold LED display a harsh contrast from the warm, ambient lighting of the cabin. Ten rested his head on his palm as he flicked through the channels, a spectacularly bored expression on his face as he went through piles and piles of infomercials. Seriously, he paid 9000 pounds for this? Overly smiley flight attendants advertising products he did not want, nor need?    Things were not made better by his still pressing erection between his legs, which he had crossed his legs over in order to stifle it down. Obviously, it had not worked. Ten had the urge to run his hands through his hair but was reminded he had had it slicked back for his business meeting in a few hours in Seoul. If his erection were not taken care of now, well, his case of blue balls would not be pleasant to bear during a meeting with the shipping company he wanted to acquire.    Just as Ten was about to unbuckle his trousers, a pleasant little knock sounded on the sliding partition between him and the rest of the plane.    “What?!” Ten gritted out.    Silence followed. “My apologies Mister… Leechaiyapornkul. If you would like me to come back with refreshments during a more convenient time, I would be happy to return,” an undeniably female voice rang out.    The young CEO was snapped out of his growing annoyance when the soft voice sounded through the partition. A lasvicious smirk crawled up and over his plump lips, a devious and rather naughty plan forming in his quick mind. A flight attendant, hm? He had always wanted to fuck a girl a few thousand feet in the air. Maybe playing with this little flight attendant would help him take care of his little… problem and cross a thing of his imaginary bucket list.    “My apologies. Do come in,” Ten straightened in his chair and settled the Hermés throw blanket provided over his lap.    To his great delight, a rather attractive lady stepped cautiously through the door. Dressed in the signature fitted navy blue dress of Korean Stream, it’s fit hugged her pleasant curves and showed an enticing amount of leg. Killer red heels adorned her feet, that matched her necktie and painted lips and drew his eyes when she bowed politely.    “What would you like to drink, sir? We have sodas and juices, but also a fine selection of alcoholic beverages if you’re feeling for something stronger,” you smiled at him, albeit robotically.    “I find myself in the mood for something a bit stronger, you know. Something that gets the blood pumping through the veins. The harder it is, the better,” he smirked at you, fully aware of the suggestive innuendos coming from his lips.    He was pleased to see the flight attendant— y/n, was her name? That what’s it said on her nametag, so nicely placed at the swell of her breast—look a bit shaken at the clearly provocative undertone of his statement.    “I-I- Of course, sir. We—”    “Call me Ten, now. No need to be so stiff,” Ten smiled.    “Um, yes... Ten. We have Dom Perignon, a great menu of wines, some tequila, vodka—”    “I think I’ll take up the offer on the vodka, please.”    “Coming right up.”    Ten was treated to a magnificent view of your backside, a pert bum giving way to a pair of killer legs only making his erection stiffer.    Y/n quickly came back with a tray of a glass and a bottle of Stoli Elit vodka. She leaned down and set down the tray on his chairside table, before bowing.    His hand shot out to take the glass, before “accidentally” brushing against the flight attendant’s thigh. The cute little minx gasped, her lips slightly parted in shock (which he’d like to see wrapped around his dick).    “Oh? I’m very sorry about that—” not feeling sorry at all “ — that was rather clumsy of me,” Ten smiled at the attendant. She smiled politely and took the vodka bottle and poured some into the glass encased in Ten’s sinuous fingers. The businessman’s fine eye for detail quickly caught on to the fine tremors that wracked the lady’s arm as she served. Secretly, his lips pulled up in a smirk; his plan was working.    It always did.    However, a jolt of turbulence unexpectedly hit the plane, and some of the vodka in Ten’s glass sloshed over onto the attendant’s dress.    “Oh, my!” Y/n gasped in surprise. She put down the bottle of Stoli Elit and began dabbing at her clothes with a wipe she procured from her pocket. Ten was on his feet immediately, his arm stretched out to help.    “Goodness gracious! My dear, I am truly sorry, here, let me help—”    “It’s alright sir, I’ve got it handled myself! I wouldn’t want to trouble you—”    “Here, let us go to the bathroom. Perhaps we can fix that mess a bit with a good rinse.”    “It’s truly fine sir—”    “Ten, and it’s no problem to me. Let us go.”    Silenced by his authoritative manner, y/n had quieted down.    “T-Thank you.”    “The pleasure is all mine,” Ten gestured to the entrance of the hallway with a flourish. You followed him out the door, and Ten smirked as he closed the partition with a satisfying click.    “Truly, it is.”

   Why in the seven hells were you in this situation.    Here you were, leading the way to the opulent bathroom reserved for first class passengers only, with one of the most handsome and successful men you have ever seen on your trail.    Ten Leechaiyapornkul was a man truly blessed with good genes if you had ever seen one. His black hair was gelled back in a devil-may-care style, loose strands framing his sun-kissed complexion. Dark brows were settled over mischievous eyes, like he knew something you didn’t, while his plush lips were pulled up in a slight smirk.    Not to mention his good looks, but his amazing cunning. To have such a successful business at such a young age, you were a bit reverent of Ten’s achievements.    Long, lean legs, quickly caught up with you in the corridor, his height only slightly taller than you. You noticed that everyone was virtually asleep, no TV’s playing and silence permeated throughout the cabin. Well, at least no one would gossip about the pair of you.    You slid open the door to the lavatory, which was not some tiny cramped restroom that could barely fit a toilet and a sink. Oh no, this lavatory fit a toilet, a full counter and sink, and a shower provided for the comfort of Korean Stream’s first class passengers. The room comfortably fit the pair of you.    You immediately made a beeline for the sink and turned on the faucet, all too aware of the dangerous man standing behind you. He clicked his teeth and gently pushed you out of the way, getting some soft towels and running them under the tap.    “Here.”    The businessman bent down to your abdomen and dabbed slightly at the stain, trying to remove it from your dress. His intense focus on his task made your knees slightly shake, and you put a glove-covered hand on the counter to steady yourself.    “Oh dear, it looks like it has gone through your dress,” Ten says sympathetically as he keeps on wiping.    “Perhaps you should try to remove the top half of your dress to get the stain out,” Ten suggested boldly, riskily taking a chance to get to his goal quicker.    “I-I excuse me? That’s highly inappropriate—”    “Compared to the situation we have now? A passenger and crew member in a spacious lavatory together?”    You stayed silent.    “I’ll turn my back, I promise,” Ten swore as he turned back towards the counter, his wine-colored suit jacket stretching over his shoulders as he crossed his arms.    “O-Okay,” you stuttered.    Hell, this was one of the worst ideas you had, but if the smell of vodka on your work attire made itself apparent to your Chief Flight Attendant, you were done for. Stripped of a job and highly enjoyable career, all because of behavioral misconduct. And you couldn’t even ask the passenger to leave, because he was a powerful man with powerful connections that could get you blacklisted.    You slowly unbuttoned the top of your dress, fingers trembling in nervousness. Somehow, your panties dampened unconsciously due to the extremely handsome man in the room. You pushed down the material of the top half and bunched it around your waist. You took the towel and swiped harshly at the stain on the bodice of your dress.    Unbeknownst to you, Ten had a perfect view of the proceedings. You had forgotten there was a perfectly functioning mirror behind the sink so he could see inch by delicious inch of your skin being revealed. When your bra clasp came into view, he decided to make his move.    He turned around quietly and crept up behind you. He quickly unclasped your bra clasp and put his hand on your waist    “I’m afraid my promises mean shit, however.”    Before you could protest, Ten had your mouth captured in a searing kiss, plump lips dominating yours powerfully. You could only grasp onto his shoulders weakly as he slammed you against a wall, hard enough that you are 500 percent sure that someone in the corridor heard it. He nips and bites at our lips, and you involuntarily moan as his hands climb lower and lower. The CEO smiles against your lips and trails his kisses to your neck.    "I don't think... we should do this..." you pant.    "Oh, sweetheart, I know you want this too. Don’t lie to me"     Your fingers grasp at his blazer and quickly try to shove it off, which he obliges in helping with a smirk that clearly signified he had won. Ten roughly shoves a leg between yours, his erection pressing beneath your thighs hard and hot.    You palm his erection, enfolding his lips with yours, fingers teasing. You stroke the bulge in his pants, squeeze and continue stroking while his grip on you grows tighter.    “Doll, you’re playing with fire there,” Ten warns as his kisses trail to your breasts.    You let out a coquettish giggle, and shove a hand into his boxers to touch his dick.    Ten roughly shoves you away and leans against the counter. He crosses his arms imperiously, a king commanding his citizens.    “Kneel, doll.”    You gave him a confused look, biting your lip and looking at him seductively.    You see his knuckles turn white as he balls them up tightly, and his voice grows even more forceful. “No matter how pretty you are, doll, I warned you and now you’re going to take your punishment like a good girl. So kneel.”    You slowly get down to the floor, keeping eye contact with him throughout the whole process. Although he is unwavering in your lustful gaze, you can see the glint of want in his penetrating gaze.    “Yes, sir.”    You draw a finger over the stitching of inseam, slowly and steadily. You deftly unbuckle his Louis Vuitton belt, shiny golden buckles hanging in the air. You smile and carefully unbutton each button of his trousers, taking your sweet time. Your hand creeps out and pulls his hard dick from his briefs.    His length bounces into your face, unceremoniously slapping against your cheek. His cock is one of the best you’ve ever seen, a good length and as thick as your wrist. Perhaps he was physically blessed in many ways. Your thumb swipes over the head of his cock, spreading the oozing precum left and right. Ten still has an inscrutable expression on his face but was frowning a bit harder than he was before. You wrap your whole hand along his dick, pumping up and down quickly before slowing down, then speeding up again.    “I want to see those delicious red lips wrapped around my cock, doll. Get to it.” Ten says after a few seconds of his handjob.    You pout but oblige. You hold his dick carefully and position it to your mouth. Your cherry-red lips open wide suck at the tip of his cock, your eyes locking into his innocently. Your tongue twists patterns and patterns on his oblong length, feeling his veiny texture and memorizing it.    Ten throws his head back and moans loudly, his hands clenching tightly against the counter. Somehow, his legs still hold strong and don’t buckle underneath the pleasure of your rather excellent blowjob.    You decide to get a little riskier and completely remove your hands. Your hands reach underneath your dress and poke at your clit. You squeal a bit, shocked by how sensitive your core is. Your index finger lazily draws circles around your pussy, sometimes even pushing up farther. You lower and lower your head until your nose hits his pubic hair, cheeks stuffed with his cock.    “Oh, doll, you’re doing a great job taking your punishment,” Ten says breathily.    “Thank you, sir” you mumble, your mouth a bit occupied with something at the moment.    You slide your lips back and forth along his length while sucking hard and soft. Ten’s right-hand darts out and clasps your ponytail and shoves your head harder onto his dick.    “Doll, I’m about to cum. Take… Take it like a good girl, okay?”    He strokes his length harder and harder, the head slightly pushing against your open lips. A few seconds later, a throaty moan signifies his ejection of cum, streams of it spurting into your mouth. Most of it gets into your mouth and is swallowed, but some of it splatters onto your chin.    Ten breathes heavily for a few moments and then straightens up. He reaches down as grasps your waist then lifts you up like a limp doll, settling you on the counter with a muffled smack.    “Since you did so well, I’m going to give you a little treat okay? Sit tight.”    He harshly bunches up your dress to your stomach, leaving your near transparent panties exposed to the cool air. The businessman looks like a little boy who found his candy as his eyes rake over your spread thighs encased in tight white panties, eyes greedily glinting as he takes in the view.    Ten shoves down your panties to your ankles and wastes no time in putting a hand to your clit. You let out an extremely loud moan which you muffle with your hand, eyes closed in rapture at the feeling. Ten looks at your face and at your gaping lips, cavern still dripping with cum. He smirks and strokes his thumb against your engorged clit harshly, and a piteous whine escapes your lips.        “Let your moans out, doll. I want to hear them, okay?”    Too focused at the pleasurable feeling in the crevice of your thighs, you do not deign him a response. Ten frowns and inserts 2 fingers into your pussy deeply.    “Do you hear me?”    “Yes, sir!” you cry, pussy clenching hard against his fingers.    Ten tsked and looked at his fingers, now dripping with your juices.    “Oh dear, you’re already so wet, doll, and it’s only been a few minutes. You must want it really badly, hm?”    “Y-yes, yes please!”    “I don’t think you want it hard enough, doll, maybe I should—”    “Please, sir! Please!”    “Please what?”    “Please… Please fuck me!” You cry, intensely frustrated at his teasing.    “Oh, alright. You only had to ask politely.”    With that, Ten shoves his whole length into your pussy, no warm-up or preparation necessary. He immediately sets a hard and fast pace, his belt buckle clinking wildly as he his slam up against your yours. You can feel your back hitting the cabinet several times, the handle digging in harshly into your shoulder blades giving a mixture of pleasure and pain. His fingers dig into your thighs creating red marks, while Ten’s body is almost completely covering yours.    The veiny texture of his cock your tongue had memorized so well was stimulating the walls of your pussy, eliciting wanton whines from your lips. If you had ever witnessed this scene from another standpoint, you would’ve been horrified at how indecent you looked as the dirtiest noises came out of your mouth and filled the charged air.    Ten’s breath was coming out hard against the side of your neck, while he was whispering extremely dirty things in your ears.    “Guess you’re an easy one, huh? Fuck, you feel so good against my cock, shit, I could ride you all day, baby. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Fucking you wherever I could?”    “Yesss,” you hiss out, a haze of euphoria and pleasure addling your brain as effectively as heroin.    “I could bend you over in the middle of the plane aisle in front of all those people and you’d still be moaning like a whore for me! Shit, who taught you this, huh? You’re so fucking tight, fuck!”    Ten speeds up, hips slapping lewdly against yours. The fear of someone passing by and hearing the illicit noises from the first-class passenger bathroom was completely wiped from your brain. He lifted your legs up to his shoulders, killer red heels pointing up into the air, legs spread apart and quim bared to his hungry gaze.    The new position enabled him to dig even deeper into your pussy, the head of his cock hitting places that you didn’t even know that existed. He surpassed any former sexual partner you had, by far, the way he made you feel was unparalleled. However, the feeling in the pit of your stomach built up and up and up until—    “Ten!” you cry out.    Your pussy clenches around his dick harshly, as you cum hard. This was the first time a man had ever made you cum without foreplay. Your back arched off the counter and pushed your breasts into Ten’s face.    Ten kept fucking you through your orgasm, still looking for his release. You can see his teeth grinding against each other, brow furrowed as sweat beaded up against his forehead. The strands that escaped his gelled hairdo had multiplied, and now many of them swung back and forth at the sheer force Ten was screwing you with.    “Fuck!”    He quickly pulls out and you can feel warm streams of come splattering on the inside of your thighs. While he jerks off, cum spurts sporadically from his dick. Cum drips down your legs, and you can feel a pool of it underneath you on the counter.    Your ragged breaths resound around the confined, airplane lavatory. Coming to your senses, you can smell the raw scent of lust in the air and the mugginess of the bathroom. You can hear the wind of the airplane through the cabin, and the dinging noise over the intercom signifying the seat-belts on sign.    “Well, we better get back, shouldn’t we?” Ten composed himself, zipping back his length into his trousers.    “Yeah…” you absentmindedly say as you work on cleaning Ten’s cum from your inner thighs. He sees and rushes to aid you, finding the linen-soft paper towels of the first-class passenger bathroom.    After clean up, you straighten your dress and underwear, looking into the mirror for any sign of your illicit rendezvous. Thankfully, your makeup wasn’t too far out of place and your hair had a few stray curls, but that was the extent of the damage. However, the satisfied glint in your eyes would signify to any sexually-active person in range to notice that you got fucked.

   You scrambled to the attendant’s seating, at least 5 minutes late after the announcement of turbulence. You drew the seatbelt over you and settled into the plastic cushion of the chair.    “Well, well, well, why is Miss Y/n late?” David asked sardonically.    “Nothing,” you defensively shoot back.    Katie, who is next to you, gives a quick scan over and comes to a definite conclusion, evident in the way her mouth drops and her lined eyes widen.    “Y/n!” Katie gasps.    “What?” you ask.    “Did you do what I think you did?” Katie says hushedly.    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say stoically, hands fidgeting as your eyes travel to your lap.    “I have it on good authority there were banging noises and muffled moans coming from the first class lavatory. So who is coincidentally missing and who happens to also service the area?” Sooyoung sardonically laughs, raising an eyebrow.    “Fine! I… I might’ve… might’ve done something extremely… unprofessional,” you stutter, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. Damn, you were caught.    “Might I add not in the curriculum the flight attendant handbook?” Sarah quips.    “Going above and beyond duty, that’s for sure. Was he at least hot?” David asks as the group explodes in laughter.    You grumble good-naturedly, still feeling the small stiff card burning in your pocket, emblazoned in wine red ink with Ten’s number and address.

[olicitysecretsanta]

Love Knows No Season, Love Knows No Clime (The Christmas Ornament)

For @foreverfelicityqueen from @allimariexf

Happy holidays to you, Kayla @foreverfelicityqueen!! I wanted to try to incorporate your wishes into this story, which meant going out of my comfort zone! I don’t know if this will be what you imagined, but I had such a fun time writing Tommy and doing the “soulmates” theme - both things I’ve never tried before! Thank you for that! I hope you like the result, which is a little fluffy, a little angsty, a little smutty and a little Hallmark magicky! :D 

Tags: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Tommy Merlyn/Laurel Lance (implied), Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, Tommy Merlyn, Laurel Lance (mentioned), William Clayton (mentioned), canon compliant, soul mates, christmas! fic, pre-Island, season 2, post-7x09, fluff and smut and light angst, mildly Hallmark-Christmasy, but darker because Arrow

Rating: M

Summary: Christmas magic

_________________________________ December 24, 1996

Oliver found Tommy sitting in the darkened hallway, lit only by the festive lights of the party below.

“Hey.”

Tommy looked up, not bothering to smile. “Hey.”

“Was wondering where you went. Laurel was asking about you.”

Tommy made a face.

Oliver grinned. “What? I think she likes you. What’s so bad about that?” He took a seat on the floor next to his friend.

Tommy lifted an eloquent eyebrow. “She likes you. She only asked about me so she’d have an excuse to talk to you, you know.”

Oliver stared back at his friend for a long moment before looking down with a knowing smile. “Okay, maybe.” He paused and listened to the sounds of music and voices drifting up from below that seemed to belong to another world. “What are you doing up here?”

When Tommy didn’t answer, Oliver gave his shoulder a shove. “Come on, there are a lot of girls down there! And no chaperones. And you were the one who stole the liquor out of your dad’s cabinet to spike the punch, dude!” He raised his eyebrows significantly. “Good job, by the way. But it makes me wonder why you aren’t down there enjoying it.”

Tommy shook his head, clearly in one of his moods. Oliver was used to it. Ever since his mom died and his dad left three years ago, Tommy had become a fixture at the Queen home, and he was more like a brother than a friend to Oliver. Most of the time he was the same old Tommy, fluent in sarcasm, never one to turn down a dare, who didn’t understand the concept of taking things too far. But every once in a while he would go silent and unreachable, and Oliver knew this was one of those times.

“You thinking about your dad? Or your mom?”

“Actually, I was thinking about girls, and then -”

Oliver swung his head around to give Tommy an incredulous look. “You’re up here brooding about girls?”

“Ha! No, not exactly.” The brief smile slid off his face. “I was thinking about girls, and that reminded me.” He drew a pair of objects from where they had been stashed behind him, and Oliver squinted into the darkness to make them out. “My mom gave these to me.”

Oliver looked at his friend, all jokes about sappy heart-shaped Christmas ornaments falling away from his lips.

“Well actually, I found them. The Christmas before she died.” He smiled softly. “I was looking through her closet to see if I could find out which Super Nintendo games she got me -” he met Oliver’s eyes with a grin, “Battletoads and Double Dragon!”

Oliver laughed with Tommy at the memory of the hours they’d spent playing the game, but he knew his friend had more to say, so he stayed silent. The sound of girls shrieking pierced the silence, and Oliver felt a strong sense of missing out on his own party, but he shoved the feeling down and waited for Tommy to continue.

“Instead, I found these ornaments.” He held them up into the dim light so Oliver could inspect them better. There were two of them, identical, each one made of wood and delicately carved into a pair of hearts. The words “My True Love” were painted in the center, with obvious space for two names below it. “She told me one of her patients gave them to her at the clinic. She said he was an artist and that he couldn’t afford to pay her, but he made her these ornaments, and told her….” He frowned slightly, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should continue.

Oliver was intrigued. “He told her what?”

“He told her they were magic.” He rolled his eyes and then looked at Oliver, waiting for judgment.

Oliver suppressed the sarcastic comment he normally would have made, because he could see that the ornaments, the story, the memory meant something to Tommy. Still, he was skeptical. “Magic?” A slightly indulgent smiled played over his lips.

Tommy shook his head, smiling. “I know, I know. It’s dumb.”

“Hey. It’s not dumb. It’s just…magic? What’s so magical about an ornament?”

“Well, according to my mom, you write your name here,” he pointed to the leftmost blank spot on one of the ornaments, “and then on Christmas eve you wish upon a Christmas star -”

“What’s a Christmas star?”

Tommy laughed. “I dunno. A star you see on Christmas? That’s what my mom called it, okay? I mean I know it’s all BS anyway….”

“Hey.” Oliver punched him lightly. “I didn’t say it was BS. What happens next? What are you supposed to wish for?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “It is BS. Sappy love stuff. Okay? You write your name here, and you wish on a star for your one true love to find you. Your soulmate, or some crap like that.” He set the ornaments down and turned to face Oliver. “I thought of them because I was just down there, looking at you. Wondering how you get girls to like you.”

Oliver opened his mouth in surprise, but he felt himself flush with the still-new knowledge that it was true. Girls did like him. Until recently, it had been more of an inconvenience than anything, but more and more lately he found that he didn’t mind, that he liked the attention. “Tommy, you know I -”

“Ollie, it’s fine! It’s not a big deal. I was just thinking about it, and I remembered these ornaments, and it got me thinking about my mom.”

“You know you’re my best friend, right? Girls are just…girls.”

A slow smile spread over Tommy’s face. “Yeah. I know.”

Oliver matched his small smile and picked up one of the ornaments from the floor. “She was a good mom.”

“Thanks. She thought of you like a son too, you know. In fact, she told me this other ornament was for you.”

Oliver ran his thumb over the blank space on the right side of the ornament. “So what’s supposed to happen?”

Tommy spoke carefully, but Oliver heard the note of hope he was clearly trying to hide. “We write our names here. We wish on a star on Christmas eve. We put the ornament away. Then our true love will bring it to us one day, and her name will be written next to ours.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Ollie -”

“Come on, let’s do it! It’s Christmas eve. There’s a bunch of girls down there. Who knows what will happen?”

Tommy grinned at him, not saying thanks for humoring him and not teasing him, but Oliver understood anyway.

They opened the doors of the second floor balcony at the end of the hallway, meeting the freezing, crystal clear night. Situated over six miles from any other civilization, the Queen mansion always had excellent stargazing visibility, and tonight was no exception.

“Oh, crap, we forgot to write our names.”

“Umm. Here, I still have this from when I was writing names on the take-home bags.” He pulled a pen out of his pocket.

“It’s green.”

Oliver shrugged. “It’s festive.”

Tommy took the pen and wrote his name before passing it back to Oliver. “Now we wish.”

Oliver looked at Tommy, trying to match his solemn mood. “Okay. I wish that my one true love will come find me.”

“Yes. And I also wish that my one true love will come find me.”

“And they’ll bring us these ornaments.”

“Yeah.”

Oliver waited a moment, to give the wish time to take effect. “Now what?”

Tommy grinned. “Now we go back to the party and let the girls come to us!”

December 24, 2005

The door to the pool house opened again, the very loud sounds of the party spilling out into the cold night air, but people had been coming and going from the large inground hot tub all night, so Oliver didn’t think anything of it until Tommy rounded the corner and spotted him.

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

“I was looking for you. Kinda surprised to find you alone, though.” He settled into the lounge chair next to Oliver’s. “Laurel asked me to find you. I was prepared to tell her I found you throwing up in the bushes.”

Oliver let his gaze drift over to meet Tommy’s, but he didn’t match his friend’s knowing smile.

Still, Tommy pressed on. “I saw you talking to Rachel Atwell.”

“Who?”

“That redhead, Tanya Ferris’s cousin here on break from Vassar. You know, the one who had her hands up your shirt and her tongue in your mouth?”

“Oh. Her.”

“Yeah, Ollie. Her.”

Oliver felt Tommy waiting for an explanation, but he stayed silent.

“What’s going on, buddy?”

“Do you remember when you found those Christmas ornaments from your mom, the night of my first co-ed Christmas party, when we wished on a star for our true loves?” He had been staring off into the darkness, but after Tommy didn’t say anything for a minute, he looked over to find his friend giving him a strange look.

“Ollie, are you okay?”

“Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. It was a silly thing we did, you were being nice to me about missing my mom and my awkward stage with girls. Thank goodness that’s over, right?”

A smiled flashed over Oliver��s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Seriously, buddy, what’s going on?”

“I got kicked out of Princeton.”

Tommy frowned. “That’s what’s bothering you? I mean, not to be insensitive, but you didn’t seem that bothered when you got kicked out of Harvard.”

Oliver shrugged.

“What did Laurel say?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Oh. But -”

Oliver met his friend’s questioning gaze without emotion.

“But wasn’t she transferring to Princeton to be with you?”

Oliver nodded once. “Yep.”

“Okay, okay. No big deal. I’m sure your parents can work something out, get you a second chance or something.”

Oliver’s gaze slid away to focus off into the distance again.  “Did your one true love ever come find you?”

“Ollie. Oliver. Come on, man. That wasn’t real. There’s no such thing as magic.”

“But is there such a thing as true love?”

It was Tommy’s turn to be silent.

“What is love, anyway? Is it like my parents?”

“Man, I don’t know.” For once, there was a note of impatience in his voice. “You tell me. You’re the one of us who’s in a serious, long-term relationship.”

Oliver shook his head, sighing. “I know she makes me feel good about myself, like I’m special. Is that true love? I know that it doesn’t matter how much of a screw-up I am, she always tells me I’m a good person.”

“Yeah, she definitely loves you, Ollie.”

“She caught me cheating on her last month. She walked in on me in my dorm room when she was visiting me on campus.”

“Wait, wait. Let me get this straight: she was staying with you on campus, and you brought someone else to your dorm room?”

Oliver nodded.

“Dude, you have serious balls! Almost like you wanted to get caught!”

Oliver nodded absently. “She was really upset. She screamed at me, stormed off. I found her crying an hour later. But she forgave me, and then we had really great make-up sex.”

Tommy grinned. “Like I said, she really loves you. Nothing you could do would make her leave you.”

Oliver was silent for a long moment. “She’s too good for me.”

Tommy shrugged. “Someday you’ll be good enough for her.” He smiled mischievously. “But maybe not today? You’re still young, dude. Way too young to be worried about settling down just yet, in my opinion. Not when Rachel Atwell is just one hot girl among many, my friend, and you have a 6-years-running Christmas eve streak to maintain. Come on. We’ll go reassure Laurel and make your excuses.”

A slow smile was spreading over his face at the idea. Tommy was right. And besides, how was he ever supposed to know if what he had with Laurel was true love if he didn’t compare her to other girls? “She’s probably going to see through any excuses you come up with.”

“Well thank god she’s forgiving, then.”

December 24, 2013

The sound of the foundry’s door unlocking jolted Oliver out of his thoughts, and he swiveled toward the CC feed to see who was coming to the lair this late on Christmas eve. He felt an involuntary surge of pleasure in his chest as he watched Felicity descend the stairs, but he was used to that. After all, she was his friend.

She stopped short on the last step as she saw him sitting in her chair. “Oh. Hi!”

Oliver smiled and stood up, moving toward her. “Hi.”

They spoke at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Felicity laughed and looked down.

“I thought you were in Central City.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “I was.” She stepped off the last stair and would have slipped past him, but Oliver reached out and laid his hand on her arm, sensing something was bothering her.

She shook her head, but she didn’t move away. “It’s nothing.”

“Felicity.” He slid his arm up to her shoulder and waited.

She looked up at him with an expression that he couldn’t quite identify. Self deprecation, maybe. “I was at the hospital, with Barry’s foster father and some of his friends, and it was really nice.” She looked down, nodding to herself. “They were all really nice, welcoming. Really awesome people. I was having a good time, but then it occurred to me, these people have a history, they’re a family, you know? And here I am, taking up their time and attention, and they don’t even know me. Don’t really have a reason to. Like, who am I? What am I even doing here?”

“Felicity, you -”

“When Joe West invited me to spend Christmas eve with them, I was really excited.”

“I remember.” He remembered the strange feeling in his chest when she told him about it, too. Remembered how he’d clamped down on that feeling, knowing he had no right to begrudge her a chance to be happy.

“I mean, regardless of the fact that I don’t celebrate Christmas myself, it’s a day when everyone goes off and spends time with their close friends and family, and, I dunno. I thought it would be nice to be a part of that for once.” She looked up at Oliver with sad eyes. “But rather than feeling like I was a part of something, I was reminded how much I don’t belong.”

“Hey.” Oliver squeezed her shoulder with the hand that was still resting there.

“I mean, who am I to Barry, anyway? We only just met when it happened. I’m not really a part of his life at all, definitely not part of his family. I’m not really a part of anyone’s family.”

“Felicity.” He shook her a little, to pull her out of her spiral, and placed his other hand on her shoulder, leaning down so she would focus on him. She met his eyes with a look that made him bite back unbidden words that suddenly threatened to spill out. You’re part of my life. You’re my family. When did that become true? Because he knew instantly and with bone-deep certainty that it was the truth.

She looked back at him for a long moment, and he suspected she could read some of what he didn’t say in his eyes. Eventually she blinked and spoke in a brighter tone, obviously attempting to change the subject. “What about you? I thought you were going to spend Christmas eve with your family?”

Oliver let his hands slide from her shoulders and looked away, vaguely aware that there might be other unexpected truths lurking in his eyes. “I did. I mean, mom and Thea and I had dinner and exchanged gifts, and then Thea went over to Roy’s and my mom went off to do whatever she does, and I came here.”

Felicity stared for a long moment at her chair, where he’d been sitting when she’d entered. “Why here?” She looked up at him suddenly. “You weren’t thinking of going out there, were you? We agreed we’d take tonight off.”

Oliver gave a short laugh. “No, I just….” His eyes also drifted over to her chair. “I guess I just felt more at home here.” And it was true. As much has he had insisted he spend the night with his mom and his sister, the uncomfortable truth was that the people he was closest to, the people who knew him best, were not the ones he’d come home from the island to save, but the ones who had joined him in his crusade.

He felt Felicity move toward him, close enough that her shoulder brushed against his as she came to stand beside him. “Yeah.”

Because of the life that I lead…. His words to Felicity had crystallized what he had realized months ago, that his dangerous life, the risks he took, meant that didn’t have space in his life for a relationship. But what exactly counted as a relationship? Where was the line? He was still allowed to have friends, right?

He was struck with a sudden idea. “Hey. We should get out of here. This is no place to spend Christmas eve.” He looked down to find her staring at him with one eyebrow raised, just as he expected.

“What?”

A tiny smile crept over his face. He would never admit out loud how much he enjoyed surprising her. “Come on. Let’s go see the tree at Nelson Plaza. I haven’t really gotten to see it yet this year.”

“Oliver -”

He heard the protest in her tone, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. So what that he had decided he couldn’t have a life outside of being the Arrow - that he couldn’t risk getting in a romantic relationship. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still be there for his friends, did it? Because Felicity, his team - they were more than friends; they were his family. Wanting Felicity to feel cared for? That was allowed. That was what friends - family - did for one another. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

* * * * * * * * * * *

They took his Ducati, and when she wrapped her arms around his waist, he realized they’d never done this before. Never ridden together on his bike. Never gone anywhere socially, just the two of them. That realization, or maybe the feeling of her chest pressed against his back, made his stomach flip with sudden misgivings, but he shoved the feeling down. He wasn’t at risk of going against his vow; he simply cared about her, and that wasn’t the same thing.

She was shivering when she climbed off the bike. “Wow, I really should have brought my heavier coat!”

Oliver began to peel his leather jacket off. “Here -”

“Hey, no! You need that! I’ll be fine.”

On an impulse, he wrapped his arm around her instead, and it wasn’t until he felt her body stiffen for a brief second before relaxing under his touch that he realized that they didn’t do things like that, either. But why shouldn’t they? Wanting someone to be safe and comfortable, that was what friends did, right?

“At least it’s not raining for once. The sky’s so clear I can see the stars.”

Oliver looked up, realizing she was right. He was struck suddenly with the memory of Tommy, of wishing on a Christmas star. Of staring up at the stars on Christmases since then, never quite forgetting the childish wish he had made. He felt a sudden rush of sorrow as he realized that, with his new realization that his life as a vigilante required him to be alone, the part of him that had never given up on the idea of one day finding true love might never get to experience it.

He was lost in his thoughts as they approached Nelson Plaza, until Felicity’s voice broke him out of his memories.

“It’s beautiful. So many thousands of lights.”

It was true. The Nelson Plaza tree gave Rockefeller Center a run for its money, and it was one of the few things of magic and beauty that Oliver remembered from his childhood that still remained. “Have you ever been to the tree-lighting?”

Felicity shook her head, her eyes never leaving the spectacle in front of them.

“We used to come every year when I was a kid. Queen Consolidated is a major sponsor, so my dad and mom would come and be part of the ceremony.” A small sigh escaped him at the memory of simpler times. “I used to feel so proud to be a part of it.”

He felt Felicity’s arm wrap around his back, but she didn’t look away from the tree, giving him the space to speak or remain silent as he chose.

Oliver laughed bitterly. “To think I prided myself on being a Queen. To think I thought that made me better. I had no idea what my family’s true legacy was built on, what it would become.”

Felicity ran her hand soothingly up and down his back, and he closed his eyes, unable to resist taking comfort and pleasure from the touch.

“Your family’s legacy is in your hands now, Oliver. You can make it something to be proud of. You are not your father. Or your mother. You’re better than that.”

He looked down at her, blonde hair glowing in the yellow light, until she returned his gaze. “You really believe that.”

“Of course I do, Oliver. I know you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know everything.”

“I know you’re not perfect.” She lifted the corner of her mouth in a small smile. “I still haven’t forgiven you for making me your Executive Assistant without asking me.” But her tone suggested she had forgiven him enough to joke about it.

“Felicity, you don’t know the things I -”

“I know enough. You’re not your father, Oliver. You fight for the people in this city.”

Still, he couldn’t let it go. It was true that even though he hadn’t told her much about the five years he was gone, she’d seen enough over the past year to know him at his worst. But something else was still bothering him, a guilt that had been riding him for over a month, that he suddenly needed to expose under the harsh light of truth. “I’m not as unlike my father as you might think.” He held her eyes, making sure she understood he was serious. “He slept with his secretaries, his interns, his…business partners.”

He watched the reference land on her face, watched the veil of disappointment descend. She seemed at a loss for words.

What was he doing? Was he trying to hurt her? Hurt himself? Trying remind her how misplaced her belief in him was? But he knew that most of all, he needed her to have no illusions. For some reason, it was important that he was always, always honest with her. “And I’m sorry. I never meant to be like him, not like that.”

“Oliver, I….” She turned back toward the tree so he couldn’t see her face as she spoke. “You don’t need to apologize to me. You don’t owe me anything. I meant what I said. If anything, you need to apologize to yourself, because you deserve better than her.”  She turned under his arm, and her eyes met his with that earnest look that always convinced him that she saw past all his masks.

He nodded, speaking lowly and held transfixed by her steady gaze. “I know. And that’s why I wanted to apologize to you. Because I know I let you down.”

A slow smile was spreading over her face, and Oliver found himself leaning down, drawing her body closer to his, eyes moving between her eyes and her mouth. Compelled toward her, heart beating in his throat, breath coming faster, not thinking, only feeling, only wanting, in a way he had never let himself want her before.

It was only for a second that seemed to stretch on forever, but then he remembered himself, remembered his promise to himself and to her, and he stopped. He gave her a small smile and a gentle squeeze before leaning away and gazing back at the tree. Because trusting someone, caring for them, needing them to be safe, knowing that they care for you, knowing that they see the real you - separately, those were all acceptable elements of friendship. But all of them together, combined with kissing? It was more than anything he’d ever felt before, for anyone. It was overwhelming, dangerous, and absolutely not something he was allowed to have. Because it was undeniably, dangerously close to love.

He knew she had recognized his intention in his eyes, and he saw something like surprise and then disappointment flit across her face before she, too, masked her emotions, but it didn’t have to mean anything if they didn’t let it, so they both remained quiet for almost a minute, letting the moment slip away.

Still, Oliver was surprised when it was Felicity who broke the silence first.

“Thanks for this. Tonight, I mean. Thanks for bringing me here.”

He turned toward her, and she tilted to meet his eyes with minimal awkwardness.

“I just mean, this is a place you associate with your family, so thanks for sharing it with me.”

“Felicity.” He paused to let the moment gain significance. “You are my family.”

Her eyes widened momentarily, and then she smiled, because they both knew it was true.

“And don’t give up on Barry.” Her smile froze a little, but he carried on. “I know you only just met him, but I can’t imagine a world where his life doesn’t get better for having you in it.”

She huffed out a surprised laugh, then nodded. “Thanks.”

He stepped back, pulling on her arm as he turned back toward the street. “You’re welcome, Felicity.”

December 24, 2018 (morning)

So much had changed in a year, and as much as Oliver tried to be stable, a rock for Felicity and William to lean on, there were times when he was completely caught off guard by how different everything seemed.

The new apartment. Working with the police. Living among the public unmasked as the Green Arrow.

William, older and more mature and with a new layer of wariness in his eyes that wounded Oliver to the core.

Felicity, with new armor and barbs covering bruises that might never completely heal. Bruises that he’d inflicted.

And the world around him on this side of prison, brighter than he remembered, but forever changed, too.

But when he thought of last Christmas, crouched under the threat of the FBI investigation and tainted by the sting of betrayal, he renewed his determination to make this year the best Christmas any of them had ever had. His family deserved it.

He rolled over onto his back, still unused to sleeping on the left side of the bed. It was one of the many small adjustments he’d had to make since being back. Apparently Felicity had slept on his side of the bed the entire time he’d been in Slabside so that by the time he came back, his side had become her side.

“Hey.”

She was also usually awake before him, which was definitely not something he was used to. “Hey.” But at least she was still in bed this morning. Some days he woke to nothing but a cold emptiness next to him, the sheets and blankets barely betraying that a person had been there at all, and those mornings were usually the start of the worst days. Thankfully, that had been happening less and less in the two-ish weeks since reality had been restored. Since he had reassured her that any version of him would love any version of her in any reality, always. He rolled on his side to face her, and his heart sped up at the sight of her.

She smiled at him and lifted her palm to his cheek. “You have that look on your face again.”

Oliver smiled. “Which look?” But he knew which look she meant. It was the look he got every time he wanted to see her and all he had to do was open his eyes to get his wish. It was the look he got when he realized he’d gotten out of the habit of taking her presence for granted.

Instead of answering, she stretched toward him, capturing his lips in a series of soft, open-mouthed kisses, grabbing his chin with one hand and running the other down his chest.

Oliver groaned and ran his hands into her hair, enjoying the sensations sparking as she raked her fingernails along sensitive areas on his body. “God, Felicity.” He leaned slightly back, momentarily breaking away from her kisses so he could see her. Somehow, despite all she had been through, she was more beautiful than he remembered. “How can I love you this much?”

Felicity’s eyes widened in surprise, but before she could say anything, he leaned forward and claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss. She responded instantly, parting her lips and wrapping her arms around him, letting him lower her down on her back.

This was also new. They had always needed each other, loved each other passionately and almost insatiably, or so he had thought. But ever since he’d gotten out of Slabside, it was if they needed physical intimacy more than they needed air. At first he thought it was only because they were substituting sex for difficult conversations, and then he thought it was a way for them to reassure themselves that they loved each other even when all their conversations inevitably led to arguments, but slowly, slowly they were working through their issues, and using words to express not just hurt but love, yet the unrelenting physical need for each other remained.

He met her eyes and she nodded, and it was all the encouragement he needed before he slid inside her. He paused a moment to let her adjust, and to just enjoy the feeling of being this close, his forearms on either side of her head, letting just a little of his weight press her into the mattress the way she liked. He took the opportunity to kiss along her neck and the underside of her jaw.

“Mmm, Oliver.” He felt the vibration of her words under his lips.

“Hmm?”

She ran her hands down his sides and over his ass, accentuating her words with a squeeze that pulled him into her more deeply, “Move.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He began to rock into her, responding to the cues of her hips. Her fingers played over his body, accentuating his pleasure, and she met him kiss for kiss. Lips, tongue, and teeth nipping, exploring, feeling, fast and slow, following and prompting the pace of their bodies.

And this, too, had taken some getting used to. As naturally as sex had always come to them, when they fell into bed again after a prison sentence apart,  Oliver found that it was different, more difficult, than it had been the first time, or than it had been when they’d come together after being broken up for a year and a half. It wasn’t that it wasn’t the best sex they’d ever had, because somehow it was; it was just that their established practices and expectations were different. She was still just as sensitive to his touch as ever, she just wanted him to touch her differently. And he’d found the same went for him. They’d had to relearn each other, and the process had been bittersweet as they discovered new things about each other and realized just how much they had changed. But on the whole, Oliver couldn’t be bothered to dwell on the past. As he had told her at ARGUS, and as he rediscovered in a different way every day, their love could weather any change; the only thing that mattered was that they were together.

He felt his orgasm impending, but he knew Felicity wasn’t quite as close so he pulled away, causing her to whine a little as she chased his mouth as far as she could reach. He looked down at her with a small smile, and eventually she dragged her gaze from his lips to his eyes. “Hey. You wanna get on top?”

She read the meaning behind his words and nodded, a small smile playing over her lips. “Yeah. Normally I’d say what’s the rush, but yeah. Christmas eve and William and everything.”

Oliver’s smile deepened at the thought of all the domestic bliss that awaited them. He pulled out of her, to the accompaniment of groans on both their parts at the loss of contact, and then she was pushing him up and over onto his back with a familiar bossiness that he had missed.

She fit herself over him and sank down with a low moan, letting her breasts brush over his chest as she began to kiss him again, and this time he let his hands explore her body, over her shoulders and down her sides, grasping her hips, over her amazing ass as she rode him, and long before he’d had nearly enough time to enjoy the lines and curves of her body, she was gasping into his mouth, grinding against him and hands cupping the sides of his head as she came, and after that there was no more holding back. He thrust up into her once, twice, before coming into her with his arms wrapped around her entire body, skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat, holding her as close as possible, but never close enough.

She was breathing hard, and he kissed the top of her head, over and over, his mind spinning with an emotion that no words could ever contain. Love really was too small a word. “Felicity.” He whispered it into her hair. “Felicity.”

She was boneless against him, but he felt her lips against his neck, brushing against the skin and pressing occasional kisses. “Oliver.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, only a little surprised at the words that had slipped from his lips while he was trying to figure out how best to express the overwhelming amount of love he was feeling.

But Felicity didn’t seem surprised at all, and she paused her kisses only long enough to reply. “I know.”

And for just a little longer before they had to get up, he held her tightly, enjoying the warmth and weight of her body over his, and he found himself once again contemplating the nature of love. He thought he’d figured it out long ago, when he first came to terms with his feelings for Felicity. It wasn’t just about feeling pleasure, or about being adored, or about responsibility. It wasn’t only about trusting and being trusted, about seeing behind masks and being your best self, or about being willing to do anything to protect each other. It was stronger than habit. It was remembering the past but living in the present. And most difficult of all to accept, but also the most powerful, was the realization that it wasn’t conditioned upon peace or comfort. He knew that he and Felicity still had far to go to settle their issues, and they might spend their whole lives untangling this mess and getting into new ones, but that meant that he’d get to spend his whole life untangling messes with Felicity, and that above all was the happiest of ever afters he could imagine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * December 24, 2018 (evening)

“Hey, Oliver?”

There was an odd note in Felicity’s voice, which might have worried him except he could see her by the Christmas tree from his place in the kitchen. He was cooking dinner and she was placing the last of the wrapped presents under the tree. “Yeah?”

“What’s this?”

Oliver glanced at William, who was helping him in the kitchen, but his son just shrugged, so he gave his hands a quick wash and wandered over to Felicity. She was sitting on the floor holding something cupped in her palms. “What’s what?” He crouched down next to her, taking the opportunity to run his fingers through her loose hair.

She looked at him, and her eyes were filled with a strange emotion: a mix of confusion, awe, love, and little bit of apprehension.

“Hey.” His hand instantly moved to cup her face, but she lifted the object and his eyes shifted to see what she was holding. And what he saw made his heart stop.

He hadn’t seen it in over 20 years, but he recognized it instantly. A carved wooden ornament, in the shape of two hearts, with the words “My True Love” painted on it. Below and on the left, written in a childish hand in green pen, “Oliver.” And to the right, in red pen, “Felicity.”

He dragged his eyes away from the ornament to meet her wide eyes. “Where did you get this?”

“It was on the tree. Oliver, this is my handwriting, but I - I didn’t write this. I would have remembered. I’ve never seen this before in my life. Did you put it here?”

Oliver shook his head, and he watched fear become more prominent in her eyes.

“Do you think…?”

“Felicity, no. No. Baby.” He covered the hand that was holding the ornament and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her into him. “It’s okay.”

She relaxed a little in his arms, trusting him. “You know what this is? What is it?”

Oliver grasped for an easy explanation, then laughed lightly when he realized there wasn’t one. He leaned back and looked her in the eyes. “Magic.”

“Magic?” Her tone was mildly exasperated. “Oliver, what does that mean?”

He took the ornament from her, holding it up so they could both examine it. “It’s a long story, one I’ll be happy to tell you.” He laid the ornament carefully on the ground and then took her head in his hands, gently pulling him toward her. “But the moral of the story is that I love you.” His eyes drifted to her lips and he couldn’t resist leaning down to give her one, two soft kisses.

When he leaned back and looked at her again, she was smiling at him indulgently. “Oliver Queen. You are the biggest sap. Sometimes I wonder how you ever had a reputation as a bad boy.”

He smiled into her eyes, both of them knowing that she had made all the difference. “People change, Felicity.”

He watched the reference slide home in her face, but this time she smiled more deeply without a trace of bitterness. Change had always been a part of who they were.

“I love you, Oliver Queen. Love is too small a a word.” She leaned in to kiss him, and he met her halfway.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

praescitum chapter one (of twenty)

casefile, season 10, season 11: post my struggle i and founder’s mutation.  part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

note: so this is the extraordinarily long casefile i’ve been working on since june or july. i have 10-ish chapters written, and it’s already broken 50,000 words, and counting. i have 20 chapters planned, divided up into four parts, and i’m going to try to keep up with a schedule of posting twice a week, if possible. 

this story is intended to span the entirety of seasons 10 and 11, and chronicle the arc of mulder and scully’s reconciliation. (most of the reason it’s so freaking long.) i’ve more or less taken some liberties with the timeline of these seasons because it’s honestly a mess anyway lol. any errors are a result of this.

this casefile is fairly unviolent in my opinion, but warning for mentions of violence and brief mentions of suicide. (largely in the context of founder’s mutation in this chapter.)

thanks to @i-gaze-at-scully for reading over the outline for this story forever ago. i am indebted to your suggestions and your reassurances that this idea wasn’t off the wall crazy.

---

PART ONE

one.

May 20, 2002

Willoughby Daily Press; Willoughby, Virginia

MARRIED COUPLE FOUND DEAD IN APARTMENT BUILDING OFF OF CHURCH STREET

Last night, responding to a 9-1-1 call from a house on the corner of Church Street and Humphrey Avenue, police found Ian Caruthers (34) and Marion Caruthers (32) reportedly stabbed to death in the hall outside their apartment in the Willoughby Woods Apartment Building.

The Caruthers’s infant son was apparently found unharmed in his crib inside, and has since been released to family.

Neighbors say that the couple was spending time with Ian's brother, Jared Caruthers (27), the night of the attack. There was no sign of Jared at the scene, although it is believed that he made the 9-1-1 call. He is currently missing. A second 9-1-1 call was placed when the Caruthers's neighbor returned home and ran into the brother in the hall, who was reportedly covered in blood.

The Willoughby Police Department is currently searching for Jared Caruthers. WPD declined to comment on whether or not Jared being considered a suspect.

Anyone with information on Jared Caruthers's whereabouts should contact the Willoughby Police Department immediately.

---

Reports of appearances by the Willoughby Specter have come sporadically since its famous appearance in the eighteenth century. Some of the more famous sightings include local farmer George Brown seeing the Specter just before the highly public destruction of his harvest in 1834, or World War I soldier and Willoughby native John McNeeley reporting a sighting prior to the loss of his arm in France—albeit miles from the usual site of sightings. But however, wherever, or whenever the sightings occur, one thing remains clear: the Willoughby Specter is a warning, a harbinger of misfortune. And anyone who sees him is likely to experience such misfortune, in whatever form it may come.

— Excerpt from Folklore of Rural Virginia, written by Tabitha Cooper

---

october, 2015

Sheriff Joe O'Connell has never been a superstitious man.

He's heard the story of the Willoughby Specter a million times throughout his life, but aside from a strange string of uncertainty-striking events in 2002 when he was just a deputy at the Willoughby Police Department, he hasn't believed in the spirit since the second grade. He's had no reason to. The legend remains a believed part of Willoughby's history, but few people actually believe in the ghost anymore, and most of the people who do are under the age of ten. The best example is Joe's son, Robbie, who is six and has preached his belief in the Willoughby Specter since he first heard the story at age four, but he's a kid, and Joe is sure that he'll shed the belief when he grows up.

Or at least he's sure until he finds the family dog missing one morning. The back door is hanging open when Joe goes downstairs, teeth chattering with the October chill, and the dog, Bear, isn't where he usually sleeps in the living room. He searches the house, jogs around the neighborhood in the chilly morning air calling the dog's name, but there is no sign of Bear anywhere.

Robbie is devastated, bursting into tears when he finds out and clinging to his mother. Joe feels a pang of sympathy for his son, tousles his hair and promises that the dog will turn up eventually. He's planning to dispatch a deputy to search for the dog if things aren't busy (which they never are, their town is too small for much crime to occur outside of minor disturbances and petty neighbor squabbles), but at the moment, he's stuck on how the hell Bear actually got out. None of them are sleepwalkers, and his wife swears that she closed and locked the doors last night before she went to bed. There are no signs of anyone breaking in, no signs that anyone took the dog on purpose, so either someone inside the house made a mistake… or someone from outside let the dog out.

Robbie gets off the bus the police station that afternoon, the way he always does, his eyes red and his sweater rumpled. He climbs up onto Joe's lap and sits there for a while, sniffling and refusing Joe's offers of an afternoon snack. Joe tousles his hair absently as he talks on the phone. He's been calling around the town to see if anyone's seen the dog to no luck. He's sent his best deputy, Kenny Jacobs (his best friend for years and practically an uncle to Robbie), out to drive around and look for the dog, but he hasn't heard anything from him.

When he hangs up the phone, Robbie tugs at his shirt in an impatient sort of way. “Daddy?” he mumbles, rubbing his face against the pocket of Joe's jacket.

“What's up, bud?” asks Joe, rubbing his back. “Do you want me to call Mom to come get you?”

“I knew that Bear was going to run away.”

Joe blinks in unabashed surprise. “What?” he asks, startled. Robbie nods, his lip jutting out, looking like he has just confessed to murder.

The door to Joe's office opens as Kenny enters. “Hi, Uncle Kenny,” Robbie says, instantly distracted, wiping his nose and waving at him.

“Hi, Rob.” Kenny sits in front of the desk, giving Joe an apologetic look. “No luck, Joe. Sorry.”

“We'll talk about that in a minute, Ken. Son, look at me for a second.” He puts a finger under Robbie's chin, tipping his head towards him until the boy is looking him in the eye. “Did you let Bear out, Robert?” he asks carefully, a little sternly.

Robbie shakes his head furiously. “No, Daddy, I wouldn't do that! I love Bear!”

“But you said that you knew Bear was going to run away,” Joe says with confusion. “How did you know that? Did someone tell you that?”

Robbie looks a little nervous; he looks between Joe and Kenny, scans the room quickly like he's checking for something, and motions Kenny closer, who leans across the desk. He says to the two men in a low, confidential whisper, the words slurring through the gap in his front teeth, “Cause I saw the Willoughby ‘pecter last night.”

Dumbfounded, Joe says nothing for a few beats. “What?” Kenny says incredulously, and Joe is suddenly reminded that Kenny is a superstitious man. (He's never forgotten about what happened in 2002. He brings it up once or twice a year, whenever the Specter spectacle inevitably comes up again.)

“Uh-huh,” says Robbie proudly. “Just like in the stories! He was a glow-y guy with a creepy beard and a black cloak and an old hat, and he looked reallllllllly old-fashioned. And I was really scared, but then I remembered that everybody likes the ghost! Well, everybody except Ryan.” His face twists up thoughtfully.

(Ryan is their former babysitter, hired by Joe's wife, Bonnie and fired by Joe himself, and Joe is suddenly reminded of why he dislikes that kid so much. Filling his boy's head with nonsense.)

“When did you see him?” Kenny asks, completely serious.

“Last night. I didn't know why until Bear was gone. But the ghost warned me! He came ‘cause of Bear!”

“Robbie, buddy,” Joe says slowly. “Did Ryan tell you scary stories the last time he came over?” It was less than a week ago, and that entire encounter did not go well, ended in an argument with Ryan and an argument with Bonnie and general awkwardness all around.

Robbie shakes his head. “I bet the ghost is going to tell me where Bear is! What do you think, Daddy? Uncle Kenny? Do you think the ghost's come again, Uncle Kenny?”

Kenny's mouth gapes open, like he doesn't know what to say. Joe holds up his hand to halt the conversation. “Son, I think I'm going to take you on home. I'll drive around and look for Bear on my way back, okay?”

“Okay.” Robbie rubs at his eyes and jumps off of Joe's lap, slapping Kenny's hand in their routine high five. “Maybe you'll see the ghost, Daddy,” he suggests.

Joe pats his son's head indulgently. “Go wait outside, bud.” Robbie nods and goes running, the door slamming behind him.

Joe grabs his keys and hangs it around his thumb. “Can you hold down the fort, Kenny?”

“Sure, boss.” Kenny is standing, too, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you… think there's something to what he's saying? Robbie?”

Joe shakes his head, jaw set.

“Cause if it's true, then that'd be the first time in thirteen years. Except for… you know…”

“I seriously doubt it, Kenny.” Joe starts towards the door, swinging his keys absently from his thumb, more than ready to let the subject of the Willoughby Specter go. (Not likely, with Robbie, but he can sure try. Maybe some ice cream on the way home will help.)

“Cause… if it was… you remember that unit of the FBI?” Kenny asks, rubbing thoughtfully at his beard. “Those agents who came and investigated?”

“I heard that unit was closed down years ago.” Joe opens the door and turns back. “It's nothing, Kenny,” he says. “Robbie’s imagining things. Don't let your imagination run away with you.”

And then he leaves, letting the door slam too hard behind him.

---

Of all the unexpected things that have happened in Scully's life, this goes up pretty high on the list, if not at the top. She never expected to be reassigned to the X-Files, especially not after years of being on the run with a federal fugitive, and over a decade spent out of the FBI completely. She thought she was done with all of that when she left DC in 2002, thought it was over again in 2008 when they worked the Monica Bannan case. She certainly didn't think she'd be entering the X-Files again with Mulder after their separation. She's been genuinely taken aback by all of this, Tad O’Malley and Sveta and Mulder's renewed obsession, insisting that this is important. Her own insistence that they needed to protect Sveta, to stop the people who have been doing this to innocent civilians for years. It's all happened so fast that her head is spinning. She never expected to be working with Mulder again.

She has to meet with several people to be recertified, make sure she fits the Bureau’s new qualifications. It takes the better part of a day, exhausting and working her way under her skin, but she aces every requirement. Every bullet she fires hits the target; she fires out out of pure muscle memory, she doesn't have to remind herself how. She'd forgetten the feel of a gun in her hand, the click of the trigger and the smell of gunpowder; it's stunningly satisfying, achingly familiar. She never really thought she'd want this part of herself again.

When Scully gets out of her meetings, she finds an unread text from Mulder. He's already been here a couple days; he got recertified a few days ago while Scully was clearing up her leave of absence at the hospital. (She had no idea how long she'd be at the FBI when she asked for leave, whether it'd be a few months or a few years; she honestly isn't sure what to hope for.) Mulder had called her the night before, grim and solemn, to inform her of Sveta's death, and Scully had been filled with a weary anger that she hasn't quite felt in years. Thinking of that girl's fear underneath her smugness; she can relate to what Sveta has been through, even if Sveta hadn't thought so, and she knows Sveta didn't deserve to die. To be murdered. Another innocent woman fallen victim to these men's evil.

Now, Mulder has texted her telling her that he's at the office for the day and he's just gotten a case offer. He offers to discuss it on the phone with her, or discuss it tomorrow at the office. The message exudes politeness, a courtesy that the earliest days often lacked, and it makes her want to smile. He's been so gentle with her since she agreed to come back; cautious, as if he's afraid he'll scare her away. He went from inviting her along to meet Tad O'Malley to not inviting her along to his stupid little conspiracy rendezvous to agreeing to work with her again. Navigating this new stage of their relationship—living apart for two years, in a perpetual state of separation and resentment and fear and affection—is strange, and Scully barely knows how to do it. The most they'd talked before this Tad O'Malley mess was the phone call on Mulder's birthday a couple weeks ago that inexplicably lasted nearly an hour.

Instead of responding to Mulder’s text, Scully slides her phone into her pocket. Goes into the elevator and hits the button for the basement. She feels twenty-eight again, stupidly young and nervous. She hasn't been down to his office in years, and the last time she was there, it belonged to someone else. This feels like a strange new beginning.

The door is half ajar when she reaches it, no nameplates on the door. She can see Mulder inside, sitting at a haphazardly-placed desk with a pile of files and what looks like a phone system sticking out from underneath it. He's distracted, flipping through a file. The rest of the office looks like a mess, papers scattered all over the place, pencils hanging from the ceiling. She smiles a little before catching herself, taps on the door jamb before entering. Holds back the urge to make a crack about the FBI's most unwanted.

Mulder looks up, and a smile spreads over his face that makes her heart flutter a little like she really is twenty-eight again. “Scully, hey,” he says, knocking over a flurry of files in his attempts to stand. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I had to get recertified,” she says, standing awkwardly in the doorway like an unwelcome guest. “I just now saw your message.”

Mulder nods, a little awkwardly, and motions to the half-finished office. “We're a little bit of a work in progress here,” he says. “I haven't cleaned up in here much, and, uh… they've only delivered one desk, and no computer yet.” He motions to said desk. “I'm gonna call up for another one. Another… desk, that is. For you.”

Scully smiles smally again, and this time it is completely involuntary. After all this time. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't touched, just a little. “Thank you,” she says quietly, and he nods, watching her carefully. So much has changed; it's been almost twenty-three years since she first walked into this office.

Scully's eyes scan the office briefly before they land on a familiar image, crumpled and peering over the top of the trash can. “What happened to the poster?” she asks, astonished. That poster, although not the original copy, has been in their office forever; it even made it through the years without Mulder, Doggett and Reyes dutifully leaving it up.  

Mulder follows her line of sight before he realizes what she is referring to and laughing a little sheepishly. “Oh, uh… a little unbridled rage. The poster was a victim.” He pulls it out of the trash only for Scully to see that it's been ripped in half.

“That's a shame,” she says lightly, pretending that statement (unbridled rage) doesn't worry her. “I've always liked that poster.”

Mulder nods grimly, letting the top half of the poster fall back into the trash again. “Me, too.”

They stand in silence for a few seconds before Scully speaks up. “You said you've got a case? Already?”

“Oh, right.” Mulder rummages in his pile of files for a moment before coming up with one and holding it out. “Do you remember the case in Willoughby, Virginia?”

She blinks in surprise. “Should I?”

“I don't know. It was after my time.” He passes her the file, tapping the top of it with his index finger. “May, 2002. Agents Doggett and Reyes signed off on it. I didn't know if they ever talked to you about it, or…”

“Oh.” She doesn't want to mention that May was the setting of the aftermath of her decision to give up William. She hadn't worked many cases then out, of an attempt at self preservation, and John and Monica hadn't asked often. But either way, she doesn't remember Willoughby. “No, I don't remember if either of them mentioned it to me. It was thirteen years ago.”

“Right.” Mulder clears his throat uncomfortably, looks away. “Well, I've been looking over the file since I got this call, trying to get a full understanding of the original case.”

“The case you got a call about today is in Willoughby?” She's admittedly never heard of Willoughby, on the X-Files or otherwise.

“Yeah, looks like some kind of recurrence of the case that popped up in 2002,” says Mulder. Scully flips open the top and sees that it's classified under Hauntings. “The alleged perpetrator is a ghost, a local legend that seemingly warns townsfolk of future misfortune to come. A sort of premonition. Doggett and Reyes's report is a little hard to follow, but it looks like they were called in to investigate a string of hauntings and an apparent suicide that may have occurred as a result.”

Scully flips the file closed, lets it fall on the desk. “So why have they called you now? Is it related to the same suicide?”

“The suicide didn't come up, but the ghost did.” Mulder drums his fingers on the table, a nervous habit she instinctively recognizes. “Apparently a deputy at the local police department—one Kenneth Jacobs—called in response to a missing dog.”

Scully laughs. She can't help it. “A missing dog? That cannot possibly fall under the Bureau's jurisdiction, Mulder.”

“It may not fall under the Bureau's jurisdiction, but it does fall under the X-Files's,” Mulder says sheepishly. When she shoots him a look, he clarifies: “The dog belongs to the local sheriff. His six-year-old son apparently saw the Willoughby Specter the night before the dog disappeared.”

“The Willoughby Specter? Mulder, you can't be serious,” she says. “This is the big, triumphant return you want to make to the X-Files after thirteen years—no, fifteen years for you… After all this time away, this is the case you want to take? A missing dog and local lore? A ghost with a name like the Willoughby Specter?”

“Don't tell me you don't believe the legend, Scully,” Mulder says, pushing his pen around the table. She can't tell if he's teasing or not.

“I don't,” she says matter-of-factly, “but that's hardly the point. It'd be different if a human life was in danger, but this is a dog. It's a ridiculous case!”

“The X-Files investigates the unexplainable, the paranormal. What would you classify this as?”

“A waste of time,” she says bluntly.

Mulder doesn't respond to that. He's looking at his desk, rummaging through like he's looking for something, and Scully begins to wonder if she's being too harsh. She adds gently, “Besides, Skinner will never sign off on it. You know that. He’ll agree with me on the jurisdiction.”

“Might as well find out, right?” Mulder looks up at her, raising his eyebrows playfully, and he doesn't look upset. He looks better than he has in months, just for one brief instant. “I've got a meeting set up with Skinner in the morning. Now that you're recertified, we can just ask Skinner if the case is worth looking into. If he believes—as I do—that a simple case is the best avenue to help us adjust to being back in the field, then we'll take it. If not, we'll look for another case that's less of a waste of time. Sound good to you?”

“Sure,” she says, and just barely manages not to roll her eyes. Mulder smiles.

Scully's stomach rumbles, reminding her of how late it is; she checks her phone for the time and sees that it is after 5:00. “It's a little later than I expected,” she says, “and I'm starved. I'm headed out for the night. Are you coming?”

Mulder seems to hesitate, looking down at the files again. “Mulder,” Scully adds, gently prodding. “It's past five. You're not going to stay late and work, are you? You shouldn't overexert yourself.”

Mulder looks back up at her, and she can't read his look, can't tell if he's neutral or resentful of her for trying so hard to take care of him when she's the one who left. She doesn't dare ask. “Lost track of time,” he says, reaching for his laptop bag, and she resists a sigh of relief. “I should head home; those country roads are awful at night, remember?”

She remembers. She offers him a small, slightly tense smile before turning and leaving, him on her heels. The two of them walk down the familiarly cramped hall together until they reach the elevator; Mulder presses the button for the parking garage and she mumbles a quick thank you. The elevator begins to rise.

The quiet is near stifling, so Scully makes a grab at conversation. “What did you say that ghost of yours does, Mulder?” she asks.

Mulder perks up, just a little; he has always loved to tell a good story. “I need to do more research, but best I can tell is that it warns people of bad stuff in their future,” he says. “It appears before a death or an accident or a…”

“Runaway dog?” Scully offers, and he chuckles. “You don't really believe in that, do you?”

Mulder shrugs. “I've got no reason not to. We've run into some ghosts in our heyday, remember? The haunted house on Christmas Eve?”

“Oh, god, don't bring that one up,” Scully groans as the elevator reaches their floor. Mulder laughs again, quietly. They step out of the elevator together, shoulder to shoulder like the old days, nearly in sync.

“It's strange to be back, isn't it?” Mulder asks over the echoing of their shoes on their pavement. “To be doing this again, after all this time.”

“It is,” she agrees wistfully. She reaches her car and stops, and it takes Mulder a few more paces to realize she isn't with him. He turns around in confusion.

Keys already out, Scully motions to her car awkwardly. “I'm parked here,” she says. There's still traces of the message Mulder scrawled to her on her back windshield: Don't give up. The same thing he'd told her after Monica Bannan, the first time she almost left him. That feels like an eternity ago.

“Oh.” Mulder hovers awkwardly in one place, like he's considering whether to step forward and kiss her cheek goodbye (which is how he'd said goodbye in their last parking garage meeting) or shake her hand like a stranger. He seems to decide not to move at all, lifts his hand in a sad little wave and says, “See you tomorrow, Scully.” And then he turns around and heads down the row of cars, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched up. He misses her.

“See you tomorrow,” she calls after him, and is surprised to find she's glad that's true. She's missed him, she misses him.

As soon as she gets home, she logs onto Amazon to buy the office a new poster.

---

She really is sort of expecting Skinner to just sign off on the case—because truthfully, Mulder is right about the simple case being an easier adjustment, as much as she wants a challenge, something to occupy her mind—but the next morning, before their meeting with Skinner, they're being called out to Nugenics to investigate the suicide of one Dr. Sanjay.

Mulder seems to think there's more to this case than just a suicide—which is why he snatched the case up—which Scully is inclined to agree with, based off of the Department of Defense blocking their efforts at the crime scene. (A small part of her can't help but think, Here we go again. Plunging into conspiracies, pissing off government agencies, tumbling right into trouble.) She finds something written on the victim's palm: Founder's Mutation, in reference to Dr. Goldman (also known as the Founder), someone who Sanjay worked for and who Mulder wanted to interview in conjunction to Sanjay's death. They end up searching Sanjay's apartment by the end of the day, finding a wall full of photographs of kids who could be classified as experiments. Sanjay, Mulder tells her, fears that these children were dying.

Scully looks at the photos and thinks, with a pang, of her own children and the experiments they had seemingly been. Emily, who was dying, and William, who she's always been afraid would never be able to escape the intentions of the people who wanted him born. With her past, it's hard not to think about them in this situation.

But she has no time to linger on that, because the police are entering the apartment and Mulder is falling to his knees, his hands flying up to his head in pain. Panic rises up in her throat like bile, memories of his half-frozen form in the snow, of his frightening headaches that lead to a fucking brain disease flooding her mind. She falls to her knees beside him, but the chaos of the whole situation takes over. Her worry for Mulder—her panic at seeing him in distress, unable to talk to her or explain what is wrong—has to be pushed aside in order to explain things to the police.

Her explanation takes a good ten minutes, most of which she spends casting nervous looks at the room she left Mulder in, but once they are good and convinced that Mulder and Scully do, in fact, have a right to be there (which they don't, but Scully isn't going to linger on that), she nearly rushes back into the room to find Mulder, her heart thudding hard in worry that he'll be badly hurt.

But Mulder seems to be fine, by all definitions; he's rummaging through Sanjay's desk, pulling out files from drawers like he wasn't in pain at all. He looks slightly exhausted, maybe a little off-balance, but otherwise fine. “Are you okay, Mulder?” she whispers in confusion, going to his side, raising her hand to touch his head and then lowering it.

He nods, teeth clenched in his familiar headache habit, forehead furrowed. “I'm fine. Help me get these files, Scully,” he says, his voice slightly pained but hard with determination.

She reaches out to touch his arm, gently, and he motions to the files again. Scully can't tell if it's because he's become hyper focused on the investigation, the way he did all those years ago, or because he has no interest in comfort from her. She sighs and proceeds to help him gather up the files.  “What are these?” she whispers. “Are they in relation to those pictures out there?”

Mulder nods distractedly. “I took a quick look at one, and it looks like the kids Sanjay worked with had serious genetic abnormalities. If Sanjay believed they were dying, this could go a long way to explaining why he committed suicide.” He chews his lower lip, gathering up files and gathering them together with a ball of loose rubber bands retrieved from the desk drawer. “And if I had to guess, Scully, I'd say the DOD is involved. I'd say these children are likely experiments.”

Scully nods a little, wearily. She thinks it's bitterly ironic that her first case back would involve experimented-on children, considering everything. “So these files…”

“We need to get them back to the Bureau,” says Mulder, “and make copies before the DOD takes them back.” He gathers up the files against his chest and turns towards the door, wincing a little as he goes.

“Are you sure you're okay, Mulder?” Scully whispers. There are still police outside; she lifts the side of Mulder's suit jacket to partially hide the files, falling into step beside him. “You seemed like you were in a lot of pain.”

He waves it off absently. “I'm fine, Scully. Seriously. Let's just go back to the office.”

She's guessing it's going to be another long night. She flashes her badge to the police officers again as they walk to their car, and climbs in the driver's seat. Mulder is rubbing his temples as he gets in, setting the stack of files on his lap, so she offers him a bottle of Tylenol and he mumbles his thanks. The pills rattle as she starts the car and pulls away.

“So,” says Mulder as they merge onto the highway, “what do you think? Is this better than a missing dog case?” His voice is grim, but not bitter, not exactly. She thinks that Mulder is more invested in this case than he'd be in the case in Willoughby, but she's guessing he's had the same thoughts she's had about this case. The untouchable subject of their son.

Scully grits her teeth, watching the road quietly. “Not sure yet,” she says softly, thinking of needles and hospitals rooms and all the time she's feared her son was an experiment. Of everything she wanted to forget. “I suppose we’ll see.”

---

They end up at the office most of the night dealing with this issue. (Mulder keeps acting like he has a headache and Scully watches him like a hawk, nervous, but neither of them bring it up.) The DOD figures out what they're doing and confiscates the original files, of course, but Skinner surprisingly and satisfyingly has their backs (while maintaining an outwardly stern appearance). The two of them keep digging, combing through security footage from Nugenics, and Scully is stunned by how natural this all feels, investigating; aside from having to adjust to all the new technology, her transition back into the FBI feels near effortless. Even working with Mulder feels as natural as breathing, if they ignore some of the awkward tension between them.

Mulder confesses that his ordeal last night in Sanjay's apartment was due to a sharp, high, painful sound he heard, along with words: Find her. Scully points out that Sanjay killed himself due to hearing some horrible sounds, suddenly upset at herself for not seeing the connection sooner. A letter opener to the ear to stop a sound, and why didn't she see that this could easily be happening to Mulder? “This is dangerous,” she says, and Mulder scoffs, a little playfully, “When has that ever stopped us before?”

It never has. They keep digging.

Scully takes Mulder to Our Lady of Sorrows in an attempt to get in contact with Dr. Goldman. They arrange a meeting with him for the next day, but that's not what ends up sticking with Scully. They also find a pregnant woman, Agnes, who is frantic and asking for their help. She says that her baby isn't normal. She says, “I changed my mind, I'm not giving it up,” and Scully feels a horrible familiarity wash over her. All she can think about is her own son, wherever he is, the possibility that people are using him the same way that they are using Sanjay's kids. That Agnes is being used the same way she was. First Sveta and then Agnes, endless reminders of her own ordeals.

Outside of the hospital, Mulder suggests that the women in that hospital might be tools of the DOD in their experiments, incubators, and Scully can't help it. All these dark feelings rise to the surface, the same fight they've been having for years, the reason they broke up. She asks Mulder, “Is this what you believe happened to me 15 years ago? When I got pregnant, when I had my baby?” It's hard not to wince at the words, the memories this is bringing up. “Was I just an incubator?” she adds softly.

“You're never just anything to me, Scully,” he replies, and she wants to cry from it all, the horror of everything that's happened to them and how long it has been since they spoke to each other like this. In a manner of comfort, of sweetness and love, rather than from stiff politeness.

He comforts her, tells her that he thinks about their son, too, tells her that all they can do is keep looking. Suggests that they go home, because they didn't get any sleep last night and they can't exactly do anything until their meeting with Goldman tomorrow. Scully agrees, maybe because she really is tired. She feels drained, and she feels like some of that can be attributed to the day she's had. She lets Mulder drop her off at the Bureau before she drives her way out to Bethesda.

She sleeps for a few hours, tangled up in blankets, but it is unfortunately not a dreamless sleep. She dreams her usual dreams of William, the good dreams: beautiful scenes of a life she and Mulder have created for their son together that gradually turn nightmarish. She wakes with a start hours later, covered in a cold sweat and tangled up in her blankets, the image of William pleading for help still vivid behind her eyes. She stumbles to her feet quickly and pads out into her living room, collapsing in her desk chair.

Almost dizzy, she rests her head on her forearms, letting the images of her daydream leave her. She can still see that one part bright in her mind, the one where she took her son to school and kissed him goodbye. The most important thing to remember, she'd said, is that I love you. The thing she'd most like to say to William, the thing she'll never get a chance to.

She pauses for a moment, considering, hesitating, until she decides and reaches for the drawer where she keeps William's picture. It's small in her hands, glossy, and she strokes a thumb gingerly over the front in lieu of all the things she wants to say.

She never used to look at the picture. She never allowed herself to when she was living at home, actually used to get mad at Mulder when she saw him doing it. But she took this photo with her when she left, and now she does it enough to feel like a hypocrite. But she can't help it. There's something in her that needs this tether, the same part of her that keeps her wedding ring around her neck.

Her phone, which she'd deposited with her keys on her kitchen counter, buzzes. Scully gets to her feet and goes to check, sees Mulder's name lighting up the screen. You okay? the text reads.

Scully smiles a little, involuntarily. I should be asking you that question. Are YOU okay? How's your head?

I'm fine, doc, Mulder types in response, her phone buzzing merrily, and Scully shakes her head ruefully. His next message reads, I'm sorry about this case. I had no idea.

It doesn't matter, Scully types out before pausing. Even if it doesn't matter to her, the issue of William isn't her cross to bear alone; Mulder has been just as hurt by the whole thing. She deletes that message and sends, You didn't know, instead.

We should've taken the dog/ghost case.

Scully rolls her eyes automatically, although not without affection. You're never going to let that one go, are you? She can picture the way he'd be smirking with her if they were having this conversation in person.

I actually got another call from Deputy Jacobs. He says that another person has claimed a sighting.

And how many people know of the original sighting?

The deputy didn't disclose that information.

Scully is grinning unabashedly before she catches herself. It feels great to be discussing a case with Mulder, bickering back and forth about something that doesn't matter. It's almost a shock, how great it feels. But it feels just as strange to argue with Mulder over text instead of face to face. The smile slips away in a sudden, surprised motion, and she's left cradling her phone uncertainly.

It buzzes again. You know… that case is always an option. If this one gets too personal.

Scully bites her lower lip determinedly, types, No, thanks. I'm fine. She means it to sound light and casual and dismissive, but it's impossible to convey tone through text, and she's sent it by the time she changes her mind.

There's something of an awkward silence—if such a thing can exist in texts—where, if they were talking in person, Mulder would probably hurl a hurt, You're always fine. But they're not in person, and the one advantage of texting that Scully can halfway enjoy and loathe in the same breath is the ability to compose a sensible, well-thought reply. Mulder doesn't answer right away, and so she puts the William photograph back in her desk without letting herself look at it, picks up her phone and goes into her bedroom. She's changed and curled up under the comforter, her book resting in her lap, when her phone buzzes again. Mulder has said, Just let me know if you're not. Fair enough. She pretends she isn't relieved that it didn't come down to accusations.

Scully puts the phone on her bedside table and cracks open her book at an attempt at distraction. But her mind keeps returning to what Mulder had said before, in response to her asking if he ever thought about William. Yes, of course I do, he'd said with conviction, like he couldn't believe she had to ask. She'd seen Mulder looking at William's picture many times in the eleven years they'd lived together before she left, but somehow, she had never considered that he might think about William, too, at least in the way that she did. That he might imagine the life they could've had instead of what happened when they let go.

---

Goldman shows them a flurry of children who seem more or less miserable, who claim to have been there forever. Agnes is found dead, the baby gone; Scully performs the autopsy and feels like weeping the entire time. They find Goldman's wife, who tells a story Scully finds all too familiar: lost sons and daughters, experiments she couldn't save. “A mother never forgets,” she says in sympathy with the other woman, the ache in her chest that she knows Goldman's wife must feel.

The lead from Jackie Goldman leads them to Kyle Gilligan. Mulder falls to the ground again from the same horrible sound that Scully cannot hear, and her panic only increases; she tosses around angry convictions until they've arrested the perpetrator and Mulder is on his feet again.

Their arrest of Kyle Gilligan leads to a confrontation with Goldman that Scully largely doesn't see, blacking out briefly after she goes flying somehow, hits the wall hard and crumples to the hospital floor. She wakes up to Mulder kneeling beside her, his hand warm against her cheek, her forehead. “Scully?” he says softly, worry spreading over his face.

Scully's head is pounding, aching from the inside out. She groans a little, trying to sit up; Mulder grabs her hand in his and helps her sit against the wall. “Are you seeing clearly? Can you tell me your name?” His hands brush hair away from her forehead.

“Dana Katherine Scully, I'm fifty-one, and you're Fox Mulder,” she says impatiently. “We're at Goldman Technology investigating Augustus Goldman. My vision is just fine.” Mulder’s thumb grazes her cheek, and her irritability wilts, just a little. “I'm okay, Mulder. I don't have a concussion.” Although she's going to be sore as shit tomorrow; she nearly winces at the thought. “Where's Kyle?” She looks past Mulder, over his shoulder, and sees Goldman's mutilated body, winces on instinct at the bloody mess.

“Yeah,” Mulder says sympathetically, brushing hair out of her eyes. “Far as I can tell, they're gone. I'm not sure; I blacked out, too.” His hand moves down her arm to cup her elbow. “Do you want to try and get up? Have a doctor check you out?”

“I'm fine, Mulder,” she says, but it's half-hearted, and she lets Mulder help her up, lets him support her with an arm around her shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, her hand unintentionally pressed against his hip. Suddenly concerned by the fact that he says he blacked out, today; what happened to them?

His nose brushes her hair as he nods, a phantom kiss. She reaches up to touch his temple, a reflex of times long gone, and he catches her hand and lowers it gently, shooting her a gently chiding look. “You’re getting checked out if I am,” she says by way of rebuttal and he nods, tightening his arm around her shoulders. They move past the flurry of police officers and nurses and men in suits to an examination room where a nurse confirms that Scully doesn't, in fact, have a concussion, and neither does Mulder. And by then, the DOD and Skinner have arrived and the whole thing is pretty much over. Their involvement is severed.

They stand together behind the red tape, watching the whole thing go down, Mulder revealing a stolen vial of blood. He's concerned for her in a way that's absurdly surprising (and it shouldn't be surprising, not at all); he keeps touching her arm or shoulder. He backs off a little when he hears that she is all right, but he doesn't leave her side the whole time.

After they're dismissed, Mulder drives her home. It honestly surprises her, because (as she points out several times) it adds another hour to his trip, and because he's always avoided her house with a delicate staunchness, a stubborn refusal. But still, he drives her home, and she gives up trying to argue with him by the time they leave the city. By the time she's directed him to the silly smart house she can't quite believe she's still subletting (she hasn't heard from the doctor who technically owns the house in months), she’s thanking him quietly. “You really didn't have to do this,” she says as he parks, reaching for the door handle. “I promise I'm fine.”

“It's been a while since we've done this,” Mulder says, and for a minute, she thinks he means something different entirely until she realizes he's talking about the job. “Even if you don't have a concussion, I know you've got to be in pain. I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

Scully looks down at her lap, her fingers tangled, and says, “Well, I'm grateful.” She is briefly disgusted with herself, that she can't even have a normal conversation with this man she's loved for years. That they've been reduced to near strangers.

Mulder brushes his fingers over her cheek again, and she shivers briefly, looks up at him. He's leaned a little closer, his eyes dark in this light, and they're almost nose to nose. “I'm sorry about this case,” he says softly. The same thing he'd said a couple nights ago.

Scully catches his hand in hers, gingerly, as he lowers it. “You don't have to be sorry, Mulder,” she whispers. “I know this case couldn't have been any easier for you than for me.”

He looks down at their joined fingers, squeezes her hand in lieu of an answer. She strokes the back of his hand with one tentative finger. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she is protesting that this is dangerous, that they shouldn't be doing this, but somehow, she can't stop herself. His palm is warm, and he'd tried to take care of her after she hit the wall, and she's tempted to ask him to come in, press her forehead against his and kiss the side of his jaw, his cheek. A near-insane part of her actually wants to discuss William with him; she's always avoided that topic with him in the past, but now, she honestly thinks it would help. But she is so tired, and the pounding in her head has increased to a steady ache, spreading down her back.

“You look exhausted, Scully,” Mulder says, voicing her thoughts. He squeezes her hand again before letting go, nudging her thumb in a familiar gesture from years and years ago before pulling back completely. “Get some rest, okay?”

She nods, head down, reaching for the door handle. Pauses briefly, and turns back to him. “Mulder,” she says carefully. “We can take that case in Willoughby if you want.”

Taken aback, Mulder says with surprise (but not with an inflection of amusement), “I thought it was a waste of time.”

“It is a waste of time. I think that's what we need right now.” After everything that's happened in the past couple weeks, she'd really love a ridiculous ghost story to distract her. She meets his eyes, questioning him wordlessly on what he thinks.

The side of Mulder's mouth lifts, the ghost of a grin. “I'll check with Skinner,” he says. He leans forward in one rapid motion and kisses Scully's cheek, a familiar gesture that catches her off-guard. “Goodnight, Scully.”

Her face warm, she opens the door. Offers him a lame little wave as she steps out onto the curb and says, “Goodnight, Mulder.” Like they're lying in bed beside each other, like they're holding each other as they fall asleep. Like they haven't been separated for two years.

She closes the door and watches him pull away from the curb before she goes inside.

[iggys-sous-chef]

Ignoct NSFW week

Late post for Day 3 Biting/Marking | Body Worship/Praise Kink For @ignoctweek  Rating: Mature (for the end of this installment and for part two to come) Word Count: 7,010 Summary: He surely didn't stay the night wrapped up in his arms, buried inside him, and making him cry out his name because it was his job. He loved Noctis and for the heir to the throne to suggest it was anything else made his heart sink, piece by piece.

Or Ignis can only take so much of Noctis’ behavior before he snaps and has to know where they stand.

This was done via a RP with the lovely @amakai who let me work this idea out with her; I went back and made some edits to make this more cohesive. Thank you for being the Noctis to my Iggy!! 

It was the start of Noctis’ final year of high school and the third in which he’d found his first real friend in school. Prompto Argentum had been a godsend in his life. He'd never had so much fun with anyone before, but now he was actually feeling normal.

Ignis was happy that Noctis had found a friend in the literal ray of sunshine from school. He'd met Prompto a few times and the boy seemed friendly and genuine enough. Noctis hadn't made any other friends in school - acquaintances, sure, but honest friends? It was unheard of.  

The young advisor wasn't blind, he could tell how important the friendship was to Noctis, so when the first little slips occurred (simple things like not putting away his laundry or forgetting to sign documents he'd left for him to look over) Ignis bit his tongue.

Noctis came home late that Friday night after school. He'd spent the afternoon in the arcade with Prompto and it was just a little past 7 o’clock by the time he walked into his apartment.

Ignis looked up from his task, pushing his glasses up his nose. His sleeves were rolled up and he sighed as he passed the sponge under the tap. "There you are, Noct. Explain to me again the purpose of you having a cellular phone if you don't answer it."

"The battery died during lunch,” he replied, kicking his shoes off as he dropped his bag haphazardly by the door.

Ignis hummed, disappointed at his lackadaisical attitude as he kicked his shoes off. "Could you at least put your shoes away properly?"

Noctis rolled his eyes, pushing them off to the side and out of the way.

Ignoring the eye roll, Ignis went back to scrubbing the sink clean since he'd finished washing all the dishes. "I put the notes from today's meetings by your bedside. I know it's the weekend, but we have delegates arriving on Monday and your father requests you at least make an appearance. I’ve highlighted the key points for you."

"I can't do Monday. I got study hall after school."

Ignis scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain, knowing full well it wouldn't come out; it hadn't in the months he'd been fighting it. "I'm afraid you'll have to make it up, we can't reschedule a political meeting when they're traveling thousands of miles to come here."

"I don't see why I have to go anyways. It's not like I ever do anything but sit there and look interested,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch.

"Obligation to the Crown, my dear," he retorted. "The noble family is bringing their son; he's a year younger than you. I can tell you now that they're hoping to foster a friendship between future leaders.  Come for lunch and schmooze for an hour and I will do my best to get you back to school."

Noctis sighed heavily, folding his arms over his chest. "Yea, fine..."

Ignis finally abandoned the stain and rinsed the sponge a final time. "I know you don't enjoy these social meetings, but they're just as important."

"I don't think so," he mumbled, picking up the TV remote to turn it on, the sounds of a detergent commercial filling up the space.

"Whether you think so or not, your presence is required," he replied, perhaps a bit too frustrated. He didn't understand the push back he'd been receiving from Noctis as of late.

He turned off the kitchen light and began to roll his sleeves down again. He paused beside the sofa and after a moment's thought, he bent down and softly kissed his cheek, letting his lips linger. "You're obviously not in the mood for my company tonight, so I will see myself out."

"Mm...kay...see you in the morning."

Ignis' jaw clenched, but he did no more than head to the door and put his shoes on. He looked back to Noctis, who seemed engrossed in whatever was on TV, and then stalked out.

Noctis spent the rest of the evening playing games and watching stuff until he was too tired to stay awake. He then dragged himself to bed, leaving a trail of his uniform on the clean bedroom floor as he went.

Ignis showed up to his apartment in the morning as expected of him. It wasn't even that he minded; ever since he found that his one-sided feelings were in fact mutual, he looked forward to their mornings together. Even if Noctis was difficult to rouse, even if their time was spent going over notes and plans, they generally had a good day together. Ignis could usually bribe him with a kiss or two or something more, and after business was tended to, they indulged in pleasure.

But the last few months had been... different. More difficult. Briefly, Ignis wondered if it was because of him, if Noctis was growing tired of their supposed relationship, or if perhaps Prompto was holding more of his attention and affection.

He entered the quiet apartment, scooting his shoes to their appropriate place and walking further in... and promptly stopping. How on Eos did Noct manage to make such a mess? He had just cleaned up and now there were empty bottles and a ramen bowl and snack bags strewn about. With a sigh, he picked them up, cleaned the couch, and swept.

And then, as he headed to wake Noctis, his ire was stoked again as he noticed his uniform crumpled in pieces in a trail leading to the bed. ‘Breathe, Ignis, you love Noctis, and you can't kill the Crowned Prince... no matter how ungrateful he is,’ his mind screamed. He was no longer going to go the gentle route to wake him. He went straight to the curtains and pulled them open, letting bright golden sunlight stream in and fall across Noct's face.

The bright light against his face made him groan softly, turning to bury himself into the pillows. "The fuck Specs...it's Saturday..."

"Yes, it is, and we have breakfast and Crownsguard training."

He grunted, pulling the covers over his head. "No thanks."

Ignis put his hands on his hips as he stared at the Noctis-sized lump. "Unfortunately, I'm not asking. You can come straight home and take a nap after training. I will even gladly lie with you, but you must get up now," he replied as he tugged on the blankets.

"I don't want to. It's my day off, I'm staying in bed."

"You can take your day off tomorrow," he countered. "I promise you have nothing on the agenda for Sunday."

His voice, clearly irritated and gravelly with sleep rose from the sea of pillows. “Can't train on three hours of sleep.”

"You...  seriously Noct! You knew you had training today," Ignis scolded. "What am I supposed to tell Gladiolus? And your father?"

"I didn't know or I woulda gone to bed earlier!" he snapped back. "Get off my back, Ignis."

"This is me off your back, I assure you. It's the second Saturday of the month. You always have morning training on the second Saturday. Perhaps if you'd looked over the materials I left for you at the beginning of the week you would've seen the reminder..." he said as he gestured to the planner.

Noctis let out a growl as he threw the blankets back and then got up from bed. He stomped off to the bathroom, door slamming behind him.

Ignis took a deep breath as he felt frustration and anger well up inside him. His fingers curled into fists and he let out a sigh, slumping down to sit on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do with him anymore.

*****

After showering and dressing, Noctis grabbed his training bag from his room and headed for the door, sitting down to pull his shoes on.

Ignis thrust a bag into Noct's hands once he was ready, lifting his gaze to hold his, simply explaining, "Breakfast," before turning on his heel and  opening the door.

Grunting softly, he started down the steps. "I'll walk.”

Ignis pressed his lips together, letting go of the car keys, and dropping them back into his pocket. "Then I shall walk with you."

"So you can get on my case more? No thanks,” he grumbled, stuffing hands in his pockets as he headed off in the direction of the Citadel.

Ignis froze in his spot and watched as Noctis carried on walking.  Wordlessly he turned and went back to the parking garage and got into the car. He wondered how the king would take the advice of having another child that would be more willing to serve the crown. If Noctis wanted to behave like some petulant child, then so be it. He'd let Gladio work it out of him.

He pulled out and headed towards the Citadel, doing all he could to not cast a look in Noct's direction as he drove past.

Noctis arrived to training much later than he would have if he’d ridden with Ignis, but at least he wasn't as pissed off when he got there.

Gladio glared at him, the fire of challenge burning in his eyes. "You're late. And Specs got called into an emergency meeting, so you ain't got anyone to save your ass. Laps, princess, now."

"Good. As long as it gets him off my case," he muttered, dropping his bag off to the side. He put all of his frustrations and annoyance into training, not even caring if he overworked himself. He could just sleep it off later.

Ignis stopped by the training hall much later that day, finding both Gladio and Noctis panting hard and resting on the mats. He quietly approached and held a water bottle out to both of them.

Noctis took it silently, struggling upright as he downed the water. He really didn't feel too great right now - head spinning, stomach churning as he hadn't eaten the breakfast Iggy had given him.

Ignis took one good look at him and then glared at Gladiolus. "You're supposed to train the prince, not kill him!" The Shield waved him off. "Endurance. He's alright. You mother him too much." Ignis' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful Gladiolus, set the example, don't be it." "That a threat you paper pusher?" he teased, but Ignis was in no mood for their usual banter and Gladiolus could tell. He held up his hands defensively. "Alright, alright, Iggy, damn. We just have a few-" "No, you don't.  You're done for today." He looked to Noctis and offered his hand. "Can you stand?"

Noctis shifted to his knees, ignoring the offering and wobbling slightly as he tried to stand before shaking his head. "No...don't think so...might have overdone it a little too much..."

Ignis slowly dropped his hand and then turned around, squatting in front of him. "I'll carry you, come on."

Despite still being annoyed with Ignis, he didn't want to risk walking anywhere with as light headed as he felt. He set the empty bottle aside, slowly pulling himself up onto his back.

Ignis secured his arms under him and then stood, hoisting him up a bit more and readjusting his hold. He walked over to the benches and took up Noct's gym bag. "We'll see you next time, Gladiolus." The shield waved them off and then cursed at himself. He knew that look in Iggy's eyes... he was so screwed. Ignis was quiet the majority of the time he carried him down to the garage and towards the car, only asking him questions pertaining to if he was comfortable, or wanted to stop, or try to walk.  But soon they made it and Ignis opened the passenger side and let Noctis slide from his back. "Get in."

He slipped into the car, sighing softly as he rubbed a hand over his face.

Ignis tossed the bag into the trunk and then got into the driver's seat.  "Lean back and rest. I'll get the air on."

"I'll be okay...I just need to sleep."

Ignis nodded and then reversed out of his spot, but hesitated in putting the car into gear. "Noct... this tension between us, I don't like it. Not just today, but all week… all month. I know it's been difficult. But I miss you," he admitted as he looked over at him.

"I'm sorry...it's just...I haven't had a friend outside of you and Gladio. It's exciting to have someone like Prom in my life. I'm not trying to ignore you."

He put the car in drive and headed towards Noctis' apartment. "I know. Prompto is a wonderful person... but beyond ignoring me you're also ignoring your duties and there's only so much I can do in your stead." He wasn't even going to mention how Regis had questioned him about his difficulty with Noctis lately, and if he required assistance. Any implication that he couldn't perform his job well really got under his skin.

"I'm not asking you to give up the sense of normalcy you've found with Prompto,” Ignis continued carefully, “just don't forget about the obligations you have as well. You can achieve a balance."

Noctis leaned on the door, sighing. "You've been stuck in this hell as long as I have and you just don't get it, but I don't expect you to. Prompto makes me feel...free...normal. I don't have to try to be something I'm not with him. He lets me be...me. Doesn't expect anything of me other than just being there for him as a friend. That's something I've wanted all my life. No one's ever wanted me for me. You're here because you have to be. It's your job."

That was a low blow, and while true that they had come together out of obligation, as children Ignis had always gone out of his way to dote on Noctis, to take care of him, to sneak him out at night to watch the stars and read him bedtime stories, to try to make him feel like a kid and not a prince. Whenever they got caught he always took all the blame and that was never out of obligation.

And now he didn't clean up his apartment or mend his clothes or try to recreate those Tenebraen tarts Noctis loved so much because it was his job. He surely didn't stay the night wrapped up in his arms, buried inside him, and making him cry out his name because it was his job. He loved Noctis and for the heir to the throne to suggest it was anything else made his heart sink, piece by piece.

"I may have a duty to fulfill, but I thought you knew, understood, how I felt, that you are more to me than my job... but if you feel that way then I won't overstep my boundaries again." His tone turned clipped at the end and he focused on the road ahead, hands tightening at the wheel.

"I didn't mean it like that Ignis..." He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know I love you..."

"I may be bound to your side as your advisor, but I've always chosen you for who you were beyond your name and title." He couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off the road and look at him. "And I'm sorry I've failed to make it abundantly clear to you. Consider it a lesson learned."

Noctis sighed softly, "Iggy...come on. I didn't mean...I'm just...frustrated with life right now okay?”

Ignis wanted to snap at him; it wasn't as if he wasn't frustrated either. He had juggled school and his duties, and he was the one who sat in on all the meetings for Noctis, and took care of everything that supposedly made Noctis independent. But he kept quiet, stewed in his own frustration.

He pulled into the parking garage of his apartment and parked, keeping his duties in mind and the irritation out of his voice. "Can you make it from here?"

He nodded as he opened the door. "Yeah...thanks Iggy..."

Ignis briefly glanced at him as he pressed the button to pop open the trunk, his usually composed expression gone for once, and the boy looked worn.  He gave a curt nod. "Of course, Your Highness."

Noctis froze halfway out of the car, feeling his heart sink at the words. Ignis only used his title when a certain decorum was necessary or when he was upset with him for something. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pushed himself out, keeping his back to him as he wiped at the corners of his eyes. He hastily shut the door and then grabbed his bag before heading to his apartment.

Ignis closed his eyes as the door shut with a thud. He waited until Noctis was into the elevator before he sighed and dropped his head against the steering wheel.  Why did he have to say that? Why couldn't he have just been the bigger person and let it go? He had set up a surprise for Noctis by way of apology for pulling him out of bed and being harsh with him. He should've walked up with him and smiled as Noctis realized the newest AC game was waiting on his table, Prompto lounging on the couch in waiting for him. A perfectly normal afternoon for a normal teenager - as he wanted.

It was too late to take it back. Ignis pulled out of the garage and headed home.

Getting up to the apartment took a little longer than he would have liked to admit. Noctis was still feeling like crap but when he opened the door to find lights on, confusion washed over him. He knew it wasn't Ignis or Gladio, which left only- "Prompto?"

The blond popped his head out of the kitchen, a spoon balanced between his lips. He quickly pulled it free and wiped at the yogurt on the corner of his mouth.  "Hey, Noct!"

Dropping his bag, he leaned on the wall, still confused. "What're you doing here?"

"Um... Ignis called me. He said you were having a rough day and invited me over to cheer you up. There's all kinds of stuff in the kitchen for us, too! He said something about you having a free day tomorrow so we could cut loose... well he said it in Ignis terms. Oh! Dude! We even have the newest Assassin's Creed! It doesn't even come out til next week! But he said I absolutely had to wait for you to play..." he scooped his spoon back into the yogurt cup. "Pretty awesome," he said in a sing song voice.

Great. Just...great. Now he felt even more like a sack of shit. "Uhh...g-great...you can go ahead and set it up? I'm gonna shower. I overdid it with training today."

The blond eagerly bounded over the couch and picked up the game to open it. “'Kay! Hey... there's a note here in the case for you,” Prompto said, waving it over his head.

Noctis moved over to take it, reading it over as he headed for the bedroom to grab clothes.

The note was written in Ignis' elegant script. I pulled a few strings, for as daunting as our positions are they do come with some perks. I hope you don't mind me inviting Prompto over on your behalf, but please put this week out of your mind and enjoy your night with your friend.  I only request that you join me for dinner on Friday, just the two of us. We owe it to ourselves. Ignis' signature sat below it.

Thumb running over the signature, he set it on the dresser, sighing softly. He really didn't deserve Ignis.

Prompto let the game install while he waited on Noctis, snacking a bit. He knew that Noctis had it rough as the prince, but stuff like this seemed pretty sweet.

Taking his time showering and relaxing, Noctis eventually joined his friend on the couch. "Have you gotten those pictures printed?"

Prompto picked up his messenger bag, setting it in his lap. "I sure did!" He pulled out and handed over the envelope to Noctis.

He took the envelope, flipping through it with a smile. "Great...just need to finish the album now..."

The blond made a little humming sound. "We got time... but first," he handed over the controller with a grin. "Let's have some fun."

Noctis smiled, setting the pictures aside before turning his attention to the TV.

*******

The following week passed quietly, Noctis had come along to the social meeting on Monday without much pestering from Ignis, who also upheld his promise and ensured he made it back to school. The car ride had been awkward and silent, and Ignis once again parted ways with a nod and a muttered Your Highness.

By Wednesday, he was back to calling him Noctis, but still their interactions were minimal. Ignis only stayed as long as he needed - only to do chores and drop off papers or food - and only spoke to him when necessary. Ignis could easily put all this behind him, in fact he probably should be the bigger person and do just that, but... he was hurt.

Noctis hated the distance between them. Hated the awkward silence and cold conversations. He wanted to be back with Ignis, so he decided he needed to get this gift wrapped up and finished soon. He had to get them back on track and set things right.

It had been a bit last minute, but Ignis was surprised when he received a message from Noctis saying that he wanted to meet for dinner.  If anything, he hoped this could be a step in the right direction and perhaps he could take the opportunity to apologize.

On the way home Thursday, he stopped and picked up all the ingredients for one of Noct's favorite dishes. A small way to start his apology for being so distant and short with him.

Noctis spent his night Thursday finishing all of the last minute touches he needed to complete the surprise gift for Ignis. With over the phone help from Prompto about where things should go and be laid out, he was eventually satisfied with it all. He bid his friend a good night and put the documents on a thumb drive. He'd have to make a stop after school to get it printed and bound, but it was going to be worth it.

Since Noctis had claimed he didn't need to be picked up from school, Ignis went straight to his apartment to tidy up and begin preparing their dinner. He wasn't even going to try to sneak any vegetables into the dish, a detail that he was sure would please Noctis. He sent him a text message when it was nearly ready, growing concerned that it hadn't made it home yet.

Absorbed in his gift making, Noctis was discussing the layout for the cover. He'd worked hard to gather a bunch of recipes he knew Ignis hadn't ever cooked before and was excited to see how he'd react to it. Getting the book an hour later, he got it wrapped up and a bow tied around it before heading out the door. It was dark out when he left, and he picked up the pace.

Ignis had set the table and placed the food out, covering it to keep it all warm. He'd sat at the table and waited, periodically checking his phone, yet Noctis never replied to his messages. Was he seriously being stood up? After everything that happened over the last couple weeks... Noctis couldn't send back a simple reply or give him a phone call? Ignis bowed his head, he couldn't believe it.

A little after nine, Noctis came into the apartment, slightly out of breath with the gift tucked under his arm.

By now the dinner was cold, and Ignis... he wasn't sure why he even stayed. Maybe he was tired, tired of all the back and forth, the cold shoulders, and being talked to one minute to be ignored the next. He knew that things were difficult right now, but he deserved an answer, some kind of explanation. He was worth at least that much wasn't he? He wasn't really sure considering Noctis thought he wasn't even deserving of a text.

His chest tightened when he heard the front door open, and he looked up as Noctis came in. "There you are," he said, but his voice wasn't relieved. He was tired and angry; he couldn't take much more of this.

"Oh...shit...am I late?" Noctis asked, setting his backpack on the couch.

"Are you late? It's after nine o'clock at night and I sent you a message hours ago that I was nearly done." He stood from his seat at the table and folded the napkin he had idly been toying with. "Have I done something that has warranted such treatment?"

"I...thought you said 9:30...I'm sorry Iggy. I had something I needed to get done. I tried to be quick about it."

"So, did you not receive my messages yet again?" Ignoring his excuse, he stepped closer to Noctis, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Was your phone conveniently dead... again?"

He moved to his backpack, rummaging through it to find his phone at the bottom of the bag. "I'm sorry...I was in a hurry to get this done..."

"What was so important to you that you've ignored me, again? I thought we were making amends after everything... but you've just strung me along and left me here waiting because you damn well know that I would still be here!" Ignis spat as he came closer still; anger and sadness whirled in his gaze and tumbled from his lips. "What else does Ignis have to do besides wait on you hand and foot? I don't fancy being toyed with. If you're punishing me for something just tell me so because I can't take this any longer."

Noctis shifted, holding the gift out. "I...I was doing this..."

Ignis looked from Noctis to the gift in his outstretched hands and back again. "Is it for me?" he asked hesitantly, softly.

"Yea...it is..."

"I..." Wow, he felt like an ass for exploding now. But, he had felt totally valid in doing so, and even if Noctis had gotten him something, it still didn't change how he felt about the last couple weeks. He felt like they were falling apart, and he didn't know what to do to fix it.

Before Ignis had even realized it, he had torn open the wrapping. He looked down at the bound book and opened it. It was full of pictures and recipes, some he'd never even seen before. "Oh, Noctis..."

"I was trying to do something nice for you...I didn't mean to forget about the time..."

He let his fingers trace the photos and recipes and he snapped the book closed with a sigh. "I... please forgive me. With the way things have been between us lately, I assumed the worst..."

"I didn't know… how to show I care."

"You could start by believing that I love you and that I do so of my own free will, not because I'm obligated to be by your side..."

Out of everything, that hurt Ignis the most. He could deal with his brattiness and his temper, his discontent with his position, and his unwillingness to go to meetings and training. But to be accused that his love wasn't sincere, he couldn't stand it.

"I'm sorry..."

He set the book on the back cushion of the couch. "When you're frustrated, when everything starts to pile up and it gets too difficult, tell me. Don't blame me and push me away. It's my job to prepare you for these things. It's my choice to support you beyond it..."

"I just...I don't like you trying to force me to focus on my duties when I only have so much time to be young and have fun. I know I have to be king someday! I know I have to be responsible, but just let me be free while I can!"

"You... don't think that I already do that? I know you're young. I've always rallied your side, to allow you freedoms. These duties that you speak of, the ones I press you for, are the least you could do. Do you forget who it is that sits in on your meetings and takes notes for you so that you can go to school and goof off at the arcade? Who swore to pick you up and see to it that you met your appointments so that you could live on your own!"

"I know it was you! I'm not stupid, Ignis!" he snapped, "I never asked for this life!!"

Ignis stepped forward and cupped his face. "I know you didn't! But this is still your life whether you want it or not. And it breaks my heart. Ever since we were kids... why do you think I work so hard for you?" He held his face steady, staring into his eyes. "I've only ever wanted to lessen your burdens, Noct..."

The intensity of his stare became too much and Noctis closed his eyes, tears slipping free. "I k-know you do..." he sniffed.

He jerked him closer with a sigh, wrapping his arms around him. Ignis buried his face in the crook of his neck. "Then please stop pushing me away."

Arms curled around his waist, gripping at the back of his shirt. "I'm s-sorry..."

Ignis' hand cupped the back of Noct's head, fingers curling into his hair as he turned his face and pressed a kiss to his neck. "I love you, Noctis."

"I love you too, Iggy...I'm sorry...for being late...I honestly thought it was later..."

"It doesn't matter any longer," he murmured  before kissing his neck again. He left a trail of lingering kisses up his throat to his jaw, coaxing his face toward his for a kiss.

Noctis let out a small sigh as their lips met, shoulders relaxing as the kiss swept him away. With a little prodding, Ignis coaxed him to open up, letting his tongue slide in to roll against his, each swipe growing more bold.

Noct slipped hands under Ignis' shirt, scratching over his skin as he let the kiss deepen. The older man gasped against his lips as he felt blunt nails pass over him. He tightened the fingers at the back of Noctis’ head and tugged, teeth raking over his bottom lip before he set his lips back upon his neck.

"Nnngh...I-Iggy...fuck I've missed this..."

"As have I," he rasped against his Adam's apple before letting his tongue slowly trace over it.

Noctis let out a soft whimper, rocking his hips toward him. Stepping forward, Ignis pushed him against the back of the couch, a hand slipping down to firmly clutch at his hip, holding Noctis still. Teeth nipped at his jaw as he pulled back.  "Perhaps we should move to a more comfortable location... unless you’d rather I bend you over this sofa?"

"B-bedroom works," he moaned softly in reply.

Ignis smirked as he pulled away from him. "Lead and I shall follow."

Noctis snorted softly. "Like you don't know where it is," he murmured, taking his hand to lead him.

"Of course, but it's more fun this way," he retorted, squeezing his hand as he followed after him. Once in the bedroom, Ignis pulled Noctis in for another kiss that quickly heated as tongues twined and hands tugged at clothes. Ignis hummed against his mouth as his fingers finally met skin.

Noctis worked his tie open while they kissed, letting it hang around his neck as he reached to undo shirt buttons. The young advisor was feeling much too impatient and he pulled away to start on the buttons from the bottom and worked up until he met Noct's hands. Ignis wrapped fingers around his wrists and pulled Noctis' touch inside his shirt, up onto his chest as he leaned in and kissed him again.

Moaning into the kiss, Noctis let his nails drag over his skin, stepping closer to him. Ignis pressed his hands firmly to his back, holding him close as he took control of the kiss, lips meshed together with a hungry passion. He groaned softly before breaking away, gasping for proper breath against his prince’s lips as he peeled the shirt from his shoulders.

"Nnn...fuck Iggy..." he mumbled, leaning in to kiss along his neck and shoulder. The smoothness of his skin was addicting, and Noctis loved to run his lips across him, to feel the heat radiating from him.

His hands fit under Noct's shirt, working it up his body, his fingertips brushing lightly over his skin before he tore the garment up and off over his head. Ignis’ heated gaze flickered over his bared chest, his breath falling more quickly as he reached for him and tugged him close by the waistband of his pants.

A surprised gasp parted his lips and Noctis hid a smile against him. "I love you..." he murmured against his shoulder, biting softly at the skin.

A hushed moan left Ignis, fingers teasing into the waist of Noct's pants over his rear. "I love you, too, Noctis..." he replied, pressing a kiss to the temple of his head.

Noctis physically relaxed under the words. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say my name..."

"I was so upset with you, please forgive my pettiness," he said under a sigh, running his hands over his back. "I will call your name all night..."

"Good...I need that...I need you..."

Ignis cupped his face, looking down into his eyes before pressing their lips softly together. "You have me, always... in every way."

Noctis smiled softly, letting him go only to move over to the bed as he made short work of the fasteners on his pants. He looked back over his shoulder as he lowered them from his hips. Ignis watched the little display as Noctis pushed them down his legs and turned around to face him as he stepped out.

Ignis grinned and tackled Noctis onto the bed, chuckling as he attacked his neck with his lips,  nipping at his skin. Letting out a small squeal, Noctis laughed, wrapping arms around his shoulders.

He kissed the hollow between Noct's collarbones as he worked his way up the other side of his throat. “Never did get to eat dinner..." he rasped against his ear. "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling quite ravenous."

He shivered, biting his lip. "I'm yours to feast on Iggy."

"Are you now?" he playfully questioned, voice dropping into a low hum. He pushed himself up and then rocked back, lowering himself down Noct's torso, leaving a hot, wet trail of kisses as he headed down his abdomen.

"Nnn...y-yea..." he murmured softly, slipping fingers into his hair.

Ignis briefly sucked at the skin just below his navel before pulling back. "Mmm... not there..." he trailed his lips over to the jut of his hip bone, nipping at the flesh, perhaps a little harder than necessary.

Noctis groaned softly, fidgeting at the sharp, brief press of teeth. "S-shit..."

His small laugh fluttered over Noct's skin. "Not there either..."

His fingers hooked into the elastic band and he began to pull his boxers down, leaving them around the middle of his thighs, just enough to free him. The plush of his lips worked across Noctis’ pelvis as Ignis firmly spread his legs apart a little more, to reach the juncture of his thigh. He glanced up at him and licked his lips. "Here perhaps?"

He closed his lips around him, pulling his skin into the vacuum of his mouth. His teeth scraped over him, pressed into him, as he moaned against him, sucking him harder. With a wet sound, Ignis finally popped his lips free and he smiled at his handiwork, the mark angry and red and already darkening.

"I-Iggy..." Noctis whimpered softly, breathing already uneven as his cheeks darkened in blush, "P-please..."

"Please... what?" he teased as he went lower,  sucking at his inner thigh, pressing his teeth deliberately into the skin.

"A-ahh...I w-want your mouth on my cock already," he huffed.

"Ever impatient," Ignis remarked as he tugged his boxers the rest of the way down, letting them drop from his feet.  His hands smoothed up his legs, admiring their muscular tone before brushing lips over him, leading back up towards his pelvis.

"It's been forever...can you blame me?"

Ignis hummed in reply as he turned his face, the warmth of his mouth blooming over the base of his cock as he parted his lips. The petal softness of his lips, the silky contrast of his tongue, slowly slid up the side of his length.

Noctis groaned out softly, head dropping back. "S-shit..."

The corner of his lips twitched into a smile and then his mouth closed around him. His tongue twirled around the crown of his cock as he bobbed his head

"I-Iggy..." he moaned softly, fingers tightening in sandy locks.

Ignis let his eyes fall close, feeling only the fingers in his hair and the smooth hardness past his lips, the musky tang of his precum that slid to the back of his throat as he took more and more of him.

"S-so...good...I-Iggy..."

He hummed low, head tilting and corkscrewing up and down, nose brushing the curls at the base of him as his hands gripped his thighs.

"I wanna t-touch you, too..."

His eyes lifted to Noctis' face as he pulled off of him, cheeks hollowing, and his lips left him with a soft pop. He rose to his feet, standing between his legs. "Then touch me, Noct."

"W-where do you want it?" the prince asked breathlessly.

Ignis took his hands and pulled him upright before setting them on his own hips. "Anywhere you want... everywhere you want.  I just want to feel you."

Noctis slid his hands to his pants, holding his gaze as he unbuttoned them, pushing them down. His lips brushed against his thigh, hands gliding along his legs possessively as gravity took over. Ignis hastily stepped out of them, lifting his hand to brush dark hair from his cheek.

Noctis leaned in, biting at his hip gently with a smirk. Ignis drew in a deep breath as he looked down to watch as his prince kissed over to the hem of his boxer briefs, carefully grabbing them with his teeth to pull them down.

A surprised huff left him. "Where did you pick that up?" he asked in a whisper as the garment was taken down his thighs.

"Porn?" He giggled softly, nipping his thigh as he leaned back up.

"Figures," he muttered softly, "Not that I mind..." He lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his lover's dark tresses.

"Would you rather I had learned it from someone?” he asked, glancing back to his face, "cause I think your possessiveness would rather I find new things from porn."

Ignis’ fingers tightened in his hair. "Well if you know then why would you ask, unless you're simply enjoying toying with me?"

"Mmmhmm~ I like riling you up...makes the sex more fun," he purred, dipping his head to lick over the swell of his sack in a light teasing manner.

Ignis pulled a steady breath through his nose at the feeling of his tongue, just as teasing as his words. "You could just tell me how you want it instead of manipulating me," he murmured, although he knew it wasn't going to happen, although he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he liked it like this with Noctis appealing to his flaws.

"Nah...you're the word guy not me,” he chuckled, lifting his head enough to pull his cock into his mouth.

A breathy moan parted his lips. "Noct..." He focused his gaze on him, watching those perfectly pink lips move along his length.

Noctis raised his gaze up to him, hands sliding up his thighs as he worked him up at a slow but steady pace.

Ignis' breath came quicker, even as he tried to keep it controlled, but Noctis' mouth was like fire, burning his nerve endings and catching him aflame. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he continued to watch, soft appreciative sounds bubbling up with every bob of his head. "So good..."

He let out a soft hum, eyes slipping shut before taking a breath through his nose and slowly working him down further and further. Noctis hummed softly, relaxing his throat as his nose hit Ignis' stomach.

The breath momentarily caught in his throat, fingers curling and tightening into his dark hair lovingly, brushing against his scalp.  "Astrals, Noctis... just like that, love."

Ignis’ eyes fell close as his head tilted back, losing himself to the warm perfection of his mouth, fingers caressing his cheek or jaw whenever he did something that felt particularly amazing.  Noctis repeated it, his head bobbing enthusiastically a few more times before pulling off with a soft, wet popping sound, panting softly.

Ignis' hand took his shoulder and he lowered himself, straddling Noct's lap before pushing him down onto the bed, sealing their mouth together. He pressed his tongue into his mouth, commanding the kiss.  He moaned softly against him, nipping at his lip as he pulled away. "I taste good on you," he rasped, teasingly lapping at his bottom lip.

"Mmm...glad you approve Iggy," he panted, kneading at his sides.

He rocked against him, the length of his cock rubbing along Noct's, softly whimpering at the friction. "Shall I show you just how much I approve?"

A part 2 will follow with the glorious smut they deserve. Thanks for reading!