#he's a midwife idk
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[ LOXLEY’S BIRTHDAY PARTY DISCORD ROUNDUP ]
Where: Borgin & Burkes, Knockturn Alley
Who: Oz & Pax
When: 02 August 2020
@paxton-aeterna
Oz was standing in his bedroom adjusting his eyeliner in front of an absurd gilded mirror on the wall (which, no joke, looked like it could come alive at any moment and transport your reflection to the Phantom's underground lair) when he noticed someone enter and grinned. "Oh goodie! Did ya fetch one a them for me?" He nodded toward the drinks in the person's hands.
“Hi.” Pax sloshed a little drink on the sleeve of his dusty blue button-up. He'd picked the flannel because it was warm and soft and invited cuddling, which he hoped to cash in on later in the evening when people started to go horizontal, and also because blue was steadily becoming his new favorite color these days. With a little smile, he raised a glass from the doorway. “The family’s apple pie moonshine. I thought—we haven’t really had a chance to talk since we met, have we.”
Oz smirked, and it was near-reverential in its familial resemblance. “‘Family moonshine’ been known to loosen some tongues, has it?” Spindly legs in shiny patent leather leggings decreased the spatial gap between them tenfold with one wide, deliberate step. He took the proffered cup gratefully, letting the fleeting skin-contact linger; Maeko certainly hadn’t told him not to, so why wouldn’t he?
Oz took a hefty, blindly-trusting swig, and hummed. It was good! Sweet. “Nothin' like a nice ’n sexy talk at a party…” he teased, but his smile was encouraging. He flopped sideways onto the hap-hazardously-made bed, his legs from the shins-down hanging off it, somehow managing not to spill. “…fire away!”
Paxton, feeling a little warm, unbuttoned his flannel to reveal a too-shrunk undershirt and winking cubic zirconia in his navel. After a moment’s consideration, he folded cross-legged onto the bed facing Oz. Maeko had explained him. But Paxton hadn’t stopped pondering the question of Oz’s palms. He wanted to hear Oz talk about himself. “Where’d you come from?” Pax asked, leaning on his own knees. It was an open-ended sort of question, so classically Paxton.
“Now I can’t possibly believe the accent doesn’t give me away…” Oz drawled, knowing perfectly well that it did, and that this wasn’t the answer Paxton was looking for. Oz wasn’t intending on being withholding, either, but it did give him a minute to think, take a swig of his drink. His eye caught on a flashing rainbow glint of bling at Paxton’s navel as Oz’s gaze traversed up the length of the body sat beside him; it would be so easy to reach out and touch, distract, deflect—the unbuttoned flannel was almost an invitation.
That was Oz’s instinct, so much like his half-sister’s save the paths that brought them here, to these unexpected moments of vulnerability and the choice of who to show them to. If there was one thing Oz had observed in the time he’d settled firmly into Maeko’s life, it’s that Maeko had many acquaintances; she was enigmatic and well-liked. But she only had a handful of her people. Paxton was one of them.
Oz took a breath. He reached out and traced a finger around the metal piercing Paxton’s skin—because Oz was a twenty-three-year old with a mostly-developed brain and he could multitask, thank you very much—while he looked up into the pretty pale blue of Pax’s eyes, sheltered by long blonde lashes, hovered above him.
Paxton grinned. “Right. Well, maybe I jus’ want to hear more of i—” A light brush against his abdomen. Pax paused in surprise. He looked down at Oz pointedly, just shy of being shy, wondering if in the low light Oz could see the heat Pax felt spreading across his face.
“You’ve been around the safehouse in Putney here 'n there now, haven’t ya? Enough to know a bit about what hedges’re like?”
Pax took a long, slow drink while he tried to slow the ratcheting of his heartbeat. “Um,” he said, slowly. “Somewhat I do. You’re all—very interesting. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Why?”
Oz smirked as he met Paxton’s look, bemused. “Ha—‘interestin’ is a nice word for it…” People from Mae’s world tended to look down on the safehouse scene—the ones that actually knew it existed, that is. But Oz suspected Pax wasn’t like that.
With mild concern, Paxton noticed his drink was empty. He gestured uselessly around with the empty glass for a bit before leaning over to put it on the floor. When he turned back to Oz, he felt—like he couldn’t decide how to sit now. He didn’t know where to look. Maeko is laughing at me somewhere, Paxton thought, horribly, before settling on lying down next to Oz and looking politely at the ceiling while he listened.
Oz rested his cheek in his palm, elbow propped up on the mattress while he laid on his side, watching Paxton shift all his long lovely gangly limbs into a more relaxed position, obviously just a little bit flustered. It was, unfortunately, entirely delectable.
He tried to divert his thoughts elsewhere. “Couple reasons…” he began, dragging the pad of a finger around the rim of his glass, the bottom of which rested with a slight indent on the mattress between them. “…firstly—if ya’ve heard one hedge’s story, ya might’as well’ve heard ‘em all…” Oz’s eyes, ringed in a dark bronze liner, looked sad at the truth of this statement, but he smiled lightly anyway.
He drained the rest of his drink and, following Pax’s example, set it down before returning to his lounging position, this time on his stomach with his chin in both hands. “…but no point’n dwellin’ on all that. I mainly asked ‘cause it’s good ya have some context, for what a safehouse can be like...see, the one I learned at, back home? It—wasn’t quite like that, not really, it was...Harsher conditions, ya know? More ta prove, more ta lose…” The grin Oz cracked here looked like a wince and he scratched at the back of his neck. “…does this all sound loony, or am I makin’ any sense?”
“I’ve got you. So you left them—left Ireland?" Paxton guessed. He shrugged a little, as though to express that Oz didn't have to break the whole tale of why if he didn't really want to.
Oz smiled gratefully at the reprieve he was given from rehashing some of the more unpleasant details. This man was, fuck—kind. Kinder than Oz had been conditioned to believe he deserved. “Exactly!” he agreed, propping up on his elbows. “…change a scenery, change a companions—plus, I couldn’t really afford the safehouse rent over there anymore…”
“And then—the courtroom. An' then Maeko let you in.” There was no mention of any parents. And through experience with Maeko, Pax had learned that if there was no mention, it was for a good reason. He decided not to ask. He also didn’t ask why Oz wasn’t at Hogwarts. He knew enough now to wonder if asking a hedge witch something like that would be in poor taste.
There was a rolled joint on the bedside table and Oz stretched out a long arm to grab it and draw it to his mouth. He gave a eureka! snap, which served also to spark the end of the joint, and then he said, “Now that is a story! Ya know when I first showed up here—it was a few days before Christmas—Mae told me flat out I could stay through the New Year an’ that’s it…”
Paxton didn’t ask about a lot of things. It had been years, but he remembered what the process had been like to befriend Maeko—a lot of waiting for details to slip, of noting commentary passed off as sharp-edged jokes—and he wasn’t sure yet that this man wasn’t the same sort of creature. Instead Pax nodded to himself and stretched out a little more. His eyes darted between Oz’s face and the fringe of curls spilling onto his forehead. Fingertips itching, Pax began twirling a piece of his own hair, letting the silence hang comfortably.
Oz laughed good-naturedly and took a drag, fragrant smoke misting around them on the bed like a dream-haze, and then held out the joint toward Paxton before rolling over to lay on his back, drawing his arms up in sharp acute angles to rest his head in his hands. “…did she tell ya we smashed up the place proper? Guess that sounds odd but it was, I dunno—soothin’, in a way? For her. Therapeutic, or somethin’—an’ here I am still…” He fell into a comfortable silence, remembering.
"Well, I'm glad you picked here." Paxton’s fingers lightly touched Oz’s arm in reassurance. “S’not just her alone against the world anymore. Not so scared as when I knew her at school,” Pax murmured, hand hovering in the air between them as he debated with himself, then reached up further to brush his fingers through the curls on Oz’s forehead. Nerves thrummed in his belly.
Pax’s hesitant touch pulled Oz back to present—light, tickling. A butterfly kiss. Oz smirked, holding his position, but he glanced over at Pax and asked curiously, “Was she? Scared, I mean…I guess I’m havin’ trouble picturin’ it, is all. Mae always acts so tough an’—and clever…”
And there it was. The fingers gently raking through his hair did make him stutter like an idiot, but Oz hummed anyway and nuzzled into the touch like a cat.
Given permission, Paxton continued to idly investigate Oz’s hair, listening to him talk. Feeling its coarseness, winding his fingers around individual spirals, the tension drained from Paxton’s limbs as if he were the one being soothed. He half-lifted himself on an elbow to take his sweet time on three long, greedy drags, passing it back with a massive exhale from deep in his belly. “She was always that, too,” he breathed.
Pax’s head thudded softly back to the bed, coming to rest against Oz’s side beneath his raised arm. “I’d tell you about myself, but she’s prob’ly told it all already.”
“No, please, I’d love ta hear about you…Maeko paints her pictures of before with a real specific brush, ya see—plenty of colorful details but missing quite a bit a the art a things, I think…”
Pax thought about what Oz’d said for a while, and subsequently forgot that he was supposed to talk about himself then, but that was okay. The silence fell comfortably for a second time as they passed the joint back and forth, fingers brushing, and anyway Paxton was pretty comfortable, and Oz’s side was really warm. His room was kind of nice—although Pax didn’t really lift his head to see, but if he looked diagonally, just skimming over the top of Oz’s stomach, he could glimpse his knees and shoes in the enormous mirror sat against the wall. Along with some photographs tacked up, he noticed. Some of them moved and some of them didn’t. And if Pax looked down his chin past the foot of the bed he could see a pile of clothes on a chair in fabrics and textures that looked as if they’d be nice to touch.
The seams of the sides of their bodies seemed to zip closed the longer they were laid there, and Oz found it increasingly difficult not to just cut to the punchline and pull Paxton all the way on. Oz was the type of cuddly person who got needy for affection when it was readily given out—and Pax definitely gave physical affection away readily.
“I love my family,” Pax said aloud, suddenly, as if several minutes hadn’t passed by. “Still live with them. But I work here. You know that, though. At school I was alright with divination stuff, you know, cards and crystals and all that. But last Thursday I helped a mum whose husband is at Flourish and Blotts? She didn’t really know much about all that. She likes her muggle life. Loved a magical delivery, though. Little girl. Eight point five kilograms..”
They were talking with words again and Oz tried hard—like, very hard, okay!—to listen, and to be good. Because as much as he wanted to write this whole thing off as just A Pressing Matter to Take Up with His Dick, Oz had to quietly admit that this person was actually…fascinating. Charming, really. Oz wanted to unwrap the person that was Paxton Brady in a number of intriguing ways…Also, Maeko would surely eviscerate him if he acted in any way untoward, toward her Bestest Old Friend.
So—that was that, was it not? Oz’s fingers flexed from where they were curved behind the base of his skull, and he recrossed his legs—toward Pax, but only because one of them was falling asleep. Kinda.
Pax took another pensive drag, exhaling and shrugging, shouldering closer into Oz’s side. “An' I’m planning on getting another piercing soon. I’ve saved up, but I haven’t decided. Nipples or tongue, d’you think?”
Shit. Paxton Playing-Coy Brady decided to talk about his fucking, prospective piercings, for fuck’s sake, and—well. Oz had tried, right? He glanced down at where some strands of blonde hair were caught against his shirt, taking note of the way they rose and fell with his diaphragm.
Paxton tilted his head back a bit, just enough to meet Oz’s eyes. He wished he had more drink to offer Oz. He wished he’d brought the bottle into the room with them. Pax’s eyebrows drew together, little wrinkles forming between them and across his forehead as he thought about it, mildly dismayed. He’d have liked to stay there a while, and now at some point he’d have to leave to get more moonshine.
An invitation was an invitation was an invitation, and when Pax tilted his head back and caught him in that solar-beam inquisitive gaze, Oz failed to come up with a quippy innuendo to retort.
Instead he just said, “I…” and then inched downward—not far—to press his mouth against Paxton’s slightly-parted lips. He could taste the sweet-spice of the moonshine and chased more of it with the tip of his tongue, angling his body toward Paxton’s on the bed, with one elbow braced upright on the mattress, while the other hand reached out to rest momentarily on Pax’s hip before sweeping up the length of bare skin, fanning out to more fully feel, the tattoo on his palm pressed against warm flesh as if in greeting; HELLO. The tips of his fingers just barely reached past the hem of the crop.
When he pulled back, his lashes fluttered heavily, kiss-drunk, and Oz said, “Sorry, s’just—figured we were both thinkin’ it. But feel free ta tell me ta fuck off…” He flopped back onto his back, jostling the springs in the mattress, a warm-boozy feeling in his belly. Cheekily, he added, “…an’ I think the answer to your question depends on whether ya wanna give or receive the majority a the—ah. Associated sensations…”
Paxton didn’t tell Oz to fuck off, for starters. When Oz flopped back down beside him, making the bed squeak and jolt, Pax was just sort of shivering way too much, and his eyes were way too wide, and he had the look of someone who had been about half a million kilometers away before being propelled back to the present at light speed. The cheek of Oz’s tone made all of Pax’s breath leave his lungs in a rush, and his head spun, and he clumsily raked a hand through his own hair before he managed to get out, “Oh, go on.”
And then immediately, enthusiastically headbutted Oz’s shoulder while turning to drape himself against Oz's side.
One arm wound up wedged awkwardly underneath him. Pax could deal with that, no problem. He could deal with his arm falling asleep, because in shifting down to kiss him, the movement against the bedcovers beneath them had caused Oz’s shirt to hike up just a bit, exposing a good inch of skin just below where Pax’s other hand came to grip Oz’s flank and turn him so they were face-to-face. And that skin was begging to have fingers trail over it. Just begging.
Oz was very, very warm against him, and Paxton immediately set to work getting their legs helplessly tangled, Oz's entire body pressed against Pax, and hell—all that warm skin was now under his fingers, a small noise in Pax’s throat as he grinned and trailed them lightly over the small of Oz’s back, up a little further under the fabric of his shirt.
In fact, Pax proceeded to maneuver himself so physically close as if to actually burrow himself inside of Oz’s body by like—osmosis, or something. It was very fucking endearing, and Oz couldn’t help the playful smile that tugged at his cheeks as he nuzzled his nose against the patch of skin in the hollow of Paxton’s throat, breathing in the smell of him; a sultry trace of sweat, mixed with something floral and woodsy and bright—like those heavily-scented oils that came in tinctures, that hedges used to anoint candles and rainwater and body parts before spells. It was intoxicatingly heady and struck him with such disorienting deja vu, that Oz was inclined to open his mouth and run his tongue along the spot to better taste it.
He didn’t, though, because Paxton had fingers trailing up under his clothes, light and curious, and it didn’t tickle, exactly; it was more like nerve endings were alighting in the trails being traced, so that what started as a sort of laugh came out as a low, rumbling, encouraging hum.
All nerves had evaporated with the weed and the alcohol and the certainty of touch; this feeling, Pax knew what to do with. “Come on,” he said, being very sweet about it, bringing his hand to the back of Oz’s neck. Something thudded loudly on the floor above them, to muted cheers, and the ceiling shook slightly. “Kiss me again, then.”
Pax’s tone was sweet and cheeky and unexpectedly assured, and that was just—yeah, it was totally irresistible, there wasn’t any other word for it.
And Oz was happy to oblige. “Oh, darlin’…” he drawled, his tone delighted with just a hint of danger as he reached up and tugged lightly on a strand of blonde hair, before trailing a few fingers along the long angular line of Paxton’s jaw, tucking up just under his chin. Oz smirked. “…as ya wish.”
And then he did kiss him again, deeper this time, feeling really quite pleased with himself for managing to remember such a clever and, he assumed, contemporary Muggle film reference at a time like this (Piper had had them on an ‘Epic Quests and Fairy Tales’ kick lately for the residence’s collective Film Education Journey); and actually, now that he thought about it, Paxton was even somewhat reminiscent of Buttercup.
The feel of kissing, wet and soft, hot and fucking gorgeous, was like new every time. Paxton would never ever get used to it, and he didn't want to, either. He loved the way Oz’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, the dull chafe of his stubble against Pax’s chin, the way he had to pull away to take in a breath every so often, and the pleased noises he made when Paxton did something he liked. Nothing like kissing Maeko after all, Pax thought fuzzily, and then, horrified at his own brain, elected to turn it off.
Oz’s body trapped Paxton’s against the bed, hips rolling once and then pressing down over Pax’s at an angle as he moved. He pushed Pax’s already short crop top further up his chest, tugging his fingertips through the fine patch of dark hair that ran along Paxton’s sternum.
They rolled over somehow and Oz pressed Paxton into the mattress, his body a comforting weight bearing down. Pax loved doing that to others, and he usually did, loved to spread them out and kiss them at his own pace. This time, Paxton found himself abnormally free to just feel. He continued to trail his fingers up and down along Oz’s spine just to enjoy the little resulting shivers, and made happy, dirty noises into Oz’s mouth.
Oz’s stomach dragged against his as they shifted, and his hips canted against Pax’s crotch. "Ah–" Paxton tried to tell him, but he couldn't seem to stop kissing him long enough to make the words, so it came out as a moan, which was pretty much what he was trying to say anyway. "That’s–" Paxton gave up, let his head thunk back against the bed and closed his eyes, sliding a hand into Oz’s hair as he began his exploration under Paxton’s shirt. His top kind of got stuck under his armpits then, so he arched a little bit and wiggled until that was more comfortable, moving into Oz some more.
Morrigan had often told Oz that he was a slave to his own cavernous need, and that it made him weak. That he craved closeness so blatantly and desperately that he’d always give into it; it would blind his inhibitions like a drug habit he would never be able to kick. That he would burn himself all up—a smoldering wick wrapped in pliant, weeping wax—in his haste to pour himself into every pair of open hands he encountered.
And Oz liked to think, after all this time, that he had just a lick more common sense and self-control than all of that. But Christ if he wasn’t having a hard time remembering it right now, with Paxton Brady spread out like a piece of art on Oz’s bed beneath him, the wet way he kissed so languid and luxurious that it felt like decadence.
There was a dull thumping of music that could be heard distantly overhead, now, but the only sounds Oz could hear were the devastatingly pretty, breathy ones that were coming out of Paxton’s mouth. Oz wanted to spend hours pulling out every single one of those sinfully sweet sounds, trap them in a seashell like that tentacled sea witch from The Little Mermaid, just to hold it close and feel it thrumming between his palms.
He veered off to one side, tracing the shape of a half-remembered sigil on Pax’s peck, and then his hand caught on the peak of a nipple. He paused, hovering his hand there as he smiled against Paxton’s lips, and then used his other hand on the mattress to push himself up and off just a little, enough to talk. “Only one way ta know for sure about that piercing, ain’t there…?”
Oz stopped kissing him then, for some reason. Even though Pax chased after his mouth, he pulled away and started talking. “Wha–” Paxton said, somewhat stupidly. His body was informing him that it was not pleased with this stopping business.
And then Oz squeezed his fingers in an experimental pinch—not hard enough to hurt, but enough for Pax to feel it, to test sensitivity. “…how’s it feel?”
Pax didn’t know what to say. It was good—all of this was good, it was what he wanted, it was turning him on. Specifically, though, maybe the way Oz was touching him now was less good, but it was better than not having it, and he didn’t want Oz to stop—he just wasn’t so used to having all the attention on him, and no one had really tried this before, had they—
This whole thing was somehow different, this time, Paxton was realizing hazily. It felt like his whole body was hanging, suspended, waiting for whatever Oz would do next. Not unpleasant, but strange and unfamiliar. Paxton had kissed a lot of people. He wasn’t used to not knowing what he was doing, where they were going. It felt like a thought to explore in the morning, when he wasn’t so stoned.
“It’s good,” Paxton said, quickly, biting his lip. “But—it’s more like—” He leaned up until his face was buried in Oz’s neck and kissed him there, open-mouthed, so that he felt less vulnerable as he put his hand over Oz’s to guide him. “That,” he said, muffled and buried in the crook of his neck when Oz started rubbing little circles with his thumb instead, softer now, rolling a little bit, until Paxton sighed, “that.”
Paxton’s mouth opened over Oz’s pulse point and the heat of the sensation flickered low in his belly. The shift in the way Pax’s sensitive body responded to a slightly softer touch—more deliberate, less teasing—the way his breath ghosted warm and humid over Oz’s skin when he sighed, like fog over moonlit water…it was positively sublime.
Oz trailed his hand down the long line of Paxton’s side and traced those same circles with his thumb over Pax’s hipbone, dragging it right up against the denim hemline. He was going mad with how much he wanted to take Paxton Brady apart, inch by gorgeous inch; Oz needed to get his mouth on him, so sure that Pax would taste nectar-sweet on his tongue—
Mae’s best friend, her oldest friend. The one she nearly broke herself being at odds and apart from for so long… a needling voice reminded Oz’s in the back of his head as he trailed wet, hungry kisses along Pax’s jaw.
Kindly buzz the fuck off, he tried to quiet the voice, but it pressed on, chastising: …you really think she’d want her kindness repaid by you butting in on someone who’s hers?
Somehow Pax worked up the courage to reach a hand down so that he could feel it again, the hard line of Oz through his leggings, until Oz made a low noise above him. “Yeah?”
And Oz didn’t have a chance to contemplate his eminent guilt trip any further, because all at once Paxton’s hand was squeezing him lightly but purposefully over the very thin fabric of these dastardly leather leggings that he’d elected to wear, and all thoughts besides the warmth of Paxton Brady’s palm and the gentle curve of his fingers promptly exited Oz’s brain.
A choked-out noise climbed up his throat, before he managed to divert it into a humming affirmation: “Mmhmm…” He barely pressed his hips forward, further into the touch; a pulse of ambient magic rippled through the air, flickering the lights. Not what Oz was expecting, at all, but he sure as fuck wasn’t about to say no…
There was a sudden rush of warmth, like magic, like the feeling of a spell washing over him. Startled, Paxton ripped his mouth away from where he’d been molesting Oz’s jawline. But when he looked up, there was only Oz, and Oz’s blue, blue eyes. Something kicked hard in Paxton’s chest.
With a smirk, Oz rolled them back over again, sweeping an encouraging hand up the back of Paxton’s thigh, which was still all tangled up with his own legs.
And when they stopped moving again Pax was on top of Oz, hips fitted snugly to his. He leaned in for a sloppy, affectionate kiss to Oz’s cheek and pressed his thigh between Oz’s legs.
Then Oz said, “Howzabout you call the shots here, huh? Seems like ya wanna…”
“Anything you like,” Pax said, trying to be lighthearted about it, but it came out soft and serious.
This is happening, Pax thought, stunned. He’s letting me! Then it occurred to him that he wasn’t even sure what was supposed to happen next—what would it look like, if he made Oz come? If he even could? And if he did it wrong, if Oz didn’t like it—and most importantly—what would Oz even like?
Struggling to think through the haze—had they been kissing already for ten minutes? it could have been thirty? an hour?—Paxton considered what little he already knew about Oz, what he had learned in the last hour, Oz saying more to prove, more to lose. Paxton liked to think he had pretty good intuition, and his intuition told him Oz just needed to feel wanted.
So Paxton slid a hand around the back of Oz’s neck and anchored it in the curls on his nape, testing his grip as they kissed: if he tugged gently at Oz’s hair he could make him tilt his head back and hold it there, make his chest arch up, and leave damp spots and pink patches all over his neck while he enjoyed finding out what kind of little noises Oz would make here, or there.
Let it be stated for the record that this was all very fucking surprising.
It’s not like Oz would have tried to fool anyone into believing he was the type who could instinctively figure other people out, by any means. But Paxton Brady was a veritable puzzlebox, glorious in its perplexity. He wanted control of things, that much was clear. And Oz wasn’t picky about that sort of thing—in fact, he was rather well known for being adaptable, fitting himself into whatever mold was laid out before him, no questions asked. It’s what made him such a coveted tool in many-a honeypot that Morrigan had crafted over the years. He could—and would—be anyone, for anyone.
So yeah, Oz was more than happy to hand control over, wrapped up with a fucking bow, if that’s what Pax wanted. But in Oz’s experience, most people who enjoyed control were also controlling, and Paxton Brady was decidedly not that. Pax was unapologetically experimental, ravenous with curiosity and refreshingly lacking in a sense of higher agenda. For the first time in his life, Oz was actually kind of regretting the decision to forsake talking in favor of getting here.
Paxton shifted to adjust his newfound leverage, making himself comfortable, and pressed his hips down the way Oz had. “You feel so warm—” Paxton’s voice was rough and breathless. Talking was still too difficult.
As he moved against Oz he could feel his boxers sticking and sliding damp against him, and pressed tight against Oz like this it rubbed everywhere, dancing little sparks of sensation through all his nerves. Pax shivered again, made a little, involuntary sound. It was too good. And with a bit more soft maneuvering, he gently bullied Oz into spreading his legs so that he could fit between them.
And then he was keeping Oz’s mouth where he wanted him, bearing down on him warm and too eager and messy, leaving higher brain function behind. He felt like a bloody spaz. Any thought of what was supposed to happen went out the window, and he didn't intend to do anything on purpose. Everything was all muddled, sweet and hot and sudden and his body just reacted.
The simple, undeniable fact of this whole whirlwind ride was that Oz didn’t have any time or mental clarity to spare toward breaking things down rationally, or even to take amusement in the fact that he was essentially getting rubbed off through his clothes like a teenager in the back of someone’s car—which, under any other circumstances would have been an absolute gag—because every single time Paxton thrust himself against Oz’s erection in total fucking earnest, it sent sparkling trails of blinding colored light through Oz’s brain like fireworks whistling through the air, scattering every thought so that only a haze of heat and feeling remained.
It was just grinding from then on, really, just a slow push and pull but it made Pax’s breath stutter, made his back arch, made him jerk and push into the touch like he couldn't get enough of it. And Oz was still touching him. He could feel that smirk on his lips through the kisses, could feel how it grew when he opened his mouth to say something and moaned instead and that just made Oz press up a little harder, move a little faster.
Oz found his hips meeting the movement of Paxton’s, chasing friction like a drug fix—and in the same sense not thinking. The loose grip of a hand at Pax’s hip moved to press fingers into the sweet, soft divot of skin at the small of Pax’s back, sliding through a very fine dusting of sweat, feeling the long lines of muscle that moved beneath.
Every pass of his gentle fingers over Paxton’s back tipped him closer to the edge, and it didn’t help that Oz was nosing along his jaw, stopping to breathe into his ear, and doing better than Paxton at keeping that maddeningly wonderful pace. He opened his eyes, trying to regain some control, to get his mind to focus on something else than the heat and the angle and the way Oz was mouthing at Paxton’s neck and ear. It didn’t help, though, because when his eyes refocused, what he saw was yet more of Oz underneath him.
Pax made a sinful sound that made Oz thrum with want, and in the small space between their swollen lips he coaxed, encouraging, “Go on, that’s it…”
Paxton dragged Oz up into his arms as he came, hand still buried in the thick, curly mess of Oz’s hair. Pax gasped into his neck, shivering and hips chasing his orgasm, nose pressed into Oz’s temple and breath warm in his ear. Even muffled, he was still loud. He relished the warmth, the tightness of the hold he’d locked them into, and even the embarrassing, uncontrolled noises he made.
Paxton’s body seemed to melt over Oz as he found his release, seeping and sighing into every open space like water into soil until their edges blurred and blended. Pax shuddered with little sparks of post-coital pleasure, mewling out the most sincere and unself-conscious sounds, and it was the sort of sweet that could lay down roots with the power to spread and grow through the lightless crevices of your cracked and weather-worn heart, if you weren’t careful.
Pax’s head felt like it was full of soft and airy cotton, obscuring anything beyond the person in front of him and the sensory information that trickled in piece by piece. Pax slowly unclenched his fingers from Oz’s hair as he came back to himself, running his fingers down the knobs of Oz’s ribs shakily. Oz was all interesting angles and pointy limbs. Pax felt a rush of affection well up in him.
His fingers slid back up and locked in Oz’s hair again, as Pax pressed tiny kisses to the skin of his throat, feeling loose and pleased and warm in his soft blue flannel. He was flushed, ferociously, all the way to the ears and his chest, on the tops of his cheeks, and even at the corners of his eyes.
And Oz could have been content with just that honeyed innocence, to let it linger like drops of nectar on his tongue. But Paxton’s hands kept wandering, his mouth kept demanding; the lust coated heavily over everything else, the room thick with that heady, earthy musk, dragging Oz under like sweet, sticky sap.
His hand returned to Oz’s leggings, smoothing up over him again and then inside, breath hot on Oz’s lips as Pax leaned into him for a kiss. The taste of the moonshine and the joint were long gone. “I’ve never, uh, don’t laugh,” Pax mumbled, the faculties of speech slowly returning. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good.
Oz didn't laugh—wouldn’t have dreamed of laughing—but he did smile with brimming affection in the bliss-haze of feeling. “Ya don’t have ta—” he tried to say, but Paxton’s fingers were already dipping beneath the waistband of Oz’s leggings and gripping him with purpose; Oz hardened in response, the words on his tongue splintering like fractals into a messy jumble of expletives that was lost into Paxton’s mouth.
Paxton closed his eyes for a moment, zoning out on the feel of his hand’s firm, sure grasp on Oz’s cock for real now. When he opened them again, Oz was watching him, moving into his hand with a heavy gaze.
Pax’s grip was solid but his hand was still, and it was with immense and—he thought—quite admirable restraint that Oz moved his hips, slow and controlled, to thrust up into Pax’s hand. The latter’s fingers twitched and he opened his eyes; they shone with curiosity and apprehension and wonder in the low light of Oz’s bedroom like glimmering subterranean pools.
Oz offered Pax an encouraging nod, a curl falling over his brow, and Paxton’s wrist started to move, taking pacing cues from the low thrums and stuttered breaths that hummed in Oz’s throat.
Until abruptly, he came undone all at once; a glittery wave of warmth shot up his spine and crashed over him, and Oz blurted out, “Ah, I’m—” with the barest trace of abashedness before the muscles in his abdomen were tightening and he was spilling all over Paxton’s long, lovely fingers and giddy laughter was bubbling up out of him.
And then it was Oz’s turn to melt into the mattress, fanning out all his limbs and feeling sunny and wrung-out and stoned; his legs below the knees wilted weightily over the edge of the bed like saturated leaves.
He whistled out a stream of air, quirking a brow to meet Pax’s inquisitive, indecipherable gaze. “That was nice…” Oz said, his smirk teasing but his tone sincere.
“Mm, s’nice.” Paxton pressed his forehead against Oz’s shoulder. It was a terrible challenge to not let himself float away—anchoring himself in the giddy, fluttery, childhood-crush buzz of feeling Oz’s legs still tangled up with his. “Haven’t felt that nice in. I dunno.” Patches of sweat were cooling inside his clothes, and his crotch was a sticky swamp. He couldn’t muster the energy to sit up.
“D’ya wanna stay? Lay here, for a bit, before venturing back—” Oz gestured a palm that read ‘GOODBYE’ through the air. “—out there?”
Pax yawned muzzily, perfectly content. “D’you want some of Katie’s macaroni cheese? I bet…I bet s'ready now…We should…” But it was impossible. Paxton breathed in against Oz’s hair, closed his eyes, and was gone.
#p: pax#discord#sex cw#it's actually SO wholesome tho i swear#drug use cw#alcohol cw#mention of birth cw#he's a midwife idk#august 2020#borgin and burkes#knockturn alley
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I'm pretty sure I've already made a post about cannibalism in hallownest but it still fascinates me the difference between a person bug and a food bug. You could say sentience but a good amount of bugs that are simply scurrying around have thoughts (dreamnail) and once tumblrblazed by the Radiance every bug tends to have narrow and simple thoughts, something else I froth over
The Deepnest bugs (are implied to) eat people, or do they eat bugs, is it out of disrespect of their humanity, or the culture. There could be a natural foodchainare aspect but maybe PK influence disrupted the structure. Are nosks people? I'd love to know what's up with nosks
Bugs were capable of thought before PK (tribes and communities existed before him or WL took power and the Radiance mothtribe seems very advanced) so it could have been a way of life where "cannibalism" had no definition. Imagine the furious debates PK got up too about citizenship and laws, god I love that silly colonizer worm
#these thoughts make no sense#but thats why i love this blog lol#this all came up because i was writing abt culture stuff for everybody in the group#n idk if Hornet would have cannibalism part of her culture#because is cannibal a realized concept to the people of deepnest#midwife is portrayed as crazy and the menacing aura of deepnest adds to the ''this is wrong btw'' implication of their practices#but theres also the question if that was an issue before or after pk#colonizer is used as a joke here btw i don't actually see the bug character as evil#i also think he may have fundamentally eradicated all preexisting ways of life out of ignorance and arrogance of his own order#equivalent of ''your not doing it right let me help'' on godlike levels
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I thought this said Intellectual Malewifery
#hsr#honkai star rail#hsr dr ratio#dr ratio#imagine if dr ratio was a malewife#idk i haven't checked his leaks but i doubt he's malewife#what does intellectual midwifery even mean?#like smart breeding??#he's a midwife /j
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Buck really said NOT MY WIFE. NOT MY BABY. NOT MY PROBLEM.
#911 spoilers#okay but also my theory currently is kameron will go into labour on the couch#but the couch is NOT buck's couch#therefore the baby is NOT his baby#kameron and connor will probably reconcile there#like it is THEIR couch not literally~ and their baby would be the point there?#but buck helps that happen#so he see he could make it happen for himself#OR he becomes a marriage counselor or midwife Idk~
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Guilt (Tyrion Lannister x Reader)
paring: Tyrion x Reader; Tywin x Reader
summary: Tyrion is consumed with guilt as he sees just how his actions have affected you
word count: idk but sure as fuck not 13.k Idk where I got that number from 🤦
tags: pregnant! reader, mentions of miscarriage/infant loss, pretty fucking huge age gaps mentioned. tywin doing tywin things. angsty with some hurt/comfort. there's a lot of plot building as i want to attempt to make this into a series. pining. future friends to lovers.
AN: this is my first time writing in a loooong fucking time. I am open to constructive criticism and feedback. I have plans on making this into a series so let me know if that would interest you. this scenario has been in my maladaptive daydreams for so long lol. Please let me know how you like it!
--
Tyrion watched you from his spot overlooking the river where the women were doing the washing for the day. An older woman was showing you the best methods for getting stains out from the fabrics of sheets and clothes, you watched with a furrowed brow and genuine curiosity from your seat on a large boulder. Tyrion had noticed this was a new behavior trend of yours. You'd go to the kitchens, the stables, the rivers, all to try and lend a hand or learn. Your noble birth made it so you never had to wash your clothes or clean your rooms or make your food. He'd observed that since arriving in Mereen, you almost seemed to be trying to repent of the sin of being born a noblewoman by doing the chores and duties of those most would consider beneath someone of your birth. Not that you ever thought that way.
Tyrion's eyes drifted down to your swollen belly which you were stroking softly as you watched the woman and he scoffed with a quick swig from a flask of whatever wine he was able to get his hands on. You were nearing the end of your pregnancy, evident by your size and the waddle to which you walked. Dany had been accommodating to your state by having someone around to assist you if need be and keeping a midwife on standby for the impending birth. The queen had been more forgiving than he could have hoped for when it came to the two of you. You had given a rather convincing speech when you had arrived after fleeing Kings Landing. He could still hear the words ring in his mind.
"Your Majesty, I was but a child when your father was overthrown and family murdered. I was a child still when I was betrothed. No choice in my life has ever been my own. I was sold like cattle to the highest bidder and forced to have his children so he could in turn ship them away and form alliances with lords and kings. Everything I have done has been to protect me and my children. All I ever will do is to protect my children. I want them to live a life better than mine and from what I have seen here you would be able to provide that more than any man in Westores currently fighting for the throne. For that, you will have my loyalty."
It was well-spoken and you stood tall while you said it, but he could see the fear in your eyes. How could he blame you? A pregnant woman far from home in the territory of someone who wanted her dead simply because of who she was forced to marry. Staying in the Red Keep wouldn't have bode well for you either, his sister had never been fond of you and with the death of his father, the castle suddenly became very dangerous for you.
Tyrion understood why Tywin wanted to make an alliance with your house. Your father was lord of a southern house that was known for its impressive feats on the field of battle, no one had ever defeated House ____ on the battlefield and most were met with devastating defeats when they were on horseback. The best tacticians Westores had ever seen either came from your house or were mentored by the lords of your house. Tywin wanted that alliance and he was always looking to further his family line but Jamie had made vows and Tywin would rather die than give Tyrion any claim to Casterly Rock. That left him to marry you, which he did. You were young. Very young. He remembered how scared you looked on your wedding day as his father covered you in a robe of Lannister Red.
You'd done your duty as a wife very well. 6 years since your wedding to his father and you'd had several pregnancies and two living children - daughters much to Tywins dismay. You bore him a son named Tytos but he fell asleep one night never to wake again. Tyrion remembered that day very well, he walked into the hall to see his father holding you as you sobbed, pressing a kiss to your head and looking as vulnerable as Tyrion had ever seen him. Tywin always seemed to respect you and held some possessiveness over the fact that you were his lady wife. You were spoiled by him as was expected, always in the finest dresses and jewelry. Tywin made an example of anyone who dared to disrespect you, even if that person was the boy king himself. He seemed to value your intellect and wit, finding bragging rights in your brains and beauty. A fact that drove Ceresi mad. Though Tyrion supposed, the way Tywin treats your daughters was an even bigger slight to the Queen Regent.
Trysta and Nataria.
Tywin doted on them more than he did you. It was made known behind closed doors that Tywin would keep putting babes in your belly until you gave him an "heir and a spare" but there was a light to his eyes when his youngest daughters were around that made it known he cared for them too. There was an affection there that Tyrion did not remember his father showing Ceresi or Jamie as children. A fact confirmed by the jealousy his sister had for the two young girls, Jamie had never made a comment on it but he enjoyed the company of your daughters very much.
They were very sweet girls, with your eyes but the signature Lannister hair. Trysta was the eldest at five years old, she was smart and sassy, a combination that always brought a smile to Tyrion's face. There was nothing like watching a noble lord be put in their place by a small girl in a pink dress, knowing that they dare not comment back for fear of facing her father's wrath. Nataria was younger, still not quite speaking in full sentences yet, and always wanting to be picked up by anyone who would take her. Tyrion would never forget walking into the tower of the hand to see her sat on Tywins lap with her head nuzzled into his chest as she napped. Tywin informed Tyrion that the babe you were carrying was making you ill and the handmaids were unable to get her to stop crying. He didn't look up from the papers scattered across his desk and his voice was as stern and emotionless as it always was. It was almost alien to see it, to see how much Tywin was capable of some form of care for his children. Tywin often made the comment that his first three children were disappointments and that he was going to make sure his next turned out differently.
You had made the smart choice to send the two girls to stay with your family after Jofferys murder. Kings Landing was not safe for them and both girls adored Tyrion. You had not wanted them to witness his trial or execution or to be brought into the middle of dangerous court politics. You probably would have joined them if Tywin had allowed it. Tyrion was sad he never got to say goodbye to them. He loved them as much as they loved him, always reading books or buying trinkets for them. He missed them dearly but knew you missed them more.
Especially today. It was Nataria's second name day.
Tyrion was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your laugh as you watched the children play in the water and their splashes of water soaking your dress and hair. He noticed that your laugh didn't quite reach your eyes and the guilt panged through him.
It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.
You were distracting yourself, he realized, from the pain of what today meant. The pain of not being with your children. The pain of not knowing when you will see them again. He couldn't imagine the pain in your heart. Almost like you knew what he was thinking, your eyes locked with his and he gave you a curt nod before standing and heading away from the river.
---
Later that night he saw you again, sat in the gardens of a courtyard lit by the stars, and a few torches spread over the area. There was a piece of parchment paper in your lap and your fingers were playing with a necklace around your neck. Tyrion noticed your beauty in the light of the stars. The way the flames from the torches flicked across your features. He always knew you were beautiful but it was dawning on him that you were more than beautiful. He sometimes found the air leaving his lungs if the light hit you right. The sound of your laugh, your voice, when he heard you sing it was like the whole world stood still. It wasn't fair, he thought, that someone as kind and smart and witty as you could also be so beautiful.
The sound of a muffled sob brought him out of his thoughts and he felt that searing guilt tear threw him once more.
It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.
His feet moved him through the courtyard and he sat next to you in silence. You quickly wiped at your eyes and shoved the paper, what Tyrion could now see was an old letter from your father about how your daughters were doing, into your dress. The two sat in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. You'd always treated Tyrion with such respect and kindness and he'd returned the favor to you. You never let Tywin taint your view of him.
"You've been avoiding me," your voice cut through the silence.
It was true. He hadn't spoken more than a few sentences since defending you to the Queen when you were brought to her throne room. "And yet you have been watching my every move."
He nodded, eyes fixated on a particular patch of grass in the courtyard. "Always observant aren't you?" His voice was soft.
"You'd think someone of your size would be better at hiding but alas....."
Your comment made him laugh. The first laugh in a long time.
"Spying is not my strong suit, I must admit. Drinking, books, and whores are my real talents." His eyes traveled over to you and he noticed your small smile.
Your smile shouldn't cause him to feel the way he was.
The two of you sat in silence for a long while after that. It wasn't an awkward silence, neither of you seemed to know how to get the thoughts flowing through your head to form into words. There was so much to say, so much to explain. You broke first.
"I miss them," Your voice wavered and your lip trembled. "I miss them so. It feels as though my heart has been ripped out of my chest." The tears started to fall all at once, Tyrion swore he could hear them hit the ground like rain.
It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault
"Every time the babe inside me moves, I remember how it felt to feel them move too. I think of them from the moment I wake to the moment I sleep and then I dream of them. Are they happy? Are they safe? Where are they? When will I see them?" You rambled through the thickness of your tears, your fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of your dress.
Tyrion hesitantly grabbed your hand in his, afraid you'd hurt yourself and gave it a small squeeze.
"Your sister...Oh, your sister...she hates them. She hates me. She'll have them killed. I can't...I can't.." you choked on sob after sob
He said your name softly and moved to stand in front of you so he could look into your eyes. The tears falling down your cheeks and hitting the skirt of your dress broke his heart.
It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault
"Ceresi is many things. A hateful bitch is among one of her most prominent attributes. But, she is not stupid enough to wage war on your family. Her hatred for me consumes her. Last I heard they think I kidnapped you." He almost laughed bitterly at the thought. Remembering how he rushed you out of The Red Keep, it wasn't too far from the truth. "And despite even with all of that aside. Do you think Jamie would let her? Let her kill your children? Our sisters?" In truth, he had no idea what would happen but he had to hope. He had to have faith that his choice wouldn't lead to the fatalities of you and your daughters.
Your arms quickly wrapped around him and your face nuzzled into his neck. For a moment he just stood there in shock, this was the closest you'd ever been to him and he found himself enamored with how you smelt and soft you felt. But soon he ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. Tyrion could feel your hot tears on his shoulder and the mantra repeated in his head.
It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.
"I'm so fucking sorry," He whispered into your hair. "I'm so sorry."
You pulled away and he found himself missing your warmth. He told himself it was because he wasn't used to such interaction, which wasn't a lie, but there was a stirring deep within him that he had to push down and hide. That would only bring him more shame and heartbreak and insult you further than he already has.
"All my life, my father hated me for killing my mother and for being a dwarf. He loathed my very existence. The only thing that kept me alive was my name. I was a Lannister. And then he lets me be led like a lamb to slaughter for a murder he knew I didn't commit. My only option is death or going to The Wall, there's not much difference there as people seem to think. He takes the woman I love and turns her against me, having her lie to all of Kings Landing. And then I find he's fucking her..." Tears were starting to well in his eyes now as he remembered Shae and how it felt to find her in his father's bed. "I didn't think about the consequences. Not for you or the girls until after it was done."
He remembered how the lamp light flickered across your face as you stood there, hand on your belly and mouth agape as he held the crossbow. He remembered how it felt to have the realization slap him in the face. Tywin had become fond of using you to belittle Cerasi, often saying you were more worthy to be a Lannister than she was. Cerasi was jealous of how Tywin seemed to care for and respect you. You wouldn't last long at The Red Keep. Tyrion remembered the scared look in your eyes as he took your wrist in a harsh grasp and led you through the corridors to where he was to meet Varys.
He was pulled from his memories when he could feel your fingertips lightly brush away his tears. "It's my fault," Tyrion's voice broke as he said those words to you, "and I can never express how sorry I am."
You swallowed thickly and looked at him for a moment before your eyes drifted up to the night sky. You were quiet again and this time the silence was thick and heavy. Tyrion could see your brain working hard to formulate thoughts and feelings into words.
"I was 15 when I was betrothed to Tywin," You said softly, your eyes still on the stars. "My father was so excited. The Lannisters would make a great ally and I was the only daughter he had to offer. For two years I waited, knowing that I was to be married to a man who rode into battle with my grandfather. It was the day after my 17th name day that we were wed. Within a year I had Trysta." Your tongue peaked out to wet your lips. "Tywin was not a moral man. He was not a good man. He was a smart man. An ambitious man. But not a good one. I know he respected me, I think he may have cared for me in his own complicated way. I know he cared for our children. But he was old and mean and arrogant."
Tyrion was silent as you spoke, you two had talked in the past for hours about books and history but you never quite opened up about your relationship with his father. Your eyes fell down to your lap and you picked at a loose string.
"I may be cursed for thinking it but I do not miss him. I miss my home. I miss Casterly Rock. I miss the sea and the beach. I miss Trysta and Nataria. But I do not miss Tywin. I am not naive enough to think that I will ever experience what it's like to be loved...to marry for love. That's not a reality for high-born women but I do hope the next time I'm married off it's to someone who is less of an ass."
Tyrion stood there for a moment and then took your face into his hands, "I promise you by whatever Gods are listening that I will get you back home. Back to your children. Or I will die trying." And he meant it.
You simply nodded. He took his seat next to you, his hand resting atop yours. The two of you sat there in a peaceful silence looking at the stars with his hand on yours and you weren't sure how long for. It could have been 15 minutes or two hours. When Tyrion noticed your head starting to bob and your eyes struggled to stay open, he stood up and silently offered you his arm.
The walk to your room was quiet. He had more he wanted to say to you but he knew this was not the time to say it. Once he got to your door he didn't know what to say, he didn't know if he should say anything. He cleared his throat and rested his arm at his side.
"If you, uhm, if you need me...." His voice trailed off.
"I know," you nodded, "thank you." You placed a soft kiss on his forehead before disappearing into your room.
Tyrion stood there for a moment, frustration rushing over him like waves. It was happening. He could feel the feeling creep into his heart: he was falling in love with the woman he widowed and he wasn't sure how to stop it.
#tyrion lannister x reader#tyrion x reader#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones fanfiction#tywin x reader#tywin lannister x reader#game of thrones reader insert#reader insert
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Speaking of underrated horny metaphor moments... Aziraphale directing Crawly directing the fake birth via oxribs after the oxrib night... HELLO?! My eyes just about popped out of my head XD.
So very horny and so very ridiculously funny. I swear that if you don't completely lose it laughing at "Remember me? BILDAD THE SHUITE!", I don't even want to know you lol. Very early Aziraphale being that dry and dirty was hilarious. He's such trouble. :) We all go on about the ox ribs in the cellar and in the scene with the angels (as we should lol) but I think the inbetween hours get ignored and they're equally underrated...
They're on a walk together in the middle of the night when they happen upon God speaking to Job. They snuck out of the cellar after the rain had stopped but while it was still night and they wouldn't be noticed to go for a walk together alone and then, later, once it's daylight, we see Aziraphale arrive late for the angels arriving to "lo, behold, we murdered your kids!" Job and Sitis. At first, we think he's late to the meeting because he and Crowley have been hatching out a plan but oh no no no no lol... they do not have a shred of a plan. Aziraphale basically make the whole thing up in the moment Bildad busts in. Aziraphale's entire plan was 'um maybe find a way to fake rebirth the old kids or something idk' and when Crowley comes in, he now has the help he needs to actually do it, but it's *very* clear that they had absolutely no plan going into the meeting.
"It would be helpful if you were an expert in human births?" says the angel who might have wanted to mention that at some point-- ANY POINT lol-- in the last, like, 14 hours that they've had to work out this plan, now forcing Bildad to try to sell 'professional midwife/cobbler' to Michael (and sell he does lol.)... My point is that if they left to take a late night walk together and then both were outside when the angels appeared to Job and Sitis, then they stayed out all night together, during which time they were not making a plan and then Aziraphale was late to work. They went on a walk to look at the stars and the stormy sky and talk some more and find a somewhat secluded place they could then watch the sunrise together. Maybe somewhere at the beach where they are at the end of the minisode. They nearly made Sitis have seven! more! children! because they lost track of time making out lol.
If you run into that guy you've got all that chemistry with and then spend the next day helping each other with work in between flirting, getting dinner, staying up all night talking, going for a romantic stargazing walk in the aftermath of a storm, watching the sun come up together, losing track of time and nearly missing work because you're so into one another, and then meet up later at the beach and basically have your conversation confirm what you already know, which is that you're soulmates, well... that's a good first date, yeah?
It is a little sad though when you consider that the episode prior to this is 2.01, which is heavy on the emphasis of how Crowley doesn't stay overnight in the bookshop as part of their efforts to keep their relationship quiet. (That the first night we know of that he ever does, later in the week, is without Aziraphale and with Gabriel, is absolutely the stuff of Crowley's dreams and by that I mean his nightmares. Poor guy just wants to kiss the angel and it's always Gabriel or a statue of him getting in the way lol.) The Job minisode might still be one of the only times they've managed to be together all night.
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Ok. Fun scooby-doo jokes are over. Time for a graphic birthing scene as Star Flower enters premature labor after being starved for days and running to get away from a bunch of stinky, dirty rogues.
The writers will see a woman character and ask, "Is anyone going to describe the pain and viscera in intense, obsessive detail?" and not even wait
*Shrek voice* she doesn't even get the birthing stick
(under a cut because eurgh)
It's gotta be super dramatic, to really tease the audience with the idea that Clear Sky might lose a third pregnant wife for his pain.
Star Flower has been put through such INTENSE torment to make Clear Sky feel bad and rally the cats to come together to help him out that it's taken me out of it completely.
Gray Wing also realizes he's been thinking about Star Flower too much, while she's bleeding out and giving birth several weeks early after escaping Slash's Torment Nexus, so he takes a moment to rotate his brother around in his head for a bit.
"He'd been so panicked about Star Flower that he hadn't thought about his brother," who is apparently going to get set upon by a band of Slash's angry rogues all alone in this fantasy daydream Gray Wing has conjured up in his head.
Like, apparently Clear Sky is going to leave the meeting with Slash, get told about the secret plan to rescue Star Flower which was happening concurrently (already happened; we saw this), then jump up and run from what everyone's told him, bolt towards a camp he doesn't know the location of, and a patrol of Slash's warriors are going to find him?
ok.
Anyway then all the women come together to midwife for Star Flower.
And then Clear Sky and Star Flower cuddle around the new kits and act all cute. The "pure love" in Clear Sky's eyes is focused on, everyone recommends he takes extra good care of his premature kits, etc. He's So Totally Changed Now, through the magic of wife and babies.
All I'm thinking about is how he kills one of these children later, by refusing to allow Acorn Fur to complete her training and throwing a tantrum about how "SkyClan doesn't ask for help unless we have no choice!" when she tells him she can't treat his son's fox-inflicted mauling alone.
One more patented brother moment between Clear Sky and Gray Wing
I'm just gonna be honest, man... I hear from a LOT of people that this tugs at their heartstrings, so maybe I just don't "get it." But this WHOLE series long, Gray Wing has pissed himself over how Clear Sky can't have possibly "changed that much" from when they were children, won't accept that he's a child-beating and woman-slaughtering tyrant, IMMEDIATELY jumps to his defense at every turn even when it's ridiculous, and here's the payoff.
Hugging and sniffing his Dear Brother and having a flashback to them being babies at their mother's breast, secure in the knowledge he was right all along.
That every time he downplayed abuse, shoved people towards a situation where they'd be in danger, or prevented others from recognizing Clear Sky as the threat he was, he was correct that Clear Sky, in contrast to the EEEVIL rogues, was a good boy. Nothing about Clear's behavior has actually changed besides having MORE children to endanger.
This is chapter SIX of the LAST BOOK and we already saw Clear Sky using abuse tactics earlier to try and manipulate Thunder into doing what he wants.
So, I can't sympathize with the "heartwarming" reaction. "Ohh it's so sweet that the dear brothers are having flashbacks to when they were 6" I cannot relate. Idk how you can watch AMVs of this without wanting to set them both on fire. Thunder should get a restraining order.
#Btw winner of funniest song is Sneaky Snitch#That wins#That is objectively the funniest song to play during that scene#Kevin MacLeod Wins#Btw I didn't really post or get into it because it was really generic besides like... leaf starts yowling as a distraction#Which I've chosen to interpret as his attempt at bird noises#Because it is a LOT funnier to imagine him going “CA CAWWWWWWWWWW” as the guards are just. deeply confused.#They break in to save starf and she's like 'there's two more guards!' and then there's two more guards.#Then they run. This was apparently a genius plan.#Meme of Thunder's two paws and he's holding TWO restraining orders#dotc hate#bones reads dotc
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About Me!
Hi! Welcome to my blog! I recently hit 700 followers so figured I'd do a little about me/ what to expect here.
My name is James (he/him)
I'm 23 and an Aries (idk if y'all do astrology but like, there's that)
I'm from New Zealand, which is allegedly obvious in my writing
I'm married and talk about my husband occasionally here cause he's an idiot (affectionate)
I'm also a musician and play cello and piano/ also sing.
I'm a student midwife and will talk about this occasionally cause it's HECTIC and I love it.
My asks are ALWAYS open (send me HCs, fic requests, general thoughts and opinions) but I will call you out if you're being a dick in them.
I write fics and you can find my masterlist here!
I write primarily for Buddie but am writing a lot of Bucktommy/Buddietommy these days
I ship both Buddie and Bucktommy.
I take fic requests and prompts but these can sometimes take a hot second for me to complete
Current wips are: Frostpunk AU (Buddie), Single Dads AU (Buddie), Sauna Sex (Buddie), Sleepy Mornings (Buddie), two collabs (both Buddie), Muay Thai Sex (Bucktommy), Triplet Fic (Buddietommy) Ballet AU (Buddietommy), Dr's AU (Buddie)
I write a lot of smut and therefore my blog is R18. If you're under 18, please do not interact.
Pro-palestine, pro-choice, pro-LGBT rights, anti-racism, etc. If you take issue with any of the stances, see yourself out :)
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Chapter 3 - Meeting again & haunting nightmare (Rafayel x real world reader)
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2
On a fine morning y/n decided to explore linkon city, since you know she's stuck here forever i guess. As she walks, she stumbles upon destiny cafe. One of her new friends from the ballet studio told her that destiny cafe was a really popular cafe as of now.
Entering the place, y/n orders an iced white mocha (sorry if u dont like white mocha but u can change it though) and also a biscuit.
Sitting on a table, suddenly a man with purple hair approaches her. “Can I sit here?” he says, smiling at her.
“Of course i won't mind at all” y/n smiles at the man back
“So if you don't mind me asking, what's your name? By the way its Rafayel” he says winking at her
“My y/n. Pleasure to meet you” she says smiling, not minding to start a whole convo with him
Rafayel misses her so much………
flashback starts dun dun dun
In the first timeline, when he was a sea god and she was a sea goddess, they were happily married expecting their first child…..
“What would you think the baby would look like?” y/n asks while gently rubbing her belly. After all, she was only around 3 months old.
“The baby would be a mix of you and me, my love” he says, kissing her on the lips. Oh how he was excited to be a father or so he thought.
Timeskip to y/n finally being 9 months already, during the early hours where the sea was peaceful Rafayel was outside the bedroom as y/n gave birth, the entirety of the sea may probably know that the goddess was giving birth since her cries of pain were loud.
An hour passed by, the head mid - wife held the baby with a sheer look of horror in her face , the baby wasn't crying or even moving an inch. It was as if it was a dummy.
“Your highness i-” the midwife says meanwhile y/n was just looking at her just wanting to hold her child already.
“I'm sorry your highness but the baby is dead.” the midwife says, y/n’s face going from happy to a look of disbelief
“You're joking… right?” y/n asks as the midwife handed the baby the y/n
As y/n held back her tears, the baby was a mix of her and Rafayel. With her hair color and some beauty marks on her face. Just like Rafayels.
“My baby…..” y/n says as she couldn't hold back her tears anymore. Her own child's life was taken away from her as soon she entered the world. Oh how she wished her child to live instead.
Rafayel who had only entered the bedroom just now, that day was when his entire world fell down. y/n couldn't stop crying mourning at the fact her child was gone from this world too soon. It hurts so much…..
flash back ends (idk if its sad but i think so)
“So would you like to go out with me later?” Rafayel says winking at y/n again.
#love and deep space#fyp#fanfic#fanfiction#love and deep space rafayel#rafayel x reader#love and deep space zayne#zayne x reader#love and deep space xavier#rafayel
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SENSUAL WITH AUSTIN!ELVIS!!
nsfw!
note ; sorry this literally took longer than expected i may have fell off the face of the earth also please ignore that i started writing in capitals again i’m having imposter syndrome
warnings ; stripping? lmao idk? homegirl is getting naked
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
“I just don’t feel pretty in this.”
He looks at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head. Cheeky grin he usually wears slides right off his face. Eyes linger dangerously from your legs back to your lips.
“You’re not bein’ serious, darling,” he almost lets out a chuckle before your expression shuts him up. You are being completely serious. It’s not that he’s oblivious, Elvis is not one to discard your feelings. But the circumstances have changed. You had a baby, one that stretched your skin out and made you feel used, made you feel like you should be tossed to the side. He just did not notice because he is completely, utterly, irrevocably enamored with you, the glow that his seed had given you radiating off your skin like a pearl fresh from clearwater.
“Look at me,” you turn back to your mirror, tugging at the baby pink dress that adorns your curves. If it wasn’t for the baby you had pushed out two months ago, you’re almost certain you wouldn’t feel this way. Baby hormones and all that, you thought it was a sick joke when told by your midwife. “I don’t look the same, baby.”
“Are ya kiddin’ me?” His eyes nearly fall out of his sockets. He’s also not heedless; your current anxiety was brought on after another successful performance at the International Hotel, where women lined up to get a glimpse of your husband, praying to touch him, kiss him for just a pocket of time, a moment where they could pretend to be his.
He inches towards you, meets you halfway, holds your hands in his, “You’re beautiful, darlin.’ Always have been, always will be.”
“Hasn’t felt like that ever since I had the baby.”
His heart pinches at the seams a little, hearing you detach from reality for a moment, tucking your child’s name into the back of your brain, refusing to acknowledge it. “What do I gotta do to show my girl she’s perfect?”
You roll your eyes, “Elvis—“
“No, no, c’mon,” his palms cup your cheeks, warmth radiating from his skin, sending vibrations down your spine to your toes. “Would you believe me if I did things like this…”
He trails off, a hand roaming down to the hem of your dress, fiddling with the lace and feeling the bare skin of your thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes meeting his for a moment, his orbs darkening from the usual hue of bright blue. “…Or maybe like this,” his lips disappear into the crook of your neck, tongue slipping out to suck on your sweet spot. A moan escapes you, hands reaching out to wrap around him, playing with his jet-black hair at the nape of his neck.
“Or this, perhaps,” He takes the flimsy strap of your dress in between his fingers, carefully dragging it down, lips connected to your skin where the strap once was. He kisses alongside your collarbones, migrating to the other shoulder, other strap following suit and floating off your skin. It's the most pleasant form of torture. Insecurities fly out of your head, and all you can think of is the way his lips feel on your scorching-hot skin.
You’re so lost in your head, lost in the feeling of him, that you don’t realize that your husband gets on his knees.
He doesn’t get on his knees. For anyone.
In fact, there was never a time where you were not submissive for him. Never a time where he lets himself fall too deep in his admiration for you. Always keeps that ledge, that distance, scared to run off it in fear you’ll never catch him. Your eyes look down at him, peer into his. You gulp thickly, playing with the hair that falls onto his forehead.
His hand reaches out, touches the skin of your thigh, going up, up, up, near your lace panties that are soaked through and ruined. “You’re so, so gorgeous, my love,” he whispers against your skin, drunk on a feeling he’s been chasing his whole life. Kisses up your legs, vanishes under your dress, head lost somewhere near your cunt.
You feel him pull your underwear down with his teeth, hands grasping your hips for stability. A gasp breaks from your mouth, legs shaking in anticipation. Lifts your feet up, looks back up at you, bearing underwear and all in between his shiny, white teeth.
“You believe me now, darlin’?”
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
thank you for joining my 3.5k celly! requests are now closed.
#kinda feral for Austin!elvis#akdjdsjsj#answered#austinbutlersworld#angelina’s 3.5k celly#austin butler#austin butler elvis#austin butler blurb#austin butler angst#austin butler fluff#austin butler fanfic#elvis presley smut#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley imagine#elvis presley#austin butler smut
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Hi! Anglican here (Episcopalian’s British cousins). Overall the services are very similar in basic structure- a thing that has thrown catholic friends of mine before is that we do have slight variations of some of the prayers (someplacesthe Lord’s Prayer ends in ‘for yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory’ rather than ‘deliver us from evil’ and I believe the creed is slightly different!) and in my own experience quite different hymnals. Idk if you’d want to take communion but probably a good idea to ask the vicar first- most churches are okay with it as long as you’re some kind of confirmed Christian. Usually you can take the pamphlet thing they give you up to the alter to indicate you just want a blessing! Keeping your arms down and if needs be asking also tend to work- most anglicans and Episcopalians I know tend to prefer having the host put in their hands. Most churches have near obligatory cake and coffee at the end, it’s either bad or the best thing you’ve had. Usually worth the gamble! There might be a lot of variation- our tradition focuses a lot on compromise so some low churches seem very ‘Protestant’ while others can be really high church so my apologies for the generality of the advice! I hope you have a good service and a lovely week!
Thank you for your response.
I just got done with the service today. It was extremely modern. All white walls and very minimalist decor. The art depicting the liturgical season was absolutely gorgeous.
The music was very….well, hippie Protestant. I’m glad there was a pamphlet with the order of the liturgy. The Nicene Creed is slightly different and threw me off quite a bit.
The deacon was so nice! I’m glad I got a chance to see her in her element and outside of a professional setting. The deacon is a former catholic I work with so it was nice chatting with her afterwards.
Other things I noticed:
Name tags! Each person puts their name on there. It’s a nice touch. They also asked me to put pronouns on, too. Which was different.
Coffee and tea before service. I’ve never been somewhere that served coffee before service, usually that’s for after. I also felt strange taking it with me to the pews.
No kneelers. I’ve been informed that kneelers are at some episcopal churches. They were not present at the one I attended.
Baptism free-for-all. A new member who had just shown up that day was asked if he’d like to get baptized after service. He asked if he needed to go to classes first and they said that was optional. That kinda made my brain go fritzy.
Holy Ghost vs Holy Spirit. I knew this from watching Call the Midwife but it was still strange to hear. It makes me think of Scooby Doo or Julie and the Phantoms.
Everything is The Great. There are lots of different things described as “the Great.” The Great Amen, The Great Silence, etc etc.
Overall, interesting experience.
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So I know in the age of the Hunger Games renaissance we have a lot of post-war Katniss and Peeta parenting headcanons however, I’d like to take a moment to talk about their FRIENDSHIPS post war new and old because I love them and they deserve the best support systems.
- One of Greasy Sae’s grandchildren, a scrawny dark-haired man, who asks to be apprenticed in Peeta’s bakery since the coal mines are no longer safe to work in. A quiet man, with a lot of love in his heart for iced cakes, since his daughter likes to look at them in wonder through the glass.
- Johanna Mason and Katniss having four-hour long phone calls AT LEAST once a week.
- a poorer capitol couple who always dreamed of life in a smaller town end up buying one of Victor’s Houses. They’re nervous to say the least, but Peeta helps them settle in the town and Katniss eventually helps them to get comfortable in the woods. When their dog has puppies, the couple gifts them two.
- Gale never returns to District 12, but his siblings, Rory and Posy do. A friendship that’s sparked by reminiscing about cold mornings is now fueled by hot summer evenings, and bonfires, and roasted apples and singing.
- Peeta and Katniss visiting Annie in District three and swimming at the beach with her.
- Delly Cartwright rushing to the bakery to relay the gossip she just happened to hear at the post office.
- Haymitch’s house not being in a fit state, so Katniss and Peeta helping him to host his Senior Veterans’s support group at theirs.
- Speaking of veterans, Katniss’s mother visiting with one, a second-hand ring on her finger. He’s from District 11, a towering battle-scarred soldier but his eyes betray the people he’s lost in his time. His gravelly speaking voice would scare away even the tamest birds, but his hands coax rainbows out of the ground and Katniss is proud of her mother for being happy.
Now, I don’t think Katniss would ever get a full time job, with her mental health and Capitol stipend. I also don’t think she would become a doctor or apothecary, like her mother and sister. But in her late years, when she’s too old for hunting and no need for it anyway, I like to imagine she becomes a midwife. Idk, I think she would have a lovely no-nonsense bedside manner and a deep love for every baby she helps deliver and it is nice to think about. I just weep imagining her helping to deliver Posy’s first baby, or checking up on Newborn mothers around the town with gift baskets full of helping herbs and freshly-baked buns and being a familiar face for everyone in 12.
#the hunger games#katniss everdeen#thg#thg headcanons#peeta mellark#delly cartwright#Posy Hawthorne#Rory Hawthorne#no-one ever talks abt Gales siblings or mother and IDK why they are FASCINATING#esp in terms of their relationship to Katniss cause she’s obvs quite close with all of them#Annie Cresta#thg haymitch#long post
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a few months ago i brainwormed with @mytardisisparked over a whole arc involving Amelia getting lost out in the Delta Quadrant aaaaaand these are kinda inspied from stuff toward the end of the arc where they've found Amelia and the remainder of her missing Starfleet crew and she has her baby that philippa midwifes for. :) CURRENTLY have that his name is Sekh but idk if ill go with that haha,,,,,, wanted it to be more kazon-leaning than anything else.
had the thought that he'd start out pretty bare-skinned and then he gets a white plumage like his father. starts out very fluffy like a baby bird when he's young, eventually molts.
Ed's anthropological studies stretch into the caretaking/child rearing realm so he's the most well-prepared for a baby out of the three of them lol.
uuuuh and at the end id had the thought of philippa donning the "red shirt" for the first time during this arc with amelia lending her one of her salvaged uniforms,,,,, contextually philippa didnt bring one into the delta quadrant,,,, and amelia's starfleet ship crashed on a planet so replicators and all that is limited,,, just a cheeky little buildup of her adopting a command position for the first time before Officially going that route with her starfleet career. its a little contrived lol I KNOOOOOOW. ;)
#suspiria would actually probably be DEAD in arc before really getting to do any cute interactions with baby </3#like MAYBE weak lil mushroom form shortly after he's born#but id drawn that drawing before we'd fleshed it out more ;)#these drawings put me in art block for whatever reason lmao#enjoy weird hybrid baby!#My Art#Threshold#AU#Star Trek: Voyager#Amelia Janeway#Edward Janeway#Suspiria#Philippa Janeway#Sekh#Cardassian#Kazon#Human#Nacene
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Idk if you’re doing a birth blurb but for some reason out of all of them I could see Quinn and her having a natural birth at home. Idk why I get that vibe they would but Quinn gives off such a supportive and loving vibe and with that they’d be welcoming Ollie into the world that way. The way he says he’s always paying attention to her, he would be so attentive and help her stay calm and relaxed just showing her how much love and support he has and always will for her.
Quinn is super attentive and loving during her pregnancy and Ollie’s birth and mama 100% goes through a phase where she wants to do an at home natural birth. Quinn takes it in stride and they make a birth plan for it but Quinn thinks ‘I’ve known you since we were 6 and you’ve never been chill about anything ever so this probably isn’t going to happen’ but he never says it out loud.
This is how it goes down.
Sleep had been a thing of fiction in Quinn’s life ever since learning that he was going to be a dad. Almost all of the baby books he’s read warned him about the possible lack of sleep that expecting mothers might have to deal with. None of them had prepared him for the lack of sleep he would be facing.
He was the most anxious he had ever been. Realistically he knew that there wasn’t much to worry about. The past nine months have been nothing but smooth sailing. Every appointment had gone well, his baby boy liked to make his presence known all of the time, and on top of all of that the mother of his child (he smiled down at the woman asleep in his arms at the thought) wasn’t just handling her pregnancy well but she was glowing. She made being pregnant seem like the easiest thing in the world.
Just because everything had been calm and easy up to this point didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared for any and everything that could happen. Quinn made sure that they not only had everything prepared for when their son came into this world but he made sure to get all of the things that his girlfriend would need or possibly want for the natural at-home birth that she insisted she wanted to do. Even if Quinn didn’t actually think that she would go through with it.
It’s not that he thought that she wasn’t capable of it. She’s one of the toughest people he knew but he’s known her for nearly his entire life and with that came knowing her better than she knew herself. She would never be able to understand just how much he paid attention to her and all of the little things she did. Her interest in a natural birth, especially at home, had only popped up a few months ago after attending her first childbirth class.
Quinn didn’t argue with her, though, he knew better than that. However, he made sure that they had a backup birth plan prepared and that he was in tune with his girlfriend now more than ever.
Which is how Quinn noticed something was different the next day before she did. He didn’t know what was different, he just noticed that she was slower to do anything whereas the day previous she was waddling at the speed of light to get the house clean before giving birth, her breathing was different and she was rubbing her lower back more often than she usually did.
At first, he thought that it was the Braxton Hicks contractions that had been plaguing her for the past month. At lunch, when he saw her squeeze her eyes tightly closed and lean on the counter he suggested calling her doctor or the midwife but she waved away his concern, claiming that the Braxton Hicks contractions were simply getting worse because she was getting closer to her due date. Quinn wasn’t entirely convinced but decided to keep a closer eye on her. Throughout the day he had slowly prepared the items that the midwife said they would need for the home birth. He also brought the bag he packed for her for the hospital to the front door. Setting it to the side just in case she changed her mind.
When she had fallen asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie that evening, Quinn had decided that he was overreacting. That maybe she wasn’t in the early stages of labor that day and he was simply paranoid. It was in that brief doubt in his judgment that he decided to go out and pick up dinner for them.
He was gone for less than thirty minutes but when he walked through their door he knew immediately that things had changed. His girlfriend, who had been snoring softly on the couch when he left, was now standing at the end of the couch, hunched over and groaning in pain. Quinn wasted no time in putting the food down and rushing over to her.
He only noticed the puddle on the floor when he stepped in it. His right hand went to her lower back and the left went to his pocket to grab his phone.
“I’ll call the midwife,” he tried his best not to sound panicked but he could barely hear himself over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. “When did your water break?”
It took her a second but when the contraction eased up she finally managed to say, “fuck this.”
“What?” Quinn looked at her confused.
She gestured broadly and then to herself as if it was supposed to make any sense to Quinn. “This. Fuck this,” she said before another groan slipped from her lips and her body started to tense again. “This is horrible. I want the drugs at the hospital. Call the doctor, call the midwife, fucking call the Pope if you need to but just get me in the car and take me to the hospital.”
“Okay,” Quinn agreed as he pressed the midwife’s phone number and grabbed the hospital bag by the door before going to his girlfriend to help her out of the apartment.
“Wait,” she said before he closed the door. “Don’t forget the McFlurry.”
#I was working on Noelle’s birth story when I saw this and immediately dropped everything#chaos with quinn#ollie hughes#quinn and mama#hockey babies au#the hockey babies au#hba messages
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pinned post 🙀
✧˖°🌷📎⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
who i am
hi. so i’m sage/helena. if you use he/him pronouns for me i will actually marry you. audhd and i have crap hearing. pronouns, names, and xenos
fandoms: danganronpa (i’m not weird istg), yttd, death note, hatchetfield trilogy (i swear i’ll watch black friday 😽), ummmm idk. call the midwife??
i have lots (150+) of OCs and it makes me happy when people ask me about them, always ask about them if you’re curious. oc tag: #buffporcupine’s ocs
other tags:
random stuff (idrk): #buffporcupine talks
vents: #vents or #ventposting
uhmmm my DNI would be general dni critera (bigots, anything phobes ykyk), and people who don’t tag for triggering topics PLEASE TAG TRIGGERING TOPICS.
ISRAEL SUPPORTERS DNI
₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡
my other blogs + extra
my lawmane blog 🙀: @lawmane-enthusiast
my oc help blog: @ocspot
my writing blog: @skinnyhedgehog
my roleplay blog: @013hasablognow
shared roleplay blog for my oc senka and @.reigenpostayng’s oc misako: @misako-and-senka
character analyses and stuff (mostly dr or yttd): @sagesblorbocorner
my ask game blog :3 : @sagesaskgamecorner
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
some stuff you might wanna know: i use nicknames like bbg and pookie a lot jjst lemme know if that may make you uncomfy.
thanks for reading!!!!
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I'm catching up on Call the Midwife, I'm Super behind and just starting Season 12.
Fred's cleaning the chimney as the Nonnatuns and Matthew put up the tree a d he goes "I reckon some of this soot's been up here since the Queen Mum was a kiddie "
I giggled. A lot.
Also, IDK how old Fred is supposed to be, but Mr Buckle the Queen Mum would have been only 67 then. You're probably of a similar age you know.
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