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madwomansapologist · 11 months

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Daenerys + Mastermind

Taylor Swift Writing Challenge: Mastermind

synopsis: Daenerys had to confess something to you, a sin that she carried alone for to long, but little did she know it wouldn't surprise you.

warnings: none.

Your city was liberated by her. The chain breaker. The conqueror. The mother of dragons. She saved your people, and after it she stayed to rule them. Daenerys brought justice to masters and workers: for some it means justice, to some it means care. They called her Mhysa.

Your master died during the revolt. She agonized, suffered until her last failed breath, and bled into the expensive sheets. You watched it. You didn't kill her, the other slaves did, but you watched every second. You were loyal to Daenerys even before knowing her.

Daenerys didn't kick the workers out of her new castle. She employed them, with fair contracts. And as the old palace master's seamstress, Daenerys gave you new and fair contract. She wanted you to sew her clothes. And so you did.

At first, your only interactions were when you needed to take new measurements and test the size of the pieces. As she was trying a blue summer dress, her serious expression made you swallow. "How did you learn to sew?"

With a pin, you marked the places you should press. The first time you marked her clothes with Daenerys using it, you were shaking the whole time. So scared of hurting her. 'My mother taugh me, as her mother taugh her." You don't shake anymore.

Daenerys spoke again as you knelt down to measure the hem. You saw her curling her toes. "Would you teach me?"

You bit your lip. "It would be a honor."

From the very first moment Daenerys saw you, something burned inside her. A new flame took over her entire body. She's a dragon, and you lit a fire inside her.

She can remember. You paralised, watching your old master dying, enable to do anything but stare. There was some sense of relief on your face, but she saw your hands shaking. You remind her of herself.

Daenerys would lever let chance determinate her path. You see, all the wisest woman had to do it this way. Society says women were born as pawn in every lover's game, but now Daenerys knows the truth: women were born to plan.

So, yes, everything was a choice. To keep your job, to change your quarters, to make weekly tests, to have you teaching her sew. None of it was accidental. Every unassuming touch, every supper with the employees, every second you spent talking to her about dressmaking, working to your last master, your life before her.

Daenerys heard songs about love. They didn't do justice to you.

When you played her, it was Daenerys idea. When you kissed her, it was Daenerys idea. When you went to bed with her, it was Daenerys idea. When you loved her, it was Daenerys idea. When you cried, it was Daenerys idea. When you stayed by her side, it was Daenerys idea.

Daenerys is the wind in every free-flowing sails. And she's the liquor in your cocktail.

But deep down she knew this lie-truth wasn't going to last. That she couldn't plan without feeling guilty. What wouldn't you think when you found out about everything she's done? What would you think of her?

That wasn't the first time she planned everything around her, but it was the first time she felt the need to confess. It felt like a sin. Like something you wouldn't forgive.

"Love is always a story about how once upon a time, the planets and the fates and all the stars alligned" Daenerys laid the groundwork. "Two people end up in the same room at the same time."

You left the glass on the bedside table and crawled closer to her. Your silence was a plea for her to continue.

"But what if I told you none of it was accidental?" Daenerys held your hand. She needed your touch to continue. "And the first night that you saw... nothing was gonna stop me."

And Daenerys would keep talking. She really would. She had a whole speech. But Daenerys saw a wide smirk on your face. You knew the entire time.

"A love based on chance. Mathematical chaos", you didn't try to hide your smile. "It' seen like a boring story."

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

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genshin-scenarios · 2 years

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Harbinger AU

About: Seeing the harbinger trailer made me think of things… so here’s some familiar faces as Fatui! Their roles are vaguely inspired from the current lineup of Harbingers we have in canon.

Characters: Kaeya, Diluc, Yae, Albedo

CW: Since this is basically a reverse/villain AU type of thing, there may be mentions of manipulative, unethical or violent behavior. (Not particularly towards the reader, just in general.)

Commission info is on my pinned post!

One of the most charming and amicable members of the Fatui, Kaeya handles secret missions from the Tsaritsa that require a careful touch.

Those that have worked with him are filled with admiration and fear, for his methods aren’t ones that flaunt his strength but instead clicks into place quietly behind the scenes.

It is said that every unassuming word that falls off his lips sets a web beneath his target, ensuring that they are trapped before they even realize they’re in a game.

A scarce few know him well enough to predict what he is thinking, so you should consider yourself quite ‘privileged’, in his words, that you are allowed to be by his side.

Kaeya claims that you are only there because he finds you amusing, but the way he grows more venomous when the other harbingers are around you seem to suggest otherwise…

A flower is kept in a vase at the table beside your bed, one that he claims will last forever. It is woven from frost and seems like it might scatter at any moment - however there is no need to fret, as it is preserved in a case of ice.

If he was to gift you something so beautiful and delicate, it’d certainly be well-protected after all.

Ah, this one is a lot less cordial on most days. Diluc can certainly be warm and kind, but that’s reserved for those who have earned his respect - which is unfortunately not a lengthy amount of people.

Diluc runs his own share of businesses and intelligence networks across Teyvat. He can be found doing groundwork quite often as he likes ensuring that things are going according to plan.

Subordinates under him are really loyal, and new ones that try to stir up trouble are dealt with by their peers before Diluc even has to bother. They like to watch and admire his skill on the rare occasion he spars or trains in public, knowing that their leader is one that can put his money where his mouth is.

You were a talent in Snezhnaya who was recommended to Diluc when he was in need of an assistant. He often traveled for work, and with his operations growing in number he needed someone to help manage some of his work while staying close to carry out his orders.

At first Diluc was a pretty stoic employer, but over time he grew to consider you as an indispensable employee. You caught out suspicious behavior and smoothly sorted out mishaps, even befriending some of his close subordinates.

Oh, the wine and custom pen he gave you for your birthday? It was just an appreciative gesture, don’t worry about it~

Honeyed words often fall off her silver tongue, but one look at her cold gaze tells people all they need to know. In Yae’s eyes, most - if not all - were dispensable in their game against the Divine.

Her work mostly consists of strategising the Fatui’s operations, ones that come directly from the Winter Palace.

She can be most commonly found shopping or visiting the sights around Snezhnaya. While at a glance indulgence, she is actually mapping out and committing everything to memory.

She finds being underestimated as a gluttonous harbinger amusing though, and allows this image of herself to continue as it makes people lower their guard.

It’s hard to tell what Yae is thinking most of the time, even more so than Kaeya because of how unpredictable she can be.

At this point her subordinates simply follow her orders without thinking too much, since pondering on it will only give them a headache with no answers confirmed at the end.

When Yae starts to take an interest in you, (a civilian working as a chef, seamstress, or other non-fatui related field) you are understandably flattered but wary of what her intentions are.

She likes to spoil you, enjoying your humble protests and shy words of thanks.

As for the reason she’s grown attached to you, well… You remind her of simpler times. Back when she’d have ramen and mochi with her friends on a rainy day, and her biggest worry was how to get home without an umbrella.

A mysterious harbinger, Albedo owns a lab where a number of highly-skilled alchemists are hired to help conduct his research.

Everything is classified, and the fact that nothing ever gets leaked out is a testament to everyone’s respect - or perhaps fear - of what the consequences might be.

There have been rumors about what Albedo works on independently, of course - like creating homunculi to be used as perfect secret agents or soldiers.

In truth, Albedo was simply an isolated genius that didn’t mind being alone too much, since most people did not pique his interest long enough for him to maintain regular contact.

He’s also known for being a talented painter, but was impossible to commission with mora alone. His price was rare materials and solutions that required connections on top of riches to obtain.

People actually thought that the reason he spent so much time with you was because you were a homunculus that he created, since he spoke so fondly of you and would share secretive glances.

In reality however you were just someone with a lot of patience and kindness. He would disappear for weeks at times because of his work, but you would extend invitations to him with no expiration date.

Albedo liked to draw you with the scenery whenever you visited new places together. Traveling with you was his favorite thing, since he’d get some research done and spend time with his favorite person away from the bustle of his lab.

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chaoticgeminate · 2 years

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Kinktober 2022 - Day One

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (If that was not entirely clear)

Series Summary: You’re a fanfiction writer turned novelist, which was great since it was the path you wanted your writing to take you down in life. What you never thought would happen was meeting the Javier Gutierrez, who you actively write smutty fanfiction about from his film with Nic Cage, and you especially didn’t expect him to have a crush on you.

Fast forward several months of dating, with a good chunk of your relationship being distance due to his constant traveling and having to go home to Mallorca, when he surprises you with a prompt list and a vacation planned around exploring it.

You haven’t even worked up the nerve to tell him about what you write and post to Tumblr about him as a character yet.

Notes: Going to be using prompts from @ the-purity-pen for my meta as hell indulgence! There are feelings in this (I have no idea how they got there) and I may end up removing some possible chapters here and there depending on how I’m feeling, I apologize in advance if that happens because my brain is super mean sometimes.

Possible Warnings: This chapter is fairly tame aside from fingering (f receiving) and dirty talk

Dirty Talk (2k)

“Miss, we’ve arrived.”

Paolo’s voice was soft as the car rolled to a stop outside the white stone villa, you had gotten an apologetic phone call from Javi about his own travel being delayed due to some issues with investors, so you were going to be alone in the Villa for the first few hours of your vacation. While it was disappointing you honestly were thankful to even have a month of time away from everything, it also meant you could set up a surprise or two before he got there and explore on your own. He’d given you the go ahead, of course, but it felt delightfully silly to snoop around without anyone to stop you.

“Thank you, Paolo. I hope you and your family have a lovely vacation of your own.” The driver smiled as he pulled your luggage from the trunk of the rented SUV, shaking his head when you went to grab one of the cases, and you sighed good naturedly as the man began wheeling the cases to the main door. It was very unassuming from the front, right off the road with a low wall and metal gates, but you knew that there was more than likely a fairly advanced security set up in place.

Cézar greeted you at the porte-cochère and took your bags from Paolo, the housekeeper lived nearby with his husband Leonel, the couple were in charge of keeping the vacation home tidy and handle any minor -or major- repairs that popped up. You only knew of them but Javi had shown you pictures so that you had a face to the names, the two refusing to actually live in the home despite Javi’s continued offer to do so.

Apparently, the rest of his family wasn’t great at treating any of their employees well and Javi was still trying to get people to understand he was different than they were.

“Welcome, Miss, would you like me to give you a brief tour?” The offer made you smile fondly and nod, trying to grab one of your cases but not able to as the man beat you to it, and the wheels were smooth on the tile floor of the entryway. The inside was very royal, like a small palace, with a massive great hall that you couldn’t help but marvel over. Cézar’s amused expression made you blush and hurry to follow him, taking in the elegant décor as he told you about how the home had been in Javi’s family since it was built.

He had handed off your luggage to Leonel, his cheerful husband greeting you warmly, and they mentioned everything would be waiting in the west suite for you.

You could see touches of decoration that you knew Javi hadn’t chosen, he certainly loved his colors and patterns but you suspected that an interior designer had been hired for this particular project and had been directed by someone with a love of opulence for the sake of show.

“That’s- that screams Javi.” The hall with the elevator was lined with divots where there may have once been something like expensive statues, opulence for the sake of it style art, but instead now there were Nic Cage statues or display cases of memorabilia in their place. Beside you there was a soft chuckle as Cézar nodded to confirm what you’d already suspected; you knew your boyfriend and Nic were actually good friends now too but he was still a superfan of the actor.

“Indeed, it was one of the first changes he made.”

“His brand of opulence is certainly refreshing. I half expected suits of armor, since this place looks like a palace.”

“That is precisely what Señor Gutierrez replaced, Miss. The armor was in pristine condition so he had it donated to several museums across the world for display.”

Something about Javi’s outlook on things, his endless positivity despite how he’d grown up and the world he’d lived before Nic basically walked into his life… it was refreshing. He was not without his demons of course but Javi had proven to be able to not let them stop him from living as freely and happily as he could. He was the ultimate fanboy and you respected the hell out of him for it, you weren’t without your autographed pictures and posters and fan art of your favorite shows and movies either.

Your tour carried on through the theater, the spa and sauna, the back yard with a small stretch of private beach, the outdoor jacuzzi that was designed to look almost like a hot spring in a cave, and even the lounge with a bar and a wine cellar; the home office was the security room, Leonel’s advisory that you shouldn’t mess with it made you nod since you had no reason to, and the tour ended in the west master suite with the bed in the center of the room. At the foot of the bed was a cabinet that you knew had a hidden TV, it wouldn’t be Javi otherwise, and the room had wide windows and clear glass doors.

There was nothing but ocean in your sights being the second floor of three but the openness of it all made your heart thump in your chest.

You thanked both Cézar and Leonel, who handed you a small keyfob that would allow you to enter and leave the home without Javi or one of them, and after a few minutes you took in the fact that you were all alone in this massive place. There were so many things you could do but right now as the flight, the drive to the house, and the tour began to finally sink in the idea of a nap was perfect so you plugged your phone in and with a sigh of delight you stripped down to your underwear and slipped under the covers.

In a fit of pure fit of indulgence, you moved into the center of the king size bed and spread out as much as you could, the mattress was so soft and the sheets were definitely some stupidly high thread-count so you basked with no shame. Maybe if Javi didn’t already go out of his way to make sure you had smaller luxuries at home -a brand new Keurig for your office when you were writing even though you had one in your kitchen, very luxurious towels and a matching bath robe, the softest house slippers among these small but meaningful gifs- maybe there would have been a modicum of restraint.

But he wasn’t here to watch you giggle like a child as you laid there alone in that room, knowing that the second he showed up you could shower him in affection and appreciation for wanting to take care of you like this. It was like something out of a sugar daddy fanfic, honestly, complete with a meet cute; you hurried to send him a text to let him know you were there safe and that you were planning to take a nap, knowing he likely wouldn’t see it for at least a few hours since he was either still in meetings or on a plane.

Javi had no idea just how ready you were to spoil him in return for this.

It was big, warm, hands pulling you against an equally warm body that pulled you out of sleep as Javi slipped into the bed; his breath tickled against your ear and neck as he managed to wiggle one of his arms under your head and you reached up to hold his hand and tuck it close to your body as you snuggled against him.

“My sleepy girl, do you know how beautiful you look here in my bed?” His voice was husky and soft as he began to leave the lightest of kisses against your skin, the arm curled over your hip positioned so he was tracing random swirls along your thighs with featherlight fingertips. You wiggled back more as consciousness began to return to you fully, the feeling of Javi’s bare skin against yours sparked heat through your entire body.

A low, rumbling, breath escaped him as you brushed the bulge of his cock in his briefs; he wasn’t fully hard yet but the touches against your thighs became firmer with the press of you against him.

“I think I can feel the answer.”

You didn’t forget the reason for your vacation, remembering the adorkable little chart he had printed up and given to you with all the things you’d talked about during the process of planning this month out. But Javi clearly hadn’t forgotten the assignment either, pulling one of your thighs up and sliding his own between your legs, and you couldn’t help but whimper when he laid his hand just below your belly button and pressed your hips back at an angle so you were grinding against his leg.

“My beautiful, mouthy, girl. You think you can feel the answer? The way I ache to have you any way you will allow me to, how the sight of you in this bed makes me want to keep you here so I can bury myself in your wet pussy whenever I want?” The scrape of his facial hair against your skin made you shiver and the grind of your core against his bare thigh had your grip on his hand tightening.

He was helping you rock your hips back and forth, the fabric of your panties damp with each motion, and you nearly choked on your own spit when he slid that hand on your lower belly down into the cotton before he was easing up with his thigh in order to sink his fingers into you. He was rocking his hips against your body, the hardness of his cock pressing into you somewhere between your hip and the curve of your ass, and your free hand reached back to grip his hair and you thrust your chest out.

“Fuck- fuck Javi-!” Your breath was harsh at his pace, the burning stretch of two fingers without easing into it had ignited all your nerve endings. Your back bowed more, a loud moan choked back as his hips stuttered a little, and Javi crooned softly in your ear. He liked it when you pulled his hair, you knew that so maybe it was playing dirty by grabbing him since he clearly wanted to work you up, but you wanted to make him fall apart too.

His voice was wrecked when he moaned your name as you tugged his hair, the soft curls were your favorite thing to play with, and he squeezed your hand back when you loosened your grip just slightly.

“That’s it, listen to you. This month I plan to touch you, to lick that pussy of yours, to fuck you in every room of this house. I will hear you begging for more, or begging me to stop, like an echo that will never go away; I want you to be loud for me, Solecita.”

Oh, you were, you were so loud as you keened when his thumb slipped up to circle your clit, the hoarse cry of his name echoed in the room and you felt him throb against your back before his hips rocked up once -twice- and the sticky warmth seeped out and was soaked into his briefs. He hadn’t stopped, still moving slow to work you down from your high, and when he finally did stop Javi peppered the softest of kisses to your back and shoulders.

“Shower?” Your question earned a soft hum and Javi snuggled closer to you.

“In a moment.” Nodding and closing your eyes, the mid-afternoon sun still very present, it was a wonder you didn’t fall asleep again. But Javi untangled himself from you, helping get you out of the bed and into the en suite shower, and you shared languid kisses between washing each other off and talking about lunch as well as the idea of spending some time on the private beach.

All Fics Taglist: @hardc0rehaylz @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @musings-of-a-rose @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @AynsleyWalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80

Alt Taglist: @imtryingmybeskar @fan-of-encouragement @grogusmum @sizzlingcloudmentality @deadhumourist @prostitute-robot-from-the-future

Kinktober Only: @nicolethered @katareyoudrilling

#kinktober 2022 #cw dirty talk #cw smut #javi gutierrez x f!reader

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moustachescapes · 1 year

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Golden Triangle India

The famed Golden triangle trip is the greatest method to gradually get to know India if you're visiting for the first time. Three cities make up the golden triangle tour: Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur.

1) VISIT IN NEW DELHI Since its founding in the sixth century BC, this interesting city has experienced ups and downs, including the reign of the Pandavas and the British Raj. Visit the Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India and a Shah Jahan creation. The mosque's courtyard has enough for roughly 25,000 worshipers. Take a rickshaw trip through Old Delhi's main market, Chandni Chowk... tumultuous, loud, and distinctively Indian. It is still important today because the Indian flag is raised and the Prime Minister delivers a speech from its walls on Independence Day. Before heading to Rajghat, the Mahatma Gandhi memorial, drive through the India Gate, the President House, and various other governmental structures in Edwin Lutyen's Delhi. The place where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated in 1948 is marked by this unassuming monument. Visit Humayun's Tomb, which was built in 1562 on orders from Humayun's wife Hamida Banu Begum. It was the first garden tomb constructed on the Indian subcontinent using a sizable amount of red sandstone. Delhi overnight.

2) DELHI - AGRA Drive to Agra and continue on a half-day city tour. Visit the Red Fort, which Akbar, the Mughal Emperor, ordered in 1565. The structure is a stunning example of Mughal architecture, both beautiful and intimidating. Visit the Taj Mahal later; it was created as a memorial to the late Emperor Shah Jehan's adored queen Mumtaz Mahal. Its construction, which was regarded as an architectural marvel, required thousands of employees over 21 years to complete. Agra, overnight.

3) DRIVE AGRA - JAIPUR Travel by car to Jaipur Observe the historical structures of Fatehpur Sikri, which the Emperor Akbar erected. Akbar intended to establish Fatehpur Sikri as his administrative centre, but he was forced to leave it because of a water shortage. The Sufi saint who lived a pious life here is commemorated in the Tomb of Sheikh Salim Chishti. The UNESCO has designated Fatehpur Sikri as a World Heritage Site. Continue your trip to Jaipur, where you can check into your hotel. The state of Rajasthan is lovely and active, and Jaipur serves as its entrance. Take a stroll through Jaipur's markets in the evening to look for traditional clothing and footwear, as well as curio stores and blue pottery. Jaipur overnight stay.

Sightseeing of Jaipur Continue on a full-day tour to Jaipur, commonly referred to as the "Pink City," for sightseeing. The state of Rajasthan's capital, Jaipur, is renowned for its vibrant culture, forts, palaces, and lakes. The warrior monarch Sawai Jai Singh II, who founded the city, is responsible for giving it its name. Check out the Amber Fort. Riding an elephant up to the fort is the ideal way to explore it. The Diwan-i-Aam, a hall with hundreds of tiny mirrors, the Ganesh Pol, which has a lovely painted depiction of Lord Ganesh, and the exquisite Sheesh Mahal are prominent buildings inside the fort. Later, make a pit break to take pictures of the stunning Hawa Mahal, popularly referred to as the "Palace of the Winds." The women of the palace were given privacy when looking out through the ornately carved latticework windows on this lovely façade. Later, you'll go to the City Palace, which blends Mughal and Rajasthani design elements. The museums in this region include rare and antiquated texts, 15th-century weaponry, and former royal attire. Visit the Jantar Mantar Observatory later on, which has tools for tracking stars' orbits and calculating time geometrically. Jaipur overnight stay.

Also See:

Kedarkantha Trek

Brahmatal Trek

Chadar Trek

Kheerganga Trek

Kasol Kheerganga Trek

Kasol Tosh Kheerganga

Kasol Weekend Trip

Golden Triangle India (https://moustachescapes.com/blog/golden-triangle-india/)

Triund Trek

Hampta Pass Trek

Desert Safari Jaisalmer

Winter Spiti Tour

Laka Glacier Trek

Bhrigu Lake Trek

Everest Base Camp Trek

Dayara Bugyal Trek

Kuari Pass Trek

Har Ki Dun Trek

Roopkund Trek

Ali Bedni Bugyal Trek

Indrahar Pass Trek

#Golden Triangle India

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heavyarethecrowns · 3 years

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No nanny for hands-on parents William and Kate: Royal couple plan to break with tradition by not employing full-time help - Dec 2012

Duke and Duchess determined to be 'hands-on parents'

Royal couple may employ part-time nanny to help when they attend events

Carole and Michael Middleton expected to help with babysitting

Nannies have played an important role in the Royal household for generations.

Prince William was so attached to his nanny Olga Powell, who was at his side throughout his childhood, that he cancelled four high-profile engagements to be at her funeral earlier this year.

But the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge plan to break with royal tradition by not employing a full-time nanny.

The couple are determined to be 'hands-on parents' and Kate is planning to look after her child without the help of someone 24 hours a day.

Kate and Wills may employ a part-time nanny who will fulfill the role as a 'babysitter' by looking after their baby when they have to attend events.

But Kate's parents Carole and Michael Middleton will also be there to lend a hand as much as possible.

One of the couple's friends said: 'Catherine and William are determined to be hands-on parents.'

'Her parents are very excited about the baby and will help out as much as possible.'

'They will, probably, use a part-time nanny to help them out when they have to attend events and don’t have a babysitter, but they don’t want a full-time nanny.'

Their decision not to employ a full-time nanny will be a major break with royal tradition.

But it is not first time the royal couple have decided to forgo the services of full-time help.

The couple do not employ any staff at their home in North Wales, where the Duke serves as a search-and-rescue helicopter pilot at Anglesey, apart from a cleaner who visits weekly.

Kate has spoken of how she enjoys doing the cooking and household chores.

And at university William and his housemates took it in turns to do the cooking and shared household chores - including shopping for food.

The Duke of Cambridge's nannies played such an important role in his life that the son of one of them, Tom Pettifer, was a page boy at the royal wedding.

Tom, William's godson, is the youngest son of Alexandra Shân 'Tiggy' Pettifer, known as Tiggy Legge-Bourke, who was hired as a nanny to Harry and William after Charles and Diana announced their separation.

Tiggy helped comfort the princes after their mother's death in 1997. She was so close to the boys after their parents’ divorce that she, memorably, once described them as 'my babies'.

She retired from the Prince of Wales's service when she married in October 1999.

In October, William attended the private funeral of his former nanny Olga Powell, cancelling four high-profile engagements in the north east, which his wife had to attend alone.

Mrs Powell was at his side through both childhood and the most important days in his adult life.

The loving, but strict nanny, was widely credited for having a massive impact on the lives of both Prince William and Harry as they were growing up.

Mrs Powell, who was widowed after just six years of marriage when she was 52, came to work for Princess Diana when Prince William was just six months old.

Although very loving, she was renowned for not taking any nonsense from the young boys, and famously would give them a clip around the ear if they were ever naughty.

Another nanny, Barbara Barnes, was sacked by Diana when William was four because she envied their strong bond.

In world's apart, Kate Middleton was brought up by her mother, Carole, a former air stewardess who spent her early years in a council flat in Southall, an unfashionable London suburb.

The woman considered to be most influential in the Prince of Wales's life was his beloved nanny Mabel Anderson, employed by the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh to care for their four children.

She had such a special place in the hearts of the Royal family that she was called upon to represent the Duke of York at a funeral at the Chapel Royal, in St James’s Palace, earlier this year.

Mabel's 80th birthday party was arranged by Charles to take place at the royal residence, Clarence House.

When she retired, Charles secured her a lifelong grace-and-favour home in a wing of Frogmore House, Windsor Great Park, and personally supervised its re-decoration using his own designer.

Mabel, who was once described by the Prince of Wales as 'a haven of security, the great haven', was said to be a great friend of the Queen's.

The Queen met Mabel, a policeman's daughter from Elgin, Scotland, in 1949 after she replied to an advertisement, not knowing it was from the royal household.

It was to be an assistant nanny to help the then Princess Elizabeth who was pregnant with Charles.

Despite her lack of formal training, Mabel, at 22, was chosen by the future Queen because Her Majesty liked her quiet, unassuming manner.

It was Mabel who put the children to bed, told them stories, patched up their cuts and bruises and hit upon the idea of teaching the royal corgis hide and seek with Princess Anne so that she wouldn't miss Charles when he started school.

She even sent Charles bottles of Vosene shampoo for his dandruff at boarding school.

Each Christmas, Prince Charles sends a chauffeur-driven car to take Mrs Anderson to Sandringham, where she is treated like a cherished member of the family rather than an employee.

A St James’s Palace spokesman said: 'It is too early to say whether the Duke and Duchess will employ a nanny.'

The news comes as it was revealed by the Mail on Sunday the couple are considering skipping Christmas at Sandringham and may instead spend December 25 with Kate’s parents Carole and Michael.

‘It is being discussed but has not yet been decided,’ said a source.

‘Carole is keen for Kate to spend Christmas with the family. It will be their last Christmas at the family home before the Middletons move house.

‘At home Kate will be able to relax and put her feet up. Christmas at Sandringham can be very busy and stressful with everyone arriving. There is always lots going on, big dinners and lots of outfit changes to contend with.’

The family have reportedly bought a £4.7 million, seven-bedroom mansion.

#duke of cambridge #duchess of cambridge #prince william #kate middleton #proof #article

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motherofbulldogs · 3 years

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ALEXANDRA SHULMAN: I know the efforts aides made to make Meghan welcome. She didn't want their help

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-9334003/ALEXANDRA-SHULMAN-know-efforts-aides-make-Meghan-welcome-didnt-want-help.html

Before the Duke and Duchess of Sussex married, a professional creative, well used to the intricacies and diplomacy involved in working with Royal households, was interviewed for a role by Meghan.

A mutual friend ran into the candidate immediately after the interview and asked excitedly how the experience had been.

The reply did not sound encouraging. ‘Well. Let’s just say it was like The Devil Wears Prada. And I was not Meryl Streep.’

Judging by the bullying allegations that have now emerged in a leaked email from the Royal couple’s then communications secretary, Jason Knauf, this was not an uncommon reaction.

It turns out that Meghan did not want guidance or support, or certainly not of the kind she was getting. No, as we later learnt in her interview with Tom Bradby on the South Africa tour, she wanted to be asked how she felt

I have met Knauf many times and I have to say that he must have felt pretty hard-pushed to do something that could undermine any of his bosses.

With her beautiful son Archie, current pregnancy, dashing Prince, stonking commercial deals, Montecito mansion and now her global fame, you would think that the Duchess of Sussex might feel… job done.

What more could she possibly wish for? But as we will be hearing on her Oprah interview (and how I wish I was strong-willed enough not to watch it), that is very far from how she feels.

She is aggrieved. She is a woman much misunderstood. She was, until she was able to flee to Santa Barbara, a voiceless victim like so many of the abused women she constantly tells us she supports.

And who were these tormentors? Well, first up are, apparently, the British media, whom her husband has long also disliked. But a close second are those Royal courtiers and aides who peopled the world she was expected to operate in when she arrived to live here.

One of the striking things about Kensington Palace – the centre of ops for both the Cambridges and Harry when Meghan Markle moved in – is how very old-fashioned it is; think brick-walled cloisters, Jammie Dodgers and hunting prints, strangely muted and dim.

She is aggrieved. She is a woman much misunderstood. She was, until she was able to flee to Santa Barbara, a voiceless victim like so many of the abused women she constantly tells us she supports. Meghan is pictured above with Harry while the aide whose email exposed bullying claims is seen left

KP, as everyone calls it, is actually a labyrinth of small rooms and neatly proportioned apartments with battalions of young staff steering visitors around the corridors to their final destination.

Like many palaces, it is literally inward-looking with not much of a view and a little bit claustrophobic. As a confirmed California girl, Meghan no doubt found it so. And probably a bit depressing.

The staff who work at KP, like those at Clarence House and Buckingham Palace, are a hugely industrious bunch, happy to put in incredibly long hours for comparatively low salaries because they enjoy the status of working for the Royal Family. And they care. They care a great deal about protecting the Royals in every way, from organising the details of daily life to their image and security.

I remember meeting Knauf for the first time. He was a good-looking young American (a direct contemporary of Harry) wearing a formal grey suit and the requisite palace lanyard, and I found him quite daunting.

He didn’t seem big on small talk or even the smallest joke, and clearly took the view that this meeting was mine to lose. He was the one in control. As I got to know him better, I discovered he has a great sense of humour but, even off-duty, he was implacably loyal to his bosses.

The idea that he, or anyone working alongside him, would have had any interest in not supporting the incoming Meghan Markle as she tried to navigate this new world is simply not credible.

In truth, the opposite is true. Even before Meghan arrived, I know for a fact that the KP team were busy rallying a group of interesting and influential people who might be helpful and friendly to her in a new country.

They had learnt from the sad story of Princess Diana that letting a newcomer flounder in the somewhat archaic Royal pool, where they could feel isolated and unsupported, could be disastrous.

But herein lay the problem. It turns out that Meghan did not want guidance or support, or certainly not of the kind she was getting. No, as we later learnt in her interview with Tom Bradby on the South Africa tour, she wanted to be asked how she felt.

Knauf’s email raising concerns about Meghan’s intimidating behaviour came about after a growing number of complaints – all from women – in Kensington Palace.

At that time in 2018, the corporate world was finally beginning to take accusations of bullying and bad workplace practice seriously – and Knauf, an accomplished corporate professional, had his ear close enough to the ground to know that such things couldn’t be allowed to fester, even in a palace.

The decision to confront this toxic situation would have been nightmarish to make. The last thing Knauf would have wanted was the idea that he and his colleagues were ganging up against Meghan.

In addition, Harry and William were still linked by their joint foundation and a huge amount of behind-the-scenes work had been put into developing the notion of the two brothers as emotionally literate, empowering, modern Princes – and nobody wanted the whole thing to fall apart because of the new wife on the scene.

So, no doubt to begin with, allowances would have been made for Meghan being used to a different workplace culture. The serried ranks of polite young women in KP, with their unassuming clothes and understated make-up, all used to working quietly and cautiously in a certain way, may have appeared lacklustre to her.

But reports that staff were bothered by her sending 5am emails from her yoga mat, as if that were too demanding, would have been wide of the mark. Employees in the Royal offices know they have signed up for 24/7. Pretty well every day of the year. It’s less of a job than a vocation involving a big slurp of the Kool Aid and being prepared to put your own life on the back-burner.

Although we might think that we Brits have a more hierarchical culture than the Americans, the US workplace is far more status-led, with much more visible deference expected from juniors to seniors.

Meghan would have been used to the noisy can-do ethos of that arena in contrast to the measured but often more effective British approach.

In the States, at least until very recently, it was not uncommon for employers to scream and shout when they couldn’t get what they wanted – right now. Harry’s ‘What Meghan wants, Meghan gets’ admonishment, so jarring to our ears, would have been an entirely acceptable mantra in many an American institution.

But perhaps more difficult than a clash over working styles for the team who worked for Meghan, and possibly for Meghan herself, is that they seemed unable to provide her with what she wanted. Or even to know what that was.

What was clear though was what she didn’t want: being told what she could and couldn’t do.

I have always thought that an American woman I know found me patronising because, on our first meeting when she was new in town, I suggested places and people she might be interested in. She lost no time in telling me that she knew it all already. Meghan clearly felt similarly.

Unlike the Princess of Wales, Meghan arrived on the scene as a woman in her 30s, with friends and connections, experience and opinions all bedded in. She knew what she liked and wanted, and had no interest in anyone thinking there might be any gaps where she would appreciate a bit of advice.

And unlike Catherine Middleton, who, by the time she married Prince William, had experienced years of living in the Royal goldfish bowl with its oxygen of protocol and precedence, Meghan would have been confounded by what might seem ridiculous prohibitions and rules.

Maybe it’s not surprising that she shot the hapless messengers, venting frustration on the team trying to help, and drove them away. Her lawyers deny bullying ever took place, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bully acknowledge themselves as such. Often they don’t even recognise they are doing it.

You have only to hear the way Meghan refers to The Firm (Prince Philip’s term for the working Royals), as if it were a cross between the Cosa Nostra and the Scientologists, to know that Team Sussex will no doubt regard the timing of the release of these accusations as directly targeting Meghan in revenge for the Oprah interview. And they may well be right.

But such is the Oprah machine’s build-up of the revelations of this interview (and let’s not forget one being broadcast as Prince Philip lies in hospital, which unless the Sussexes had rubbish lawyers, they would have reserved the ability to postpone), it was probably too much too expect, of even our usually buttoned-up Royals, to sit back and take it.

After all, they, like Meghan, are only human.

#daily mail #alexandra shulman #meghan markle

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onlyinmyimagination · 5 years

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Interest and Infatuation | pt. 1

Red Hood x (Female) Reader

Summary: You’re a housekeeper working for the Wayne Family. A chance encounter with Red Hood leads to an unconventional romance neither of you expected.

Warnings: Some cursing. Weapons, violence, blood.

Pt. 2 // Pt. 3

It had only been a week since you started working at Wayne Manor, but you’d already decided this was the best job in the whole city. The benefits that came with working for the richest man in Gotham City along with paid for housing within the city was a dream come true. With Gotham’s overwhelmingly high crime rate yet enviously low cost of living, you had your doubts about moving to Gotham but perhaps it was luck that enabled you to snag this job. Or maybe Alfred Pennyworth simply liked your personality.

Granted it wasn’t exactly a job to brag about and not your intended career of choice, but housekeeping was still a respected profession. It’s a job no one wants to do, but it continues to be undeniably a necessary one in all parts of the world.

In the week you’ve worked at the Wayne household, you had yet to meet your employer and his family. You only knew their faces from various forms of media, and from their portraits that hung in the gallery hall. From what you heard, they were all adopted and yet somehow they all held the same physical trait of being ridiculously attractive. On your first day of orientation and training, you had studied their portraits during one of your breaks and had decided to explore the palace-like interior. You remembered thinking it would be believable if they actually were blood-related. All the males had dark hair and blue eyes, except for the youngest who had more green than blue in his eyes, but they also had the same, secretive expression in their eyes―even the girl. But maybe that was the trademark style of the painter. You decided not to dwell on it and hurried back to continue your training. Then you proceeded to get lost on the way back and was left wandering the countless rooms until Alfred Pennyworth finally retrieved you.

You enjoyed the company of the five other girls employed in the Wayne Manor. They were helpful and hardworking. Each of them had worked there much longer than you though their ages varied. The one closest in age to you was Ellen. She had a son to support so she only worked part-time, with varying days that Mr. Pennyworth had kindly obliged to work with. However, her presence was required during special events, whether held at the Manor or any of the Wayne properties. This was something you had yet to experience but you were assured would happen quite frequently. Aside from Ellen, the others and yourself worked Monday to Friday from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. It was a normal eight hour a day job. So far, the only unique clause in your signing to work for the Waynes was that you were to work exclusively for the Waynes, meaning you were prohibited to be concurrently employed elsewhere while under contract as a housekeeper in Wayne Manor. With the crime rate of Gotham as high as it was, you didn’t really blame them for adding such a clause to the contract. Fear of theft or even the threat of privacy violation were something even the richest family of Gotham would take measures to defend against, even from their own employees.

There were chores that had to be performed daily in the Manor that were as curious as the family that lived in it. It included washing dirty dishes that piled up overnight by the supposedly nocturnal family, scrubbing away at even more mysterious stains from carpets and rugs that appeared out of nowhere, and returning misplaced furniture back to their designated places. Other than the rectifying of these curious messes, there were plenty of other mundane tasks to do within the Manor such as sweeping, dusting, polishing, and so forth.

One day after working at the Wayne household and spending a day vacuuming the carpets, it was raining as you and the rest of the housekeepers made your way back to Gotham City. Today however you decided you needed to stop by the nearby market.

The five of you shared a car every day to cross the bridge to and from the Wayne Manor which was situated across the bay in Gotham’s suburbs. There was an apartment building in the city owned by Wayne Enterprises that was offered to the housekeepers. Two whole floors were reserved for Wayne Enterprise employees, though more specifically, for the Wayne Manor housekeepers and was rent-free only to them.

“Can you drop me off here?” you asked as the car approached the market just a couple blocks from the apartment building. “You guys can go on ahead. I just need to buy a few things.”

“Want me to go with you?” Citlali, one of the housekeepers, asked.

You shook your head and insisted, “No, I’m alright.”

“Don’t stay out too late,” Nour said as you opened the car door. Nour was one of the younger housekeepers who had one of the prettiest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I just need a few things,” you declared with a laugh. “It will be really quick. I’ll see you back at the apartment. Thanks.” With that, you shut the car door and hurriedly dashed through the rain and into the store.

It took only a few minutes to buy what you needed and you’re soon out in the rain under the safety of your umbrella. The sky was blanketed in gray and the clouds were heavy, making it look as dark as night. The downpour of the rain was calming but the chill made you pull your coat tighter around you as you watched the path for puddles. It was at the crosswalk when you heard the splash of another set of steps behind you. You hadn’t heard the pair of feet before and you wonder if the sound might have only been the echo of your own. You hadn’t passed many people when you left the market and you peaked beneath your umbrella only to see no one else on the streets. It was disconcerting to be alone on the street but if you screamed loud enough, surely the occupants of the apartment complexes around you would hear, even over the downpour.

You were torn between confirming the stalker behind you and simply running to the safety of your home. But letting a potential thief know where you lived was not the brightest thing to do, so you turned the corner at the intersection just before your apartment. You barely had a plan at this point, and your heart quickened at the realization that you were in a much more dire situation than you thought. You hadn’t even confirmed whether you were being followed but as you were contemplating how to do so, you were pushed into a wide driveway between two apartment buildings. Your umbrella was knocked from your hands and you dropped your grocery bag as you stumbled into a large puddle. Something pressed against your back.

“Scream and I’ll put a bullet through your heart.”

You nodded and blinked the rainwater from your eyes as you stared ahead, wide-eyed and trembling.

“Give me your purse. I just want your valuables.”

“It’s very rude not to help a lady with her bags,” a distorted voice called distantly. The echo bounced from the building walls but it sounded muddled as it mixed with the patter of the rain, making it hard to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

“Who the fu―oh shit!”

You tried to figure out what was happening but you were too slow to see the quick exchange between the masked vigilante and your assailant who was now on his knees in front of the vigilante. There was a clatter as a gun skidded a few feet in your direction. You stared at one of the masked heroes you’ve only read and heard about in the news.

“Ma’am, you should get out of here and head on home.” The voice was robotic with a low tone and pitch. It took you a moment to process the situation as you stared at the red helmet, the dull gleam of the metal barely catching any light in the gloomy weather. Then you scrambled to gather your grocery bag and grabbed the handle of your umbrella, shaking out the water before raising it over your head. You almost dashed across the street but you only took one step before stopping and looking back. It seemed wrong to leave, to run away, especially without thanking your savior when you weren’t sure you would ever see him again. The vigilante noticed your presence and looked back at you curiously. The assailant took this as an opening and got to his feet and charged forward, raising his arm high and bringing it down in a swift movement at the unassuming vigilante. There was a knife in his hand.

Your savior turned just in time to stop the movement mid-swing by grabbing the blade and thus cutting his hand. He grunted in pain but managed to kick his opponent back hard enough to make him fall to the ground. Then with one hard and perfectly aimed kick to the head, the vigilante knocked out the assailant.

The vigilante shook his injured right hand side to side as if to shake away the pain. “Don’t you know women hate persistent guys who don’t know when to stop? Take a hint, man.”

You rushed back to your savior and approached with worry. “You’re hurt! I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. Thank you so much for saving me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, yanking his hand away when you reached out to take it.

“Please, let me see,” you insisted with an outstretched hand. You looked up at him anxiously, peering from beneath your umbrella. That’s when you noticed the rain slipping down his helmet and down the exposed skin of his neck just above his bodysuit. You lifted the umbrella higher and tilted it in his direction so he was under it. As if spurred by your actions, he revealed his gloved hand to you and you examined the cut where the blade sliced open his palm. It wasn’t too deep. This was something you could help patch up, but you were distressed by the blood steadily oozing from the wound.

“I just bought some first aid supplies from the market,” you said, holding up the bag of groceries. “I can clean this up for you.”

He retracted his hand. “Look, lady, I appreciate the thought but this seems like much more trouble than it’s worth.”

“It’s not!” you remarked. “This happened because of me. It’s my fault you got hurt. Let’s just go over there. It will be really quick, okay?” You were pointing at a bench outside a nearby store where it was protected from the rain by the store’s awning.

A deep sigh left him. “Okay.” He begrudgingly let you lead him a few paces to the covered seating area and sat down at your insistence, with you tugging on his arm the whole way. You quickly retracted your umbrella and placed your belongings on the bench as you sat beside him. He helped you peel the glove off his hand with the blood-soaked material almost glued to his skin.

You pushed down your nervousness as you leaned closer to him. The atmosphere was quite ambient, with the drumming of the rain on the awning overhead and the heavy downpour surrounding you. It felt comfortable, like you were in a safe and protected bubble. Except you were sharing the moment with a masked stranger. You never would have thought you’d be this close to one of Gotham City’s vigilantes. Before moving here you tried to do some research on them, but only found controversies and a surprisingly large online fanbase. You ultimately decided they were heroes and should be trusted guardians of Gotham, but never did you imagine you’d interact with one.

“So you just happened to be buying this stuff on your way home?” the vigilante asked conversationally.

“Yeah,” you answered. Then hesitantly you elaborated, “I recently started work that I’m not used to yet, so I’ve accumulated a few cuts and scrapes.”

He was silent for a moment as he took note of the roughness of your hands while you dabbed at his cut with some gauze pads. “And what is it that you do, may I ask?”

You hesitated again. “I’m a housekeeper.”

“...A maid?” Then he caught a glimpse of your uniform beneath your coat. “You work at Wayne Manor?”

“How did you know? There’s not even an insignia or emblem on the uniform,” you said while glancing down at your attire. You looked at him and examined the hardened expression set on the helmet.

“Oh, uh, it’s a distinctive uniform. It’s easy to identify,” he said, though you doubted it. The housekeeper uniform was a dress that stopped a few inches below the knees, gray in color and made of stiff material that did nothing to compliment the figure. The short sleeves were cuffed and had a cutaway collar and buttons going about halfway down the torso. A very plain ensemble.

You applied the antiseptic spray onto the cut and he made a hissing sound that sounded amusingly odd when mixed with the voice changer. When you soaked the cut enough in the solution you pressed gauze pads into his hand and quickly wrapped his hand with an adhesive bandage wrap.

“There, all done. Learned that from Google,” you said as you dropped the materials back into your bag. “Oh, and I think you need to keep it elevated…or something.”

“Heh, not bad for a temporary fix. Now we’re even.” He held up his hand to admire the handiwork.

You watched him carefully and said, “I’m really sorry again.”

“Hey, no worries. Why did you stop, anyway? Weren’t you scared?” he questioned. “Or did you stop because you were scared?”

“No, I wasn’t scared...I was relieved that you showed up and saved me,” you answered slowly, unsure how to express yourself, “but I didn’t leave because I didn’t like leaving you there with…my problem.”

“Your problem? It wasn’t your fault that this happened, so stop thinking that way. And secondly, this is my job so next time a hero or whatever tells you to get away, please listen to them.” He got to his feet then glanced back at you. “Now where do you live? Shall I walk you back home?”

“It’s okay. I live right across the street, just right there.” You pointed at an apartment complex a few buildings down and across the street, diagonally from where you were taking refuge.

“How embarrassing. I wanted to look cool but that just blew up in my face.”

You laughed a little. “Well, you were very cool when you saved me from that guy earlier,” you said.

A robotic hum sounded from his helmet. “That does make me feel a little bit better.”

You gathered your things and faced him, intending to leave. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Thank you again.”

“Likewise. Now hurry inside. I’ll watch you until you go in.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stared down at you.

You agreed with a shy nod. “Okay.” You scurried across the street with a thrumming heart and kept the umbrella low to hide your face. You didn’t look back even as you reached the building or when you passed through the doors. You made your way up and stopped to take a moment once inside your apartment, which was a corner unit of humble size. Your living room window coincidentally faced the street you had just been on, so you went to it and looked outside.

He was still across the street but closer now to the building and in the middle of the downpour. He was looking up at your window. You stiffened at this and slowly raised your hand to wave to him before quickly side-stepping out of sight to hide behind the wall.

It took you a long moment to gather the courage to peek out the window again and when you did he was gone, along with the unconscious criminal’s body.

#red hood x reader #redhoodxreader #jason todd x reader #jasontoddxreader #housekeeper au #maid au #interest and infatuation

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dreamalittletudordream · 6 years

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The Tales of FD (as told by the omniscient Tumblr Gods): Part 2

DISCLAIMER: Keep in mind this is a parody of Anti-Kate and Anti-Meghan tin-hatters, so anything that sounds negative for these two is a reference to them, not my actual opinions (ex: Doria’s fake name is a reference to the anti-MM crowd thinking Doria practices Voodoo without considering the racial implications).

Part 2: A Duke’s Lament

As Prince Harry surveyed the crowd of Britain’s finest philanthropists, he couldn’t help but sigh. So many fine people, with only him and Granny to serve as greeters. His father and Camilla were away, the former at an engagement opening a new tampon factory while the latter indulged in a pre-pre-pre- tour spa visit. Harry’s verbally abusive brother and Stepford wife had been invited to the event, in fact, Granny had begged them to go as she was clearly on her last legs. Alas, dear reader, one could never underestimate the pair’s inherent laziness. Instead of accompanying the near-death monarch, “Princess Marilyn” was getting her hair done in order to make the littlest cancer patients cry with envy while Baldy was pretending to work so he could helicopter away with his various mistresses.

Our Harry, however, was a man of duty to Queen and country, a duty instilled after his disastrous marriage to Media Meg: C-list Prostitute to the Stars. Oh, how he should have known better with her. Everyone could see the terrible match, including the most astute royal scholars: Tumblr bloggers and Daily Mail commenters. He had tried to kill the relationship in its proverbial cradle, breaking up with his media loving bit on the side after discovering that as an actress she had once filmed a sex scene, an act tantamount to porn. He had already fallen for another girl, whose name alluded him, but haunted his memory with her perfect complexion and short stature. However, when he tried to call the affair off, Media Meg had played her trump card (not as in the president who, as a supreme judge in character, saw through Meghan’s act immediately).

While getting Harry hooked on hard drugs, which innocent young Harry had never tried before, Meghan had stolen the hidden documents proving that Prince Philip had ordered the hit on Princess Diana. The documents, which Harry had for reasons he didn’t recall, threatened to bring down the monarchy. In exchange for not releasing the documents, Harry would promise to propose to Meghan, which he dutifully did with a ring he bought for $5.99 at a children’s store.

Now you might ask, dear reader, why the Queen didn’t step in right then and there. See, after the disaster of the Mattress entering the hallowed family, Her Majesty decided to let her grandchildren suffer for their poor choices in social climbing partners until they saw the light. It was a decision Harry’s nose candy dealer was mighty happy for.

Although Harry hoped to get out of the wedding, planning to call it off at the last minute, Media Meg insisted the show must go on. If she was going to be a royal-ex, she wanted the title to go with. Divorce was an old hat to her, as she had been married several times before (once publically and many others with the level of secrecy common in the witness protection program) and being an ex-Duchess offered many more money making opportunities. She already planned on a future show with Fergie: Behind Buckingham Palace with Meg and Fergie, which would be sponsored by Birks, The Wig Emporium, and Fake Sheikhs “R” Us and produced by her “close friend” Harvey.

That was where his botox filled ex-wife was now, shilling products with his former aunt and making a general mockery of the monarchy. She was joined by the two children she had forced on Harry (twins, of course, conceived via IVF due to Meg secretly being 57 and having had 32 abortions back in the day) Waity and WillNot, named after Harry’s abuser and his vapid wife. While God knew what went on in the studio, Harry lived with the knowledge he would disinherit Waity and WillNot to the fullest extent of the law. Though he had always yearned for children, these two reminded Harry of his disastrous marriage and he loathed to give their mother any more money, never mind his numerous doubts of paternity. As the saying goes, a C-List Prostitute to the Stars doesn’t change its STDs.

It was then that Harry’s heart stopped. Before him was an unassuming English Rose, conservatively dressed, with a manner that oozed class and regality. He made his way across the room to her, as if the stars themselves compelled him. When Harry tapped her on the shoulder, he was met with a startled look.

“Hello, I’m Harry”

The woman, in accordance with strict protocol, deeply curtsied, “Hello, your Royal Highness, I’m Fameadverseandinitfortherightreasons Devoidofapastoranybreachesofprotocol, but you can call me FD”.

“Please, call me Harry,” he replied. “So, FD, what brings you here”?

FD blushed in a manner that showed her immense humility and grace, “Her Majesty kindly invited me here. I run the BetterthanK8s Mental Health Charity, which helps children who have been negatively impacted by K8’s poor mental health advice.” Suddenly, remembering who she was talking to, FD blanched and ran a hand through her thick and natural hair. “Oh gosh, that’s your sister-in-law. I shouldn’t speak ill of her”

Harry chuckled at the response. “No, no, you’re right. She is an ill-informed bitch. Want to know a secret? I came up with doing a mental health initiative until she stole the idea so she and my brother could get more taxpayer money for a diamond-encrusted sink. Then they forced anyone with knowledge of the subject out so they could use all the money to buy too short dresses, too high heels, and hair plugs. Typically lazy asses”.

The response allowed FD to feel more at ease. It was what she had assumed, but she had not wished to argue with a prince, for reasons of protocol. However, that was the only realm where his title mattered. For her, there would be no allure or selfish desire to “bag” a prince. “I have to thank you for offering to visit our facility. I’m so sorry that it hasn’t worked out in the past”.

Oh yeah, Harry suddenly remembered, he had been tasked with visiting FD’s wonderful charity several times, only for last minute cancellations to occur. “It’s okay, I’m sure you had a good reason”.

“Yeah,” FD responded, “every time you were sent to come I’d suddenly get violent food poisoning. Since I’m the only employee, obviously the visit couldn’t go through”.

At that, Harry mourned the fact he hadn’t been able to meet the beautiful, charming, and regal FD earlier, and he immediately had a theory as to why. His ex-wife always said her mother was a bit of a hippie, and clearly, that meant she practiced sorcery. Could Ms. VodooQueenbuttotallynotinaracistwayweswear, knowing her daughter’s desire to make money off a royal title, have seen FD as a threat to her Media Meg’s goal and practiced the dark arts to prevent FD and Harry from meeting?

Either way, Harry was determined to make up for lost time and ask FD out on a date. His only worry was that, after Media Meg and Waity and WillNot, FD would see him as used goods, a pre-chewed piece of gum used up by its former owner. What woman would want a handsome and wealthy prince after all that? Despite the uncertainty, Harry finally asked the long-awaited question “FD, would you do the eternal honor of courting me”?

Luckily for Harry, if there was one thing FD loved, it was charity. She saw the raw corpse of the many as a basket of potential, through which she could shape a man worthy of the title “Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland”. When FD saw the opportunity to help this poor lost soul, she immediately said “Yes”.

#FD #Tales of FD #Prince Harry #parody #british royal family #royal fanfiction #royal fandom #satire #future duchess

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royal1979 · 3 years

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Faberge Eggs

Who was the creator of the famous Faberze eggs?

On September 24, 1920, Peter Carl Faberze, the artist jeweler who managed to seduce tsars, crowned, tycoons and plebeans, died in self-exile in Lausanne, Switzerland, creating eggs, Easter eggs, the precious materials of which were take off by his unbridled imagination.

The young Peter Karl, after studying at the Dresden School of Arts and Crafts in Germany and the Schloss Commercial School in Paris, returned to St. Petersburg in 1872, at the age of 26, to take over the goldsmith's shop that Gistav's father had founded since 1842. Faberze won't be long before he stands out and becomes sought after in the European royal courts. From his workshop, pioneered by the Swiss craftsman François Berbaum, came elegant artifacts inspired by the time of Louis XVI, for which he used precious metals and rare stones. The Frenchman, ugenotos in origin, was not limited to the creation of jewellery – how could he after all. Watches, miniatures, statuettes, cups, music boxes, were just a few of what he had planned for some of the strongest and richest people of his time.

Given the huge reputation of Faberze House, who will gradually reach 500 employees and have autonomous workshops in Moscow, Odessa, Kiev and London, Tsar Alexander III will address Faberze in 1884, wanting to offer as a gift an Easter egg to his wife, Maria Feodorovna, motivated by the fact that in childhood he had been enchanted by an egg belonging to her aunt , Princess Vilhelmine Marie of Denmark.

The golden egg – known today as "Kota" – will be offered on May 1, 1885 to the tsarina, which will be impressed by the "ordinary" white egg, the shell of which was covered with enamel, while in its gold "crocus" was hidden a hen of platinum and gold. A diamond miniature of the imperial crown and a ruby egg pendant was the last surprise hidden by the "Kota", elements that have now been lost.

Maria's enthusiasm will anoint In six weeks Faberze supplier of the imperial house of Russia and the jeweler will undertake to create a new egg every Easter for the tsarina. With absolute freedom of movement and only limiting the uniqueness of each egg, which in addition had to contain a surprise, Peter Carl Faberze will create masterpieces.

After the death of Alexander III, on 1 November 1894, his son Nicholas II will continue to offer from a Faberze egg to his wife Alexandra Feodorovna and his mother, Empress Maria Feodorovna, until the October Revolution of 1917. According to the Faberze family's records, a total of 50 imperial Easter eggs were created and their reputation was so great that similar ones were ordered by prominent clients of the house, including the Duchess of Marlborough, the Rothschild family and the Yussovs.

In the spring of 1916, Tsar Nicholas II will offer his mother the Easter egg "The Order of St. George". Particularly unassuming compared to the previous ones, as the First World War is underway, it will be the last egg that tsarina will receive and the only one she will be able to take with her abroad before the October Revolution breaks out.

The "Karelian Birch", the egg to be delivered to the tsar in 1917, was completed after his resignation on March 15, 1917. The invoice that Faberze will send to Nikolaos II on 25 April will be addressed to "Mr Nikolai Aleksandrovic Romanov". After his discharge, the egg will be sent to the palace of Grand Duke Mikhail Aleksandrovic, but he will leave before receiving it. The precious object will remain there and be stolen after the October Revolution.

The Bolsheviks will nationalize the workshops and the Faberze estate and the company will close. In September 1918, Peter Carl Faberze would escape in disguise as a diplomatic postman. His steps will lead him to Riga, Germany and finally to Lausanne, where in 1820 he died of a heart attack, having first surrendered to an unspeakable grief. Later, his ashes will be transported, along with his wife, Augusta, who died in 1925, to the Grand Jas cemetery in Cannes, France by his son Eugne.

Back home, his masterpieces fell into the hands of people who couldn't appreciate their value. The revolutionary government began selling them for a short time, first in the shops of St. Petersburg and then abroad, resulting in the traces of many of them being lost.

It is typical that, using as a pretext that he wanted to help with his mobile practice in the fight against typhus, an American barrel, named Armandos Hammer, managed to return to America with 13 Easter eggs, bought by illiterate and ignorant rebels who had stolen them when they occupied the palaces. Having been acquired at noble prices, they gave Hammer mythical sums when they were sold to collectors.

Of the 69 known Faberze eggs, 57 survive to date. Of the 50 imperial eggs, 44 have been rescued, while there are photos of three of the six lost. Ten of the imperial Easter eggs are on display at the Kremlin's Moscow Armory, where they were transported along with other treasures of the imperial family, at Lenin's behest.

The remaining eggs are scattered in museums and private collections around the world, and every time one is available for sale, prices soar. After the Kremlin's collection, it was Malcolm Forbes who had managed to collect the largest number of eggs: a total of nine, along with about 180 other Faberze creations.

Shortly before Forbes' collection was auctioned by Sotheby's in February 2004, it was bought entirely by Russian oligarch Viktor Wekelberg, who, in a BBC Four documentary in 2013, revealed that he had spent more than $100 million to buy the nine Faberze eggs. Considering that the collection is important for Russian history and culture, Wekelberg founded a private Fabergé Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia, which opened on November 19, 2013.

Valuable to art lovers as well as a piece of popular culture, Faberze eggs are all over the place: in James Bond films but also in episodes of "Scooby Doo", "Peaky Blinders" and "Simpsons". After all, as poet and art critic Sir Sarver Sitwell said: "It seems unlikely that the world will regain a jeweler like Carl Faberze. These objects of imagination he made are never going to happen again."

Source: www.lifo.gr

Peter Carl Faberge.

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theliterateape · 5 years

Text

Las Vegas Stinks... of Possibility

By Don Hall

I pull up the Zillow listing for the house on Alpine Road In West Las Vegas.

“This is where we will live in a few months. Mark my words. This is the one,” I declare with the certainty of someone who has never been disappointed by expectations thwarted.

“Do you really believe that or do you just believe if you will it to be so, it will be?”

“It has a pool in the back yard, fucker. We’re buying this one. Trust me.”

When we pulled up to the house on Alpine Road, I tried to maintain my unshakeable optimism about this specific property. But after about five minutes in the building it became abundantly clear how miserably wrong I had been. This place was a fucking dump in direct contrast to the deceptive photos on Zillow. Alpine was a 75-year old, 350-pound woman with facial scarring from botched Botox treatments who presented herself as 30 years and 250 pounds ago.

The place on the corner of Treasure Avenue was unassuming but had a huge yard, a giant African oil palm tree and a garage that had been turned into a one-bedroom apartment on top of the three bedrooms in the main house. It was far better than advertised and we loved it.

✶

One of the most asked questions I’ve been fielding lately in this new pursuit for a home in the Mojave is “Why Vegas?” Proffered in the same way one would ask why I was wearing that gold sequined tube top to church or why I got that Joey Laurence neck tattoo.

The simple answer is opportunity. Lately, I’ve found I have plenty of opportunities to create and make a living and to make art in Chicago, but they are the same opportunities I’ve been recycling for twenty-odd years. Time for something new, some fresh challenges, different problems to solve. Sure, I could accomplish all that by becoming a nursing student, a carnie or opening an adult bookstore in Pilsen, but moving to Vegas seems a lot more practical.

So two weeks prior to Christmas, Dana, our friend Matthew, Joe Janes and I found ourselves driving a rented KIA SUV along the Las Vegas Beltway with Bob, a 72-year old Harley-riding real estate badass from Henderson, chasing down leads for the perfect Vegas home.

To clarify, we are buying the place with Matthew who presented us with an idea that was just too good to pass up. He had just sold his home in Chicago and wanted out of town. Dana and I have been talking about a move for well over a year now. We sat down, crunched numbers and realized that buying a larger place together was more advantageous than going it alone, so we joined forces and finances to find the perfect nest in the heart of The Meadows.

Leading up to the trip, we did a ton of research on homes we could afford and were big enough. By the time we hit the ground, Bob had our list and we rocked through all of Vegas. I did most of the driving mostly so that I could get used to the landscape and traffic patterns. We saw ten houses over three days — some were immediate Nos once we saw them but most had huge potential. We were so organized that at one point Bob commented that he loved showing us places because he didn’t have to do most of the work. This was key because we had four days and I had a few other things to accomplish while we there.

About six weeks before we went out, I got a phone call from the Make-a-Wish Foundation of Nevada. They had seen that I was looking for work in Vegas, checked my online resume, and wanted to know if I was interested in interviewing for an events position. I told them I’d be in town on the 18th, so we scheduled an appointment. Soon after, MGM Grand Hotel and Casino asked the same. I booked an interview with them shortly after. Then Caesar’s Palace called. So on Tuesday, I threw on my jacket and tie and spent the morning interviewing for jobs that pay more than I’ve ever made to-date in a fiscal year.

The first was pretty standard and it turns out I’m in the running. Lots of travel but I’m cool with that. The second was a walk-and-talk throughout the casino with eight people interviewing me. Apparently, with regard to the immensity of responsibility, the modern way is to actually have employees whose job it is to vet one’s social media presence. And they still called me in. The third was super laid back. The initial question was “Why do you want this job?” I replied “I don’t. You called me, remember? Tell me what the job is and I’ll tell you if I want it!” And we both laughed.

It was invigorating. It was exhausting. Given I hadn’t even applied to these places, it was a portent of good things to come. Honestly, I don’t anticipate getting any of these gigs. Some things really are too good to be true. I did, however, find value and a certain thrill at being invited.

If there is sort of a Big Takeaway from our trip (you know, beyond looking at houses and the anticipation of a brand new life) it was the number of people I met who made some sort of comment to the affect that I was exactly what Las Vegas needed. From the Big Events folks to the underground arts scene, I was pretty much bombarded with good will and affirmation. Vegas seems to be welcoming me and that feels damn good. It’s exactly what I’d hoped for without even knowing what to hope for.

On top of all that, I finally got to meet one of my writing heroes: Eric Wilson of Literate Ape’s American Shithole column. Eric is one of those fuckers who writes so well and with such laser wit that he makes me want to be a better writer. Monday night I sat in a pub with three of those types who force me to really try when putting my thoughts on a page: Dana, Joe and Eric Motherfucking Wilson.

I also got to swing in to Gordon Ramsay Burger and eat at one of my man-crush’s restaurants. I’ve grown to love Ramsay, his television persona and his offline good works. It was the best hamburger and fries I’ve ever had. Hell, the woman next to me had a Gordon Ramsay veggie burger and practically moaned as she ate it. Even a vegetarian like the magnificent Joe Janes could enjoy Ramsay’s standards of cuisine.

Speaking of Joe, who could ask for a better friend than he? Dude cashed in his vacation trip to come to Vegas, hang out and go on house-seeking excursions. Sure, he saw some shows and ate at Guy Fieri’s (not as cool as Ramsay’s but whatever) but his reason for coming was to help me out. There’s something special about Joe coming out — he was my best man a little over four years ago right there on the strip. Before we left, he sent some links of attractions we could see but, man, I was all business on this trip.

Himmel and I figured out that there was no real Live Lit scene in Vegas and that it was my challenge to bring it. He hooked me up with Ryan Pardey at The Bunkhouse Saloon so we arranged a meeting there for Tuesday night. Right off the Old Vegas Strip on Fremont Street, The Bunkhouse resembles The Empty Bottle in Chicago and there’s a vinyl record shop, 11th Street Records, right around the corner. Within about five minutes of meeting, we got the first Vegas BUGHOUSE! booked for Tuesday, April 9, 2019 and our newest Ape, Erik Lewin, has agreed to be a part of it.

I did a tiny bit of gambling (I’m lousy at it and after declaring so earlier in the week, Wilson commented “That’s why you work so hard.” Which is probably true.) We ate at a buffet at Green Valley Ranch Resort Spa & Casino, and rounding out my Vegas experience, I was propositioned at 6 a.m. by a couple of prostitutes.

Standing outside the Cosmopolitan, a pipe and a Vente Dark Roast from Starbucks, two ladies dressed for maximum “Check Me Out” approached.

“Just say Yes!” she said. “…yes?” “Wanna hang out?” “Nah. I’m just waking up.” “I’ll take your clothes off… it won’t cost much…” “Hmmm…in another life, maybe. But…” and I pulled up the picture of Dana and I at the Chapel of the Bells on my phone. “I’m really married and not into anyone but her.”

And for five minutes, I shared the romantic story of Dana and I as these two ladies of the night — er… early morning — coo’d over the story.

We made an offer on the place on Treasure Avenue and the seller accepted. As in all things, it isn’t a done deal until the ink dries but things are looking right.

✶

That’s the thing about this move. It could be Alpine — deceptive promise with hopes dashed to the ground. It could be Treasure — all possibility and anticipation. We’ll certainly see in the new year which one it is but for right now, Las Vegas stinks… of opportunity, potential, possibilities undreamt of, and a genuine sense of something different for which to look forward.

I haven’t been this excited since I packed up my Blue Bronco II in 1989 and drove north, randomly seeking a home and ultimately landing in Chicago. That was easily one of the best cliff leaps I’ve made in my life, so this bodes well.

#Las Vegas #Bunkhouse Saloon #11th Street Records #Erik Lewin #Gordon Ramsay Burger #Gordon Ramsay #Green Valley Ranch #Cosmopolitan Las Vegas

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