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fangsyouverymuch01 · 4 months

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If walls could talk

‼️: You don’t have to have read the other parts to read this one!

Authors note: Finally it's here, part 3 of my series! This is my first time writing smut so please be kind and any advice is greatly appreciated.

Anyhow, the reader stuggles heavily in this part and I intend to have a more lighthearted part 4 and let our girl breathe.

Summery: Last nights endeavors are foggy and a certain vampire might be the key to unlock what exactly happened. Or show you if needed.

Paring: Astarion x durge, Astarion x tav

Word count: 2,7 k

Warnings: Smut!, Blood, Amnesia, Angst, Fluff (slight), Dark thoughts

Here are the other parts: Part 1. Part 2.

Enjoy <3

A throbbing headache flutters your eyes open. What happened and why does your head hurt? Pinching your nose bridge, your groan as you try to make out the surroundings. Taupe walls gently sway, and a whiff of earthy breeze hits your senses – your tent.

What happened last night?

Searching your throbbing cortex for answers, agitated voices behind the comforts of your tent interrupt you.

“She’s been out for hours and you’re not answering any of our questions!”

“I’ve been on my very best behavior since we got here, why are you accusing me of doing something?”

The realization hits you - you were with Astarion last night. Fleeting images of his sharp fangs, the voice tempting you to carve into his skull, and your consciousness surrendering to oblivion all rush back into your memory.

“Maybe it’s because your tent strangely always seems to be empty in the middle of the night.” a female voice interjects, voice dripping in venom.

“Darling, I didn't know you looked for night visitors, all you had to do was ask.”

With wobbly legs you leave the quiet tent.. The warm sunlight greets your emergence, but unfortunately, the same warm welcome doesn't apply to your steadily growing headache.

“Good morning.” you mumble.

The group abruptly halts their conversation, analyzing your form as you emerge from the tent. Wyll takes the initiative, shattering the unspoken constraints that seem to have frozen the collective movement of the group.

“Are you alright?” Wyll questions, eyes round with concern as he steps closer towards your tent.

“Yes of course Wyll, why wouldn’t I be?”

Wyll seems to hesitate, carefully choosing his next words. “You’ve almost slept through the entire day and-” he pauses, circling back to Shadowheart for reassurance.

“You’ve been screaming obscene things the last hours, about someone or something lurking in your soul and to embrace your blood…”

Your urge.

“Gods, I must’ve had a nightmare or-.” you manage to squeeze out, heart pounding in your chest.

A shiver of panic courses through you at your companions words. What if, in a moment of uncontrolled impulse, you harmed your companions? The fear tightens its grip, making you acutely aware of the potential danger concealed with your impulses.

A thought flits into your mind - Did you hurt him?

Before considering the consequences of your next words, they are spilling out of your lips. “Astarion, did I hurt you last night?”

Once more, a tense hush descends upon the party, their movements freezing as if suspended in a moment of uneasy anticipation. Eyes dart away from you, now avoiding your gaze and converge on the pale elf positioned at the back of the group. Astarion, seemingly caught off guard, releases a small puff of air, his ruby eyes momentarily tracking the ground beneath your feet as he subtly closes the gap between the two of you.

"Hurt me?" he retorts, a smirk gradually forming on his lips. "No, I enjoyed myself thoroughly, dear."

There it is—the annoyingly smug smile, the annoying voice and the annoying comment that seems to mock your sincere question. However, in your annoyed state there is a rush of blood that hits your face, making you involuntary blush at the smug man's words.

Karlach eyes Gale and Shadowheart beside her, a giggle threatening to escape the tieflings lips. Eyes brimming with glee she tries to whisper, but fails abysmally, as she leans in towards Shadowhearts pointed ear.

“I told you, pay up!”

"Chk," Laezel interjects sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. "Are we done with all this bother, or should we endure further tales of your nocturnal endeavors?"

Her words, a blend of impatience and disdain, punctuate the moment, urging the party to move beyond the slight discomfort that hangs in the air. Gale seizes the opportunity by stepping between you and the rogue.

“I’m glad we got everything sorted, though we have lost precious sun hours and the day still awaits.” the wizard says and gestures to the sun descending from its peak. “We should have an audience with Halsin and the other leaders at the groove about moving forward with the removal of our peculiar tadpoles.”

Gales' suggestion settles in the air, a collective agreement resonates through the party. The group disperses, each member silently retreating to their respective tents to collect the essentials needed for the discussion ahead.

Your gaze lingers on Astarion. He meets your glare with an arched eyebrow, his usual air of nonchalance seemingly disrupted by the intensity in your eyes. Without breaking eye contact, you turn away, determined to maintain a stoic exterior.

His tricks and charm didn’t and would never work on you, or so you tell yourself at least.

______________________________________________________________

Halsin, the venerable druid, steps forward, his demeanor a blend of wisdom and somber awareness. The party gathers around, listening intently as Halsin discusses the looming challenges that lie ahead. He speaks of the treacherous underdark and the perilous mountain pass, each word laden with the weight of the impending journey. Yet, amid the weighty deliberations, Halsin introduces a note of respite.

"Before we delve into the challenges that await," he suggests, "let us take a moment to celebrate. The defeat of the goblin camp is no small feat, and it is only right that we acknowledge our victories."

The druids begin to prepare a modest feast meanwhile Laezel and Karlach take charge of arranging sturdy logs for seating around the central fire. Gale and Wyll offer their magical talents by conjuring small orbs of light that hover and cast a warm and enchanting glow. Even Shadowheart, who's usually more reserved, surprises the group by decorating the space with a small collection of wildflowers she had quietly gathered during your travels.

While the party bustles around, setting up the camp for the night gathering, you find a moment to veer away from the preparations. A subtle pull guides you towards a blush red coloured tent - his tent. Exhaling, you prepare for the conversation ahead.

“Astarion, I think we need to talk.” you state as you catch a glance of yourself in a golden mirror placed on the elfs table beside the entrance.

You’d seen better days, hair strands wisping in the mild breeze and a slight sweat emerging from the rising anxiety pumping in your chest.

The rogue swiftly unzips the tent and prompts you to enter. The atmosphere burdens your lungs with the unspoken tension as you prop yourself parallel to where Astarion sits. The elf soaks up your person, moving his gaze from your legs until they meet your orbs. Not wanting to feel the pulsing of your adrenaline coursing through your heart a moment longer than needed, you decide to cut through the tension, his eyes steadily maintaining eye contact as you do.

“I need to know what happened last night, the entire truth of it.” you speak.

“Darling, I think you already know what happened last night, you want to know what didn’t happen.”

Rolling your eyes, you respond with a retort. "No, Astarion, I want to know what transpired between you drinking my blood and me waking up in camp hours later." Frustration courses through you, and you clench your hands, emphasizing the urgency of your inquiry. "I need to know if I hurt you."

"After I tasted your delicious blood, I might have overindulged," Astarion admits with a pause, carefully choosing his words. "Then, quite graciously, I carried you all the way back to camp."

"You jest, surely?" An unassuming chuckle escapes your mouth.

You had not hurt him but he’d hurt you. You’d almost apologized for it and he’d not even considered it to be a thing to be forgiven for.

"Need I remind you that moments before, you too overindulged? Aiming that crossbow straight to my head." Astarion's brows furrow before he continues “I may not be a paragon of virtue, but neither are you.”. His eyes demand that you stare into the crimson pools, reflecting your image.

"Usstan'sargh wael." you retort, the unfamiliar words slipping out without conscious thought. They resonate within the tent, the atmosphere momentarily sterile as the words echo through your cortex. Usstan'sargh wael—a string of words from a different time, before the nautiloid.

Whatever did they mean?

“I’m sorry, I don't know why I said that-”

“Usstan'sargh wael?” he interrupts. "Darling, you hurt me. I much prefer you calling me pretty,"

Why would you call him "pretty"? It hits you like a ton of bricks. In the midst of your delirium, you referred to him as pretty. An unexpected blush creeps up your cheeks. It's as if the memory has decided to unveil itself at the most inconvenient moment.

Gods above.

Trying to shake off the embarrassment, you clear your throat, attempting to redirect the conversation. "I was delirious and not thinking straight," you say, pausing before stumbling into a ramble. "Not that you're not easy on the eyes, but... Gods what am I trying to get at?”. Covering your face in embarrassment, you feel the elf shifting closer.

His lips curl into a teasing smile as he replies, "Well, my dear, I must admit, being considered easy on the eyes by someone as captivating as you is not an insult. And as for what you're trying to get at, I could think of a thing or two."

With a mischievous glint in his ruby-red eyes, he shifts even closer, his slender fingers lifting your chin gently. The gesture forces you to meet his intense gaze, and in that moment, the air thickens with a palpable tension. Astarion's lips crash onto yours with a hunger that mirrors the intensity in his eyes. The unexpected kiss continues, its fervor only escalating as desire and playfulness intertwine, making your head spin. Astarion, with a soft but determined pull on your thigh, urges you to climb onto his lap. Skillfully, he shifts with your moving form, ensuring the kiss remains unbroken, as if the mere thought of parting would pull you out of the collective bliss that envelops you both.

Astarion's hands, deft and purposeful, trace the contours of your body, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. His fingers, with a hint of urgency, find the curve of your neck, and for a moment, time seems to slow. Your mind momentarily clears - Is this really a good idea?

The elf, driven by his own urges, hovers over the delicate expanse of your throat. His breath, warm and tantalizing, brushes against your skin as he pauses, his ruby-red eyes locked onto yours. There's a primal yearning in his gaze, a dance between the allure of forbidden desires and the magnetic pull of an inevitable encounter.

The kiss deepens, and with a subtle tilt of your head, you give in to temptation and offer him unhindered access. Astarion, like a predator with a taste for anticipation, teases with the notion of what's to come. His lips, hungry and insistent, trace a tantalizing path along your jawline, lingering at the pulse point of your neck.

In this charged moment, the line between pleasure and danger blurs, and you find yourself again hesitating whilst simultaneously yearning for his fangs to puncture your neck.

“Try to be gentle, will you?” you urge as he plants sloppy kisses on your jugular vein.

A devious smirk decorates his lips, his breath hot on your neck. “Your wish is my command.” he murmurs as he kisses the sore wounds from yesterday's endeavors.

Bracing you for what's to come, his hand dips from the small of your back even lower, the other assertively angeling your jaw upwards. As his hand continues to make its way down, he also tucks you closer. Suddenly, there is a new feeling - him, full and straining against his leather pants. The proximity is intoxicating, his cock further pressing against your clothed and ever growing pool of heat. Mesmerized by the closeness, your senses scream at you - you need to feel more, you need to feel him.

Bucking your hips against his, desperate for any friction, Astarion pricks your skin. Droplets of blood spill freely and trickle down your heaving chest. Defty hands trace along the opening of your top, fingers pulling at the lacing. Each pull reveals another inch of skin exposed to his zealous gaze. Your warm blood dribbles further, a path trailing from your neck all the way down to your abdomen. Pausing, his eyes absorb his handiwork before tracking his hands at the hem of your top. Guided by his agile fingers, the top glides down your shoulders and hitches at your breasts and reveals your flushed skin. They slightly sway, nipples stiffening at the sensation, as the top is dragged to pool at your waist. You're fully displayed, breath hitching, smeared with blood and a throbbing below pressing against his excitement.

“So pretty for me.” he whispers, eyes half lidded with pupils large enough to drown in.

The elf leans in, hands gliding over your stiff peaks, and then circling and teasing them. The sensation sends shivers through your spine, making you softly whimper. Astarion’s tongue peers out and begins to lick the blood-path laid between the valley of your breasts. He alternates between licking and planting hungry kisses as he gradually moves towards one of your breasts. His thumb is brought to wrap around your nipple with his slick tounge, then beginning to suck and nibble gently. Moans escape your lips and a strained growl for the rogue's lips could be heard too.

Gods, you need more.

An involuntary jerk escapes from your hips, prompting Astarion to grind against your hips in turn as his length twitches beneath you in excitement. Your arousal fogs your mind, wetness spreading between your folds as he sucks and circles your hard nipples whilst rolling his hips into you.

The vapors of your enchanted state fueled by Astarions prying gaze, evapor at the familiar echoing in your skull.

Please no.

Slithering in your skull there are several voices bouncing off your cranium. “Child, do not resist, for in surrender, you find the strength you seek. Embrace the darkness within, let it be your guide!”

Forget about it, you tell yourself. Just brush it off, it’s only a whisper.

Dexterously, Astarions slides his hands along the curve of waist, exploring your figure as his gaze dips to the hem of your trousers. His finger abruptly halts at the hem, his sharp eyes narrow as he now looks into yours. In that moment, a knowing expression flickers across his face.

“Darling?”

You dare not face him any longer, he’s too perceptive for you to fool.

“I’m sorry, it’s the urge I didn't mean to scare you.” you say under your breath, eyes still not facing him. “I-” The urge in your head seize the opportunity, slipping out momentarily, your tadpole wriggles and catches its connection with his, revealing the poison dripped tongue that rests in your skull.

“Only the blade can offer true salvation, true power. Succumb to the darkness within and we’d be unstoppable.”

Unknowingly you’d stumbled back from the elfs lap and now rested between his arched legs, your breathing growing more rapid. A dim, eerie figure hovered above his head, ghoulish in appearance, with dark fog caressing his curls and another hand winding ominously around his neck.

"Get away from him, let him be," you plead, the urgency in your voice contrasting with the unsettling presence that lingers.

Taking charge of the moment, Astarion catches your chin, forcing your pupil-blown eyes to meet his. “What ever haunts you, it won’t have you. Focus on me.”

The ghoulish figure above him recoils as if repelled by Astarion's resolve. The dark fog dissipates, revealing the familiar warm crimson hues in his eyes that contrasts starkly with the eerie specter.

Just as the unsettling specter dissipates, a sudden eruption of chaotic sounds pierces the air outside the tent. Urgent whispers, clashes of weapons, and primal roars signal an acute danger just beyond the tent walls.

"Hells, can we ever catch a godsdamn break?" Astarion mutters, a wry edge to his voice.

#astarion x durge #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion x y/n #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x the dark urge #astarion romance #astarion bdg3 #baldurs gate #bdg 3 fanfic #fanfic #astarion imagine #astarion angst

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jeusschrist2005 · 2 years

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She’s a Fool || Burt Fabelman x fem!reader

Word count: 3899

Summary: You wait up for your husband,Burt, to get home from work. You help him blow off steam.

Authors note: Ao3 doesn’t have Burt Fabelman so I have to post this here. I hope at least a few people can find pleasure in this, or at least think my writing is alright. So excited to be the very 3rd Burt smut fic writer on here 🙏

Warnings: smut, slight daddy kink, slight sir kink, blow jobs, face-slapping, spanking, piv sex, desk sex, degradation, kind of dom/sub dynamics, maybe a little misogynistic but it’s set in the 50s so period accurate

You were on your knees organizing Burt’s extensive stack of western dime novels when you heard his car pull into the driveway. You stood, brushed off your dress and tried to make yourself presentable for him. You stood in his study, unsure of whether to greet him at the door or wait for him to find you. His study was usually the first room he went once home, anyhow. You decided to stay put. You sat daintily on the edge of the arm chair and waited for his entrance.

You sometimes felt like an actor for him. You wanted him to desire you, and so you cared for him and made yourself look pretty for him even when you did not have the energy. You often found yourself perched like a bird waiting for him to come home so you could hug him, feed him, and take care of him. Looking after Burt, at this point in time, was the only fulfilling thing in your life.

“What the hell are you doing?”Burt asked as he stood in the door frame, a tinge of anger in his low voice. You froze for a moment, then slowly got up, a false smile plastered to your face.

“I was just organizing your books,” you said graciously. “I thought it might help if they were chronological.”

“Well don’t. You’re making a mess.” He said and began taking off his suit-jacket. You took it from him, loosely folded it, and laid it over the edge of the chair.

“I’m sorry, honey. I was just trying to spruce up the room a bit. I’ll put them back how they were right away.”

“Good,” he said curtly.

You glanced up sorrowfully at him before returning to your work, dutifully placing the books back in the order he originally had them.

The quiet shuffle of paper. A flick of Burt’s lighter. Newspaper ruffling. The acrid yet intoxicating smell of Burt’s Newport’s.

You sighed as you finished placing the last few books on the shelf. You stood. Burt looked up from the newspaper. He smiled, small and insincere. You could tell he didn’t want to converse with you, and probably wouldn’t attempt to until breakfast tomorrow morning, as was routine nowadays.

“Can I get you a drink?” You offered, antsy and desperate.

“Scotch.”

You nodded. You already knew that — it was his drink of choice. You’d made it for him every week night for three years now. You brought him his drink and a coaster, setting them carefully on the side table next to your husband. You stood over him, waiting on a “thank you” or at least any acknowledgment at all. He glanced up at you and then back to his paper.

“Did you want to read the funnies or something?” He asked,

“No.”

“Then what?” There was no venom in his voice, nothing to say he was mad at you; only a boredom, a patronizing nonchalance that made you feel as though you were five years old again. But you hadn’t the heart to speak up.

“Nothing, dear. Is there anything else that you need?”

“Dinner?”

You clamped your lips tight and nodded before swiftly exiting the room. You hadn’t prepared dinner. You’d been watching over the house all afternoon; cleaning: shopping, gardening, and sewing. You were thoroughly spent from your long day. Moving swiftly and gracefully while keeping the house in order and your family happy happy was no small feat. You opened the freezer for the TV dinners you’d bought that afternoon. You popped the gloppy-looking food into the microwave.

You set Burt’s food next to his now empty scotch. You noticed he’d lit another cigarette in the time you were gone and was now reading a book — something on philosophy.

“What is this?” He asked without meeting your eyes.

“Oh, it’s beef roast. I was too tired to cook a full dinner tonight, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Is it even kosher?”

“It is.” You said. He set his book down and looked at you. For the first time all night you had his full attention. You stood stiff as a board and anxious. His expression softened at seeing the sweat on your brow.

“Where’s your food?” Burt asked with concern.

“I’m not hungry. Big lunch.” You lied. You hadn’t eaten since early in the morning. Your nerves set your stomach at unease, and you’d busied yourself for most of the day. You knew he’d be concerned — you had a nasty habit of skipping meals and, in general, taking poor care of yourself.

“Oh yeah? What’d you eat?” He asked suspiciously.

“I went down to the deli,” you fibbed again. Although Burt could be neglectful, he could see right through you when he paid attention.

He raised his eyebrows at you. He knew. He just didn’t want to get into it.

“Come here, doll.” He said and patted the arm of his chair. You sat gracefully, looking over your husband, suddenly brightened by his affectionate nickname and shifted demeanor. “This dress is nice…is it new?”

You beamed. “I bought it last Saturday. I was hoping you’d like it.” You bought this dress especially for Burt. The neckline was the kind he liked — boxy and bold — and the sleeves were puffed slightly. It was a simple house dress, nothing extraordinary, but you thought Burt would like seeing you in it.

“It’s lovely,” he puckered his lips and you leaned down to peck them. “And my favorite color!” He smiled.

You smiled back. It wasn’t often that he noticed these things — new lipstick, new haircut, new outfits— he was always preoccupied. What with? You had no clue. You were grateful for him, as capricious as he was.

He lifted the semi-cold food off the side table and took a hesitant bite, just to please you. A grimace formed on his face, and with difficulty he swallowed the bite. You laughed, amused.

“Mmmm!” He said, only to make you giggle. He took a sip of his watered down drink to get the taste out of his mouth. “I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

You took the plate from him and set it aside.

“I thought it would be better,” you said apologetically and fiddled with his soft brown hair, gently massaging his scalp with your well-manicured nails.

“Anything nuked for sixty-seconds isn’t gonna taste good.”

You nodded in agreement. He picked up his book again and you huffed. He set it back down gently, and you winced at your own ill behavior.

“Is something wrong?” He asked genuinely, placing a hand on your thigh.

“Nothing,” You said, feeling foolish.

“No, cmon, what’s on your mind?”

“I just want to spend time with you is all.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

To Burt “spending time” meant being in the same room together. While he was technically right, you craved connection with him.

“I suppose it is.”

“Do you have something you want to talk about?”

“No…”

Burt’s confusion was obvious. What could he do for someone who wanted something but wouldn’t say what? He hated guessing games. He’s even told you so. That did nothing to restrain your indecisiveness.

“Do you want to cuddle? Watch television?”

You shook your head. “I just want to be with you.”

“What do you want to do with me? I can’t read your mind.”

“I…” you trailed off, tinging red, unsure of how exactly to phrase your next sentence. You couldn’t stand obscenity, and you didn’t want to present yourself as lurid or unladylike to your husband. “I want to be with you,” you emphasized.

An expression of realization washed over Burt’s face. He looked at you, in comical surprise, and his face turned red to match yours. You laughed, loving that you were still able to make your husband flustered. He looked at you shiftily, taking in your ruddy face and small, close-mouthed smile.

“Is that your way of saying you want me to touch you?” He asked in a teasing tone of voice, effortlessly slipping from doting to dominant.

You hid your face in your hands for a second. Burt gently swatted your hands away from your face.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he commanded gently. “How many times have I asked you to speak your mind when you want something?”

“Too many, sir.” You half-whispered.

“Right. So tell me what you want from me.”

His low tone and penetrating gaze sent shockwaves to your stomach. The energy in the room was tense, much like before, only this time charged with an electricity that it previously lacked. Burt searched your face. You were taking too long to answer and he soon would take on that patronizing, listless cadence which you knew all too well.

“Yes, I want you to touch me, sir.” You muttered. Then, shakily: “But I want to touch you, too.”

“Good girl,” he said. His hand felt heavy on your knee. He moved his hand up and squeezed your thigh. “What did you have in mind?”

You made a noncommittal hum.

“You don’t want to tell me?” He said, voice soft, “you want daddy to choose for you?”

You startled at the name he gave himself. It wasn’t often that he used it, especially in a non-joking way, and the taboo of it made you tingle with excitement.

You nodded, then corrected yourself with a “yes”.

He didn’t praise you this time; he simply expected you to use your words.

“How ‘bout you get on your knees? Show me how good you are at sucking cock. Would you like that?”

You did. You felt like a king’s courtesan under his severe eyes. Humiliated, used, inferior. Burt set his glasses down. The leather chair creaked as he adjusted his position. You shuffled forward between his spread legs.

“Are you gonna be real good for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Unbuckle my belt.” He commanded you, but an approving smile sat — barely visible —at the corner of his lips.

Eagerly, you sat up off your heels and unbuckled his belt with trembling hands. He slid his belt out of its loops and dropped it on the floor. You sat back on your heels and waited for his next instruction. He unzipped his own slacks and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Lifting his hips slightly, and sort of awkwardly, Burt slid his underpants down. He scooted closer to you, pushing his groin closer to your face. He was already fully erect just from your obedience. You looked up at his face through your lashes.

He didn’t say anything as he grabbed hold of the base of his dick. You watched, delighted yet nervous, as he gave himself a few slow strokes. Your proximity was endearing to him. He stopped stroking himself and tapped the head on your lips, captivated by the way his precum spread over your mouth and cheek. You opened your mouth as he dragged it across, barely tasting his masculine, musky flavor.

“You wanna taste?”

You nod without looking him in the eyes. He lets it pass, and positioned his cock so that you could slide your mouth over it easily. Burt stretched your lips so well, his thickness almost unbearable, but you managed. It was exhilarating to taste the warm, heady odor of your hardworking husband. It brought you pleasure to be able to please him this way. Fluid pooled at your core as you brought your mouth down as far as you could go without choking, then suctioned and pulled back up to briefly swirl your tongue around his leaking tip.

Burt’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, gently guiding you into a steady rhythm. You moaned around his girth when he gave your hair a gentle tug. The insistent pang of arousal and the wetness gathering in your panties was beginning to get uncomfortable. You reached a hand down between your legs, feeling yourself through your underwear and pulsing at the small amount of friction that it brought you.

“Don’t.” Burt spat sternly. You looked up at him, mouth full and lips red and wet, and slid both your hands on to his thighs; a sign that you would obey him. You wouldn’t do it again.

You sank down onto him as far as you could go and choked, pulling off quickly and forgetting to cover your teeth. A loud hiss from Burt made you realize your mistake. Before you could apologize, Burt delivered a stinging strike to your cheek that turned your vision momentarily white. You sputtered, choked, and spat a glob onto the carpet, earning a sharp but short kick to the ribs. Tears stung at your eyes.

“Mind your teeth,” Burt reprimanded cruelly, raising his voice slightly.

You gasped up at him, appalled that he would treat you so roughly when he had been so sweet ten minutes ago. You held a hand to your cheek.

“You’re being a jerk,” you said. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything further. You loved him too much to hurt him in anyway. He didn’t seem to have the same problem. All the same you ached for his touch, you craved his roughness. Hell, you liked when he hit you. You had never pushed his buttons like this.

“You're disobeying me,” he took your bicep in a vice grip, short nails digging into your skin.

“You’re not my master!” You whined. You pulled your arm out of his grip with a wild, thrashing motion. You lacked any real virulence. By the glimmer in his eye, you knew that Burt caught on to your games.

“Stop being such a petulant little brat,” he seized you by you hair and roughly pulled you closer to his spread legs “Suck me like I taught you.”

You felt compelled to fight against this, too. The tight grip on your hair made you reconsider, though. His easy manipulation of your body and mind soaked you. You were completely under his control now and you wouldn’t dare complain. You scooted closer to him compliance and kissed his tip. He loosened his grip and studied you while you got back to work.

“Are you done with your fit?” He asked in an odd mix of annoyance and relief.

You glared at him. Your eyes brimmed with tears, your lips were swollen red, your cheeks inflamed with embarrassment and arousal; one darker from his hand print. Your dress strap fell down your shoulder, your arm thrummed with the aftermath of his bruteness. Burt groaned at the sight, bucking his hips up and forcing you to take him down your throat. You relaxed your throat, ready for him to abuse it if he chose.

Experimentally, Burt thrust shallowly into your mouth. You moaned around him, and squeezed his thigh encouragingly. It was tough to get a good angle, but the two of you worked with what you had, and Burt was soon close to the edge. The saliva around his cock dripped slickly down to his balls and hung from your chin. Quite frankly, you hated the messy feeling, but the sighing, sometimes whiny, moans that Burt let out while fucking your dripping mouth was worth the temporary discomfort. Burt let go of your hair after a short while, and you set your own pace. He watched you with an air of pride, a tiny smile on his face at your artless efforts.

“Enough.” Burt said tensely. He was seconds away from the edge.

You pulled off of him and a string of saliva connected you to his cock. You licked your lips to separate it, then wipe your sloppy mouth with the back of your hand. Burt observed your debauched form lovingly. Neither of you said anything. You glanced at Burt’s erection, noting its swelled up, slight purple color. It twitched under your stare, and you smiled coyly. Burt pet your head, and for a second you were worried he’d make you suck him again. He only tucked your hair behind your ear.

“You look so pretty right now,” sighed Burt sentimentally. “I wish I could paint your face.”

“You can, sir.” You said, voice hoarse and dry. Burt offered you the melted-ice/watered down whiskey concoction and you drank hastily.

“You don’t want to be fucked?” He asked plainly. You flushed at his directness.

You stammered. Burt nudged your knee with the tip of his shoe. You nodded.

“Words, honey.” Burt reminded you. If he hadn’t already lashed out at you, you were sure he would now. You could practically feel the guilt radiating off of him.

“I do, sir.”

“Such a smart girl,” he praised you with a condescending intonation polishing his words. He stood. “Bend over the desk.”

You scuttled into motion and set yourself, gently and carefully, over Burt’s desk. You rested your elbows in a way that wouldn’t hurt them too bad, and hovered your torso over the table. You look straight down, studying the wood grain and waiting for your husbands next move.

He came up behind you and trailed his finger tips over your neck, then down your spine, and finally around to your hips, where he cupped them softly. He positioned you, then lifted your dress over your hips. He slowly pulled your underwear off and let them fall down your thighs. You felt a little uncomfortable knowing he was staring at you. This kind of exposure was new, but you didn’t exactly hate it. Burt slid his hands up to your rear and pushed, spreading your legs and getting you into a better position. With little warning, Burt slotted a finger between your folds and teased your aching clit. You gasped at the feeling of his calloused hands finally touching you.

“That feel good?” Burt hummed.

You nodded. Burt dragged his long fingers down and prodded at your soaked hole. He entered easily, and you moaned at the texture of his rough, thick fingers moving inside of you. You pushed back onto him, earning a sharp slap to your ass.You jolted.

“Just be still,” Burt said. He pumped his fingers in and out of you torturously slow, just barely grazing a sensitive spot inside you, making you twitch.

“I can’t,” you mewled.

“You can,” Burt said impatiently, pulling his fingers out completely. “And you will if you know what’s good for you.”

“That’s not fair,” you whined, and tried to shimmy off of the desk. Burt gripped you by the hips and pinned you in place. He leaned over your body with his broad, wide frame, mouth close to your ear. He took hold of your hair.

“Do you wanna be punished? Do I need to get my belt?” He asked you austerely. “If you want to be a dumb bitch then I can get myself off.”

“No, please, sir” you half-whimpered. If he refused to touch you now you might’ve died. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.”

“Good,” he said and positioned his cock head at your entrance. “I’m gonna make an obedient whore out of you.”

You were tempted to push back against him. Instead you waited until he was fully inside you, stretching you as far as you could take. The curved length of his cock pressed just right against your walls. You were dripping over his base already, happy to be stuffed full of him.

Almost immediately he set a brutal pace. You heard his pants straight in your ear as he took you, animalistic and hungry. The harshness might’ve hurt if you weren’t so desperate for it.

With his hand which was now resting gently tangled in your hair, Burt pressed your face to the cold surface of the desk. Your cheek, sure to bruise, was sore against the hard wood. Burt had lifted his body from yours. His pudgy torso, which was warm and soft even through his dress shirt, no longer pressed against your back. Though disappointed at the loss of contact, the new angle was more intense and allowed Burt to be rougher with you.

A harsh thrust jostled the desk and knocked a picture frame to the ground — one of you and Burt on your wedding day, you noticed. At the same time, Burt’s penis pushed up far inside you, the tip kissing your cervix and sending you closer to the edge.

You were reminded of why you loved your husband at that moment — not only for the sex. Burt knew how to make you feel good all over— body and mind. You were a puppet on his strings and he moved you masterfully.

“Are you close?” Burt panted. You were brought back to reality by his words. You were about to respond, but he spoke again. “Are you gonna take my load like the stupid slut you are?”

“God, please,” you breathed out.

Burt laughed mockingly. “You gonna beg for my load, hm? Want daddy to knock you up?”

“Please,” you begged.

“Please what?” Burt asked, trying to keep his cool but failing miserably. He was close, you could tell by the way that he twitched and leaked inside you. His low moans were becoming higher, louder. You clenched hard around him.

“Please sir! ”

“Wrong,” said Burt, pounding into you impossibly harder. You felt your orgasm coming on. Burt reached one hand down to play with your clit. You gasped. You were taking too long to answer him. You were overwhelmed and dumb-struck by Burt’s brutal touch.

“Please, daddy,” you squeaked begrudgingly. Burt let go of your head and kissed your temple. He rubbed fast and hard against you until you clenched and spasmed around his thick cock, falling over the edge. You relaxed a bit, letting Burt use your abused hole limply. You were content to have him still inside you.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” He stuttered weakly. You pushed back against him in encouragement. He painted your insides with hot strips of cum. You gasped at the full, sticky feeling as Burt rode out his orgasm.

He pulled out of you, leaving you empty and cold as his semen spilled out of your opening. Without notice, Burt gathered his seed and pushed it back inside you, murmuring something along the lines of “gotta make sure you take it.” It dripped back down your thigh.

He took his fingers out for the final time. Half a minute passed as you regathered your strength. You struggled to push yourself up. You saw black in your vision when you started to stand, and then felt Burt’s still dirty hands coming up to support you. You leaned onto him, and he picked you up in a bridal hold, then sat on his creaky armchair. You pushed your face against his sweaty breast and breathed in his familiar, somewhat smoky scent. Being in his arms was more comfortable than any bed you’d ever laid upon. You felt dreary and content, but grossly sweaty at the same time. You looked up at the underside of Burt’s chin. He had his eyes on the desk — papers askew, cup of pens knocked over, wedding picture on the ground. He looked down at you when he felt you move.

“That’s my favorite picture of you,” said Burt, “but if I had a camera right now you might out-do it.”

“God, no,” you said, “I look a wreck.”

“You look gorgeous,” Burt hummed. He planted a sweet kiss on your nose.

#burt fabelman #burt fabelman x reader #smut #paul dano #paul dano x reader #x reader #the fabelmans

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clarissalance · 3 years

Text

Who has the upper hand?

Pairing: Kaeya x G/N!Reader, mention of Varka and Diluc.

Warning: Slight swearing, Kaeya is a lil shit, reader being stubborn and scheming, immense tension

Summary: You’re so terrible at swordsmanship that you can’t withstand 2 strikes from Kaeya or, are you?

Word count: 3k5

Disclaimer: What is written in here is based on my imagination, nothing from this fic should be taken seriously. Most of the fact I put in this fic does not follow the lore of the game so it should only be taken as a grain of salt. For example: section 8 in Knight of Favonius codebook.

A/N: I struggle so much when I wrote this piece. This was suppose to be angstier but I tone down a little bit (because Kaeya was very OOC in my draft, I think he’s still a bit OOC in this fic but I tried my best ;-;, pls don’t bite me.)

How did author write a 50k+ oneshot? I can’t write something more than 5k properly ;-; Anyhow, please enjoy this fic. I’m going to have a good rest for 2 weeks before release a comeback. Please shower Kaeya and our new MC with a lot of loves!!!!

As a strategist of the knight of Favonius, you don't usually have enough time to finish the towers of reports, the never-ending meetings and dealing with cheap tricks Fatui diplomats. Often, you have to skip your daily sword training session, which results in a rather miserable situation. The whole practice ground is staring holes at your defeated posture. You are sitting on the hard soil ground, and the Calvary captain is towering you, his sharp blade just a few inches away from your throat.

It is not a strange scene for any knights to lose a spar against the Calvary captain, he should be one with the best swordsmanship after Grand Master, and maybe Acting-Grand Master, too. However, as knight, they can usually withstand him at least more than 2 blows.

Whispers and talks start to circulate around as soon as you stepped your foot in the training ground. It’s very uncommon to see people from that department wandering around this area. The strategy department is famous inside the Knight of Favonius to be the weakling-cunning-mouthy-jerks, who always find excuses after excuses to skip the monthly knight evaluation.

So, who gives them the right to be exempt from the test? Of course, it’s from the ultimate high chief of strategy department. Rumours say before the strategy chief works for the Favonius knight, the man was once a legendary attorney. That person can flip words from black to white, turns the defendant from guilty to innocent. With a profound convincing skillset coming from the chief, persuading the Grand Master Varka is easy as a piece of cake. The whole department of 10 people is easily off-hook for 3 years, never participate in the monthly evaluation before the man suddenly dropped the bomb 2 days ago.

“ I’m tired from coming with excuses to cover for your lazy asses.” The man waved his hand, his eyes staring outside the window. His nails scratching the messy shaved chin.“ Varka seems to get used to navigating my thoughts-”

“Maybe time is wearing away your skill-” At the corner, someone accidentally blurted out, and the whole table gave him a sharp look. Did he have a death wish or something? If so, everyone here can happily dig him a hole, free charge for the coffin.

The chief cleared his voice again, blue eyes melancholy drifted to the table. “So, you guys have tried your best on this monthly evaluation. I hope to see you all again next month.”

The meeting was dismissed afterwards, and everything spiralled into chaos. The whole department hasn’t touched anything aside from the parchment papers and the quills in the last 3 years. How are they going to master the swordman-ship in 2 weeks?

But, the worst thing is,

Your well-respected, talented, and tactful chief has run away.

The next morning, you received the news that a foxy old man is on a business trip to Fontaine with the Grand Master. The expedition is 2 weeks long.

You should have known what he meant when the deceitful man ambiguously ended his sentence like that. Nothing goes well when the chief said: ‘Farewell, my comrades’.

For the last 2 days, you have been starting to familiarize yourself again with how to hold a sword and how to swing the sword.

As you trail along with the long-forgotten memories, trying to look through the familiar feeling when swinging the sword, you hear footsteps coming in your direction. It is familiar, with the way the person is walking, the beat, the sudden burst of noise in the air, you can only conclude it’s the Calvary Captain. The practice ground seems livelier as soon as the man steps inside, people rushing to his side to give their greetings. Maybe today is one of his practice days.

“ Never thought I would see you here.” The young man calls out, successfully jostle you up from your thoughts. You give him a complex look and turn away, focusing on the tattered dummies. Your wrist is screaming in protest, legs wobbling. You remember those golden days when you were young when you were flexible, and your bones didn't crack as much. Oh, where the golden days have gone?

“What do I own the honour of seeing you here, captain?” You fold your arm defensively, voice monotonously. Kaeya despites the most when you start talking in an emotionless tone. Oh, how you love riling him up in the middle of the practice ground!

“ I come here for my weekly practice, but-” He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “ look like the rumour about the abolishment of special permission for the strategy department is true.”

So he has heard the rumours. You roll your eyes, face blanks. You know Kaeya has his own way to obtain his information, but you never thought it’d be this fast. Words don’t easily leak from the strategy department.

“What do you need? Make it short, so I can practice for the upcoming evaluation.” Tired of his long introduction, you ask him directly. If you are going to ignore him any longer, the man will continue poking you.

Starting an argument only wastes your time, and asserting dominance in the middle of the training ground won’t boost your ego. You’re a strategist, your weapons are detailed plans and sharp word, not sword and bow. Showing off your strength in front of those ruthless knights don't improve your relationship with them.

“ Straight the point eh?” You give him an impatiently look, tempting to ignore him again before he flashes you a smug grin. “How bout sparing with me?”

The whole training ground falls in silence, and you direct at the captain a confusing look. Is he serious? No one in the knight except the Grand Master can go against him, not to mention someone who hasn’t touched a sword for three years.

“I can help you with your training, and you can help with mine” Kaeya speaks with utmost confidence that you almost nod and agree. That man is really deceitful, he knows how well your skill has gone dull, yet he still wants to practice with you? What is this man plotting?

“ Do you realize how absurd your offer is? ” You give him a complicated gaze, voice unwavering. Everyone takes in a deep breath, tension crackling. It's not everyday scenery you often encounter. A heated argument between the mischievous cavalry captain and the tactful strategist. Nosy people gather around the pair, internally hoping for the war the breaks out.

“ You know well that I can’t properly block your first strike.” Light-hearted, you joke, but there is no hint of amusement in your voice. Sharpe eyes glaring at the blue figure, you notice the man remains unfazed.

" Shouldn't you choose a more competent opponent?"

The sound whispers and talking about the reasons why Kaeya picked such an easy opponent start to circulate, and you can’t help to curl your lips up. Within a few seconds, you have effortlessly turned the gossiping direction toward your desired path. Flashing Kaeya a victorious grin, you tap your foot impatiently, waiting for his reaction.

You should have worked at PR damage control or marketing instead! The diplomat would have been fine too! At least, you wouldn’t need to practice swordman-ship.

As you mulling on your terrible choice of career, a chill runs down your spine. Tilting up, Kaeya is beaming sweetly at you, the frost slowly creeping up and nipping your shoes. Look like you just pressed the wrong button.

The man narrows his eyes, and you gulp nervously, avoiding his calculating gaze. Kaeya chuckles, his voice laced with worry, wavering and hurtful.

“I just want to help you improve as fast as possible. The test is coming in two weeks isn't it?”

The whole table has turned, and people start to say how considerate and thoughtful the cavalry captain is. The crowd starts to criticize you and tell you to be more grateful and stop suspicious of his unconditional help. Oh, you wish he wasting it on you, many knights in this training ground would love getting advice and improvements from him.

Applause for our dear Calvary captain, smoothly seeking empathy from the crowd and turning the favour back to him. No wonder how fast he climbed up the rank.

Bantering and arguing with a person like him is meaningless, so you accept his offer and drag your sword toward his direction. Let finish this within 2 strikes.

Moving to the centre of the field, both of you face each other, his eyes scanning you sceptically. What is this man plotting again? Bowing, you finally give him a warning look before standing at your ready position. Kaeya holds his sword, analyzing your starting posture.

As soon as the whistle blows, you charge at the man, opening the spar with a direct hit. Kaeya quickly raises his word up to block the first blow, the sound of steel clashing loudly. He then forcefully diverts the sword to the left, a classic way to counter the strike.

Knowing your limited strength against him, you take a step back and swiftly angle the blade downward, aiming for a weak spot at his waist. This move would create a noticeable weakness on your right, and only the idiot doesn't use this as his advantage to disarm you.

You’re right, he uses the loophole you planned, successfully disarm you within 2 strikes. The sword slips from your hand clanging loudly behind as your foot slips and fall on the ground.

His sharp blade is just a few inches away from your neck. The calvary captain wears a solemn look, his cerulean eyes imbued with irritation. Seems like he figures out you purposefully planed to end the match in 2 strikes.

Quickly raising your hand in defeat, you shoot him a taunting grin. The referee declares Kaeya is the winner, and people start to clap and cheer loudly, but overall no one is surprised. As the match end, audiences start to disperse, return back to their tasks.

Kaeya put his sword away and offers you his hand. You stare idly at the gloved hand a moment before putting yours on. The man effortlessly pulls you up, your body flush against his. With Kaeya so close to you, your first reaction is to push the man away, but his firm grip says otherwise. He inches closer, dark blue locks brush your cheek, tall figure towering you intimidating.

“Why end it so early?” He leans down and whispers, your body tenses up visibly. “Surely, you could handle more than 2 strikes of mine.” The young man in blue hums, his voice sultry.

“ What are you saying? I haven’t touched the sword more than 3 years.” You remind him, hands pushing his chest away, trying to create some distance. The man doesn’t budge an inch.

“Your strikes doesn’t say so. The first strike was not bad.” Noticing your effort to push him away, Kaeya stands straight, heels dig into the ground. His lips curl up at the helplessness flashing in your eyes. He loves seeing you struggle, seeing how anxiety and desperation rising in your sparkling orbs. “I think you could at least have a decent fight with me.”

“ Quit spouting non-sense Kaeya, let me go. We are in public.” You let out an annoyed hiss, punching his toned chest. He still wears the uniform improperly like that, the exposed tan chest can be under many layers. Sometimes you don't even know the reason why doesn't he just button the shirt up properly. Finger grazing at the bared skin on his chest, you turn your head away, cheeks heat up.

The man loves seeing you squirming in his trap, and you’re not going to let him see that. Anything, but satisfying his masochist hobby.

“You don’t like skin-ship?” The man fakes a gasp, his orb sparkles with mirth. “But you were being touchy with your friend. Why can't we be a bit touchy? ” His tone suggestively, the tall man snickers at your blushing mess. Out of everything, why would he mention that? You give him stinky eyes, brows furrow deeply.

“I’m not touchy with you.” You deny dreadfully. Archon, how long have you wasted your time here with this slithering serpent?

Kaeya arms wrap tightly around you, your body moulds perfectly into his embrace. You hate how perfectly you fit into his hug like this, but you can’t deny how warm he is, despite the fact he wields cryo.

“ When will you let me go?” Your voice starts to grow weak, dragging slightly in discomfort. Kaeya curiously looks down, noticing your pouting. Sensing his gaze, you turn your head away but his fingers have quickly grabbed your cheek, forcing you to look at his deep blue eye.

“Give me a kiss, then I'd let you go.” His voice serious, but what he just said is not. You look at the cryo wielder horrendously, mouth gaping. His face is composed and relax, like what he just ask is like asking about the weather, asking about your health, not for a kiss. Is he being serious? What in the world did he just ask? A kiss? Excuse me, a what?

“You...you are not being serious.” You wriggle your way out, escaping from his fingers, but his embrace tightens, caging you inside. Damn it, Kaeya. He’s messing with you.

When you flash him a furious look, the man shrugs nonchalantly, his cerulean lock fluttering gently in the wind. Suddenly, you have an urge to wipe off that calm demeanour. He can’t be serious. Why does he have to go all the way to annoy the shit out of you?

The smug grin hanging on his face, the mischief in his blue eyes, the arching brows, everything about him screams a flirt, yet you feel so mesmerized. Blinking a few times, you have to constantly remind yourself this man is not trustworthy. From the attitude to the way he looks at you, to the way he acts around you. Nothing from his action is truthful. Like Diluc’s warning, you can only believe half of his word and action.

“ Of course I’m being serious.” His voice solemn, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. If he doesn’t like you, why would he spend so much effort bothering you this much? What reaction is he expecting from you?

“ I really like you, Y/N” Kaeya confesses cheerfully, and you can faintly hear a few gasps around. Not this again...

Archon, you’re going to die early at this rate. You just want to practice for the upcoming evaluation, not becoming a hot topic for all Mondstadt citizen to gossip about.

And this man too, how can he easily slip out those words when you just heard him flirting with another woman the other day? You already told him numerous times that you’re not interested in dating him, or anyone right now!

Hung your head down in exhaustion, you tap his shoulder, mumbling quietly. “ Fine, fine.” You finally open your mouth, too exhausted and bothered by his stubbornness. He only wants a kiss, and you won’t hurt giving him one. Just a kiss then you can get back to your practice.

“Just don’t confess your love to me in a crowd like this again.” Before closing the deal, you weakly add a bargain, nudging him.

The calvary captain looks surprised, his eye widens little, not expecting you to agree. Normally, it takes another argument or two before you comply with his request. Kaeya timidly raises his gloved hand to your face, gently caresses your cheek. This time, you lean into his touch, nuzzling your face into his palm, eyes glimmering softly. Despite a cryo wielder, his hand is surprisingly warm.

The man in blue curiously peeks at you, he feels like a feather tickling the itchy spot. Are you plotting an escape route? Since when did you become so obedient? He has never seen the soft fur under the spiky façade you set up to face with the world, but strangely, he likes this version of you more.

Noticing his relaxed stance, you carefully gently wrap your fingers around his wrist while keeping eye contact with him. Kaeya eye widens, startles at your sudden touching. Trying your best to not break the unspoken connection, you bring his hand away from your cheek. In those cerulean eyes, you see a hint of disappointment, but it quickly dissolves. Slowly, you draw closer toward the hand hanging in the air, lips fluttering on the smooth skin on his wrist.

The calvary captain instinctively moves back, trying to escape from your sudden contact. Ironic, he is the one who innates the hug and demands a kiss from you. Tightening your grip, you press your wet lips on the exposed part of his wrist dedicatedly while maintaining eye contact with him, eyes drown with submission.

Kaeya stares at you in awe, maybe not expecting the passionate look in your eyes. His azure eye fills with mischief, now replaces with confusion and hesitation. You notice how his ears have dusted with pink despite the winds blowing in the practice ground. The man avoids your eyes, flustering.

Whispers and gasps start to remind you of the crushing reality, so you let his hand down while grinning cheekily at the cryo wielder. Poking and breaking Kaeya meticulously façade is always something you want to try. The man is a living devil, so it’s extremely unusual to see him losing his composure.

Sneakily, you untangle his other arm wrapping around your waist, plotting an escape route.

However, Barbatos doesn’t let you slip away that easily. Quickly regaining his composure, Kaeya snakes his hand around your hip again, tightening his hold. Unlike the first time, the sneaky bastard lifts you up and has the audacity to throw your body on his shoulder, carry you like a sack.

“ Yah! What are you doing?” You exclaim, fluster at his sudden antic. Kicking and punching on his shoulder, you try as many as you can, but somehow, Kaeya manages to dodge all of them.

“ You said you will let me go when I give you a kiss!” The crowd uproars, stares and gossips poke pointedly at your back. You don’t want to hear those comments from those knights again. They're not going to let this live down, aren't they? Bury your face in the Kaeya's furry collar, you let out a frustrating sigh, punching his shoulder as hard as you can.

“ You give me a kiss on my wrist. That doesn’t count.” Kaeya nonchalantly strides away from the practice ground, unfazed by your attempt to escape. This man is a beast, how can he not budge an inch with all of your kickings on his shoulder?

“ You didn’t specify the place. A kiss is a kiss!” You emphasize, and you can feel his shoulder shaking. Is he laughing? “You didn’t keep your promise.” Fuels by the rising anger, you kick your leg aggressively, struggling to free yourself from the iron-clad grip. This time, his strong arm wraps around your calves like a chain.

As soon as you raise your head up, the familiar pathway hits your memories. Shit, he is heading toward the headquarter, likely to his office. You can’t let anyone in there see you in this state. Punching his back profusely, you shot back.

“Not fulfilling the contract is breaking the Knight of Favonius's code of cond-.” Before you can finish your sentence, the man smacks your calves loudly, successfully shutting your mouth. Speechless by his sudden punishment, you let out a disbelief breath.

“ There are no such a section states about fulfilling contract inside the code of conduct, so stop making the rule up.” Kaeya smugly grins, and you can already picture his blue eyes glinting with mischief, the signature shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

" There is, it's in section eight-" Before you can finish your sentence, Kaeya cuts in, waving his hand dismissively.

" Section eight is about interaction with your co-worker, there is none about keeping contracts." The calvary captain humming, trying to recalling the content of the book. Speechless by the detailed memories of his, you can only close your mouth, quietly waiting for him to drop you down. If you stay still on his shoulder, will he let you go?

" You know, not everyone reads and memories the knight of Favonius handbook, you are just unlucky that I know the book by heart." Seeing you deflate weakly on his shoulder, Kaeya lets out a chuckle, patting your head comforting.

Before heading inside the HQ, the man doesn't drop your down but leans in closely, his whisper tickling your ear. “But at least I had fun seeing you squirming in my grasp.”

And then it hits you, the bastard purposely falls for of your antic.

#kaeya alberich #genshin kaeya #kaeya x reader #no beta we kayak like tim #genshin impact #clarissalance #who has the upper hand ?#argument #fluff #tension #smart reader #strategist #genshin varka #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc

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redrose-arrow · 2 years

Note

👀👀👀

[for the ask, of course]

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

okayokay- i have to admit that i had to jump into my "abandoned fanfics" folder for this, because i knew i didn't remember them all lmao. anyhow, here's a few fics that will never see the light of day.

Coffeeshop AU. I basically have a very elaborate modern AU for the entire series, but it's so much that it's impossible to get onto paper with a proper structure, and I kinda don't wanna. This one's mine and mine only, I think haha.

Queen of Broken Hearts. i would love to finish it, but i think some stuff has gotten a liiiiittle too personal lmao. here's the blurb, though:

In a drastic turn of events, Cassandra is losing the high ground in her duel with the traitorous Dimon. Maddie’s arrow hits him right in the heart, but not before her distanced cousin throws one last, well-aimed blow. A deadly one. Now the Kingdom of Araluen is left without its beloved ruler, the sickly King without his regent daughter, the Royal Champion without his Crown-Princess wife, and the first female Ranger’s apprentice without her mother. To save her Kingdom from falling apart, Maddie must settle into a role she is unprepared for and quit an apprenticeship she holds dear. But how can she keep her Kingdom together when she can’t even keep herself together? And how can her friends and mentors advise her when they’re fighting their own demons? Broken-hearted, Araluen’s legends must face their past and their future, to save themselves and their Kingdom one last time…

Forgotten Foes. I have a bunch of chapters but they're just really really bad and unfinished and no one needs to have proof of that. only thing i like is the blurb:

Revenge is by some considered to be a belied concept. Knowing that one always served people what they truly earned can keep a person happy and serene. Not that Will Treaty thinks about revenge. Especially not since life is finally getting on well; in possession of his own loving family and caring friends, he lives peacefully in the cabin in the woods. Until a series of escalating coincidences catches the attention of the Ranger Corps. Not everything may be what it looks like, but if you don't see anything, even Rangers cannot tell what is going on. When it appears that forgotten foes have returned from the past, Will learns what revenge means to some people and he is forced to make a fatal decision.

then there's a beautiful one, which i wrote when i was petty over TRR getting too much hate. the author's note says "here's an alternate plot for the Royal Ranger. you like that? i don't think you will" and then there's the first chapter, which is basically Pauline telling Alyss and Will something, and Alyss's hands are shaking but she tries to stay strong for Will, who is in shock. I'll let you figure out what that's about. and i think you can then also figure out why it'll never see the light of day.

and realistically? i don't think i'll ever be happy enough with the gilan/selethen chapters to post those.

#and there's more ofcourse #but these are the biggest ones haha #thanks for the ask ig??#ask redrosearrow #ask redrose #redrose writing #redrose writes #john flanagan #hope you enjoy thinking about what'll never be <3

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terrm9 · 4 years

Text

Fall On Me

Words count: 4 200 Warnings: mentions of fertility issues, other than that just fluff Author’s note: This is the fic I have thought so much about. I have written something, then stopped, then written again, thought about it and considered for so long if I should post it or not. I have never been this nervous posting something, probably because there is a big part of me in it - therefore, any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated!

After four years of dating and their first year being married, Chiara and Ethan find out that there are still surprises in store for them.

Important notes: My MC (Chiara) has been diagnosed with an immune system disorder that makes it close to impossible for her to become pregnant. It has been stated in Destination fic as well as in Already Gone series, but for those who haven’t read those, it’s important to know that so you understand the context.

There are three more important notes at the end (they would kind of ruin the experience if you read them in the beginning). PLEASE read them, especially the first one, it is really important to me.

*** *** *** ***

As Ethan stepped into his office, the sight of sleeping Chiara on a couch didn’t even surprise him. It was the fifth time in the last ten days. She would throw an apologetic smile at him along with a muttered “I just need to catch a quick break” and half an hour later, he would find her fast asleep in his office.

At this point, surprise has been replaced by worrying. Ethan knew his wife and he knew that she could go weeks without rest. This behavior was strange, to say the least.

He approached the couch and knelt next to it, gently brushing the hair off her forehead. Placing a soft kiss on it instead, he whispered: “Chiara, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes slowly at first, obviously confused about the whole situation. Realizing what was happening – again – she sat up rapidly, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“I am sorry, Ethan, I must have fallen asleep. I just wanted to sit down for a while and-“

“It’s okay,” Ethan cut her off and took a seat next to her, hugging her waist. “I’m just a little worried about your constant tiredness.”

Sighing, Chiara rubbed her eyes and leaned into his chest, shaking her head slowly.

“I am fine. It’s just… ever since we’ve gotten back from the Europe, the work has been crazy. Two weeks and I feel like I need another vacation.”

Visiting Europe has become their habit through the years. It started with a trip to Tuscany on Chiara’s third year of residency, continuing with a quick trip to France after getting engaged, honeymoon in Greece and finally this year, when they decided to spend their first wedding anniversary on a three-weeks long roadtrip through Scandinavia, finished with four days in The Basque Country, so that Chiara could pursue her dream of visiting Guernica, the village on Picasso’s painting.

Chiara was right about the work being absolutely crazy ever since they’ve gotten back and throwing a glance at the paperwork on his desk, Ethan was very well aware of the exhaustion they both felt. Still, he managed to get through his days without needing a nap.

“Let me draw your blood so that I can run some tests. Maybe it’s just iron deficiency, but I want to be sure,” Ethan murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “And go home to sleep.”

She turned to him, brows furrowed as she shook her head again.

“Absolutely not. I am fine, just a little weary. Just make me a cup of coffee and I’ll be fresh.”

Ethan stood up to make her the coffee, however he had no intention of letting her stay in work. He would bet that she was just ‘resting her eyes’ while he was turned to the coffee machine. As a doctor, there was one particular idea about what her exhaustion was about. Noticing such symptoms with anybody else, he would be absolutely sure. But this was Chiara he was thinking about and so he didn’t allow his mind wander into the direction it was tempted to.

“I am serious, Rookie. You are no use here, hardly keeping your eyes open. Drink the coffee, let me take your blood and go home to rest. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

She rolled her eyes and took the cup from his hands. Just as she was about to sip the coffee, she scrunched her nose in an utter disgust and looked up at him.

“Did you change the brand? This smells… ugh, I am not as demanding as you when it comes to coffee and even I can tell that this smells worse than the cafeteria coffee.”

Ethan bit his lip to hide the jitteriness overwhelming him at those words.

It was the same coffee brand they’ve been ordering for more than three years.

It was all adding up.

He shrugged as casually as he could and said: “Yeah, I tried a new roastery and it’s disappointing. Lets get you out of here, shall we?”

Chiara wanted to fight him, to stubbornly stay and prove him that she was more than capable of working, but she had to admit that she’s probably never felt as exhausted. And the vision of their king-sized bed was way too tempting.

Relucantly, she nodded and followed Ethan into an empty patient room to get her blood taken.

To say that Ethan was nervous would be an understatement. He could’ve gone home a long time ago and instead he found himself pacing back and forth in his office, waiting for a nurse to page him that Chiara’s results were ready.

Still, when his pager went off, he all but jumped on the spot.

Seven minutes later, Ethan thanked the nurse and clutched the results in his hand, fighting the urge to read them right then and there, not quite believing his own self to be able to not to break down is the results confirmed the diagnosis he suspected.

Breathing heavily as he reached his office, he sat down on the couch – the very same Chiara was sleeping on just hours ago – and with trembling hands opened the file to see the results.

His eyes widened and just then, his vision turned blurry. New lump formed in his throat and his heart kept beating as if his dear life depended on the rate it was beating. His hands trembled so hard now that the file fell on the floor.

He was right.

Ethan could feel the tears damping his cheeks and falling on the fabric of his navy blue pants and he realized that he couldn’t care less about crying while at work.

Throwing his head back, he stared at the ceiling, letting the tears fall down freely, his heartbeat slowly calming back to normal.

He knew he needed to go home and share the results with Chiara. He just didn’t know how he should do such a thing.

Chiara’s peaceful five-hours long nap has been interrupted by the sound of keys clinking in the door.

Stirring lazily in a blanket, she sat up and smiled softly as Ethan walked into the living room.

“You look exhausted. Hard day?” she asked, patting the seat next to her. “Come here.”

Ethan slumped down on the couch next to her and kissed her cheek instead of answering, his mind a battlefield of ideas on how to tell Chiara. As a doctor, he knew that he needed to be honest and straightforward. As a husband, he didn’t feel comfortable throwing such a bomb into her face as if she was simply a patient.

Noticing how lost in his head Ethan was, Chiara grew concerned.

“Did something happen, Ethan?”

He blurted his next words out before he gave any of his battling ideas a chance to win.

“I’ve got your test results.”

“Am I dying?” Chiara laughed, putting her hand on his bouncing knee to calm him down. After Ethan refused to look back at her, she sensed that something was indeed wrong. “Oh, I am dying, aren’t I?”

Chuckling, Ethan finally turned to look at her and kisser her temple. “You are not dying.”

“But?” Chiara raised her eyebrow while Ethan took the hand on his knee into his own, stroking Chiara’s knuckles softly with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, he stuttered: “I… we… you are pregnant, Chiara.”

Chiara’s face grew paler than he’s ever seen it and there were big drops of cold sweat on her forehead. Ethan squeezed her hand to stop it from shaking, but with no success.

At last, Chiara let out a choked whisper.

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

For a second, Ethan almost felt offended by her accusation, as if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t know that he would never joke about such a thing. Then, however, he recalled his own reaction when he found out just an hour and half before and could understand the Chiara’s one.

Instead of another word, Ethan reached down to grab his bag from the floor and pulled Chiara’s file out. Handing it to her, he made sure to point his finger at the row that indicated the elevated level of hCG in her blood.

Her eyes widened as she recognized what he was showing her and she gasped audibly, looking up at Ethan and down on her own file, back and forth until she found her lost voice.

“But… how? That’s impossible.”

“Nobody has ever said that it was impossible, only that your chances were extremely low, close to none.”

Chiara started to reminisce the last days, trying to connect the dots now that she knew the result.

The extreme fatigue, waves of nausea here and there, those could easily be read as literally anything else. She missed her period, but her cycle has never been regular, so she hardly considered it anyhow important, especially knowing that travelling has always made things even more irregular for her.

“Did you know?” she whispered as she turned to Ethan, who was staring at her intensively.

“I didn’t know. I became suspicious few days back, when you wouldn’t let me go anywhere near your chest,” he grinned. “Together with the exhaustion, the possibility of pregnancy found its way into my mind, but I didn’t even want to think about it, knowing how very unlikely it was. It was your disgust with the coffee today that made me almost sure that you were, in fact, pregnant.”

Chiara stared at the results again, not quite absorbing what they were saying. For almost six years, she believed she could never be pregnant.

“You need to see your gynecologist tomorrow, of course,” Ethan cut the silence again. “But as Dr. Ramsey, I can say for sure that you are pregnant.”

He scooped her into his arms so that she would sit on his lap and hugged her shocked form tightly. Chiara’s lips were still slightly parted and she was blinking just a little bit faster than usually as his words – and their new reality – sank in.

When it finally did, she wasn’t able to contain the emotions any longer.

First sob escaped her mouth, followed by another and so much more, accompanied by huge tears falling from her eyes.

Ethan gently pulled her head closer so that she was resting it against his chest and peppered her hair with soft kisses. Even though his share of tears has already been shed in a privacy of his office, feeling Chiara’s shaking body as she cried all those happy, surprised tears, he couldn’t help but cry along quietly with her.

“I am going to ruin your shirt,” Chiara mumbled against his white Oxford, noticing how her mascara stained it.

Ethan let out a quick laugh, his voice thick with emotions as he replied: “I couldn’t care less.”

After what could have been minutes or hours, they breaths steadied, however their positions haven’t changed at all.

They were both quiet for a long time and one could say that they were lost in their own thoughts when really, they were both lost in the very same thought.

Parents. They would become parents.

They talked about adoption on a regular basis at this point, both open to the idea that two or three years from now, they would go for it, that they would become parents to a kid that was left alone.

But those were talks about future. Hypothetical.

This was real. In less than a year, they would be parents to their very own newborn.

“Are you happy?” Chiara whispered, looking up at him with a gentle smile on her lips.

Ethan kissed her forehead before responding.

“I can’t imagine being happier.”

Biting her lower lip, Chiara asked again: “Are you also a little bit…scared? Because I am.”

Laughing loudly at the adorable confession, Ethan nodded: “God, I am terrified. Being a father, that brings so many possibilities to screw it up.”

Chiara cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss, their first real, deep kiss that day and as his tender lips moved over hers, she knew that there would be no better father for her child than Ethan Ramsey.

One of the perks of being in her sixth month of pregnancy was the fact that her belly could easily serve as a tiny tea table. Right now, a large bowl of popcorn was sitting on her rounded torso as she was sitting on Bryce’s couch.

“The poor kid,” Bryce muttered as he noticed.

It was another Bryce & Chiara movies Wednesday, a habit that started even before Chiara and Ethan got together and carried on through the years.

With her third trimester slowly approaching, Chiara has been even more insistent on attending those, knowing that once she would give birth, they wouldn’t be able to watch a whole movie in one sitting.

“How is Ramsey? I haven’t seen him in the hospital this week,” Bryce asked as he put a glass of water in front of Chiara and played with a remote control to find the movie on Netflix.

“He’s busy with paperwork, so he mostly stays in his office these days,” Chiara explained. “Other than that, he has read two books about child’s development this week, so I guess everything’s as usual.”

Bryce laughed loudly and just before he pushed the ‘play’ button, he turned to Chiara: “Do you remember when you told me about not being able to have kids all those years ago?”

Chiara nodded, that day somehow still fresh in her mind.

“I told you back then, that you only had to find someone whose sperms will be stubborn enough to beat your own stubborn immune system, remember? Well, I was damn right,” he grinned smugly, earning a popcorn thrown into his head from Chiara.

On the other side of Boston, Ethan and Naveen just finished their meals and moved into the living room, glasses of scotch in their hands.

A comfortable silence accompanied them, their talks about work already finished.

Taking a few gulps of his drink, Ethan leaned into a couch with a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s going to be a girl,” he let out finally, his soft smile soon turning into a wide, happy one.

They only found out yesterday. Ever since beginning of the pregnancy, they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to know the gender of the baby or not. After long discussions – and Sienna’s suggestion that they should do a blood tests that would reveal the gender, give the results to her without looking at them so that she could organize a baby gender reveal party – they came to the agreement that they would only find out if the ultrasound would show it. And yesterday, in Chiara’s 25th week of pregnancy, the doctor informed them that their ‘princess’ is growing beautifully.

Neither Chiara nor Ethan wanted any kind of baby party organized – much to Sienna’s disappointment. This pregnancy – most likely the only one they would ever get to experience – has been such precious, sacred thing to them that they tried to keep everything as private as possible. They found joy in their bubble of emotions only two people who never believed would be this lucky could feel.

“A girl!” Naveen clasped his hands together and beamed even brighter than Ethan. “A granddaughter!”

Ethan nodded, the warmth in his chest expanding even more at Naveen’s words.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” he asked, his curious nature not letting him keep the question to himself.

Shaking his head this time, Ethan said: “Since the beginning, we’ve known that if it was a boy, he would be named Dorian after Chiara’s father. There have been some ideas about girls name, but nothing seemed right so far.”

The first idea they both had was Dolores. It came naturally to Ethan, knowing that she named her son after him and that his friend’s name deserved to be celebrated. Still, he didn’t want to be reminded of the tragedy every time he would talk to his daughter. Chiara has been very supportive about the name Dolores, knowing better than anyone what it felt like to want to name her child after someone important to her. But she never insisted. She could tell that simply thinking about Dolores Hudson made Ethan’s heart ache and she would never push the name on him.

“You seem lost in your thoughts,” Naveen commented. “Are you worried that your daughter will inherit your insufferable stubbornness?”

Ethan laughed at that, raising an eyebrow at his mentor and his friend.

“As if you didn’t know Chiara. The kid is going to be insufferably stubborn no matter who she takes after.”

The truth was, he did wish their daughter would take after Chiara. The idea of raising his own little self terrified him more than he would ever admit and on the other hand, the idea of having someone else as bright as Chiara in his life made his heart happy.

“Well, no matter who she takes after, it’s safe to say that she will be a strong girl,” Naveen smiled, raising his glass. “Beating all those odds and finding her way into your life, she is already a bigger rebel than any of us. She will be a warrior and a mighty one, I am telling you.”

When Chiara returned home, she found Ethan deep in a research on his laptop.

He registered her presence only when she sat down next to him, taking a glance on the screen only to find yet another study about children.

“Hey,” he kissed her cheek and closed the laptop. “Did you have a good time?”

She laid down, putting her head into his lap. “The movie was terrible. I could feel my braincells leave my body. Other than that, yeah, it’s been great. Bryce is so excited about being an uncle to the ‘little queenie’. He said, to quote him, that he will make sure she sees him as an example of how gentlemen should treat their ladies, so that when she is dating she doesn’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“That’s really… nice of him. Thoughtful,” Ethan nodded; however, his furrowed brows didn’t quite match the words. “I don’t think we need to talk about dating just yet, though.”

Of course he will be that kind of a father, Chiara thought, laughing.

“What were you reading about?” she decided to change the topic.

“Oh, I’ve been looking up baby carriers online and so I decided to read some articles and studies about them.”

“Baby carriers, huh? I never took you for someone who would want that.”

Ethan shrugged, fighting the temptation to read her all those articles. Instead, he went with simply pointing some interesting information.

“It helps to build a healthy attachment between a child and their parent. You know, you are carrying her in your body for nine months, you have a possibility of breastfeeding, you two are naturally connected. As a father, I would like to… increase my chances of bonding with my child properly,” he swallowed harder that he wanted, hoping that Chiara didn’t notice just how nervous about this whole attachment thing he’s become.

He was so excited to meet their daughter, to hold her in his arms, it sometimes surprised even him.

But there was another part of him. The one that constantly doubted his ability to be a good father. For such a long time he didn’t believe that he could ever find himself in the role of a parent and he got used to the idea, no matter how painful. He used to remind himself that it would be for the best if he never had them, that as a man unworthy of his mother’s love, he wouldn’t know how to be the parent his children deserved.

Everything has changed with Chiara in his life and now he was about to become a father. And he was scared that it would be the one task he would fail. He tried his best to be prepared – reading books and studies and articles, watching videos on how to bath a newborn and taking notes about how many layers of clothing was suitable for various temperatures. He made arrangements with Naveen and his team so that everyone knew that he would be stepping down as a head of diagnostics once the baby is born, with Aurora becoming the director of the team.

For more than fifteen years, he’s been building his career and he’s been proud of what he achieved. But there was no feeling connected with his career that would make him as proud as the idea of being a decent father.

“According to these studies, the position they are in while in a carrier helps the newborns with their colics and also there are children that don’t like being in a stroller and the carrier helps them to fall asleep.”

Chiara nodded, noticing absolutely clearly how nervous and overwhelmed Ethan was. She also knew why, even though he would never share his concerns with her.

“I kind of believe that. When I was born, I was the perfect baby. You know, the kid that everyone envied when my parents talked about me. I slept most of the day and then the whole night, I never cried, I smiled at everyone. My parents would joke that sometimes they forgot they had me. And Liam was very similar from what I can remember – and what my mother told me. He was such a cutie and even if he couldn’t fall asleep or calm down, a little bit of bouncing in a stroller and he would be fine,” she laughed softly as she was reaching the end – and the point – of her monologue. “My parents were so proud. They always said that they could only create the good sleepers that never cry. Probably encouraged by the belief, they decided to have a third child and God, Alicia was such a difficult baby. She would always cry and never sleep. The only thing that calmed her down enough to sleep was when someone carried her in their arms and walked around the house – so that’s what my parents did. All the time. Sometimes, when they’ve gotten too tired or needed to do something, they would put her into my arms – let me remind you that I was seven – and I would be in charge of walking around the house. I bet they would appreciate the baby carrier back then.”

Ethan chuckled softly while stroking Chiara’s wild hair and after a while decided to tell her the real reason he even browsed the internet this evening.

“I might have found a name.”

After Naveen left, something he’s said resonated with Ethan.

‘She will be a warrior and a mighty one.’

Ethan never cared about meanings of names, he didn’t even know the meaning of his own name until this evening. And yet, despite his best principles, he decided to search girls names that meant warrior or ‘strong, mighty’.

And he found it.

Mighty in battle.

It clicked.

“What name do you have in mind?” Chiara asked.

“Matilda.”

Chiara didn’t even try to suppress her surprise, expecting anything but Matilda. What surprised her even more, she loved it on the first hearing. It indeed was the one.

“I have also thought about the name a little bit,” she admitted. “I found one that I would love to be a second name for her.”

Nodding, Ethan encouraged her to spill it.

“Nekane.”

“Nekane? I have never heard of it.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Chiara smirked. “It’s the Basque form for Dolores. And you know, since now we know for sure that our daughter has been conceived in Spain, I think it would be rather fitting. It would still carry the honor of Dolores, just in a different form.”

Matilda Nekane Ramsey.

They both loved the sound of that.

It sounded like their daughter.

After sharing another silent moment full of love, peace and understanding, Chiara decided to go to bed and Ethan promised to follow her as soon as he’d finish the study.

When Ethan stepped into their bedroom, Chiara was already asleep, lying on her right side. Climbing to the bed, he laid down on his left side so that he could face her. Suddenly, not knowing how the idea has gotten into him, he was shifting down slightly until he reached her round stomach.

Moving the fabric of her cotton shirt higher, he put his hand over her belly and did something he had never done before.

“Hello, Matilda,” he whispered nervously. “This is Ethan speaking. Your father. Or your dad, as you will probably call me. We have never really talked before but the annoying knocking you hear sometimes, that’s me stroking your mom’s bump.”

He paused for a while, composing his thoughts.

“I am sincerely scared about how this whole father thing is going to work for me, but I promise you as I am trying and I will by trying for the rest of my life. I have done a lot of bad things in my life, Matilda and I can’t take them back. They are part of who I am. But looking at your mother and thinking about you makes me realize that both of you are part of who I am too. And I don’t know in which point of my life the universe decided that I have shared enough kindness to earn your presence but I must have done something right to deserve you in my life, right?”

Kissing the skin of Chiara’s stomach, he added: “I just really hope you inherit your mother’s patience and kindness so that you will forgive me every time I fuck things up.”

Biting his lip, he grinned to himself before saying one last thing to his Matilda.

“Please don’t tell your mom I said ‘fuck’, she would be furious.”

*** *** ***

1) as someone who is mother herself, I realize that topics of pregnancy, infertility issues, children in general are extremely sensitive - in this particular fanfiction, Chiara has gotten pregnant against the odds while on vacation. PLEASE note that I, by no means, am trying to say that if you are suffering from fertility issues, taking a vacation/reducing stress/changing the environment would definitely help you. There are some cases /that I know of/ in which it did help, however I would never dare to say that it’s the solution. I just need to make sure that I acknowledge how difficult and sensitive the topic is.

2) I really, really wanted to write a pregnancy fic, I had this idea in my head for very, very long time. However, I also absolutely love the idea of Ethan and Chiara adopting a child (I think especially Ethan would be fond of it, since he knows what it feels like to grow up without a parent) and so here is a little HC for after this story - Matilda is indeed the ‘miracle’ and their only biological child and when she is around six years old, Ethan and Chiara decide to adopt ophraned twin girls Luna and Siria. Purposefully girls, because I can see Ethan not trusting women after his mother leaves him and feeling like no woman could ever love him truly and boom suddenly there are four women in his life that love him more than life itself and he is proven wrong every day.

3) the story about the name Matilda is so funny/tragic that I have to write about it - I love the name, always loved and believed that I would name my daughter Matilda one day. My man hates the name so it’s off the table and I always knew that little Ramsey would be named Matilda to pursue my dream at least fictionally. When I was looking for some photos at David Gandy’s IG, I found out that his very own daughter is named Matilda. Whoa. Then, I was on a search for a faceclaim for Chiara and boom - the girl is named Matilda. Ooops. And only when this fic was finished and I googled the name Matilda for some reason, I found out that there is kinda popular person named Matilda Ramsay and I was just like okay screw this. But I couldn’t bring myself to change the name, so here it is. Sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @takemyopenheart @maurine07 @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee @udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @ohchoices @adrex04 @queencarb @archxxronrookie @choicesfan10 @whatchique @drariellevalentine @gryffindordaughterofathena @mvalentine @doilooklikeiknow @custaroonie @secretwolfdreamertree @jamespotterthefirst

#also I could've named the fic COUCH #since 90% of the story happens on some #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction

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morgwensolsticefest · 3 years

Text

Morgwen Solstice Winter 2020 Masterpost

Thank you everyone for a lovely fest and for participating in the first Morgwen Solstice fest! Authors have been revealed and the full list of fics can be found below or in the Ao3 Collection! :)

Title: every word I say is kindling by lordvoldemortsnipple

Recipient: Sable_Nakahara (@sable-nakahara)

Rating: G | Warnings: No archive warnings apply | Medium: Fanart

Summary:

A knight, a princess, and a sword laid to rest.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718958

⚔️

Title: all of my truths by greenforsnow

Recipient: Trojie ( @trojieface)

Rating: T | Warnings: No archive warnings apply | Word Count: 4,227

Summary:

Morgana and Gwen encounter the unicorn from The Labyrinth of Gedref

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006903

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Title: Happiness Is a Butterfly by SlantedKnitting

Recipient: Polomonkey ( @thepolomonkey)

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: none | Word Count: 17,245

Summary:

It’s time for Camelot’s hottest nightclub to host its annual couples contest. This year, Morgana and Gwen are competing, and Morgana is determined to win—and beat last year’s champions—at any cost.

Notes: Thank you to Polomonkey for the incredible prompt, and thanks to the mods for running this fest!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997894

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Title: when the hairpins start to drop by Trojie

Recipient: Morgwen Solstice Community

Rating: M | Warnings: None | Word Count: 1,729

Summary:

There are the unwritten rules of society, and then there are the things Morgana does. Gwen tries her best to skirt the edges of the inherent problem, but her mistress is never one to let things just be.

Notes: title from Lorde's 'White Teeth Teens'. Beta-read by the incomparable kickflaw.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907441

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Title: my hardest goodbye by TheDragon

Recipient: Morgwen Solstice Community

Rating: E | Warnings: n/a | Word Count: 3,127

Summary:

"Morgana?" Gwen asks, bringing one hand to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. She's even more beautiful now than she was when they were both back at school. "H—how…?" "Gwen," Morgana replies, struggling to keep her voice steady. The feelings she'd tried so hard to rid herself of all those years ago rise to the fore, refusing to be held back any longer. "I can't believe my eyes," Gwen breathes.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068049

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Title: With Eyes Wide Open (A Tragedy in Three Acts) by queerofthedagger

Recipient: Atlanta_Black ( @atlantablack)

Rating: Mature | Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Word Count: 18,200

Summary:

Everyone has a breaking point, and Morgana has always known all too well how to find each and every one of Gwen's. The enchantment Morgana tries to weave in the dark tower does not work as intended, not entirely. It's in the aftermath, though, that Gwen has to make a row of hard choices; where she has to decide for herself what she wants and what she needs. It's not easy, and they might not end up being the right decisions, but for once they are all hers and maybe that's all that matters. A story of grief, rage, (the absence of) forgiveness, and loving someone who is still alive but does not exist anymore. Of maybe taking a wrong turn that leads to the right destination.

Notes: Please mind the tags!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30100563/chapters/74138448

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Title: You Cheer Me Up by Sable_Nakahara

Recipient: TheDragon ( @lair-of-the-dragon)

Rating: Not Rated | Warnings: no archive warnings apply | Word Count: 1,896

Summary:

Gwen’s been enamored with Morgana for about as long as she can remember. Today, she’s decided, is the day she will tell her. But will she have the nerve? And how do you court a royal lady anyhow? Or in other words: Gwen brings Morgana flowers and feelings are revealed.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033372

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Title: Let My Hope Grow Cold by elissastillstands

Recipient: queerofthedagger ( @queerofthedagger)

Rating: G | Warnings: N/A | Medium: Art

Summary:

Come, my dear, and be a part of my home / Missing stitch and flowers on a headstone. Gwen and Morgana, the past they shared, and the present they chose. Lyrics from "October" by The Crane Wives.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768025

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Title: this graveyard of forgotten love by Atlanta_Black

Recipient: elissastillstands ( @elissastillstands)

Rating: Mature | Warnings: Creator Chose to Not Use Archive Warnings | Word Count: 10,840

Summary:

"Gently, she leads you out into the darkness / and makes you drink rain." -Patricia Smith, from "Prologue --And Then She Owns You,"

☀︎

Gwen has never fully managed to shake her love for the lady who had once sworn to keep her safe. Now locked in a tower by that same lady, she must face a truth she's long kept buried (even from herself).

An exploration of grief, anger, and the inability to let go of someone you once loved (even when you should).

Notes: This is for the lovely elissastillstands and I dearly hope you enjoy it! I hope I crafted a Gwen that's similar to the way you envision her!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107856

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Title: Flirting With Disaster by Polomonkey

Recipient: TheLastLonelyWriter ( @thelastlonelywriter)

Rating: Teen | Warnings: None | Word Count: 2,055

Summary:

No matter what anyone said, Gwen was not a gay disaster. A movie night at Morgana's might prove her wrong.

Notes: TheLastLonelyWriter, thank you so much for your lovely prompts, I really hope you like it <3 Somehow Morgana ended up very eccentric in this, I hope that's okay!

Impossibly huge thanks to the mods for their patience while I was being a disaster all of my own, and thank you so much for running this wonderful fest!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30193737

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Title: Letting Go (I Want You Closer) by queerofthedagger

Recipient: @lordvoldemortsnipple

Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings: None | Word Count: 2,400

Summary:

Morgana swallows. Tells herself that the sudden shortness of air is nothing but the exertion after a long winter and tries to find the right words. Tries to find the sentences to relieve Gwen of her worry without interfering, without letting her own damned feelings get in the way of Gwen’s happiness.

“Morgana,” Gwen says, soft and pleading, even as her blow is strong enough to reverberate up Morgana’s arm.

---

Gwen has been spending more time with Arthur, and it's fine. Really, it is. Morgana stays silent, and gives Gwen space, and tells herself that seeing Gwen happy is more than enough. Gwen's not ready to let her go so easily though, and a sparring match might bring more than one secret to light.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30228252#main

⚔️

Title: Did My Heart Love Till Now? (I Never Saw True Beauty Till This Night) by TheLastLonelyWriter

Recipient: SlantedKnitting

Rating: General Audiences | Warnings: None Apply | Word Count: 22,622

Summary:

Gwen thought maybe the best day of her life was finding out that she had gotten the job working for the Camelot Ballet. Or maybe when she found out that Morgana Pendragon-De Bois was dancing there. As it turned out, the best day of Gwen's life would be the day that Morgana finally kissed her.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30030675/chapters/73946865

⚔️

Title: a cage of their own making by Atlanta_Black

Recipient: greenforsnow

Rating: Gen | Warnings: no archive warnings apply | Word Count: 1,519

Summary:

Gwen supposes, in retrospect, she should have guessed that Morgana also remembered (remembered it all, the castles, the betrayals, the beginning, the end, everything in between).

But she had not and now they're here, Morgana once again turning her back on her Gwen.

☀︎

Gwen won't give her up as easily this time.

Notes: This is for the lovely greenforsnow <3 This is my first time writing a modern setting or reincarnation setting for this fandom, but I really did enjoy writing this! I hope you enjoy it <3

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30245478

⚔️

Title: Giants of Albion by lordvoldemortsnipple

Recipient: Trojie ( @trojieface)

Rating: G | Warnings: None | Medium: Fanart

Summary:

Giant of Albion's third album 'Avalon on the Horizon' was a hit, and the band prepares for another show.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797210

#morgwen solstice #the morgwen solstice fest

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skippyv20 · 4 years

Text

🍁🍁🍁🌳🌳🌳🍁🍁🍁SANDRINGHAM ANON AND PG 🍁🍁🍁🌳🌳🌳🍁🍁🍁

SANDRINGHAM ANON 🍁🍁🍁🌳🌳🌳🍁🍁🍁…… “C’mon Sydney old chappie a final spin around the estate in the Discovery before herself is up and about “ …” I take it your driving sir” … “ just a little Sydney “ … “ Oooo Dear” …… “ a lovely spin Sydney, look at all the beautiful colours “ …… “WATCH OUT SIR, Ahhhhhhh” … “ O shit Sydney, I’m in a ditch” …… “ and guess who’s coming up behind us in the Lone Ranger, Herself sir” …… “ bugger,bloody bugger Sydney, we’ve had it”. … “ indubitably sir”.

Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Saturday October 17/20

I don’t know when PG can get to this…..she isn’t able to log in on Tumblr….😔

🍁🍁🍁🌳🌳🌳🍁🍁🍁 THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH DEAR SANDRINGHAM ANON 🍁🍁🍁🌳🌳🌳🍁🍁🍁

October 17/2020

VIGNETTE #15

MY TUMBLR AND IPAD HAVE BEEN FREEZING AND IT IS GETTING WORSE. I AM TECHLESS USELESS🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. THE PATIENCE OF JOB HAS BEEN REQUIRED. I THINK GOD WAS TELLING ME LAST NIGHT I HAD DONE TOO MUCH ESPECIALLY ONLINE FOR HOURS! I HAD THE BEST DAY YESTERDAY IN A VERY LONG TIME. I ACTUALLY WAS ABLE TO DO STUFF AROUND MY HOUSE......🥰🥰🥰 ANYHOW OFF TO BEDFORDSHIRE I GO, TO WRITE ALL YOU VERY SPECIAL READERS A LITTLE STORY.

Just another regular morning ☀️on Wood Farm or not!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂Moaning 😫😫😫and groaning 😖😖😖😖aaaaaaahh, ooooo oooh, 🤢🤢🤢aaaaaaah, muttering 🤬🤬🤬that’s what Sydney hears👂 just as he is about to knock on the door 🚪 and say good morning ☀️.Now Sydney knows EXACTLY! what the moaning 😫and groaning 😖is about because his own morning ☀️ began the exact same way. Both of them are suffering the morning ☀️ after the night 🌙 before effects. Some people would go for more ‘hair of the dog’, so to speak, ie more ‘refreshments’ but not these two. There are adventures planned today!!😁😁😁😁😁Herself is at Windsor and the gents are batching it!!🥳🥳🥳😁😁😁😁Sydney quietly knocks on the door 🚪, saying good morning ☀️ Sir. Himself responds, stop bloody yelling Sydney, oh my head, my head, oh my head is killing me. Sir, on a tray all ready, two paracetamol 💊 💊 and orange 🍊 juice, take this Sir. Himself does so without comment. Slowly, Himself prepares for the day, dressing in fine outdoor kit! Perfect for a day out in the British 🇬🇧jungle 😁😁😁🤣🤣🤣😂😂��🐍🐢🦟🦗🕷🕸🐌🐞🐜🐝🐥🦊🐰🐭🐱🐶🦄🦄🦄🦉🦅🦆🐸🐷🐮🐏🐑🐂🐄🐎🦌🐐🐈🐈🐕‍🦺🦮🐩🐕🐓🦃🦚🦢🦨🦝🐇🕊🦡🐿🦔🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥 these are all the things that can be found in the British jungle! Now you will notice I have put sloths 🦥, there because I have it on good authority aka l think it was in the express.co.uk, that her Majesty has her own sloth 🦥! So I am including my favourite animal in the British 🇬🇧 jungle hinterland! 🌳🌴🌺🌸🌼🌻🌹🍁🍂🍃🌾🍀☘️🌿🌱🌳🍃🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. Sir, breakfast ☕️ 🥞 🍳 is ready, Himself says, l will be there presently Sydney. Sydney replies, indubitably Sir and exits the room. By the time Himself reaches the breakfast 🍳 ☕️ 🥞 table he is actually quite hungry. The grumpy mood has disappeared and he says to Sydney, the start of a day in action, one first needs a good healthy breakfast ☕️ 🍳 🥞. Nothing like a good English 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 breakfast eh Sydney good old fry-up! Oh fried eggs 🍳 sausages, back 🥓 bacon, 🍅 tomatoes, mushrooms 🍄 , fried bread 🍞 and black pudding, buttered toastand a stiff hot cuppa ☕️. Himself’s breakfast today also includes baked beans, and hash browns. Eating heartily Sir, Sydney comments, amazed at his breakfast! Himself replies, oh good hot stiff cuppa ☕️ does the heart good and the body as well I would say! Yep it does the trick Sydney! Now I’m in fighting form to face the jungle! Sydney, 🧐confused, repeats questionably, the jungle Sir? Himself says, yes, Sydney, tapping his four fingers, two index fingers and two middle fingers tapping his tummy, now very full, as he speaks. We have become very familiar by now of this charming habit of his. Yes Sydney , we are going as the Yanks say, ‘off-roading’ in the great British 🇬🇧jungle hinterland exploring today!😁😁😁😁 Sydney, still feeling quite ‘affected’ 🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂from the effects of the night before and refreshments 🥃 🍻 🍺 🍸, says, “WE”, Sir? WE are going off-roading Sir? Sir, very hesitant nigh afraid to ask, pray tell Sir, what is off-roading? Oh course Sydney have a little adventure in your life, let loose! We are free men, we can do as we please!. Go get changed Sydney and meet me out at the Discovery! Sydney comes out and there is Himself, in the driver side so Sydney gets into the passenger side, buckles himself in and Himself says are you ready for some fun Sydney?? Sydney 🥺🥺🥺is trembling , saying Sir l am as as ready as I shall ever be, I suppose! C’mon Sydney old chappie, let’s have us a final spin around the estate in the Discovery before Herself is up and about!! Sydney, resolutely now knowing the plan says, I take it your driving Sir?? Oh Sydney, a wee while, just a little Sydney. It’s all good Sydney it’s all good ,no one else is out and about at this time and we are just going to look at nature don’t you be worrying I am in full control! Sydney says, Oooo Dear, that’s exactly what makes my queasy tummy queasier. He dares to speak further, Sir I am badly feeling the effects of last night. I am not certain a drive in the jungle is in the cards for me today. Inside he’s thinking,please let him tell me to go inside. Everybody knows how bad being in a vehicle is when you’re feeling physically sick,especially in the passenger seat oh I feel for him. Now we know Sydney would never leave Himself alone, EVER!! Himself says buck up old chap! You’re made a good old English 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿stock you’re not going to let a little queasy tummy spoil our fun are you? Just a lovely spin Sydney, look at all the beautiful autumnal colours 🍁🍂🌾 🎃🦃🎃🌾🍂🍁🍂🌾🎃🦃🎃🌾🍂🍁🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 and off they go with a loud rush of the engine. Up and down through hill and vale or is it dale?😜😜😝😝 all over the estate, Himself and Sydney are having an EPIC time. All the beautiful autumnal colours 🍁🍂🌾🎃🦃🎃🌾🍂🍁and the nature 🍂🍁🌾🍂🦃🎃🍂🌾🍁the animals 🦆🦆🦆🦌🦌🦌🦌🐿🐿🐿🐿🐿🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🦨🦨🦨🦝🦝🦝🦢🦢🦢🦢🐑🐏🐏🐑they see and just the feeling of freedom of having your hands on the wheel and the wind blowing in your hair, or what hair one has left😮😮😮😮🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂!!! Oh they’re driving along and just so enamoured with all the sites they are seeing and all of a sudden a great big buck 🦌appears right in the middle of their path! Sydney screams, WATCH OUT SIR, Ahhhhhhh!!!! Oh thank goodness they manage to avoid hitting the buck 🦌 but they’ve got a little problem now! Himself yells, O shite, Sydney, I’m in a ditch. Sydney, without saying it aloud, is thinking Sir, it’s not just you in the stuck ditch, it is also me and the Discovery! They thought things were as bad as they could be, but more trouble arrives! This time Sydney does not keep it to himself he says oh Sir! Oh Sir!! Guess who is coming up behind us in the Lone Ranger?? It is Herself Sir!!!🥺🥺😲😲😲😲🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 himself knows when to admit defeat, and says bugger,bloody bugger Sydney, we’ve had it!! Sydney softly replies, indubitably Sir………….to be continued………..

DONE WITH COMPLETE LOVE AND RESPECT FOR HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN AND HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE PHILIP THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH 💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦 🇬🇧 🇦🇺 🇳🇿

Entertainment Purposes

Wonderful.....oh dear Sydney...thank you PG..💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

#Ask Skippy #submission

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amymel86 · 4 years

Text

Inspired by this post

A while ago I made @vivilove-jonsa a promise - that I wouldn’t post anything new (bar my drabble event entries) until I’d finished Redamancy. I could work on new things - but not post.

So here’s my chance to sort of cheat (Ssshhh! No one tell Vivi!)

This is a kind of modern post-apocalyptic ish au (and is currently untitled) - basically a couple of decades after a global pandemic, the majority of the world’s female population is left infertile and the government are providing incentives and schemes to try and boost the efforts to repopulate.

Guess which girl is left fertile?? (I know, I know, predictable, right? I don’t even care - I’m having fun)

You’ll see this is very rough - there’s notes in there for myself where I’ve not made up my mind about stuff - even stuff that’s already there may well get changed.

But I’d like to share some of what I have already if you guys don’t mind (and Vivi doesn’t kill me)...

I’d also like to invite other authors to share some of their WIP!

“They’re offering money now,” Anya’s plummy whisper carried through from the kitchen. Sansa paused. She’d been getting ready for hers and Harry’s night out - one of many, but she loved them. She adored the heady buzz of her dirty margaritas and the belly-warming glow she felt when Harry would keep her close, proud to have her on his arm. Sansa found that she craved distractions and her well-to-do boyfriend certainly was that. “There’s a whole package of incentives, Harry, you really should consider it.”

With fingers rolling the cut jet beads of her long-looped necklace, Sansa hovers between seconds, waiting to hear Harry’s answer. She’d asked him before; about having a baby. The new normal is not having to worry about all that – or worrying far too much.

Just over a decade ago, the highly contagious disease, [[NAME DISEASE]] spread its vicious reach throughout the population of Westeros; a disease that the infected had a coin’s toss chance of surviving, but left a staggering amount of surviving women barren. Left in the virus’s wake, there were also women like Sansa – anomalies. With seemingly no medical explanation, the [[disease name]] allowed them to keep hold of both their lives, and their ability to reproduce.

Sansa had thought, what with her having the rare ability to give Harry children, he would have been enthused by the idea when she’d broached the subject. Instead, he’d brushed it aside, seemingly uninterested.

And now his mother is getting involved. Anya Waynwood; a greying woman whose age has left her no less formidable both on a personable level and on a business one. Sansa knows this since she works directly under her at Waynwood’s Estates and Lettings.

“Think of it,” Anya whispers, filling the silence, “a baby of your own, with beautiful sandy hair and chubby cheeks. Just like you. You were such a happy babe.”

“Mother,” Harry starts. Sansa can hear him place his beer bottle down on the polished marble kitchen island. She begins to worry her lip as she listens. “Just because Sansa’s a peach, it doesn’t mean we’re going to have a baby.” She winced at that. ‘A peach’ – it’s not quite a derogatory term for a woman like her – a fertile, but it’s not considered polite either. Still, it’s better than when creeps find out what she is and start to tell her she’s ‘ripe for the plucking’... she supposes. She’s a novelty to them – her and women like her. They’re the kind of guys that search that subsection of illegal porn dedicated to the genre of ‘peaches’ for filthy connoisseurs with a breeding kink.

Harry’s not like that. He’s always been careful when they were intimate... well... he’s always finished in a way that would be biologically impossible to result in a pregnancy anyway. And... he cares for her... doesn’t he?

The thing is, Sansa really would like to have a child. The gods allowed her that ability for some reason, surely? Having a child might bring a sorely missed smile to her mother’s face – a smile that hasn’t really appeared since the virus took father and Robb away. They could bundle up their precious babe and take a trip up north to Winterfell and-

“I don’t even like children,” Harry continued, making Sansa frown. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw anyone under the age of... I don’t know... sixteen? I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby.”

“Well, that’s what Sansa’s for.”

Sansa rolled her eyes so hard they hurt. She’s tempted to go out there and show her face so that this conversation can peter off into the silence that that particular comment deserves. She could picture Anya’s expression perfectly during her next words; brows raised in expectancy, a devious twinkle in her eye and her coral pink painted lips twitching upward in a smirk.

“The government are offering a 15k incentive for the first baby, and all medical bills taken care of. There’s even talk of a new housing development especially for breeders. Now doesn’t that sound like it’s worth considering?”

Urgh. ‘Breeders’. Sansa hates that one too. There’s been rumours of these ‘repopulation incentive packages’, but she hadn’t realised they’d be so... generous. If-... if Harry’s convinced then she could send some extra money up to her mother for Bran’s chair – might even be able to get some to Arya wherever she is, off backpacking, living from youth hostel to youth hostel.

“Mum,” Harry lowers his voice, the deep timbre of it only just making it to Sansa’s ears. She moves closer to the bedroom door, tilting her head as if that would help her hear better. “I... I can’t.”

“Nonsense, of course-“

“No, Mum. I can’t. I can’t have children. I’ve been tested.”

Sansa’s heart thumpity-thumped against her ribs. She’s not meant to be hearing this... and yet at the same time, she feels like she should be hearing this.

Anya sounded aghast. “What do you mean? Of course you can have children!”

“You remember Cissy and Saffron?”

Harry’s exes. But he’d said that Sansa was his first girlfriend who was also a fertile so why-

“Your other peaches? Yes.”

Oh.... Oh no.

“Well it wasn’t like I was careful with them. It never happened because it can’t. I can’t... It just... never happened and so I got tested and I’m... I’m okay with never having kids.”

Sansa’s gut started to roll.

Where was that damned dirty margarita?

***

“And what’s your marital status, dear?” the older woman asked over her wire-rimmed glasses.

Sansa swallowed. “Single.” It hadn’t taken long for her to come to the conclusion that Harry was no different than all the others. She, as ‘his peach’ was purely a status symbol to hang on his arm. Oh, she could kick herself now for all the times she enjoyed his attentions and how he loved to show her off. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Harry didn’t care about her. He didn’t see a future with her. All he cared about was his own significance and status. But, of course, as soon as she’d broken things off with her darling son, Anya had made her working life a living hell. Sansa needed more options but she knows Anya is loathed to give her a good job reference and she’s hardly qualified for anything above partying her life away to distract herself and minimum wage. She can’t afford to stop sending her mum money for her medication, and Bran needed his physiotherapy sessions and a new chair. All the equations point towards sticking it out at Waynwood Estates but -

“A pretty thing like you? That is surprising!” the woman – a Mrs S Mordane as per the name plate on her desk – says with a small smile.

Sansa shrugs, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty of the failings of her love-life – and especially not with a stranger in a little cubicle at The Vale Council Offices. She clears her throat. “I-I heard there was some sort of matching service?”

The woman’s eyes light up behind her spectacles. “Oh, yes. Is that something you’re interested in?”

Well, she needed to do something.

“I... I don’t know. Can you tell me more?”

A bundle of leaflets were handed over to Sansa before Mrs Mordane tap-tapped on her computer to print out even more information for her. “We have a whole host of potentially lucky fellas for you to choose from. They’ve all been extensively quizzed and along with the answers from your questionnaire –“ she paused, nodding her head towards the handful of papers now in Sansa’s grasp, “ – we’ll be able to narrow down who might be best suited for you.”

Sansa’s eyes fell to the leaflet on top. There was a photograph of a smiling, gummy baby. “A-and then what?”

***

“That fucking dipshit crook! I’m gonna fucking kill him the next time he’s at Hobb’s I’ll-“

Jon opened his trailer door with a creak and a slam to see what all the racket was about. It was Mance, of course. No one else ‘round here for miles anyhow. He squints his one good eye at the sun reflecting off the sandy dirt that led up to Mance’s farmhouse.

“I’ll kill ‘im, Jon! I will!” the man exclaimed when he’d caught sight of him, right before he kicked up some of the dust beneath his tattered leather boots.

Leaning his shoulder against the door frame, Jon smirked as his sight adjusted to the blinding sun. “Who you killin’ this time old man?”

“That damn bastard Slynt, that’s who!”

Jon straightened. Slynt owned a chain of used car lots in the area. His branches in the two nearest towns always sent cars for fixing straight to him and Mance. It was a slow but steady influx of work and meant that Mance could afford to keep his property and his land from falling into the hands of the tax man – which also meant Jon could continue to live there too; in his trailer parked up beside the farmhouse.

They really needed those cars to fix.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. ‘Shit’ is ‘bout right, boy.”

***

It didn’t take too long for Mance to come and find him later that day. Normally, unless they’re working on a vehicle together, Mance leaves him well enough alone until dinner time which suits Jon just fine. But here he is peering into the old barn, finding Jon working on the project he has going for himself. The old man had told him not to purchase it – the broken down compact utility tractor – but they’d been visiting a farm closure auction for possible parts and Jon fancied himself to be able to fix up the piece of machinery and sell it on. Turns out, it needs more parts replacing to get it going than he’d originally anticipated, but Jon was nothing but determined to make this baby purr into life again. Jon straightened, wiping his oily hands in an old rag while his one good eye followed Mance as he approached.

“I been thinkin’.”

Jon snorted quietly.

Mance ignored him. “With what we got in the bank, those council folk will be sniffin’ ‘round here, comin’ to take my land from me in little more than 4 months – 6 tops.”

Fuck. OK, he knew they’d needed Slynt’s cars but he hadn’t known it was this dyer. He felt his tongue roll around his mouth as though he could find a solution between his teeth. “We need more cars to fix.” Mance pierced him with a ‘no shit, dumbass’ kind of look making Jon sigh. “We can go into town, post flyers, fix folk’s cars up ready for their M.O.Ts, fuckin’ clean and polish ‘em too if it comes to that.”

“[[INSERT NAME OF TOWN]] has a population of about 200, 202 if yer countin’ us. And half of ‘em are either poor as dirt or just as handy with a wrench as you an’ me. Ain’t nobody keepin’ us afloat from that town, boy.”

Jon’s gaze drifted around the dusty old barn. “We could go further afield, to [[INSERT TOWN]] or [[INSERT TOWN]], even go as far as [[INSERT TO----]]

“It’s not gonna work, Snow.”

“Well we gotta try somethin’!” Jon hollered, slamming the rusted hood of his tractor down with a loud clang. He paced away, dirty hand running through dirty hair. “What about the land?” he asked, staring at the ancient farming equipment abandoned in the corner of the barn, left unused for a few decades a least. “Your family used to farm the land. We could too.” He turned to look at Mance. Sure, they’d have to clear at least one field of decaying vehicle carcasses and other miscellaneous rusted objects, and the rest is currently being strangled by a carpet of brambles. But they could do it, couldn’t they? The Rayder’s used to be grain farmers before the land was handed down to Mance and he, already a mechanic by trade had had no love nor want to carry on the tradition.

Mance blinked at him, his lips twisting in consideration. “That would take a long time to get going, Snow. Longer than we can afford.”

Jon felt a prickle up his spine. The words ‘well have you got any smart ideas, then wise-ass?!’ right on the tip of his tongue when Mance interrupts.

“I’ve been on the phone with a woman. A woman at the council.”

Jon flung his arms into the air, giving his back to Mance while he shook his head in dismay. Great. Now they know we’re in trouble. They’ll be sniffin’ ‘round here sooner.

“She was talkin’ ‘bout a scheme,” the old man continued

“Financial aid?”

“Not exactly. You sign up for the scheme an’ if yer selected they... well, they go easy on yer for taxes an’ they give yer some money too.”

Jon turned to face him again, a furrow to his brow. “That don’t sound right. Why would they go easy on taxes and give us money? They ain’t gonna do that, old man.”

“They will if there’s gonna be a wee baby on the property.”

What?!

#Jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #wip wednesday

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doomstypewriter · 4 years

Note

ok so this is kinda out there so i totally understand if you decline this short request but: angsty, hurt no comfort, major character death moceit where janus is like 5 minutes away from being executed (i was thinking by hanging) and this is their last goodbye. it probably wouldnt come into play at all but just to be thorough: in my mind its like a vaguely fantasy 18th century setting

Hello, Anon. Thanks for the request.

I normally do not enjoy reading major character death fics, but I surely am most willing to write them.

I was sold-out on the whole fantasy18th century setting.

Did I get carried away? Well, yes.

I hope you don’t mind the piece of subversion I decided to incorporate. Also, I did indeed get carried away and wrote 1808 words for this. I have no self-control.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it!

AO3 For other requests

TW: Major character death, swearing, HEAVY angst. Really, this will not end up nicely.

Words: 1808

It is one’s duty to abide by the laws

Tap.

The tireless dripping of the filtrations in the stone cell did not stop, a repetition akin to a clock. It followed along the rhythm of the passage of each second he had left.

As expected, the dungeons stunk of humidity and other things he did not wish to dwell on. They hadn’t even allowed him the comfort of a pile of hay to lay onto. All the dirt on his left cheek stuck to his skin disgustingly, god knows how scruffy his appearance would be after a week imprisoned.

Far away, carried by the reverberation of the undergrounds, the sound of steps from upstairs reached his ears. There was a scuffle between who he deduced were four people. Two guards, and two...

“I said let me IN!”

Ah.

Two idiots. His two idiots.

“I needn’t remind you that challenging His Royal authority will wind you up where you are so adamant to give us pass to. I can begin reciting all set laws you’d be violating”.

The loudness in Logan’s voice surprised him. It was almost as if he intended for him to listen too.

A heavy door opened with a low creak. Then steps rushing down the irregular stone stairs.

“Janus!”

Oh. His heart jumped and wailed at the shadows turning the corridor. A sweetness missing from his cheery, silly, and endearing voice. His idiot.

A cloaked figure fell on his knees in front of him, yet the bars rendered him so far away. He removed his hood, and, there he was. With his curly blond hair, the freckles he’d counted so many nights and the round wire glasses he only wore in private. Patton, his lover, but, most importantly, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Ulidorean. Right behind him, as always, the royal advisor, also, his very good friend Logan Abinie.

“What are you doing here? Does His Highness fancy tainting his reputation even more? I did deny our relationship, and anything that may have involved you with this mess, dear. Skillfully so. Have you any understanding of how hard that was? Well, of course not, because here you are, definitely not ruining all of my very light efforts on keeping your reputation untarnished. Lovely”.

A pained smile graced Patton’s face, cutting him in half. He reached for the inside of the cell through the bars, to at least be able to touch him.

“I’m sure those pants are not expensive at all. Thank goodness the guards bother to keep the floors spotless” Janus said as he gave in and got closer.

Patton cupped his cheek, brushing some of the dirt away in a caress. Just as he always did.

Not this time though.

There was so much shit on Janus that not even a thousand caresses could unbury him out of the schemes that had brought him where he was. And, where was he? Oh, right, in a filthy cell, a night away from being executed. By hanging no less, and, oh, what a shame, for his windpipe looked so lovely whenever Patton pressed kisses alongside its column; but would, regardless, end up broken.

All honey in his glance dripped on Janus leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. The brightest light in the world could not afford to be drowned in such sadness.

“I’m going to save you” the whisper was so tiny he’d barely heard it.

It felt like a love confession. ‘I’ll save you, he says, when he should rather save himself from me’.

The half-born reptile looked up at the other person witnessing the prince’s lunacy.

“You, get him out of here”.

“No”.

“Great”.

His scales popped, disentangling themselves from the glamour he had cast with blood magic, costing him a cut on his fingertips. At this point, he should be able to control his emotions. But no, apparently, there was no chance that the kingdom would not see his true visage. Dignity and death did not fit in fate’s plans for him.

“How are you planning to do that exactly? Getting out of tricky situations was never your strong suit, my dear. That’s my job. And just look where it has led me. Where it has led us! You cannot ruin your chances with the crown when Earl Heeldwing and his supporters are threatening your father’s authority like they are”.

“Roman is searching for the Dragon witch” he tried to argue.

“So what? He may be your best knight, but he’s not your brightest one. Virgil is still wounded, and, without his help, he may never find the Dragon witch”.

“You are not the only draconid descendant within the kingdom, the council knows this. If we manage to apprehend the Dragon witch and get her testimony we may be able to persuade the Circle of Elders to reconsider the nature of your penalty and earn the time needed in order to prove your innocence, but first, you must--”

“Logan, goodness, I was not aware of the fact that there are many draconids in Ulidorean. Well, not that you mention that I’m sure it changes the circumstances. The Elders could not have possibly considered that! You are truly the genius everyone pegs you as”.

“Jan, trust me. Everything will be fine, just let me help you”.

“No!” he pulled apart and stood up. “Do you think I have not considered this? I made my appeal to them! I did try to persuade them and show them that I was framed! But nobody in the council believes me anymore. If the Circle of Elders are set on having my head, me, their main consul, then whichever meager testimony you find, will not make it through to a hearing! I am to be hanged by tomorrow morning. So I advise you to leave me alone and save yourselves the heartbreak!”

“I am doing my best!”

“Yes, because surely doing your best is all it takes to change the world! This ridiculous willingness to believe in the good in others. People will condemn an innocent and the world shall not move a finger to stop it. Patton, your naivety is what brought us into this situation!”

Patton struggled to keep his breath steady after that, managing only a nod in response.

“I did not mean that” Janus said as he pushed his body against the bars.

“You said it still” he stood up. “Believing that there is good in others is what brought me to believe in you”.

His chest twisted in pain when Patton pressed a kiss on his forehead and made a move to leave. Janus caught the soft hand before he never had a chance to again.

“Please”.

“Don’t be afraid, I will find a way to keep you safe, okay?”

The hand squeezed back and then let go.

Seeing the dawn one last time. Maybe, if they moved him to the carriage early enough he could watch the sunrise before it got dark for good.

The cell door opened.

A pair of handcuffs were quickly snapped closed on his wrists.

Walking through the corridors he realised. ‘I don’t want to die’.

He disentangled himself from the grip of the guards and he ran. Away, anywhere.

‘I don’t want Patton to marry a noblewoman for heirs, I want him to marry me. I don’t care about what the court thinks anymore, I could not manipulate them. I want to wake up with him. I want to still be the Elders’ consul, I want to write law, I want my books, my house, my friends… I want to live’.

One of the guards caught him. Janus was immobilised in the blink of an eye, the other guard hit him in the head and everything went black.

Not for what seemed long enough.

He woke up to the jolting of a carriage. Unexpectedly, a very nice looking carriage, rather than the disgusting ones which took the prisoners to the gallows.

What?

Impossible. Patton had made it. There was no other explanation. He… he did manage to save him! God. To hell with his views on the nonsense of the institution of marriage, he was going through that wedding Patton had always wished for.

His vision finally focused. The concussion would not heal immediately, but he would have Patton by his side.

By his side, he found Remus instead.

“Remus?”

“Hey, dragon penis. Long time no see. You got pretty roughed up in the dungeons”.

Remus by his side, and in front of him…

“Logan?”

“Ah, you’re finally awake. You might be suffering from a concussion. It would be best if you rested for now. We will wake you once we get to the border”.

“To the border?” Janus asked as he tried to sit up.

A wave of nausea filled his esophagus.

No. Not a good idea.

“Rest. We will explain in time”.

“What is going on?”

“...”

“Logan, you never keep quiet when someone asks a question, what mess…”

“I can hit him in the head again, if you want” offered Remus, not sounding as joyful as usual,

“Where’s Patton?”

With that question, the world for everybody withing the carriage suddenly stopped. Logan tensed within seconds, even Remus held his breath back. They looked at each other in a way that conveyed far too much sympathy, especially considering their personalities. An unspoken message went between the two. Janus could almost hear it. It was a ‘we have to tell him’ kind of look, was it not?

“He pleaded the principle of exchange using his royal power”.

“No”.

The principle of exchange was one of the laws introduced during the reign of Patton’s grandfather, it allowed for a person to exchange the penalty of a crime with that of a relative’s. It was intended as a way to prevent the most vulnerable members of a family to endure the hardness of a punishment they might not be able to withstand, while ensuring they received the impact of said punishment through the bond with their family.

But, for that to happen… Patton must have recognised him as his spouse. Members of the crown could not be executed for a crime, only exiled.

Then…

Oh no.

Patton walked up the wooden planks that made the stairs of the gallows. It was worth it, he told himself. He even kept on telling that to himself when the Circle of Elders encouraged him to reconsider. Janus was convicted before he had made him his husband, which means that the veto on punishment by execution on the royal family did not stand for him. His grandfather had not thought this far ahead when he wrote down the law. One may stand in the place of a relative for a crime. That applied to everybody.

Including him.

Logan and Remus would watch over Janus.

Patton smiled in spite of it all.

He did keep him safe.

...

I AM SO SORRY.

18 notes · View notes

badanimereviews · 4 years

Text

finishin’ up fall 2019 anime

ahahaha it’s almost here. new year. new anime.

let’s look at some of the best and worst from this season. well, everything i watched actually....

dr stone: if anything deserves 10/10 it’s this bitch. my inner chemistry slut has risen from the grave. this is my lifeblood. it is so good. nearing ep 17 i started reading the manga because i NEEDED more. and i haven’t read manga in like three years. i cried then at that bitchass byakuya, and dr stone’s last ep made me cry again. i’m talking more tears than the Niagara falls........ and then cried again when the second season was announced. like. if there wasn’t one i might have just gone up in flames then and there

bnha 4: i feel it’s a little more lacking then s2 or s3, maybe in action or smth but idek. i like the bit more insight and development the world is getting. also i love eri, and fat is hot (when he aint fat), also that over..load? guy is hella bae. also nighteye is actually rly cool and pls dont kill all might thats rude. also why the sudden interest in red riot like tbh i don’t rly care bout him. i want kirishima or todoroki or w/e bc they’re hot and redboy isn’t sorry. his powers suck anyhow

sao alicization 2: i think it started out better than the first season did. i needed these flashes into reality that helps show more realism, rather than just ‘ooh haha fantasy sword magic stuff’. which honestly took away from what should be a fairly severe situation. yknow. so far animation’s been steady, tho the new op is meh compared to the last ones. im not a huuge alice stan but the alice vs asuna vs the other girls is not fun, i mean it’s all asuna’s fault she could be like ‘ya i married him, dumb fucks back off’ and that’d be that but nooo it’s her fault. isn’t she dating kirito? and just letting these strange girls do this stuff to him? bruh

enen no shouboutai: very good. also 10/10. though not as 10 as dr stone. maybe more like 9/10. animation kinda decreased in quality a lil. understandably hah. warming up to the new op, i like the bit where shinra/arthur kinda fighting w each other their friendship is goals. i like all the powers. also shou is a baby boy

shinchou yuusha: the last ep twist got me fucked up. no spoilers tho. i loved all the characters, ristarte was awesome, her expressions killed me sometimes like same girl same. yuusha-san was a little bland but that might’ve been on purpose lmao now that i think of it (last minute thought: ristarte sounds oddly like... restart, don’t it? ;)))))

shokugeki no souma 4: another epic season kakakakaka. they always end on a cliffhanger and i’m like FUCk the episode’s over already when did that happen>???????>?>?> we STAN souma x erina guys. her father is an absolute DICK. and i am so glad she fuckin showed him. you go erina. get that character development.

assassins’ pride: love me them character designs. and that op is to die for. i got the last ep to watch still. i’ve definitely warmed up to melida. and that navy-hair girl with the weird name is a goddess lmao we STAN a QUEEN. oh ya her name’s mule. dear author what made you choose that

choyoyu: i feel like a lot of the seven were glazed over, just kinda ‘oh aoi can chop stuff, merchant-san is .... a merchant that one time.... keine can heal people ..... and makes medecin worse than dr stone (btw i screamed at that like BRUH YOU FUCKIN COPIED OFF SENKU’S TEST WTF) tsukasa is way boring, akatsuki is meh and does not provide any explanation for how he pull off that magic shit without modern tech shit. ringo is cute and i want more of her actually showing why she’s smart and like... explaining it rather just ‘o she invents stuff yay’. shinobu needs to be the main-er character bc i love her god

azur lane: livechart.me says. ep 11 in 77 days. hello? where’s my jean bart?

kabukichou sherlock: ok i wasn expecting that at all. until they started insinuating how glasses dude was ‘jack’. bruh maki scary asf. did not give me good vibes ;-; also moriarty is a lil babby boy and i honest to god thought if he wasn’t jack then he was some mastermind bad guy at least bc i read sherlock holmes and we all know that bitch is a bad boy. but no now he’s a good boy and hella cute. also yes irene and sherlock dynamic kills me what a LAD

chuubyou gekihatsu boy: shit i forgot to add this quick edit .... yes this is so cute and good and all them boys are so loveable omllllll my weeb heart

#azur lane #Sherlock #assassins pride #choyoyu #shinchou yuusha #Shokugeki no Soma #sword art online #enen no shouboutai #bnha #Dr Stone #anime #review #anime review #badanimereviews #chuubyou gekihatsu boy

13 notes · View notes

fortheheavenssake · 4 years

Text

PG MM Anon Interpretation Collection - 20

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

129: Nov 30

MM ANON ……… “Darling’ please pass the Wrinkle cream” ………”she’s on this blog I read”💜……… “ we’ve been invited to the Boxing Day shoot” …… WoW ‘ that’s a beautiful photo Kate …… “he’s to young ‘ good grief William!!”…… ‘This cobra has no fangs ……… “The service, maybe bring C&G.” ……… “ The spring diary ma’am’ was thinking they could do The America’s and Canada” ……… “ the Children too”…… “what say you Philip?” …… “indubitable , old thing” …… “ Settled!!”……” Sidney’ more refreshments”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON, SERIOUSLY THANK YOU😁🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

November 30/2019 Riddle #128

1325 hrs CST

“Darling’ please pass the Wrinkle cream” “she’s on this blog I read”💜

I AM SQUEALING WITH EXCITEMENT OMG!! Catherine is doing her skin care, which every woman of beauty, style and substance MUST DO REPEATEDLY, “” Don’t cha know!” (sorry MM ANON l had to pilfer those last three words from a riddle few days back because they are so unbelievably exciting and significant!). She asks William to hand her the wrinkle cream. William looks dumbfounded because there are about 35 jars on the counter, wondering which one she wants and asks, Catherine why do you have all these? She replies, the woman recommending the creams is on the blog she reads! PURPLE HEART!!💜💜💜💜💜 KIDS I HAVE MADE IT, I AM A CLUE IN AN MM ANON RIDDLE WHICH MEANS CATHERINE AND THE GANG READ THIS BLOG AND READ OUR CONTRIBUTIONS! From the 💜 lady on the blog you read, Catherine, whatever you’re doing, it’s working, but if you ever do want to talk skin wrinkle cream, you know where to find me💜💜💜💜😁😁😁😁

“ we’ve been invited to the Boxing Day shoot”

Lots of us have surmised for quite sometime now that Harry has a lovely partner, and a few of us are dead certain on who it is. He completed his tour of duty at the culmination of the SA trip and RS services. She is now fully out of his life, the public just doesn’t know yet. I am certain an annulment will occur. Anyhow it sounds like they have been invited for Boxing Day. She will be perfect and everyone has always wanted Harry happy, after all he and the family has been through, 2020, at least for him will bring a brand new start!

WoW ‘ that’s a beautiful photo Kate”

I can hardly wait for the Christmas photos, Catherine is such a phenomenal photographer, and as l said the other day, she snaps her children through the loving eyes of a mother. Someone is complementing her one of her photographs. It’s not William because he calls her Catherine. I think those in the field have really taken note of yet another skill she has. Sounding like a public exhibition of her photographic works is in the works!

“he’s to young ‘ good grief William!!”

Back to the shooting day on Boxing Day, Catherine is aghast that William even entertains the idea of him coming along. He’s a big boy, but not that big, yet! The way time flies, time will be here soon enough. Might this be the time for me to once again place ,y request for #4.☺️☺️💜

‘This cobra has no fangs

Madam, wherever on this planet she is, has been defanged. Whatever she held is being held no more. She is in a world/whirled of trouble, just the IRS back taxes alone! Plus any other alleged charges, l won’t go into because we are all singing from the same hymn sheet you know the words!🤣🤣😂😂

“The service, maybe bring C&G.”

YES PLEASE! I would LOVE to see them do the morning walk to and from church with all the other family members! THAT would most certainly be a Christmas gift for me!!!

“ The spring diary ma’am’ was thinking they could do The America’s and Canada” “ the Children too””what say you Philip?” “indubitable , old thing” “ Settled!!””Sidney’ more refreshments”

Saturday afternoon, morning of riding and now just having tea ☕️, refreshments and a good talk. The next few days will bring some major events, The NATO greeting and the banquet on December 3/2019, that has all been fully organized, arranged, menu, seating plan etc etc. LG speaking regarding the official Diary for 2020. Oh MM ANON , this riddle just keeps on giving and giving, it’s like Christmas morning! Sounds like an official Royal tour of America, and Canada with the entire Cambridge family!! If l were a 🐕 dog, my tail would be wagging so fast right now!!! This is very very exciting!!! HMTQ asks PP his opinion, and he very much concurs, then that’s that , it’s settled!! Cord pulled, and as usual he is there almost simultaneously,Sidney, a Boddingtons for himself and a Gin and DuBonnet for HMTQ!! Are you guys getting tired of my scenes of HMTQ, PP, the cord pulling and drinks??Or is it enjoyed? Because l LOVE it, they’re human!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦. 1410 hrs CST

After the horror of yesterday, thank you MM ANON for a fun riddle. I enjoy them all, but this might just be my favourite, for OBVIOUS REASONS☺️😁😁

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

Thank you dear PG! What a delight….such fun! And look at you! Known for your wrinkle cream! This was great! We love your stories….😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy

————////

130: Dec 2

MM ANON ……… the king in waiting ……… “Mmmmm , not many diversions left”……… in need of some TLC. ……… financial scrutiny ……… financial mutiny !!! ………… “ Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining!!!!!!”………… “Catherine ‘ it’s HM” ……… “ Catherine, I want your discretion”………… “ it would be my privilege ma’am”……… “ That’s a tough one, old thing” ……… “she can do it!! “…… “makes you proud old thing, he looks the part” ……… “backseat ,a Philip?” ………… “ dot The Is…………”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

December 2/2019 0045 hrs CST RIDDLE #128

the king in waiting

This phrase has been used in regards to the Prince of Wales, for decades now. Since PP stepped down from official duties, HMTQ has been steadily handing over various patronages , to PC, The Duchess of Cornwall, William and Catherine, Harry, gosh even madam got the British Theatre patronage! Lots were delighted about that, NOT! Yet that one was part of the prolonged game of charades the Royal family has been forced to play, even though it’s a game they live, certainly not this variation of the game! PC has been successfully voted in as Head of the Commonwealth, that role does not automatically be bestowed on him. PC will continue to take on more and more responsibilities. In that, we shall observe some of that during the NATO visit, as well as decision making regarding several impending crises situations, which in all likelihood are made and done, we just have not been officially informed of as yet!

“Mmmmm , not many diversions left”

Madam has hardly been a peep heard from, her PR used to have 10-15 articles a day in the DM alone, it’s almost like she is contained somewhere? She used the rare old uncle cards a week or so back. She does not have a whole lot more to pull out of that giant rabbits hat/fedora she often wore! The will she won’t she et al about going to America thanksgiving game is over. The IRS is waiting!

in need of some TLC.

TLC, is a tv channel here with oddest shows, pimple popping doctors, married fiancés overseas, guy with five wives etc. We don’t need ,THAT, TLC. TLC is what nurses excel at, good ones anyhow, Tender Loving Care. Whose in need of that? PP is recovering from flu/cold? However he doesn’t strike me as a man that would like to be fussed and clucked around! HMTQ is strong as they come. I wonder if this is our Harry. Adjusting to life without madam, l wonder when and how this will all be made official? I know the surrogate baby is not Harry’s and l have no doubt the child is being lovingly anonymously looked after. Harry, whom,l think l was correct about him being on the bridge the other day, would have had his first active duty incident. He may need not described as TLC but rather debriefing as would the entire team. This is always done after a major incident, first to review protocol, was it carried out, do any changes need done. Then it’s the emotional debriefing, THATS THE ESSENTIAL part of keep a critical response team functional, make sure to debrief the emotions! I imagine , the debriefings, the formal ones are done, 72hours is the golden time window. I have led and been involved with quite a few debriefings, the mental health end of it. Often team members are assigned a mentor especially if they are new to the unit! Great work Harry! I have never ever given up on you, nor will l ever!! Notice they all wore balaclavas, for security! It’s what we wear here in winter to not have our face freeze off, if cross country skiing, snowmobiling etc etc.

financial scrutiny ……… financial mutiny !!!

This is what is keeping madam in the UK! I cannot even fathom how much money she owes her government since she last filed taxes, has she been honest in all her previous tax filings? Seriously? You think she has? The amount of money made in a zillion ways over her lifetime, and what has all transpired since she entered the orbit of the BRF , we are talking millions and millions! I am quite certain, given the fact Americans are still due to pay taxes even if a non resident and given her status and the wealth she married into, l have no doubt the IRS is auditing her, hence the word scrutiny. Mutiny , that a seafarers word for disobeying the captain and the crew takes over, is also a criminal conspiracy among a group of people to openly oppose, change, or overthrow a lawful authority to which they are subject. Now does this sound like a group of individuals we might know? Madam, MA, JM, etc, the families,in America, Mexico, all allegedly working in tandem.

“ Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining!!!!!!”

I love this phrase, my uncle used to say this, the horse rancher, whose son now runs it. In other words, Pissing on, means doing something bad to someone. Don’t piss on my boots and tell me its raining is a response to someone dressing up a bad situation — usually for their own benefit — by telling them to knock it off and stop lying. In other words madam has been doing this her entire life and using the raining excuse to explain her way out of everything! Well LG is having none of that, no more using that as an excuse or exit strategy. The game is over, in fact it never was a game to those she was pi**ing all over!

“Catherine ‘ it’s HM” “ Catherine, I want your discretion”“ it would be my privilege ma’am”

HMTQ rings Catherine, rather than a visit. I would assume, like , in movies, especially High Society with Grace Kelly and Bing Crosby, huge mansions/palaces, their phones have no dials, just labelled whose line it is, how old am I?🤣🤣🤣😂😂. But l am quite certain HMTQ would use a landline phone, because l do😁😁😁. After squidgygate, and other similar ghastly phone calls that were recorded, and then made public, plus intelligence and needs for security in today’s world, l have no doubt that everything is encrypted, and they likely have blocking technology so none of those fancy devices you can, it’s like a clear plastic umbrella, it gathers sound from a distance and you can listen in, you need a jamming device to block the signal, muddying it, if you like. I am sure technology is way way way advanced of that already.

William is away, is she asking her to sit with Harry at the NATO banquet and used discretion when others ask where madam is? I hardly think that would require a big private ask. I wonder if she is needed to witness and sign some legal papers referencing divorce or annulment. Giving her statement or witness to some madam has said or done.

Does this have something to do with the Marchioness of Cholmondeley????????

“ That’s a tough one, old thing” ……… “she can do it!! “…… “makes you proud old thing, he looks the part” ……… “backseat ,a Philip?”

HMTQ and PP, spending time near the great hearth, so warm , cozy, absolutely nothing like the feel of, sight of, smell if and sound of a crackling wood fire. Weather has a definite chill, time for wooden sweaters, and warm family time. Himself , a Boddingtons, 🍺,HMTQ gin and DuBonnet 🍸 . Discussing the next few days and what has happened in the last few. Pondering the decision HMTQ to call Catherine, tough decision, tough thing to ask. PP is reassuring HMTQ that Catherine is very capable, can be trusted and relied upon in any and all circumstances.

More changes in the offing so they can spend more time together. Makes them proud, PC has done, and with increased responsibility he very much looks the part of a King in waiting. If HMTQ does decide to make PC Regent, this conversation would be very much the same, trust and he looks every bit the Regent! Last abbreviated line, HMTQ says is rhetorical, meaning not expecting an answer but rather stating her intent, she is going to be taking a backseat for Charles to be Regent!

“ dot The Is…………”

Is it annulment as l hope? Or divorce? When one says, ESPECIALLY in legal matters, dot the letter i and cross the t, it means make sure everything is done 109% correctly, no way anyone can back out, Sue or twist it. So we shall very soon be hearing a press release of either an annulment or a divorce final between Harry and madam!!

0205 hrs CST. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦 🥂 🍾

Thank you dear PG! Fascinating read….much seems to be going on…..much appreciated!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy

—————-

131: Dec 2

MM ANON … “when we are born, we cry , that we are come”…… “your RH. that’s why you didn’t go” ……… “Four” ……… ahhhhhrrr , I hate mornings!! ……… “give a dog a bone …” ………… “ yes , we’re all watching it! It’s very addictive “ ……… “ How the f***did they know that!!!”………… “ I told them Philip!!” ……… “bloody snoops” …… At the last count sir , all was Ticketyboo.

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

December 2/2019 Riddle #129

1700 hrs CST

“when we are born, we cry , that we are come”.

“

Dear MM ANON returneth us to the bard, William Shakespeare’s King Lear.

Babies do not automatically cry at birth, some do, but some need a slap on the bum, holding upside down rubbing on chest to loosen any fluids that may have been aspirated(inhaled) during the traumatic birth process. It’s a physical trauma for mum to be sure but also babe. Going from, dark, warm, safe environment of dark, echoey sounds, to bright theatre lights, many staff, beeping of machines, it’s parents noise of joy, and than itself own crying noises.

The entire play, uses one similar stance as (Macbeth, Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing. )

Lear is full of cons and duplicity.

This whole life and the world madam moved in , nonstop using people to climb up the ladder, obtaining information and using that and on and on. This will be very shortly end and l truly believe Christmas will be enjoyed! BY ALL!!! Those who serve their dark master do not truly celebrate Christmas anyways!

“your RH. that’s why you didn’t go”

I think this is Catherine explaining to someone why she didn’t attend the TUSK Awards, for “childcare reasons “, was what we were told. l think, in light of the above news, it was childcare, just feeling unwell, and taking cate of her baby bump. Now l hope MM ANON you haven’t teased us or l over reading into the clues! If in fact, Catherine is expecting, this , if all her children would be her ‘easiest first trimester’ because previously her hyperemesis gravidarum, has required hospitalization and then that care at home for subsequent pregnancies. This would be marvellous news anytime but ESPECIALLY NOW!!! I can just the smile across the persons she is speaking with face, as they realize oh THATS why you didn’t attend!!

“Four” ahhhhhrrr , I hate mornings!!

William is awoken by a sound, one he knows all too well. He looks at the clock and makes the comments groaning. He gets up to go tend to Catherine in the bathroom. They look at one another, smiling! BABY NUMBER FOUR IS ON HER WAY!! Thank you ever so much for granting my repeated requests and congratulations!💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

OR OR OR OR OR OR IR BOTH😁😁😁😁😁

Harry continues his training, and duty, early morning, VERY early mornings are part and parcel of that.

“give a dog a bone …”

When you give a dog a bone, you not only give him a treat but something to tease him with, and dogs love that so much! The media has been giving us bits of flesh but no major bone, YET! It’s coming! I wonder what tomorrow’s headlines will read after the Panorama tonight. I wonder the next day after the NATO reception/dinner. There is so much neat, on the bone that is ‘madam%’, her lost years, her connections, behaviours you could cater 100 Royal receptions and still have plenty!!

“ yes , we’re all watching it! It’s very addictive “ ……… “ How the f***did they know that!!!”………… “ I told them Philip!!” ……… “bloody snoops” Royal family discussion night and blog reading time. They get on the topic of the Netflix show, The Crown. It sounds like they are enjoying it and find it addictive even, that’s high praise, l hope Netflix producers read Skippy blog!! PP is wondering how they knew something and HMTQ states unequivocally that she told them! Is she the unwritten/uncredited official Consultant? PP chimes in again, calling the press and it’s investigators bloody snoops.This is a good fun, conversation, not the invasive, boundaries crossed angry time.

At the last count sir , all was Ticketyboo.

LG receiving reports for tomorrow’s NATO events, dinner/reception. Ticket boo, means everything is perfect, just as it was planned to be, no anticipated issue! The capitalization of Ticketyboo, means Ticket, an actual invitation , likely numb and signed with allow entrance to the event. There will be zero gate crashes, if for some reason madam or anyone might try!

1750 hrs CST GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you dear PG….sounds like so much news coming! Can’t wait….I hardly doubt NetFlix is reading here though….I love your stories! Much appreciated….😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy

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132: Dec 3

MM ANON … email shemail ……this hole is getting deeper …… Christmas service treat🦄🦎…… “keep hold!! he’s a runner”…… a welcoming absence …… “ you can leave your scarf at home darling”…… “ Chaz & Don”…… Megan come Beggin…… “hope she stays for New Years”……Emmanuel & Don🎭]……… NATO,HATE-O…… “Philip, You’ll miss the banquet!!” ……… “bloody good!!”………” it’s your night old thing”………” Mmm , Catherine’s Tiara?” ………” Emeralds, would do the trick”……… “Sydney’ strong refreshments!!”…… “the Crown old thing?”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

December 3/2019 Riddle #130

1110 hrs CST

email shemail

Email has been made public between from PA toGM, with the topic being VRG, asking questions. It kind of confuses him saying he never met her nor knew her, however he may have heard her name. If l am correct the email was sent January 3/2015. 0550 hrs so that’s early, sense of urgency? Or just a disciplined military man who rises early?

this hole is getting deeper

There is a focused multifaceted attack on the BRF! The more information, rather PR/media and interviews come out, instead of letting the legal system address any issues is further poisoning the water! Again, NOT DEFENDING ANYONE, but of all the high placed men WHY IS PA BEING BURNED AT THE STAKE? With high powered wealthy men, why is she so unafraid for her family?? Photos put buying beer and cigs? Who or whom are/is paying from this continued assault on the Monrachy!!??

Christmas service treat🦄🦎”keep hold!! he’s a runner”

Christmas pageant at Battersea, if Nanny Anon, is to be believed it’s tonight, l thought NATO reception was tonight, for weeks l thought it was the 4 th, l honestly cannot keep track. However, they each hVe a role of that l am certain, however Nanny says Charlotte is an angel, with a line to speak and George is rehearsing the role of his future, one of the three kings, NOT of Orient are🤣🤣🤣😂. Louis must a going concern, as we say here, constantly on the move. They best keep him firm in hand or he will do a runner through the audience and steal the show🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. There would be one shriekingly ticked off Princess if that happened!

a welcoming absence “ you can leave your scarf at home darling”

Madam will not join the family at Sandringham, the first Christmas in two years without her. Catherine joking with William he need not bring his scarf🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. His passive aggressive, sorry William but it was 🤣🤣😂😂, fiddling with his scarf whilst leaving the chapel on madams first unmarried Christmas , she was trying to engage him but he fiddled with his scarf . This went nuclear all over the internet and social media! I believe there is an actual official listing of the word scarfing!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 Oh man, and l had bought him the loveliest purple scarf, what shall l do with it ?🥺🥺😩😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣

“ Chaz & Don”

PC and DT , abbreviated as Chaz for a Charles and Don for Donald, will spend time together today at this evenings reception. I firmly am thinking l was right all along and the banquet is tomorrow. I am sure PC role is expanding they will have plenty to talk about. PC is the consummate host.

Megan come Beggin

Madam begged pleaded shrieked, until she finally got her wish to not be forced anywhere near the person she hates , the President of HER country. MM ANON , l hate to ask, is this a typo, Megan, not Meghan? If it’s not a typo, who is Megan???

“hope she stays for New Years”

This is the general consensus, that madam can stay wherever she is until AFTER New Years.

However, if this is the special friend, this may be leaning in a

positive vibe of hoping she will STAY until the New Years Eve.

Emmanuel & Don🎭]……… NATO,HATE-O

Presidents Emmanuel Macron and Donald Trump have had an extremely dramatic almost theatrical relationship. When they first met, Macron was so huggy , touchy feely, the word bromance was used. They have had some cracks with the U.S. pulling out of the Paris Climate Accord. President Trump has issues regarding NATO, paying funds etc, there is much changing on the worlds stage politically, the U.S./NATO/BREXIT/EU etc etc etc. Not the least of which has been the double barrel attacking of the British Monarchy!

“Philip, You’ll miss the banquet!!” “bloody good!!”” it’s your night old thing”” Mmm , Catherine’s Tiara?” ” Emeralds, would do the trick”

HMTQ and PP conversing, less pressure on the agenda, with the words done by LG and his team, yet he is not up to attending the banquet, plus he has retired from the world stage. Which sounds TRUT H be told, he has had his fill during the many decades attending them!🤣🤣🤣😂😂. Just reassuring her it’s most important that she, HMTQ, is there, she is so amazing as a hostess, she is involved with every little single detail! Well, well, well madams hair will be on fire!! Catherine will be wear the Vladimir Kokoshnik, l think that’s the one, it’s most certainly the one with huge Emeralds,tiara😁😁😁😁. I can hardly wait to see those photos!

“Sydney’ strong refreshments!!”…… “the Crown old thing?”

To end of conversation, the pulled cord, and again, as always, Sydney arrives, smiling, anticipating their request, Boddingtons for Himself and gin and DuBonnet for HMTQ.CHEERS YOUR MAJESTY, SIR!!

1150 hrs CST

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you PG…interesting stuff today…I can’t wait to see which tiara Kate will wear…could it be that one! Oh my! Much appreciated dear PG!😊💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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133: DEC 5

MM ANON ……… lovers not-on or emerald??…… Alexander McQueen green machine??……… Clean sweep!!!……………Trump wants his ball back…… Banquetiquette ……… “ One has to watch the hot mike Donald!!”……… Meanwhile’ crying in a corner……” a clash of Wills”……… “come on old thing,tell me all the gossip”………” Sydney ‘ gin and Du……” “ Ones a tad exhausted “…… “ you looked stunning Catherine “……… “yes ‘ I saw your killer 👀side eye “…… 👑👑💕💕And so to bed Zebedee!!……… “ Lottie ‘turn your pad off!!”…George’ sleep!!

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

December. 5/2019 0020 hrs CST

RIDDLE #130

SORRY I AM SO LATE WITH IT, I HAVE NOT FELT WELL SO I WILL GIVE IT A TRY!

lovers not-on or emerald??

I was sooooo certain l had read months ago that December4/2019 there was to be a formal NATO Banquet. Maybe l was wrong , unlikely it was changed. Nonetheless there is a Diplomats Banquet next week, l could be wrong too😏😒😂. Catherine, for a number of such occasions has worn the Lovers Knot Tiara and done so brilliantly, l might add! There has been rampant rumblings of her wearing the Vlad Emerald Tiara!! It’s gorgeous, all those emeralds, imagine with her gorgeous eyes?? 👀 👀 👸🏻 Allegdly(ha ha) a certain someone demanded this for a gathering of very VERY unhappy people! HMTQ ABSOLUTELY PUT HER FOOT DOWN NO!NO! The banshee was heard screaming all the way up in Balmedie!!!🤣🤣🤣😂😂. So l will firmly say, whether it the Diplomats banquet or not, whatever the next black tie/formal event, Catherine will be wearing the Vlad Emerald Tiara!!! No ifs ands or buts!!!

Alexander McQueen green machine??

Did she not look stunning at the reception? Green or any colour she wears so beautifully! Even a red puffer and skinny jeans!! She slays! As the kids say now! The papers should get their designers right, they had it wrong on RS as well, that was a McQueen military inspired gorgeous piece she wore, one paper saint Caroline Walker. No offence but that was not her style. Last night dress was said to be Emilia Wickstead. So is it now McQueen? Either way that was the colour of envy for sure, did she purposely wear it? OF COURSE SHE DID!! I cannot WAIT for the Diplomats banquet or next formal/black tie event. The gown she will wear , and Of COURSE SARAH BURTON, from the House of McQueen, who designed her wedding gown, will have designed it, bespoke to go with the Emerald Tiara! Put your ear plugs in kids, madam will be flying her 🧹 broomstick over London screaming 🙀 at the heavens!!! Jealous much!OH YES JEALOUSY THE GREEN EYED MONSTER HAS BERN OBVIOUS SINCE SHE CAME ONTO THE SCENE!

Clean sweep!!!

This immediately makes thing if curling! Hurry hard! Hurry! Sweep Sweep! If you’re Canadian or Scottish you will be laughing now🤣🤣😂😂. A clean sweep in a game is winning the game with the opposing side having a score of zero, or Ina finals winning the games needed to take the Stanley Cup, example, to win the series. A clean sweep can also, and here l believe is MM ANON meaning, to sweep out the dust, filth, unwanted or unsavoury things when cleaning house. So the cleaning house, clean sweep metaphor may be related to a clash of wills in when to release the hounds on madam and what on earth to do about the VRG issues!!!

Trump wants his ball back. Banquetiquette. “ One has to watch the hot mike Donald!!”

This is a childish reference to PT leaving before the final press conference after our PM, BOJO, Macron and Princess Anne were on ‘ hot mic’ which is the news means you’re microphone isn’t live , that’s how the ABC reporter Amy Robach got caught out saying ABC quashed her interview with VRG years ago. So l guess DT , l have to be very care here to not upset my American friends whilst defending my PM. I will just lay facts no subjective opinion ok? They must be VERY VERY VERY careful what they say, when they say it, because sorry JT but even without the hot mic, with my poor hearing l am used to lip reading and using closed captioning on the tv, l could read your lips! DT was upset, called him two faced. You can all opine about them now.

It was a reception, not a banquet, however etiquette is etiquette and the rules still apply. Good manners, carry oneself well and be above reproach. I am afraid some , have your own opinions ok, but there was some etiquette not taken. See above clue please.

A short time later, DT himself was caught on hot mic, congratulating himself for calling our PM what he called him and for leaving without the last presser, press conferences are called pressers in America. Saying that was funny that he said that name. It happens to everyone, hot mic, in politics or celebrities, they have to be careful unless they just don’t care.

Meanwhile’ crying in a corner

Madam, just go back to your corner, you have misbehaved so much, get used to the corner! Oh she must be spitting bullets of jealousy, if she saw Catherine, just wait till she sees the Christmas photos!😄😄😄😄🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂

“a clash of Wills”

William in back, he has proven himself a force of nature in becoming too. Dealing with family issues, is there disagreement regarding PA. There have been calls for him to lose his HRH status , is that on the docket? And great clashing of that? Wills was Diana’s name for William, wills is also ones determination to do or not do something

“come on old thing,tell me all the gossip”………” Sydney ‘ gin and Du……” “ Ones a tad exhausted “

HMTQ and PP again, indulge me, l know he’s at Wood Farm and she’s in London but indulge me, l love this, so do you, and so do some others. HMTQ finally out of her dress clothes, wearing comfortable nightdress, gorgeous purple velvet slippers and completely bespoke housecoat of the finest PUR velvet with silver seaming and luxurious embroidered collar with ER on the breast plate. PP in his nightclothes, grey slippers and matching bespoke grey robe with dark stitching along the seams barely there but if you look closely the beauty of each stitch is breathtaking. THANK YOU MM ANON FOR ADDING THE DRINKS I HAVE BEEN HAND TYPING FOR QUITE SOME TIME NOW!! PP already has his Boddingtons , cord was pulled just as she sat down, Sidney arrives, and PP orders her favourite cocktail, gin and a DuBonnet. She , you know it’s HMTQ when she speaks in third person, l do that a lot too😄😄😄😄😁😁, says she is a tad bit exhausted which means she is more tired than any of us have ever been! She is a force of nature! Majestic, strong, beautiful and tender when the needs be. They proceed to discuss all the goings on, at the reception and there was plenty!

“ you looked stunning Catherine “……… “yes ‘ I saw your killer 👀side eye “…… 👑👑💕💕And so to bed Zebedee!!……… “ Lottie ‘turn your pad off!!”…George’ sleep!!

William has returned from another successful solo Royal tour to the Middle East. I though the photos of him with the fisherman fixing their nets and then him giving it a go was amazing. He really , like his wife, has come into his own. Telling Catherine how stunning she looked last night and teasing her about her side eye, which she does very well! Remember the stolen pencil incident a few weeks ago? Louis long ago asleep, George and Charlotte keen to see daddy, imagine what did you bring me? A million times over and at a maximum volume!😂😂😂🤣🤣Zebedee, Zebedii, that was often what l heard or said for bedtime. A jovial memory of television and a cute sweet way to colour the word bedtime by making it fun because the word kids HATE is bedtime. Then when you reach adulthood and parenthood one prays for bedtime.🤣🤣🤣😂😂 l have never been a parent but l know many, enough to prove that statement!

Charlotte ever the controller of wifi and devices😂😂😂🤣🤣,we have read this in other riddles! Time for bed a George!!

0125 hrs CST

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you so much, especially doing this when feeling unwell. You are greatly appreciated. The Diplomatic dinner is December 11th. This is sounding good…😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy

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134: Dec 5

MM ANON …… “ no, not the service”……… Strip and rip…… IRSt in peace……” I think you’ll find it best ma’am”…… “ exactly ‘ peace and quiet”…… Distant thunder ……… “On Her Majesty’s secret service”…… No!! Not the whole enchilada………… The dossier, almost complete!!…… “Yes!! It certainly is personal”……… “she lived by the sor-did…… “gather thee rosebuds …………”…… “ not a word,old boy”. ……… “ Mmmm, unfortunate name for a club”……… “a sticky wicket,what!

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

December 5/2019 1040 hrs CST

RIDDLE #131

“no, not the service”

Prince Andrew has had virtually everything but his HRH ripped away. Papers saying now this morning that not only Prince Charles dressed him down, but Prince Philip did as well. He may be 98 and retired but a massive alpha male who can throw down with the best of them. Sounding like PA will NOT be permitted to attend church Christmas 🎄 morning as per usual. The Royal family walks and greets the public coming and leaving, HMTQ is driven.

Strip and rip

This sounds like a bikini wax or a back waxing . More like a search for drugs, substances, paraphernalia or weapons at a prison or psychiatric hospital, believe me, l have done many such searches, for those needing hospitalization. This clue could be twofold, firstly, reportedly three blackened windows Discoveries were seen high speed driving near Banbury, a day or so ago, evening l think actually, madam is rumoured to be near at SoHo or perhaps in Banbury, the hometown of a certain sycophantic royal reporter. Me oh my oh!! Has she been taken into custody by the Americans??? Did she fly back with the President?

Secondly this may refer to Prince Andrew, strip and rip him of everything including his HRH. Is that what is being ripped? The public and many are demanding it including his fellow military members! Might l again say, he has NOT BEEN INTERVIEWED NOR CHARGED! Just a fact, l hate sexual abuse and human trafficking it’s loathsome. But there seems to be a direct torpedo, pardon the wordage, directly at him.Why no one else? Whose agenda is this??

IRSt in peace

Madam is in a world/whirled of hurt with the IRS, America’s tax division. I have no idea her last filing, or how accurate she has ever been. Since joining the Royal family, although never really did, she has had a myriad of income sources and likely many we don’t know. Might it be not the literal death of her but in terms of finances, she will be if not already in process,be audited and may be garnisheed for the rest of her life to,pay what is owed?

“I think you’ll find it best ma’am”“ exactly ‘ peace and quiet”

I think LG is suggesting HMTQ head for Sandringham early, to be out of London when the walls come tumbling down so to speak. Peace and quiet, readying for family Christmas, although that too brings its own pains!

Distant thunder

Softly rolling distant, quiet, getting closer, more loud, and BABOOM CRASH!! The storm that has been brewing and slowly simmering in the background is coming, coming closer, when it arrives,it will be ELECTRIC!! The information and scandal will rock the globe. I am not just talking about when all about madam is revealed but her backers and their sordid dealings! BOOM CRASH FLASH! Winds howling! It’s going to be earth shattering.

“On Her Majesty’s secret service”

We have had several Bond references. This was the only Bond film that a George Lazenby ever starred in, did you know that? Connery or Moore?? The other actors don’t count! CONNERY LASS AM I , AYE TIS SO💜💜💜💜. I do believe our William has been on the intelligence gathering and l do wonder about our Harry. You kids remember me repeatedly talking about his wedding ring months and months ago and saying it’s no regular ring?Sure you do, one of you went hunting and posted a picture of a ring with GPS chip! It’s very unusual in the U.K. especially royalty, in my experience , for men to wear wedding bands yet Harry insisted, ask yourself why? Why? Why? By the way, great film, and great documentary l have pvr’ed , The Secrets of Her Majesty’s Secret Service. It was on PBS last week, an anon posted about it, so l pvr’ed it!

No!! Not the whole enchilada

So again, the whole enchilada is a metaphor for the entire sum of something, usually valuable. What and whom is this referencing? Again, is it PA, losing more? I doubt that, the phrase the whole enchilada , that is not a British expression it’s American. This must be regarding madam. Meaning, she has to give up everything, her HRH, every merching etc etc. She’s upset about it. What, to stay out of prison? Testify against someone? Tell the whole truth and nothing but? This woman cannot even spell truth. There are so many lies over so many decades allegedly, there is no way she knows who she was with when doing what.

The dossier, almost complete!!

Information is almost done, evidence, witnesses, intelligence, video, audio, photos, texts, emails, carrier pigeons and any other sort of stealth data to solidify alleged treason charges along with a boatload of other financial and Heaven only knows what from the past has raised its filth from the depth of those lost years! All the i dotted t crossed, airtight.

“Yes!! It certainly is personal”

Very personal, this attack was planned, guided, paid for, well planned, multipronged, family paid off, witnesses paid off or worse etc etc allegedly. So yeah it’s personal to HMTQ,PP, PC and PW.An attack on the thing HMTQ has spent her life serving! The very monarchy! Sordid plot to crumble the Monarchy! So hell yes ITS PERSONAL!!! To our a Royal family and TO ALL OF US!!

“she lived by the sor-did

Old saying live by the sword ⚔️, you die by the sword, you all know that one. Madam has allegedly lived a very sordid, deviant lifestyle for money and luxuries. This will be her downfall, any previous association with JE, l can only imagine what her role was and then became. This whole sick, satanic, house of cards is crumbling, the cockroaches are running for cover. Does she think the backers are going to pay for her attorneys or testify on her behalf? 😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣 She is crazier than l thought! ALLEGEDLY!

“gather thee rosebuds…

While ye may, love this .This beautiful piece of magic written by Robert Herrick hundreds of years ago but relevant now as then. Speaking how quickly time flies, make the most of each second, do not waste time on frivolous things or unsavoury things. Sadly, many lost souls here, and damaged ones, so evil. However we have HMTQ, PC , William and Catherine, the Monarchy, with them at the helm, is resilient, will cut the extras and forge a new Monarchy.

“ not a word,old boy”.

Someone is keeping schtum about something. I imagine there are many, likely most of the details will remain classified. The five eyes met at the NATO conference. I truly do wonder, although l love my little life, what intelligence was shared! PP likely speaking with Netty, and keeping things classified, most probably about when they plan to break and let loose! We all know who Netty is right? I have explained it in a few riddles!

“ Mmmm, unfortunate name for a club”

Tramp nightclub, the source of many stories VRG and PA. PA also was there many times with Fergie and that’s where he met Koo Stark way back when for those of us at a certain age! Horrible just horrible name for a club!

“a sticky wicket,what!

This is a croquet term, hitting the balls through the wickets. It’s also a cricket term! Jiminy 🦗 Crickets, that’s my new favourite saying😁. A sticky wicket in life refers to awkward, difficult, unexpectedly challenging time. Well doesn’t that just describe the last two years!! OR MORE! What detail is sticky still? Something needing sorting. I just cannot fathom what it is! But it’s important because it’s in the riddle!

1155 hrs CST GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Oh my! Not sounding good for MM! We are getting there it seems! Fantastic job dear PG! Thank you so much!🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy

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135: Dec 6

MM ANON …… megbots in crisis …… megs spotted on ISS…… megs searchers internet for archificial upgrade …… megs still breastfeeding …… frogcott staff witness meg and Harry in screaming row 😱……… meg accused of bugging KP……… meg and archbishop in risqué photo shoot …… Archbishop denies clergy gossip …… meg ,VF interview ‘ I hate my chicken legs ‘…… Harry in GQ interview, I want a divorce ‘…… GQ, shock ‘horror, Harry’s OK’…… meg pens, ‘confessions of my yachting years’. … $20 million advance.

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

December 6/2019 1150 hrs CST

Thanks to the wonderful 💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻fortheheavenssake 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜who is documenting all my riddle interpretations, l apparently have used two numbers twice🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂 so this is RIDDLE #135

💜💜MM ANON LISTEN, AS YOU ONCE SAID, NO APOLOGIES EVER!!!💜💜LEVITY IS NEEDED🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

megbots in crisis

Madam has had zillions of ‘bots’ online to bolster or artificially , not archficially🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂, boost her numbers and popularity on social media and PR. The well is running dry,no new storyline , last uncle pulled out of the woodwork weeks ago, bots, they cost $$$$$#£££££££€€€€€, she is in serious overload and underfunded. The bots are sputtering, spinning, electrical charges sparking, powering down, all the things 🤖 robots do when system failure, permanent fatal error blue screen, does not cooommmmmppppuuuutttteee………….

megs spotted on ISS

Oh now she’s an astronaut??? Really on the International Space Station??🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂. Yes, like l said last week Sasquatch and Elvis hang out in my back yard! Has she gone there to get another moonbump direct from the source??🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂

megs searchers internet for archificial upgrade

Oh my Jiminy Crickets!!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂, l just typed that! Well not the internet part. Yes at some point she’s going to have to show a child, growing bigger, however Archficial was already a big boy, they used to call them huggy l think. She is madly trying to find the cheapest price for the new model of archficial. Maybe retailmenot or some other sites like Rakuten has coupon codes!!

megs still breastfeeding

Is she now? Is she a card carrying member of the La Leche League? Breastfeeding until the child is 18 or wed! Yes, it’s a great excuse for privacy, because despite what her PR says, she definitely wants privacy, no pictures, no one talking about or to her, yet yammers because no one asks if she is ok! Pathetic instagram post, photoshopped photos, one year anniversary of Hubb kitchen visit. Talk about grasping at straws for attention, and using year old photoshopped photos😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣😩😩

frogcott staff witness meg and Harry in screaming row 😱

I do believe this was/is a story in one of the American gossip rags, could be wrong but everyone reads here so look for that headline next week if you’re into tabloids😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣.Interesting, there are no staff at FC, because NO ONE LIVES THERE! Perhaps an old spirit, but they take care of themselves! They have never lived there, every celebrity or article about who has visited there and held/fed/played with archficial are all liars, allegedly.

meg accused of bugging KP

Not surprised at that, taking a page right out of MA’s playbook at SoHo. Secretly record, gather intel, blackmail=$$$$$$$$€€€€€€€£££££. I wonder what secrets she gathered! Add that to the charges, LG and Netty, Sirs! Please! Allegedly! 🙄🙄

meg and archbishop in risqué photo shoot

There has been something odd about everything madam does/has done. One of the most bizarre is Justin Welby, the A of C, he allegedly privately baptized her. He allegedly christened archficial, with one wee issue, he was hours from London at that time at a Church conference. Now he has come out defending her. So there is no confusion these are his exact words.

💜💜Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, defended the Duchess of Sussex against what he called the “totally undeserved” criticism she has received.

“She’s a person of profound humanity and deep concern for people, seeking to carry out her role with every ounce of her being, and I think she’s a remarkable person💜💜.

What’s gone on here? Are you suggesting she has something on him so he has done these things under blackmail allegedly. Not a thing in this mess would surprise me one wit!

Archbishop denies clergy gossip

Parishioners talk, clergy members talk, they’re human, when things don’t add up, it makes for lots of speculation and questioning. Is the A of C denying that other bishops or members of the clergy have been speculating and questioning some of the issue l typed above? This is all too weird. If we had a whole wall with every single odd event, altered facts, stories comments etc etc, it would be like string art we used to do way back when. Better still twist like Christmas lights, and trying to figure out which bulb is causing the whole string to not light up. I know most of you remember that, the good old days before prelit trees in weird colours that make noises and flash so rapidly you get a migraine. Jiminy Crickets, l sound like one of those two grumpy men in the balcony on the Muppets Show😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣.

meg ,VF interview ‘ I hate my chicken legs

Harry in GQ interview, I want a divorce ‘GQ, shock ‘horror, Harry’s OK’

Madam did the VF, wild about Harry, was all PR lies! I think in terms of madams legs millions would agree! Now now, is this how this is going to roll? Tit for tat, pun intended🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂, is Harry doing a GQ cover giving her the same treatment by shockingly wanting a divorce?? Oh please 🙄 JIMINY CRICKETS 🦗 l want ten copies!!!💜💜💜Please sir, l want some more! The first person who comments where that line is from gets a smile from me😁. 💜💜💜Imagine the worlds shock?! Oh MM ANON DON’T TEASE ME!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 LG your brilliance is only surpassed by your loyalty and dedication to HMTQ Tip hat 🎩 Sir!

meg pens, ‘confessions of my yachting years $20 million advance.

During the weekend when madam went to help her Bestie SW completely lose the U.S.Open, they didn’t want her there, she went anyhow, didn’t she do a great job? Flirting grossly with SW husband, ignored by SW’s mum and graciously using the ‘Markle effect’ and SW lost soundly! She was summoned there, post haste allegedly to meet with backers and take a meeting with publishers. There have been rumblings and rumours of a book. Good luck fact checking that one, the poor ghost writer and editor🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. I think she will have to forget a lot because the IRS apparently doesn’t like it if you do not declare income or not be truthful, allegedly. And also, law enforcement may have issues with some behaviours, in relation to those missing years. And a wee tiny issue of archficial fauxmegnancy, not of the body. Trying to pass off a surrogate baby, not Harry’s child, all allegedly of course! As a blood royal baby!! Just a minor treason charge. Then there is the SoHo issue…….bugging, recordings, blackmail, all from the plot of a juicy film! As far as a $20,000,000 advance, if that happens, l will eat my hat! I don’t have one, got toques, might have to eat one then!! Who in their right mind would give her that cash advance? Unless it was not the right but the left, the leftists globalists backers….yep that l can see!!! Help us oh Lord🙏🏻🙏🏻 please, the light needs to be shone on the horrors that have been happening. Our beloved HMTQ, it just is breaking my heart, she is so beloved.

1250 hrs CST

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON, I HAD A FABULOUS FUN TIME DOING THIS!!🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

What fun! Loved this. Thank you MM Anon for the humorous riddle and PG your great interpretation! 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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136: Dec 6

MM ANON …… Muffin the mule…… looby loo & Andy pandy …… 95 , time!!…… “no’ not chaz”’……… “ I’m Meghan Markle and I indorse this massage” ……” An American Christmas card”…… betrayal in B&W……… “ it’s HMTQ your talking about!!!”…… “ tell her to PO ‘ it’s the Boxing Day shoot”……… 🎼I’m dreaming of a right Christmas 🎼…… a shortie but goody

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU YET AGAIN MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

December 6/2019 1530 hrs CST RIDDLE #136

Muffin the mule

Muffin has a naughty meaning as well as the breakfast bit. Mule is a very stubborn animals or someone carrying something illegal across borders as in a drug mule. First thing l thought of was a Moscow mule, classic lovely drink. There was an article in the DM about madams Christmas decor ideas and menu, the Moscow mule in copper was her idea!🤣🤣🤣😂 Well, l can’t drink anymore, but to me l would have one anytime but they and the copper was all the rage about five years ago, so she seems to be a wee bit behind the trend! However in fairness, it was taken from the 2015 Tig.

looby loo & Andy pandy

I read in the DM and saw photos years ago, Prince Andrew dancing up a storm, with a Heidi Klum, didn’t look like her but she was in a wig, costume. Also another female. Apparently he liked to be massaged by two women simultaneously, not underage, or rude, fun. The loony loo is known here as the hokey pokey, a hand , leg, body action dance. Is this having a go at PA ‘skills’ on the dance floor?? The hokey pokey also has a naughty meaning too.

95 , time!! “no’ not chaz”

HMTQ will be 95 in 18 months. Double exclamation mark, someone or several are firm in her making PC Regent at that time! It sounds like a firm opinion that PC is not the choice for Regent. Might William be tapped to step up and put a whole new modern face on the Monarchy? My goodness, to quote London Scoop, up is down, down is up, the world is spinning too fast!! The winds of change are gusting stronger and stronger!

“ I’m Meghan Markle and I indorse this massage”

Ha ha. Is she doing adverts now for special yacht massages.🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂 Oh dear imagine the oils and other items she would smear around!!! 😫😫😫😩😩😩🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢Just imagine the worst grossest thing you can muster!! Is she going into politics or has she massaged major politicians???? The end of every tv ad during election, l am so and so and l endorse this message. Yikes, crazy world!

“ An American Christmas card”betrayal in B&W

Of course the Christmas card will be in black and white, what else do we expect from madam? Likely have her back turned as well. Will Archficial be backwards too? Ultimate betrayal of wedding vows, to the public. A child not Harry’s, and not of her body! Will this be released and dealt with before Christmas? I pray so🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

“ it’s HMTQ your talking about!!!”…… “ tell her to PO ‘ it’s the Boxing Day shoot”

PP is angry and someone has been disrespectfully talking about HMTQ, PP is soundly bringing them about. PP is laying it down, madam has no input in the shooting day, she’s to be told to PO! PP talking to Harry, l am confused about why Harry would be still bring requests or demands from madam. I am wondering if it’s LG, because l am pretty certain Harry is far away from her and no interaction. It’s about Christmas, Sandringham and the annual family Boxing Day shooting party. Madam has been aggressively against it, allegedly previous years. So is madam still in a position to make demands? Well it sounds like she will be told what’s what!

🎼I’m dreaming of a right Christmas 🎼

I watched the film White Christmas last night, gorgeous songs by a Irving a Berlin, fabulous, again movies when they were movies! I am thinking the wish is that Jeremy Corbyn loses and BoJo, the conservatives, oft referred to as the right. Corbyn is leaning left strongly and much upset about alleged anti-Semitic beliefs. I think all this crap with madam has to wait till after the election, December 12/2019.

a shortie but goody

Is this little Louis? He is toddling around, l recall the summer videos at the park garden Catherine designed, him running in the bridge arms wide to balance. I can hardly wait for the Christmas photos! I can only imagine running round now, he will be into anything and everything!Bless him🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻 l am exhausted, haven’t slept since Thursday morning. Two riddles, other posts sheesh JIMINY CRICKETS 🦗 I AM DONE💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

1605 hrs CST

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you PG…two in a day! MM Anon must know you love a great challenge….thank you for doing this…😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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bangtansnoozingdragon · 5 years

Text

12 AM

Summary : Each night, when the clock strikes midnight, he would take the only moment to talk to you again.

Pairing : Yoongi x Reader

Genre : Angst / Fluff / A tad bit of humor

Word Count : 1.6k

Yoongi took a quick glance at his watch, the numbers ‘11:57’ bore straight into his eyes.

3 minutes left till midnight.

He continued to fiddle with his fingers, obviously anxious even though he had done this countless times for the past 2 years. Every night, he would leave everything behind, his family, friends, work and even his beloved music, just to get that one chance to see you again.

He didn’t know when it started, but all he knew was that he was glad that whatever higher power existed out there was granting him a dream like no other - a chance to see you.

Just 2 years ago, Yoongi lost you. It wasn’t his fault, heck, he was the best husband you could ever asked for. ‘Sarcastic, humorous and very cuddly’, the three terms you would describe him whenever someone questioned you, and he absolutely loved it, not that he would ever admit it.

Your relationship with Yoongi was perfect, he would give whatever he could for you, and likewise, you would do so as well. He never placed his job as his priority but instead, it was you. You were his everything, his wife, best friend, cuddle buddy and the ‘swag couple’ he always joked around. However, nature was cruel. It took you away from him, no, rather it had snatched you away in front of him. One day you were laughing at a corny joke he made, and the next you were gone. It broke his heart, completely shattering it into pieces, in which you weren’t there to stitch it back up.

It had happened so fast. No one expected it, not you, him or even your doctor. You had told him you suffered from a chronic disease from the very first date. It really wasn’t anything too serious, and as long you were careful, there’s little to no chances that you could collapse, yet that bit of chance was the exact reason he came home finding your lifeless body spreaded on the cold tiles.

He came home early that night, wanted to surprise you and take you out for dinner at the new restaurant around the block, but what greeted him would forever haunt him. Apparently, you had suffered a sudden cardiac attack, and collapsed right onto the concrete below,dying soon after. It wasn’t even remotely Yoongi’s fault, but he had beaten himself up, blaming himself that he was too late and careless, and questioned if he had arrived sooner, would you still be by his side, breathing and smiling?

There were no last words exchanged, nor was there a kiss goodbye. You left too soon, too young, having so little time to see the world or to achieve your dreams. Yoongi absolutely resented nature for stealing you from his arms, and shockingly it seemed like nature wanted to make up to him, by giving him the chance to talk and see you every midnight for a whole single minute.

It was when he was sobbing while sloppily munching down his pizza, mourning about your sudden death that you suddenly appeared right in front of him. Yoongi thought he had finally gone mad, mixing up reality with his deepest desire.

‘Yoongi?’ you spoke.

His breath was completely knocked out from his lungs, even your voice sounded so surreal. Tears started to stream down, damping his cheeks.

‘Yoongi? Why are you crying?’

‘I have finally gone mad, haven’t I? I can see you and even fucking hear you. I-I wish you were here.’ Yoongi whispered softly for himself but you heard it.

‘I don’t understand how am I here, but I can assure you love, that I am indeed here.’ you smiled at him, a sad grin planted on your face. Your instinct yelled at you to approach him, to help him because seeing the state he currently is in wrecked your heart, you wanted to so badly caress his face and whisper sweet nothings to him, calming him down, yet you fear he would react badly towards it.

‘Dear lord, stop playing games with me’ Yoongi spoke softly, looking at you,’please’.

‘I suffered enough, haven’t I?’ his jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes shut tight.

‘WHAT DID I DO TO FUCKING DESERVE THIS’ he cried loudly, pouring out all his emotions that he has been coping for so long, he couldn’t handle it no more. His knuckles were becoming white for clutching so hard and he screamed with whatever strength he had left, till he felt sore. Loud sobs soon echoed the room, he had his knees latched onto his chest and trembling slightly. You were devastated seeing your husband mourning for your death, and what sadden you more was the fact you couldn’t help him. Soon enough, you were gone and Yoongi was left sobbing in an incoherent mess.

The next day Yoongi woke up with a jolt and it took him a moment to adjust to his surrounding. His hair was a mess, eyes were puffy, lips were dry and throat was sore. He pushed himself up and knead his face, murmuring something about having to go to pee.

Suddenly, memories of the past day started to flood his mind and soon he was reminded of the peculiar event last night, but thought of it as weird hallucinations, there was no way you were there, right?

He saw you again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next.…..

Soon enough, both of you converse and came out with an understanding that each night he had one single minute to be able to speak to you and see you, but weren’t able to have physical contact with each other, you simply just phase through him.

Yoongi didn’t tell anyone about this, wanting to keep you all to himself. One whole minute, that was all he had and he planned to make use of every single second.

He made songs for you to listen, showed you pictures of your family and friends, updating you about his life and sometimes not even speaking a single word, just drowning in each other presence while staring out into the sky. It was enough for Yoongi, he couldn’t possibly ask for more. He is much happier now and always looked forward for your meetings each day, not missing one, even when he was sick, he would crawl out of bed and plant himself in his living room to wait for you to appear, he was determine to make use of every moment to cherish you.

The alarm from his watch startled him, indicating that it was finally midnight. You appeared as usual, sitting on your favourite chair cross legged while staring at Yoongi with such intensity, while he just smiled at you.

‘Hey’, you started, ‘how was your day?’

‘The same old, writing songs, eating and sleeping’

‘Did you took breaks?’ you questioned him.

‘I did’

‘Now, care to explain why you look so dull today, and why is your eye bags worst than last night? You didn’t sleep a wink yesterday, did you?’ words poured out of your mouth while you stared right into his soul, trying to coax the truth out.

Yoongi swore he felt his spine tingled and sighed, ‘Honestly, you know me too well.’

‘Exactly, so why did you even bother to hide from me you little shit. I am worried for you and who knows how long I could speak to you like this. I can’t be babying you till you become a grumpy old man, you old man. I swear, if your ass keeps on ignoring my advice, I won’t ever visit you like this again.’

‘Stop sprouting nonsense, we both know you love me too much to even leave my side. Besides, who else can you talk to rather that me.’

‘The other day, I came across this handsome ghost, I think his name is Dan, or was it-’

‘Don’t you dare have a ghost affair, I would legit kill myself so that I can slap you.’

There was silence for a moment, and then laughter filled the room. You were wheezing for air while clutching your stomach, Yoongi on the other hand was hacking his lungs out from laughing too much. Being able to see a genuine smile spread across your face melted Yoongi’s heart, these are the moments he love most and strive for - just you being by his side and having a conversation on virtually any topic.

‘Sorry to break it to you, but it’s almost time.’

‘I know, same time tomorrow?’ Yoongi said with a cheeky smile.

‘Same time tomorrow’ You returned back his smile with a wider grin while also doing finger guns directed at him.

Slowly, you started to fade away and Yoongi swore he heard a faint ‘Pew! Pew!’ moments before your entire being disappeared from his room, leaving behind Yoongi all alone in his empty apartment once again.

Authors Note :

Hey there y’all, do give feedbacks, I would appreciate it :]

Honestly, I think I could had done better and there are loads of room for improvement.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed reading this

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #bts angst #angst #death #spirit #bts imagines #bts suga #bts

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latent-thoughts · 5 years

Note

hello!!! i just wanted to say that i'm really enjoying "ravished by a god" - i just binge read the whole thing! do you update frequently? keep up the great work!!

Hello dear anon!

Thank you so much for your kind words. It really made my heart swell with joy.

*Awkward hugs*

Now... about the updates. While I envy other authors who can maintain an update schedule, I have been unable to do so. Mainly because I have many things distracting me (many homebound responsibilities, writing research papers, reading research papers, etc.... you get the drift), and I have executive dysfunction to add to it. So yeah, it gets a bit messy sometimes, and that harshes my writing process.

Also, I’m basically a sleep-deprived owl who sometimes takes too much caffeine and then crashes and burns. No, I’m not Tony Stark.

I do try to put forth my best efforts into writing, so it takes a while for the updates to happen (like, 2-3 weeks, at least). I don’t want to half-ass it, so I always humbly request patience from my readers.

Anyhow, I’m very thrilled and glad that you love my work, and I hope to keep it up. :D

Love and joy,

~Latent-Thoughts

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Diamonds In The Rough, Chapter 2 - Fannyatrollop

a/n: @sayakamagika and I are back back back again with another update! Featuring everyone’s favourite high class Russian… child…

Trixie wasn’t sure if she ought to be excited when Granny told them that Papa had hired a new nanny to look after her and Pearl. Of course, it would be nice to finally have somebody to care and look after them, but she was rather upset Papa still felt the need to hire someone rather than do it himself. It had been so long since he’d sat down and played with her and Pearl, and even though she still saw him every day, Trixie missed him as if he’d gone to heaven with Mama.

“I hope she’s nice,” Pearl said as they sat on the stairs waiting for this new nanny to arrive. “Miss Jenkins was awful.”

Trixie’s mouth dropped open like a fish. “Don’t say that about her! We mustn’t… disrespect her, like that.”

Pearl wasn’t wrong, exactly. Miss Jenkins had been strict and mean and she never let the girls have any fun. But Trixie never liked to speak ill of the dead - it wasn’t proper.

The girls spotted Papa stepping into the entrance room, his eyes trained on his watch. The new nanny was due to arrive at any moment, and it seemed the whole household was anxious to meet her. It was a question of whether the mysterious Miss BenDeLaCreme would be suitable for the children - she seemed perfectly delightful in her advertisement, but one must not believe everything they read.

The short, prim knock at the door conjured butterflies in Trixie’s stomach, and she and Pearl exchanged excited glances before rising to meet their new nanny. Papa went to open the door - funny, Trixie thought their butler, Mr Hudson, would’ve done that. She supposed Papa wanted to meet this new nanny for himself as soon as possible, considering he was handing his only daughters into her care.

“Ah, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is it?” came a sugary sweet voice from outside, and Trixie could already tell she was smiling just from hearing her. “I’m Miss BenDeLaCreme - I believe you requested my assistance?”

There was a slight stutter in Papa’s words. “Ah, yes, welcome, Miss BenDeLaCreme. Please, come inside.”

“Oh, do just call me Dela - it is far easier for everyone, I think, myself included!” Miss Dela laughed as she stepped inside, a pleasant sound like a bell. Trixie’s eyes lit up at the sight of her - she had never seen a nanny look so colourful, with bright flowers decorating the brim of her hat and a beautiful, vibrant blue dress perfectly tailored to her form. Curls of dark hair escaped from her hat, and her face lit up with a radiant smile as she laid eyes on the girls. “Now, you must be the children I’m to care for. Might I have your names?”

Pearl was the first to speak up, Trixie’s shyer nature getting the better of her. “My name’s Pearl. Your dress is very pretty.”

“Why thank you!” Miss Dela raised a hand to her chest, clearly pleased with the praise. “And you, sweetheart? What shall I call you?”

“That’s Trixie,” Pearl said for her, a nasty habit she’d picked up over the course of their life together. Trixie was shy and sometimes very much not in the mood to speak for herself, but she was old enough to do so if given the opportunity.

“Yes, Nanny, I’m Trixie,” sad Trixie, scowling a little. “I am capable of speech too.”

Miss Dela gave a succinct nod. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is there anything in particular I need to know about the girls?”

Papa shook his head. “Nothing I didn’t mention in my letter to you, Miss Dela.”

“Wonderful! Now, girls, shall we-”

An almighty crash from outside rudely interrupted Miss Dela and made Trixie jump in fright. Pearl was quick to stifle her yelp of surprise, raising her little hands to her mouth and flushing. It was rather satisfying - Pearl would be the first to tell you that she wasn’t scared of anything, so seeing her startled pleased Trixie a fair bit.

“Heavens, what was that?” Papa asked, more irritated than frightened by the commotion. He started towards the door to investigate, but Miss Dela held out a hand to stop him.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself - allow me.” Miss Dela turned on her heel and stepped out of the house, and despite Papa’s protests, Pearl and Trixie were quick to follow. They found Miss Dela glaring at a bush, her hands planted on her hips and her lips pursed into a thin line. Trixie peered around to see what she was looking at, and was rather surprised to see another woman splayed out in the foliage, her legs sticking out in an unladylike fashion. Beside her, Pearl giggled.

The woman grinned up at Miss Dela before blowing a bright red curl out of her face. “Well hello, Dela! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Miss Brown, you do astound me,” Miss Dela tutted. Trixie was struck dumb to know that a prim, proper lady like Miss Dela could possibly be familiar with this strange, dishevelled woman in the bushes. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“My job, I should think.” Miss Brown started untangling herself from the branches of the bush, adjusting her battered old hat as she did so. A single, wilted flower drooped from the brim.

Miss Dela narrowed her eyes. “I could have sworn you had told me your princess was Russian.”

“Oh, she is!” Miss Brown reassured her, straightening out her shabby brown coat. “But not all Russians live in Russia, you know.”

“A Russian princess!”

Trixie’s natural shyness was no match for the excitement of hearing about royalty, especially if they were from such an exotic place. Pearl fancied herself too grown up to shout as she had, but she was looking at Miss Brown with more interest than before.

Miss Dela shook her head. “Trixie, come along, you’ve no need to listen to this woman’s silly stories.”

“Oh, Miss Brown, I should like it very much if you could tell us more about the princess!” Trixie squealed. She quickly rattled off her many questions: What does she look like? Is she very rich? Is she coming to see their King? Will she have a pet bear that dances at her command? Will she come wearing the finest furs?

“Of course she will come wearing fur!” cried Pearl. “Russians love to wear fur! And she’s a princess, so it must be very fine indeed.”

“Since when are you such an expert on Russians, Pearl? We’ve never seen one before.”

Pearl was in the midst of formulating a response when the new nanny saw that it was necessary to rein her charges back in.

“Girls!”

In that moment Trixie and Pearl learned that when Miss Dela decided to put her foot down, she could appear quite stern indeed.

“Miss Dela, you musn’t punish these poor girls for their natural curiosity!” Miss Brown said, with a laugh. “Can’t I at least tell them one thing before I go? I shan’t linger where I’m not wanted.”

“Please Miss Nanny!” Trixie cried. “Please let her tell us something about the princess?”

“Who is this lady anyhow?” Pearl asked, shocked that she was the first to think of doing so. “You seem to know her, Miss Dela.”

Miss Dela sighed. “To answer your question, Pearl, this lady is my ridiculous sister, Miss Tammie Brown,” she said.

Miss Tammie Brown gave the girls a deep bow. “That I am indeed,” she said, merriment shining in her face. “Though I should say Miss Dela is the ridiculous one in my eyes. There’s so much she simply refuses to understand.”

Trixie’s mouth hung open at the cavalier way in which Miss Tammie defied their new authority figure.

“Then is Miss Dela’s name also Brown?” asked Pearl, proud of herself for being such a logical creature.

Miss Dela shook her head. “No, and we have already discussed what I should be called, have we not?”

“How is it that you are sisters and don’t have the same name?”

“Pearl, darling, not all sisters are like you and Trixie,” Miss Dela said, patiently. “Sometimes one knows in one’s heart when one is with a sister, and silly things like names don’t matter as much.”

“I don’t care about names!” shouted Trixie, too impatient to learn any important life lessons. “Miss Tammie, tell us about the princess!”

“I suppose she can,” said Miss Dela. “But we might have to have a talk about manners, Trixie.”

Pearl giggled, while Trixie looked at her feet, shamed from being scolded however light.

Miss Tammie laughed, bright and loud. “Well, I mustn’t keep the little missus waiting!” she said. “I can say just one thing, then?”

“Yes, Tammie, and do get on with it.”

“Goodness, Dela, you must be awfully eager to get rid of me!”

“They really do sound like sisters now,” whispered Pearl, so that only Trixie could hear. Trixie silently agreed, practically vibrating with impatience while Miss Tammie teased Miss Dela much like they teased each other when the mood struck.

“Alright, children, let me tell you what you wish to know,” Miss Tammie said, in that laughing way of hers. She hardly ceased to find everything around her diverting, it seemed, and both little girls thought that shouldn’t be a terrible way to go about life. Both pairs of eyes were trained right on her, eagerly anticipating her words.

Miss Tammie cleared her throat.

“The princess,” she said, leaning in to speak conspiratorially. “Is coming to live next door.”

***

The princess was, just then, entirely unaware that she was the object of such interest. She wasn’t certain where she was going at all.

Earlier that day, her Aunt Tonya had dressed her in a simple, black dress, brushed her hair neatly, and bundled everything she owned up so that she could set it on her lap as they rode to some unknown place, where she was to live from then on. She didn’t know why she couldn’t continue to live with her aunt, but her dear Father had told her she must always listen to Aunt Tonya, and Aunt Tonya said that she must live apart from her.

Technically, Yekaterina Petrovna was no princess at all, not in the way two little English girls might envision. She was born into nobility, yes, but she was no king’s daughter. Yet she grew up in a big house, inside a sprawling estate that may as well have been her family’s little kingdom, the way her father had explained it. In their house, he was as good as a king, and she was his little princess. Her mother was long dead, and as her Aunt Tonya had no husband or children of her own, she lived with them in their little palace, as she had all her life. Katya could run and play wherever she pleased, until she couldn’t, and anything her father thought she might like, he would produce for her until that too became difficult.

As their fortunes changed, Katya felt it keenly though she did not understand the particulars of their situation. She knew nothing of war or revolution, and no one had wanted to explain these things to her. Her father loved her so well that he never wanted her to worry about a single thing, and he had sent her away in the company of her aunt because he had reached a point where he felt that delaying their departure could endanger them. All he had told her was that he feared their home was no longer safe, and that if she was good to her aunt, he would be very proud of her when he joined them. She had kissed him and promised to behave, as he left her to be packed up and taken along to England, with one of the two passages he had been able to procure. She worried that when he came looking for them, he might be troubled to find that she had been separated from her aunt, and so she bit her lip as they rode along the grey streets of London, hoping that he would understand that she had only done as she was told.

Looking at her now, one would not even take her for nobility. Inside her bundle, Katya had one change of clothes and a ragged plush toy. This was all that she owned in the world, aside from a precious watch on a chain that her father had given to her as a parting gift. The watch was to be left with Aunt Tonya, who promised it would be safer in her care. Katya had always been a good, trusting kind of girl, so she had relinquished her most prized possession because she believed that her aunt had her best interests at heart, and would take better care of it than a careless little girl like her ever could. She would miss pressing it to her ear, where the ticking of the clock helped her fall asleep at night when the confusion that her life had become threatened to keep her awake.

***

For her part, Tonya did feel, deep down inside, that she may be doing the wrong thing. However, she understood life in ways her little niece did not, and she had told herself that what she was doing was in no way breaking the promise she had made to her poor brother. He had told her to look after the girl, and as he had not sent them away with nearly enough to care for the both of them in their new life together, there was no harm in finding a place for her to be cared for while Tonya could focus on keeping herself alive. Everything had happened so fast, that she had only been instructed to hide precious things in her clothes and in their luggage, to help them hold out until he could resume his duties as head of the house. So, Tonya had been left quite alone for the first time in her life, with nothing but a meagre living that could never take her through a year in naught but the most reduced circumstances, and a girl she was to be in charge of. The priceless relics of her family’s history had only gotten them so far, and if things kept on as they had, they may very well have starved slowly while her brother failed to appear.

A woman like herself, who had experienced the first hardships of her life just these past couple of years, could not be expected to find ways to improve things for herself and the child. As she saw it, all she could be expected to do was to survive until her fortunes improved. And in order for that to happen, her brother’s precious Princess Yekaterina might as well be sold into domestic service, where she stood a better chance of awaiting his return than she would by her side. She would be of no use to anyone otherwise.

Tonya hoped that Mrs. Minj would not mind the lost look her niece had about her. She tended to let her eye wander every which way, as if she needed to take a full inventory of her surroundings at all times. Tonya hoped that she would not change her mind about taking her on because of it, because in truth, Katya was quite sharp. Her adoring father had every right to go around telling everyone what a clever girl his daughter was, though appearances often suggested that her head was quite lost in the clouds.

As they stood on Mrs. Minj’s stoop, Katya could make out a strange rustling in the nearby shrubs. She saw two little heads crowded at the front window of the house next door, with a taller figure standing behind them. She took note of the dull, grey sky, and how uniform the houses on the street looked. The sound of Mrs. Minj opening the door to greet them gave her something new to behold.

Mrs. Minj was a tall, thin woman, with mousy brown hair and a perpetual look of distaste. She had been crafted by nature to become a strict governess, or a nun in charge of terrorizing schoolgirls at a convent school, or perhaps an ill-tempered librarian, but fortune had given her marriage and a family instead. After a curt greeting, she regarded Katya, looking down her nose at the girl she was to take into her home. Katya struggled to meet her eye.

“This is the child, then?” she said, addressing Tonya without looking at her.

“Yes, she is,” Tonya said. She bit her lip.

Mrs. Minj turned her attention to Katya.

“Child,” she said. “Tell me your name.”

Katya had been trained to recognize this question, though her understanding of the English language was not quite where it ought to be. She stared dumbly at Mrs. Minj for a moment, though, because it had not been phrased the way she was used to. Aunt Tonya had spent hours asking her What is your name? and talking her through the correct response.

Tonya could see something like disdain blooming on Mrs. Minj’s face the longer Katya stayed silent.

“Don’t worry,” she said, in her own halting speech. “She is quick. She improve soon.”

She then nudged Katya, with a sharp translation of what the woman had asked her. God, she hoped she would be allowed to leave this exchange alone.

Now that she knew what to say, Katya embarked on her rehearsed speech.

“My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo—”

“Katherine,” Mrs. Minj said. “What a sensible name.”

In the end, the exchange went off without a fuss. Mrs. Minj gave Tonya her payment, and took Katya by the wrist to pull her inside. Tonya called after her to be good, and turned around to leave her as soon as she could. Katya was then unceremoniously dumped into the care of the house cook. It was only later that night, when she was finally left alone to process the events of the day, that she began to feel scared.

***

In the house next door, two little girls huddled under one of their covers, so they could whisper about what they had seen after the lights went out.

“That was no princess!” Pearl whispered, almost loudly enough to constitute regular speech, but with a hissing quality to it. “She looked so shabby, and there was no fur in sight.”

“Why would Mrs. Minj call her Katherine? Her name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo, I heard it clear as day!” Trixie pouted as she thought of it. The girl looked like she had so little …

Pearl rolled her eyes, and though Trixie could not see it, she could discern that it had happened from the way she spoke.

“Oh, Trixie, what does it matter what she’s called?”

Trixie kept her mouth closed until the urge to shout subsided.

“I just think it’s so rude to take away a person’s name… Don’t you, Pearl?”

“We should just go to sleep before Miss Dela scolds us. What a bore today turned out to be,” said Pearl, sighing.

“You’re bored every day, Pearl.”

#trixie mattel #pearl liaison #bendelacreme #tammie brown #katya zamolodchikova #1910s au #mary poppins au #child au #fannyatrollop #diamonds in the rough #rpdr fanfiction #historical au

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