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deepperplexity · 5 months

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Prompt 24: Christmas Party

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Sir Penn’s Estate, Christmas Party 1850

A/N: So, it’s the last day of 2023 and I’m finally able to sit down for a little while to write and post this. We are having a calm New Year Celebration, just us three here at home with homemade sushi and some (neighbours will be shooting a lot though) fireworks so no dressing up, no extra cleaning, no extra cooking or prepping or anything (yes, I’m loving it after the super busy holiday 😅). This is a nice little thing to wrap up the year with I think, we get to look back a bit and then enjoy the present time as well with a stoic and sweet Turpin 🥰👏

A/N+: I thought I’d have some fun and use some real people this time around, sprinkling in a bit of accurate history among the fiction is always a good deal of fun (do keep in mind I have used the real people to enhance this story and my portrayal of them aren’t accurate to any more degree than names, ages, time stamps and professions - have no idea how they were in real life so I’ve just sprinkled in some history I’ve found through the past few years while I’ve written Turpin stories. Just thought I ought to use some of it, you know? 😂) so you’ll meet a man called Johan Penn and his wife Ellen Penn (neé English) as they match the time frame and they too have a huge age gap (21 years) between them which I thought would be great fun to use 🥰 1850 they had two children and one on the way as well so figured I'd use that too ^^

Tags/TW’s: Confessions, Memories, Societal Differences, Fluff, Affection, Growth, Age Gap, Dancing, Friendship

Word Count: 2.5k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

The grand hall of Sir Penn’s estate was dressed in all things Christmas — garlands, tinsel, hundreds of candles, and sparkling decorations, each pillar wrapped in red and green, each surface covered in all things wonderfully Christmas-themed. You were in heaven, except for one thing — your husband was nowhere to be found after the first dance of the evening which he’d spent in a stiff sort of grace while twirling you about the room among all the pretty and chatty couples.

“Oh, Y/n, how good to see you!” came the sweet voice of Mrs Ellen Penn, you had first known her as Ellen English though as both you and Richard had been at their wedding three years ago. You felt a kinship with the sweet woman, both of you marrying men far beyond your age, but she had kept within her societal standing as she was the daughter of another well-known engineer, William English of Enfield, much like her husband was John Penn of Johan Penn and Sons . Your husband was of a different societal standing, of course, but both ranked high in their respective fields and often mingled in the same circles so you and Ellen had become great friends over the past years.

“Ellen, good evening, how are you?” you asked, smiling brightly while glancing toward her rounded belly where their third child grew. She laughed and patted her stomach affectionately.

“Oh, this is a wild one, I assure you, he’ll be the brawny one, I can feel it.”

“Sure it’s a he?” you asked and she nodded. “Well, three sons, what a blessing you are to your husband,” you continued and she laughed once more.

“I think he’s quite happy with his lot in life, lord knows I am. I do wish I could have a little daughter too though, you know?” You nodded, but you weren’t overly fond of children and still had none of your own. You were neither happy nor sad about it, your husband was not the fathering type either, you did suspect he wished for a son to carry on his legacy but you also knew he was not fond of the idea of children beyond that. As he always said, he was perfectly happy to simply have you as you were all that mattered to him.

“Where is the great judge?” Ellen asked while glancing around the room, being one of few who knew how you two loved each other and how well he treated you there was none of the usual fear or the like in her voice or expression.

“I confess, he’s managed to slip away. I don’t know where he walked off to but I’m sure he’ll find his way back, as he always does,” you said with a smile and Ellen smiled back at you. Both of you had been blessed with husbands who adored you, were fools in love, and were beyond possessive of all things regarding you — it was nice to have a friend who understood, who was in the same position in some ways. The gossip about you had been hard to deal with at first, seeing as you were of lower standing than your husband and with such an age difference the talks had been quite loud about town — with Ellen by your side, as a true friend in kind, things had become much easier.

You stood off to the side, watching the room while hunting for the man of your dreams who nearly none else seemed able to see as anything other than the ruthless judge who dolled out harsher sentences than any other in the country. He was more to you, different to you, something else to you entirely. It hadn’t always been like that, of course. You smiled to yourself as memories of the very first Christmas party you had celebrated together flooded your mind and you drifted off to the past while sipping a ridiculously expensive champagne…

“Will you come visit next week?” you asked and Ellen beamed at you.

“I would love to, I can leave John and William with my mother for an evening,” she said and you nodded, knowing full well it was for the benefit of both of you if she did not bring her children — they were two and one years old so they were a handful of needing constant attention and supervision.

“Ellen, my sunshine,” came the voice of Sir Penn and you both turned towards the man with his full beard and slightly upturned moustache. “Come dance with me,” he continued and you said your goodbyes before the two walked off. You felt blessed in life at that moment, surrounded by splendour and grandeur you were now used to. Richard had made sure of that, spoiling you endlessly in a manner only he ever could.

Four years earlier…

He was such a harsh, stoic man. Not a smile to be seen, not a softness to him in any manner. It had been a mere month since your November wedding, not enough time to get to know the man who had taken you off your family’s poor hands to be dressed in finery and held at a strange distance of close but not too close, far away but not too far away — as if your husband had a shield around him none could penetrate yet physically he had you close.

Your arms were wrapped around his, your hands gently resting atop his wrist, and it felt as if you had been standing there for an eternity, barely speaking a word or even being acknowledged at all. It was nearly as if you did not exist. Is it because of you, or because of my background? You wondered while you glanced up at the man whose arm you graced. The fact you got tingly all over at his appearance was something you barely could admit to yourself. He was so much older, his greying hair and the slight wrinkles to his face only made him more handsome in your eyes though. But how could you ever confess to such a thing? You still were not sure why the man had wed you.

“Judge Turpin,” said yet another round-bellied man as he bowed his head to your husband while passing by in the grand Hall of a man called Sir John Penn. You knew nothing of the world you had entered, nor any of the people inhabiting it. It was a terrifying place to be, yet you were not truly afraid as your husband always kept you close (just never close enough).

“Lord Burlington,” your husband said in that drawling dark voice of his but there was no bow of his head, a mere tilt of his chin was enough apparently.

“Tired?” he suddenly asked while you shifted your weight from foot to foot to ease the discomfort of standing still for so long.

You glanced up at him. “No, simply stiff,” you admitted while a slight blush warmed your cheeks from his stormy gaze solely focused on you.

“A dance, perhaps?” he continued and you thought his voice would be your undoing. You found no words so simply nodded and he led you out on the dance floor in that stiff yet gracefully respect commanding manner.

You danced around the room in a waltz, he led you with expertise and there was no hardship in following his lead. He really is a good dancer, if only he would soften a tad… He tugged you a little closer as you thought of that and your breath hitched.

“You look confused,” he murmured for only you to hear, “am I not leading well?”

“Oh, no, no you are an excellent dancer,” you hurriedly said in as low a tone as you could while he would still be able to hear you.

“Then why, do tell, the confusion?” You blushed even deeper at that, averting your gaze to the golden pin in his ascot to gather yourself as you had been wondering how you could be so attracted to a man like him all evening.

“Love?” he urged and your heart leapt in your chest, as it always did when he used any sweet terms while speaking to you.

“I— You are very handsome, sir,” you whispered and his fingers flexed by your waist.

“Is that so?”

“Yes…”

“And you are confused by this?”

“N-no,” you stuttered in admittance. “I am confused as to why I find you to be the most handsome man…”

“The most handsome?”

“Yes…” Not that I’ve found many men handsome before… Perhaps I have a very singular taste? Strange taste? Wrong taste? That last part made you nibble your lip and Richard spun you around.

As he caught you back up, holding you far too close, he leaned in and whispered by your ear. “I shall only ever need you to find me handsome, to hear I am the most handsome one in your beautiful eyes matters greatly.” His baritone voice had you shivering, goosebumps travelling down your spine in waves with the sensation of his breath against your skin.

“Richard, you are so confusing,” you confessed, your voice a meek noise you had little control over as it hitched.

“How come?”

“You are so cold, yet you say such sweet things at times.”

“I have been cold toward you?” A sound close to alarm in his voice.

“No, well, yes, well, no,” you stuttered as you thought of it. He hadn’t really been cold toward you, he was gentle and somewhat kind, a bit stiff and stoic, rough around the edges and somewhat harsh at times but no, he had not really been cold — in your presence towards others, yes, but not towards you now that you thought about it.

Had you really done so so many times? Had you missed his efforts? Been blind to his trials of getting closer to you while you had done all you could to be the good wife of a man in high society — in a world you did not belong, and did not know how to live within?

“Perhaps I ought to be the one confused,” he said with something you couldn’t possibly believe to be mirth in his voice. “You watch me with the most longing in your eyes, yet you do not take kindly to any of my advances, hiding away in the study or refusing to speak to me altogether when I endeavour to start a conversation with you.”

“What?”

“Oh, sweet wife, you have not once engaged fully in a conversation with me, no matter my efforts to start one. You always turn your eyes away, fidgeting with those delicate fingers of yours or offer me one of those tight-lipped smiles. Yes, exactly like that,” he said as you smiled up at him tightly, endeavouring to stop yourself from breaking out in a flurry of words that you wished to speak but were afraid to as they were wholly improper given the differences between you and your husband.

“I don’t know how to act in your world,” you confessed, feeling guilt and shame overwhelm your heart and mind.

“Act?”

“Yes, act, be,” you said.

“Love,” Richard said and stopped dancing. “You do not act with me, never with me. You live and you are you. There is no acting involved, what ever put that notion in your pretty head?” he asked with scrunched brows as he nearly glared down at you with disappointment.

You gulped down a breath, feeling your shoulders tense under those intimidating eyes you adored. “I am not from your world, I am—”

“You are everything and all the things I could hope for, just as you are. Do you not think I am well aware of who you are? Where you come from? Do you think me a man of little resources and forethought?” You shook your head and he held on tightly to your waist.

Current time…

Richard leaned in closer, the world fell away and the beautiful music seemed to die out.

“I am well aware of who you are, from your favourite colour to your preferred foods, your manner of acting with people you care for and how you behave toward strangers. How you fidget when you are worried, how your shoulders tense and how you bite your lip when holding back words, I am beyond aware of your meagre upbringing and the lack of education within high society,” he said in a rough sort of way you couldn’t make heads or tales of.

“What are you saying?”

“I know you, love, and there is no need to be anything or anyone except for yourself with me.”

You chuckled to yourself, feeling a tinge of a blush creep up your neck while you thought of that day when everything between the two of you had changed. How you had dared to open up to the harsh man who craved your true self while he had softened toward you and become an encouraging, doting husband who made you blossom into the assured and strong woman you were now. The journey had not been easy, or smooth, but you had both grown together.

Richard had changed little to the outside world, while you had become a different person with him by your side. He was an affectionate, if somewhat depraved and simultaneously doting lover and caring husband even if he was somewhat possessive and harsh. He was perfect for you, as you were perfect for him. You challenged him nowadays, you dared speak your mind unhindered and he actually listened to your words like none other ever had — like he listened to none other, and no matter what it said about you it honestly made you feel too good to be heard by him.

“Love, there you are,” Richard said, jolting you out of your thoughts, while he walked up to you in two long strides.

“Richard, darling, where have you been?” you asked while slipping onto his arm after he gave your temple a swift kiss.

“Sir Penn wished for a moment, some legal matters for the Institution.”

“The Mechanical Engineers? Everything alright?”

“Oh, more than alright, love. Do not worry that pretty head of yours, I know you care deeply for Mrs Penn, and given her current state I dare say it’s at its height for you, but there are no worries, only paperwork,” Richard said with a hint of a smile.

“Truly, Richard? Paperwork during the Christmas party?”

“My apologies, sweet wife,” he said with softness and kissed the top of your head.

“You are forgiven, if you dance a waltz with me,” you challenged and the deep but low chuckle he graced you with was like music to your soul.

“I shall gladly parade you about, my most beautiful wife,” he said and began leading you onto the dance floor while your fingers squeezed his and he looked at you with that stormy gaze of his that promised endless love and adoration…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: THAT WAS IT FOR THIS YEAR DARLINGS! 71k of words and it's all finished! 😱❤

The last fic of Rickmas2023 and even if I'm a few days late I finished this year and I wrote a fic for every single prompt and it's been quite the journey. I have really enjoyed this year's event, and doing so many serials was a real challenge tbh but I feel it was the right way to go this year. Also, sidenote, the Penn family does have a daughter a few years after this as well so Ellen's wish does get fulfilled!

I hope you've had lots of fun and feel happy about how this year turned out. This last fic is a little extra dedicated to my Blossom ( @snowblossomreads ), who chose Turpin as the final character for this year's round and I am ever so grateful for her and each one of you darlings ❤❤❤ I will be getting to the comments, reblogs and tags steadily during the upcoming days as well - I am so so so thankful and grateful for all your loving words and all the time you've spent with me and my writing this December. THANK YOU!

I wish you a super happy 2024 - filled with loved, joy and all the good things! ❤❤❤

Q: Which of my fics were your favourite of RICKMAS2023? 🥰

A: For me, I'd have to say continuing Hans and Anna-Louise's story was my favourite to re-visit and write, but my favourite in general would probably have to be Prompt 9. Missing Star - I have no exact reason, I just absolutely loved it 🥰

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Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas 2023 #rickmas #alan rickman #rickmaniac #judge turpin #turpin fic #turpin x reader #turpin x you #sweeney todd

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 11 months

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My first time doing a request but this seemed fun! #39 Rooster and Phoenix 🥰 Thanks!

Hi! Thanks so much for request Kiss #39 - because time’s run out with Rooster and Phoenix! I hope you love it! I'm sorry it took so long to write!

A Kiss Because Time's Run Out

What do you do when your best friend is getting married to somebody who is not you? If you’re Bradley Bradshaw, you don’t do anything at all, because if your best friend is happier with a man who isn’t you, who are you to stop her happiness? He’s the only man in the bride’s dressing room, in part because he’s her best man. She looks breathtaking, but Bradley always thinks she does. Wearing a white gown with her hair in shining ringlets down her back, she looks ethereal, rather like a goddess.

He stands at the back of the room while Natasha’s mom and sisters add the finishing touches and then the room falls silent as everyone makes their way out of the room. He can still remember the day he met Natasha Trace. She’d been the only woman in a room full of men and she’d outshone them all. She could outfly them all, too. He doesn’t know when he fell in love with her, though he has a suspicion it was sometime between when she first called him, “Roo” and when he made her laugh over beers.

But he’s always been too chicken, living up to his call sign, as Hangman says, “Sitting on his perch” to tell her he loves her. Coincidentally he lost her to that very same man, and he can’t stand to see the joy on her face when she turns to him. In another universe, it would be him on the other end of that aisle facing her in her beautiful dress.

“Roo” There’s something sad in her eyes.

“Nixxie.” He swallows hard. “You look beautiful. He’s - he’s a lucky man.”

“Tell me not to marry him, and I’m yours.” Her voice is shaky, in a way Bradley’s never heard it.

Bradley can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Nix, I can’t do that. Jake’s a friend and he loves you. More than I ever could.”

She blinks back tears from her gorgeous eyes. “Then will you kiss me, Roo?”

“Of course, Nix.” He dips his head down, and presses his lips to hers. He’s gentle as he cradles her head, pulling away after only a few more moments.

“This is the end of us, isn’t it?” Her voice hitches on a near sob.

“Why would it be, huh, Nix?” His voice is just as soft as he dabs away her tears. “You’re still my best friend. You’re still the best wingwoman I could have asked for. Be happy.”

Want to request a Kiss and a pair for me to write? Guidelines are here.

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#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #kiss writing game #bradley rooster bradshaw x natasha phoenix trace #rooster x phoenix #bradley bradshaw x natasha trace

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istumpysk · 2 years

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Sansa I (Chapter 10)

My little chicken nugget! 🥰

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. "The man has played us every song he knows thrice over," Lord Eddard told her gently. "I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come."

They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence.

Is it already time for another 'be careful what you wish for'?

Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree

Such an adaptable young woman.

+.+.+

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing.

It's too bad Jon's not a singer, because this would have sent me over the moon.

+.+.+

He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

I laughed.

+.+.+

"Please," she begged Lord Petyr, "can't you make him stop?"

"I gave the man my word, sweetling." Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, looked up from the letter he was writing. He had written a hundred letters since Lady Lysa's fall. Sansa had seen the ravens coming and going from the rookery.

My, what nice titles you have, Daenerys.

Writing all those letters like he's the smart version of Tywin Lannister.

+.+.+

It is better that he sings, yes, but . . . "Must he play all night, my lord? Lord Robert cannot sleep. He cries . . ."

". . . for his mother. That cannot be helped, the wench is dead." Petyr shrugged.

Regardless of what happened, it's a mistake to be talking about her like that in front of Sansa.

+.+.+

Sansa had met Lord Nestor Royce once before, after Petyr's wedding to her aunt. Royce was the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, the great castle that stood at the base of the mountain and guarded the steps up to the Eyrie. The wedding party had guested with him overnight before beginning their ascent. Lord Nestor had scarce looked at her twice, but the prospect of him coming here terrified her.

I'll give the author a break and assume her hair was dyed at this point, but I'd really like to know when and where that happened.

Am I supposed to believe he's got L'Oreal on hand at his little sheep shit farm?

+.+.+

"What if Lord Nestor values honor more than profit?" Petyr put his arm around her.

I will rip out your heart, and feed it to you.

+.+.+

He smiled. "I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I'd ever let him harm my daughter?"

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell.

+.+.+

If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage.

Shhhh. You do.

+.+.+

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

Sansa did not know what to say to that.

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." And then that never happened. The end.

+.+.+

"Some lies are love," Petyr had assured her. She reminded him of that. "When we lied to Lord Robert, that was just to spare him," she said.

"And this lie may spare us. Else you and I must leave the Eyrie by the same door Lysa used." Petyr picked up his quill again. "We shall serve him lies and Arbor gold, and he'll drink them down and ask for more, I promise you."

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them . . .

It's like Ned, only sinister.

"We all lie," her father said. "Or did you truly think I'd believe that Nymeria ran off?"

[...]

"It was right," her father said. "And even the lie was … not without honor." - Arya II, AGOT

The good news is Sansa knows she's being served lies.

+.+.+

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself.

Woah, woah, wait a second. Why are you thinking of that? I was under the impression there was no point to you hearing all of those confessions.

+.+.+

Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and . . .

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too . . . and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle . . . but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike.

Is she already questioning whether he loves her? Am I understanding that correctly? He's so screwed.

+.+.+

She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr.

Pretty sure I read this exact same breakdown in the previous chapter, only this time one person is noticeably missing. Again.

Or would she seek her own blood instead? Though all of her siblings had been slain, Brienne knew that Sansa still had an uncle and a bastard half brother on the Wall, serving in the Night's Watch. Another uncle, Edmure Tully, was a captive at the Twins, but his uncle Ser Brynden still held Riverrun. And Lady Catelyn's younger sister ruled the Vale. Blood calls to blood. - Brienne II, AFFC

"They never think about each other!"

Yeah, I wonder why, you concrete block.

+.+.+

When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest. I must not pity him, she told herself. He was vain and cruel, and soon he will be dead. She could not save him. And why should she want to? Marillion tried to rape her, and Petyr had saved her life not once but twice. Some lies you have to tell. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing. If she had not lied to Joffrey, his Kingsguard would have beat her bloody.

Still no cause for concern in Sansa Land. She's trying hard, but she knows it's wrong.

+.+.+

But as the first light of dawn was prying at her shutters, she heard the soft strains of "On a Misty Morn" drifting up from below, and woke at once. That was more properly a woman's song, a lament sung by a mother on the dawn after some terrible battle, as she searches amongst the dead for the body of her only son. The mother sings her grief for her dead son, Sansa thought, but Marillion grieves for his fingers, for his eyes. The words rose like arrows and pierced her in the darkness.

Oh, have you seen my boy, good ser? His hair is chestnut brown He'd promised he'd come back to me Our home's in Wendish Town.

Is this about anyone other than Catelyn?

+.+.+

Gretchel and Maddy were helping Robert Arryn squirm into his breeches when Sansa stepped into his bedchamber. The Lord of the Eyrie had been crying again. His eyes were red and raw, his lashes crusty, his nose swollen and runny. A trail of snot glistened underneath one nostril, and his lower lip was bloody where he'd bitten it. Lord Nestor must not see him like this, Sansa thought, despairing. "Gretchel, fetch me the washbasin." She took the boy by the hand and drew him to the bed. "Did my Sweetrobin sleep well last night?"

"No." He sniffed. "I never slept one bit, Alayne. He was singing again, and my door was locked. I called for them to let me out, but no one ever came. Someone locked me in my room."

"That was wicked of them." Dipping a soft cloth into the warm water, she began to clean his face . . . gently, oh so gently.

[...]

Robert's lip quivered. "I was going to come sleep with you."

I know you were. Sweetrobin had been accustomed to crawling in beside his mother, until she wed Lord Petyr. Since Lady Lysa's death he had taken to wandering the Eyrie in quest of other beds. The one he liked best was Sansa's . . . which was why she had asked Ser Lothor Brune to lock his door last night. She would not have minded if he only slept, but he was always trying to nuzzle at her breasts, and when he had his shaking spells he often wet the bed.

Sansa, you seem so matured, and good with children.

+.+.+

"My poor Sweetrobin." Sansa smoothed his hair back. "You miss her, I know. Lord Petyr misses her too. He loved her just as you do." That was a lie, though kindly meant. The only woman Petyr ever loved was Sansa's murdered mother. He had confessed as much to Lady Lysa just before he pushed her out the Moon Door. She was mad and dangerous. She murdered her own lord husband, and would have murdered me if Petyr had not come along to save me.

Woah, woah, wait a second. Why are you recalling that? I was under the impression all those confessions went in one ear and out the other.

+.+.+

The slender pillars looked like fingerbones, and the blue veins in the white marble brought to mind the veins in an old crone's legs. Though fifty silver sconces lined the walls, less than a dozen torches had been lit, so shadows danced upon the floors and pooled in every corner. Their footsteps echoed off the marble, and Sansa could hear the wind rattling at the Moon Door. I must not look at it, she told herself, else I'll start to shake as badly as Robert.

[...]

Brune lifted the boy in his arms and carried him from the hall. Maester Colemon followed, grim-faced.

When their footsteps died away there was no sound in the High Hall of the Eyrie. Sansa could hear the night wind moaning outside and scratching at the Moon Door. She was very cold and very tired.

If that's Bran, I wish he would be less creepy in Sansa's chapters. Like, would a gentle breeze be so hard?

Don't ask me about the footsteps and shadows.

+.+.+

"As oft he did," Lord Nestor said. "The man was craven, but the favor Lady Lysa showed him made him insolent. She dressed him like a lord, gave him gold rings and a moonstone belt."

You won't believe how Littlefinger has dressed Marillion for his questioning!

Marillion by contrast looked almost elegant. Someone had bathed him and dressed him in a pair of sky-blue breeches and a loose-fitting white tunic with puffed sleeves, belted with a silvery sash that had been a gift from Lady Lysa. White silk gloves covered his hands, while a white silk bandage spared the lords the sight of his eyes.

+.+.+

Petyr Baelish sighed. "It was unseemly," he agreed, "and I put an end to it. Lysa agreed to send him away. That was why she met him here, that day. I should have been with her, but I never dreamt . . . if I had not insisted . . . it was I who killed her."

No, Sansa thought, you mustn't say that, you mustn't tell them, you mustn't. But Albar Royce was shaking his head. "No, my lord, you must not blame yourself," he said.

He leaned forward. "If I gave her Jon Arryn's true killer, she might think more kindly of me."

That made Littlefinger sit up. "True killer? I confess, you make me curious. Who do you propose?" - Tyrion IV, ACOK

It's my goal to catch him doing this again in TWOW.

+.+.+

"Mord, take him back to his sky cell," said Petyr.

"Yes, m'lord." Mord grabbed Marillion roughly by the collar. "No more mouth." When he spoke, Sansa saw to her astonishment that the gaoler's teeth were made of gold. They watched as he half dragged half shoved the singer toward the doors.

"The man must die," Ser Marywn Belmore declared when they were gone. "He should have followed Lady Lysa out the Moon Door."

"Without his tongue," Ser Albar Royce added. "Without that lying, mocking tongue."

Lots of hidden Tyrion in this discussion about tongues.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor seated himself beside the fire. "This will not be the end of it," he said to Petyr, as if Sansa were not there. "My cousin means to question the singer himself."

"Bronze Yohn mistrusts me." Petyr pushed a log aside.

"He means to come in force. Symond Templeton will join him, do not doubt it. And Lady Waynwood too, I fear."

"And Lord Belmore, Young Lord Hunter, Horton Redfort. They will bring Strong Sam Stone, the Tolletts, the Shetts, the Coldwaters, some Corbrays."

"You are well-informed. Which Corbrays? Not Lord Lyonel?"

"No, his brother. Ser Lyn mislikes me, for some reason."

"Lyn Corbray is a dangerous man," Lord Nestor said doggedly. "What do you intend to do?"

We'll save the deep dive on Lyn Corbray for another chapter, but I will say I think it's a big deal one of the first things we learn about Ser Lyn is that he dislikes Littlefinger.

Book Littlefinger and television show Littlefinger are very different characters. They're probably the character that's most different from the book to the television show. There was a line in a recent episode of the show where, he's not even present, but two people are talking about him and someone says 'Well, no one trusts Littlefinger' and 'Littlefinger has no friends.' And that's true of television show Littlefinger, but it's certainly not true of book Littlefinger. Book Littlefinger, in the book, everybody trusts him. Everybody trusts him because he seems powerless, and he's very friendly, and he's very helpful. He helps Ned Stark when he comes to town, he helps Tyrion, you know, he helps the Lannisters. He's always ready to help, to raise money. He helps Robert, Robert depends on him to finance all of his banquets and tournaments and his other follies, because Littelfinger can always raise money. So, he's everybody's friend. - George R. R. Martin

I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me it's all a show, and they're on the same team.

Fam? Fam. You need to trust Sansa's instincts. If Sansa senses something is wrong, then is something is wrong.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor clutched the parchment tightly. "I will not say I had not hoped for this. Whilst Lord Jon ruled the realm as Hand, it fell to me to rule the Vale for him. I did all that he required of me and asked nothing for myself. But by the gods, I earned this!"

"You did," said Petyr, "and Lord Robert sleeps more easily knowing that you are always there, a staunch friend at the foot of his mountain." He raised a cup. "So . . . a toast, my lord. To House Royce, Keepers of the Gates of the Moon . . . now and forever."

[...]

"Do you understand what happened here, Alayne?"

Sansa hesitated a moment. "You gave Lord Nestor the Gates of the Moon to be certain of his support."

[...]

She nodded. "The signature . . . you might have had Lord Robert put his hand and seal to it, but instead . . ."

". . . I signed myself, as Lord Protector. Why?"

"So . . . if you are removed, or . . . or killed . . ."

". . . Lord Nestor's claim to the Gates will suddenly be called into question. I promise you, that is not lost on him. It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter."

"Thank you." She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out, but confused as well.

+.+.+

He wants to believe that Lysa valued him above her other bannermen. One of those others is Bronze Yohn, after all, and Nestor is very much aware that he was born of the lesser branch of House Royce. He wants more for his son. Men of honor will do things for their children that they would never consider doing for themselves.

Judging from the comments I read about this chapter, everyone seems to believe this is a reference to Jon. Uh, maybe? Personally, I think it fits a little better with Sansa.

"So what is your answer, Lord Eddard? Give me your word that you'll tell the queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling."

"If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life is not so precious to me as that."

"Pity." The eunuch stood. "And your daughter's life, my lord? How precious is that?" - Eddard XV, AGOT

+.+.+

Littlefinger put a finger to her lips.

I will boil your teeth, and air fry your liver.

+.+.+

"I know what I know, and so do you. Some things are best left unsaid, sweetling."

"Even when we are alone?"

"Especially when we are alone. Elsewise a day will come when a servant walks into a room unannounced, or a guardsman at the door chances to hear something he should not. Do you want more blood on your pretty little hands, my darling?"

God he's good. I hate it.

+.+.+

"I am tempted to say this is no game we play, daughter, but of course it is. The game of thrones."

I never asked to play. The game was too dangerous. One slip and I am dead. "Oswell . . . my lord, Oswell rowed me from King's Landing the night that I escaped. He must know who I am."

"If he's half as clever as a sheep pellet, you would think so. Ser Lothor knows as well. But Oswell has been in my service a long time, and Brune is close-mouthed by nature. Kettleblack watches Brune for me, and Brune watches Kettleblack.

Good idea, let's do a random recap of everyone that knows.

+.+.+

Trust no one, I once told Eddard Stark, but he would not listen.

Oops, oops. He fucked up. He should not have said that. That was a mistake.

You better pray her brother never escapes that tree.

+.+.+

He put two fingers on her left breast.

I will gouge out your eyeballs with a rusted nail, and drink from your skull.

+.+.+

"Even here. In your heart. Can you do that? Can you be my daughter in your heart?"

"I . . ." I do not know, my lord, she almost said, but that was not what he wanted to hear. Lies and Arbor gold, she thought. "I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?"

Looks like Littlefinger taught Sansa how to lie to him.

There goes Sansa. Welcome, Alayne.

+.+.+

Lord Littlefinger kissed her cheek.

I will braid your veins, and crack your manhood like a glowstick.

+.+.+

"With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling. Now off to bed."

Ah yes, Cat's beauty. Beautiful Catelyn Stark, who recently visited the Vale, giving everyone the opportunity to see what she looks like.

+.+.+

Sometime during the night she woke, as little Robert climbed up into her bed. I forgot to tell Lothor to lock him in again, she realized. There was nothing to be done for it, so she put her arm around him. "Sweetrobin? You can stay, but try not to squirm around. Just close your eyes and sleep, little one."

"I will." He cuddled close and laid his head between her breasts. "Alayne? Are you my mother now?"

"I suppose I am," she said. If a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it.

Everything will be okay, because she's 27.

Final thoughts:

Strange, we have a Sansa -> Asha transition here, and I can't think of any connection.

"Asha?" A shadow stepped out from behind the well.

Her hand went to her dirk at once . . . until the moonlight transformed the dark shape into a man in a sealskin cloak. Another ghost. "Tris. I'd thought to find you in the hall."

"I wanted to see you."

"What part of me, I wonder?" She grinned. "Well, here I stand, all grown up. Look all you like."

"A woman." He moved closer. "And beautiful."

Tristifer Botley had filled out since last she'd seen him, but he had the same unruly hair that she remembered, and eyes as large and trusting as a seal's. Sweet eyes, truly.

[...]

You look so lovely in the moonlight, Asha. A woman grown now, but I remember when you were a skinny girl with a face all full of pimples."

[...]

Of the five boys her mother had brought to Pyke to foster after Ned Stark had taken her last living son as hostage, Tris had been closest to Asha in age. He had not been the first boy she had ever kissed, but he was the first to undo the laces of her jerkin and slip a sweaty hand beneath to feel her budding breasts.

I would have let him feel more than that if he'd been bold enough. Her first flowering had come upon her during the war and wakened her desire, but even before that Asha had been curious. He was there, he was mine own age, and he was willing, that was all it was . . . that, and the moon blood. Even so, she'd called it love, till Tris began to go on about the children she would bear him; a dozen sons at least, and oh, some daughters too.

If anyone has any theories as to why these chapters are back-to-back, I'd love to hear it.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #sansa i

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

Note

Maddie, hi! i have just finished reading your story and loved it immensely! i can totally see how classic pieces of literature influenced your writing and the way you build a narrative. it’s really beautiful

can i ask you about your love for Master and Margarita? what fascinated you the most in this book? who’s your favorite character? just anything you’d like to share with me on this novel, i’m really interested in your thoughts on it

✨tell me everything please✨

My lovely ❤️

It's taken me far too long to answer you... I sincerely apologise for it.

First of all, thank you for reading, for your kind words, and for taking the time to write 🥰

I’ve re-written this answer approximately five times already. I tried to draft an analysis of the novel, second-doubting every word, so instead I'll tell you how I perceive it and what I love about it. And even so, I feel like I'm only scratching the surface...

First, the interwar is by far my favourite period (I think I’m repeating myself here, sorry). So to me, it’s already the perfect setting.

Then, there's the magic. The black magic and the dark humour. I love the inversion of values (I always do), the idea of the devil coming to earth to right the wrongs and actually do good, only in his mischievous, wicked ways… It's delicious.

Then, there’s this beautiful, wistful, doomed love story… which I’ve always read as the emancipation of Margarita. Her journey -her ascent- into witchcraft is one of liberation. Again, there's an inversion of values, in my opinion, and for once womanhood is positively assimilated to witchery, as a way for the female protagonist to come into her rightful power, and I cannot think of a scene more evocative of feminine freedom than that of Margarita and Natasha flying naked under the moon in the Muscovite sky on their way to the Midnight ball. Riding men turned into pigs!

I also very much love the story within the story, the Master's book, Pontius Pilate and Yeshua. I love the contrast of colours and sensations between the two. To me, both are very visual and sensory experiences, that complete each other. Pontius Pilate is such a relatable character, overtaken by events, which, he has accepted, are beyond his control, yet desperately wanting to find solace and peace and... rest? He's the Master, and he's all of us. And it's a concept I can appreciate even as a fierce atheist, the idea of waiting for a divine person to miraculously walk into my life and redeem me, save me from my circumstances, from myself, like Margarita does the Master, and Yeshua Pontius Pilate (I believe it's central to Pleased To Meet You).

When I began to draft PTMY, I decided to use The Master and Margarita because it's my favourite novel and in a recent interview, Pedro had mentioned it as being one of his favourite too. And it was just that, at first, a funny nod to myself. But then as I dug into it, I realised how it also fitted the story I wanted to tell, of this sad, lonely girl, who grows into a woman after being revealed the extent of her own power, and unleashes hell to save the man she loves madly from his own pit of despair and be with him at all costs, regardless of the consequences...

But as much as I love Pilate and Margarita, they're not my favourite characters... Behemoth is. I wish Behemoth was half of my brain: his playfulness, his levity, his roguishness, the way he aggressively turns everything into mockery, like nothing's really that bad or that serious, he's my antidote to fear and despair. I just love him.

I hope this answer is not too boring, as it is very personal... And again, I apologise for taking so long to answer you.

ILY ❤️

#dreamymyrrh my sweet #now tell ME what YOU think #pleased to meet you inspo

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sheviolentlyher · 7 months

Text

It’s always like- “where’s my phone?”📱 and not- “where’s my pocket diary?” 📔 -discuss.

I no longer call this my phone. 📱

It’s my pocket diary. As it should be- 📱📔

Everything I need and want to say is written and left here. I never really go back and doom scroll through my writing. It’s left here to be floating here. Like useless space trash. 🚮 🪐

And I’m totally okay with surrounding myself with my own dignity. I don’t know how I made it through my twenties without some type of diary. But then again I was an avid Facebook user and that is basically a journal in itself. Soooo 2000’s. 📱👀

If I can get my mind to think of social media as I do this void then I can probably document my life in the way I want it documented.

Please, yes, judge me. I get off on the shock value of a judgment. —> in some sadistic way when I’m judged it makes me feel seen and alive. And then I cry about it in order to learn more about myself. More ways to be judged because I want more and more and more. I want to be a Warhol on your wall type vibes.

I feel like a vampire to be honest. I’m a good woman who’s addicted to self sabotage to feel alive. I’m not broken because I was never even built. Like- tell me when you first felt like you were actually building who you are according to what you’re meant to be. Experiencing and free.

I do not give the pleasure of judgment that people seek just like me. Judgments are so incredibly powerful. I will not give people mine because I need them more than you. And you don’t even know how much you need them too. Who gets to decide anyways? Me. I do. You choose yours too.

I am able to separate from taking responsibility for their feelings. You know the things that create their judgments. I am no longer sorry that they feel the need to judge me. I am not here for your pain. I’m here for pleasure.

I can only help one through the judgment process. Because I think we just don’t know how to constructively build from a judgment. No matter what kind. Because let’s face it, a compliment IS also a judgment. Is it not?

I know there are therapists, life coaches, doctors etc out there that hold the knowledge it takes to understand human psychology. I am delusionaly convinced that I can help people in a much deeper way. 😆 I don’t know what the way is yet, but I feel my methods are going to be something never seen before. And it’s gonna work. Haha. I’m laughing.

Yes. What a beautiful pocket diary I have. It’s full of my favorite music anywhere I go. I have this amazingly vivid blog account, where I account and accept myself fully. I am able to text or call all my favorite people in this entire world, literally. So 🔥 I think the cellphone was the greatest man made invention. They are what I dreamed of the future being like. The same but just more ways to connect, move and interact. The depictions of the future are always my favorite but when I think of future, some how I’m always thinking back to the 1950s-1960s retro nostalgia.

So I think the future is just the past learning from its mistakes automatically making our future. Again, stays the same, but more connections, movement and interaction.

And that’s all life is. Picking up our past and creating the future right in front of us. Therefore meaning that the only “life path” is the one behind us. There is no yellow brick road.

What you need, you have to borrow. Make sense? There is no future to borrow from. We must be the unrealized idea. Because that is what the future is, an unrealized idea.

Today? I was the first one up and I got to spend quality ass time on my office floor with my two favorite men. My cats 🙈🥰🥰😆 Gary is my little angry demon, and I love when he lays on top of my chest like the king he is. His ears turn outward and sharp. He lets his eye coverings cover only half is eye, he is purring like a dragon and I love taking in the Hz frequencies. My other guy is my baby and I let him get a little rough with me and bite me and scratch my hoodie sleeves in hopes he would feel like the baddest African lion. I let him hunt and kill my arm. I don’t mind the pain, and my mom chopped off the tips of his from paws (declawed) him. Ugh so get me started on that—. It was amazing connecting and enduring the now.

I cleaned my entire house with my daughter’s headphones on feeling no animosity or anger towards my home. 🏡

Now- here I am. Self sabotaging with cigarettes, but- but- baby- it’s okay all the best writers smoke cigarettes in order to be able to endure the deep thought process. 💋

I’ll be fine. I’ll quit soon. 🔜 as I stop thinking.

-x

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pandoras-princess · 3 years

Text

Ronnie’s World (Ronnie Kray x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸🌸 I hope you are all well. I’m not too sure where this came from, but I’m very happy it’s here. My first time writing a proper one shot for Ronnie, it was inspired by the drabble I posted a while ago 😊 obviously an AU world where Ronnie isn’t solely interested in men and in terms of that if any phrases I’ve used in relation to Ronnie cause any offence please let me know and I will be more than happy to find an alternative that works, but I don’t know anything if you guys don’t let me know, so please always feel comfortable enough to just drop me a message 😊😊 the last thing I want to do is upset anyone. So with that said, I give you this one shot, maybe a part two if you want it?? Idk status pending on that one 🧐 Happy Reading People’s! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, comment, reblog and follow so thank you so much for the love shown already on this blog 🥰🥰 feedback is always welcome 😌

Summary: In Ronnie’s harsh world there’s no time for love and feelings and all that nonsense. No, Ronald Kray was a heartless man, interested only in chasing the infinite highs of life. That is, until he meets you...

Pairing: Ronnie Kray x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing (it is a kray one shot after all)

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

Ronnie Kray’s world was a unique one, to say the least. Draped in sex, drugs and all things gangster, it was hardly what one would call normal.

But the world worked for Ron, and Ron worked for his world.

The moment he saw you, that world tilted on it’s axis. The movement was so slight it could’ve gone unnoticed. The insatiable desire to claim you as his own, however, was not so easily ignored.

It was a drizzly Friday night and the club was at it’s peak. Packed from wall to wall with happy go lucky couples, the live entertainment was going down a storm.

Ron was enjoying a whiskey, puffing away on his signature cigar when he noticed a sodden young woman enter the club. Drenched ringlets clung to your face and your chubby cheeks were as red as your velvet coat, but he couldn’t drag his gaze away. He’d certainly never seen you in the club before, and as he wracked his brain, he couldn’t say he’d ever seen you in the surrounding area either.

You push through the crowded bar to lean over and whisper something in the bartender’s ear, who then calls Reggie over and introduces you. A growl rumbles through Ron’s chest as Reggie embraces you in a hug and leaves a kiss on the back of your hand.

It was no secret that Ronnie was of a different persuasion to his brother, so he couldn’t fathom where these feelings were coming from. He couldn’t fathom why it made his skin crawl and teeth itch to watch Reggie flirt with you. He’d never been this attracted to anyone, much less a woman. But as his eyes drink you in, you’re the only person left in the world he has any interest in.

The hand creeping up his thigh brings him crashing back into reality and he roughly pushes it away. “I am not interested.”

“C’mon Ron, you’re always interested” Teddy purrs.

“Not anymore.” Standing up, he makes his way over to the spot you were occupying at the bar.

“Hello there.”

“Alright Ron” Reggie nods towards his brother, a smirk plastered across his face at the apparent infatuation written all over Ronnie’s. “This is the new singer, she’s on in a bit.”

You whip around, spraying his face with fine droplets of water in the process. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Er right, nice to meet you. Are you from around here?” Ron sips his whiskey, his posture awkward and stiff as he shoves his free hand in his pocket. It’d been a long time since he’d had to impress anyone. And never anyone as beautiful as you.

“No but close, Hackney actually.”

“Mm very close indeed.”

An awkward silence sweeps through the air and you smile politely at him, unsure of what to say next.

“Well, break a leg.”

He raises his glass to you before stalking back to the table, grumbling to himself along the way.

‘You’re a fucking idiot Ronald a fucking idiot! Should’ve asked the pretty lady out when you had a chance, probably thinks you’re a fucking weirdo now...’

Half an hour later you were up on stage. You’d traded your damp coat for a red gown that hugged your body in ways he could only envy, and the room falls silent as you begin to sing.

“Tell me that it’s true, tell me you agree... I was meant for you, you were meant for me...

Dearly beloved, how clearly I see... somewhere in heaven you were fashioned for me...”

By the time you’d finished, Ron was in complete awe. If he thought your beauty was breathtaking, the voice that came from you knocked the remaining air right out of his lungs.

This time he made his way over to you smiling and relaxed, back to his usual cocky self. Hearing you sing had given him the confidence he so desperately needed and nothing, absolutely nothing could stand in his way of getting you.

“Like my very own angel! Here have a drink.” He hands you a fresh glass of champagne as his eyes rake over your body.

You were a good few inches shorter than him despite your heels, and as you smile up at him through your lashes, Ron’s heart stops beating. Just for a second.

“Thank you.”

After a few more glasses and many more compliments, you agree to let him take you out to dinner.

The rest, they say, is history.

6 months later you and Ron are leaving the church hand in hand as your closest friends and family shower you in rose petals. You weren’t quite sure how you had found your soulmate buried within the psychotic gangster, but you didn’t need to know. All you needed to know was that he loved you more than life itself, and the feeling was very much mutual.

6 months after that you and Ron are driving round to Vi’s for your weekly visit. You had finally managed to grab Ronnie by the ear and drag him with you and the man had complained nonstop since.

“What am I meant to talk about anyway?” He grumbles, glancing out of the window as he drives at a snails pace down the cobbled roads.

“She’s your mother you should know what to talk about.”

“See that don’t answer my question now does it?” He turns to you, and the innocent look of despair almost makes you giggle.

“Normal things, you talk about normal things Ron.” You plant a quick kiss on his lips and he begins to list all of the normal things he can think of.

“The weather...”

“That’s always a good’un.”

“Er, the future weather. They’ve got all those predictions now don’t they?”

“How about you start with how you’ve been?”

“Because you said normal things love, and I am not normal.”

As he pulls to a stop outside of Vi’s, he’d come up with 6 topics of conversation appropriate for the visit. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mother, he always wanted to see his mum. It was just that over the last 6 months Ron had become so accustomed to your way of translating the ‘normal’ things he found so hard to understand, that he didn’t actually know how to speak with other respectable adults. He dealt solely with you, Reggie and gangster’s, and only one of those relationships required him to be sane about things. So spending an afternoon on his best behaviour, participating in common conversation with a woman he most certainly could not disrespect, was fucking terrifying.

Your reassuring squeeze of his hand calms his nerves, and he tries to relax. It was his mother and his wife after all, what could go wrong?

“Y/N, Ronnie, what a nice surprise! Come in, come in!” The small woman pulls you both into a hug before ushering you inside. They both take a seat at the breakfast table as you set about making the tea.

“Lovely cup of tea, darling.”

A smug smile tugs at your lips as you drink the compliment in. A good cup of tea was the ultimate seal of approval when it came to Violet Kray.

“Thank you, mum.”

After a few minutes of tea sipping and mundane chit chat, Ronnie had reached his limit. Excusing himself from the table he disappears upstairs to join Reggie.

Once he was out of earshot, Violet turns to you. “So, when were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That I’m going to be a grandmother!” She sings, clasping her hands around yours.

“I’m sorry I don’t follow.”

“I know the look of a pregnant woman when I see one love, you’ve got the glow. I’d say around 8 weeks.”

Time grinds to a halt as you count back the dates in your head, realising you were indeed a month late. Your boobs constantly ached and within the past few days there were few foods lucky enough to remain in your stomach, but you didn’t think too much of it at the time. Just a bug, you thought.

With all the newlywed bliss you’d not noticed the missing period, something you were now cursing yourself for. A wave of nausea washes over you as the image of Ron’s face twisted in anger flashes across your mind. Dashing to the loo, your lunch comes back up as quickly as it had gone down.

Sagging against the wall, you will your racing heart to steady itself. How you’d been so careless you’d never know. Ron would be furious. A baby hardly fit into his gangster world plans.

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N are you okay?”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Y/N...?” Ron’s worried voice replaces Violet’s but you still couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

“Y/N, open the door...” His tone changes and if you knew your husband, you had about 30 seconds to open it before he opened it for you.

Dragging yourself to your feet you do as he says, and one look at your face tells him something isn’t right.

“Y/N what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“We’re having a baby.”

Before you know it his strong arms are around your waist spinning you in the air, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“You’re pregnant?”

“I am.” You watch the smile spread to his eyes, both twinkling with excitement, as you nod your head.

“Oi Reg, guess what?”

“What?” Reggie’s head pops over the banister.

“We’re having a baby! She’s pregnant!”

“That’s great news Ron! Great news. About time n’all.” He makes his way downstairs with the rest of the gang in tow, and Violet barely gives him the time to hug you both before thrusting a glass of champagne in his hand to celebrate.

Soon time comes for you to leave and tears threaten to spill over as Violet congratulates you again, Ronnie fighting to prise you from her grip before bundling you into the car. The stress of panicking and excitement over the news was far too much for your unstable hormones to bear and you spend the whole journey home blubbering into Ron’s suit jacket as he tries his best not to laugh.

You were adorable, and he couldn’t wait until there was a mini you running about the place.

Unfortunately pregnancy was not kind to you, most of it spent in and out of the hospital. This only served to elevate Ronnie’s worry to levels he’d not thought possible and by the time your baby girl had arrived, his protection was a force to be reckoned with.

The tiny bundle of joy was everything he’d dreamt she’d be, born with a full head of ginger curls and eyes the colour of storms at sea. Ronnie swore if you stared into them long enough, you’d see the cloudy skies swirling around her inky irises.

She was nothing short of perfect, and Ronnie couldn’t imagine loving anything more than he loved her. Apart from you, of course.

You stand in her hand painted nursery, cradling your daughter to your chest as she gently suckles away.

“From this valley they say you are going... we will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile...”

Ronnie follows the voice he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with - the voice that had calmed his sufferings countless nights before - and stands quietly in the doorway so he can enjoy the private performance.

“For you take with you all of the sunshine... that has brightened our pathway for a while...

Then come sit by my side if you love me... do not hasten to bid me adieu...

Just remember the red, river valley and the cowboy who has loved you so true...”

He moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing the pair of you into his chest. Luna gurgles in satisfaction and her big blue eyes find her father’s as her little eyelids start to droop. Ronnie rocks you both from side to side, stopping only to plant a kiss on your temple and within seconds she’s sound asleep in your arms. You place her in her cot before turning around to face him.

“Hey” you whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping newborn.

“Hey.”

“We should probably get out of here.”

“Yes we probably should” he chuckles, leading you out of the nursery.

You collapse onto your bed, arms high above your head as a long sigh escapes you.

“Your daughter is so exhausting!”

“My daughter yeah?”

“Yes, when she’s loud and grizzly and hungrier than a cattle farmer, she’s your daughter. When she’s cute and smiley and adorable, she’s my daughter, okay?”

“Alright then whatever you say yeah.” Ronnie holds his hands up in surrender, not daring to argue with his exhausted wife.

You feel the bed dip beside you as his large hand rests on your thigh. “How about we get some sleep love, how about that?”

You grin sleepily, tired eyes peering up at him. “Sounds perfect.”

You quickly undress and climb into bed, your heavy limbs sinking into the soft mattress as you snuggle into Ron’s side. Within seconds your breathing slows, and the rise and fall of your chest evens out as you fall into a deep slumber.

‘Like mother, like daughter’ he thinks to himself as he focuses on the steady beating of your heart against his own, your warm breath fanning his bare chest. He soon falls into his own dreamland utopia.

Yes, meeting you had spun his world entirely on it’s head. Emotionless sex was replaced with raging passion and marriage vows, drugs were replaced with cups of tea and breastmilk. Gangster’s were replaced with... well, there’s only so much you can change about a Kray.

But, Ron had to admit, this world worked for him too.

#Ronnie Kray #ronnie kray imagine #ronnie kray x reader #ronnie kray fanfic #ronnie kray one shot #Tom Hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy imagines #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fic #Kray twins #Ron Kray #ron kray x reader #ron kray fic #ron kray drabble #the kray twins #the krays #legend #kray legend

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istanbulite · 2 years

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Who is your LI in each book? How did you choose them?

thank you for asking 🥰 ill reply abt ones i actually care about 💀

Heavens Secret > Mimi, then Malbonte : essentially i went w Mimi bc i loved her design (who doesn't) but while her badass independent attitude is charming u see there's sth soft and vulnerable in her and i found her route very satisfying,, her love of plays, relationship with her father (rip btw ;-;) is just so precious... loved how she gets jealous and angry and won't let the mc walk all over her,, eventually I went with Malbonte bc he reminded me of another li I loved from another (now dead) app... that I didn't love tbh, I love an against the system character but I guess his 'love' wasn't enough for me... well my character. I love his backstory though and he is a very interesting character

Sails in the Fog > Chris Chris Chris... and Manta : so I played this story twice n each time I couldn't pick anyone but Chris (and not only bc I headcanon her as a lesbian and didn't want men to hit on her 🤭) she is very brave, she is beautiful, she is good with knives ~ what more could a girl want! Seriously through I think she s my favourite in the whole app with her bashfulness in emotional moments, protectiveness and fun loving personality. She has a bleak upbringing - doesn't let it bring her down, knows what she wants... yes she's very young (18?) and you feel this restless energy, but it doesn't feel sexualised,, in my story she kept disguising as a guy and they lived that way which I felt was the most respectful option like she doesn't need ball gowns to be a woman,,, and obviously in that time it'd be more comfortable if they went around as a man and woman instead of 2 women... Manta is just too mysterious I couldn't not pick his scenes but I never went w becoming his 'slave' route... the thing between them was just a brief intense experience nothing more. He s interesting

Path of the Valkyrie > Liod : y'all if u know me u know I played this book more than anything so I romanced all the characters. Liod supremacy fr. I love her I think she s so so interesting and different than other characters like her --- which is tall and sorta likes fighting, strong, you know the type. She'd usually be weirdly dominant and aggressive (well she is aggressive but not like that) a badly written wlw subversion of this big brute barbarian li.... But no she s anything but that. Liod is really thoughtful, she s smart, she s not afraid of asking for help, while she s protective of the mc she also teaches her how to fight and supports her. She's really loving and in moments she becomes vulnerable its clear to see she cares a lot for the mc u see this w/o anyone clearly saying those 3 words I call it good writing. They don't need to be constantly outwit each other w the mc tbh I'm not fond of that constantly bickering couple trope so I love the loving calm understanding these 2 have going on. Now I also really love Andvari he is very different too like with his delicate build or polite speech,,, honestly wish I could do both their routes

Theodora > Friedrich or Yoke : man i was really set on being a second mommy to Bruno and suddenly this shy german soldier got my attention... mostly i kind of related to him for his personality, interests 'wanting to feel safe and cared for by his so' and aversion to conflicts... He might be one of the top 5 characters i relate to rn.... ~ no but rlly i loved how he was trying to help that kid, trying to make up for the fact he's with the invading force and how he so obviously doesnt want to be there... unless he s like a spy which is a theory of mine... Doesnt help that i have a thing for blond men too.. Still its too early to say more. With Yoke i kind of loved the single mom representation? like some people have kids they still find love w others, its a thing. How she stands behind her decisions — during ww1 nonetheless! She might not be very flashy rn but i find her bravery and refusal to get shy her life and choices such as not taking very dangerous jobs bc she s the only parent her son has - very attractive. She s lovely.

Kali Call of Darkness > Ratan : im not gonna lie the first time i saw him i was like omg please be a love interest 🥺 He is one beautiful man. He is charming. He is definitely keeping secrets. Probably the dangerous kind. But man i cant help love him. The sensual way he speaks during the diamond scenes, his politeness and the way he urges the mc to be bolder w/o overstepping boundaries, and reminds her of her worth and significance and strength as a woman is just 👌🏽👌🏽👌🏽 very beautiful... Something I never saw before. I love how they are both surprised at this intense cinnection they got (which i hope is a sign of something something 👀) He explains everything so delicately i find his dialogues to be one of best (perhaps #1 for me rn) in the whole app.

Arcanum > Liam : i kinda lost interest in this book but Liam is still a fave,,, kinda lost my feelings tho 🤷🏽‍♀️ so my professional opinion abt Liam is that he's pretty af and i wanna brush his hair

#romance club #asks #ratan vaish #rc yoke #rc friedrich #rc pierce #rc liod #rc chris #rc manta #rc mimi #rc malbonte #long post

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