Guyday Friday! Ladywriter talks–Politics??–with Sir Guy.

“I hate politics.”

Sir Guy stretched out his long, long denim-clad legs (he was slumming it. Casual Friday, you know.) and lazily crossed one boot-clad ankle over the other. Folding his arms across his snug-fitting black cashmere sweater (its V-neck giving a tantalizing glimpse of that sculpted chest), Ladywriter’s favorite dark knight threw a smirk her way as he tossed back that lustrous inky black mane of his.

 

“Did you decide this suddenly, my dear LW, or has your loathing been long standing?” Guy drawled.
She sighed and raked her fingers through her already disheveled hair.

“Oh, it’s been growing. My disillusionment really kicked in when I was working for the newspaper full-time and saw a lot of local and state politicians up close. Reporting tends to breed a certain–cynicism–methinks.”

Guy nodded in commiseration as LW continued.

“And I am already thoroughly sick of all the yadayadayada going on between Democrats and Republicans in social media, the canned political endorsements being dialed to my phone, the ridiculous knee-jerk reactionary posts on Facebook and—”

LW shot Guy her own lop-sided smile, a rather wicked gleam in her eyes behind the spectacles. “If I never saw or heard from Donald Trump again, it would be too soon, my dear Guy!”

He raised a quizzical black brow as he tilted his head.

“You are not an ardent fan of The Donald?” His lips twitched as he spoke.

(Having surfed the net to keep up with current events, Sir Guy was already well aware of Mr. Trump and LadyWriter’s likely opinion of the presidential hopeful. Still, it was great fun to tease her . . .)

LW gave a large and distinctly unladylike snort.

“I’d rather have the sheriff teach me the poetry of pain before I voted that man—-dogcatcher, much less president. As far as I am concerned, he’s a narcissistic blowhard jerkwad who, in the end, is only interested in blatant self-promotion, not what is best for our country.”

“So . . . if he gets this nomination, you will vote for Hilary?”

Ladywriter gave a weary shrug of her shoulders. “I confess I have certain reservations about Hilary, none of which having to do with her being a woman, by the way, but–it may be a case of the lesser of the two evils.” She pressed her hands to her head and shook it. “To think we have months and months of this to go.”

Guy’s kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed in thought. “Perhaps . . . the Ultimate RA Force should reassemble, my lady. And stage an–intervention of sorts with Mr. Trump?”

LW’s eyes widened as she leaned forward. “Oh, could you? WOULD you?”

Guy dipped his head. “For you, my lady, our band of ChaRActer brothers will happily reunite to take on this cursed blight.” As he raised his head, a calculating smile formed on his lips. The gleam in HIS eyes was downright wicked now.

“I think I would rather enjoy, as you would say nowadays, kicking this fellow’s arse from here to next year,” he said in those dark chocolate tones she so loved.

YESSSS!

(To Be Continued)

Happy Guyday Friday! It’s Fur-Tastic!

“You’ve added to the family, I see. More orphans in need of–what do you call it?–a FUR-ever home, Ladywriter?” Sir Guy raised a single brow as he gave her a lopsided smile.

LW glanced over at the three kittens cuddled up next to her. “Benny saw them on his way to work the other day and asked me to go on a kitten rescue mission after work.” She shrugged and added sheepishly, “You know I’m a sucker for furry little baby animals.” Ladywriter’s mouth curved into a besotted smile as she looked at the threesome playing together. “And these babies are so—SWEET.”

 

 

 

 

 

The dark knight gave a chuckle. “Apparently that’s not what Scarlett thinks. I believe she said in Katteese they were ‘The Spawn of Satan.'”

LW sighed. “Yeah . . . jealousy and the whole territorial thing’s been rearing its ugly head since we brought off the deck and into the house yesterday.” She grinned up at Sir Guy, a mischievous gleam in her bespectacled eyes. “You big cats can be very territorial at times, you know.”

Sir Guy sniffed and shot her one of *those* sideways glances.  “If your heart wasn’t so divided amongst my CReAtor’s ChaRActers, both living and So Not Dead, perhaps we would have no need to have those feelings, my lady.”

“Sir Guy—you know perfectly well that you are THE number one ChaRActer for me, I just happen to have a big heart with lots of room for compelling  ChaRActers and cute little furry creatures, ” she replied in a chiding tone.  Ladywriter spun her laptop around so that her raven-haired visitor could see the screen and tapped its edge with her finger.

“Look–I even worked on some new edits of you last night!”

The flash of white teeth was dazzling as he gave a deep, rumbling laugh of approval.

“Well–wait until Soldier Boy and Chewy Man hear this!”

Chewy Man?! Oh, riiiight.

Happy Guyday Friday!

 

The Visitor

“You’re writing about me again.”

There was such underlying warmth mixed with surprise and–was that the faintest hint of reproof?–in that deep rumble of his.

He was sitting there at the foot of her bed, that glossy raven head tilted to one side quizzically,  hands clasped around one bent knee folded casually across his leg. A dark knight from a different age decked out in his version of fancy-dress: well-worn, boot-cut jeans encased those never-ending pipes of his, a black V-neck t-shirt and a black leather jacket.  His trademark stubble was heavy enough to be called a beard and there was just a hint of kohl encircling those bottomless blue eyes.

She wanted to fling her arms around him, bury her face in that broad chest and breathe in his scent. Leather,  sandalwood soap and–chocolate.  Instead of embracing him, she leaned forward and ever so gently brushed his chin with her fingertips.

“You’ve been into the chocolate animal crackers again, haven’t you, Sir Guy? If you’re going to keep that rather fetching beard, I shall have to buy you a brush and comb for it, I suppose.”

Sir Guy caught up her fingers in his hand. So warm. He radiates warmth.

Turning her hand over, he raised it palm upwards to his mouth. His eyes closed, he pressed kisses, light as gossamer, to the surface of her palm.

Oh my.

“You’re crying.”

“So are you.”

He smiled.

A beautiful bearded angel in black leather.

“Perhaps–we’ve missed each other, Ladywriter?”

Perhaps we have.

 

 

 

 

Oh . . . my. Sir Guy & Ladywriter discover edible nirvana. Mary Poppins was right!

Ladywriter made a sour face. “This prednisone leaves one nasty, bitter taste in my mouth . . .”

He cocked his dark head and raised an inquisitive brow. “Well, then–why don’t you open up some of your new goodies you purchased yesterday? Perhaps–” Sir Guy gestured with those elegant hands of his. “Is it not said something sweet improves the digestion of these potions?”

 

Ladywriter slowly nodded after sipping more water. Yuck! The aftertaste persisted.

She’d been diagnosed with a damaged ulnar nerve in her left wrist–her dominant wrist–and was now dealing with a big honkin’ wrist stabilizer worn day and night and the side effects of steroids (unusually rosy cheeks, feeling even more roly-poly than normal–and the nasty taste of the tablets). Hey, if it was good enough for Mary Poppins and her charges . . .

“Yep. I agree. Time to sample the new JIF–salted caramel hazelnut spread,” she said. The tip of Sir Guy’s pink tongue involuntarily peeked out and licked his lip, his azure eyes brightening at her words.

 

LW shot him a sidelong glance. “Erhmmm . . . I don’t suppose you want to try any, too? After all, you did have a substantial breakfast of waffles with syrup and a large side order of bacon, Sir Guy . . .”

He raised both brows and attempted to look completely innocent. Being Sir Guy, he failed.  Being Ladywriter, she loved it.

“I think it would only be right for me to try it first, my lady. To make sure it is—satisfactory.”

LW gave her favorite dark knight of a  chocolic an affectionate smirk, followed by a gentle punch on his arm with her good hand. “Liar.”

Chuckling, she playfully spooned out a generous dollop of the dark, rich-looking spread and held it up. “Open wide . . .”

Sir Guy did just that, rolling the sweet substance in his mouth, smacking his lips and then swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

A flash of white teeth and an appreciative husky growl. “Oh, my . . . sweet. And salty. And absolutely delicious . . .”

Fedoralady took her own “spoonful of sugar.” She agreed.

“Sir Guy . . . the bitterness is gone.  It’s like a party for my mouth!”

He chuckled.  “One might even say–it resembles—-ME.”

Happy Guyday Friday!!

 

 

Guyday Friday: Sir Guy plays Fashion Police

The corner of Sir Guy’s mouth was definitely twitching, one supercilious eyebrow raised high.  Oh, yes–he was amused.

“Sir Guy–I do think you are on the verge of a giggle.”

The World’s Hottest Henchman gave a pronounced and lordly sniff and drew himself to his full, imposing height. “I do NOT giggle.”

Her grin was quite maddening.

“I beg to differ, Sir Guy. Have you forgotten the time we had a pillow fight–and I tickled you?”

He lifted his chin and gave another sniff. “THAT, my lady–that was cheating.” 

He flicked back his lustrous mane of hair. “At any rate, my dear LW, I can hardly be blamed for expressing a certain degree of mirth at–that.”

Ladywriter shook her head and sighed. “It’s not nice to laugh at your CReAtor’s ChaRActers, you know.”

He gave her one of those looks. “Ladywriter . . . not only does this ChaRActer have a ridiculous name–he dresses atrociously! I mean–just LOOK at him!”

Ladywriter shook her head. “Sir Guy, Chop is an ex-social worker from back in the ’90s who’s dropped out of society and is living rough. He’s not supposed to be an example of sartorial splendor.” She tilted her head and gave him a little smirk. “You know–he’s not YOU.”

“Well . . . that is certainly true.” There was a familiar glint in those kohl-rimmed eyes as he returned her smirk. “I am one of a kind, am I not?”

Uhmmm–hmmmm. Coming AND going!

“Now, forget about Chop and his style–or lack of it–for now, and come and share some milk and chocolate chip cookies with me, Sir Guy.” She winked at him. “I want to see you with one of those cute milk mustaches again . . .”
A dark chuckle. “YOU just want to imagine licking it off . . .”
“You think?”

I sure do, Sir Guy!

Happy Guyday Friday to all!

Guyday Friday and Who’s this ‘Chop?’

“Well, it took you long enough today.” He was standing there with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his handsome face, his dark chocolate voice a dry rumble.

Ladywriter looked a little chagrined. “I know, I know–it’s almost 8 p.m. here and I am just getting around to a Guyday Friday post. If it makes you feel any better, Sir Guy, I am just getting around to—everything today. Don’t know if it’s the allergies or the FMS or what, but it was one of those ‘Meh I feel as if I’ve been drugged heavily even though I haven’t’ kind of days . . .” She gave him a tired smile and shrugged her shoulders. “But hey, the good news is your CReAtor has an interesting new project filming overseas!”

Guy’s smirk grew broader. “Ah–so all the fangurlz are–stirred–by the thought of our CReAtor bringing them a new ChaRACter to discuss, dissect, adore, drool over and so forth, my lady?”

LW chuckled.
“Something along those lines, my dear dark knight.”

She slowly nodded. “And this Chop is a jaded ex-social worker who’s been into drinking and drugging and living hard in the grittiest part of Leeds in the ’90s. He tries to clean up his act to help a young street kid called Urban. It sounds like the sort of role our fella would love to sink his teeth into. Complex, with both light and dark shadings.  A real-life character, too.”

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Urban-and-The-Shed-Crew/736941962990766?fref=ts

“NOT–” She raised an admonishing finger. “Not that those who love you will ever forget Sir Guy, of course.”

As IF . . .

Happy Guyday Friday and congrats to our Richard for a fascinating new role! Good on you!

I Heart My Henchman: Guyday Friday, Valentine Style!

“What day is it, Ladywriter?”

Oh, yes, he was positively purring. Just as she expected.  He did so love being the center of attention.

“It’s Friday . . .”

An eager rumble. “Yesssss . . .”

“Which would make it–Guyday . . .”

“And . . .” His eyes and teeth were gleaming in anticipation.

“Yes . . . it’s ‘I Heart My Henchman’ Day here at TAE, my dearest Dark Knight.”

Sir Guy gave a triumphant toss of his magnificent ebony mane and an equally triumphant sniff. He really did look the very image of a gorgeous black stallion, Ladywriter thought . . .

Happy Guyday Friday, Valentine Style! XOXOXO from the Hot Velvet Henchman and LW and her whole household!

Guyday Friday: The Dark Knight Plunders, LW Wonders

“Sooooo–what is on that fertile mind of yours, dearest Ladywriter?”

The familiar dark chocolate rumble sounded in her ears and LW smiled. She was awake, but eyes closed. LW was daydreaming a bit, still gratefully tucked beneath the covers late on a damp, bone-chilling winter’s morning. It had been a long, restless, painful night.

“Hullo, Sir Guy, my dearest dark knight. Another Friday has arrived . . . ” She gave a small sigh. “My mind doesn’t feel terribly fertile of late, although I DID get a little writing done while the internet was down all day yesterday. And some reading . . .”

LW opened her eyes and laughed softly. “YOU have been–plundering my thoughts again, Sir Guy.”

He doffed the tricorn atop his handsome head and swept her an elegant bow, the silver buttons shining on his royal blue velvet frock coat, the fabric shot through with pale blue and silver embroidery . . .

“So what shall it be, my lady, am I the rakish highwayman who retains a noble spirit, or that irresistible vampire pirate captain sailing upon the Charteuse Bastard or–”

He raised those dark brows and waggled them roguishly in her direction, giving her a smug and devilish smile.

“Or what about that re-teaming of the Wonder Twins you promised our darling Guylty??”

“Sir Guy–I truly do not know what is next . . . only that I must write–something.” She blinked back a few unbidden tears. “Even if it isn’t any good. I have to try.”

Sir Guy’s expression softened and came to her side, taking her hands in his own.
“My dearest Ladywriter, I shall be your muse, provide that creative spark–of course, it will be good.” Sir Guy sniffed and flicked back his lustrous black mane.

“How could it be anything else?”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Indeed, you are right. How could it be?”  LW pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “Thank you for the reminder . . .”

Happy Guyday Friday!

Guyday Friday: LW feeling poorly. Kitten feeling frisky. Sir Guy as gorgeous as ever.

“I seem to have–picked up–something on the way in,” Sir Guy said drily, glancing down toward his boots.

Ladywriter, who was nursing a confounded earache along with a bout of TMJ, clasped a heated rice bag to the side of her head as she peered in the direction of the TDHSK.

“Well, I hope you didn’t pick up any ‘deposits’ left by Buddy or Rascal while you were playing with them to track through the house,” she replied, giving him one of those “stern teacher” looks through her spectacles. “I have reminded you about scraping those big, beautiful feet before, you know.”

(She was a little touchy today.)

Sir Guy shook his head. “No–t’would be one small feline attached to my left leg.” Raising said leg, Sir Guy smirked as he shook it. Scarlett Kitten was firmly attached to his leather-shod calf, her bright little eyes gleaming as she dug her sharp little claws in tighter. She loved using Sir Guy as a portable climbing post. Heck, she just loved Sir Guy, period. But then, didn’t all females with the Good Taste Gene feel the same way?

Happy Guyday Friday, y’all! Now, back to that heated rice bag . . . *sigh*

Guyday Friday: Guy hears LW’s dream about the CReAtor

Source: Getty Images~ Photographer Leslie Hassler

Ladywriter stretched, wincing as the Shoulder/Neck/Jaw Thingy flared.  A night of erratic sleep and too little of it, with rain on the way. It was going to be a long day. Still, she had a smile on her face.

That was a nice dream about Richard Armitage . . .

“Oh, really . . .” A familiar chocolate-laced baritone rumbled from the corner.

LW slid her glasses into place, Sir Guy’s knowing smirk coming into focus. He was a sight for sleep-deprived eyes–kohl-rimmed peepers, artfully tousled mane, snug Marvel of Engineering trousers and all.

Source: Richard Armitage Net

“There you go, Sir Guy, reading my thoughts again.” She raised one brow, her mouth twisting wryly, and firmly shook her disheveled head. “However . . . it was not a naughty dream, for your information.”

He gave a sniff of his handsome aquiline proboscis and shrugged. “Well, my lady, my powers are not perfect . . .”

But lots of other things about you are.

This time he got his reading right.  “You are feeling frisky this morning in spite of your pain, my lady,” he purred, tilting his head and flashing those excellent white teeth.

My edit of a screencap via RA Net

“Sooooo—tell me about your–chaste–dream, my lady.”

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees, gingerly resting her chin on top. “In the dream, I am acting with the CReAtor . . . me. With Richard Armitage. In some sort of film.” LW gave a small satisfied squee.

“I am playing someone who’d been kidnapped for ransom and it turns out RA is the person who is trying to get me back safely . . .” LW laughed and shrugged.

“Only, what with it being a dream, I do not know the actor will be RA until just before we are to play this scene together in which we are reunited! I look through the glass doors as the wardrobe and makeup people are checking me over and, well–there he is, looking all intense and angsty and, of course, gorgeous in this long navy coat and nape curls and stubble . . . fully in character to shoot this dramatic scene.”

Photography by Leslie Hassler

Sir Guy folded his arms across his broad chest. “And what do you do when you see it is the CReAtor?”

“I have two immediate thoughts, my dearest dark knight. First–‘OMG, it’s Richard Freakin’ Armitage as my screen partner!’ And second–and this sort of surprises me–I think, ‘Wow, I am SOOO going to act my socks off and impress the heck out of him, oh yes I AM.”  And so I go out there–and I ACT!”

She gave a smile of girlish delight, her eyes sparkling behind her specs. “And you know what? I am good. I really am good. I can tell he thinks so, too.”

LW sighed again, her brow creasing. “I can only hope it’s a good omen for next Thursday–when Emma the tipsy widow and murder victim-to-be makes her debut.”

Ladywriter rubbed her tender jaw. “Things were a bit rocky last night at the rehearsals. I actually did OK–but my cast mates were struggling in the second act. Went through it four times. Made me glad I–uhm, ‘Emma’– was ‘dead’ by then.”

“Your band of players, you all must believe in yourselves, my lady.” Sir Guy smiled at her. “Not unlike the way you believe–in me.” He gave a courtly bow.  “And, of course, in the CReAtor.”

“Sir Guy–I’d like for you to be there next week. You and Mr. Ladywriter.”

He raised his dark brows. “I do not possess a ticket, and is not the event sold out?”

“Yes–but that’s OK.” She grinned. “I am, after all, the only one who will see you.”

LW leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “It will be our little secret.”

Sir Guy chuckled. “Excellent . . .”

Dreams are like boxes of chocolates. You just never know what you are gonna get . . .  Happy Guyday Friday!

I wouldn’t mind dreaming about THIS either . . .

My edit of an image courtesy of RA Net

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Guyday Friday: Sir Guy gets down and dirty

“Well, I wondered if you’d miss TWO Guyday Fridays . . .”

The words rumbled in her ears.

There was no mistaking those dark, silken tones.

Ladywriter opened one eye and then the other. They were sticky with the usual Morning Goop. She blinked rapidly.

The face hovering over hers was a tad blurry. But the kohl-rimmed azure eyes and mouth curling into a sweetly mocking smile were soon in focus. Oh, he was—very close.  Her heart just might have skipped a beat or two.

“Hullo, Sir Guy,” she said sleepily, returning his smile and reaching for her new specs. The better to drink in all that masculine loveliness, my dears.

He straightened up to his commanding height, folding his arms across his broad chest in that oh-so-familiar pose. Sir Guy did look just a bit–disheveled. Those long, lustrous locks were more tousled than usual, his black linen Floppy Pirate Shirt, halfway untucked, and there appeared to be grass stains streaking the fabric of the Trousers of Marvelous Engineering.

“You’ve been playing with the puppies . . .”

He sniffed and gave a nonchalant shrug . “Well, I could hardly take a step without them clinging to me . . . ” Sir Guy drawled.

LW’s grin broadened as her own blue eyes twinkled. “Admit it, Sir Guy. They are adorable. And you couldn’t resist.”

His lips twitched. “Uhmmm . . . perhaps.” Sir Guy’s eyes flickered down to his stained trousers. He rubbed his nose as he crinkled his brow. “I–might need to borrow your washing machine. These could do with a proper laundering, I suppose . . . ” Those amazing eyes meet hers. “The shirt and the trousers.”

GULP.

Oh, Sir Guy–you TEASE.

Happy Guyday Friday, everyone! Have a good one.

And I have started a second blog, called “Honeysuckle and Sweet Tea: Southern Reflections.”

Check out my newest blog here:  http://angieklong.wordpress.com/  Hope to see you there! 😀

Guyday Friday: A dark knight, cream cheese and . . .

“Ah, Ladywriter, it’s a special day tomorrow,”  Sir Guy said before taking an enthusiastic bite into a cinnamon raisin swirl bagel, generously smeared with brown sugar and cinnamon cream cheese spread. Not quite as good as one of those Cinnabon rolls, but pretty darned tasty.

Ladywriter took a sip of her coffee, which was generously laced with French vanilla liquid creamer.  Ladywriter has a tendency to trick things out.

“Yup. It’s–Groundhog Day. We’ll find out if we are going to have six more weeks of winter,” she said, looking at him through her lashes from over the rim of the over-sized mug.

Sir Guy, raising a skeptical brow, swallowed, giving LW an enticing glimpse of his bobbing Adam’s apple. Ladywriter loved watching Sir Guy eat. And since he could eat as much as he wanted and retain that lean, muscular physique (oh, the joys of being Loved into Being and So Not Dead!), she had ample opportunity to see that strong stubbled jaw in action . . . and never tired of it.

“I was not referring to that superstition about some furry creature seeing its shadow, Ladywriter.” The dark knight gave a manly sniff.

“You know what tomorrow is, my lady,” he added in a reproving tone, a glint in those kohl-rimmed eyes.

She smiled at him, a teasing smile, over the rim of her mug. “Doing research on the children’s book project, perhaps? We had a lovely meeting yesterday–”

Sir Guy gave an impatient toss to  his lustrous locks. “You may very well do some research and it may very well be Hedgehog Day–”

“Groundhog,” she gently corrected him.

Sir Guy folded his arms and gave her THAT look.

“Ladywriter . . ” His voice rumbled in that silken tone tinged with a note of warning.

She set down her mug and raising her hands, bowed her head with a sigh. “I beg your pardon and humbly submit defeat, Sir Guy. Tomorrow is, in fact, my first blogiversary.”

Sir Guy’s mouth curled into a smirk of satisfaction. “Exactly. What you would call, I suppose, a–milestone?”

LW looked up at him with a grin. “Yes, indeed. A year’s worth of discussing, exploring and celebrating the amazing CReAtor and his cast of ChaRActers.”

Sir Guy gave a slow nod as he tilted his dark head. “And how will you celebrate this festive occasion?”

Her grin broadened. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, my dearest Sir Guy.”

He rolled his eyes and expelled a breath, cutting his eyes at her in a sidelong glance. “You know I do not like waiting.”

“Don’t I know it . . .”

“I will say this, Sir Guy. There could be–cake.”

His eyes brightened. “Chocolate cake?”

“What other kind is there, Sir Guy?”

Sir Guy’s lips curled into a smile almost as delicious as the mouth-watering slice of chocolate decadence he was envisioning.  “I am looking forward to that . . .”

Ladywriter heaved an inward sigh of relief. Thoughts of chocolate would drive thoughts of a certain vertically-challenged hairy hottie out of his mind for a while. She had work to do . . .

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