#“i says to myself i says bertie! this is no day for a marriage!”

[sandwichsapphic]

i feel like this is how bertie explains anything. he’ll spend ten paragraphs on exactly how and why he knows gussie or madeline but ask him to explain his own plans and he starts eating cigarettes and babbling about the code of the woosters

[canonicallyobserving911]

Seven Several Sentences Sunday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

FANON speculation for season 7

Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!” 

Chapter 10 will be posted soon.

I’m excited to finish writing Chapter 10 because a lot is happening and there's still more to come. At the end of Chapter 9, Buck and Eddie were trying to cope with everything that happened during and after Jonah's criminal trial. At the end of day two, Buck had a major panic attack, he asked Eddie to get him out of the courthouse and Eddie drove them home instead of taking Buck back to the loft. Then Buck scheduled an emergency therapy appointment with Dr. Copeland and later that night, after Chris and Buck were already asleep, Eddie spent time trying to decide if he should make an emergency appointment with Frank instead of scheduling one with his new therapist, Dr. Theresa because Frank's a trauma therapist and she's not. He was strongly considering it since both him and Buck were faced yet again with additional ramifications from the shooting.

___________

As a continuation of my WIP Wednesday, here’s a little more of Buck’s conversation with Rhett and Eddie’s conversation with Bertie.

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Buck

“Now… if you swipe to the left, I think… well it’s either left or right who knows with all this new fandangle technology… you’ll see a picture of me and my husband.”

Buck swipes left in the photos app and he sees Rhett in a photo with a very handsome man.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a picture of him and Eddie because the man in the picture standing next to Rhett has dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin just like Eddie.

“You have a beautiful family.”  Buck says as he hands Rhett’s phone back to him.

“Yeah, we did.  Me and Ray…”  Rhett chuckles then continues.  “His real name was Raymundo but after he left his parents’ house, he wouldn’t let anyone call him that anymore.  We didn’t get married until nine years ago but by that time… we’d already been together for more than forty years.  Even though we didn’t need a piece of paper to tell us how much we loved each other, we wanted it… so we had a small wedding in our backyard with our son and his family.  Getting married also allowed me to change my last name from Quinn to Dominquez… it’s on our marriage license and it’s still hanging up in our home today.  I looked at it before I left to come here.”

Buck’s hit with another realization because he knows he’s been wanting to marry Eddie for years but he’s still not sure Eddie wants him so he tucks the little hope he has back into the corner of his heart.

“You didn’t want to keep your last name?”

“No, I didn’t because the last name Quinn didn’t hold anything but hurt and pain for me.  I grew up in an ok family but my parents weren’t ready to be a mom and a dad and I suppose, it affected how emotionally detached they were.  I don’t blame them for it anymore but finally being able to take my husband’s last name after 40 years of us being together was the best because me, him and our son all had the same last name.”

Buck nods his head because the last name Buckley certainly doesn’t mean shit to him anymore.  That’s Phillip’s last name not his and he’s been trying to figure out what he should change it to.  Diaz has a nice ring to it but he’d have to marry Eddie first for that to happen and since he hasn’t told him how he feels, he doesn’t think it ever will.

Where is Buck?  Also, who is Rhett and why is he telling Buck about his life?

_____

Eddie

After they leave the hospital and they get back inside of the ambulance, it only takes Bertie a few seconds to mention something about Loni.

She closes the driver’s side door, looks at Eddie then says, “She lives on the outskirts of Los Angeles and if anything ever happens to the solitary road that leads to her house, no one will be able to get to her”.

He shrugs his shoulders then says, “Well… she said she likes living out there and she likes the peace and quiet”.

“Yeah, she did say that and she also said the reason why she did it was because she figured she wouldn’t find love again.  So, maybe her decision to live all the way out in an area of Los Angeles that resembles ‘Death Valley’ wasn’t completely about her desire to live in peace and quiet.”

She turns her head to crank the ambulance, then she looks over at Eddie again.  “Some people choose to be alone while others feel like it’s their only option.  Neither choice is wrong but if someone doesn’t want to die alone, they don’t have to”.

Almost immediately after the words leave Bertie’s lips, Eddie feels like someone is screaming at him even though he’ll never admit it’s the universe.  Over the last few days, several people have told him things that remind him of that Geoffrey Chaucer quote, “Time and tide wait for no man” and he realizes he might be running out of time to have a conversation with Buck.

Who is Bertie?  Why is Eddie partnered with her and will he listen to the things she's saying?

___________

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

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Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 -Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 -After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are part of the foundation when a couple builds a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - Will be posted soon.

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I’m enjoying writing this fic because it’s giving me the chance to unravel the mess that was the 6x18 ending for Buck, Eddie and Chris.  Also, it’s taking them places the show refuses to go including Buck finally having a mental breakdown and Eddie being there for him the same way he was there for Eddie in season 5.

Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading

Read chapters 1 - 9 are already available on AO3.

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

What do you think of queen Mary and king George's relationship? I heard that he was only devoted to her and never took a mistress. Unlike his father...

two awkward and introvert souls ♡ i always loved these two letters from them:

Mary once wrote: ‘I am only looking forward to the time when you and I shall be alone at Sandringham…I am very sorry that I am still so shy with you, I tried not to be so the other day, but alas failed, I was angry with myself! It is so stupid to be so stiff together and really there is nothing I would not tell you, except that I love you more than anybody in the world, and this I cannot tell you myself, so I write it to relieve my feelings.’

George replied: 'Thank God we both understand each other, and I think it really unnecessary for me to tell you how deep my love for you my darling is and I feel it growing stronger and stronger every time I see you; although I may appear shy and cold.’

& that's bloody lovely. 

Regarding Bertie, I’m going to say something that may sound controversial but... it was also an arranged marriage for him.

We all have this idea of love as, deep loyalty, unending commitment, faithfulness. But life is messy and relationships are hard to nourish and maintain. Furthermore, regarding royal marriages, these values were not put at the forefront, there were other considerations to take into account (politics, religions, status and so on). Some royal couples married after falling in love: it lasted forever for a few, for some just a few years and for others - in the best scenario - they succeeded in establishing a sort of respectful partnership. George and Mary, despite a rocky start *when you are engaged to his eldest brother first* seem to fall in the first category.

Bertie and Alexandra were not a love match from the get go, even though Victoria pushed this narrative. Bertie was around nineteen when his parents began to put massive pressure on him to not let pass the "beautiful opportunity" aka Alexandra. They met twice before their wedding. Twice. Let's not forget Vicky's lamentation over Bertie's lack of enthusiasm after meeting Alexandra for the first time: ‘that sweet lovely flower - young and beautiful - that even makes my heart beat when I look at her - which would make most men fire and flames - not even producing an impression enough to last from Baden to England' lmao

At the time, Bertie was already involved in London's high-society circles where debauchery and adultery was common. + I'm going to play armchair psychologist but he was in complete opposition to his father with whom he had a complex relationship with. He rejected Albert and Victoria's family model.

Albert's premature death must have weighed into the balance and Bertie finally agreed to marry Alexandra, he was twenty one and she was nineteen years old. Would you uphold your wedding vows "be your loving and faithful wife/husband" to someone you met twice and with whom you know it is going to be forever because divorce is frown upon ? I know I wouldn't, but perhaps it's because I'm French and since we have low morals... I'll always feel sorry for Alexandra for having to put up with all Bertie's indiscretions, she deserved better. SHE should have been allowed to pursue her own pleasures.

Yet, they managed to create a harmonious marriage and they both made it work. There is no doubt that Bertie came to love her, but in his own way! :)

[semper-legens]

27. Thank You, Jeeves, by P.G. Wodehouse

Owned: No, library Page count: 263 My summary: Thanks to his insistence on playing the banjolele, Bertie Wooster has been 1) kicked out of his flat and 2) dumped by Jeeves. But not to worry. He's out into the country, where nothing can go wrong! Except maybe love triangles, wacky escapades, imprisonment on a yacht, forced marriages, and a distinct lack of butter. Just his lucky day. My rating: 3/5 My commentary:

You know, despite my usual tastes in literature and my general predilection for the stuffy English gentleman, I've never actually engaged with any Jeeves and Wooster. I've seen clips from the Steven Fry/Hugh Laurie show, as every English person is legally required to, but I've never actually sat down to read any Wodehouse myself. Well, one of my coworkers is currently working her way through Jeeves and Wooster, and decided that I'd like it too. So, on her recommendation, I've gone in blind with this book. Let's see what it's like!

First off - Wodehouse's voice is delightful. Archaic without being impenetrable, sardonic and drawling, punning and witty in all the right ways. I was charmed and captivated from the start, not less because of how full-on it is right out of the gate. It's a very droll writing style, the kind that was definitely a spawn of the 30s; I can't imagine someone writing like that now except to satirise. Still, it's wonderfully charming. And Wooster himself is well-characterised as a complete brainless twit. He actually had a lot more heart than I was expecting from what I knew of his character, but he's still a big idiot who doesn't ever help himself out of any situation at all.

Also, like, I know calling Jeeves and Wooster gay isn't exactly the hottest of takes, but it surprised me just how gay it was. Seriously, Jeeves says that he's got a policy of never working for a married man. I can't be the only one reading implication into that. And he's always at Wooster's beck and call, even in this book where he's not technically working for him. (More on that in a bit.) And Wooster is not all that put out that the eligible young lady who is also his ex in this book isn't into him. In fact, he goes out of his way to avoid getting into a relationship with her! Any tension between them is coincidence and awkward encounters. Just…so gay.

Unfortunately with literature written in the early 1900s, and particularly literature by white people, you're gonna get some racism. In this book, it takes the form of the banjolele and the blackface. The former is the inciting incident for the novel; Wooster has to move to the country because he has taken up playing the banjolele, a cross between a banjo and a ukulele. Everyone hates the noise, but it's the instrument itself that's brought up as being the problem. Jeeves, in particular, hates it. The racial connotations of this can't be ignored - the banjo is associated with black Americans, where obviously the ukulele is a native Hawaiian instrument. But more egregiously, Wooster spends half the novel 'comically' in blackface. There is a never-seen troupe of minstrels referred to with the n-word - whether they are actually black or white people in blackface is unclear from the text, but apparently that was the contemporary term for blackface performers. And every person who sees Wooster in blackface assumes he's a devil and screams and runs away, again 'comically'. Look, I know this was written in 1934, but honestly I don't care. This is just straight-up racist. The idea of Wooster being blacked up is treated as hilarious rather than insulting, and of course not a single actual person of colour shows up at all. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, the casualness of these stereotypes and this behaviour. It's just bad. (And apparently, the TV episode based on this book also had the blackface in 1991. Plus ca change…)

Next, we're off to the Arctic, where there's a haunting on a beached ship…

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Hobbit!

Been thinking about posting my own read throughs of fantasy stories and I’ve finally got a set-up that works for me, so I’m just diving right in. I’d spent a lot of time trying to come up with the perfect approach, but that was daunting and also a little boring, so for now, why not stick with the basics? I’ll be reading through The Hobbit and later The Lord of the Rings, and we’ll see what happens from there. As I'm pretty familiar with the text, be advised that if you aren't there are spoilers galore. Below are my thoughts:

Using the cardinal runes on the map (M being E at top) and the dwarven runes provided in my ebook author’s note for the Hobbit, the two runic messages upon the map can be translated early and read as follows:

“Stand by the grey stone hwen the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of durins day will shine upon the keyhole”

“Five feet high the dor and three may wock abreast. Th. Th.”

Obviously “durins” should be “Durin’s”, though a new reader wouldn’t know this (the note does clarify that the last “Th”s are initials, though). Further, the reader may be confused by the “a” rune in “last” and render it as lost, the a and o runes are nearly identical and this particular rune is actually halfway between them. As dwarven runes have no I/J or U/V distinction, only reading the note to learn this fact will clarify that “five” is not mistakenly spelled “fiue”.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

First sentence analysis: It’s pretty basic, but the fact that “hobbit” is theoretically outside of the reader’s experience does at least cause interest. Further, the imagery cast is that which the full paragraph spends trying to disavow: this isn’t a miserable ditch, but something comfier.

...bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms...

The description of the hobbit hole quickly makes it clear that Bilbo is something of a dandy – indeed by the time he’s repeating “Good morning!” to Gandalf for lack of any other ideas of what to say I suddenly found myself picturing a very short Bertie Wooster dealing with a particularly ragged Jeeves.

He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gained – well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

He did: besides the treasure (including a cool weapon and a fun cursed magical artifact designed by one of the setting equivalents of the princes of hell), he gained the friendship of Gandalf and nearly a dozen dwarves. Further, he gains quite a lot of strength of character. But we’ll get there.

There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along...

The Hobbit occupies an odd space in that it was originally designed as a simple fairy tale with no broader implications but then was tied into the greater Legendarium. Thus there are many casual statements that become much more interesting in that light – this one in particular suggests that hobbits were still extant in Britain in the early 20th century.

Bungo Baggins

I want to be mature about this but I cannot.

[Gandalf] had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Took died…

As the Old Took is Bilbo’s grandfather and Belladonna was merely one of three remarkable daughters, one wonders if Bilbo (and by extension Frodo) is the result of Gandalf’s meddling. I would not be so crass as to suggest that Gandalf was deliberately practicing the eugenics of the Bene Gesserit, but I could see him encouraging marriages across various family lines to his friends in the hopes of keeping the Shire a good and stable place as part of his overall purpose on Middle Earth.

Not the fellow who used to tell such wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants and the rescue of princesses and the unexpected luck of widows’ sons?

While of course Gandalf may well have been merely telling folk lore (it is a poor fantasy world where every bit of fiction is actually true), I do wonder if he had anything to do with the rescue of any princesses – and who they might be exactly. If he wasn’t personally involved, he could still tell them quite old tales indeed.

...or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores!

As this is about the adventures of other hobbits Bilbo is mentioning, I have to wonder exactly what he means by other shores – most of the known world is just the one continent plus a couple islands. This may be another thing that just doesn’t quite fit into the larger picture of the world. It’s not impossible of course, but it’s odd that Gandalf might have taken hobbits so far south as Gondor before, or to such remote places in the north as Tol Himling. And there’s certainly no other continent within sailing distance – Numenor is sunk, Valinar has been removed bar special circumstances, and the predecessors of the Americas are awfully distant. Then again, tobacco and potatoes had to come from somewhere.

“What on earth did I ask him to tea for!”

Presumably Bilbo, you were under Gandalf’s spell. Or the plot’s.

It was a dwarf with a blue beard tucked into a golden belt…

I always forget that Dwalin has a blue beard. I don’t know enough about the Legendarium to say how many dwarves have blue hair (possibly dyed?), but it does seem to be something that exists more for the fairy tale angle. Sadly, not only did Peter Jackson’s adaptation skip this crucial detail, but the cartoon made him a rather old-looking dwarf with a gray beard, almost identical to Balin who arrives next (and in fairness, is his brother).

He had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then he – as the host: he knew his duty and stuck to it however painful – he might have to go without.

Usually fantasy protagonists don’t start worrying about provisions until the adventure’s gotten going. Well, the ones in good stories anyway. The ones in bad stories never worry about provisions at all!

...the four dwarves sat round the table, and talked about mines and gold and troubles with the goblins, and the depredations of dragons, and lots of other things which [Bilbo] did not understand, and did not want to…

1- I’m starting to see where my own love of too many commas comes from. Curse my parents for reading this to me when I was three! They should have read Strunk & White instead!

2- Bilbo really should have paid attention so they wouldn’t have to repeat themselves later. Very rude.

...very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs…

Dwarves might be mostly thought of for their love of metal, but apparently they have hella good dyers too. This joins the green, red, and blue hoods of the dwarves already present, which means we’ve covered effectively the whole rainbow.

...[Gandalf] had also, by the way, knocked out the secret mark that he had put there the morning before.

Gandalf, you’re kind of a dick. Oh, and the remaining dwarves with him add yellow, pale green, and sky blue, so yeah. For the very small number of fantasy writers who long to imitate Tolkien but also want to do something new, please write about dwarvish dyers, I’m begging you. Do they have an extensive collection of mineral dyes? Do they make up for any gaps in the color spectrum with cave mushrooms? What other textile work do they do?

“I suppose you will all stay to super?” he said in his politest unpressing tones.

“Of course!” said Thorin. “And after. We shan’t get through the business till late, and we must have some music first. Now to clear up!”

As someone who hates unexpected guests in general I feel a great deal of sympathy to Bilbo for being caught in my nightmare scenario, though I will give the dwarves credit for clearing up after, though the teasing song can’t have helped matters. Based on his behavior thus far, I assume that Gandalf deliberately misled the dwarves on the psychology of hobbits for a laugh. Probably spent most of Fellowship being angry that Bilbo made sure Frodo was too cultured to be put off by foreign bullshit.

Then Gandalf’s smoke-ring would go green and come back to hover over the wizard’s head.

Sounds like a good mini-game for a vidya. Of course, the purpose is to humble Bilbo even further, since he’d been proud of his smoke rings from yesterday. I wonder what weird crap Belladonna had to put up with; it doesn’t matter that she was a “crazy” Took, you know Gandalf wasn’t happy with her at first either.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells … They shaped and wrought, and light they caught To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

It’s much less prominent a theme than the decay of the elves, but it’s still very present in the Legendarium that the dwarves used to be a lot more talented than they are in the present day and wrought plenty of magic themselves. There’s also not as much of a distinction between the two kinds of magic as other settings would use – like yeah, the dwarves are mostly craftsmen while the elves are mostly hippies, but we’ll see more dwarven magic in this book that isn’t just making cool loot for level 20 adventurers.

“We like the dark,” said all the dwarves.

I’ve never heard 13 people speak in unison before but I can’t imagine it’s comfortable. This, far more than the song, would make me want to curl up and hide.

...the compliments were quite lost on poor Bilbo Baggins, who was wagging his mouth in protest at being called audacious and worst of all fellow conspirator…

Yes, Gandalf definitely made up a whole bunch of “hobbit facts” for the dwarves to memorize and each and every single one of them was so far away from the truth that if Arda hadn’t been round already it would have changed then and there just to find a place to fit all the bullshit.

Poor Bilbo couldn’t bear it any longer. At may never return he began to feel a shriek coming up inside, and very soon it burst out like the whistle of an engine coming out of a tunnel.

Ignoring the anachronism (the narrator is clearly contemporaneous to the reader and thus may reference things like trains), this is the moment when it becomes clear that Bilbo is an incredible dandy indeed. Even Bertie Wooster was less of a coward than this, as skulking and ill-advised as his schemes generally were. This is precisely the kind of growth that Bilbo will need to experience over the course of this story: can he at least reconcile his Took and Baggins sides to the point where he can talk about adventure without having a full-blown panic attack? And will he be able to invent a sport that is less boring than golf in the process to redeem the family name?

“...And I assure you there is a mark on this door – the usual one in the trade, or used to be. Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward.”

Forget GRRM’s ranting about taxes, I desperately want to know how the economy of Middle Earth functions that there can be a consistent symbol to put on your door that says, “Yeah I’m down for some B&E bro”. I’m starting to think that the collapse of Arnor was less about war and plague and more about mass looting collapsing the economy. Last-King Arvedui didn’t flee to Forodwaith, he was stuffed in a bag that Thorin’s great-great-etc. uncle forgot to put air holes in.

“There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain,” said Balin, “but it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there.”

Balin for snarkiest, and therefore best, dwarf.

‘Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast’

Yeah geez Gandalf anyone who took the time to translate the map themselves already know this, why are you spelling it out for the audience? Too much exposition ruins a story!

“How could such a large door be kept secret from everybody outside, apart from the dragon?” he asked. He was only a little hobbit you must remember.

No it’s actually a fair question. Not sure why Tolkien’s giving him shit.

“...not without a mighty Warrior, even a Hero. I tried to find one; but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found.”

Aragorn was like ten at this point and I expect most of the other Rangers were pretty scarce with Tharbad having been lost thirty years ago so this actually does check out in Legendarium terms.

“Long ago in my grandfather Thror’s time our family was driven out of the far North...”

Thorin doesn’t mention it, but they were driven out of the Grey Mountains by dragons, which just goes to show. One imagines that the Ring of Thror, one of the seven, was likely the very instrument that lead to their ancestral homeland being such a tasty target, and that its powers quickly amassed them the hoard that got Smaug’s attention too. Probably for the best that Thorin never got his family’s ring based on how he acted without it.

“...the toy market of Dale was the wonder of the North.”

This however, does feel like it clashes a bit. One hopes Thorin just assumes magic artifacts of all sorts are “toys” as it seems difficult to imagine the economy of the region supporting a market of children’s goods.

“Probably, for that is the dragons’ way, he has piled it all up in a great heap far inside, and sleeps on it for a bed.”

Thorin, we all know that’s exactly what you’d be doing with it too.

“And Thrain your father went away on the twenty-first of April, a hundred years ago last Thursday...”

Captured by Sauron ninety-six years ago last Thursday, more or less, and of course Gandalf found him a few years later on a reconnaissance mission. As is Gandalf’s usual dickish wont, he left the guy there.

“I tried to save your father, but it was too late.”

Don’t argue just because I’m committing character assassination, Gandalf.

“...we must give a thought to the Necromancer.” “Don’t be absurd! He is an enemy far beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from the four corners of the world.”

Make it out of this book alive before you worry about the sequel, Thorin. That said, Gandalf is of course trying to regather the dwarves as part of his general attempt to get the west ready for when the Necromancer makes his next move.

It was long after the break of day, when he woke up.

Considering how intent the dwarves were on breakfast, I suppose Gandalf told them all in the night that hobbits explode if woken up forcibly or something.

That’s the end of the chapter though. Considering the fantasy’s genre predilection for long, wandering tomes, it also has to be noted that Tolkien manages to stuff quite a lot into the first chapter. Bilbo, Gandalf, and Thorin are well-defined as characters at this point (and the rest of the dwarves are pretty interchangeable anyway), the quest is clearly defined, and much of its back half is at least foreshadowed (Murkwood, Long-Lake, the Mountain itself). Indeed, Tolkien even has room for the pretty extraneous talk of Moria and the Necromancer’s domain, neither of which will be visited in this story.

[swissmissficrecs]

Can you recommend fics which are fluffy but explicit as well? :D I have just read a super angsty fic and I need to see my boys happy. Thanks x

Reply: First off, I have these fluff-related rec lists, but not all of them are high-rated and some also have quite a bit of angst:

Fluff Master List

Fluff (more since the previous master list) + even more fluff and good feels

Then from my bookmarks, I have culled these E-rated Johnlock fics that should be fairly light on the angst and high on the fluff & romance:

A Family Trait by cumberqueer (12K, E, Johnlock) Set post-S4, John is back at home with Rosie in Baker Street. He's working on a lot of things, including building his trust with Sherlock once more. An emergency shift at the clinic jumpstarts the process, forcing John to leave Rosie at home with only Sherlock to watch her. Sherlock does his best and John makes a mistake, but everyone is happy in the end.

An Approximation to Perfection by TooSel (22K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock realises just how good the sex John had with his last girlfriend was. The solution is simple: he's going to do everything in his power to ensure that their own sex life stays interesting. Only that it's never quite that easy.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (12K, E, Johnlock) What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, "Marry me."

Clutter-Free by MissDavis (13K, E, Johnlock) 5 times John made Sherlock clean up the flat and one time he didn't have to.

Full Circle by cumberqueer (13K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes has noticed that his best friend and crime-solving partner John Watson is doing well - too well for what they've been through, if you ask him. Sherlock is worried John is seeing someone that is making him very happy, and intends to find out who. But first: data. Featuring a spreadsheet of John Watson's Smiles, a parentlock makeover for 221b, and John being charming af.

If There Were Any Time For A Miracle by Berty (31K, E, Johnlock) John and Sherlock are spending Christmas at the Holmes' family home. Sherlock has a plan that John doesn't know about. John has a wish that Sherlock doesn't know about. If there were any time for a miracle, this would be it.

I'll Follow You Into the Dark by fearfully_beautifully_made (19K, E, Johnlock) ...A story about two men who have had a very tough couple of years and are long overdue for a little tenderness and healing. Or four times that one of the boys wake each other up from a Nightmare and one time when it is not a Nightmare. ;)

In July of This Year by yaycoffee (12K, E, Johnlock) There is an oft-cited experiment discussed in classrooms and cocktail parties alike, a convenient analogy when one endeavors to make a point about not noticing the obvious until it is inevitable. Simply, if you place a frog on a hot plate, it will jump off immediately, but if you put that frog on a cool plate and turn up the heat slowly, slowly, it will simply burn. Or: How these two idiots melt together, finally.

Johnlock Advent 2018 by sussexbound (47K, E, Johnlock) A collaboration between @honeybeelullaby, @chained-to-the-mirror, and myself. @honeybeelullaby provided the wonderful prompts, @chained-to-the-mirror drew pictures based on those, and I wrote a ficlet for each one.

Merlot by Itsallfine (14K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays.

Put a Little Love in Your Heart by MissDavis (16K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes and John Watson will both tell you that they are not sentimental men, and that neither thinks the holiday season is anything more than a series of dates on a calendar. Don't believe a word they say.

State of Flux by Atiki (24K, E, Johnlock) John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

The Allowables by cwb (14K, E, Johnlock) Got your email. Your idea of whispering filth to me in public is genius. ALWAYSI thought you might like that. CBTM

To Feed Your Hunger by FinAmour (21K, E, Johnlock) What does a kiss say, after all? A kiss is a gift. A kiss is a promise. A kiss says, “You’re mine, and I’m yours.” John exhales. “Can I kiss you?” Sherlock is trembling in his arms. “If you don’t,” he murmurs roughly, “I may lose my mind.”

To Keep Quiet by Salambo06 (11K, E, Johnlock) Four days. In the end, that’s all it takes for Sherlock to accept the fact that there is a chance John might be feeling just as desperate for more as he is.Still, it doesn’t change the fact that they need to talk. Sherlock counts it down to four conversations in total, at least. He’s certain John is just as aware of this fact as he is, but still, Sherlock finds himself unable to think of any plan of action.

Undersea-Rainbows by agirlsname (11K, E, Johnlock) If John ever saw a picture of how Sherlock gazes at him when he isn't looking, things would turn around very quickly for them.

Winning the Goat by ArwaMachine (17K, E, Johnlock) The life that Sherlock and John have together is rather unusual. Sometimes they lounge about the flat with their daughter. Sometimes they flee for their lives from a band of organ-harvesting criminals. Sometimes they shag. Sometimes Sherlock insists upon arguing with John about the Monty Hall problem for weeks on end. Somehow, they love each other. Somehow, it all works. 

[ye4gerismarchives]

the bachelorette: questions + thoughts with connie and jean

an: some responses from the boys since i feel like this a lil hard for y’all. i’ve gotten TWO response from the poll so far 😟 y’all i need answers so that i can write connie’s proposal and determine who gets to be your hubby. also, i need responses for the wedding! i don’t want to write something that everyone didn’t somewhat agree on! also, tumblr seems to be hiding my work? so you guys aren’t really to blame for the lack of interaction. just remember to check the bachelorette masterlist often! this q&a has questions added by me as well to help with decision making. ok one more announcement, i made a post on this but it didn’t get seen. there’s an extended part to the connie family chapter. the whole didn’t upload 😭 click here to finish it!

tag list: @taybird

‘ how much money you got in your bank account 🤨’

jean: haha, well, i’m a lawyer-

connie: and i’m a financial advisor so-

jean: i think we both have enough money to take care of y/n ;)

connie:

‘why are you still in the ‘friendship’ mindset? when you propose to y/n, are you prepared to finally act like a husband?’

“well, people who marry their ‘best’ friends do have better marriages. sure, when i propose to y/n, i’ll be her husband but she’ll always be my day one.”

‘Connie is amazing…I have nothing wrong with the friends to lovers concept, but I think Connie would make a better friend than husband.’

“we’ll see.”

‘connie is good too but the way he still treats y/n as a friend, especially in these last few moments, isn’t really a good card to play. ALSO, i ain’t forget that little ‘love you’ shit nigga. better put an i in front of that.’

“DAMN OK. this is a lot to unpack. sorry for not saying ‘i love you’, damn😒 i’m not on my knees like jean and bertie.”

‘A kid comes up to you and kicks you in the shin, what do you do?’

“now…wtf? i mean, i don’t know that to say. i can’t scream at them. that would be terrible.”

‘A mutual friend flirts with you; would you tell y/n?’

“if it happens once, i’ll brush it off but if it happens regularly, i’m going to have to tell y/n or even tell the “friend” off myself because i don’t do that.”

‘How long do you think people should wait before having kids?’

“maybe a year or two. from then on you can decide whenever you want to have kids.”

jean:

‘I like Jean because he’s straight forward for the most part and is open about his feelings, also v respectful but v much protective.’

“thank you! i don’t really understand the ‘very much protective’ part. of course i’m gonna look out for y/n.”

‘What do you value in a relationship?’

“communication. communication can change anything and everything in a relationship.

‘Your house is on fire. What do you grab as you run out?’

“ y/n ofc. and if we have kids if this fire happens, i would have to grab them first. my children will come before anything.”

‘Do you ever get jealous if you see y/n talking to other attractive people?’

“no, maybe not? if y/n ends up picking me, i wouldn’t worry about other people. if you got picked within five weeks with like twelve guys around, i doubt you worried too. but if she cheats on me, i’ll feel a certain way.”

‘What did you learn about marriage from your parents?’

“oh this is funny. don’t enter a relationship without being sure about commitment. and learn to make up your mind. make sure you’re sure about something before making big decisions like having kids.”

[curious-minx]

Bob’s Burgers most reliable holiday  provides another lowkey enjoyable, but messy episode. Whereas the latest Simpsons strikes a really sore vocal node.

The second holiday episode of Bob’s Burgers’ 11th season, much like the previous Halloween episode, this one also fails to live up to the series’ even higher Thanksgiving standard

 That’s not to say “Diarrhea of a Poopy Kid” is not a good episode, but it does fall into the category of Bob’s Burgers episode I typically respond to the least: Character-based storytelling vignettes. The writing on these segment driven episodes tend to be looser and  playful bending the show’s reality, but much like every time the other Fox family leaves the Springfield plane of reality into a pastiche styled playground for the writers to plug the characters into.

The overall animation and visual-based gags on this episode offers some of the best moments of the season and series in general. Having the Belcher stories revolve around action movie pastiches of 90’s action movie schlock like Air Force Once, Armageddon, and late 80’s Predator  are extremely punny and really grasping hard for satire. The walk to Louise’s Breadator is succinct and makes total sense for Louise’s character to tell this kind of story, whereas Tina drawing inspiration from Air Force One for her story sags the episode down. This episode also has the gall to bring in Gayle, a character that usually elevates all of her episodes nothing much to do until the third and best segment told by Bob. Teddie is also frustratingly nowhere to be seen and Teddie is one of those characters that really only needs a small scene explaining away  his absence like in the episode “Gayle Makin’ Bob Sled,” which Variety and I consider to be among the best of Bob’s Thanksgiving episodes. 

Nitpicks and reminiscing on past glories aside, what’s most impressive about an episode as conceptual and overstuffed as this one, an episode that’s also poopy and gross-out from the very beginning, still manages to pack undeniable heart. Seeing a character as relatable and sad sack-y as Bob Belcher be passionate about his one favorite holiday reminds me of the everlasting and evergreen Ray Bradbury remark about how everyone is capable of writing poetry as long as you ask them to talk about something they are truly passionate about. Seeing how this episode climax revolves around Gene and Bob’s love of food and proves a powerful sentimental moment. Bob’s Burgers sentimentality works because the show’s core is silly absurdism, light and fluffy gross out gags and quirky twee-ness. Introducing the action movie element feels like the series trying to branch out its audience and try to catch some eyeballs of viewers looking for something more like Archer, American Dad, Rick and Morty, or even Treehouse of Horror style genre exercises.  Bob’s Burgers and action comedy feels like putting garlic pesto on cinnamon toast, but Ryan Reynolds doesn’t think so.

Yes, that’s right. The biggest news out of the Bob’s Burgers camp…probably ever…is that the Molyneux sisters, the writers of this very action packed episode, have been hand selected by Mr. Detective “VanWilder” Pickachu himself to be head writers on the upcoming third Deadpool movie. Seeing that we live in a post Russo brothers world and how Dan Harmon was conscripted to punch up Doctor Strange scripts none of this should really surprise me, but I am still very much surprised by this development. The Deadpool 3 creative team and Reynolds is still promising to deliver an R-Rated Comedy, a rating and promise that is very much why Deadpool is the sensation that it is. 

In the current media landscape the only way a big budget R-Rated comedy can get made is if it’s attached to something like a mega superhero sized brand. At this point in time Deadpool is the closest thing kids have to a Mel or Al Brooks and it is what it is. If anything Ryan Reynolds personally choosing the Molyneux sisters for a project like this makes me like Ryan Reynolds a little bit more. And he’s a man I previously had no real feelings or opinions about. The only other thing about Deadpool I know about is that the franchise has developed a particularly shitty reputation in terms of its treatment of main female characters and literally freezing them out of the plot. The future of comedy is being driven by the significant increase of women gaining these kind of writing gigs and it’s a beautiful thing to finally see witness. Especially when a company like Netflix has been really shitty to both of its own female driven comedies: Glow and Tucca and Bertie.

Sigh. I am thankful for all the sad little boys and girls wearing too much or maybe the right amount of eye shadow that will inherit this flaming Earth.

Three and half pear shaped pals out of an Oedipus Rex Complex. 

////

Nerds! Nothing but a lousy rotten sniveling dweeb! You dorkus-rex! You body pillow huffing geek get over here and let the Simpsons set some things straight for you: A Comic Book Guy driven episode of the Simpsons is often where the show goes off the rails. The Comic Book Guy marriage episode is was one of those late day Simpsons that feel like a bad piece of dreamed up fan fiction that you found on the cutting room floor. Is the show interested at all with the fact that comics and being nerdy have become as mainstream as the Bible? No? They’re still treating geek culture as some sort of low hanging piñata fruit lousy with cheap references in place of actual jokes? Good! I don’t know why I would ever allow myself to think for a second that the Simpsons would challenge its own status quo 32 seasons in, but I keep coming back. 

What I should really do is back up. The title of this episode is “Three Dreams Denied.” Ah, Dream Denial! That’s exactly what anyone watching an animated sitcom hopes for: dreams being crushed. This isn’t some kiddy Davy and Goliath feel good wholesome fable, this is the Simpsons where characters are given dreams, and those dreams get denied. The next part of the title I want to break down is the fact that there are specifically three dreams that being denied. Three! That’s a comedy number! As long as you have three of anything you’re doing comedy. Plain and simple.

During the Robert Zemeicks arc of the Blank Check podcast Griffin Newman, co-host and comedian extraordinaire and someone I generally admire a lot, has been bringing up the fact that he’s been spending a lot of his Quarantine rewatching the entirety of the Simpsons. By the episode of Used Cars Newman has already gotten past the Movie era and is in the 20th seasons. One observation he made about later day Simpsons is that these episodes have a tendency to end abruptly on a pile of unusable and reality bending plots still in the process of tying themselves up. And there’s no better/worse example of this than this episode. 

Comic Book Guy goes to a comic book convention. Bart becomes a voice actor after befriending the comic book guy’s temporary replacement. Lisa feuds over her saxophone chair in the school orchestra with a new pretty boy voiced by the underwhelming Ben Platt. One of these plots is not like the other. This used to be the signature of a quality Simpsons episode that managed to tweak and divert expectations from the typical A & B sitcom storylines. This episode fundamentally fails to deliver on any of the three storylines and what makes it worse is that it’s an intentional choice. 

Now I know I have spent this review harping on Comic Book Guy, but he’s not even why this episode for me is such an abomination. And it’s not because the cutesy, flimsy Lisa subplot either (although I do find it noxiously amusing that a week after an Yeardely Smith took issue with the Queer Interpretation of Lisa would feature her going moony eyed over a boy voiced by a defiantly queer actor), no, what tips this episode into the territory of the truly terrible for me is the Bart becomes a voice actor subplot. 

The only defining quality of season 32 that I can discern is that the flagrant trolling on behalf of the writers. Can you believe we had three vignette driven episodes of the Simpsons in a row? Can you believe we would have meta reality breaking voice actor related moments back to back? When Lisa Simpson’s voice actor Yeardley Smith voiced the real world character of herself in the previous Podcast based episode it was clumsy and awkward as hell. Having Bart become a voice actor that ends up voicing a character of the opposite gender is the sort of kind of a funny thing that resembles a joke that the latter day Simpsons revel in. The characterization of voice acting work in this episode is downright insulting and explains exactly why this show suffers. 

The character of Phil that serves as the Comic Book Guy’s replacement is a working voice actor. He let’s Bart know this by doing a series of completely basic, broad and unremarkable impersonations that Bart is seemingly impressed by. All you have to do to become a successful voice actor is do a silly voice and you’re golden. Maybe from the perspective of a series as lazy and indulgent as the Simpsons is when it comes to voice acting. The complete denial of Julie Kavner’s deteriorating voice that at this point sounds like gentle elder abuse. There are times when Kavner is downright incomprehensible at times. The other oldest member of the Simpsons voice talent, Harry Shearer was wrongheadedly trying to defend his right to voice Characters of Colors because  in his words, “the job of the voice actor is to play someone who they’re not.” Obviously these words were not spoken by someone that thinks very highly of acting either. There is no one job an actor has to do, because the job  of an actor is always changing from job to job. The character of Phil is not even attributed to anyone! I have spent over thirty minutes getting testy with IMDB search engines and reading another website’s recap and no one can tell me who did the voice of the Voice Acting Character on Simpsons. Lovely.

Much like the Comic Book Guy the Simpsons heart is in bad shape. This is a show whose entire existence seems to be made out of spite. Or to garner enough funds for Matt Groening to prevent him from ever having to serve any prison time for his exploits on the Lolita express. Great, see I’m bringing up the Lolita Express at the end of a Simpsons review. This episode really left me in a bad mood, but thankfully that’s what Bob’s Burgers is for. 

SKIP. The only people that should watch this are people teaching a screenwriting class that need examples of what happens when you break your episode by haphazardly shoving three plots into one episode. If you can’t tie up one story in a satisfying manner then you really shouldn’t be telling a story at all. There’s also one really magnificent visual joke involving Homer and beer tea that is absolutely wasted on this episode.

[ladykeane]

something angsty or hurt/comforty about bertie missing his parents and reg comforting him?

Filled below! (Will post this on AO3 at length, tonight its interface is being a butt)

I do feel justified in declaring Bertram to be a singularly courageous soul, despite the detractions of some of his peers. Not only because of the aid he provides to friends (and even strangers) in need, or his unswerving devotion to his beloved ‘Code of the Woosters’. Bertram is brave because he dares to be cheerful in a world that can be oppressively bleak.

This is precisely why I was so affected to come home one dark January day, to find him slumped on the carpet of our unlit sitting room, listening to an album of vintage novelty songs, and crying his poor dear eyes out.

My fiance, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, has proven to be a constant source of inspiration. There has been many a grey weekday morning that I have dreaded the prospect of leaving our bed, to face the bustle of London and the onerous task of placating my legal clients, who can often be disagreeable and demanding. Bertram blesses me with his bright blue gaze and sweet rosy smile, and his natural buoyancy quickly uplifts me. I am able to approach the day in a lighter mood, and with a strengthened resolve. This is one of the many ways in which he makes me into a better version of myself. Despite our occasional squabbles and his sometimes imperfect domestic habits, I am elevated and improved by the love we share.

He has inspired me again in the writing of this prose. His blog is a source of entertainment for many, and I am proud of his accomplishment. This composition may prove much less whimsical, and will certainly not be fit for public consumption. I confess I lack Bertram’s bravery to share my innermost thoughts with the digital multitudes. 

And I do feel justified in declaring Bertram to be a singularly courageous soul, despite the detractions of some of his peers. Not only because of the aid he provides to friends (and even strangers) in need, or his unswerving devotion to his beloved ‘Code of the Woosters’. Bertram is brave because he dares to be cheerful in a world that can be oppressively bleak.

This is precisely why I was so affected to come home one dark January day, to find him slumped on the carpet of our unlit sitting room, listening to an album of vintage novelty songs, and crying his poor dear eyes out.

Bertram always takes to the festivities around Christmas and New Years’ with an almost manic enthusiasm. This is unsurprising, but in the years we have celebrated the yuletide together, I have often detected a vague sort of wistfulness arise in him. Even this Christmas just past, which was exalted by his marriage proposal to me, saw him a tad doleful during quieter moments.

I have often suspected the reason for this anomaly in his character. I have never dared to interrogate him about it, lest I worsen the wound.However, seeing my songbird in such keen despair finally spurred me to address the matter.

I sat down beside him, my actions slow, so as not to startle him. He did not flinch as I carefully wrapped my arms about his wilted frame. He buried his wet face in my collar, and I stroked his back gently as he heaved with sobs. His misery flooded its way into me, and I burned with it. My hand found its way into his soft curls, cradling his precious head.

I listened to the music playing. A jazz band tootled away, over which a pleasant light baritone crooned:

‘Everybody loves my baby

But my baby don't love nobody but me

Yes, everybody wants my baby

but my baby don't want nobody but me

that's plain to see!...’

It was not hard to discern that the voice belonged to Bertram’s late father.The song eventually came to an end with a blare of horns, and the vinyl crackled and fell silent.

Bertram rose, tearing away from my embrace. ‘Ah. Awfully sorry about that, Reg,’ he said shakily, and flicked on the light. His eyes were painfully red and puffy. His sorrow was not disguised by the hardy little smile he managed for me.

He began striding towards the kitchen, ostensibly to start dinner or put on the kettle. I could see him struggling to conjure his prized stiff upper lip. I was stung; I did not want my future husband to believe that he required such a mask in my presence.

‘Bertram… you have no need to apologise to me. It is alright to feel what you feel.’He stopped in the doorway, and slackened a little. ‘I suppose. It’s just… this time of year, you know. Makes it harder not to miss them.’

I arose to meet him, my hand caressing his shoulder once more. ‘Please allow me. Darjeeling, my angel?’

***

We agreed upon a dinner of take-away, and afterwards enjoyed a drowsy snuggle on the sofa. It grew late; Bertram went to change into his pajamas, and I began clearing up the sitting room, quite unhurried. 

The novelty jazz album still sat upon the turntable, and I reverently slid it back into its sleeve. The cover gave me pause, the bright blue gaze of the late Mr Wooster was unmistakable. I know the man had been a music teacher at Dulwich College in life, and an accomplished musician like his son. According to the accounts of his sister Mrs Travers, he had also the same sunny, kind-hearted temperament.

‘It was thirteen years, today, don’t you know. An icy road and a drunk driver. I’ve never even visited their graves, if you can believe it. Just couldn’t bring myself.’

He stood in the bedroom doorway, a look of glass on his face. ‘The last day I ever spent with them was New Years’. Got packed off back to Eton, after that. You know the last thing I ever said to my mother? “Don’t forget to send on my iPod.” Over the phone. I still kick myself for that.’We locked eyes. ‘One of the biggest regrets is that they’ll never get to meet you, Reg…’

He began to crumble again, and I rushed to his arms. I imagined my love, a stricken adolescent boy, being delivered the news by a laconic house master. Being dragged home for a dual funeral, being shunted about by busy relatives lost in their own grief. That monstrous Mrs Gregson chiding him for his unmanly snivelling, and even the sympathetic Mrs Travers encouraging him to bear up and stay strong. How often had that boy ever had a chance to properly grieve for himself?

Framing the distraught, beautiful tear-strewn face between my hands, I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.As a solicitor, I well know that advisory words seldom assist in mitigating such clean, sharp-edged mourning. I have often tasked my clients to report upon some of their greatest personal traumas: divorce, bereavement, the falling out of relationships. When lost in the midst of their pain, I cannot reach them with talk of practical solutions. All I could do now was hold my Bertram, and ride out the tempest with him.

At length his crying abated, and I was able to draw him into bed. I encased him in my arms and he buried himself in my chest. Gradually our pulses fell into rhythm, and Morpheus mercifully numbed us both.

When I awoke the next morning, I was met with a bright blue gaze, and a rosy, if slightly muted, sweet smile.‘What sort of day is it, Reg?’I checked the forecast on my phone. ‘Clear and sunny, with a projected top of 14 degrees, and a light breeze to the South-West.’‘I say, that’s jolly good weather for this time of year.’‘Positively clement, Bertram.’‘What do you say we traipse down to Dulwich Park today? Grab a spot of lunch?’

I examined him. That park had been the place of his childhood gambols, a place he had not visited since his parents had died.‘Do you feel up to it?’ I asked delicately. 

He huffed into the pillowcase. ‘Well… it’s been such a long time, and it really is a nice little spot, packed with joyful memories… I should love to show you the old oak that I always loved to climb. One time I dragged Angela up there too. She nearly screamed my ear off that it was too high, until I pointed out that you could just glimpse Tower Bridge from the highest branch. Then there’s the little copse by the West Lawn, where Father and I once had a run-in with a miniature grizzly hedgehog. Spunky little thing, he was…’

It stayed sunny for the entire day.

[mostweakhamlets]

*whispers* what is the jeeves thing pls explain

Listen 👏 up 👏

The Jeeves series is books and novels written by P.G Wodehouse. They take place in, I guess, the 1910-1920s even though I know there was a floating timeline so some are in the 70s when Wodehouse wrote them? I'm not sure. I haven't read those ones I'll be honest.

It's about this man, Bertie Wooster, who's part of the idle rich class in England. He doesn't do anything besides spend money and go to clubs and get into awful situations. His family is very wealthy, and he lives off his inheritance (we assume he's an orphan). He's super sweet, though. I cannot stress enough how much I love him. He's very selfless and will do anything to help anyone. He often gives away money without a second thought and listens to all of his friends' problems while promising to help. He's also very naive and gets scammed a few times, but I don't think he's physically capable of saying no. Which just leads to very absurd situations.

He's about 25, but this boy is an idiot. He cannot take care of himself. He sleeps until noon and doesn't know how to make tea.

That's where Jeeves comes in. He's Bertie's valet (a gentleman's gentleman (a servant that basically looks after the household and the individual)). He's the only smart character in the books. Bertie and his friends are constantly getting engaged and getting into trouble because of whoever they have a crush on this week (though iirc Bertie doesn't seem to fall in love as much as his aunts try arranging marriages for him). Jeeves is kinda a trickster character. He always has a plan for Bertie to get out of trouble, but he's also caused his own trouble from time to time for his own amusement. He's pretty loyal tho, and very dignified, and very stoic.

The character inspired Ask.com which used to be Askjeeves.com. "Jeeves" is also a colloquialism that people use when referring to a butler (though Jeeves wasn't a butler). The books had a big impact.

Then, there was a tv series made with Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry as Bertie and Jeeves respectably. It was as good as you'd expect Fry and Laurie to be when they're together. The cast did change quit a bit, and some of the other characters aren't as fun as Bertie and Jeeves. There's also some seasons that are set in America, and they do the whole "every American has a super harsh voice" thing which can be grating at times (especially if you're American and don't quite find it funny just bc that's not an ingrained part of our humor). It's worth watching, though! I've been watching it for the past couples days to cheer myself up.

The tv series also changes a few things about Bertie's character. Since Hugh Laurie is a musical genius, they have him play piano and sing a lot. It's a great addition to his character. It shows that he's not completely useless and gives him something to do rather than just sit around his apartment when the scenes are set there. It also leads to cute moments like Jeeves playing with him in a rare moment of softness. The dynamic between Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry is amazing. It kinda gives a different tone to the relationship. They're closer in age, and it feels like a friendship.

In the books, they're definitely friends but iirc Jeeves is a bit older. He's there to provide some stability to Bertie's life and imo he sort of takes on this caregiving role that Bertie doesn't have (his aunts are bossy and his parents are dead and his friends are all idiots as well). At the end of the day, Jeeves is there to clean up after the trouble and ensure that Bertie will have a hot breakfast in the morning.

[nimiumcaelo]

“Indeed, Miss?” -- Chapter 7

Chapter summary: Complications arise. Rosalyn is no longer trusted to chaperone.

Chapter 7: A Bad Day for a Wooster

“Oh, there you are, Bertie!” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps exclaimed, pushing her way through the crowd towards us. “I wondered where you’d got off to.”

“Has Bingo quite finished with that soup-strainer chap, do you think? I still want to go dancing.”

The two ladies glanced at their friend. “I couldn’t say,” said Miss Fotheringay-Phipps. “Maybe she’ll invite him to come with us?”

Miss Wooster fidgeted slightly. “Erm, not exactly the best spot for a chap of that sort, Barmy. I doubt that he’d approve of the whole atmos.”

“Oh?” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps appeared confused. “Why’s that? … – Oh! Oh. Never-mind.” She grinned sheepishly.

“Quite.” Miss Wooster folded her arms. “Well, I think I’ll just biff off over there and tell her the sitch., and then we can go and noodle over to that club.”

“Alright.”

Miss Wooster moved through the crowd, which was slightly lessened now, and leaned against the counter beside Miss Little.

I had shifted myself back a small amount, melting somewhat into the fixtures, as is proper. It appeared that this move was successful; Miss Fotheringay-Phipps seemed to forget my existence in those few moments before Miss Wooster reappeared, sans Miss Little, who, she explained, was intending to spend the remaining afternoon and evening with her newfound beau and wished us have fun whilst dancing. When Miss Wooster asked me whether I wouldn’t mind sticking around a bit longer while they “cut a mean fox-trot,” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps startled and seemed to only just remember that I was there.

“I would not mind, miss,” I said, of course. One cannot give up one’s duties, after all.

“Spiffing! Let’s beetle over there, then.” Miss Wooster smiled quickly then turned away, Miss Fotheringay-Phipps and myself following.

Our voyage was cut short, however, when none other than Mrs. Gregson blocked our path, emerging onto the sidewalk from a dress-maker’s shop.

“Bertie!” she barked, and the addressed blanched quickly.

“Oh, ah, what-ho, Aunt Agatha!”

Mrs. Gregson shot a venomous glare at Miss Fotheringay-Phipps, who was staring wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before her.

“I trust,” Mrs. Gregson spat out, “that you are not planning on participating in any untoward activities, my dear imbecilic neice?”

Miss Wooster cast a helpless look at Miss Fotheringay-Phipps. “No, no, not at all! We were just – just – about to go…uh –” She faltered.

“Miss Wooster,” I supplied, “and Miss Fotheringay-Phipps were intending to purchase hats, madam.”

Miss Wooster seemed to sway where she stood. “Yes! Hats!” she cried, relieved. “I saw the most corking specimen in a shop window the other day and I simply had to show Barmy before it was snatched up.”

Mrs. Gregson’s face remained stony. “Is it customary for you to purchase hats whilst dressed like a member of the chorus-line?”

“Oh, ah, eh? This old thing? I was just – just trying it on, see.”

“Trying it on?”

“They are modeling, madam,” I put in quickly. “For a dress-shop. The owner wished to increase the sales of certain items. Miss Wooster and Miss Fotheringay-Phipps agreed to wear said items in public in return for discounts on their next purchases.”

Mrs. Gregson turned her sharp gaze onto me. “Is that so, Rosalyn?”

“Yes, madam.”

“And you were with them while they conducted this – deal?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Then I am very disappointed in you, Rosalyn. I trusted you to keep my neice from bandying her name and you have allowed her to recklessly display herself about town in such a way. I am afraid,” she added, turning to Miss Wooster, “that you are no longer allowed to be chaperoned by Rosalyn. Now, I want you to head back to your flat and put on something decent. I will be arriving shortly after you, so don’t delay.”

“Yes, Aunt Agatha,” Miss Wooster mumbled, drooping.

Mrs. Gregson then bustled past us down the street.

Miss Fotheringay-Phipps pulled nervously at her fingers. “Terribly sorry about that, old thing. I guess the dancing’ll have to wait, eh?”

Miss Wooster sighed. “Yes, I suppose. Can’t be helped, though – Aunt Agatha’s a tyrant. Sorry you had to witness that.”

“It’s alright. My Aunt gets like that sometimes, too. I say, I should probably push off. I don’t want you to get into more trouble.”

Miss Wooster smiled weakly at her friend. “Thanks ever so much, Barmy. I’ll see you around, sometime?”

“Of course,” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps assured, then struck off down the pavement.

Once we were alone, Miss Wooster turned on me sharply. “Rosalyn you ass!” she hissed. “What did you mean by telling my Aunt we were modeling? Now she thinks I’m some sort of tart who goes around selling herself for ribbons!”

I looked around, making sure our disagreement was not being viewed by all and sundry. “I had intended, miss,” I said icily, “to dissuade Mrs. Gregson from the idea that you actually owned such garments, an idea which she would have found much less favourable than the one she is possessed of now. I apologize if I have done anything to upset you.”

“You bally well have!” Miss Wooster grumbled. She turned then and headed back up the street, her long legs carrying her swiftly. “I can’t believe you sometimes!”

We walked in silence for the remainder of the journey. When we arrived back at the flat, Miss Wooster shut herself in her bedroom and informed me that she had no need of my assistance currently and asked if I would please be so kind as to remain out of her sight for the foreseeable future? I retreated to the kitchen, fuming quietly.

Mrs. Gregson arrived minutes after Miss Wooster and myself. I helped her out of her light summer-coat and hat, then began preparing tea. I heard Mrs. Gregson knocking repeatedly on Miss Wooster’s door.

“Bertie, come out of there! This is no time for sulking. I need to discuss things with you so you know what it is you’re allowed to do.”

Miss Wooster remained silent.

I served Mrs. Gregson her tea, and the action seemed to make her momentarily forget her anger at me. A watery sigh emanating from Miss Wooster’s bedroom, however, made her set her teacup down with a clack and call to me.

“Yes, madam?”

“Rosalyn, I wish to have a word with you.”

I felt my heart sink within my breast. “Indeed, madam? May I be of any assistance?”

“You’ve been of enough assistance recently, Rosalyn. Sit down. I don’t want you looming over me like that. Now, I need you to understand that you have been placed in a position of responsibility regarding Miss Wooster. It is you who are supposed to protect her when she is away from her family and it is you who are supposed to help her to maintain a respectable name for herself so that she does not –“ Mrs. Gregson faltered, voice choking up. “So that she does not ruin her chances at a happy future for herself. I need you to understand this, Rosalyn.”

“Yes, madam.”

Mrs. Gregson sighed and spoke quietly. “I worry about her, constantly. She does not know what is good for her. I know you care for her, as well – you needn’t be ashamed of the fact – so I know you can understand my position. I simply cannot have her destroying her life, especially so unwittingly. You know what is proper for a young lady, Rosalyn. Miss Wooster needs you to be her guide in this. She needs you to help her – I need you to help her. Dahlia and I, we’ve put together a list of suitors for Bertie. She’s not going to like it, but I need you to help her through this. Marriage is a wonderful thing, even if she doesn’t understand that, yet. In the next few days I’m going to start introducing Bertie to these young men, but I need her to act becomingly. I know that you can make her sympathetic to this endeavor. Can I trust you to help us – to help Miss Wooster?”

I looked at Mrs. Gregson. Her face was ever so sincere.

“Yes, madam,” I said. “I will help Miss Wooster.”

[thearrangment-phff]

LV. Announcement

December 2017

“I have a big announcement!! Everyone, please gather around!” yelled Alexander in a room filled with over a 100 people.

“What’s going on?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know. Alexander wants everyone attention,” answered Isabella.

“I can’t believe you-” Harry had then been cut off by Alexander.

“As you all know Christmas with such a large family is almost impossible. But I’m making this speech because 2017 has been good to us, has it not?!” family nodded and clapped, “My little sister Belle got married and my other little sister Ella had a baby. But she wasn’t the only one, my brother Chris had another little girl. Countess Alix had a daughter named Marie and another Alix, Alix Ligne just gave birth to her first child, a baby girl named Olympia a couple of days ago. So, let us raise a glass to all these beautiful strong women and to every woman in our lives because we all know the men don’t do enough!” laughed Alexander.

“Hurry it along Alex!” yelled Joachim

“Speaking of babies! Here is to my lovely little sister Belle, my cousin’s girlfriend Katarina, my beautiful cousin Marie Gabrielle, and the beautiful Amelia on their pregnancies. Another reason I am up on this table ignoring the dirty looks I am getting from my grandmama and all those over 90 is because I have my own announcement to make. About a couple of days ago off the coast of Greece and I proposed to Luisa. We’re getting married!”

“Oh my god!”

“Wait who is Luisa?” asked Harry.

“Princess Luisa Maria of Belgium, Archduchess of Austria-Este,” answered Olympia.

“It will be the first Habsburg to Habsburg marriage that happens in a very long time,” added Princess Charlotte.

“Isn’t Alix your daughter, Christine?” asked Harry.

“Goodness no. Alix is my niece by blood and by marriage. Amelia is my daughter and she’s due in February of this coming year.”

“Is it a girl?”

“No, a boy. He will be my second grandson,” replied Princess Christine.

“I think I’m hoping for boys as of now. A Charles and an Albert. I would call them Charlie and Bertie,” smiled Harry as he watched Isabella congratulate her brother and Luisa from a large distance.

“Has Isabella told you about the appointment?” asked Olympia.

“She has. I’m still moving my schedule around to make sure I’ll be there,” replied Harry.

“Will they be princes?”

“No. Lords and Ladies until my father in on the throne,” answered Harry.

“Don’t worry Olympia. They’ll be princes and princesses just not through English means,” smiled Princess Charlotte.

“What are you talking about?”

“There are other monarchies meaning there are other noble titles that can be given. She means to find my children titles through Luxembourg if they could,” said Harry as he stared at Princess Charlotte of Murat. She was the only one capable of the four older women to wield such power.

“A title worthy of the children of a dynastic marriage.”

“Isabella would have to have a kingdom for it to be dynastic.”

“She does. She’s a Princess of Habsbourg-Lorraine in the Belgian nobility.”

“Nobility and royalty are two different things,” replied Harry. God, he was beginning to should as uptight as Isabella. His eyes looked around the room for his pregnant bride laughing with Joachim his hand reaching out towards her stomach, “If you’ll excuse me I’m going with Isabella.”

Joachim’s fingers never touched any part of Isabella, they simply lingering over her stomach a couple of times, “I’m very excited for all the new babies that’ll be running around by summer,” smiled Isabella.

“I can’t believe your brother and my sister are getting married. Even growing up I would’ve never imagined them out of everyone being together,” smiled Joachim.

Harry pressured his hand into the lower back of Isabella which made her wince in pain. Harry hadn’t known but the pregnancy was harder on her than anyone could’ve realized. Harry felt it but Joachim was the one to see “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all. Belle and I were talking about how we’re going to be family another way now.”

“We’ll actually share nieces and nephews now,” laughed Isabella.

“We shared a lot of things growing up, so I guess we’ll just add another thing to the list.”

“Where is Maria Laura? I was thinking of setting her up with my cousin Johannes.”

“Wait, Johannes. No, they would never get along. Two completely different people,” argued Joachim.

“Hey what’s going on?” interrupted Alexander with a beaming Luisa Maria at his hip.

“Belle is trying to set up our elder sister,” replied Joachim, but he was clearly talking to only his sister.

“With who?” asked Luisa.

“My cousin Johannes,” replied Isabella.

“No! No, way. Set her up with Thomas. They’ll have much more in common. I would’ve said Franz-Ludwig but he’s already engaged to Mathilde,” added Alexander.

“Are we even sure Laura will agree to go on a date? I mean she dated but she’s never dated,” asked Luisa.

“Maybe she’ll fall in love. No one is in a rush to get married or have kids and so forth,” assured Joachim.

“Tell that to Belle. She got married fast and had kids even faster,” joked Alexander which earned him a punch in the arm from his little sister.

“Shut up you little turd! Don’t go judging my relationship. I guarantee you 10 months after you marry Luisa will be giving birth.”

“You want to bet on it?!” yelled Alexander in excitement.

“Yes I do! If you lose you have to run around Berg castle naked.”

“Mama would die if I ever do that,” argued Alexander.

“Exactly why I bet that,” smirked Isabella.

“Fine if you lose you have to rub my feet for a month.”

“Ew! I live in London. You live in Switzerland. When will I ever see you to even give you one?!” asked Isabella.

“Well tonight and every holiday we ever have for a year then,” answered Alexander.

“You would really make your little sister who is also pregnant rub your feet?!” asked Isabella pretending to be shocked.

“Oh stop it! It’s not like I’m treating you like a slave.”

“You can’t change the terms now!” argued Isabella.

“I guess I’m taking a month holiday to London,” joked Alexander, “Okay. Let’s just all say you’ll give me foot rubs. That like thirty. That’s a month, right?”

“Fine! Deal,” yelled Isabella.

“Do you think he’s going to win?” asked Harry.

“Goodness no. I know Luisa and I know my brother. As disgusting as it is for me to say once they have the religious wedding ceremony they won’t be able to keep their hands off of each other,” replied Isabella.

“Belle we were thinking of hanging our after hours as that little restaurant nearby once the young and older ones go to bed. You and Harry are welcome to join us,” smiled Luisa.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I can’t barely stand with my feet right now but thank you for the offer. I think Harry and I are going to go to bed once everything dies down.”

“Okay. Then we’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow morning? Some of us were thinking of doing some exploring and the girls were thinking of shopping while the boys go and hunt.”

“We’ll be there,” replied Harry as he and Isabella turned to each other and began to walk away.

“Do you really want to go hunting?” asked Isabella.

“Do you really want to go shopping?”

“I do but my back and feet are hurting more than ever now. I can barely handle this.”

“We can go to bed and I can give you a feet rub,” suggested Harry.

“I’m not sharing a room with you.”

Harry looked immediately confused, “What do you mean we aren’t sharing a room? We’re with your family?”

“I understand that. I’ll be with my cousin Marie Astrid. She just went through a bad breakup so Eleonore, some other girl cousins, and I are going to have a girls night.”

“You talking to me so that’s a good sign. Please don’t use your family members as a way to avoid us,” begged Harry.

“I’m not. I have a large family that I care about. Just because it’s always been you and your brother doesn’t mean I have to limit myself to my brothers and sisters. I have cousins and second cousins that I care for too. I’m not using them tonight Harry.” 

[unforgetabelle]

Lords, Lies & Ladybirds :LadyNoir July

part: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20

21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31

ao3

Promise

The next days seem to pass in a blur. Adrien and the other players finished off the run of their latest show to high praise from the townsfolk, but he had trouble taking true pride in the performance. As days turned into a week, he wasn’t the only one to feel a creative slump. A part of their family had vanished, and it seemed Adrien wasn’t the only one who found that in a few short months, Marinette had made herself an inextricable part of the theater. Her costumes were the vibrancy that encapsulated them on stage, and her quiet support a backbone many had come to rely on. Even now, when the truth about their dear costumer was an open secret within the walls of the theater, not a day went by without someone wondering aloud when Bertie would be back. The questions were never directed at him. Whether it was because the knowledge of his relationship with Marinette had finally gotten around or the imposing shadow of his bodyguard, Adrien didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either.

Nino was the only one seemingly unfazed by the changes, but Adrien suspected his glowing countenance had less to do with the hole in their family and more to do with his recent tête-à-têtes with a certain fine Lady. In honesty, Nino’s calm probably came from him knowing more about Marinette’s current state of mind than he did with the amount of time he spent with her best friend. It seemed every afternoon, his friend was off to stroll the city by the Alya’s side, but Adrien cut him off anytime Nino offered to ask after Marinette on his behalf. Marinette had asked for time, and Adrien was determined to give her the space she needed.

Even if it was slowly driving him mad.

It was early Thursday morn, nearly a week since he spoke to her last, when someone finally remarked on his dourness. He was laying flat on the stage, enjoying the theater without the questioning eyes of his colleagues, when Plagg’s voice called out to him from the small table where here was eating a hasty breakfast. Then again, perhaps “remarked” was too kind a word...

“Would you stop sulking already?” His gruff voice shouted. “You’re melancholy is starting to make me lose my appetite.”

Tikki snorted as she passed behind him, not pausing as she flicked the back of her husband’s ear and went on tidying the backstage.

“I find that hard to believe,” she responded, with a pointed look at the spread Plagg was slowly devouring.

“Okay, fine, but c’mon, Tiks, even you have to admit the kid is being particularly annoying--”

“Plagg,” she warned.

“Over there, sighing like the world is ending and his life is over,” he grumbled, taking another bite of his bread with cheese.

“Oh, because you certainly were never melodramatic over a girl. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Adrien lifted his head and watched as Tikki put down her broom and fixed Plagg with a stare. Arms cross and lips pursed, her incredulity was unmistakable.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s being ridiculous.”

“Really? So the love sonnets of questionable skill and borderline scandalous content I received during our first year of courtship were from a different suitor?  The carefully chosen flowers and piles of sweets from the bakery left on my windowsill each night from another one still?” Tikki looked away from her husband, whose face had turned a delicate shade of red, towards Adrien in exasperation. “Clearly I married the wrong man. My true love must still be out there wondering what he possibly did wrong.”

Plagg huffed in the corner and Tikki rolled her eyes before turning to blow a kiss towards the grumpy man.

“Fine, I was also a lovesick idiot at your age, Adrien,” Plagg admitted to Tikki’s chuckle. “So tell me: how bad did you mess up?”

Adrien simply gave him a look and Plagg nodded.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“She said she needed...time,” Adrien grimaced at Plagg as the older man cringed in understanding.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

When they had both remained silent for a moment, Tikki cut in.

“How long has it been?”

“Nearly a week,” Adrien replied with a frown.

“And you haven’t contacted her at all? Sent a note? Nothing?”

Adrien sat up fully at the tone in Tikki’s voice and noticed with confusion a disbelieving look on her face.

“The girl asked for space, Tiks,” Plagg interjected as Adrien nodded in agreement. Tikki looked between the two of them and sighed.

“Men,” she muttered, turning to rumage for something in the trunk behind her. When she emerged, her arms were laden with a soft bundle wrapped in paper and tied with twine. “This is Nathaniel’s costume for next performance. My cousin finally sent it from her theater in the north, but it needs adjusting.”

Adrien blinked at her blankly and Tikki started to look annoyed.

“I was going to take it to Marinette,” she enunciated clearly, as if speaking to a child. “But I suddenly find myself burdened by so much work. If only there were someone who could run over there for me…”

“Some strapping young lad,” Plagg caught on and turned to look at Adrien as well. “Perhaps one with blonde hair.”

“Wha--” Adrien scrambled to his feet. “You can’t mean--”

“Thank you for offering, Adrien!” Tikki shoved the bundle into his hands and dragged him towards the door with a strength that did not match her petite frame.

“But she wanted time!” He called, finally forming a coherent sentence as his feet crossed the threshold.

“Not that much time,” Tikki muttered in reply. “Go. You can thank me later.”

Then, without another word, the door to the theater was shut in his face, and Adrien was left with no other option than to follow orders and pray Tikki was right.

~*~

Adrien had imagined walking up to Marinette’s front door too many times to count. He’d imagined what it would be like if they were openly courting. What it would be like to meet her family and to formally ask her father for her hand. In none of these scenarios was Adrien dressed so shabbily, bodyguard in tow, and carrying a dress. But then, in none of the scenarios was there deafening yells echoing out towards the street from the Dupain abode either.

Shoving the wrapped bundle into his guard’s hands, Adrien ignored his genteel upbringing and pushed open the front door without preamble. His rudeness, and in fact his entire entrance, went completely unnoticed by the melee within.

The house seemed to echo with voices. Adrien could hear quieter mutterings of distinctly female voices  bouncing towards the foyer from some room down the hall, but the loudest voices pulsated from the two men in the center of the foyer. A massive man stood with an angry glower, his low voice irritated but reasonable as a smaller, and evidently more furious, man hurled nearly incoherent insults at him. They spoke over each other, the taller man’s quiet tone no less forceful as he countered his opponents verbal attacks, but through the babble one thing became very clear.

Marinette had broken off her engagement.

Adrien stood shocked for a moment until a soft cough from next to him grabbed his attention. Turning, he came face to face with Luka. The man’s expression was outwardly indifferent, but Adrien could detect from experience the carefully concealed anger in his eyes each time the man who was obviously his father slighted Marinette or the Dupain family.

“Welcome to the war,” Luka greeted him with a cordial nod.

“What on earth--” Adrien began, eyes darting between Luka and the two feuding fathers at a loss for words. Luka smiled grimly and made quick work of recapitulating the events of the last few days for him.

“She told them...four days ago, I believe? And there hasn’t been a moment of peace since.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean her family wasn’t pleased, but while the Dupain women have descended to try and ‘talk some sense into her’, her father is trying to respect her wishes. My father,” Luka’s nose crinkled as he looked back at the man who, despite his wan frame, was no doubt related to the man next to him. “My father has not been as...receptive to the recent change in my relationship status.”

“Not that a broken engagement to Marinette isn’t a loss, but you are a man of stature and position. Surely you father would have no trouble finding you another match.”

“That would be true, had I ever shown any inclination towards marriage with any other...woman.”

Luka finished with a wink, and Adrien had no trouble catching his meaning.

“Without Marinette, I will dedicate myself to being a bachelor, at least in the eyes of society, and my father knows it. With no promise of a future heir…”

Luka trailed off, but Adrien nodded in understanding. He’d dealt with more than his fair share of the pressure that comes with continuing a family legacy.

“So, this has been all morning, but fear not,” Luka nudged his arm with his elbow. “My father will tire eventually, and she will officially be a free woman. Not for too long, though, I’m sure.”

“If that’s even what she still wants,” Adrien responded with a sigh and Luka gave him a deadpan look far to reminiscent of Tikki’s face that morning. “I really wish people would stop giving me that look.”

“She broke off her engagement for you. After you lied to her about who you were. Do you really still question what she wants?”

“She told you about that?” Adrien asked with a cringe and Luka just raised an eyebrow at him.

“She was a nervous wreck earlier this week. Alya and I cornered her into admission,” he replied with a shrug. “Marinette is very loved and has extremely nosy friends. Get used to it.”

He couldn’t help but smile at both Luka’s clear loyalty to Marinette and his subtle acceptance that Adrien would be around long enough to need to get used to anything when it came to her life.

“She said she needed time,” Adrien repeated for the third time that day, the excuse starting to sound weak even to his ears.

“Not that much time,”Luka responded easily. “I’m sure if she hadn’t been swarmed constantly by her female relatives for every second of the last few days, she would have told you so herself.”

“You really think so?”

Adrien looked over at Luka earnestly and the other man shook his head even as an incredulous smile came to his face.

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

“Apparently so,” Adrien responded with a smile of his own, but it was short lived, the father’s conversation falling into dead silence before them. Luka and his attention immediately diverted to the two fuming men as Sir Couffaine pointed a finger at Mr. Dupain.

“Fine,” he seethed, jabbing his digit into the much larger man’s chest. “But if you think your little chit of a daughter will ever find a match like Luka, you are sorely mistaken. Good luck finding anyone else willing to take her off your hands.”

“Luckily, I don’t measure my self-worth by what men think of me,” the very woman in question announced, having broken from her relatives to enter the room from a side doorway.

“Marinette,” a shorter woman who was undoubtedly her mother cautioned, coming to stand behind her.

“No, maman. I am quite through with men who seem to think they have any right controlling the course of my life. Papa has tried to reason with Sir Couffaine, but the man seems to be either obstinate or dumb to his new reality.”

Luka snorted next to him but was quick to hide his grin behind his hand. Through the tension in the room, no one else paid the two young men by the door any mind.

Sir Couffaine turned to the young woman, face aggressively red from anger and took a step towards her, finger still pointed in accusation.

“If you were my daughter, I would--”

In an instant, his path was blocked. In tandem, he and Luka had taken a step forward, but there was no need. Before they even reacted, Thomas Dupain had the man’s arm in a vice grip, his expression no longer accommodating.

“She is not your daughter, Reginald,” Thomas’ voice was quiet, but the threat in his tone was clear. “And you will not even dare to breathe on her if you value your life.”

The moment his hand was released, Sir Couffaine backed away, discreetly rubbing his wrist as he spewed one last insult towards the Dupains.

“You are ruined. All of you!” He shouted, still backing towards the door. “The whole town will know of how your daughter slighted my son, and trust me, there will be no lack of rumors as to why. No one will ever want her hand.”

“I do,” Adrien spoke, taking a step forward before the man’s words even truly registered. As much as he hated to admit it, Couffaine was right. Luka was a charming, desirable suitor and above Marinette’s station. At the news that she broke off their engagement, gossip was sure to follow. To society, Marinette was only worth as much as the best match she could make.

And as much as it grated on him, he was considered quite a catch.

“I want her, that is,” Adrien repeated, his eyes finally finding Marinette’s as she spun and finally spotted him. “If she’ll have me, of course.”

“Adrien?” Her voice was breathless, and he noted with pleasure how the anger drained from her features as she regarded him.

“And just who the devil are you?” Reginald shouted, but Adrien didn’t spare him a glance nor waste a breath explaining himself.

“Father,” Luka announced for him, a barely concealed smile on his face as he laid a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “May I present to you Sir Adrien Agreste, only son of Lord Agreste and Marinette’s new betrothed?”

Reginald sputtered at his introduction just as a tittering of whispers caught Adrien’s attention from the doorway. He spared a glance to see a grouping of four women, all with vaguely similar features to Marinette and all staring at him in wide-eyed awe, but quickly turned his gaze back to the woman that mattered most. She seemed happy to see him, but he still searched her eyes for some validation that he was doing the right thing. He needed to know that she still wanted him and that he wasn’t putting her in another impossible decision byt stepping forward.

“Now just wait a minute,” Mr. Dupain spoke up through the chatter, hand on Marinette’s shoulder to root her in place as he stared with calculating eyes at Adrien “No one is betrothed to anyone just yet.”

The room silenced as Thomas faced his daughter’s new suitor.

“I don’t care how many flowers you send or grand declarations you make. Hell! I don’t care if you’re the bloody Prince of England, son,” he said. “We’ve already been through one broken engagement in this house, and there will not be a second. There is one thing I need to know.”

“I understand, sir,” Adrien responded, waiting for the man’s question. To his surprise, Thomas turned to his daughter.

“Marinette,” Thomas asks uncertainty. “Do you want to be betrothed to this young man?”

“Yes. I do,” she answered immediately and Adrien felt his heart skip.

“Are you sure?” Adrien asks in barely a whisper. His voice betraying his worry, but in that moment, it was as if only Marinette were in the room. He didn’t care who else heard him.“I know you wanted time--”

“Yes, minou,” she turned to look at Adrien with a smile, leaving her father’s grasp and grabbing his hands. “I honestly am.”

And as soon as the words left her lips, her knew that she meant it. Without looking away, he untied the ribbon from his neck and held the warm garnet ring between his fingers. He brought her left hand to his lips in a kiss as he looked to her for confirmation. In her eyes, all he saw was the promise of their future, and as slid the ring onto her finger, he finally sealed a promise of his own.

[class-wom]

Five Unpopular Downton Opinions

I was challenged by @downtonabbeyandausten , and tbh I think voicing “unpopular opinions” might be kind of a first for me!  Bwahaha...so here I go...

1) Mary is terrible for betraying Edith’s secret and has to do everything to make it up to her, from “admitting that she’s in love” (sorry, Sir Fellowes, but I’m still not buying it 🙄) to personally arranging for another shot between Edith and Bertie...yet Edith never apologized for ratting out Mary’s dirty little secret via “poisoned pen” and worse, when confronted by Mary over it, proceeded to call her sister a slut!!!  Um, Edith willingly goes to bed with her married editor, gets pregnant by him, and she’s a victim rather than a slut herself?!?  I mean, unlike Mary, Edith had control from the word go and was not put into such an awkward position that the situation could easily qualify as a rape, a controversy to this day, though Sir Fellowes insists that, no, Parmouk didn’t rape Mary.  (My take on that scene:  The implication is that, once again, Mary has to be “convinced” by Parmouk to submit and finds herself physically succumbing to his sexual prowess.  Pretty male way to write it imo...🙄)

2) I politely respect the opinion of Chelsie fans but am not one myself.  That is to say, I’m okay with the professional banter over nighttime sherry and even snicker at actor Jim Carter’s reflection (this was at the end of Season 3) that Carter should marry Mrs. Hughes...and they would continue to address one another as Mr. Carter and Mrs. Hughes!  Since I didn’t watch S6, I feel awkward using an apparent S6-exchange to express my problem with the Carson/Mrs. Hughs marriage, but based on gif-sets I’ve seen, an apparent discussion with Anna and Mary (presumably over her own relationship with Henry) sums up my issue with Chelsie in a nutshell:  When Anna reminds Mary that they say opposites attract, Mary replies by questioning whether they live happily ever after.  And that right there is my problem with Chelsie as a married couple rather than as sparring professionals with protective yet flirtatious affection for one another:  Just because they have chemistry does not necessarily mean they should be matrimonially joined imo.

3) I think I’m borrowing this one, lol, but the idea of Matthew being “bland.”  Okay, maybe the character of Matthew may have been a little flatter on paper, but Dan Stevens as an actor managed to inflate Matthew with an undercurrent of humor, frustration, and passion to such a degree that he was anything but “bland.”  I mean, think about it:  When a character is killed off so coldly and callously on screen, would we as fans be shrieking to the heavens and furious with DS as an actor if we found him “bland”?  (Well, I’m not, personally; I’m  angry at Sir Fellowes for changing the original three-season idea, but not DS for wanting to wrap up his original contract and move on.  But that’s not my point here, lol...)  Are we to consider him “bland” because he has consideration for Mary’s feelings and gives her time and room to think and be who she is -- good, bad, and at times ugly -- because he can see the goodness in her?  Or instead are we to cheer when more forceful types “push their way in” (with implied help, if I understand summaries of that ep correctly) and “prove their love” by claiming and clutching her like a trophy and even threaten her into submission, then rushing her into marriage “before she has time to change her mind”?  I mean, hey, if that’s everyone’s idea of not “bland,” give me “blandness” any day of the week and twice on Sunday, I say!

4) I don’t like Rose.  There -- I said it!  It’s pretty obvious that she was intended as a replacement character for the dearly departed Sybil, and frankly, at least in my opinion, Downton’s predecessor, Upstairs Downstairs, did a far, far better job replacing the absent Suffragette daughter with the fun-loving cousin Georgiana.  Some time ago, I mentioned that Martha Levinson as a character was pretty flimsy and underdeveloped, and it was as though Sir Fellowes was heavily relying on Shirley MacLaine’s personality to override the absence of true character.  And imo, she was the beginning of that disturbing trend on the heels of a successful franchise in which, with a few notable exceptions here and there (Maggie Smith, of course, and we’re pretty familiar with Elizabeth McGovern), more original characters were played by less familiar, “hungry” English actors developing and enriching their characters.  But Rose was the first of these paper-thin characters actively used as a replacement!!!  And it saddens me to observe that she wasn’t the last by a long shot.

5) If there is a movie (which I do not support, btw), I would be okay with killing off Lady Mary in childbirth, or for that matter in any other fashion.  Yes, it’s a cold thing to say, no, I don’t like admitting it (although this isn’t the first time, lol), and yes, we’ve already had that with Lady Sybil, but a) it would reunite Mary with Matthew in the afterlife, b) it would end this forced union with Henry, c) there would be incredible dramatic potential for reactions, and d) thanks to Sir Fellowes’ railroading writing, apart from divorce and/or separation, I can't really see any other options.  (Okay, there’s killing off Henry, but again, there’s more dramatical potential with Mary since we’re actually familiar with her as a character.)

Hmmmm, tags:  @klstheword , @rap541 , @haslemere , @kavan30013 , anyone else who’s interested, and apologies as always for possible double-tags!

[wearesungreenmylove]

Chapter Ten: Christmas At The Weasley’s

Word Count: 1975

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I bounce on my heels as I scoop Gingersnap up and stuff her into her container.

“Meoooooooow,” She whines, and I shush her.

“Be quiet, Gi, we’re going home!” I shut the latch on my suitcase and drag both her and the suitcase down into the common room.

Scorpius is sitting by the fire, staring into the crackling flames and not moving.

“You’re staying here again?” I ask. I try not to sound surprised, but he notices. I can tell by the way his shoulders curl up around his shoulders.

“Yep,” He says. “It’s not any different than any other year.”

“You don’t think…” I trail off. It’s not my place. “Right.”

He turns to look at me, and he smiles sadly. “Happy Christmas, Rose,” He says.

I smile back. “Happy Christmas,” I respond.

I would stay with him, but after last year Mum made me promise to come back this Christmas, and even though my parents have warmed up to Scorpius, I don’t want to risk making them resent him.

He turns back to the fire, so I leave without another word.

It feels wrong, but I don’t know what else to say.

…

I climb up the stairs to the Hogwarts Express and walk into my usual compartment. I close the door and let Gingersnap climb out of her cage and explore the compartment. Satisfied, she curls up on the seat and falls asleep. I buy and eat an entire box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans without too much trouble. ( I got a Vomit, Earwax, and a Boogey flavour). The ride is quiet, but I don’t mind. Silence is better than sharing a compartment with James.

I get off the train and see my family.

“How was Hogwarts?” Ron asks my brother and me.

“It was so great, Dad! I got to see a hippogriff!” Hugo says excitedly.

“It was fun!” I say. “I joined the quidditch team and Scorpius, Bordeaux and I were scoring a bunch of points, and our seeker, Alaska Hare, is really good. Like really good.”

“I’m gonna join the quidditch team when I get older!” Hugo announces proudly.

“I look forward to beating my little brother.” I tease.

He sticks his tongue out at me.

“I’m glad you two had fun.” Mum rolls her eyes and picks up my trunk. “Come on,” She says and leaves. I follow her to the car. On the way there, I see Mr. Malfoy looking hopefully at the Hogwarts Express. Why I wonder, is he waiting for someone who will never come? He waits for Scorpius every year. Hopeful, but deep down, knowing the truth. Why I wonder, avoid your family like fire?

⋯

When I get home, the whole family is there for Christmas Eve. Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, with Roxanne and Fred II. Gramma Molly and Grandpa Arthur, Uncle Percy and  Aunt Audrey, with Molly and Lucy, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, with Dominique and Louis, Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, with James, Albus, and Lily. Victoire and Teddy also show up together. Hagrid is there, too, and Professor Longbottom.

“Happy Christmas, Rose,’’ Professor Longbottom says, and then he has to leave. Hagrid drops off his presents and then is on his way, and then the place goes into chaos. The only other children besides me that aren’t crazy are Victoire and Teddy, and they’re technically not ‘children’, both being 18. James, Dominique, Louis, Hugo, Roxanne, and Fred II all run off to play Quidditch, and Lily, Molly, and Lucy all group up and giggle about things, while Albus sits quietly on an armchair. “Albus!” I wave at him. He gets up and wanders over to me.

“Did you hear,” he says, and then starts ranting about the wonders of unicorns. I smile and nod, but I’m not listening; I’m wondering what Scorpius is doing, alone at Hogwarts without his family.

Soon we are all crowded into the kitchen and living room for dinner. In the summer we always eat outside, but since it’s the Christmas holidays we’re all inside enjoying the warmth. There’s a strong chorus of “Can you please pass the potatoes?” and “Is that turkey? I’ll have some of that, please!” throughout the kitchen. I relax when I step into the quiet living room. At least, quiet compared to the kitchen. You can still hear everyone in the kitchen talking to each other as they pile food onto their plates. I flop onto the couch, careful not to spill my food onto the floor. Soon enough everybody starts walking into the living room.

After everyone eats, it’s Hugo, Victoire, Teddy, and I’s job to put away the food and do the dishes the muggle way. This leaves my prankster of a cousin free to do whatever he pleases.

I hear a very familiar sounding song being sung by James and I pale.

“SCORPIUS AND ROSIE, SITTING IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! FIRST COMES LOVE, THEN COMES MARRIAGE, THEN COMES THE BABY IN A BABY CARRIAGE!” He bellows.

“Sorry guys, I have to go!” I tell my brother, Victoire, and Teddy. I run up the stairs into the room I’m sharing with Lily and lock the door behind me.

I need to focus, I tell myself. Focus. Focus. Focus.

I take a deep breath in, then exhale. My mind is still racing, but at least my heart has slowed.

I lift one of the floorboards up to reveal a box. I open it and see all the pictures I’ve taken. I look through one pile of Scorpius and I, too angry with James and too embarrassed of what he might have told everyone else to bother looking through the family pictures, look through my pictures of Scorpius instead. My favourite picture of us is when we were on the roof. I bring my camera everywhere, I think, amused. I fall into a fitful sleep, skipping dessert entirely.

⋯

I momentarily forget about my anger with James on Christmas morning. I rush down the long flight of stairs from Lily and I’s room into the family room and start emptying my stocking. All the kids are already there, munching on Saint Nick’s leftover cookies. I brush past them, staring at the mound of presents underneath the tree. I sigh as I see a small box under the tree with my name on it from Gramma Molly. That can only mean one thing. Sweaters. Sure enough, a navy sweater with an R on it is in that box and I put it on, for now, vowing to never wear it again after this day.  

I spend the day mostly happy, (as long as I steer clear of James), preferring to spend my time with Albus (who I am quite fond of) and take pictures.

“Maybe you could be a photographer for the Daily Prophet one day Rosie,” Lily suggests, “Since you love taking pictures so much.”

“Maybe,” I reply.

⋯

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, it is time to return to school.

“Good-bye Rosie, see you after schools’ up!” Mum calls after me as I board the Hogwarts Express.

“Bye, Mum,” I say, rolling my eyes to myself.

⋯

I get off the Hogwarts Express without my luggage or Gingersnap, trusting the house elves to take care of them.

I smile as I see Scorpius running towards me from school.

“I was looking everywhere for you!” He says when he catches up to me.

“Why?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath and asks, “If 120-X = 3 times 4, then what is X?”

I burst out laughing. “You ran all the way out HERE to ask me a question about homework?!”

“Yeah,” Scorpius says, looking confused, still panting slightly from running. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Nevermind. What class is this for? Arithmancy?”

“Yep!.”

“Huh,” I say. I didn’t know he took that class.

“Yeah.”

I rack my brains for the answer (I’m out of practice!) and say “It’s negative one hundred eight.”

“Thanks,” he says. He runs his left hand through his hair, and it sticks up. I take a step towards him and flatten it. He looks up at me and opens his mouth to speak. “Hey, um. Do you want to hang out sometime?”

I allow myself a small smile and say jokingly “Don’t we already hang out?” He looks heartbroken. My hand, which is at my side seems to have a mind of its own. It reaches for his hair and I run my fingers through it, successfully messing it up again.. I take a step closer to him and lift his chin up so that his eyes meet mine. “Scorpius,” I say. I hear a crash from the woods, but don’t turn my head. It’s probably just Grawp having another tantrum. Sometimes I wonder why they let him teach. I hear the rustling of the leaves and students’  voices carrying across the lawn.

Wait, there’s no wind. I think, why would the leaves be rustling? Scorpius stiffens, his eyes full of alarm. I turn around and see a beast. It’s lean and almost hairless. It growls.

“Run,” I say. And we do as if a werewolf is right on our heels.

Scorpius trips in front of me and we both go flying. I’m breathing heavily now, adrenaline is rushing through my body and I feel as if we’re being watched. Oh, how I wish I was safe inside the Ravenclaw common room, snuggling with a book in my favourite armchair.

I hear panting, and at first, I think it’s Scorpius, but these breaths sound more… dog-ish. I look five feet to my right and see the beast. It’s sharp canines protrude from its mouth, saliva drips onto the grass and I identify it. Werewolf.

I put my hand in my pocket, searching for my wand. It’s not there. I left it in my dormitory. I mentally bang my head. Stupid, stupid, stupid… Scorpius is lying beside me, barely conscious. “Give me your wand.” I hiss at him. He doesn’t respond. I frantically search through his robes. “Where is it?!? Where did you put your wand?!?” I finally find it and raise it to where the werewolf was standing. It’s gone.

I wake Scorpius enough that he can lean on my shoulder and walk. I lead him to the Infirmary where Miss Moone hovers over us,  warning us to be careful and such things. She starts ranting as she grabs a bottle, but I focus on Scorpius’s face, zoning out.

I sit in a daze by Scorpius’s bed for hours, longer than Miss Moone would usually let a visitor stay, but I sensed that she took pity on me as it is no secret how close Scorpius and I are close. Eventually, she shoo’s me off, insisting that I need to sleep, and I return to my bunk, although I do anything but sleep. Instead, I stare at the wall, Scorpius's unconscious form flashing through my brain every time I close my eyes.

…

The sun’s pink rays scrape the sky as I walk out of the dormitory. I sneak down the halls to the Infirmary.  Once I see him lying in the bed I feel the adrenaline fade and I feel as if I am made of lead. I sit in the chair beside his bed and feel my eyes droop.

I am woken by someone shaking me.  “Rose Weasley, GET UP!!!” I turn my head and find Miss Moone’s face three inches from mine.

“Huh?” I say groggily (I never was a morning person).

“You’re going to miss your classes.” My face remains emotionless. “It’s already half past nine. Get up!”

“It’s Saturday. Leave me alone.” And she does. But not after protesting a little bit more. I am left in the clean, cold silence. I find a blanket and fall asleep again.