#ask the valets

[ask-court-of-darkness]

Valets! If you had to take a shot every time your master made a bad decision, how drunk would you be?

(Tino) Perhaps slightly.. slightly tipsy. Young Master likes to sleep in most dangerous places!

(Jasper) I would never speak badly of Prince Guy, but he does make perhaps slightly questionable decisions sometimes. However, I like to think I hold my liquor well.

(Grayson) Prince Roy is a mindful and wise man. I should not think I would have even the slightest buzz….

(Knight) What? Toa?? I’ve never known him to make very bad decisions….

(Thoma) Erm… well… maybe a little? Or a lot?? Even though he’s my best mate, he’s… sometimes a little thick in the head.

(Violet) *completely drunk and wobbly* Fenn? He’s an idiot and a bastard!

[krakenshipwreck]

good on shane wright for living in south lake union like a legit 20something! and also v interesting that shane knew perfectly well that everyone else lives on the eastside but decided to do his own thing. finally, i would love to see what shane's expression was like when mike benton suggested he should have a roommate like matty does and shane was all i like my 1BR just fine thanks.

[gotyouanyway]

just had an airport experience so evil that i literally openly cried from like 10min after deplaning all the way through customs etc until halfway through the train ride back to the city 👍

[sunlaire]

in the maid au how long does it take for hickey to realise irving is an easy target? is it on sight? does he have to talk to him for a few minutes? does it take days? (though i'd imagine irving would be very transparent, willingly or not) i'm burning with the need for maid jirv information please-

I think it would be p much immediate. Hickey has a habit of talking to people all normal and friendly, when actually he's trying to gauge how they might be of use. It doesn't take long to clock the overly guilty religious vibe.

I this au, I love the idea that hickey and Gibson are close in the same way as canon. So they're out in the alley smoking cigarettes and chatting. Gibson asks him what he makes of the new guy. And hickey gets a smile, puffs on his cigarette and shrugs. "Reminds me of a lamb, sorta. Walking around like he does. Scared. It's in the eyes" he makes a gesture to his own eyes while talking.

And Gibson is looking askance at him. "Well try not to cause too much trouble, Cornelius. If you get kicked from this job, you know I won't be following you. I need the money, so."

"oh, you have the sweetest manor, you know that."

"I'm serious" and I think hes just the tiniest bit jealous of Irving getting this attention.

"relax billy. It's just a bit of fun." So yeah he becomes Irving's bully. He walks that line of not pushing him so far that he'll quit while still having his beer and skittles.

Admittedly, when he walked in on Irving in his room, all flustered and desperate for release yet unwilling to do it himself, Hickey did get a bit carried away. Like "Whoa this guy is tormented and it's kind of working for me."

Meanwhile, upstairs Jopson is preparing some tea while crozier reads the morning paper. "oh, how is that new maid working out for you, Thomas?"

Jopson gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down across from him "pretty well I'd say. Thank you again for him, Francis. He's a lovely addition."

And crozier smiles like 🥰 of course Jopson I love you jopson

[alexis-royce]

Answering some questions from the subreddit for The Ex-Disgraced Academic!

First thing they see when they enter their lodgings? (coat racks don't count!)

The Academic’s entryway is burnished Bazaar-stone and imported cherry wood, lit to achieve a warm, instantly cozy atmosphere. The first things The Academic sees within are the Khanate rug on the floor, and their Valet standing atop it. But as you mentioned that coat-racks don’t count, there are also several paintings on the walls.

These change, seasonally, a collection of what is in-vogue and soon-to-be-in-vogue. Not a single one is from the surface, and the selections are always strong, singular pieces, the effect much more that of a gallery then home decor. The pieces are for sale, but there happens to be a strict and esoteric set of rules behind the sale: a mixture of silent auction, changing currencies, different languages to bid in, different inks to use.

A Shabby Professor from Benthic once defaced a rather large portion of wall with three correspondence symbols in Viric. The Academic banned them from the premises, saw them off personally to their exile in the Tomb-Colonies, and when the Professor returned, promptly took a large hansom to their office, complete with a team of Clay Men carrying that season’s entire showing. Rumour has it that the Professor’s graffiti was framed and hung elsewhere in The Academic’s apartment.

The end of this hallway is usually open, and leads into a circular library-parlour. This is a large but carefully curated selection, most of these works being popular, distinguished, and unobjectionable. An eagle-eyed browser may find a handful of works that stretch the boundaries of legality. On display are a collection of seven sealed copies of the crimson book.

What are their usual haunts?

They can be found frequently working in their university laboratory, or dining at the Station VIII cafeteria, the clientele of whom have become more and more commonly referenced in Slowcake’s.

Other than that, The Academic is most well known for NOT having usual haunts. They’re quick to make others’ business their business, knowing that no matter how low the establishment, an interesting story can always be waiting in the wings.

What does their captain's cabin look like?

The Zubmarine’s cabin is filled with research notes, and has a closet for the necessities of their Khanate disguise. 

In love or not yet or pining or never did never will?

Oh, The Academic is well-known as a confirmed bachelor. Any rumors that they married an unsavoury individual are mere fabrications, rest assured. That person has not been seen even once on The Academic’s premises!

And any other, more scurrilous rumors about a particular rivalry being romantic in nature will get you quite the stern talking-to. By Constables of The Ministry of Public Decency. In The Nadir.

What are their morning routines? 

The Academic is up at a prompt, sensible hour. They wake themselves, wash and apply a generous portion of Spices’ Private Stash to the shoulderblades, knuckles and ears. Once fresh underclothes are in place, only then is their valet called in to assist with the rest of dressing. He brings any urgent mail or messages, but the rest he leaves in The Academic’s study. 

[mrghostrat]

What’s valet arrangement???

Also all the rest sound so good!!!!

hnng this is one of my oldest wips based on a fic prompt someone suggested when i first rejoined tumblr! i came up with 2 or 3 ideas, one of which branched into In A Place Like This, but i'd still love to write the valet version

set in the 20s, angel/demon canon adjacent au, where aziraphale is posing as a valet for angel work, to try and better influence some of the city's more notoriously behaving bachelors. crowley, also posing as Help (like the bartender role he has in PLT), spots him and starts causing havoc to pull his pigtails

OR valet!aziraphale needs to get into a function for angelic duties, and crowley just happens to be quite highly esteemed in society at that point. he gets wrangled into playing the part of aziraphale's employer, thus sneaking him into the event, with lots of up close and personal valet+gentleman shenanigans

[tennessoui]

"honestly, just stop it" or "i'm not even sorry" for princess diaries au?

"i'm not even sorry"! for the princess diaries au (or, the obikin version of the scene in princess diaries 2 where they push each other into a fountain)

(2.2k)

Riyu Chuchi is a nice enough princess. She’s kind, and she’s pretty, and she has enough of a backbone that Anakin feels confident that if he ever does something she doesn’t like or approve of, she’ll let him know.

These things are important in a marriage, Anakin thinks. 

Riyu, a twin born two minutes after the first, loves her country enough to leave it and marry someone else so there’s no contender for her sister’s throne. And Anakin loves his country enough to marry a woman and resign himself to living what’s always going to be at least partly a lie to produce an heir, to keep Genovia’s monarchy going strong.

It’s a duty he spent most of his life—eighteen years of it—unaware he had, but now at twenty-one, he can’t ignore it anymore.

He doesn’t want to, is the thing. He wants to get married. Now. So the love has as much time as possible to grow. His parents married young and for love, and they stayed together right up until the day his father died.

Anakin will marry young, for duty and not for love, but Riyu seems perfectly nice. Very accommodating so far, though this is mostly based on how the last candidate for the wedding he’d met had turned up her nose at the pears.

Anakin’s only been prince of Genovia for three years, but that’s long enough to get pretty attached and defensive about their pears.

She’ll make a great wife is what everyone says when Anakin asks, which is all Anakin needs to hear to start planning how to ask.

They’ll have a long engagement, if she says yes, which Anakin knows she will. Maybe if—if certain things had not happened, they wouldn’t even need to get engaged immediately.

But certain things had happened.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had happened.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of Genovia’s more well-endowed with land lords, had happened. Had—had waltzed up to Anakin’s private coat closet freak out, got him drunk and halfway in love before humiliating him at his own birthday ball, only to then corner him in a linen closet and kiss him halfway back to being in love, only for them to get caught by a few gossipy maids.

So now Anakin is getting married so people will stop fucking talking about it. He can’t be king of Genovia if the people don’t trust him to lead, and the selection of articles and tweets and opinion pieces his valet leaves out for him in a box every morning makes it very clear that getting caught making out with a man sixteen years his senior in a fucking linen closet has not inspired confidence in Anakin’s ability to make decisions with anything other than his dick.

So marriage.

Engagement now, marriage in a year or two. A long engagement. To give Anakin as much time as he can to ease into love, build it and commit to it, even if he’ll never feel it naturally, not for Riyu.

And he thinks maybe today’s just as good a day as any to propose. They’re hosting a garden party on the palace grounds because there’s nothing his grandfather is more proud of or in love with in Genovia than his gardens. 

Well, his gardens and Anakin, which is why Anakin thinks maybe today is the perfect time to ask Riyu formally for her hand in marriage. She’s looking very nice and put-together, wearing a blue dress that definitely makes her look. Very nice. And her hair is up too, also looking nice, and she’s smiling at everyone and remembering all their names, which is great because Anakin is terrible at that, and her smile definitely makes her look—nice.

Lunch has been served and eaten, and now the part that’s left is Anakin’s least favorite: walk around, make nice, and slowly go insane trying to pretend his shoes aren’t pinching his feet and his head isn’t hurting from the dehydration and the intense amount of sun beating down on him. At least with Riyu on his arm, he’s not suffering alone.

If he’s never able to love her like a husband loves his wife, at least he may be able to love her like a teammate. The thought gives him a bit of comfort, ring box burning in his jacket pocket. He shifts slightly, bringing himself and Riyu to a standstill on the garden path between two groups of people. They’re at the mouth of one of Qui-Gon’s miniature hedge mazes. Anakin could lead Riyu through it, to the center, and propose.

The ring is heavy in his pocket. No, he will propose. He—

“Princess,” a very familiar and very unwelcome interrupts, and Anakin turns around immediately, already flushed and angry because Obi-Wan Kenobi had not been invited. Anakin knows that for a fact, and he’s going to fucking—

Obi-Wan Kenobi isn’t even looking at him. “Princess Riyu, what a surprising delight.”

“Lord Kenobi,” Riyu replies, looking unfairly and remarkably charmed. “I wasn’t aware you were coming.”

“He wasn’t supposed to—”

“How could I miss a garden soiree, my dear?” Kenobi asks innocently, cutting right through Anakin’s voice as if he weren’t interrupting his future king. “Has anyone told you how lovely you look today?”

Anakin scowls. “Yes.”

Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow. 

“He did say I looked very nice,” Riyu allows, shooting Anakin a small grin.

“You do,” Anakin mumbles, unable to shake the feeling that he’s on the wrong end of a joke he doesn’t quite understand.

“Well, a compliment no matter how bland from a future king is worth ten from a mere lord,” Kenobi says blasely, and Anakin scowls.

“Obi-Wan, please, I’m about to get jealous,” an unfamiliar but no less welcome voice says, and Anakin blinks away from Kenobi for the first time since the man’s arrival to see another man—a boy, really—standing just behind Kenobi.

The boy has dark curly hair, amber eyes, and a strong jaw. He looks about Anakin’s age, and holds himself like he’s God’s gift to this hellish party.

“Apologies, darling. Please,” Kenobi wraps an arm around the boy’s waist and brings him level with them. “Meet Princess Riyu of Pantora.”

Riyu coughs politely.

“And, of course, Prince Anakin. Of Genovia.”

“Who are you?” Anakin asks when the boy reaches out a hand to shake. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Obi-Wan arches his other eyebrow. “Darling, where have you been the past five years? In the back of a closet? This is Set.”

Anakin colors, heart picking up as fury stirs in his chest. “Of?” he asks the boy. Set. Whatever.

Set smirks. Anakin thinks he’s definitely got maybe the most punchable face he’s seen, like. Ever.

“Of nothing,” the boy says.

“Of pop stardom,” Obi-Wan intercedes. “Set here is the number one most listened to artist across the board in Genovia, did you know?”

Obviously Anakin didn’t know. “Oh, well. Riyu here has been playing the piano for the past twenty years, she’s quite talented.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan smiles cooly. “Set was discovered while busking on the streets during his senior year of high school.”

“Oh, just last year then?” Anakin asks innocently. “Did you know Riyu has a master’s in international relations and business entrepreneurship?”

“That’s noteworthy,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, but Anakin’s eyes are drawn to the way his hand curls around Set’s waist like it belongs there. “I read an article a few days ago that said Set is the future face of Genovia.”

“Then it looks like you have a type,” Anakin bites out, dropping his arms to curl his hands into fists.

“Like hell I do,” Obi-Wan snaps back, face pinched and eyes sharp. “Set is actually honest about what he wants and from who.”

“Set,” Riyu says, “would you like to escort me to the lemonade table? I’d hate to get in the way of their pissing competition.”

“It would be my pleasure, milday,” Set replies, extending an arm that Riyu gratefully grabs. “And has anyone told you that you look lovely today?”

“And meant it?” Riyu says with a laugh as they depart. “I don’t think so, no.”

“The nerve,” Anakin hisses at Obi-Wan, reaching across the scant distant between them and shoving hard at his chest. “You can see yourself out.”

He spins around and stalks away. He doesn’t get very far at all before Kenobi is catching his wrist and pulling them back together.

“You know I can’t, princess,” he murmurs, just for them, and it’s so fucking—it’s the fucking worst, because his voice is so light but his eyes are so dark. His hair looks so soft, and his beard smells so good, and he—he looks fucking lovely, in his light gray linen suit and light blue tie that brings out the gray in his eyes and he’s looking at Anakin like he knows that Anakin thinks he looks lovely and Anakin is going to scream.

“Why not?” he snaps, begs, bringing up a hand to push Obi-Wan away but forgetting to do so as soon as Obi-Wan catches it with his free hand.

“Because,” his voice drops. “That’s not the way a suit jacket is supposed to lie.”

The words don’t make sense, not until Obi-Wan darts a hand down, into the exposesd inner pocket of Anakin’s suit jacket to pull out the ring box.

He raises both eyebrows, face flushed as if he has a reason to be angry, before turning on his heel and stalking away, through the hedges to the Qui-Gon’s stupid miniature maze and away from the party all together. 

Anakin is quick to follow.

After all, the bastard stole his engagement ring.

“Give that back!” he demands as he chases after Obi-Wan’s surprisingly quick figure. “I am your future king—I could—hang you for this!”

Obi-Wan whirls round quite suddenly as they turn a corner, pressing him back against the wall of the hedge, higher here now. “And I’m just a lord,” he says, slipping the ring box into his own backpocket as he boxes Anakin in with his arms. “Trying to stop his future king from making an idiotic mistake.”

“Oh yeah?” Anakin scowls. “Pretty sure all the mistakes I’ve made so far have involved you!”

“You don’t want to marry that woman, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says as if Anakin hasn’t spoken at all. “You don’t have to—”

“Maybe a lord can show up to a party with a man on his arm, but you do not get to tell me what my duties are as a prince—”

“No one is asking this of you!” Obi-Wan puts his hands on his shoulders, as if barely resisting the urge to shake him. “No one in Genovia cares if you marry now or not! They are excited to have you as their king, they do not need a queen—especially one their king will not want!”

“You have no idea about what I want!” Anakin shouts, using his height to his advantage to loom as much as he can over Obi-Wan. When that doesn’t feel like enough, he shoves him out of his way, spinning them around and against the hedge so hard the plant shakes.

“I think I do,” Obi-Wan murmurs, allowing himself to be held, and it’s only then that Anakin realizes he’s been staring solely at the other man’s lips. “Do you really think kissing me was a mistake?” he asks, tilting his head up in a much more effective use of their height difference.

“Yeah,” Anakin says roughly, swallowing the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth. “I regret kissing you. Fucking—all the time.”

Because he can’t stop thinking about it. Because Obi-Wan keeps showing up. Because he can’t focus around him now. Because he smells so good. Because—because—

“I don’t,” Obi-Wan confesses, closing the gap between their lips and whispering the words against his lips. “I thought about it, and I know I should feel—different. But if I must watch you marry a woman we both know you will never love, I cannot regret stealing those moments with you. I’m not even sorry.”

Anakin finds it hard to swallow, air scarce between their faces. He stumbles back, and this time Obi-Wan allows him to go, an unreadable look on his face.

“I—you’re wrong, I—could, I would love—we’d—you’re wrong—”

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan’s face looks tender, which is an expression Anakin isn’t sure he’s seen on him before. “I—wish I were to make it easier for you.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the ring box, taking Anakin’s hand in his own and wrapping his fingers around the velvet material.

“I’m sorry I’m not,” he says very quietly, as Anakin drops his gaze to stare at their overlapping fingers around the box. He stares at it long after Obi-Wan squeezes his fingers and leaves.

He almost wishes he’d kissed him instead.

He almost wishes he’d pushed him in a fountain. That would have been kinder.

[elmelloill]

i had no intention of giving my xiv retainers lore because they're literally just characters i like from other media (frederick fireemblem and dr roman) but for some reason now that i have a house i'm like. thinking about it. oops.

[huanglaoshu]

I also had to be similarly firm with Jeeves, who had repeatedly hinted his wish that I should take a cottage there for the summer months. There was, it appeared, admirable fishing in the river, and he is a man who dearly loves to flick the baited hook. "No, Jeeves," I had been compelled to say, "much though it pains me to put a stopper on your simple pleasures, I cannot take the risk of running into that gang of pluguglies. Safety first." And he had replied, "Very good, sir," and there the matter had rested.

...

I shook the head. "Out of the q., Jeeves." "The young lady tells me the fish are biting well there just now." "No, Jeeves. I'm sorry. Not even if they bite like serpents do I go near Steeple Bumpleigh." "Very good, sir."

-- Joy in the Morning, chapter 1

"His lordship is placing one of his own at your disposal, sir. He instructed me to say that he wishes you to proceed tomorrow to Steeple Bumpleigh -- " "Steeple Bumpleigh!" "-- where you will find a small but compact residence awaiting you, in perfect condition for immediate occupation. It is delightfully situated not far from the river --" It needed no more than that word "river" to tell me what had occurred. On his good mornings, I don't suppose there are more than a handful of men in the W.1 postal district of London swifter to spot oompus-boompus than Bertram Wooster, and this was one of my particularly good mornings. I saw the whole hideous plot. "Jeeves," I said, "you have done the dirty on me." "I am sorry, sir. It seemed the only solution of his lordship's problem. I feel sure, sir, that when you see the residence in question, your prejudice against Steeple Bumpleigh will be overcome. I speak, of course, only from hearsay, but I understand from his lordship that it is replete with every modern convenience. It contains one large master's bedroom, a well appointed sitting-room, water both hot and cold --" "The usual domestic offices?" I said. And I meant it to sting. "Yes, sir. Furthermore, you will be quite adjacent to Mr. Fittleworth." "And you will be quite adjacent to your fish." "Why, yes, sir. The point had not occurred to me, but now that you mention it that is certainly so. I should find a little fishing most enjoyable, if you could spare me from time to time while we are at Wee Nooke."

--Joy in the Morning, chapter 4

I had foreseen that some explanation of my presence might be required, and was ready with my story. My lips being sealed, of course, on the real reason which had brought me to Steeple Bumpleigh, it was necessary to dissemble. "Jeeves thought he would like to do a bit of fishing. And," I added, making the thing more plausible, "they tell me a fancy dress dance is breaking out in these parts tomorrow night."

-- Joy in the Morning, chapter 7

It's not dissembling if you're telling the truth, Bertie.

[ask-court-of-darkness]

Violet please give me a chance i can treat you so much better than any man ever could

Why, I am simply delighted!

My dear, I would very much like to take you up on your offer, but as it stands, I am rather in the market for a nice, delicious-looking man.

I am quite flattered by the compliment! Would you not like to be friends?

[warsavant]

hehehehe got my first rude comment as a professional seamstress! had some lady on facebook tell me i charge too much because she only sells shirts at a fraction of the cost, and rudely at that. meanwhile, everyone who does work at my level of authenticity charges the same price as i do or more. i feel bad for her, honestly. with her prices, at best? she's making below min. wage per hour, not counting material costs. she's waaaay selling herself short. i hope she does it just for a hobby because that's a stressful way to make a living!

[mmoosen]

Is Gabe's last name officially Valet? Or is that a common hc?

It’s technically not canon, but his actor, Andrew Matarazzo, said that Gabe’s last name was Valet. So it’s pretty much the biggest last name used for Gabe since that was probably in scripts or what Andrew came up with for his character. So a bit of both

[jungshookz]

Tesla Tuesday’s with valet!tae&jin but they don’t know abt sentry mode that records outside the car and accidentally catches them talking abt how EXTRA great miss y/n’s ass looks today and how EXTRA delicious she smells bc she used a new shampoo that smells like marshmallows and honeysuckle >>>:DD😼😼😼😼😼😼😼😼😼

"Oh, I've heard many, many things courtesy of sentry mode. Never been described as sex on legs before, but I'm here for it."

talk to my characters!

[airyairyaucontraire]

As Gladys' débutante ball approaches, Mrs Russell seems to be on a spree of cutting off her nose to spite her face, first disinviting Carrie Astor because her mother wouldn't receive her, now wanting to dismiss Monsieur Baudain who's turned out to be a fraudulent Frenchman, a mere ouiabou wannabe from Kansas. How much ball will be left after all these cuts and changes?

[bansheenolan]

trick or treat!!!

this is sooo hard bcuz ive told u all my headcanons so u get a fic idea instead:

im gonna write (at some point) about the gabeallison valetargent of it all <3 about kids taught to be weapons and get murdered :( and how being raised in these families are fully abusive but u cant tell from the outside looking in