#goodbye mr chips

[ladybegood]

Peter O'Toole and Petula Clark photographed by Bob Willoughby for Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1969)

[myfavoritepeterotoole]

Peter O'Toole

Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1969) directed by Herbert Ross

Peter O'Toole as Arthur Chipping

[sirbogarde]

Watching Goodbye Mr Chips 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[citizenscreen]

Behind the scenes on set of GOODBYE, MR. CHIPS (1939): Director Sam Wood with Robert Donat and with Paul Henreid, Greer Garson, and Judith Furse.

[cottagecore-raccoon]

Looks at the closed captioning: he didn’t fucking say that

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[movietitlescollection]

[eriksangel666]

Hey sorry but um. Your wife. Yeah. She died in a bombing while entertaining the troops. Yeah sorry about that

[midnightfestivalmagic]

Goodbye Mr. Chips (1969)

A shy, withdrawn English schoolteacher falls for a flashy showgirl. (imdb)

Completely delightful film! Having never seen the original version with Robert Donat, or read the book by James Hilton, I can't say if this is the best adaptation. But I loved it! This one is a musical, and at first I wasn't sure how that would work in a story like this, but it ended up adding an intensity to the film I wasn't expecting.

Petula Clark is wonderful as the actress turned headmaster's wife, and her voice is so lovely. "You and I" especially is so moving! But Peter O' Toole is the one that really shines as the teacher who is dull as ditchwater, according to his students. But his transformation over the film is wonderful to watch.

The cinematography has a dreamy feel and the scenes in 1920's Pompeii are stunning to see.

Romance rating: ♡♡♡♡♡

[myfavoritepeterotoole]

Peter O'Toole and Petula Clark

Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1969) directed by Herbert Ross

Peter O'Toole as Arthur Chipping

Petula Clark as Katherine Bridges

- still -

[amorre1989]

new years day

pairing: Spencer Reid; reader

word count: 2,7k

story: cleaning up the mess with Spence after new years day party

Did we host the best New Year's Eve party of the year? yes. Do we have to clean up the mess in his apartment now? also yes.

As I was saying goodbye to all of my girl friends I saw a glimpse of glitter on the floor that was thrown to the air during the party, they were carrying their shoes from the pain of trying to keep them on their feet all night.

I turned around and saw my beautiful boyfriend, Spencer, dressed with a black blazer that was now off and he was wearing a plain black buttoned shirt. He was picking up everything he could find and throwing it inside a big garbage bag.

I walk towards him after I lock the door and hug him from behind. "you can leave it there, I'll clean it tomorrow" I say, a little aphonic from all the yelling and talking I did.

"it's gonna be tiring to do it tomorrow" he says, visibly exhausted, I think it wasn't a good idea to host at his place, but he insisted.

"I promise I'll clean up tomorrow" I say as I kiss his shoulder getting on my tip toes to accomplish that action.

He sighs and leaves the bag, he turns around and wraps his arms around my waist, sometimes in my mind I compare that feeling to wearing a corset, he's got such a strong grip he has left more than once a little reddish on my skin.

He holds both sides of my head and kisses me, so soft, so warm, so Spence.

"did you have fun?" I ask. He limits himself to smile and nod. I hug him and stroke his back.

"let's go to bed baby" he says aphonic as well, it was the first time I saw Spence having fun, really having fun. It was a weird combination of guests, his coworkers, my coworkers, my friends, their boyfriends, and some other plus one's. The entire building was having different parties at each apartment, so no one complained.

"do you think tomorrow Ms Johnson will gossip to you about how bad and little she slept?" he asks. I laugh "she definitely will, we have a bond, but I won't confess we were part of the problem...I'll say we went to my parents house, so...be my alibi"

"I'll always be your alibi baby" he says against my lips. "what the hell did you drink? you stink" he says smiling against my lips. I laugh, a bit offended.

"everything you drank!"

"oh no, you drank more than me, I only ate" he says

"no you did not, you liar" I accuse offended.

He laughs and says "yes I did! every time I turned around with chips on my hands you were drinking! once I saw you drink straight from a bottle!". You blush and smile "mh.. weird, I don't remember that" you say as you leave.

He laughs and kicks the garbage bag so you don't trip with it in the morning. He follows you to the bathroom where you're taking your makeup off.

"did you see there's people using beef to moisturize their faces?" you ask while creating bubbles in your face.

"we have some in the fridge if you wanna try" he says smiling, now aware of how you're not gonna do that.

"yuck". He smiles and strokes your lower back.

"this is a nice dress" he says while feeling the texture of the beads and little stones on your dress. He lowers his hand and strokes your butt. You smile. He pats your butt and leaves.

When you finish washing your face you go to his- your bedroom (he has corrected you many times) and try to take off the dress, mission you fail successfully. "help" you say still trying to reach the closing. He gets up from the bed and stands behind you, he holds the closing and starts to lower it, you can feel his breathing. Drunk and horny, that's a new one. He holds your waist and presses you closer to him, he kisses your now bare shoulder and pushes the straps down your arms, feeling your skin, you feeling his hands and his growing bulge, he bites your shoulder and you smile.

"it's a hot night, I think we should sleep naked" you hear he says, very blunt Mr Reid.

"is it? or is it just an excuse to be quicker in the morning" you ask, laughing.

"tomorrow we'll be so sore we won't even be able to pull our clothes off" he says. He turns you around so you're standing face to face and starts to take your dress off and your lingerie starts to be visible to his sight. He laughs "blue and pink?", you smile "what does it stand up for? barbie?" he says smiling.

"no, pink to attract sweetness and love, and blue for focusing on the new projects" you say, very serious.

"what do you need pink for? you have me." he says squinting his eyebrows.

"well for that, to keep that love"

He smiles and kisses you. His hand strokes your lower back. "let's go to bed" he whispers.

After you put on your designated shorts and shirt you get inside the bed, as soon as you cover yourself with the blankets he pulls you closer and rests his chin on your shoulder. Obviously you're the little spoon (which sometimes switches, cause he's a little baby).

"happy new year baby, I'm glad...I'm so happy that we're starting it like this" he says with his voice calm and low as he kisses your temple. You were about to reply when you felt his soft snoring hitting your ears, you laughed and rested your head on the pillow "I am too baby" you whispered and fell asleep.

honestly I imagined it more with Matthew in his new years day party outfit. Son of a bitch, he looked gorgeous, he has me dripping foam from my mouth.

[userkhael]

HENRY CAVILL as Soldier Colley In Goodbye, Mr. Chips (2002), Dir. Stuart Orme

[iniziare]

∗ o9﹕ sender  falls  asleep  leaning  against  receiver . oh to be a silly dove resting so gently against her gambler (or vice versa if you will)

The voice droned in his ear, Opal— one of the rare occasions where he would entertain him, perhaps it had come at Jade's request to indulge him to a minimal extent just once, or perhaps he had felt himself gracious tonight. Either way, he'd regretted the decision. It'd been little more than a hum in his ear, some tedious spiel about numbers, expectations, annual reviews, the usual prattle of a man who mistook authority for importance. He'd entertained it, loosely, distantly, at least tonight, enough to last for this Trailblaze year at least, with his responses smooth, but dismissive at best, mere acknowledgements uttered on autopilot when deemed absolutely necessary, though bare of even their usual flair. For his attention had wandered elsewhere, drifted to the warmth that pressed so effortlessly against him, the ever so delicate weight of her head resting to his shoulder, the rise and fall of her breaths as they slowed, and softened— and inevitably had fallen into the quiet rhythm of sleep.

Robin.

Penacony's light captured into one woman, its precious little dove, settled so comfortably at his side, nestled into him that spoke of a trust wholly unguarded. And that, admittedly, caused his chest to tighten still— Robin. This bird, this little bird, had nestled herself into much more of his than merely his side. And once, he would have perhaps thought such a thing unlikely— not that he was in any way incapable of allowing anyone so close, or wanting it from anyone, no, simply that no one had ever quite been this. None had come along who had captured him like this, who had commanded the attention of this gambling man without ever having to even ask for such a thing, who settled into his space, claimed his orbit as her own not as some other fleeting curiosity, but as something so inherently, and thoroughly irreplaceable.

But she— she. Robin.

This little bird had accomplished it so utterly easily, and unknowingly most likely, simply by being. By tucking herself against him as though the space had never belonged to any other prior to her, and only her, even long before she had even found it, or him— and being claimed by slumber with his voice circling her, ever so unbothered by the droning of a man that he could hardly stand only inches away from her. With her like this, existing in this space as if it was hers as much as it was his own, it was almost enough to make one contemplate whether he had always been meant to share it. No, only with her. And only now, as he found himself here, utterly taken, utterly hers, did he realize he had not at any point attempted to deter any of it. The corner of his lips rose at that, for he knew it had been much the opposite: it had come at one invitation, and another, and the next—— and then one more still. His Robin.

His fingers had been slow, reverent even, in their movements for what felt like an hour if not longer— thoughtless, absentminded, weaving through the cascade of her hair in a touch so light, it could have been done by the breeze outside itself. The strands that felt like silk slipped between his fingers and caught his gaze when one was lifted to catch the dim light's reflection, before it all pooled where his hand had strayed, idly so, and the weight became a quiet thing against his palm. The strokes had followed this repeated descent, slow, deliberate, until they managed to trace the curve where her hair had parted to the nape of her neck— the bare expanse of skin had been cool, and even cooler beneath the warmth of the pads of his fingers, which served only to have him linger, or almost. Not here. And so they strayed, and resumed their tracing, the occasional stray lock twirled between two fingers, once, twice, before it was smoothed down again. He'd gotten used to this, and developed perhaps too much of a liking for it.

And still, throughout all of this, Opal spoke. And so did Aventurine, for just one moment: "Mm, by all means, keep talking. I’m riveted by your every word."

And so came a sigh— inaudible, of course (was it, really? The jury was still out on that one), but the sentiment was most definitely there. Whatever responses were given, dismissive at best, seemed enough to satisfy. A few more clipped remarks, a final exchange of 'pleasantries' that were surely never truly meant by either of them, and then, mercifully: the end of the call came. And then, he directed his gaze entirely back to her. Asleep, still. But he tested it, tested her— gently, ever so gently as always— by the softest brush of a strand of her hair from her cheek as to tuck it behind her ear, where his knuckles grazed her skin with touches as feather-light as he could offer them, and then, quieter still, came her name, a whisper just beneath his breath. No response. To that, his lips curled, and in it, was something unseen but unmistakably caught in amusement— ah, well. That was that.

A flick of his fingers followed then, a silent signal toward the nearest waiter after generous credits were left to the side of his glass (tipping graciously, of course, a habit made even more generous by this little slumbering bird), before he eased from the booth that had been theirs for hours— the slightest aid offered to keep her steady. His coat came first, slipping from the back of the booth, and settling over her shoulders, its weight enveloping her as easily, and thoroughly as his touch had only moments prior. And then, with an odd sort of seamless ease that came only with familiarity, and the firmest want, "Shh," came the gentlest of lifts. "Up you go, little bird." She seemed to barely stir in response, even as her weight pressed lightly against him, and the warmth of her breath spilled over the fabric of his collar. His grip, steady for now, though it'd remain so for as long as it was needed— came with an arm beneath her legs, and another in support by the small of her back. I got you. And perhaps, for a moment, before he'd make way to his suite for the night— she would feel the brush of his lips to her temple. Once, twice, and then, a breath, warmest unlike anything that came before— "I got you."

Prompt: Non-verbal prompts. // @avaere

[sowhatwereyousaying]

A Promise- Part 4

summary: A little bonding time after your overwhelming date

warnings: age gap (reader is in their 20s and gong yoo is in his 40s); fake dating, pr

The car ride back to my apartment was weirdly quiet.

Well, except for the faint sound of Gong Yoo humming along to the radio like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I was still mentally replaying that ridiculous lunch. The smug jokes. The stupidly flirty hand-holding. The fact that I had actually... enjoyed myself.

What was wrong with me?

“You’re staring,” Gong Yoo said without looking up from his phone.

“I’m not,” I muttered.

“You are.” He slid his gaze to mine, flashing a slow, lazy smile. “Falling for me already?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shot back.

“You literally held my hand for five minutes.”

“You grabbed my hand.”

“You didn’t let go.”

I groaned, shoving my face into my hands. “I hate this.”

“Liar,” he sang.

The worst part? I kind of was.

When we reached my apartment, I expected him to wave goodbye and disappear back into his glamorous celebrity life.

Instead, he followed me up the stairs.

I turned at my door, raising an eyebrow. “You planning to move in?”

He shrugged. “Might as well. I’ve already been accused of spending every waking moment with you.”

“By who?”

“Your neighbour.” He pointed behind me.

Sure enough, Mrs. Kim from across the hall was peering suspiciously through her curtains. The second we made eye contact, she ducked out of sight like a ninja.

I sighed. “I’ll explain things later.”

“Oh no.” Gong Yoo leaned casually against the doorframe. “Let’s give her something fun to gossip about.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he reached out — warm fingers curling around my wrist — and yanked me closer.

“What are you—”

“Smile,” he whispered, and then…

He kissed my forehead.

My forehead.

Not even a fake romantic kiss — just a casual, affectionate peck like he’d been doing it for years.

I knew it was just for show, but still… it left my face burning.

“You’re insufferable,” I muttered once we were inside.

“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning smugly as he kicked off his shoes as if he lived here.

“Wait, what are you—?”

“You have snacks, right?” He strolled toward my kitchen like we were old friends.

“Snacks?” I repeated, bewildered.

“Yeah. We need to hang out a bit.” He poked his head back around the corner. “Y’know… bonding time. Romantic engagement stuff.”

I groaned. “I don’t think eating my chips counts as romance.”

“Sure it does,” he said, tossing a bag of pretzels onto the coffee table. “You can glare at me disapprovingly while I steal all your food. Super romantic.”

Against all odds… we actually did have a good time.

We sprawled on my couch, munching on snacks and flipping through TV channels like we weren’t fake-engaged celebrities with reporters parked outside.

Somewhere between tossing a handful of popcorn at his face and mock-arguing over whether cats or dogs were better, the tension between us… shifted.

“I don’t get it,” I said, stealing a pretzel from his hand.

“Don’t get what?”

“This.” I gestured vaguely between us. “You’re this famous, ridiculously attractive actor — don’t look so smug — and yet you’re here… stealing my snacks and ruining my carpet.”

He paused, then gave me a small shrug. “It’s… nice.”

I blinked. “Nice?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his glass. “No cameras, no agents, no one trying to spin some angle. Just… this.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Instead, I blurted, “I’m really bad at fake relationships.”

“Clearly,” he teased. “You didn’t even hold my hand properly at lunch. Fingers were all stiff. It was tragic.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just swat you away.”

“Oh?” He smirked. “Would you rather I put my arm around you instead?”

“I would’ve bitten you.”

“Feisty,” he said, flashing that infuriatingly smug grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

It felt… easy. Natural. Like we weren’t tangled in some chaotic web of lies, but just two people — two weirdly compatible people — hanging out.

At one point, I realized Gong Yoo had stopped talking. He was staring at a framed picture on my shelf—one from my university graduation.

“You look happy there,” he said quietly.

“I was.” I joined him, smiling at the photo. “That was before I knew how stressful real life was.”

He laughed — low and warm. “Yeah... tell me about it.”

I glanced at him, curious. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You always look… confident.” I paused. “Like nothing bothers you.”

“Acting,” he said with a grin, tapping his temple. “I’m just good at pretending.”

The grin faltered a little, though, like maybe he wasn’t joking.

“You ever get tired of it?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

“Yeah,” he said. “More than I’d admit.”

For some reason, I reached out — a light touch to his arm. He glanced down at my hand like it surprised him… but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, his fingers shifted slightly, curling over mine. Just for a second.

Hours later, when he finally decided to leave, there was an awkward pause at the door.

“Well…” I rubbed my arm. “I guess I’ll see you when the next scandal explodes.”

“Can’t wait,” he said, but his voice was softer now. Like… like he didn’t actually hate spending time with me.

And then, just as he turned to leave—

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” I blurted out.

He paused mid-step.

For a moment, I thought I’d said something weird, but then…

He turned back with a smile — not his usual smug grin, but something genuine. Warm. Real.

“You too,” he said quietly.

And for the first time since this mess started… that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

a/n: so guys, sorry for this chapter, I know, it's not the best but this week has been quite the week, like waaaaaaaayyyy too much going on, and for those asking, I still don't remember that fic idea I had I LITERALLY AM SO DEVASTATED BECAUSE OF THAT but it's ok I will miss it. I hope you like this and I promise the next chapter WILL BE BETTER

taglist (YALL SLAY): @preppyfella @muchwita @shadow-tumbler @dyingswanpavlova @ririgy

[lulublack90]

First Time Meeting the Parents Part 2

As requested by @just-m-0-n-1-k-4 here is the second part of Prompt 3 - First Time Meeting the Parents. I hope you enjoy it. Lulu xx

The cottage was exactly what Sirius had imagined it: cosy, a little overcrowded with bits and bobs, the smell of fresh bread and a wood fire. Hope ushered him into the kitchen and onto a scrubbed wooden chair at the matching table. He could really see himself living here. 

“Tell me all about yourself, Sirius,” Hope gushed as she busied herself with the kettle and plucking dainty buns from an old quality street tin before setting them on a chipped white plate. 

“Not much to tell, Mrs Lupin, I’m sure your story would be far more interesting than mine,” Sirius told her as he accepted one of the buns. 

“He doesn’t like talking about his family and stuff, Mum,” Remus told her, pressing a kiss into her hair as he leant around her and snagged four of the buns for himself. 

“Remus Lupin, stop being a greedy guts, and save some for your boyfriend!” Hope chastised Remus. Sirius watched them with a well of emotion bubbling up inside him. This was what he’d wanted from a mother. Instead, he’d ended up with Walburga Black, a strict, child-abusing monster who lived to torment her children. 

“Sorry, Mum,” Remus apologised, using the distraction to grab another bun and shove it into his mouth. 

“You little terror,” Hope cried with a laugh on her lips as she chased Remus around the table with a wooden spoon. 

“Ahem,” The levity instantly left the merry kitchen as Remus’s father, Lyall Lupin, made his entrance. This feeling was more familiar to Sirius, and he felt himself sitting up straighter in the stern man's presence. 

“Hey, Da,” Remus grinned, nipping past Hope and avoiding her spoon as he went to hug his father. Lyall’s lined expression transformed into a loving smile as he opened his arms to his son. 

“Stop staying away so long,” he grumbled into Remus’s ear. Sirius noticed that he and Remus were the same height, an odd occurrence as Remus usually towered over anyone they met. 

“Sorry, Dad.” Remus apologised, his hand sneaking back across the table to try and grab another bun. 

Remus managed to snag one, but before he could get it into his mouth, Lyall had it and popped it into his own mouth whole. “Hey!” Remus complained but Lyall raised an eyebrow. 

“That tin was full five minutes ago. It doesn’t look like your guest has even had a bite, and half of the buns are gone.” Remus snickered and gave his father one last squeeze before letting him go and moving to Sirius’s side. 

“Da, this is Sirius,” he introduced Sirius proudly. Sirius immediately got to his feet and stuck out his hand. 

“Mr Lupin, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he held his breath while he waited for Lyall to respond. 

Lyall’s face clouded, but he took Sirius’s hand and gave it a firm shake. 

“Tea, dear?” Hope asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

“Please,” Lyall said, letting go of Sirius’s hand. 

Remus and Hope put together the tea. Hope had to keep herding Remus away from what was left of the buns as they set everything up and went to sit in the living room with Lyall. 

The conversation was a bit stilted at first, but as soon as Remus told Lyall that Sirius was a history nerd, he and Lyall had more than enough to talk about. 

Hours later and multiple cups of tea, Remus was finally able to drag Sirius away from his father. 

“We have to get back. James and Lily are making us dinner,” Remus told his parents. Hope’s eyes were very watery as she hugged them both goodbye and pushed another tin of cakes into Remus’s hands.

His first meeting with Remus’s parents had gone far better than he ever could have imagined. He was already planning what gifts he could bring them both the next time they visited. They were just passing the front of the cottage on the way to the gate when Lyall’s voice drifted towards them through the open living room window.  

“His hair is too long, but I like him. Better than the last one, at least,” Sirius’s smile broke his face in two it was so wide. He couldn’t wait to come back. Remus grabbed him and pressed a kiss to his lips before they continued on home.