#i wrote 1853 of this stupidity

[cas-writes-stuff-ig]

Cheering Her Up

f!/nb! reader x regina george (you love to make Regina feel better)

She calls you "duck" (ITS FUNNY/CUTE I PROMISE)

closeted bi Regina, and openly enby/lesbian reader

reader binds their chest with transtape/kt tape

secret relationship

cheering her up

Regina is taller than you

CONTENT: SO SO SO SORRY I KNOW IM WEIRD

Word Count: 1853

(Originally supposed to be a one shot)

kind of alludes to sex but not explicitly

Regina lets you write your own diss in her Burn Book, so Gretchen and Karen don't get suspicious as to why you're not in it. (a bit of transphobia and homophobia, t-slur/d-slur)

Past bullying and some self-deprication

Reader is a weirdo but Regina likes it

Reader likes classic rock and old hits, Regina pretends to despise it

She lashes out at you but its all good in the end :)

Reader likes to sing

Part 2 of Cheering Her Up (A Party)

a/n: this is a huge self-insert for me, I was really vibing to Bob Seger earlier (btw this is the second thing ive written in like 5 years spare me)

ALSO feel free to message or comment any feedback is appreciated 🙏

——————————————————————————————

Before the sophomore year, you were sure Regina totally despised you. She openly criticized any gay person she came across. Sophomore year, you were seated next to her in math and history, and you felt like you were going to be destroyed.

But when you came over to her house for a project, she asked "You have your first kiss yet?"

It caught you off guard. "Uh, no. Why?" your voice squeaked, although you knew she was a bitch. You were attracted to her.

She got close to your face and smirked, you could feel her breath on yours. "No reason," She grabbed the back of your head and kissed you. You didn't kiss back out of shock and Regina pulled away and went red, she opened her mouth to say something to excuse her actions, but you leaned in and kissed her again. That moment opened a whole new door for both of you.

After that, you and Regina got really close. Outside of the school halls, and in the comfort of Regina's mansion, you were secretly her best friend but also her friend with benefits. She isn't out yet either, she still has too much pride to be seen with a loser, but you don't mind waiting for her.

She was slightly nicer to you than others at school. She was actually pretty kind to you behind closed doors. She cared about you even if she never said it out loud. So about a month after you started hooking up, you were at her house and she handed you her Burn Book which was open to a blank page with only your picture on it. "I don't want Karen and Gretchen to get suspicious as to why you're not in it."

You could deal with the insults and the taunts, it never bothered you that much, so you wrote something that used to bother you 'Y/N L/N is a tranny dyke'.

The thing that did get to you was in 8th grade when you confessed to a girl, and she told everyone in your PE class that you watched girls change in the locker room. Everyone shunned you after that, but you grew thick skin. In freshman year you found your place amongst the loners and the nerds. You were content with it.

"Are you sure you want that in there?" Regina asked, what you wrote about yourself was harsh.

You nodded "Regina, I'm out of the closet already. It's a secret everybody already knows" You closed the book and handed it back to Regina and she tucked it away. "If I walk like a duck, swim like a duck, and quack like a duck, I'm probably a duck" She laughed at your joke, and you corrected yourself smiling "I mean dyke"

"You're so stupid" Regina replied, but it wasn't mean or full of scorn, she just shoved your shoulder. She changed your name to "Duck" in her contacts.

A week later you found out what your contact name was, you laughed at her a little and she got defensive "I'll change it then" and you quickly stopped laughing and took her phone.

"No no, keep it, please Regina it's cute" You yanked her phone out of her hand and tried to keep it away from her. You laughed again and ran around her room holding her phone, but she cornered you, pushing your chest, then your back hit the wall. You were breathless from running and grinned, though her face was stern. "I'm sorry, Gina. Please keep it, it's fine really"

The look on her face made you lose your confidence and you backed down, and handed her phone back, "Thanks loser" She tucked it back in her pocket, and she had a smug smile. "You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood today" and tilted your chin up and kissed your lips.

After that day, it became one of your inside jokes, and "Duck" became one of your nicknames.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

That summer she invited you over to swim at her pool for the first time. "Hey loser, hurry up" she opened the door and led you to her pool.

You brought your only swim trunks and taped your breasts back to go swimming. She was in a tight bikini and she slipped in the pool, you took your shirt off, and she was staring at your body.

You weren't sporty, but you went to the gym, it's not like you had rock-hard abs, but you were toned and Regina hadn't seen you like that in the sunlight before, you beamed as you basked in the warm sun.

"Hey Duck, get in here" she beckoned you, you seized an opportunity to make a joke.

You bent your knees and flapped your arms a little walking back and forth at the edge of the pool "Quack quack" You giggled out. Regina cracked out a smile that evolved into laughter, her laugh warmed you more than the sunlight.

When you slipped into the pool, she was still laughing at you. "You're such a dumbass"

She splashed water at you when you tried to come and hug her in the pool. "Hey!" you yelped as the water got in your face and you splashed back.

After you just relaxed in the pool, you floated on your back, eyes closed, and sun-kissed skin. You didn't notice how Regina looked at you, but you heard water swish as she walked toward your floating body. You cracked an eye open, the sun was behind her making her look ethereal. Regina's blonde hair glowed, she looked like an angel, not the bitchy Queen Bee at school.

"Hey," you tried opening your eyes but just squinted.

She leaned down and said "Hey" back in her sweet voice and kissed you gently.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The summer pushed you closer together, of course, she had her fair share of parties she went to with the Plastics. You were there at parties too, but you both only shot each other glances. The days she hung out with the Plastics, you missed her company.

You got your license over the summer and when you got the message that she was back home, you hopped in your Mini Cooper and drove to her house and picked her up. Though she usually drove you around in her Jeep.

"Where we heading today?" you asked as she hopped in the car

She ignored your question and her attention was on your music "Earth, Wind & Fire's 'September'? Really?" she criticized your music taste.

She buckled in and you said, "What's wrong with my music taste Regina?"

"God you really are a loser" she insulted, you could tell she was in a mood today. You were a little hurt but tried not to take it personally. "7-11 can you grab me a Diet Coke?" you nodded and started driving.

You skipped to the next song and what played was Bee Gee's "More Than A Woman" You smiled and sang along to it. Hoping Regina would get the hint you were singing it to her.

"Suddenly you're in my life, A part of everything I do. You got me workin' day and night. Just tryin' to keep a hold on you..." Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel and you moved your shoulders to the beat of the song.

She just groaned and pressed her temples, you thought she really hated it but from the corner of your eye, you saw a corner of her lip lift slightly. After seeing that you sang your heart out a little more at a red light you turned to her momentarily "More than a woman. More than a woman to me" and grinned wide.

"Hey! Keep your eyes on the road!" she pushed your head to look back at the road.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

At school when Junior year started, Regina and you acted like you two were nothing, you both devised a facade as to why you interacted at all. It was a half-truth, everyone at school thought Regina paid y/n to do their math homework. But you only did that sometimes, and usually just helped her.

Today when you met at her house she was upset about something. "Regina, what's wrong?" you asked worriedly.

"Nothing, stay out of it" she snapped at you and she stomped up the stairs to her room.

You followed her "Regina come on," she turned on her heel and looked at you angrily and lashed out.

"Why are you even here? You're not dating me, stop acting like it" She yelled at you.

You paused and your heart faltered "Regina..." you said quietly. She turned back around and she slammed her bedroom door. Regina crawled in the sheets and just went to sleep. You didn't follow her in. But you walked downstairs to her kitchen and opened her fridge.

When Regina woke up she smelled some kind of pastry downstairs and light music. She opened her door and crept down the stairs, as she approached the kitchen, she heard your humming.

The next song started to play, your back was turned and you were using her mom's apron and mittens, pulling out a batch of brownies from the oven. When you sang alone, you were cheesier and poured your heart into each song, then you placed the brownies onto a cooling rack on the island counter and pretended to hold a mic.

"Still like that old-time rock and roll. That kind of music just soothes the soul" You closed your eyes and turned around still pretending to hold a microphone "I reminisce about the days of old, with that old-time rock and roll" Regina just smiled stifling laughter.

But when you started playing air guitar, at the part with no lyrics. You heard her giggle and your eyes shot open, face reddening "Regina! You're up!" she just laughed at your incredible dorkiness and walked up to you, this was the highlight of her day.

You brushed off your embarrassment from getting caught when you saw how happy it made her. And you walked closer to her and continued to mouth the song and dance around her. Still wearing her mom's frilly apron. You took her hand and spun her around and she still laughed at your silliness.

You stopped and walked back to the counter where she followed, "Brownies?" you smiled.

"Yeah, sure" She sat down at the table and you cut two pieces out.

When you handed her a plate, she looked up at you and spoke softly "Sorry about earlier..."

You smiled softly and took her hand as you sat next to her "Its okay, don't worry about it" You let go of her hand and then asked, "You feeling better now?"

"Yeah, thanks duck" She leaned towards you and kissed your lips. "You're so fucking corny" Regina pulled away.

You smirked "You secretly love it"

"I do" She responded, you almost choked on your own spit at her admission. She reveled in your panic and took a bite of the brownie you made her.

Only you could make her smile like this, and laugh like this, you knew that, and you had your silent victory.

Part 2 of Cheering Her Up (A Party)

[cogneartive]

The Beach Boys go to the Museum

A crackfic. Read if you want to immediately lose all your brain cells.

---

    Once upon a time, Brian Wilson was daydreaming about girls going to the museum which was very educational. More educational than daydreaming about girls which is good for you which is why he was daydreaming about going to the museum instead of girls. 

    “Yoo hoo brothers!” he said. 

    “What is it, big brother?” shouted Dennis and Carl Wilson from another part of the Beach Boys ResidenceTM

    “I have decided to go to the museum which is a very educational activity for us to do which will be beneficial for us,” said Brian. “I will call our cousin, Michael Edward Love, and our friend, Alan Charles Jardine.”

    “Oh ok, big brother,” the two younger Wilsons said. “As soon as we get out of the shower and clothe ourselves (which will probably align with the arrival of our cousin, Michael Edward Love, and our friend, Alan Charles Jardine), we shall take off in the Beach Boy MobileTM to go to the museum as you wish.”

T I M E S K I P

    “Incredible,” said Carl Wilson. “We have finished showering and being clothed just as our cousin, Michael Edward Love, and our friend, Alan Charles Jardine, have arrived.”

    “Now we can go to the  Beach Boy MobileTM to go to the museum Brian Wilson, my big brother, wishes.”     “I hate this story,” said Michael Edward Love, a man with no taste.

“Do not attempt to break the fourth wall,” said Brian Douglas Wilson, extremely annoyed at Mike Love’s lack of taste.

“Harrumph >:( !” harrumped Michael Edward Love.

Suddenly, Bruce Arthur Johnston appeared out of Norway. “May I come too?”

“Permission accepted,” said Al Jardine

T I M E S K I P

    The beach boys arrived at the Museum of Interesting Plot which interested them very much. They headed into the museum, where they bumped into GASP! The Beatles - an English rock band formed in Liverpool in 1960 with a line-up comprising John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, who are regarded as the most influential band of all time. 

    “THE BEACH BOYS!” the bug boys ejected.

    “THE BEATLES!” the sand children exclaimed.

    “What a coincidence that we have bumped into you guys in the exact same museum,” said John Lennon. “I bet you were trying to sneak behind us and steal our songwriting ideas >:O”

    “Absolutely not >:O” said Brian Wilson, putting his hands on his hip in a gesture of frustration. “I bet YOU were trying to sneak behind us and steal OUR songwriting ideas”

    “We were not >:O” said Sir James Paul McCartney.

    They started fighting and in the moment of anger, they broke!! The statue of David (not Crosby unfortunately for the statue of David Crosby has cursed the museum for over a century now)!!!!!!!

    “HEY” said The Manager of The Museum (which was an unfortunate name given to him by his parents sad emoji)

    “Oh no” said Brian Wilson.

“Oh no” said Carl Wilson.

“Oh no” said Dennis Wilson.

“Oh no” said Mike Love.

“Oh no” said Al Jardine.

“Oh no” said Bruce Johnston.

“Oh no” said George Harrison.

“Oh no” said Paul McCartney.

“Oh no” said Ringo Starr

“Yoko Ono?” said John Lennon. “My wife in the future, depending on the era.”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” THERE WAS A CAR CRASHING INTO THE MUSEUM WHICH BROKE THE STATUE OF DAVID TENNANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

IT WAS THE POOR MONKEES!!! IN THE MONKEE MOBILE!!!

“Ouchies!” said Micky Dolenz.

“OMG” said The Manager of The Museum (who happened to also be a clone of  Ringo Starr) He was angry. Very angry. So angry, that he was angry. “You guys better pay for this.”

“But we can’t,” said the Beatles (for Brian Epstein did not give them their allowance that day)

“We can’t either,” said the Beach Boys (for they had already spent enough on getting a nintendo switch to play animal crossing: new horizons.

This is left the poor, poor Monkees. “Bruh we poor af.”

“Then you have to work to pay for it smh,” said The Manager of The Museum.

“OH NO!” said all of them at once.

“You must go around the museum to find three fragments of the broken statue that you have broken, which somehow have been transported into the museum which you must complete challenges to get!”

“Like Dora the Explorer?” asked George Harrison, the youngest member of the Beatles. 

    “Yea,” saidThe Manager of The Museum. “Ok bye im gonna play animal crossing: new horizons now :))))))”

    “Ok. We must split up into three groups.”

BEACH BOYS SECTION - THE HALL OF THINGS THAT HAVE TO DO WITH WATER

    “Wow, how convenient is that we have coincidentally walked into the hall of things that have to do with water,” said Denny Wilson. “It is as this was planned.”

    And then…………………….”oh my god a wave,” said M*ke Love.

    “QUICKLY INTO THE BEACH GEAR” shouted Brian Wilson as they proceeded to use the sims animation to change into their beach gear. “NOW WE MUST.,,,,,,,,,,,,.,.,..,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,..,.,.,”

“We thro Dennise into da water bc he is da only 1 who can surf XD” said Mke Luv as he tossed Deniise into da water liKE A BOSS AND HI-FIVES ALL ROUND WAPOOSH WAPOOSH TAHK YOU GUYS FOR WATCHING AND I’LL SEE U IN THE NEXT VIDEO!!! *outro plays*

“Ahem,” said Ctrl. “We did not bring a surfboard,,,,,,,,so how is he supposed to surf??? Thonk emoji. Lmfao roasted XD”

“We use (drumroll pls) AL SARDINE as Da Surfboard Lmao!!!” said Miiiiiike lov e as they all jumped on Al Jardine.

“I did not feel a thing, lol” said ALAN JARDINE because he was a super strong boy (stock image of a blond guy flexing his muscles).

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

Surfing montage.

“Bruh we reusing animation bro,” said Denal Wilson.

“Oh look an island,” said Brain. Dey all hopped off and landed on the island. On the island was Kurt Cobain.

“Wow Mr Kurt Cobain,” said Broose Honda. “I did not know you lived on dis island.”

“I don’t rofl,” said Coq Au Vin as he handed them a statue fragment.

“Oh wow thx Coco Van,” as they flew away.

MONKEE SECTION - THE HALL OF….I DONT KNOW

    “Lmao is that Stephen Arthur Stills, an American singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist best known for his work with Buffalo Springfield and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young,” joked Micky Dolenz, pointing to a mirror in front of Peter Tork.

    “Lol yeah,” said Stephen.

    Micky screamed.

    “Here you go broski,” said Stephen Stills, handing them a fragment.

    “But what did we do?” asked Mike Nesmith.

    “Allowing the author to make the awful, often repeated annoying joke about me and Peter Halsten Thorkelson looking like identical twins.”

    “Ok thanks brewski,” said the Monkees as they headed off. “Come on Peter, don’t just stand there.”

    “But I’m Stephen.”

    “Wait,” said Davy. “But Peter was standing there just now.”

    “No, I was standing there.”

    The Monkees looked at each other and had a collective sigh. It was not gonna be as easy as they thought.

    And to make this complication more complicated, the author decided to make David Crosby, Graham Nash and Neil Young walk into the scene.

    “Bro Stephen wtf,” said Neil. “I knew you were small but I didn’t think you could crawl into the vents like that.”

    “But I’m Peter??????????”

    “Oh no not again,” said Graham Nash, already getting another headache.

    “Wait, wait wait, just a moment,” said Davy Jones. “Go back a bit. What do you mean by crawling through the vents.”

    “Please do not question the plot,” threatened David Crosby. 

    “YUH DAVY” said Micky. “Come on now, Peter,” - he grabbed Peter’s hand -” we gotta advance the plot.”

    “But I’m Stephen.”     Micky looked at him with such an expression that expressed a deep amount of hatred for the author. “It doesn’t matter. You guys are the same person anyway.”

The other lads shrugged and took poor Peter Halsten Dorkelson who was too confuzzled and befuddled and bamboozled to be crying.

BEATLES SECTION - THE HALL OF PAPERWORK

    “This is so boring,, (-_-)” said Jawn Jennon. “I think George Harrison fell asleep.”     “L M A O i did rofl lol,” said Heorge Garrison.

    “I am surprised because there is so much paperwork lying about that all look so boring!!” said Paul McEyelash.

    “Someone should clean this up smh,” said Ringone Starone.

    “YAAWWWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!” they all sed at 1nce. That yawn pushed a stack of paper off a table, which caused a chain reaction, leading to a bucket falling down, a train being activated, a cow mooing and the members of Queen being awoken from their frozen-in-som-kind-a-tube state.

    “BRO WTF WHOMST WOKE US UP (((p(>o<)q)))” said Roger Taylor, stretching. “I was still having my beauty sleep.”

    “(O.O) omg (O.O)(O.O) oh mah gawd (O.O)(O.O)(O.O)” said Freddie Mercury. “Are those (O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O) the legendary (O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O) bug boys????????”

    “Ja” said gH.

    “ヽ(★ω★)ノ” said Brian May

    “(¬_¬") smh you woke up my cheese toast,” said John Deacon.

    “I guess, we should thank u for waking us up,” said Freddeh.

    “We wuz nevah gonna wake up,” said Briaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan Mei.

    “Take dis,” Rogah Taylah gave them a statue fragment that had landed in his hair.

    “Wow thanks that was EZ lmao,” said the bug boys as they went away.

T I M E S K I P

    “（●＾o＾●）” said The Manager of the Museum as he stuck the broken statue fragments of the broken statue of the Museum of Interesting Plot Idea (well I think that what it was called Lmao I didn’t check don’t correct me doe lel)

    “It was’t very challenging at all doe…” said Sand Children. “And for a story with out name in the title, we did not seem to get much attention at all.”

    “Shut up you’ll get your moment later,” said the others pointing down to the rest of the story. “See look at that.”     “None of this is very good,” said Mike Hate, a man with no taste.

    They all went into their respective vehicles and drove away.

    “WAIT!!!!!!” said Dave Jone of the Monkees, pausing the time. “We did not resolve the plot point of us actually kidnapping Steven Stills?????”

    “Help me,” said Stepe.

    “STFU IT’S OUR STORY (◣_◢)” said the beach of the boys, so infuriated with them that smoke came out of their ears like a boiling kettle and their eyes started glowing red which indicated anger.

    “Oh ok sorry lel, he’s British Lol,” said Mike Nesmith.

    “STFU Myke Gessmith.”

    “;~;” said Mike Nukesmith.

    “Y do u guys always have to take the spotlight?!” asked the Beaky Bubs.

    “Bc we’re the author’s favourites, unfortunately,” said Micky, shivering at the memories of what had happened to them before in previous crack fics.

    “Sux for u lmao.”

    Uh how to end dis. Boom. Story done lel.

    THE END FADE TO BLACK

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.Al Barmine

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Okay so this is impossible not to request with Father Luc 🌟 but I would actually love to see a quick moment of Flora going to midnight mass despite being sick because she wants to see Father Luc in that robe and him noticing her fever because am I misremembering or does that blessing involve the priest touching people’s foreheads?? (I’m not catholic sorry lol) and this unspoken moment where he’s a little tripped up by it but there’s a line of people so he can only say it with a look, but then slightly later approaching her like hey I think you might have a fever 🥺

Title: Cheer My Wearied Spirit

Words: 1853

Note: Thank you for the request, my friend! I love the reversal here from the other Father Luc thing I just wrote. A lot of it felt similar to the previous father luc fic, but it was essentially the same setting (just different years) so I suppose that is to be expected. I am still planning to write the day 2 follow up to the original father luc fic! Over the holidays I will have quite a lot of down time and hope to do a lot of writing over those two weeks or so, and that follow up is top of the list 

It seemed she had just shut her eyes when the alarm telling her to start preparing for mass began to scream in her ear. Flora groaned as she reached out to shut it off. She didn't feel well. If anything she felt worse than she had before she fell asleep, which was obviously the opposite effect she had been hoping for. She nearly rolled over and went back to sleep. Since she was evidently going to be sick for Christmas, she was sure her parents would excuse her from midnight mass if she asked. 

However, the image of the hot, young priest who had recently been called to her parents' church flooded her mind. She hadn't been able to forget his beautiful smile in the intervening six months since she'd met him over the summer, and she'd be darned if she missed her chance to see it in person tonight. For one thing, she needed to confirm if he was really as handsome as she remembered. She had fruitlessly googled him and scoured the woefully out of date church website to no avail. She needed to see him again for herself.

Every joint ached and her head throbbed as she got out of bed and began to dress. As a precaution she also took her own temperature. She was desperate, but she wasn't stupid. If she had a high fever, then of course she couldn't go. However, the reading wasn't even over 100 degrees. The show would go on. She put on her best "I'm not sick" face for her parents when she emerged, and they didn't seem to suspect anything as they got their coats on and loaded into the car. 

The little church was packed when they arrived, and more people streamed in every second. The three of them were just barely able to squeeze into a pew while most of the other latecomers were relegated to folding chairs. They had hardly removed their coats when the organ began to belt out the opening chords to the first hymn. Everyone rose as one without being told, drew a collective breath, and began to sing their hearts out, with grinning and good cheer all around. 

However, Flora wasn't paying much attention to anyone except the man in the robe who had just taken his place at the front of the church. He, too, was grinning as he picked up a hymnal and began to sing along, his face rosy and fresh and his eyes perfectly set off by the royal blue of his stole. Corny as it was, the most fitting comparison that came to her mind in the candlelit room was that of an angel. 

"Damn," Flora sighed to herself. "He really is that beautiful."

The service was the same as it had been every year of her life. Usually she loved the comforting familiarity, but tonight there was a thrumming undertone that she couldn't quite place, except that it intensified whenever Father Luc looked her way. It would have been deliciously exciting if she hadn't been feeling so gross. 

Ten minutes into the service and she began to wonder if coming had been a mistake. She immediately began to overheat, squeezed between her parents as she was, and the air felt thick even in the sanctuary, with its soaring ceiling and dozens of windows. Her head was throbbing before the end of the first hymn, which she couldn't sing along with anyway since her throat felt as if she'd swallowed glass. While her eyes followed the priest's every move, her sluggish thoughts couldn't actually follow what he was saying. She swallowed yawn after yawn, and soon she found herself thinking about her bed more than anything else.

She was in such a fog by the end of the service that she didn't realize it was almost time for communion until Father Luc began to prepare the host. She shook herself out of her stupor as much as she could and readied herself to be inches away from the hot priest. 

She hadn't been to confession in months so she didn't plan to partake of communion (not to mention the idea of knowingly sharing a cup with the rest of the congregation while she was ill made her shudder), but she wasn't going to miss out on the chance to be blessed by him, so when her parents rose she did the same, and the three of them walked to the front when their turn came. 

She moved down the line, lulled into peace by the familiarity of the sacrament and the lovely piano piece being performed. She didn't realize it was her turn until she was shocked into awareness when Father Luc made eye contact with her, his eyes warm and bright. She wordlessly indicated that she did not wish to partake in the sacrament, mesmerized by his deep blue eyes. With a warm smile he laid his hand on her head and began to murmur a blessing, according to tradition. However, she was startled when the smile faltered as his skin made contact with hers, and for a moment she thought he was going to draw his hand back, blessedly cool as it was. He did not, but blessed her as usual, though his gaze probed hers and a strange expression tugged his eyebrows toward the center–was it worry, perhaps?

She was unable to discern the meaning of his behavior before she was pushed along by the queue behind her. She made her way back to her seat in a haze of confusion and sickness, clamping her lips shut against a cough as she sat back down. She didn't have much time to dwell on the strange interaction before the service drew to an end. A little more talking, a little more chanting, and then the introduction to "Silent Night" could be heard as the lights were dimmed and candles were handed down the rows and lit. Soon Father Luc was only visible from the chin up, the candle he held casting strange shadows on his face as he sang, yet Flora still couldn't keep her eyes off him. She wished she could talk to him–say something funny or witty or memorable, in the hope that she would stick in his mind just as he had stuck in hers. 

When the service ended, the congregation began to file out of the pews to meet the priest who greeted them as they exited the sanctuary as always. Once again Flora was electrified as she made eye contact with him, and he froze for a split second too. Her parents quickly drew his attention, seemingly not realizing what had transpired between them. They clasped his hand, thanked him for the service, and presented her for an introduction. 

"This is our daughter, Flora. She's home from nursing school for the holiday break," her mother said. "I think you met her once before over the summer."

"I believe you're right. It's a pleasure to see you again, Flora," he said, holding out his hand to shake. 

Flora mirrored the gesture breathlessly,  attempting a smile. "Same to you, Father," she said. 

Once again, the handsome smile flickered when they touched. This time his hand felt roastingly warm while she had started to shiver in the line to get out the door. 

He opened his mouth, hesitated for a split second, then seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. "I hope you are well this evening," he said, his eyes probing hers again. 

She nodded and smiled as she was supposed to, then moved along so the next people could greet him. If only he knew, she thought to herself, that she was the opposite of well. And yet she thought he might suspect the state of her health. Why else would he look at her so closely? And use that particular phrase? 

Her parents were always some of the last people to leave any church service. This had been the case her entire life. Their families had been attending this church for generations, so they knew everyone here, and if they didn't know them then they made it their mission to get to know them. Usually Flora didn't mind, but tonight she certainly did. She hovered by the door closest to their car, holding the door for everyone else lucky enough to be leaving and mentally imploring her folks to hurry up just this once. 

However, her patience was rewarded in an unexpected way. Out of nowhere, Father Luc appeared and headed right for her as if he'd been searching for her. He had removed his robe and was wearing a royal blue sweater, the same color the stole had been, over a striped collared shirt and tie, looking very dashing indeed. Flora's heart fluttered as he drew near. 

"Flora, I was hoping I would catch you before you left," he said, stopping only inches away. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. This will probably sound strange, but when you were receiving the blessing, I thought your face seemed very warm. I think you might have a fever. I just wanted to let you know so you could check when you get home."

Flora flushed immediately, fever notwithstanding. "I think you're probably right. I wasn't feeling the best this evening, but I really wanted to make it to mass. I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have come tonight."

"Oh no, that's not… it's a blessing to have you with us tonight and I wasn't trying to say otherwise. I just wanted to make sure you're taken care of. No one likes being sick on Christmas." 

She flushed even brighter. "Thank you, Father. I have everything I need back at my parents." 

"I'm glad," he said earnestly. "And while I am excited to gather with the congregation again for Christmas Day, under the circumstances I'll say that I hope I DON'T see you tomorrow!... Unless you make a miraculous recovery of course. And if the Lord chooses to work such a miracle, all the better! But… I guess you understand what I'm getting at," he stammered, his face red now as well. 

She giggled a tiny bit, his nervous rambling somehow cuter to her than anything else he could have said, and also serving to put her at ease. "I do. I promise I'll stay home tomorrow if I'm still sick. I appreciate you checking on me."

"Certainly, and I hope you feel better soon. Take care, Flora." He turned and walked away, both of them still red-faced.

He had hardly turned the corner when her parents emerged at last, and Flora avoided their eyes, lest they notice anything amiss. She ushered them through the door with pleas to head home to bed, not needing to exaggerate the fatigue she felt. She wouldn't tell them she was sick tonight. They would only fuss and blame themselves for bringing her out in the cold weather. There would be plenty of time to be fussed over through the rest of this holiday break. Instead, she let silence reign during the drive home, smiling to herself as she imagined his cool hand on her face over and over again. 

[kstewdeux]

For a span of a minute that felt like an eternity, the entire world focused in on one singular point. A small painting. It’s edges well worn. Finer details faded and lost due to the passage of time but otherwise, in shockingly good condition.

But for all it’s antiquity, there was no mistaking the young woman who had been depicted. Whoever wrote the small exhibition label had simply labeled it:

Unidentified Artist, Japanese

Late Tokugawa Shogunate, Edo Period, 1853-1867

Young Woman

Painting on Parchment

H. Nakamura Trust, 88.251

According to the small blurb beneath the exhibition label, this tiny piece of parchment, clearly kept over the past century with meticulous care, had - at some point - apparently been studied by scholars to prove it was genuine. A fact that had been in dispute because the style diverged so greatly from art styles of the period but Kagome knew what the artist had been trying to do.

A photograph. He’d tried to mimic a photograph. Not perfect by any means but as close as someone in that time period could get. Which was shocking given (a) she had no idea he could draw and (b) that he would’ve taken the time to draw her.

Jaw trembling, Kagome had to remind herself to breathe. A task made more difficult as her friends joined her and began commenting on how the girl in the drawing resembled her.

Of course it did. It was her.

Her blurry vision flicked to the date and what registered felt like something cold was crushing her heart. If this ‘unidentified artist’ was him, Inuyasha had survived their quest and lived hundreds of years clearly hoping to see her again. At some point, he must have realized he simply wasn’t going to make it and…

Exhaling shakily, Kagome swallowed and decided it would be easier to simply leave. She was getting worked up over nothing. It was entirely possible that all of this was a coincidence. That she was reading too much into it. After all, Inuyasha wasn’t an artist by any means and most certainly would not have spent hundreds of years thinking about her. They were friends. Just friends. Unless something changed, which seemed unlikely, he had no interest in being with her that way. Besides, surely there were other women who looked like her throughout history. Everyone had a doppelgänger, right? Hers just happened to be some random woman in 19th century Japan.

It was just a painting of her doppelgänger.

Hopefully. Hopefully that’s all that it was.

“I have to go,” Kagome mumbled hoarsely as she took a step back and tore her eyes away from the painting, “I need to go.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuka asked worriedly, “Do…”

Unable to hear anything over the ringing in her ears, Kagome’s eyes wavered as they flicked back to the blurb that, upon closer inspection, described the other sketches and accompanying notes that detailed the artist’s ‘love’ for the young woman depicted. Various photographs of said notes had been attached slightly below said blurb and one of them had her shaking her head in mild horror.

‘I will not know your name next time we meet…’

“I need to go,” Kagome repeated breathlessly before turning on her heel and damn near running for the entrance. After that, she wouldn’t’ve been able to tell you how long or far or even which direction she ran from the mental image of an elderly Inuyasha writing out those notes he had to believe she’d never read. It might not even be him. Couldn’t be him. He didn’t draw. Couldn’t say something poetic much less write it. It had to be a coincidence. Just a coincidence but the image continued playing in her mind until she was blinded by tears. He died alone. Even…even if she did end up with him, she would’ve been dead by the time he wrote that. Long before he even picked up that brush. It…it…

It was all becoming too painful to even imagine.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Kagome clutched at her chest and used the side of a cement building for support. Inuyasha died over a hundred years ago and while that made sense, the realization that all her friends had died sometime in the past five hundred years hit her with all the force of a Mack truck.

Whimpering softly, her legs gave out and she slid down to the cold sidewalk. It was a coincidence. Just a coincidence. The probability of it all…

Well it just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be him. It just…

“There you are,” came a hoarse, relieved whisper from far too close before two strong arms scooped her up and pulled her off the ground, “What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Inuyasha?” Kagome mumbled stupidly before she whined and pressed her face into the corner of his neck - a gesture which had him stopping and doing something strange. His face turned slightly and buried his nose into her hair.

“What happened? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened,” he chided anxiously as he gave her a light squeeze, “You hurt?”

Opening her eyes, Kagome glanced around the dimly lit streets and realized how late it was. No wonder he’d come after her.

“M’fine. Got lost is all,” she lied lamely and she felt him inhale deeply then sigh.

“Bullshit. What happened?” he asked again before adding in a clear attempt to get her to smile, “I don’t mind killing people ya know. If someone hurt you, I’ll make them pay, ya know, if you want.”

“Nothing happened. Just got lost on my way home,” she mumbled and with a somewhat exasperated grunt, Inuyasha continued walking again.

“You’re a terrible liar and an idiot,” Inuyasha opined firmly - adjusting his hold on her and shaking his head, “You could’ve gotten hurt out here by yourself, stupid. Anything could’ve happened.”

“I was…”

“Sometimes I swear you’re trying to get yourself killed,” he continued chiding as some of his anger began bubbling to the surface, “What would’ve happened if I didn’t come looking, huh?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she protested weakly - her nose subtly nuzzling the flesh at the base of his neck, “I…”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. You need to do better,” Inuyasha snapped angrily before pausing mid-stride and sighing, “I swore to protect you but you make it so…so hard sometimes. And you don’t even care. You just…just go around getting kidnapped or disappearing and…and getting hurt when I’m not looking.”

It was strange but hearing his voice berate her and feeling his irritated breaths actually improved her mood considerably.

“I waited. Like an idiot I waited for you to come back from that school thing of yours instead of coming to get you like normal but…but then the sun went down and…” Inuyasha continued to huffed and grunt while his arms held her slightly tighter, “I can’t be there all the time dammit. I can’t. I’d like to be but…but I just can’t so…so you just have to fucking do better.”

Lifting her head slightly at this strange command, Kagome studied his face for a moment before leaning forward and absently placing a kiss on his tense neck. Inuyasha went stock still and then rigid but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll do better,” she promised tiredly as she pressed another lazy kiss on his shoulder. At least in this moment, he was alive and loved. Right now, he wasn’t alone drawing paintings and writing notes to someone who was either dead or hadn’t been born yet. And while true that the ‘unidentified artist’ was probably anyone else, that mental image of it being him continued to haunt her.

Taking a deep breath, Kagome stubbornly told herself that the ‘unidentified artist’ couldn’t be him. It simply wasn’t possible. For so many reasons.

“You kissed me,” Inuyasha finally blurted and mercifully distracted from her inner turmoil, Kagome hummed in the affirmative. A second passed then two and he forced out a strangled, “W-why?”

“I wanted to,” Kagome offered tiredly as she focused on the feel of him and the knowledge that, as of this moment, he was very much alive. And yes, now that she was a little calmer, it was fairly obvious that the ‘unidentified artist’ wasn’t Inuyasha. He didn’t think of her in that way. Never had. Never would. They were friends. Best friends. But he loved someone else and had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in her that way.

As Kagome continued talking herself down, Inuyasha remained motionless for a long time before he finally began walking back towards the shrine. Slowly. Every so often he’d pause and take a few short breaths like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

“Why did you want to?” he finally asked hesitantly as he turned a corner, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Because you’re you,” she mumbled as her consciousness began ebbing. With a soft sigh, she relaxed more fully against his warm chest and offered up an additional explanation, “It made me happy.”

This response clearly bothered him judging by the increased tension in his muscles.

“Why did kissing me make you happy?” he pressed after another long moment of silence.

“Dunno. Why do you think it…” Kagome trailed off into a yawn and Inuyasha let out a small groan.

“I don’t know. That’s why I was asking,” Inuyasha interrupted with a huff of frustration, “You always make things hard. For no reason.”

Instead of getting angry, Kagome simply cooed and snuggled into him which seemed to both bother and calm him.

“You’re so stupid,” he continued to grumble as he adjusted his hold, “Ask a simple question and you just…act like you.”

“How else am I supposed to act?” Kagome hummed with mild amusement and Inuyasha grunted.

“Whatever. You need to sleep,” he changed the subject miserably as he finally made it to the shrine and began climbing the steps, “But don’t think I’m gunna take it easy on you. I’m serious. You can’t do shit like that again. You could’ve gotten…”

“Will you stay here tonight?” Kagome interrupted tiredly and Inuyasha once again stopped mid-step. His hands flexed against the flesh they were gripping as he licked his lips and averted his eyes.

“Only if you tell me why you really kissed me,” he repeated his earlier question - before continuing with an unease tinged with hope which surprised her, “I think I deserve some answers after the stupid stunt you just pulled and if you’re trying…if you did that to just…just distract me, it won’t work. Won’t change nothing. You still gotta be less stupid.”

“I did it because I wanted to,” Kagome repeated before gasping when he suddenly set her down and glared.

“Well what if I didn’t want you to?” Inuyasha huffed - something strangely hurt behind his expressive amber eyes, “You’ve never tried to mess with me before. Never. And…and do you have any idea how scared I was when you didn’t come home? I searched for you, Kagome. From the…the 6 to the 9. Do you know how hard it is to track scents here? To listen for you? It’s a literal miracle that I…”

“I said I’m sorry,” Kagome insisted and Inuyasha looked even more hurt. Breathing heavily, he visibly tried to control whatever reaction was brewing under the surface but unfortunately, his confusion and hurt bubbled over.

“I DON’T WANT AN APOLOGY!” Inuyasha bellowed - his hurt escalating into full blown anger with such speed it nearly gave her whiplash, “YOU COULD’VE DIED. YOU COULD’VE BEEN HURT! AND I’M NOT SO DESPERATE THAT A STUPID KISS IS GUNNA MAKE ME FORGET THAT! WHY DID YOU KISS ME?!”

“I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you!” Kagome snapped and Inuyasha looked a hair away from strangling her.

“THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER! YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO COVER YOUR ASS AND…” Inuyasha began to rail against her once more and it was at that point Kagome’s mind officially hit It’s breaking point. He wanted answers, huh? He wanted to know why she ran and why she kissed him and why she was so upset?!

“FINE! KNOW WHY I DID THAT?! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” Kagome screamed bitterly and Inuyasha froze like a deer in the headlights, “I KISSED YOU BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! THERE! HAPPY?!”

When Inuyasha continued gaping at her with a shell-shocked expression, the full ramifications of what she’d just admitted hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Forget it,” she breathed miserably as she turned and unsteadily began climbing the stairs with her arms curled tightly around her stomach, “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do…any of that again. Just forget what I said.”

“Wait. Wait,” Inuyasha’s strangely panicked voice called out - a single clawed hand gripping her shoulder to force her to stop, “I don’t think I heard that right. W-why did you…”

“Let me go Inuyasha,” Kagome hissed but the hand didn’t release her.

“C-can I tell you w-what I heard?” he asked with a mixture of fear and desperation, “A-and I could be wrong but I just…”

“You hear everything Inuyasha,” Kagome huffed acidly as she pushed away his hand with all her might, “You heard what I said…”

Even as she climbed the stairs, she could hear his harsh rapid breaths which honestly had her moving a little faster. Everything was ruined now. All because of some stupid little painting that she’d just…

“You…you said you…you loved me,” he repeated barely above a whisper, “Right?”

Closing her eyes, Kagome let out a long sigh before squaring her shoulders and deciding to face her mistake head on.

“I do love you but I don’t…” she began as she turned to face him before being cut off when a pair of lips captured her own. Two strong arms snaked around her waist for but a moment before his calloused hands suddenly cupped her face in an effort to force her to respond.

When she finally did and when he finally pulled back, his slightly euphoric expression faded into mild horror and panic.

“Y-you said you l-loved me back, r-right?” he asked worriedly as he released and took an involuntary step back, “That’s…that’s what you said. Two, no, three times. You said that…”

“That I loved you…back,” Kagome repeated slowly and Inuyasha gave a jerky nod in response.

“That’s what you said,” he insisted miserably - his amber eyes flicking in the direction of the well, “So…and I mean, you did start the…the kissing so I…and you were an idiot. Scared me half to…”

“Know what? That is what I said,” Kagome hummed in a resigned fashion as she reached out and gestured for him to take her hand, “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s late.”

Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha eyed the beckoning hand with weary apprehension before accepting the gesture and allowing her to lead him into the house. And up the stairs. And into her bedroom. And then onto her bed. A bed upon which he found himself awkwardly waiting while Kagome proceeded to change and get ready for the night.

“Where are you gunna sleep…” he began nervously when it finally dawned on him that she seemed to be intending for him to sleep on the bed. That’s where she led him and where she told him to stay after all. Which was strange but it had been a strange night. Maybe she was trying to make him feel better. Do him a favor?

“In the bed,” Kagome hummed as she ran a brush through her hair and gave him a warm smile. A smile that faded when he stood up and began nervously glancing around with a marked blush.

“Inuyasha, where are you going?”

“You’re gunna sleep on the bed,” he muttered as he prepared to sleep in his normal position on the floor, “And you…well I was gunna…”

“If you want, you can sleep in the bed with me…”

Amber eyes widened as a single impulsive ‘oh’ left his lips but instead of sitting back down on the bed, he remained standing and staring at her with that same shell-shocked expression.

“Is that…okay?” Kagome asked nervously.

Seeming to come back to himself, Inuyasha nodded fervently and quickly sat down atop the mattress.

“Y-yeah thats…that’s…yeah. Yeah. We can do that…”

That night was the first of many nights he spent cuddled up against the woman of his dreams. Letting the warmth of her body span the length of his own as he relished in the knowledge that somehow this woman loved him. How, when or even why didn’t matter. She loved him back and that first night, as he held her small frame against him, he very nearly cried in relief. Honestly, before that night, he had already decided he was going to let her go rather than say anything. There was no way she’d ever love him back, he’d reasoned. No one would ever want to be with a half-breed, right? He’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Weeks went by after that and the funny thing was, when Kagome absently mentioned the painting from the museum to her friends over lunch, none of them had the faintest clue what she was talking about. All they remembered was her leaving in a rush. While Kagome chalked this up to the art not being memorable to anyone else, the truth was that no one else would ever remember this art because it simply never existed.

The second she’d admitted her feelings - emotions he fully reciprocated but had suppressed - all those drawings and notes faded from the annuals of time because that painting- which had been loaned to the museum by a well meaning unrelated widow who thought the unique artwork would make for an interesting exhibit - turned out to be a butterfly which was inadvertently crushed. As the years rolled on, Inuyasha never needed to paint something to bring him comfort in the midst of crushing regret and loneliness.

Why would he?

Thanks to a merciful series of events, he woke up to his favorite smiling face every day for the rest of his life.

[encyclopedia-victoria-blog]

History Behind the Story - Was Prince Albert Illegitimate?

Shocking revelations on this week’s episode of ITV’s Victoria seemed to suggest that Prince Albert might not have been his father’s son. 

Who was Albert’s mother? Could he have really been illegitimate? Read some of the evidence and decide for yourself.

Prince Albert’s mother, Princess Louise, was only sixteen when she married the 33-year-old Duke Ernest of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld in 1817. Louise was a great catch, not only was she young, vivacious, clever and beautiful, she was also the only child and heir of the wealthy Duke of Saxe-Gotha-Altenburg. Her husband, on the other hand, was a notorious womaniser and already had at least two illegitimate children. One of Ernest’s mistresses, Pauline Panam, (who was only fifteen when their affair began) later became a famous Parisian actress and publicly humiliated the the Duke and his family by publishing a kiss-and-tell memoir in 1824. Pauline and Ernest’s illegitimate son, also called Ernest, referred to himself as a Prince of Coburg until the day he died.

Miniature of Duchess Louise, date unknown. (via flikr)

Louise quickly gave birth to two sons (Ernest in 1818 and Albert a year later) but Duke Ernest continued to be unfaithful. Louise, who was still just a teenager, was popular at court and had many admirers. In June 1820, one of her ladies-in-waiting accused Louise of having an affair herself, with one of the Duke’s friends, Count Alexander Solms. The rumours found their way back to her husband, who (in a case of textbook hypocrisy) was furious. Solms was banished from court and Duke Ernest launched a bogus investigation that went on for years. “You will laugh when you hear it,” wrote Louise to her childhood friend Augusta von Studnitz, ‘but it has made me cry’: 

If he [Ernest] had been sensible he would have laughed [...] but he took it seriously, and was angry with me. We talked about it and it all ended in tears... Now he watches me, which he has never done before... and he misconstrues everything.

By 1824 Ernest and Louise were separated and Louise exiled from Coburg. ‘You have dreadfully deceived me’ wrote Ernest to his estranged wife, 'I can affirm before God that you have had my heartfelt love [...] We shall hardly see each other again. May you not become so unhappy as you have made me.’ Two years later Ernest divorced her, naming the young army officer Lieutenant Alexander von Hanstein as her lover in the official divorce proceedings. Louise never officially confirmed nor denied the accusations, but she married von Hanstein almost immediately after the divorce was granted. Ernest married again too, this time to his own niece Duchess Marie of Württemberg.

The legitimacy of the children, Albert and Ernest, was never brought up in the divorce case. Louise’s affair was reported not to have begun until 1822 or 23, when Albert was already three years old. Duke Ernest, as the acknowledged father of both boys, was automatically awarded custody. Louise wrote:

Leaving my children was the hardest, most painful thing of all. They have whooping cough and said, “Mamma cries because she has got to go, now, when we are ill.” The poor lambs. God bless them.

She never saw her children again. Louise died in Paris in 1831, probably of uterine cancer, at age only thirty.

Louise, Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, with her sons, Albert (right) and Ernest, painted by  Ludwig Döll, c.1823-4. 

If Duke Ernest had seemingly never questioned Albert’s paternity, then where did the rumours come from? 

One explanation lies in the fact that Victoria and Albert introduced haemophilia, an inherited genetic disorder, into the royal families of Europe. There had been no recorded haemophiliacs in the British royal family before their son, Leopold, was born in 1853, and two of their daughters, Alice and Beatrice, were carriers of the gene. As a result there was speculation that the royal bloodline must somehow have been “tainted,” and both Albert and Victoria have been rumoured to be illegitimate. (We know now that in about a third cases haemophilia is caused by a spontaneous genetic mutation, and it seems likely that Victoria was unknowingly born a carrier).

Another source of the rumours was that Prince Albert seemed not to resemble either his father or brother in either looks or personality. While Ernest was dark-haired like his father, Albert was ‘lovely as an angel with his fair curls’. The boys’ tutor wrote that while Louise was still alive she had:

made no attempt to conceal that Prince Albert was her favourite child. He was handsome and bore a strong resemblance to herself [...]

Both Ernests - father and son - were notorious womanisers, while Albert was shy and generally disliked the company of women. In the early years of his marriage he had caused grave offence by failing to pay enough attention to the senior ladies at court. He was disgusted and horrified by his elder sons’ sexual escapades, writing to the Prince of Wales in 1861 that his behavior had ‘caused me the greatest pain I have yet felt in this life.’

But simply being different from his father does not necessarily make Prince Albert illegitimate. The most likely explanation (in my view) is that rumours about his paternity were stirred up by the xenophobic English press when Albert first emerged as a potential suitor for Victoria. Albert was the second son of a minor German Duke, while Victoria was Queen of England, the richest and most powerful woman in the world. The press lampooned Prince Albert as a gold-digger and they printed lewd jokes suggesting that all he had to offer Victoria was a sausage. 

“Shutting up the Sausage Shop” - Prince Albert and his father are shown closing down the family sausage business because Albert has acquired England’s ‘splendid fortune’ by marrying Victoria. The whole Saxe-Coburg family will ‘skin the English for the rest of our days.’ Cartoon published 18th January 1840 in Cleave’s Penny Gazette. (British Library)

The press poked into Albert’s family background looking for dirt. They discovered that his stepmother was a Catholic and accused him of being one too. After Victoria and Albert became engaged she was forced to write to him asking for him to send ‘as soon as possible’:

a short History of the House of Saxe-Coburg, who our direct ancestors were, and what part they took in the Protestant, or rather Lutheran, religion [...] for a few stupid people here try to say you are a Catholic

What’s more, thanks to Pauline Panam, all of Europe knew about Albert’s father’s affairs and his parents’ divorce. It didn’t help that while in London for his brother’s wedding, Ernest had become seriously ill with syphilis and their father had very publicly tried to seduce half the ladies a court. In this climate, it is not surprising that people began to gossip (there was talk that Lord Melbourne had only okay-ed the match after he learned that Albert was not Duke Ernest’s biological son), and equally unsurprising that a humiliated Albert became sensitive about moral standards of behaviour.

Although the records of Ernest and Louise’s divorce suggest only one lover - Alexander von Hanstein - by the 1920s another possible father was being suggested. A 1915 biography of Pauline Panam entitled “A German Prince and his Victim” suggested that Louise may have had an affair with:

A certain Baron von Meyern, Chamberlain at the Court, a charming, handsome, and cultivated man, of Jewish extraction, much to her senior 

This rumour was subsequently repeated in an antisemitic pamphlet published in Berlin in 1921, which argued Prince Albert was ‘without contradiction [...] half Jew’ and that ‘since his time Jewish blood has been circulating in the blood of the English Royal Family.’ Lytton Strachey, who wrote one of the first biographies of Queen Victoria (also published in 1921), drew upon both of these sources and reignited the gossip about Prince Albert’s paternity. Strachey wrote: 

The ducal court was not noted for the strictness of its morals; the Duke was a man of gallantry, and it was rumoured that the Duchess followed her husband’s example. There were scandals: one of the Court Chamberlains, a charming and cultivated man of Jewish extraction, was talked of; at last there was a separation, followed by a divorce.

Queen Victoria (seated) with Prince Albert (second from left) and King Leopold (right) in 1859. (Royal Collection)

Leopold, who was Duke Ernest’s younger brother, was not seriously suggested as potential lover until much later. When historians began examining Louise’s correspondence they discovered that she had been extraordinarily close to Leopold. In a letter to her friend Augusta, Louise had admitted she had a crush on him, writing naively:

Tell me quite frankly, which do you think the most handsome, him [Leopold] or Ernest? I shan’t tell anybody, and as I love them both - only in different ways - I shall not mind a bit what you say.

When Prince Albert was two, she wrote lovingly that:

Albert adores his uncle Leopold, he doesn’t leave him for a moment, looks at him tenderly, embraces him at every opportunity, and does not feel content except when they are together.

After she was exiled from the Coburg court Louise had asked to remembered to Leopold: ‘I should not like him to forget me completely,’ she wrote. 

Writing in the 1970s, historian David Duff conceded that it was ‘possible’ for ‘a man of Leopold’s character’ to have fathered a child with his brother’s wife. Leopold was in Coburg at Christmastime 1818, nine months before Albert’s birth the following August. He had just lost his own wife, Princess Charlotte, who had died in 1817 giving birth to their stillborn son. Perhaps Leopold and Louise did turn to each other for comfort. Or maybe the calculating and ambitious Leopold had grand plans to father another child who might one day share the English throne. After all, Leopold did always take a strong interest in his nephew, and was one of the chief architects behind his marriage with Victoria.

This is pure speculation of course, based entirely on circumstantial evidence. Most historians agree that it is unlikely that Prince Albert was illegitimate, and even less likely that Leopold was his biological father. But we can never know for sure. As David Duff writes:

It is difficult, if not impossible to prove that a young man and woman slept together a century and half ago. If they had so chosen it is probable that it could have remained their secret, and theirs alone [...] It is hardly likely that a neat confession would have been filed away for the benefit of some researcher much later in time.

So, what do you think? Was Prince Albert really illegitimate?

Further Reading:

Albert & Victoria by David Duff

Albert: Uncrowned King by Stanley Weintraub

Victoria and Albert by Hector Bolitho

[adamcairnsorg-blog]

How To Massively Improve The Quality Of Your Ideas

A Lesson From The Industrial Age

In mid-to-late 19th Century Britain, the new was sweeping powerfully in. It was an age of invention and technology and never before had so much change happened as quickly. Industrial marvels were proliferating at bewildering speed. Earlier inventions had set the pace.

The steam engine (1712)

Spinning jenny (1764)

The cotton gin (1794)

Now came a new and growing welter of devices and technologies that created entirely new industries.

The telegraph (1844)

The sewing machine (1846)

The elevator safety break (1853)

Bessemer steel processing (1855)

Invention of dynamite (1866)

The telephone (1876)

Vaccines such as smallpox (1870)

The light bulb (1879)

Amid all this tumultuous change there were other less welcome effects. 

“The production of too many useful things results in too many useless people”.     – Karl Marx, Human Requirements and Division of Labour Under the Rule of Private Property, Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844.

Marx was referring of course to the impact that industrialisation was having on the working class. Machines were taking over the jobs that people once did, thereby robbing them of the capacity to feed themselves and their families. The age of industrialisation started in the mid 18th Century and by the time Marx was writing his critique of the industrial society, heavy machinery had dramatically changed the world of work.

Today's Useless People

The phrase “too many useful things” has a modern day connotation too. The digital era of connected everything has delivered another slant on this aphorism. Today we are presented with a proliferation of devices and technologies that if we are not careful can overwhelm us, making us in turn, “useless people.”

It’s not just the external world which creates demands on our time and attention. In a recent post, Brett Kelly said this:

My ideas fall into one of three categories:

1. Stuff that's obviously stupid and/or a waste of time (this bucket is where the vast majority come from). 2. Stuff that's pure genius and holy crap I need to write that down right now before I forget. Naturally, these are few and far between. 3. Stuff that's clearly flawed to some extent, but might be worth investigating down the road.

That third one is the real kicker.

Letting these ideas percolate is key. Sometimes, doing literally nothing with a new stroke of (apparent) wisdom is the best course of action in the moment.

This tension between the immediate instinct to react and the benefits of reflection (what Wordsworth called “wise passivity”) is at the heart of what John Keats termed “negative capability.” 

“He demanded that the poet be receptive rather than searching for fact or reason, and to not seek absolute knowledge of every truth, mystery, or doubt”.

John Keats' Life

John Keats was born in London in 1795 when the industrial revolution was already powering huge changes to society. Cities like London were swelling with a tide of people swept up in a shift of industrial emphasis that fundamentally altered the balance  of occupations between town and country. 

As a schoolboy, Keats distinguished himself academically, but tragedy was a constant and close companion. When he was eight years old, his father died, falling from his horse after visiting John and his brother at their boarding school. Six years later his mother also died from tuberculosis and John was left in the care of his grandmother and two guardians appointed by his late mother.

In the autumn of 1810, Keats left school and began an apprenticeship as a surgeon and apothecary. He then enrolled as a medical student at Guy’s Hospital a year later, demonstrating a clear aptitude for medicine, by winning an early promotion to “dresser”, somewhat akin to the role a junior doctor might perform today. Everyone assumed his path was now set.

However, at the age of 21, Keats published his first poem in the Examiner, a leading liberal magazine which was published in May 1816. He was now dedicating more and more and more of his time to studying literature and he began experimenting with different verse forms, including the sonnet. He decided to quit medicine in December of the same year and concentrate on writing. In April 1817 he moved into a new home in Hampstead with two of his brothers.

Tuberculosis has been referred to as the Keats family illness. His mother died from the disease, and Keats was now nursing his brother Tom who had contracted the illness. It is likely that John was infected during this time. 

After his brother’s death in December 1819 he moved to Wentworth Place, which was owned by his friend Charles Brown. Wentworth Place is a beautifully proportioned Georgian house, set close to Hampstead Heath and it was here, in a miraculous period of a few short months in the winter of 1818-1819 that he wrote his greatest poems, including five of his most famous Odes.

Negative Capability – How It Shaped His Work

Keats was a prolific letter writer throughout his life. In a letter to his brother George and Tom dated 21st December 1817 first used the term ‘Negative Capability.” This is the state in which we are:

 “…capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason ...[Being] content with half knowledge" where one trusts in the heart's perceptions.

He wrote later:

"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty" 

His letters provide an example of how "negative capability" shaped his poetry. In September 1819, Keats wrote to Reynolds 

"How beautiful the season is now – How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it  ... I never lik'd the stubbled fields as much as now – Aye, better than the chilly green of spring. Somehow the stubble plain looks warm – in the same way as some pictures look warm – this struck me so much in my Sunday's walk that I composed upon it". 

The final stanza of his last great ode: "To Autumn" runs:

"Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;"

Keats immediate response to the scenes he observed on his walk, recorded in his letter, later emerged as powerful poetry. 

As is well known, Keats' short life ended in Rome, succumbing to tuberculosis while under the care of his friend Joseph Severn.  His last moments were described by Severn in a letter:

"Keats raves till I am in a complete tremble for him...about four, the approaches of death came on. [Keats said] 'Severn—I—lift me up—I am dying—I shall die easy; don't be frightened—be firm, and thank God it has come.' I lifted him up in my arms. The phlegm seem'd boiling in his throat, and increased until eleven, when he gradually sank into death, so quiet, that I still thought he slept."

What Might Have Been

In his life, Keats had little reason to believe his poetry would be remembered. After his death, his reputation steadily grew, with the likes of Tennyson describing him as the greatest poet of the 19th Century. His short and tragic life, combined with the compressed timescale of his mature artistic output leave both an indelible mark and a question. What might he have gone on to achieve had he lived a longer life?

The Takeaway

1. Let Ideas Percolate

Anchoring our ideas and allowing them to percolate as Brett Kelly suggests often produces a deeper, more nuanced response. Our minds make connections unconsciously and by creating a space for this alchemy to work we are adopting a wise passivity. 

This isn’t the same as spending time thinking about it.

Allowing the idea to sit quietly in the background without worrying away at it is what Brett is getting at. Be patient, and you’ll find that some of your best ideas will emerge more completely formed by following this route.

2. Manage Your Reactions

It is not just the external world though that generates competing claims on our time, energy and attention – it’s also our internal world, with it’s ideas and emotional responses.

Creating a gap between what you experience and how you respond can pay dividends.

There are times when you will be confronted with an issue and with it an implied pressure to respond straight away. Of course there are times when you must do so –  an alarm bell sounding doesn’t require passivity. On the other hand, a constant state of trigger happy reactivity will create an atmosphere of nervous tension around. This isn’t conducive to clear thinking in you or the people around you.

3. Build A System To Capture Your Ideas

From time to time it’s worth checking if you’re allowing sufficient time for your ideas and responses to gestate. It’s a good idea to have a system in place to capture your ideas and store them in a way that you always have access to. 

You can read my post about note taking taking here.

4. Keep Your Most Important Goals In Sight

There are so many channels of communication and corresponding incoming traffic that rains down on us all. Without a system to manage this it will be hard for us to see what is important with the kind of clarity that creates your best work. You want to avoid becoming a “useless person” so overwhelmed with possibilities that choosing a path becomes difficult. 

The best advice is to build a system that allows you to retain an oversight of your most important goals and opportunities. 

5. Don't Overthink It

Finally and paradoxically it’s also important to avoid over-analysing. There are times when something is so obviously the right solution to a problem that no further analysis is required.    Its’s like the man said:

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”               

Or if you prefer, don’t over-think it.

Question: How do you manage your immediate reactions?

[velcroboyfriends]

2016 Year in Fic

I really enjoyed doing this write-up last year, and damn, a lot has changed! So I thought I’d do this again and take stock of my writing this past year.

I was ridiculously prolific last year, but due to a variety of factors I really didn’t keep up that volume this year. As someone who doesn’t often feel the spark to write, what kept me going this year were fic exchanges and prompt memes. I feel fortunate to have communities like AO3 and DW to keep me writing even when I’m drained and anxious and feel incapable of it. 

So here are the results:

Fic List

1. Miles High - 1853 words. It’s quite telling about my early-2016 experience that I didn’t write a single word of fic between January and April. Disaster had struck in my work life, but I made the decision to sign up for Smut Swap 2016 anyway, and I was glad for it. This was my first Poe/Finn/Rey fic; we’ll see if I have another in me when Episode VIII rolls around. I just really wanted to write the three of them fucking in a spaceship, okay?

2. Slash: Romance Without Boundaries - 2516 words. I have only the AO3 volunteer community to thank/blame for this pile of trash. They play a game called Slash, in which competitors are challenged to write cracky pairings in weird situations. This led to me writing such pairings as Batman/Grantaire, James Bond/Remus Lupin and Will Graham & Tigger, as well as a very bizarre song parody about Aaron Burr’s encounters with a Drumpf-shaped sex doll. idk you guys. I’m sorry.

3. Bluebeard’s Wives - 1661 painstaking words. I wrote this for Not Prime Time 2016, and I’m really glad the exchange forced me to, because otherwise I would never have written the work I’m most proud of. I wanted to write something dark and twisted and beautiful, and to capture Hannibal’s inner monologue with all its vivid imagery, and somehow I halfway managed it. This was the first fic that ever earned me a place in a fandom spotlight post, and I’m very proud of that. It was my first Hannibal work and will probably be my last, but I enjoyed it.

4. On Not Being Alone - 4103 words. It took me til August this year to write something born purely of the desire to write, not a deadline. I’d been binge-watching Critical Role all summer, and after I reached the scene that precedes this fic in canon, I found myself in a whirlwind of writing. I wrote this near-obsessively over the course of 24-ish hours, and it was incredibly exciting to want to write again. It’s just a PWP, but it was so refreshing.

5. In the Middle of Summer - 2344 words. This was the only Richlee fic I wrote all year, and I’m sad to say it’ll probably be my last. There’s a chance I might pick up interest in participating in the fandom again - and I still get stupid hearteyes over the both of them - but the spark has just waned. I wrote this for a challenge for Richard’s birthday, and without that event I probably wouldn’t have written it. However, I did have fun with one last hurrah.

6. Between the Two of Us - 4584 words. Aand this is where I embraced my trash-goblin self and started writing Critical Role RPF. Even while I was gorging on CR all spring and summer, it never occurred to me that people would write RPF about the cast until I stumbled upon the awesome Five Minute Break. At first I was like ‘ew no’ but then I read it and was hooked. My giant crush on Liam melded with my new-found fascination with sub!Matt and a new fandom obsession was born. This was also my first seriously kinky fic!

7. Girls’ Night - 3218 words. This was partially written because of the criticalkink kink meme, but also because I felt bad leaving Marisha out of the fun in my Liam/Matt fic. It was my first time writing any sort of femslash, and I loved it.

8. I’ll Pencil You In - 3107 words. I entirely wrote this because of criticalkink and the little Liam/anyone reverse-prompt I set up in there. Normally I would never have thought to write Liam/Sam, but I ended up enjoying it a lot, primarily because of how the power dynamic shifted their characters. It was also my first time writing kink negotiation, which was really fun.

9. Break Time - 996 words. Again, this was written for criticalkink. The prompt got into my head and wouldn’t go away. I tend to struggle with writing kissing, so this was a fun little challenge to write a fic that simply consisted of the build-up and the kiss.

10. Like the Bright Morning Stars - 3855 words. This was written for Yuletide. I was scared of this fic for the longest time, because smut is (obviously) my favored terrain and my recipient specifically said they did not want any sexual content. So for once I had to focus on plot and emotions and world-building, and that is HARD, Y’ALL. It’s very easy to churn out some sex; not so much to craft love. But it really paid off, because I loved this and it seems like a lot of other people did as well!

11. Into My Arms - 1843 words. Another prompt-fill from criticalkink. I had a lot of fun writing something simple and sweet and in a position/circumstance I had never written before. I also enjoy a good text convo in fic, so that was fun as an opener.

Total Word Count: (so far) 30,080 words. 

Overall Thoughts: Word-count-wise, I wrote less than half of what I wrote last year, but just as many individual works, which is pretty good. And it’s far, far better than 0, which had been my usual word-count for the past five years before last year. If last year was an exercise in writing for fun, this year was an exercise in pushing myself to write even when I was tired or sad or anxious, and I learned that I’m capable of a lot more than I thought.

Personal Best Story: 100% Bluebeard’s Wives. The vignette style, the imagery, the spare narration, the nuance - I’m proud of every word. If I ever write something better than this, that will be an enormous victory.

Personal Favorite Story: I really like I’ll Pencil You In. It was the first CR RPF story where I really felt like I knew what I was doing, and I really like that even in a scene of bondage and domination, there’s palpable softness, intimacy and sweetness between two friends.

Most Underappreciated Story: I was expecting a lot more traffic on Miles High, because I was writing a really popular pairing in a very popular fandom - but I suppose that when there are a lot of works going up in a fandom at once, it can be even harder to get recognition than it is when you’re writing for a very small fandom. And I don’t think my heart was really in it, which probably showed in the writing.

Most Popular Story: By hits alone, it’s On Not Being Alone, which makes sense, as it’s a simple PWP about a popular pairing in a small-but-growing fandom. By kudos, it’s Like the Bright Morning Stars, which is nice, given that I really didn’t think it was that good until it got such a fervent response. It also wins for kudos-per-hit, with ~19% of viewers giving kudos.

Story with the Sexiest Moment: Girls’ Night, man. Every inch of that is ridiculously sexy to me. The face-sitting, the manhandling, the dualingus... yes. Last year in my response to this question I mentioned that I felt my sex writing was getting a bit stale, and in the latter half of this year I feel I rose to the challenge and really mixed things up.

Most “Holy Crap That’s Wrong Even for Me” Moment: Basically all of Bluebeard’s Wives. There’s gore, there’s murder, there’s twisted relationship dynamics... yeahh. I also felt very wrong writing CR RPF, and continue to feel a bit weird about it - but I love it too much to give it up.

Story That Shifted My Perceptions of a Character: I felt like I really got to know Hannibal through writing Bluebeard’s Wives. I began to understand his way of thinking. I also really changed my perceptions of Sam through I’ll Pencil You In, by exploring him in a completely unfamiliar situation and entering subspace for the first time.

Most Fun to Write: Writing those crackfics for the Slash games was really fun, but also nerve-wracking. It’s hard to say if anything I wrote was purely fun with no worry involved, but I probably enjoyed myself the most writing my two Liam/Sam works, because they’re so good for one another and Sam is just a ball of joy.

Hardest Story to Write: Bluebeard’s Wives was a slog through hell as far as the writing process went. When I was done I was happy, but up until that point I had no clue what I was doing and nothing felt good enough. I considered every single word to within an inch of its life. But it all paid off, I think.

Favorite OC: The only OC I wrote this year was the nameless girl from Bluebeard’s Wives. I liked her, though - she was defiant until the end. She didn’t buy into Hannibal’s shit.

Biggest Surprise: Every moment of my Slash game fics was a surprise. Buffy almost getting the Half-Blood Prince’s book, Batman rescuing Grantaire, Hannibal eating Voldy, “The World Was Wide Enough” being rewritten about a Drumpf sex doll, AVPM!Ron seducing Voldemort with Red Vines, Will Graham shooting Tigger, James Bond kissing Remus, Jack Sparrow rescuing Enjolras... it’s all fucking weird and surprising, and that’s the beauty of the game.

Most Unintentionally Personal Story: I really can’t say any of my works this year ended up very personal. Perhaps what’s personal is how many of my kinks and trash-goblin shipping tendencies I revealed.

Favorite Lines/Scenes:

The morning-after scene in Between the Two of Us feels very true to Matt and Liam’s dynamic, and very tender.

I loved writing kink negotiation in I’ll Pencil You In.

From my Slash fics: “There were many reasons why Buffy always avoided the Hogwarts library. One was that studying was, like, so 1996, and that any sixth-year worth her salt (liberally sprinkled in a circle to ward off whatever) did not bother with books. The other was that creepy librarian who kept telling her it was her destiny to save the world from vampires or whatever. That was super species-ist, for one thing - didn't Professor Giles know that anti-vampire bias was waaay 15th-century? Buffy had hoped the world had come further than that. It was sad enough when that werewolf professor had to quit without her adding to the whole problem. As if.”

From Bluebeard’s Wives: “He cooks a wonderful meal for the three of them. He offers to give up his portion. He washes their hair in the bath. He washes their feet. He sketches Abigail into a copy of Gentileschi's Judith Slaying Holofernes, Bedelia by her side, holding the figure of Holofernes - Hannibal himself, in this copy, although he has never been a self-portraitist - as Abigail slices at his neck. Blood sprays forth in a fountain. Will hangs it upon the wall unsmiling. He brings home a scrappy little spinone, the lovely thing's ears drooping with long fur. Will says the city is no place for a dog. And none of it is enough.“

All of Girls’ Night. Just all of it.

Lines/Scenes I’d Like to Change:

Basically all of Like the Bright Morning Stars. But it seemed to work for readers, so what do I know?

I’d like to let Finn shine more in Miles High; ditto for Laura in Girls’ Night.

The pacing in Break Time could have been a little more leisurely; same for Into My Arms.

Top Five Scenes I Wish Could Be Illustrated:

Vox Machina taking the stage in Like the Bright Morning Stars

Hannibal’s copy of Judith Slaying Holofernes in Bluebeard’s Wives

Basically all of Girls’ Night

James Bond kissing Remus and then being decked by Sirius

The kiss from Break Time

2017 Writing Ambitions:

I just want to keep writing, be it fic or RP or the possibility of non-fannish fiction. I’m not going to set an ideal wordcount, because I’ll end up disappointed, but I just want to write more than 0 words. And I want to write at least one thing I’m truly proud of.

Fic ideas for this year:

Sequel to Like the Bright Morning Stars - titled Like the Rolling Waters and in the works for SFBB 2017!

The last two reverse-prompts from criticalkink: Liam/Matt playful jokeyness and Liam/Laura/Travis threesome (!!!!)

MOAR POLYMACHINA

And whatever the hell I think of next!