#sigh my life is so difficult. i have to see my beloved friends. everybody pour one out for me in this troublesome and wearying time

[mybreadsmybutters]

i have such an unfathomably large amount of things to do tomorrow its actually sick depraved and evil. and yet.

[thealogie]

thanks to the overwhelming silence and the fact that i can’t remember my old ao3 password and want to preserve my new ao3 for bookmarking rather than publishing anything I’m putting under the cut here some of the tentatively titled and probably-never-to-be-finished “Jeeves and the Unemployment Rate” which I wrote on the ios scrivener app a while ago (highly recommend if you want to write yourself fanfic on your commute and read it later) and then forgot.

It all started on a crisp sort of autumn morning when I returned to 3A Berkeley Mansions from a spot of lunch at my Aunt Dahlia’s with a bit of good news, a spring in my step, and sunshine on the old bean. It was the brightish sort of day, made all the brighter by the visit to a most Beloved Relation, who is the kind-hearted fly in the ointment of my theory that aunts are put on this earth for the sole purpose of crushing young nephews into submission, depression, and oppression under heels of steel. On this particular day, the old girl—in addition to being a generally good sort as usual— had also helped me solve a problem that had been vexing me for nearly a month.

I burst through the door with good cheer and a hankering for a whiskey fizz.

“Jeeves,” I bleeted. “Rally round.”

And rally around he did. Not that Jeeves does anything the seeing man would describe as “rallying.” But he floated gracefully out of the kitchen a moment before I called out for him, a whiskey fizz in hand.

“Ah, you are a marvel, as always, Jeeves. You’re sure you’re not a telepath? Positive of it, I mean? Very well, very well, I believe you,” I said, pouring the w. f. down the throat. “Right-o, now let us rally as men do. I bring splendid news from ol’ Dahlia.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Dashed splendid, I mean. The sort to grip you somewhere in the middle and lift you just a footish above the troubles of life so that you glide above them in the air without once dipping your toes into their murky depths—the troubles, I mean. Of life, that is,” I explained.

“Indeed, sir?”

I narrowed my eyes a bit. There was something a bit soupy about his tone that told me he lacked the enthusiasm Betram Wilberforce was striving for in this situation. Like I said, rallying of any sort is out of the question when it comes to Jeeves, but a chap hopes that when he stirs up the pot with so much vim, he might be rewarded with a sincerely uttered “Very good, sir,” or, perhaps more ambitiously, “Most pleasing to hear it, sir. Perhaps you could recount the tale after I pour you another w. f.?”

I forged on bravely.

“Oh rather. I mean to say, you’re going to be biffed as well, old thing. Oh yes. The news touches you, is the thing. And I dare say it’s pleasant news of the sort that will have even demi-gods like yourself prancing about the place with a hop and a whistle.”

“Indeed, sir?”

Many times have I spoken to my man about his little habit of wielding “indeeds” against me in such sharpish tones.

“What do you...I mean. Yes, dashed ‘indeed,’ Jeeves,” I replied with some steel in my voice, “blasted, indeed! You know what, Jeeves, I’m surprised at you. You might show a bit more sympathy for the y.m. It’s not a happy household when a man comes through the door all hot and is immediately handed the ice.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Jeeves!”

“My apologies, sir. I only meant to convey that it is just as you say. I should be glad to hear what Mrs. Travers relayed to you over luncheon.”

I crossed my arms and narrowed the Wooster baby blues even further until it was difficult to see a dashed thing.

“Alright Jeeves. Let’s have it.”

“Sir?”

“Out with it.”

“Sir?”

“Sir! I mean...to chopped liver with ‘sir,’ Jeeves. Something is rotten in the chez of Wooster. I see the displeased glint in your eyes. I should like to hear what’s hardened your heart against the young master’s general joie at the current state of vivre.”

“Well, sir. Is the pleasant information you wish to convey in any way related to the retirement Mrs. Travers’s head butler and her selection of a replacement?”

“By Jove,” I cried. “You do know all, what?! Jeeves, I know you don’t like this theory of mine, but it’s time we started to take the telepathy thingamummy seriously. Is it your deductive reasoning again? I mean, it’s too uncanny. Give me your Holmesian monologue on how you came to this one.”

“No deductions on this occasion, sir. Although I do not wish to jeopardize a friend, I must admit Seppings himself paid me a visit not an hour ago and divulged the news,” Jeeves said.

“Jeeves! Don’t tell me Seppings let the proverbial cat out of the proverbial bag?!”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“Oh rotten luck that!” I sighed, a bit put out that Seppings—the very retiring butler who had minutes ago been the source of my great gratitude—had ruined my surprise.

“As you say, sir.”

“And I suppose you know the person she intends to name as his replacement is, in fact, you?”

“I do, sir,” he said coldly.

“Er,” I replied.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“I can see you’re not too pleased with the young master, Jeeves, but I only thought—dash it, I mean, I thought it would please you. The superior title, an entire staff at your command, a house with guests of the more refined sort.”

Jeeves was unmoved by this. I forged on, feeling a bit like that Napoleon chappie must have felt trying to make good speed when it got nippy in Russia.

“Oh, think, you’d never cook again Jeeves! Every menu will be orchestrated by you and prepared by Anatole. Oh, and you don’t need to valet at all, Aunt Dahlia says. I mean, Uncle Tom would be glad to have you valet for him if you don’t trust anyone else with his clothes but they have a large-ish staff. If you’d like, you’d just be doing books and ordering people about all day and generally mastering the household.”

I had wilted a bit at his initial cold reception but I was at full speed again with my ramble, imagining Jeeves sitting behind his own desk, so many people for him to guide and mold.

“It is an incredibly generous offer, sir,” Jeeves said. “Will that be all?”

I wilted again.

“It’s only an offer, Jeeves. You can toss it out to the cold night air if it displeases you. I mean to say, what?! No one is making you take it—not that there are good odds against any mortal setting about making you do anything you don’t want to do and coming out on top,” I tried to mollify him.

“Very kind, sir,” Jeeves said stiffly. “Will that be all?”

I saw that Jeeves was not in a good way. And suddenly my own disappointment was the furthest thing from my mind. I softened immediately.

“Old thing, I wish you would tell me what’s bothering you,” I said ever so gently, or so I hoped.

“While it is commendable, Mr. Wooster, that you would secure another position for me rather than dismissing me, I am sorry to learn I have overstayed my welcome,” he explained, looking above the Wooster onion and straight at the wall opposite.

I scratched the Wooster temple, feeling flummoxed and flat out on my rear.

“Jeeves, old fruit, I’m feeling a bit flummoxed and flat out,” I confessed, leaving off the bit about my rear to preserve some dignity.

“Mr. Seppings came to congratulate me on the happy news, which he thought I was already privy to. After seeing that the news surprised and confused me, he confessed that he inadvertently overheard pieces of your discussions with Mrs. Travers,” Jeeves explained.

Oh. Oh, dear. That’s something to get hot under the collar about. If Seppings had indeed heard my conversation with Dahlia...

“Oh bugger all,” I groaned.

“He had not meant to eavesdrop, sir, but came to understand that you were asking Mrs. Travers’ advice on how to end my employment while avoiding the unpleasantness that generally accompanies an outright dismissal. If I may say, sir, the elected course is prudent. The offer of employment from Mrs. Travers at increased salary and title would have spared embarrassment on all sides,” Jeeves said. Except it wasn’t Jeeves at all, dash it. He had the faraway look of an automaton who has no thoughts at all, nevertheless the dozen or so ripe ones that seem always to be floating around in Jeeves’s head. “Sir, will that be all?”

Oh, dash it. Let me stop there for a mo’.

At this point, you must be feeling as betrayed as Jeeves. “Wooster, you useless goose!” you’re undoubtedly crying. “You’ve somehow managed to ensnare a divine nymph to crease your trousers and mix your cocktails? You have in your household a first-rate mind who should be writing treatises on literature and holding saloons in Paris, yet you dare to hand him the mitten? Refund me the price of the rag I’ve purchased or prepare to duel.”

I beg you gentle reader, give this Wooster a chance to redeem himself. An oaf I am, but an oaf pure of heart. My sin, you see, is not being up to this literary wheeze, not caprice.

In the normal course of events, you know, stories begin when matters are about to get wheeling on, then they trot on until everybody’s generally got their ankles up in the air and such, and then they end when everything’s been tidied up and all persons’ ankles are firmly back on the ground. You’re familiar with said basic structure, no doubt? Well, I’m no good at it. This Wooster frequently starts his wheezes when things have already gone ankles up. Jeeves tells me the more scholarly writer sorts try to hide this flaw by pretending to do this same thing deliberately and calling it “starting in medias res.”

Allow me to fill you in on three basic facts that might persuade you to regard Bertram Wilberforce as the well-intentioned buffoon he is rather than the malicious villain he is painted out to be in the above passage:

A. I’m in love with Jeeves. I mean properly daffy him and all that. I mean to say, I hear music when he walks into the room. When he leaves, clouds of doom descend upon me. His every touch however brief and accidental is etched indelibly in my memory. It’s properly scorching stuff, you see. But he hasn’t a clue.

B. I can’t tell a fellow I’m daffy for him so long as I’m his employer. I mean, he takes his wages fishing me out of the soup, drying me off, and setting me on my way again. I mean, you don’t need me to spell out the how and why. It’s simply not preux at all.

C. Premise A and premise B, when combined, put me in quite a bind. I shared said bind with an old chum of mine just a few weeks prior to the cheery-cum-calamitous afternoon I’ve recounted to you above.

“So, you’d like to get a leg over Jeeves, eh?” Ginger said crassly after I’d unburdened my very soul to him.

I’ve known Ginger for ages. I mean, I used to know Ginger rather biblically. Now we’re just chums. And unlike some chaps who used to know each other, we’re rather un-jealous and supportive chums. Though, Ginger’s support was a bit more vulgar than a laddie hopes for when said laddie is in the throws of a love that is all divinity and light.

“Ginger! You crude fishmonger,” I cried, scandalized. “This is serious, for once. What am I to do? Am I to take this to my grave? Saddens a chap to think of going on like this forever.”

“Want to roger him good, eh ol’ boy?” Ginger continued, without hearing me at all.

“No, Ginger. It’s not like that. I mean it is. But it’s more. I also want us to sit by the fire, reading poetry. I want to make him smile every day I am alive. I want his hands enveloped in mine,” I declared. “Were I a glove, and all that!”

“I think the Romeo chappie wanted to be a glove to touch that bird’s cheek, Bertie.”

“Well, Jeeves is too sensible to sit around resting his cheek in his hands when he’s wearing work gloves. But I mean it! I would shape shift into one of his imminently reasonable and dull gloves if I could, so I could be wrapped all around his elegant hands,” I sighed dreamily, giving Madeleine Bassett a run for her money.

“Looks like he’s got you wrapped around his fingers, all right,” Ginger laughed, clapping me on the back in a chummy sort of fashion.

“Oh but Ginger, don’t tease. Not today. If you had the smartest and handsomest man in England residing in your home, you too would find him a worthy general and think twice before acting without orders,” I sighed, chin in hand.

“Please Bertie,” Ginger said, rolling his eyes. “I hope you aren’t about to start again with your campaign to make Jeeves Prime Minister, Bertie.”

At this comment, the Wooster corpus, previously slumped over the table, sat at attention with a bolt of inspiration. “Euree—something. Jeeves would know. Something a Greek chappie once said when his grey matter finally got going. I mean to say, that’s it, Ginger! Oh, you’ve got it.”

Ginger blinked at me in confusion. “You’re going to make Jeeves the Prime Minister? I suppose, that would do the country a bit of good. And, you have a point. If you tell the Prime Minister you want to bugger him, there’s no danger of him going along with it because he feels obliged.”

“Not quite, laddie. If Jeeves had another job, a better job, then I would be just another man, not his employer,” I said.

“With you so far,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, young masters who wish to stay a step above the devil don’t go foisting declarations on unsuspecting valets and then expect them to go on dressing and feeding and living with said y.m. as though nothing is amiss,” I explained patiently. “But if he doesn’t work for me, I could tell him I love him. We’d just be two men, standing before each other. And if he doesn’t feel the same, he’d just biff off to his new household, that’s that.”

“I get all that. Bertie, you really are a Christmas pudding of a man,” Ginger said. “What I’m saying is...Well, that’s no solution at all. I mean. Right now, at least you get to be close to him day in and out, don’t you? If you send him away…you do realize he’ll be, in fact, away, don’t you?” he said sagely, buttering a scone with a great air dignity. “Or maybe you don’t. There’s no end to things you don’t realize, darling.”

I puffed up the chest. My love had made me feel a touch noble, like those self-sacrificing beazels in the old Greek plays. “I’d rather watch him walk out the door after I’ve said my piece than have him say ���Very good, sir’ and shimmer into the kitchen to put dinner together because it’s what’s expected of him,” I said with a touch haught. “Now Ginger, if you’re a friend, you’ll help me draw up a list of suitable households where Jeeves will be happy and well-paid. You know he’s not exactly the ‘happy to put down anchor anywhere’ sort of fellow.’”

“That’s mild, Bertie. The man’s as particular as all hell,” Ginger exclaimed.

I sighed dreamily, planting the Wooster chin atop the Wooster palm. “Isn’t he just? It’s an infuriating quality of his.

“Oh dear lord, you’re done for.”

[artificialqueens]

We weren't the ones saying the I do's (Shalaska) - Dustyrose

A/N: Hello it’s dustyrose here! I thought we all might need a little monday “cheer up” so I wrote a short Shalaska angst that an anon requested, this one goes to you :) I literally wrote this in like two hours so it’s not the best but she does the job. As always thank you for your likes and comments and make sure to give me feedback on this one as well <3  

Summary: Justin attends to Aaron’s wedding and finds it more difficult than he originally thought. 

TW: angst, cursing, drinking, depression, fighting, not the best writing 

He looked beautiful. He looked utterly beautiful. There was no prettier sight for Justin than seeing Aaron happy. The ceremony was simple yet atmospheric, it was completely different to what Justin thought he and Aaron would have. But it wasn’t him and Aaron marrying each other, was it? When Justin got the invitation, he hesitated for weeks and eventually decided that he wouldn’t go until Aaron called him. He said something about wanting to have his best friend beside him and that it would mean so much to him to have him there. Justin couldn’t say no, he’d always have a soft spot for Aaron. It’s time to let go, Justin thought.

Flashback:

“I’m worthless, I’m worthless, I’m worthless…,” Justin kept telling himself while crying his eyes out. They just had their first argument and they were both extremely drunk and extremely tired. Justin has never been in love with anyone like he has been in love with Aaron and hearing Aaron saying such horrible things to him, absolutely broke him. Aaron was crying in the bathroom, he kicked the door and screamed and suddenly stopped crying like he’d heard Justin’s cry for help. He opened the door and saw Justin laying on the floor in panic and shock unable to get up. The view of Justin killed Aaron on the inside and then he sat next to his beloved boyfriend. Aaron took Justin’s hand in his and kissed it gently. Justin swallowed his tears, still in complete shock.

“I’m so sorry,” Aaron said and immediately broke back into tears,“I don’t want you to think that you’re worthless.”

Justin didn’t say anything, he just looked at Aaron in his drunk and teary eyes and eventually gave him a slow nod.

“You’re my baby, I want nothing but the best for you,” Aaron said and that was probably the most romantic thing he has ever said to Justin. It came out naturally, he really wanted all the best for Justin.

“I love you,” Justin whispered and started crying even harder.

“You’ve never said that before and neither have I. I guess I love you too,” Aaron spoke softly and gave the widest smile to Justin ever. Justin leaned to kiss Aaron and put his arms around him. They stayed there like that for awhile and just looked at each other, completely in love.

“Okay, I know what will cheer you up,” Aaron smiled and quickly got up from the floor.

“What is it?” Justin giggled and followed Aaron like a little kid.

“We’re ordering pizza and watching The golden girls,” Aaron said proudly remembering exactly what Justin liked.

“You’re getting a lot of I love you’s tonight,” Justin said and leaned to kiss Aaron one more time before falling into their sofa for the rest of the night.

….

The wedding reception was mainly speeches after speeches. Justin was happy to see some of their old mutual friends that he hasn’t seen in such a long time due to his work and their breakup. Their friends from drag race were also there but seemed to avoid Justin’s company like they were trying to give him some space.

“Is everything okay?” Detox asked and sat next to Justin. They were watching the wedding dance and it was all very romantic and intimate, Justin didn’t quite understand why it was so painful to watch it. It wasn’t like he missed Aaron, okay he missed Aaron but he didn’t love Aaron in that way anymore and he was trying to let go.

“Everything’s fine,” Justin said and smiled weakly, feeling tears running down his cheeks when everybody cheered to the newly married couple.

“You sure? It’s okay if you’re not feeling okay,” Detox said and rubbed Justin’s back gently. Justin felt like he was going to choke, he needed some fresh air.

“I’m sure, I have to go to the bathroom,” Justin managed to say and ran outside of the room where everybody else was. He prayed to god that nobody saw him crying or leaving as dramatically as he did. It was painful to see someone who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, promising to spend it with somebody else. Justin ran outside and breathed heavily. He walked around the garden and sat on a bench.

“Is everything okay?” he heard a familiar voice.

“Why does fucking everyone ask that?” Justin yelled and saw Katya standing beside him smoking a cigarette.

“Jeez! I’m sorry.. need a smoke?” Katya asked while sitting next to Justin.

“Yes..I mean no,” Justin said hesitantly,“It’s probably not a good idea.”

There was a silent moment, only the noises of the night keeping the atmosphere alive and ambient. Justin looked back to the venue and heard loud singing and cheering echoing to the garden.

“You know he’s been looking at you the entire time,” Katya said and gave Justin an understanding look.

“Huh?” Justin asked but knew exactly who Katya meant.

“He just wants you to be happy,” Katya smiled,“I gotta go, Trixie’s waiting.” … Flashback:

“You did it Noodles, you’re a winner,” Justin said and admired his boyfriend, still in drag. Sharon was stunning and Justin was lucky to call him his.

They were in a bar, celebrating the winner of Rupaul’s drag race season 4 which happened to be Justin’s very own Aaron but mostly known as Sharon. It had been a lovely night so far and Justin was so proud to see his boyfriend living his life to it’s fullest.

“Okay everybody listen up! I want to give a speech,” Sharon smiled and held a glass in the air. Everybody stopped talking and turned their heads to Sharon’s direction.

“Thank you for being here to support little ol’ me, I guess there’s something special in me because they gave me this grown but they’ll probably want it back once I start bragging about it too much. Obviously I want to thank my family and friends, thank you for letting me be a weirdo around you. Thank you to all my fellow drag race sisters, even you Phi Phi. But mostly thank you to my girlfriend with a penis, Alaska. Justin, I love you with all my heart and I’ve never been with someone as beautiful as you. Thank you for letting me borrow your corset and I did win us a cruise, didn’t I?” Sharon smiled proudly,“Now let’s party, shots on me because I won fucking 100 000 dollars!”

Justin walked towards his boyfriend and gave him a sweet little peck to his cheek.

“I love you.” … Justin walked back to the venue and found himself looking through the whiskey selection. He didn’t bother to pour it into a glass, he just took the whole bottle. Justin walked back to his place and watched everybody dancing and singing together. It was dark and Justin was sitting in the back row so nobody saw him getting drunk and looking depressed, he didn’t want anyone to see him like that especially Aaron. Justin was always the one trying to get Aaron to quit drinking or smoking so it was strange to have it the other way around.

“Hi,” he heard the voice he’s been trying to avoid call. When he turned around he saw no other than Aaron with a smile on his face.

“Hi,” Justin simply answered but did try to give out a smile.

“How are you?” Aaron asked and sat next to Justin.

“I don’t know,” Justin sighed, he knew there was no use trying to lie to Aaron, “But I’m happy for you.”

“I’m glad. You know I always thought you’d be the one I’d marry,” Aaron whispered and laughed slightly.

“Please don’t say that,” Justin said sternly and tried to avoid eye contact with Aaron. He knew it was too late and they both are over their relationship but every time they started to look back at the times they were together, it just lead to heartache, tears, blood and strong portions of alcohol.

“We were good together but we’re better apart, you said it yourself,” Aaron laughed and gave Justin a concerned look. They had a tainted relationship but they still loved each other and went through so much together.

“Everything has worked out in the end,” Justin smiled and found it reassuring that he and Aaron were able to agree with it.

“I still care about you and want nothing but the best for you,” Aaron said and had tears in his eyes.

“Thank you, all the best as always,” Justin said and pulled Aaron into a tight hug, “You’ll always be my noodles.”

“And you’ll always be my Lasky,” Aaron laughed wiping the tears away. He hardly ever got so sentimental but when he did, it came straight from the heart.

“I have to go back, we’ll cut the wedding cake soon,” Aaron said and stroked Justin’s hand softly.

“Very exciting!” Justin said and gave an honest laugh to Aaron.

“I don’t understand why you have to make such a number about cutting the wedding cake, it’s just a cake,” Aaron said sarcastically and walked away.

Justin observed everyone when they gathered together to cut the cake. He saw Aaron slightly rolling his eyes when everybody started cheering and Justin laughed at himself. They were all truly happy and Justin was happy that Aaron was happy. Aaron was right, Justin had to be there to see it all, to see how everything had changed for good. Maybe someday it’ll all change for good to Justin too.