#so is really the most loving thing bertie could possibly call him

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

>be me >re-reading Indian Summer of an Uncle >Aunt Agatha calls Jeeves “Jeeves” >be taken aback >“she literally hates him why is she being so familiar” >“it's weird that she would call him the same thing Bertie calls him” >remember that Bertie calls him Jeeves because that is his literal actual name that everyone calls him

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Demon Prefect Rides Again

Bertram Harroway put on his evening clothes as if headed to war. In a way, he was. It would be an emotional war, he supposed. He let his valet help him into his coat and glanced down at the letter from Vera Dalrymple that kicked the whole thing off.

Darling Bertie,

That certainly wasn’t what she’d called him when he found her in a compromising position with Hector Grantham in her fifth year. And Eliza Dearborne in her sixth.

As you are possibly the only person on this planet who can make Albus Dumbledore mind you,

He thought, perhaps, one other existed, but it didn’t do to dwell on Gellert Grindelwald. He’d never liked the little wart, no matter how infatuated Albus was with him.

could you please do something about him? I popped into town last weekend and ran into him in Diagon. He looks dreadful. And his robes!

Bertram sighed. He knew precisely what Vera meant.

He’s gone old on us. I know it started creeping up on him in the aftermath of That Man followed on by That Gobby Upstart in the seventies, but something is really, terribly wrong. I suspect a whacking great load of guilt and grief, but really, Bertie, he looks like a stiff wind will carry him off. He looks more like he’s in the middle of his two-hundreds than just past his first century.

Trust Vera to look at a dark lord terrorizing the country and call him a gobby upstart. He’d seen photos of Albus recently and he agreed with Vera. Voluminous robes only his so much and Albus always had been nervy, no matter what he pretended otherwise for the magical public.

Honestly Bertie, I’m worried. He’s always worked much too hard and taken on too much responsibility, but he’s never been so frail before. He wouldn’t even go to tea with me and there is little Albus Dumbledore loves more than a cream tea and a good gossip. He doesn’t go anywhere, either. He used to love the theater and I can’t remember when he last made up part of a theater party. I think he might be punishing himself, in some bizarre way.

That was the part that spurred him into action. A quick note to the Deputy Headmistress and he secured a Saturday evening away for Albus.

He isn’t researching and he won’t meet with friends and it’s as if all he’ll allow himself is duty. It can’t go on. It simply can’t, Bertie. You remember how he got after exams? We’re headed for a crash the likes of which we’ve never seen and I’m so frightened it’ll take him from us. You’re the only one I could think of who might get through to him. Our Vally needs the Demon Prefect to come out of mothballs.

He'd see what he could do. Vally Dumbledore (nicknamed for the way he’d valiantly come to the defense of anyone he thought wronged) was the most infuriatingly stubborn young man he’d ever met.

We’ll plan a little reunion for all of us this summer. Dahlia wants everyone to see her gardens, in any case. She’s doing some interesting things with roses these days. Or perhaps, if you can persuade Vally to take care of himself, we could make up a theater party. I hear the latest from that Carruthers girl is splendid fun.

With love and thanks,

Vera

PS It probably isn’t my place to say so, but I’m going to anyway. He always had. G.P. for you and you ought to have swept him off his feet, all Oxford-polished, before That Man had a chance to get his hooks in. You helped create this problem by being as obtuse as a box turtle, so you can fix it.

Bertie sighed and went down to the Floo room. He knew he bore some responsibility in never acknowledging his own feelings. He simply hadn’t thought it appropriate since he was a perfect and then Head Boy. He could easily have picked up their acquaintance once Albus left Hogwarts. Although…there came a point where Albus pushed everyone away after his mother died, when all those lovely plans he’d made fell through so he could care for his sister. He never really let any of them back in after.

He wondered if he could have made a difference there, kept Albus from ending up so cut off from the academia he loved that he clung to the only person able to keep up with him. They would never know, he supposed.

He checked his pocket watch and collected coat and hat from his hovering valet.

“Thank you, Deverell. Don’t feel the need to wait up if I’m late returning.”

“Of course, sir.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think his valet quietly judging him.

Most likely the man judged his early departure. If he knew Vally as well as he once did, it would take quite a bit of persuasion to rout him out of his office and make him dress properly, especially if Vera was right and he was somehow punishing himself for his failures, perceived or otherwise.

Vera, irksomely, was usually right.

As he stepped to the Floo and gave the direction, he wondered if he should bring his old slipper. It always made an impact on a  recalcitrant Vally.

-----------

Hogwarts hadn’t changed in the decades since his leaving. Like Oxford, she endured, only she housed grubby schoolchildren instead of grubby undergrads. Professor McGonagall sending him through the internal Floo system came as a surprise. He’d never really thought about the professors needing to get somewhere quickly before.

He stepped out into the Headmaster’s office and brushed the slight traces of soot from his clothes.

“Good evening, Vally.” He began.

Albus looked up sharply from a thick book propped on his desk.

“Bertram Harroway? What are…how…”

He ended by staring as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Thankfully, he looked a good bit better than Vera described. Still too thin, of course, but he’d always forgotten meals or spent an hour just moving his dinner about his plate when in the grip of An Idea (or nerves). He looked as if he'd let go of some of the guilt and grief weighing him down. His hair, which had turned white practically overnight, had regained its more youthful ginger hue. The deep lines carved into his face by decades of worry seemed to have filled in. He looked more like he ought to look, like a non-magical of fifty or sixty instead of a man nearing the end of his life.

“Vera sent me, Vally. She said you’re getting old and could do with a bit of livening up. I thought you might like a night out. I have a box at the Savoy. They’re doing Pinafore at the moment and I know how you feel about well done G and S.” He moved into Albus’ office, helping himself to a chair when Albus continued to stare.

“Vera Dalrymple said she’d rather be boiled in Frederica Morningside’s failed potions projects than ever communicate with you again via any medium.” Albus finally spoke.

“I had just gated her for the rest of term. You can’t blame her for being distraught.”

“I couldn’t possibly go out on such short notice. This whole idea is patently ridiculous.” Albus nodded firmly, as if he’d made up his mind.

“You can go and get dressed right now is what you can do.” Bertram insisted. “The show starts at eight and I booked a table for supper after, at the Palace.”

“India Palace?” He at least looked interested at that. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been there.”

The wistful note in his voice belied his firm refusal.

“It was the day you got Greta Saatchi’s autograph after standing in pouring rain for two hours and we spent a further two getting you properly warm again when you returned.” He chuckled at the memory.

How had they been that carefree?

Well, he hadn’t. He’d had to play the heavy when the miscreants tried to slip back into the castle with the Hogsmeade crowd, as if they hadn’t slipped off to London for a matinee and a curry. Albus shifted slightly, as if remembering Bertram’s method for warming him up.

“We were thrilled when you finally left to terrorize Oxford, did you know?”

“I’m sure you were. I’ve returned just to terrorize you, Vally, you know?”

“Oh how lucky am I.” Albus replied acidly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve decided.”

How well he remembered that rather sulky tone. He certainly heard it often enough.

“I suppose I could go and fetch my slipper if you need convincing? I don’t care to see Vera so distressed, you know.”

It wasn’t often that anyone shocked Albus Dumbledore into complete silence.

“You still have that…that thing?” It always entertained Bertram to see shades of their youth in his friends.

“Of course I do. It’s an exceedingly motivating piece of footwear. Now, be a good chap and go get dressed. Theater waits for no man and Professor McGonagall assured me you were overdue for a night out. Something about you working all hours?” He put a bit of the old Demon Prefect in that one, the same tone he’d used countless times when locating an Albus who quite forgot about such mundanities as curfews.

Albus was out of his chair and halfway to the door to his quarters when he stopped.

“What do you mean Professor McGonagall assured you?” he asked waspishly.

“Of course I wrote her first to ensure you could have a nice evening with an old friend. It’s no use organizing a surprise one can’t pull off in the end.”

Albus gaped at him. “You cannot just go about organizing the world as you please.”

“It’s worked for me thus far.” Bertram answered mildly. “Do go and get dressed, Vally.”

“I can go as I am.” Albus insisted.

“Oh no you are not. I know you own perfectly nice evening clothes. Go and put them on.” He cared very much for Albus, but he’d rather chew his own arm off than attend a public event with Albus wearing golden yellow robes patterned with swirling suns. “We aren’t leaving until you are attired to my satisfaction.”

Albus stared at him for a moment before turning, very clearly not stomping to the door, and entering his quarters. He shut the door just shy of a bang.

Bertram settled down, quite pleased with his evening’s work. They’d make the theater in a timely manner now, and he could treat Albus to a lovely meal after. He’d have to suggest Dahlia and Hitty invite a little party for dinner one evening. And perhaps Albus would join him for the theater more frequently now. Albus, now more than ever, needed the people who cared for him to pull together.

The feelings he once thought faded raised their heads again, like a parched garden in the rain.

[ladymarycrawleyofdownton]

Downton Abbey: A New Era Review with SPOILERS

I’m conflicted because on the one hand I enjoyed it but I feel like it broke more than it fixed. Let’s start with the things I liked and the little moments that made me smile.

• I love that Edith’s writing again. This was my biggest complaint for the first film, that she was unhappy and had left her job at the magazine.

• I love that Bertie & Edith’s son is called Peter after Bertie’s cousin.

• I love seeing Mr Mason back, even if he’s storyline wasn’t that interesting.

• I love seeing Andy read the newspaper.

• I love that Molesley and Baxter are finally getting married. This is what everyone has been waiting for.

• Most of all I loved seeing Violet take care of Sybbie by making her the soul heiress of the villa. Julian did good there, fixing a problem that I hadn’t realised.

• I loved seeing Mary be her own woman, being the lady of the house. The line “I like them handsome” lives rent free in my mind. I loved her moments with Mr Barber, which is surprising because I’m a huge Mary and Henry shipper but Hugh Dancy can make anyone love him.

• I loved Hugh Dancy’s character Mr Barber the director and producer and I love the main actress of The Gambler, Myrna Dalgleish. I think her storyline was so moving and I really liked her by the end of it. Her connection with Daisy was EVERYTHING.

• Of course I didn’t like Violet actually dying, but I think her death was handled with as much grace and happy tears as possible. Mary and Edith’s hug BROKE ME. I think I might cry now just thinking about it.

Now, onto things I didn’t like or rather I hated…

• What do you mean Henry Talbot is not fucking obsessed with his wife and he’s racing in Istanbul while Tom’s wedding is happening? Now, let’s get something straight, I know that Matthew Goode was busy filming The Offer, but there is no way in hell that Henry would had missed Tom’s wedding nor would he had missed Violet’s funeral. He would NEVER. I think Julian handled that very poorly. I get it, the actor wasn’t available but the characters could’ve called or he could’ve sent an emotional telegram.

• Robert and Cora’s storylines were horrible and pointless. What do you mean she’s dying? What do you mean he might be somebody else’s son? That was horrible to watch. And why so much suspense? He could’ve asked her mother right away. As I said, pointless and horrible.

• Tom’s line wondering if Violet’s generosity was suspicious???? Huh???? She loves her family. She’s shown that all throughout te series. She’s shown Tom kindness and generosity ever since he became Sybil’s husband. She got him back into the house in season 3, she got him the job as the agent and now she gives his child the inheritance she deserves.

• So you’re telling me that Mr Barrow is going to leave with a man that he doesn’t know nor has he shown that much interest in but he’s gay just like him so he leaves. He leaves the only family he’s ever known, he leaves George with whom he had such a wonderful connection with and we still didn’t get a proper goodbye between them. That was sad. If he had left with Richard Ellis, that’s one thing. But Guy? He rans away with a guy named Guy, which I know isn’t his actual name but it’s ridiculous anyway. And now because of this Andy is supposed to be the butler? Oh you must be joking. Mary and Barrow worked well as Lady of the house and butler. They have the same vibe. They work. I don’t know how else to explain it. Andy could never be the butler, that’s ridiculous. I much rather they bring another actor to play the new butler.

Okay, I’m done for now. I might change my mind, I might like it more as time goes on but it frustrated me so much during so many scenes that I don’t know how to feel about it.

[tortilla-of-courage]

Skyward Sword - comparing NPC names in English and Spanish

For this I’ll be comparing mainly 2 (technically 3) translations of SkSw: English (ENG), Spanish (Latinamerica) (ESP-LA) and Spanish (Spain) (ESP-SP). If available, I’ll add the Japanese (JP) too. The spanish ones might be the same in some cases, which will be marked as (ESP). (I might also add an extra translation or two if i know them)

Link (リンク - Rinku), Zelda (ゼルダ - Zeruda) and Impa (インパ - Inpa) stay the same in all translations. Some of them have some minor changes tho (beware of slight spoilers for SkSw)

(Special thanks to @sunnylaurels for sharing the Japanese names for the Skyloft NPCs! And to @attllhak for sharing some French ones! - Really Long post under cut)

Main/Important Characters

Fi (ENG) - Fay (ESP) - ファイ (Fai) (JP)

These are basically the same, just different spelling. There’s a lot of speculation as to what Fi’s name is based on. For some reason I like to think it’s because of “Wi-Fi” but anything goes

Ghirahim (ENG) - Grahim (ESP) -  ギラヒム (Girahimu) (JP)

This one’s interesting because both ‘translations’ are technically right. English follows it more “to the letter” doing “Gira” as “Ghira”, while Spanish interprets it as “Gra” since Japanese doesn’t do the two-different-consonants together thing, but overall both are the same

Groose (ENG) - Vilán (ESP-LA) - Malton (ESP-SP) -  バド (Bado) (JP)

Groose, Groose, Groose. Probably the main character with the MOST changes. “Bado” seems to be referencing the Japanese pronunciation of “bird”, but could also be interpreted as “Birdo”. LA Spanish’s “Vilán” is sometimes seen as referencing the english “Villain”, but recently @/deerdroo pointed out to me it’s most definitely referencing the “Gavilán” bird, which resembles a little eagle (Wikipedia calls it a “sparrowhawk” in English). Not sure what Spain’s doing with “Malton” but I like it. And of course “Groose” follows the bird naming theme most of Skyloft has (referencing grouse and goose). Also his name in French is “Hergo”

Demise (ENG) - El Heraldo de la Muerte (ESP) -  終焉の者 (Shūen no Mono) (JP)

Okay this guy. “終焉の者” could be translated as “The One Who Brings The End”, according to @/sunnylaurels. So, in a way, I guess it makes sense for the English translation to just grab “Demise” for the name but also I feel it REALLY takes away from how it’s a Title rather than a name? He’s an ancient being, him existing as a “concept” and having no name adds a lot to his character imo. Anyways, “El Heraldo de la Muerte” would translate as “The herald of death” or “the messenger of death”, which is like really ominous i think - imagine having to fight some guy and everyone on earth calls him the messenger of death. I’d be so scared. Yes I’m very aware Demise means Death i just think it’s silly he just gets called that and that’s it. Also i keep reading it as Denise so really, who’s losing here? Not me. 

As a fun add-on to this, in German his name can be translated to “Death-bringer” (thanks @/aureateart), while in French it’s Avatar du Néant, which would translate to “Avatar of the Void” (thanks @/attllhak)

The Imprisoned (ENG) - El Cautivo (ESP-LA) - El Durmiente (ESP-SP)

“El Cautivo” basically means The Imprisoned, but “El Durmiente” means “The Sleeping One”, which... fits, but also i find it a bit funny, not sure why. Fight the sleepy avocado everyone

Deities + The Surface’s Main Places’ Names

The Goddesses stay the same in these translations too:

Din (ENG, ESP) - ディン (Din) (JP)

Nayru (ENG, ESP) - ネール (Nēru) (JP)

Farore (ENG, ESP) - フロル (Furoru) (JP)

Hylia (ENG, ESP) - ハイリア (Hairia) (JP)

The dragons, for the most part, too. The only one that really changes is Faron, which changes to “Farone” much like in Twilight Princess with the Light Spirit of the same name.

Eldin (ENG, ESP) - オルディン (Orudin) (JP)

Lanayru (ENG, ESP) - ラネール (Ranēru) (JP)

Faron (ENG) - Farone (ESP) -  フィローネ (Firōne) (JP)

Levias (ENG) - Narisha (ESP)

I couldn’t for the life of me find Levias’ name in Japanese, but considering EVERY translation EXCEPT English has him as Narisha? i’m gonna take a wild guess and say it’s ナリシャ (Narisha) or similar. His name Levias is based off the word Leviathan. And Fun fact! Did you know the spaniard Zelda Wiki lists him as being one of the dragons? as in, him being a whale-shaped dragon? yeah.

The Surface (ENG) - Las Tierras Inferiores (ESP)

Las Tierras Inferiores would translate as “The Lower Lands”

Faron Woods (ENG) - Bosque de Farone (ESP)

Eldin Volcano (ENG) - Volcán de Eldin (ESP)

Lanayru Dessert (ENG) - Desierto de Lanayru (ESP)

These ones mean the same for the most part, just with the change of Faron to Farone.

Skyloft / The Sky - Places and Animals

The Sky (ENG) - El Cielo (ESP-LA) - Celéstea (ESP-SP)

“El Cielo” literally means The Sky, while Celéstea would be a play on “Celestial” (From the Heavens/Skies). Fun side note - “El Cielo” also means “Heaven”, so when i was younger everytime i went back to the sky i’d be like “rip Link he’s dead :/”

Skyloft (ENG) - Neburia (ESP-LA) - Altárea (ESP-SP)

Neburia, from what I learned after a 4 am Wikipedia dive, could be based off the word “Nébula”, which can mean “Cloud”. It basically means “Cloud Town”. Altárea, I think??? would be based off the word “Alto” which means “High (Altitude)” so basically, “A Place High Up”? If anyone wants to comment on this i’d appreciate it

The Lumpy Pumpkin (ENG) - La Calabaza Flotante (ESP-LA) - Calabarza’s (ESP-SP)

“La Calabaza Flotante” literally means “The Floating Pumpkin”, while “Calabarza’s” is a really clever play on Calabaza and bar. I’m not sure what the name of the island itself is in english, but in Spanish it’s “Isla Calabaza” (Pumpkin Island) (ESP-LA) and “Calabia” (word play on “Pumpkin Place”) (ESP-SP)

Loftwing (ENG) - Neburí (ESP-LA) - Pelícaro (ESP-SP)

Neburí would also come from Nébula, so it’d translate to something like “Cloudy (thing)”? possibly. Pelícaro seems like a play on the word “Pelícano” which means Pelican.

Remlit (ENG) - Lémury (ESP) - Remuri (JP)

Lémury is a play on “Lémur”, probably because of Remlits’ ringed tails. Remuri might be the same play of words. 

Skyloft/The Sky - NPCs

(I might revisit some of these at one point since some of the references they could have flew over my head!) (haha get it? flew? the sky? ok)

Batreaux (ENG) - Mursego (ESP-LA) - Batolo (ESP-SP) - Morusego (JP)

My friend! my buddy! Batreaux is an obvious play with “Bat”, since he kind of resembles one. This is kept in both Spanish names - Batolo seems like a combination of “Bat” and “Bartolo” (a spanish name), and Mursego is based off the spanish for Bat “Murciélago” (as well as being the closest to the Japanese “Morusego”!!). Keeps the “flying animal” theme in all three languages.

Beedle (ENG) - Terry (ESP) - テリー (Terī) (JP)

The man, the myth, the legend. Beedle’s name is similar to “beetle”, the insects he loves in BoTW and SS. Not sure what the deal with “Terry” and similar is. He keeps the “flying animal name” theme with Beedle, sort of, but loses it in every other translation (which, btw, is also Terry or a variant in most languages)

Bertie (ENG) - Arín (ESP-LA) - Alfred (ESP-SP) - Arin (JP)

This poor man. Working all day and all night. Bertie’s supposed to reference a type of sparrot called “lovebird” (the bird part). For Arín, besides being basically the same as Japanese, could reference the word “Cantarín”, which means “singsong” and is used to describe birds that sing a lot. Alfred... no clue.

Cawlin (ENG) - Corvy (ESP) - Ras (JP)

In the same way “Cawlin” references “caw”, which is the sound crows make, “Corvy” references this same bird, called “Cuervo” in Spanish. In french he’s “Orbo”, which if i had to guess also references crows.

Croo (ENG) - Gurriaco (ESP)

“Croo” could reference both the “cooing” of birds and “crow”, like Cawlin above. Gurriaco, if I reach enough, could be referencing “Urraca”, a type of bird in Spanish.

Dodoh (ENG) - Dodo (ESP) - Dodo (JP)

Referencing the extinct bird of the same name in all languages, I guess. 

Dovos (ENG) - Dombo (ESP)

Dovos feels like it’s referencing “Dove”. Dombo gives be “Dumbo” vibes - probably could reference it because he flies? not sure

Eagus (ENG) - Aquilo (ESP) - Igurusu (JP)

Eagus, Aquilo, and Igurusu are referencing Eagles. It’s more obvious in Eagus. The spanish for Eagle is “Águila”, which is just two letters off from Aquilo. 

Fledge (ENG) - Gruyo (ESP) - Sebasun (JP)

Fledge is referencing Fledgling, a young bird. Gruyo comes from “Gruya”, which is Crane in spanish. In french his name’s “Célestin”.

Gaepora (ENG, ESP-LA) - Gaépora (ESP-SP) - ゲポラ (Gepora) (JP)

Pretty much the same. His name is also a combination of the Owl from Ocarina of Time’s name “Kaepora Gaebora” (ENG, ESP) - ケポラ・ゲボラ (Kepora Gebora), probably because he looks a lot like the Sage of Light Rauru and the owl he turns into. One of the few Skyloftians not named after a bird in English, though technically he is if we consider the above?

Gondo (ENG, ESP-LA) - Dorcon (ESP-SP) - Doruko (JP)

Not sure what Gondo might be referencing bird-wise exactly? though i think “Gondo” is similar to “Gonzo” (from Wind Waker), with who I think shares some design aspects. Dorcon in Spain’s Spanish seems to just take from the original Japanese. In French his name’s also “Dorco”!

Goselle (ENG) - Alani (ESP) - Otaka (JP)

I’ll be real, not sure what’s going on with her names in either language. Goselle gives me bird vibes but i’m not sure. Alani reminds me of the spanish “Alaja”, which means Jewel

Greba (ENG) - Ornella (ESP) - Miho (JP)

Ornella reminds me of the word “Hornilla” (mute H), which is basically the hole where the heat comes out of in wooden ovens... but! according to the dictionary it also means “(a) hole where pigeons make their nest” so i guess it’s bird related too!

Gully (ENG) - Gabio (ESP-LA) - Gabi (ESP-SP) - Garu (JP)

Gully most definitely references a seagull. Gabio and Gabi references the same animal, but in spanish obviously - “Gaviota”. 

Henya (ENG) - Galina (ESP-LA) - Zenona (ESP-SP) - Heena (JP)

Henya references Hens, as does Galina (Hen being “Gallina” in Spanish). Zenona... uh.. not sure where that came from? I’m halfway through this post realizing i’d gladly accept comments from any spanish speaking person who wants to give an input on these things im missing 

Horwell (ENG) - Asteus (ESP) - Hoonelu (JP)

i’ll be real im not sure what Asteus is referencing. Horwell seems to be pretty close to the japanese for the most part though

Jakamar (ENG) - Carpín (ESP) - Geran (JP)

Carpín is most definitely referencing Wood Peckers (“Pájaro Carpintero”/Carpenter Birds)

Karane (ENG) - Grusi (ESP-LA) - Gracielle (ESP-SP) - Kuranu (JP)

Karane seems to be almost the same as in Japanese, while Spanish went crazy and gave her a completely different name, tho at least they’re kinda similar between each other. Also in french her name’s “Grida” (another Gr name!!)

Keet (ENG) - Pío (ESP-LA) - Pitxi (ESP-SP) - Michiru (JP)

Pío is, quite literally, the sound birds make (or the way we’d write that sound in spanish), especially chicks. Pitxi is a mystery to me

Kina (ENG) - Calabel (ESP-LA) - Calabelle (ESP-SP) - Panan (JP)

Calabel/Calabelle is referencing the spanish for Pumpkin, “Calabaza”, giving it a more feminine name-esque ending (like in Anabel/Anabelle)

Kukiel (ENG) - Picalia (ESP-LA) - Cuqui (ESP-SP) - Kuuko (JP)

Cuqui could be referencing that exact same word (often spelled “Kuki”) that just means “cute”. Picalia seems like a play with “pícara” which basically means “gremlin” (google translates it as “sassy” but im not sure if that word fits)

Luv (ENG) - Mandi (ESP-LA) - Amanda (ESP-SP) - Manda (JP)

Mandi and Amanda seem to stay close to the Japanese name, both of them being common spanish names. Luv, like i mentioned in Bertie’s part, would reference “love bird” (the love part)

Mallara (ENG) - Pati (ESP-LA) - Patty (ESP-SP) - Rubia (JP)

I only now realized Mallara is referencing mallard ducks. wow. Pati/Patty are just a common name in Spanish. Lil fun fact related to her Japanese name! Rubia means “blonde” in Spanish

Mia (ENG, ESP-LA) - Miwi (ESP-SP) - Mi (JP)

mia my baby girl. i love her. im yeeting her off Skyloft. seems they all reference meowing in some way

Orielle (ENG) - Corina (ESP) - Kuina (JP)

LISTEN. the other day i was trying to think just WHAT Corina could be referencing. And the only thing that popped into my brain is that “Corina” is the name they gave the bird Tokyo Mew Mew girl in LatinAmerica. It’s literally the only bird related thing i can think of. Also it sounds a bit like “Kuina”. French name is “Kinaé”, similar to Japanese!

Owlan (ENG) - Buhel (ESP) - Aoulu (JP)

Owlan seems to keep the owl theme across all three! Aoulu seems to just be “owl” quite literally, and Buhel is a play on the spanish for Owl (”Búho”)

Parrow (ENG) - Golondro (ESP) - Parou (JP)

Golondro comes from “Golondrina”, a type of bird! I think it’s called “swallow” in english ... so it kinda fits Parrow anyways! Also Parrow seems to be his japanese name too

Peater (ENG) - Panolo (ESP-LA) - Paul (ESP-SP) - Jakusin (JP)

This guy. man. Seems to be “Jackson” in Japanese? But everyone grabbed a P and ran. Panolo seems like a play on “Manolo”, a nickname for people with the name “Manuel” - maybe mixed with the P for “Pájaro”(Bird)? Paul’s just a common name as far as i know.

Peatrice (ENG) - Panalí (ESP-LA) - Paula (ESP-SP) - Jakuriinu (JP)

Peatrice seems to always be named after her dad. “Jackeline” in Japanese i believe, and barely “feminized” names for the rest. Panalí sounds a bit more like “panal”, the spanish for “hive” (as in beehive)

Piper (ENG) - Joana (ESP)

There’s not much to comment here. Joana’s a common name in Spanish

Pumm (ENG) - Vito (ESP-LA) - Ruperto (ESP-SP) - Puukin (JP)

I have NO clue where Vito came from. It sounds like a badly spelled “Victor”. Where did the Pumpkin theme go???? huh?????. Ruperto’s kind of the same? Unless i’m missing some pumpkin related words in spanish, it’s just a common name.

Pipit (ENG) - Cocu (ESP-LA) - Coocker (ESP-SP) - Kikoa (JP)

This guy. It seems a lot of languages kept the C/K sounds in his name? He’s Kiko in French and Cuco in german (thanks @/aureateart). They seem to reference cuckoo clocks maybe? and the german’s really close to cucco. 

Rupin (ENG) - Rupín (ESP-LA) - Milo (ESP-SP) - Kookin (JP)

Rupin/Rupin are referencing Rupees, since he’s the shopkeeper and the alike. Milo... I... I’m not sure what’s referencing?

Rusta (ENG) - Ganzo (ESP) - Rostaa (JP)

Rusta and Rostaa seem to be referencing Roosters, while Ganzo’s referencing the spanish for Goose! (Ganso)

Scrapper (ENG) - Serbot (ESP) - Sarubo (JP)

Including this lil guy here coz... why not? Serbot seems to be almost the same if not the exact name as Japanese (though Sarubo could just be Server?)

Sparrot (ENG) - Aspir (ESP-LA) - Gorronte (ESP-SP) - Subuha (JP)

Gorronte seems to be a play on “Gorrión” (Sparrow), so, pretty close to English. Aspir..... I’m not sure?

Strich (ENG) - Vestro (ESP) - Osta (JP)

Vestro, like Stritch, references Ostriches, with Ostrich in spanish being “Avestruz”. Seems Japanese references the same animal? and I think french too, since he’s “Latruche” in that language!

Wryna (ENG) - Elenia (ESP-LA) - Alisia (ESP-SP) - Arisu (JP)

Alisia seems to stick to the Japanese name Arisu (Alice), while Elenia went... a different direction. Elenia is a variation of a common spanish name, Elena.

[illfoandillfie]

I’d love a platonically blurb ab them applying to foster/adopt kids 🥺

i love you for this request but also it made me very soft and emo and how dare you

It ended up being a little less about them actually applying and more just them deciding they wanted to adopt or foster and discussing their options because i can't read but perhaps i could do an actual fic later about the process involved and them meeting their kid and stuff?? idk...dad ben makes me 🥺🥺🥺

Anyway, here's the second last blurb in my Platonically event!

Words: 1,683

Warnings: Nothing much really, discussions about children including pregnancy, adoption and fostering, a little mention of sex but nothing explicit.

“I wanna be a dad.”  You weren’t surprised to hear Ben say it. You’d seen the signs. There was the way he’d befriended and doted on the adorable toddler who’d played his daughter on a TV project. Every day he’d come home and his face would light up as he talked about her – how she babbled little kid nonsense at him all day and how they’d played silly games sitting on the floor of the set while the cameras were set up around them. You’d almost expected him to bring up the possibility of having kids then but he’d surprised you and not mentioned it. You could tell he was thinking about it though which made you think about it too. It made sense to at least discuss it and see where you both stood now that you’d been in the QPR for a while and knew that it worked and that you made a good team. You asked about it one night while you were washing the dishes and Ben was drying them. “Do you ever think about kids? Like having one?” “Yeah, sometimes,” he said, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but the conversation didn’t go any further than that.

It wasn’t until about three months later that you heard him say it. It took one of his mates having a baby with his wife for Ben to bring it up. You’d gone over a couple of weeks after they left the hospital, gifts in hand (a cute little spotty onesie and soft toy elephant that he hopefully wouldn't grow out of as quickly as he would his clothes). It was a lovely afternoon, catching up with the new parents and meeting brand new baby Bertie who just stared at everyone who cooed over him. You each had a turn holding Bertie too, marvelling at how anything could have such tiny hands and such big brown eyes. Ben happened to be handed the bundle of blankets that Bertie was swaddled in as the baby began to fall asleep. He didn’t mind though. When the new father asked if he should take Bertie and put him in his crib Ben waved him off. He said he didn’t mind sitting there a little longer to make sure Bertie really had dropped off. The parents didn’t argue, a little relieved that they were able to take a break and just relax. Both of them excused themselves for a moment to get some more food and use the bathroom which left you and Ben and the sleeping Bertie alone together. Quietly you stepped towards the armchair Ben was in, sitting on the arm so you could run your fingers through his hair. “I wanna be a dad.” Ben glanced up at you as he said it, and you could see how much he meant it. “Let’s talk about it tonight,” you reached out to stroke Bertie’s pudgy cheek as Ben lent his head against your side, his attention turning back to the baby.

Neither of you mentioned it on the drive home. In fact you both specifically avoided mentioning it, though not from fear of what might be said but rather just wanting to make sure you had adequate time to go over it without rushing. Once you were inside, shoes kicked off and the kettle on, you opened the discussion.  “So....a baby?” Ben nodded, as he settled into the couch, body angled towards you, “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, it’s not just because of this afternoon but that did help. I really want kids and I think I’m at a place where I feel ready to. Is that...is that okay?” “It’s wonderful Ben. Honestly, I’ve kinda been waiting for this conversation for a while. I’ve seen you interact with kids and I knew it wouldn’t be long before you wanted your own.” He laughed and inclined his head in amused agreement, “So does that mean you like the idea?” “Yeah I do.” “Really? Just that I know you weren’t really sure about it when we first decided to be partners.” “I might not’ve been then, but I am now.”  “What changed?” “Well...you, obviously.” “Me?” He seemed surprised. “Look, before we got together I couldn’t imagine being in a relationship that didn’t make me feel at least a little uncomfortable. I figured I’d be single forever and I was okay with that. I’d considered just having a kid on my own – sperm donor or whatever – but that seemed like a really hard thing to do and I wasn’t sure I’d ever want it bad enough to do that. But then you showed me that it was possible to be in a partnership that felt good and, I don’t know, I started thinking about the possibility of having a family with you, and the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea.” Ben smiled as if he was trying not to look as pleased with your answer as he felt, “So we’re doing this then? For real?” “Yeah I think so. Weird.” “Bit weird.” There was a pause as you both just sat with the knowledge that you were planning a future together, that you both wanted to go ahead with it. You never would have guessed you’d get to that point with anyone.

Ben was the one to break the moment, “How would you want to...I mean how should we...How do you feel about being pregnant?” You bit your lip in thought, “I’m not sure. Honestly, it still kinda freaks me out.” “That’s understandable.” “I mean, if it was a dealbreaker for you then I would. I’m not entirely against the idea of carrying our baby and it would mean we’d get to do the fun part of making it.” “We do the fun part a lot as is,” Ben laughed, “But it’s actually something I thought about a lot.” “The fun part? That doesn’t surprise me.” “No, the you being preggers part,” he said exasperatedly, “I knew you weren’t super keen on the whole thing so I got thinking about whether or not it really mattered to me and I don’t think it does. I think I could be just as happy with a kid that came from someone else. And,” he paused as if giving you time to prepare for what he was about to say, “I might have looked into our options for adopting or fostering.” “You did?” “Mmhmm. It’s kinda complicated so we shouldn’t rush into anything and we should probably contact some agencies to ask questions and stuff.” “How complicated are we talking?” “Well, basically, if we want to adopt I think we have to put our names down with an agency and then there’s an interview process and if they think we’re suitable candidates then they’ll put our names in the system and find us a kid. And I guess it depends on the age bracket you’re looking for. I think if we wanted a newborn we’d be more likely to get one through adoption but it might still take a while whereas older kids are a little easier to find, so that’s something we need to consider.” “What about fostering?” “It sounds even more complicated. Like adoption you put your name down and go through an evaluation process but then there’s a few different options. There’s short term fostering where we’d look after kids for a couple of weeks or months while plans for their futures are finalised. Then there’s long term fostering which is usually for kids who can’t go back home but don’t want to be adopted out of their birth families and they mostly stay with you until they’re adults. Emergency fostering is another option which is a few nights or weeks at most but it’s for kids who need to be moved quickly and you don’t always get a lot of warning about them coming to you. And like, there’s possibilities to end up adopting the kid or kids you foster depending on what they want and how it goes.” You puffed your cheeks up with air and slowly blew it out, head swimming with the sudden influx of information, “That does sound complicated.” “Yeah. We’ll really have to consider out options and decide what sort of family we want to have. I think reading about adoption and fostering made me want to do it more though. Cause like...” he paused as he tried to find the right words, “These kids are out there without good homes and I really believe we could give them that.” You noted Ben was getting a little misty eyed, blinking more rapidly to hold back the emotion, so you tried to make him laugh by nudging him and calling him a sap. But you loved seeing how much he cared.  It worked a little as he chuckled softly and shrugged, “Look, either way – adopting or fostering – it's probably not going to be easy. There’s challenges involved in fostering for sure – kids with trauma we won’t be able to understand, kids who are grieving the loss of their birth families or who’ve had bad experiences with other foster carers and who struggle to trust anyone. And the kids who are up for adoption might not have the same problems, especially if they’re younger but, I don’t know, I think finding out you were put up for adoption would leave its own scars. Issues with abandonment and things like that. So I think we have to be really, really sure before we put our names down anywhere. But I also think we could properly help someone doing it, maybe more than one someone. So, if you’re up for it then so am I.” “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “What are you thinking?” More pros and cons lists?” You both

laughed at that but Ben grabbed your arm, encouraging you to leave your seat and sit on his lap instead. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tilted his head up for a kiss which you gladly gave.  “I’m really happy we’re talking about this,” He almost whispered, squeezing you a little tighter. “Me too. I guess we should start by going through all our options and seeing which ones would suit us best.” "I've got some websites bookmarked and a few documents downloaded so why don't I go get my laptop and you make us a drink and we'll start working through it, okay?" "Okay,"

[adobe-outdesign]

TIOL LIVEBLOG: PART 5–7

Note: I will do a final review tomorrow to summarize my thoughts.

Spoilers under the cut:

Part 5, Chapter 1

in true New Jersey fashion, Joey never wants to go back to it

mud is only a few steps removed from ink when you think about it

Nathan pointing out that Joey misjudged him really points even more towards him being the Unknown, as he says he hopes to prove it soon. If he isn’t the Unknown at this point I’ll be legit shocked

Joey legit just outright calling himself a God is really hammering in those Joey/Ink Demon parallels again

Part 5, Chapter 2

yes but did Joey see the baby incubators

Part 5, Chapter 3

I could never decide if I liked the idea of Disney existing in the BATIM universe or not but it does support my favorite crack headcanon, which is that Henry went to work there after leaving JDS

I’m not sure if it was the intended implication but I think Grant comes in late and leaves late for the sole purpose of avoiding Joey as much as possible

love that Joey respects Wally. good boy deserves that much

“again, it is why I avoid the past as much as possible” [makes Henry go through the studio on loop like 500 times]

I’ve mentioned before that the Whipper-Will-O is likely the ride Bertrum is fused to. It’s mentioned here but without enough context to confirm (it is mentioned later that it would be the biggest one which does match)

Part 5, Chapter 4

Joey’s secretary has a name now, don’t think she did previously

Makes sense that Bertrum was retired, he’s like canonically 60

Grant probably hates Bertrum for no reason other than the sheer expense of his restaurant bills

Joey: “ultimately Bert knows I’m the boss :)” Bertrum: I Am Going To Smite You Off The Face Of This Earth

I wonder if Bertrum hates being called Bert as much as he does Bertie. probably (side note: “Bertie” is misspelled with a y here; if I’m not mistaken it was “ie” in the game transcript)

I know some people have said the “I’m not that kind of date” line is homophobic (which was probably the intention), but all he says is that he’s not the kind of guy to play hard to get, not that he isn’t a date

In things that only interest me, Bertrum is confirmed to be a heavyweight (or at least more so than Joey)

I love these two trying to out-ego each other. I didn’t think it was possible but Joey’s winning

nice to finally have explanations for the different lands, was wondering what the hell that was about

also the battleship stuff was for the Butcher Gang’s area, that makes sense

if anyone walked up to me and told me they “had a Whipper” I’d slap them

man this is the best episode of Defunctland ever

Side note: Bertrum is much more in-character here than in DCTL. While he’s still friendly towards Joey, that’s because they just met, so it makes sense in this situation (unlike in DCTL). He also corrects Joey on his name, something he never did in DCTL

Actually this kind of botches the timeline as DCTL has Bendyland just being developed and announced in 1946, while here that happened in 1941-1942. 1940 was the date on Bertrum’s BATDR teaser tape, so the later is closer to being right (still off by a year though). I’ll chalk DCTL up to Buddy’s bad memory.

Part 5, Chapter 5

“I like me just fine” is really amusing and I’m not sure why

I LOVE how much Joey keeps hammering in how great Henry leaving is. cashing in my final “Joey is gay”

Part 6, Chapter 1

Neat to have an explanation for the Sillyvision thing. I didn’t get the impression from the Handbook that it was a process of sorts, but then again I might be misremembering

Part 7, Chapter 1

(Counting these as chapters even though they’re more of an afterwords thing)

figures Joey is a morning person

Nathan just wakes up and chugs a single cup of black coffee while not breaking eye contact

Joey enjoying Cheerios amuses me more than it should

Joey: “hey what’s today looking like Sammy” Sammy: I Am Going To Kill Something Jack: I am also here

I was pointing out that it was weird that Abby was a temporary art director but is still at it in DCTL, but I think the implication is that Joey fired Morris and replaced him with her when he got back. He seems to much favor her work

the “that others were lying to him instead of him lying to himself” amuses me as Grant has a log in the Handbook that is literally just “Joey we’re fucking bankrupt holy fucking shit please respond to this for once”

are the people in the music department like. okay

I like how Joey speaks positively about his employees but every single one of them hate his guts and I’m pretty sure he hates most of theirs too

Joey’s famous 2 hour lunch break has been pared down to an hour and a half, which is slightly better but not by much

Joey: [holds still for five minutes] Joey: [starts vibrating] nevermind

Part 7, Chapter 2

hey they kept this consistent with the excerpt from the Handbook, that’s nice

well, kind of. They kept the same copy but added stuff to tie it back into the previous plot. kind of makes sense though, as they wouldn’t include that stuff without the context in a reprint

Part 7, Chapter 3

that was a bit of an oversimplification of plot structure but okay

Part 7, Chapter 4

Joey does outright say here that he doesn’t intend to die, could point to him being BATDR Bendy

[ye4gerismarchives]

the bachelorette chp 2 final part

an: sorry for taking so long! here's the masterlist!

tags: black reader, fem coded reader, lots of drama, minor vulgar name calling

tag list: @taybird

The first thing on your mind when you woke up was Bertie's kiss. It was so unexpected but so sweet. You almost forgot about Mikasa possibly stealing a guy you didn't really know. That's how nice Bertholdt's kiss was.

This morning you were having breakfast with Mikasa and Sasha, as usual. You knew this time was going to be different, however. You got ready for the day, thinking about what to expect from today's breakfast.

"So, I heard Bertholdt came out of his shell...oooh," Connie teased. As expected, Bertholdt's face reddened. The rest of the guys turned their attention to Bertholdt, curious about what he had done. "What happened, Bertholdt?" Porco asked. He was sitting near Bertholdt, so he was leaning into the taller boy's personal space. "N-nothing," Bertholdt says, looking away.

"A little BERTIE told me that you kissed y/n," Connie continues. "Connie, you're so corny," Onyankopon says jokingly. "You kissed?" Porco is now all up in Bertholdt's face. "Now, why would you do that? We're two weeks into the competition and you're kissing?"

"Hey, Porco, calm down," Eren jumps in. "Nah, because Bertie thinks he can just jump ahead. I mean, Eren, have you gotten a chance to be with y/n?" Porco huffed.

"He's too busy making out with Mikasa, y/n's best friend, he's probably not the best person to ask," Jean jeered.

"You shouldn't say anything at all, Jean. She has you wrapped around her finger. You're her pet dog," Eren snapped back.

"Isn't that the whole point? We're all supposed to give y/n our attention and seem interested in her," Armin jumps in.

His response shocks everyone the most. "So...you're not genuinely here for her?" Connie asked. His funny demeanor drops. "No...I need the money for medical school," Armin admits. "Nothing about y/n impresses me."

"Let's read what people are saying online!"

Levi had let you, Sasha, and Mikasa know that people had a lot to say about the show so far. He gifted you all a phone to take a look at during breakfast.

"Ok...so this first one is about Jean," Sasha starts. " 'Jean likes money...hence why he's here. He also has a short attention span in relationships."

"That...that doesn't sound like Jean..." you say. Unless?? Jean was a nice guy...a "nice guy". You couldn't believe it was all an act. He seemed like a sweet guy but that could also be a façade. "Ok...that one makes my brain hurt. Next please!"

Sasha passes the phone to Mikasa, who doesn't seem like she was there. "Mikasa, the phone," you point out. She jumps slightly, which is very not Mikasa-like. "Sorry," she says softly before taking the phone. You want to ask her what's up but, one, you have your own assumptions and, two, you didn't want something new to blow up in your face.

"Levi and Mikasa are planning on going against y/n. Their uncle/niece relationship says a lot. Mikasa needs to hop off the guys and let y/n have her moment."

Now, that one you could believe. Maybe not the part about Levi (he didn't seem to care) but you did feel that Mikasa was trying to interfere. You did laugh with her about her attraction to Jean and Eren but you couldn't help but consider that she could be plotting against you. The only role Levi would have in this is green-lighting her attempts. His job was to guide you and keep the drama going. He would have alerted you that something big was going to happen.

"That's kinda silly. You and Levi wouldn't pull something like that, right?" you nervously ask. Mikasa is quick to look you in the eye. "No, I wouldn't try that."

'No, I wouldn't try that.'

"Thanks for calming my suspicions," you reply. Mikasa's eyes widened. "What are you getting-"

"Can you hand me the phone, Mikasa?"

Mikasa moves her arm across Sasha and forces it in your direction. You've clearly hit a nerve. You snatch the device from her. "Thanks."

You read the next opinion. "'I'm on the edge about Jean and Eren'."

This was the second message about Jean and you couldn't help but be concerned. You would need to have a one on one conversation with him to make sure his intentions are right.

You weren't too surprised about the comment about Eren. However, You wanted to talk to him too.

"Well, Mikasa, it was nice seeing you. I'm sure you had a lot of fun last night. Get some more rest while Sasha and I go out. Alright?" you finally say.

Mikasa doesn't meet your eye.

(pick your fit!)

You hoped that this date would clear your mind and even give you some people to eliminate. You were excited about this date. You were going skating. It'd be more interactive and you wouldn't have to rely on subtle messages.

You and Sasha entered the same room where you met your previous dates. Today, you had Onyankopon, Armin, Nicolo, and Porco.

To your surprise, the energy in the room seemed off too. "Hi, y/n!" Onyankopon said cheerfully. There was a shaky feeling in his voice. Almost like he was nervous. Onyankopon was never nervous around you. He could easily walk up to you and you would converse for hours.

"Hey guys," you soon reply. Armin doesn't seem interested at all, Nicolo looks like he's in space, and Porco has an angry look in his eyes and can barely meet yours.

Suddenly, you don't even want to go on this date.

"Hey, what's going on? Why are you guys so...gloomy?" you ask. Porco finally looks up. "You know what's wrong? We're competing for a whore."

You felt like someone had just pulled your lungs on your chest. Did he just call you a whore?

"Hey!" Onyankopon barked. "You don't call her that!" You were taken back by Onyankopon coming to your defense. You had never seen him like this.

"Honestly, I'm so disappointed. I can't believe I have to go on a date with you guys! You're so ignorant. Armin, honestly, I can't believe you. You don't even want y/n. You're here to pay your bills off. And Nicolo? Why are you even here? We don't even see you around. And Porco, I don't even have to say anything to you. I think we all know what type of person you are."

The room remained silent for a moment. Your eyes began to water. You were overwhelmed. "I-I'm sorry. I need to step out." You turn on your foot and ignore Sasha's pleas to come back.

It was only the second week and there was so much going on. You understood that drama was key but this was too damn much.

"Oof-."

"Oh! I'm sorry- are you crying?"

You had bumped into someone. When you see who it is, your eyes widen. "Eren...what...no." You place your hands on your cheeks. You were crying. "Aren't you supposed to be on a date? Who made you cry?" Eren's tone became more hostile. You never thought you'd see him like this. "Eren, don't worry about it. I'm fine," you reassure him. Before Eren can open his mouth, you walk around him. You really wanted to find Levi. You knew who you wanted to eliminate.

Today's elimination was different. You were doing this out of anger. Eliminations were being held outside, where a limo was waiting to pick the next three guys up. You were also running elimination. Levi was just tap dancing in the back because yay drama.

"I'm so disappointed," you start. Only a few of the guys could make eye contact with you. "First, I wake up suspecting that one of you is in love with one of my friends.

Eren squirms slightly.

"And two guys aren't even interested in me. One of them is here to 'pay their bills' and the other is doing god knows what.

You look at Porco.

"Finally, I learn that I'm a whore apparently. Thank you, Porco, I'm so glad that you said what you said. You made eliminations very easy. We didn't even have to go on a date. Get your stuff and get out. The same goes for you too, Armin and Nicolo."

The boys don't even turn their heads to look at the three mentioned. Armin, Nicolo, and Porco go inside to grab their stuff. They don't look at anyone either.

"Don't even ask me about the roses. None of y'all are getting anything. None of you are getting the last laugh. Do better," you say before following your recently eliminated inside.

(SPACER I MET THE LIMIT)

CONFESSTIONALS

connie: i had such a great time with y/n. it's such a shame that a few of us pissed her off today.

bertholdt: i regret kissing y/n now. there's nothing wrong with her but see how much drama a kiss caused? i don't even know how connie found out.

armin: i do have my regrets. i didn't know that y/n was going to get that mad.

nicolo: no comment.

porco: oh no, stay out of my business. i'm not answering any questions.

(SPACER)

yeah, that was a lot. anyways, here's the elimination link. i’ll see y'all when I see y'all :)

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part VIII

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person requested and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Send me requests for other fics, ideas for this one, opinions, whatever! My apologies if the quality seems to have one downhill; I'll be doing minor edits for the sake of readability when I have a good chunk of free time.

“Shhh, guys, leave it,” Jens said. Everyone’s comments died on their tongues. Zoë and Moyo herded the superfluous students from the room and left as well, shutting the door behind. Moyo almost clapped a hand on Robbe’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it in favor of a saddened smile. It didn’t really help. Robbe wasn’t sure if they ended tonight on good terms.

“We’re going to bed early,” Aaron suggested. “We have to get a jump on those damn exams.”

“Leave it,” hissed Jens.

“I was just saying, we’re—”

“Leave it.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Robbe. “We’re going to bed early.” He hadn’t realized how angry he was all week until faced with its culmination. And now—now he was tired. Stupid and single and tired.

There were still no sheets on his bed; he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything with them. He could perform a cleaning spell on the mattress if it got too bad in their absence. Whatever. Robbe couldn’t be bothered to rifle through his trunk for a cleaner blanket, so he crossed the room and grabbed the one off the fourth bed.

Motherfucker. It smelled like Sander. He really couldn’t win, could he? Robbe threw the blanket to the decimated floor and curled up without any covering at all.

“He wasn’t that attractive,” said Jens, breaking his own rule. “Had to get those roots done again.”

Robbe clamped his pillow over his ears. “Shut up.”

“We haven’t been to Hogsmede in a while. Might be nice to go tomorrow. The four of us.”

Hogsmede. Robbe’s eyes burned.

“I need to stop at Honeyduke’s,” Aaron agreed. “It’s Live It Up week.”

“I’d fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks.”

The Three Broomsticks. Robbe was not going to cry over this. It brought him back to Sander explaining their fake love story to Zoë, all the little accurate details, all the possibility… that’s all it was. A story. You don’t like me. He cast the Muffliato charm across his four-poster before the tears started flowing. Once they started, they didn’t stop until morning.

“You don’t have to tell us a thing,” Jens said. “We understand.”

I want to, Robbe thought. He rolled over and faced the wall for the remainder of the night.

***

As much as he would love to hardcore sulk, Robbe had never been that kind of person. Sander was gone. They weren’t even together for that long, so there wasn’t much sulking warranted. He took Saturday and Sunday as unofficial off-days before exams, in that he spent them with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron, pointedly not talking about Sander. They did not go to the Three Broomsticks. Jens passed a whole afternoon in Honeyduke’s, attempting to sample every flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor beans.

Okay, Robbe sulked. But not hardcore.

Robbe resolved that one Monday he would snap out of it in time to guard his outstandingin his five classes. What should he do? What had he learned? He could start there. Starting there was something.

1. He should never drop a class for someone he wasn’t really dating.

Robbe’s Potions exam was the first on Monday, and he went into it grossly unprepared, despite hours of common room studying. There was a large difference between reading theory and enacting what it said. Plus, a lot of his library time focused more on Sander’s eyes than on the written material.

Everyone else chopped up their beans and sprinkled them into their brews without difficulty. Robbe couldn’t remember how many he should use. In the end, he dumped a whole handful in completely whole and stirred counter-clockwise. How much could it hurt, anyway? He left fifteen minutes before the exam period was up, and the Potions master did not bother to stop him. The Drought of Living Death he prepared could probably kill the whole class, Britt and all, even if not in the way it was meant to.

Why had he stopped attending in person? What could Britt have done to him? It hit him—she probably knew the dating thing was fake from the beginning. Sander might have planned it all out to make Robbe look like an idiot.

That wouldn’t account for that night in the workshop.

Fuck that night in the workshop.

Sander waited outside the Potions classroom, his back on the wooden doorframe. Britt would be done soon. It didn’t give Robbe any satisfaction to brush by Sander without speaking—or at least, not until he saw Sander rubbing his arm in the aftermath. Robbe must have hit him with the door.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder, hoping it sounded blasé.

It could have been anyone there, he thought. Sander wasn’t special anymore. Then he went to his bedroom and stared at the wall over it.

2. He was not straight.

The specifics were, as of yet, unclear. He was in love with Sander, which meant he liked boys, but he’d kind of liked Noor too. Not romantically. Or even sexually. But like, he enjoyed her company.

Sometimes.

He wasn’t in love with Sander anymore, though, definitely not. Robbe figured if he told himself that at least four to five times a day, it might become a little more accurate. Two weeks was too short a time to fall for someone.

After all this, he needed to get Jens alone and lay it all on at once. Bad phrasing be damned. The boys began packing their belongings on Wednesday, after a mostly uneventful Transfiguration exam (Moyo turned his cockroach into a pair of earrings that still moved their spindly antennae—he seemed satisfied). They would leave on Saturday afternoon. Aaron tried a simple cleaning spell, Scourgify, and ended up scattering his belongings to the four corners of the castle. He scurried away to pack the rest manually, Moyo at his heels to help.

Jens and Robbe were alone. Robbe was ready to talk about it.

“Why is Moyo always here?” asked Jens, in a way that made it sound like he was breaking the tension.

His plan failed, of course, because Robbe was already speaking. “We have to talk about something.”

They stared at each other. Jens blinked.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Robbe began. “I wanted to, but it was always so complicated.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Jens shoved a crumpled shirt into his trunk, followed by a pair of ripped slacks he could never wear to class again.

“This thing I had with Sander… it was fake to him. But, well, uh, to me—”

Jens nodded. “I know.”

Damnit, no.

“Jens,” Robbe tried a second time, “I’ve realized some things about myself recently. They kind of explain other things, from earlier, so…” He switched tactics. Who knew how long until Moyo and Aaron returned? “Do you remember when you and Jana broke up? How you found out about what’s-his-name and—”

Another shirt in the trunk. Some more destroyed pants. “Yeah.”

“Cool. So um, you should understand that it was—” It was never this awkward to talk to Jens before. Jens was supposed to be easy. Robbe folded his shirts by hand, like his mother did, and placed them carefully in his own luggage as he thought of how best to phrase this. “I did it on purpose. She was gonna tell you and I—well I said—”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I know things about myself now. Learned them. From that. and this.” Here it came, the big jump. Even though Robbe knew Jens, Aaron, and Moyo outlined a whole plan to get him and Sander together, he still worried about what they’d say when confronted with the reality of it. “Jens, I’m—"

“I know.”

No, that wouldn’t work. Again, “Jens, please, I’m—”

“It’s okay, Robbe, I know—”

“I don’t want you to know!” Robbe flopped a shirt down harder than he intended. “I want you to let me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gay. That’s who I am. With or without Sander. Okay? I need you to understand that it’s like that with or without him.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you know. You’re my best friend.”

“Okay,” said Jens. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Jens closed his trunk on top of some clothing that spilled out the sides. He sat down on it to close the latch. Then he reached out and gathered Robbe into the tightest hug ever. It wasn’t nearly everything that Robbe wanted to say, but it was some, and Jens didn’t run away from him. Sexuality crisis, somewhat had. Robbe was sure there would be more later.

3. You don’t like me.

Robbe’s final exam was History of Magic. Luckily, his cramming paid off. He breezed through the questions on the first and second wars faster than any of his peers and was out the door within thirty minutes.

Most students were trapped in their classrooms for another half-hour or more. Empty corridor stretched in all directions, and Robbe didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. He knew where he wanted to go.

Sure enough, his astronomy tower perch was vacant. Bright sunlight dyed the campus in shades of yellow and gold, made the upper turrets appear as drawings from a children’s book. Robbe noted in passing that someone had collected Sander’s picnic blanket from its forlorn position on the roof. That made sense. Filch himself must have cleaned.

From overhead, soft music played. Robbe was sure he was hallucinating. He sat down on the sill.

Oh fuck, maybe not hallucinating. Noon cast a shadow of someone above onto the roof below.

Sander’s blanket wasn’t where he’d dropped it on night one because Sander sat on the overhang above the window. He had it splayed across the shingles, a compact player oozing the final lines of that same damn song on a loop, his wand gripped in his hands.

Robbe couldn’t escape him. Couldn’t escape how he felt about him. He could bring it under his control if he made it look purposeful.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t you have class?”

Sander startled.

This was a mistake. Never mind. Robbe should go.

He leaned even further out the window for a better view of Sander’s setup. A stack of textbooks balanced precariously, end on end, held aloft by a complicated charm of some sort. A quill rolled down the roof and stopped as if by an invisible wall. Sander had created a bubble for his things.

“Cheers to exams,” Robbe said, a bit louder. Sander did not look at him. The music cranked itself up to mask Robbe’s voice—perhaps it was spelled to muffle all noise Sander did not want to hear. That wasn’t fair. “This is my spot.”

“You said you didn’t want to be friends,” said Sander. He didn’t sound upset. Why did Robbe expect him to be upset?

“Can you turn down the music?”

“Britt’s going to join me.”

“That isn’t really what I asked.” Robbe wondered if interactions like this would ever stop hurting. But he didn’t feel as bad as he felt last week. Or on Friday night. Maybe the finality of a no was all he needed to move on. He recalled Sander’s speech word-for-word, mostly the end. You don’t like me.

It hit Robbe in a moment of irrational bravery, when Sander’s music dialed up in volume. Their first night in the astronomy tower, together, illuminated by Britt’s wand. The CD playing in the background. Sander knew what he was wearing on a specific double-date on a specific day—there was no denying something existed between them.

And to have Sander talk like that, say it was nothing… it wasn’t nothing, not to Robbe, and Sander needed to hear it.

So he said it. No introduction, no nothing. “I liked you.”

The Major-Tom-planet song quieted. Definitely some kind of magic there.

“I liked you so much,” he said again. Now that it existed, now that it was said, there was nothing to stop him from continuing. “You can’t tell me I didn’t.”

One of Sander’s quills rolled to the edge of the bubble, only this time, it dropped out and fell the length of the tower.

“We made it up, we agreed,” Sander whispered. “I’m sorry.” He slid down from the roof, landing beside Robbe on the sill, then jumped to the floor. His belongings trailed behind him in a floating line.

Robbe stood his ground and blocked the staircase. “It’s not your thing to decide.” His voice softened. “I liked you. So that’s that. And it’s done.”

Sander scuffed the floor with his shoe.

“Good. You never have to see me again.” Robbe pointed down the stairs for dramatic effect. “I have class. Bye.”

He felt lighter than he had all week when he descended the staircase. Any lighter, and he would have missed it when Sander said, “I liked you, too.”

4. He was a jerk to Noor.

Robbe sought her out on the train home, abandoning his friends in their own little compartment. They had plenty to discuss without his involvement. Pranks and whatnot. The usual. Noor was alone in a compartment near the back of the train, a dozen or so scrolls of parchment dispersed around her. She wrote on one with a broken quill.

She wasn’t a bad person. Robbe should have just told her. The least he could do was tell her when everything was over.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

She looked up, surprised. “Hello.”

“You seemed like you could use some company.”

Noor blushed. “No, I—Britt’s sitting elsewhere, and I have a lot to do.”

“With Sander,” Robbe supplied.

“What?”

“Britt’s with Sander.”

“Oh, um, actually—”

Robbe wasn’t in the mood for the nitty-gritty details of whatever Britt and Sander had going on. Obviously it was toxic. Not his problem. Besides, this conversation was for Noor’s sake, not his own.

“Listen, about me and him,” he said. “I need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to lead you on.” He hoped it wouldn’t get awkward. The extent of his recent planning was pretty much just say it without warning and hope it works out.

“I don’t read smoke signals,” said Noor curtly. She set her quill down on the seat next to her, ink stains bleeding into the cushioning. “But I get it.”

“No, it was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Awkward silence. Robbe wasn’t built for prolonged chatter with anyone besides Jens, Moyo, and Aaron. The girls’ group was the exception, and only when Jana and Zoë were present. He fiddled with the beginning of a hole in his yellow sweater.

“I suppose I should apologize too,” said Noor, after a while. “That was fucked up, to say he’d get bored of you. I was a little—well, you know.”

“If it helps,” Robbe said, “you were right.”

Noor frowned. She sat up in her seat, and her parchment fell to the carriage floor. The sweets trolley passed by their sliding doorway without stopping—its driver could likely sense the tension. Robbe explained, “He’s back with Britt.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Noor. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jana said—”

“Who would know better: Jana, or me?”

Robbe fumbled for something to say in response. Actually, now was a pretty good time to get out, before the topic became any more serious. He said, “He broke up with me.”

“It wasn’t for Britt. She helped him through some stuff, sure, but everyone knows that train’s come and gone.”

“I guess I’m just boring,” Robbe said.

“Bullshit.” Noor picked up her parchment again. She dipped her quill into her ink and began her writing anew, on whatever mess this was. Robbe couldn’t read fucking cursive. “I don’t believe it. Britt says he adored you.”

Robbe didn’t know what to make of that. There was no way he could segue into his next point, which was, of course, that their dating arrangement wasn’t real in the first place, especially after something so honest from Noor. He gave a bullshit excuse, something about chasing the sweets trolley, and got the hell out of there.

***

Robbe said goodbye to Moyo on the train platform. Jens and Aaron lived close enough that their parents parked in the same general vicinity, meaning that they could walk over as a trio. Robbe considered awaiting Sander on the platform as well. Every time he learned something new about Sander’s behavior when he wasn’t there, he got more and more confused. What fake relationship could be convincing enough to have Sander’s ex lamenting its reality?

The boys shared idle gossip on their way to the parking lot. Nothing substantial. Robbe’s head was too full of thoughts, most of them Sander-related. He wasn’t angry, or upset, or tired right now. How did knowing one little thing from Noor make a difference in his overall mood? They split off to their respective parents with casual goodbyes and a promise to write at least once during the holidays.

“Hey,” called Jens, just as Robbe opened the shotgun side.

Robbe turned back, his rucksack swinging off his shoulder. He swiped a hand across his eyes.

“Were you in love with him? Actually?”

They spent two weeks together. Two weeks, plus months and months of pining from afar that couldn’t count for much. It was supposed to last longer. What had Sander said, that day after their date? He wanted it to continue through the holiday break. And now, nothing. Robbe summarized this feeling the only way he knew how: “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He climbed into his mother’s waiting car, and with that, it was Christmastime at the Ijzermans house.

[witch-and-a-half]

playing house

okay so i loved this concept for my first charlie fic but i kind of had to chase the story around? if that makes sense. so it’s a bit longer than i intended and i’m not sure i love it but it was a good first attempt. its also kinda hard to write the weasley’s and i want to get better at it but its such a difficult mix of main and side characters and they all had to be young here too... hopefully i didn’t botch ginny to badly !!!

( i also used this site to figure out how old everybody would be, but its basically just a year before ron starts at hogwarts )

notes: charlie weasley x reader, fluff, no specific house, summer before 7th year

words: 3.1k

- - -

“You’re sure you’ll be fine?” Molly stood in front of the Burrow fireplace, carefully studying you and Charlie. Arthur came down the stairs with a trunk in hand and his favorite cap on. “They can handle it Mollykins. By this time next year, they’ll be finished with school and out on their own, it won’t kill them to get a bit of practice.” He chortled as he came to stand beside his wife.

Molly’s voice raised an octave, “With five young children?”

Arthur just nodded his head in defeat as Charlie spoke, “We’ll be alright, mum, really. It’s barely a weekend, and if there’s an emergency we’ll send for you.” He tightened his arm around you as he spoke. Molly exhaled deeply and her shoulders relaxed.

“Oh alright… but if there is any trouble you let us know!” She waggled her fingers at the two of you and Arthur made eye contact with you before giving a subtle eye roll.

“Of course, Molly. We just want you to have a good trip.” You smiled.

Charlie chuckled, “Yeah Mum, geez. Promise you’ll at least try to relax.”

Molly scoffed before pulling your boyfriend and yourself into a tight hug. Then, she and Arthur took floo powder into their hands and disappeared to a beach house where Charlie had arranged for them to spend the next two days. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about watching the Weasley clan, but you also knew how proud Charlie was to be giving his mother a much-needed break, and there was something kind of fun about the challenge of wrangling the red-heads.

The green fire in the fireplace had barely dissipated when you heard a scream from upstairs. “Oh, Merlin…” Charlie groaned before heading up the staircase, and you followed close behind. Before you could figure out where the wailing was coming from, one of the twins came racing out of Ron’s bedroom. Charlie swiftly blocked him with his arm and, leaning down, whispered, “You’d better be sat on the couch waiting for us when we come down, or else I’ll have [y/n] give you the leg-lock curse and you won’t be able to move until Mum gets back.” The twelve-year-old looked up at you suspiciously before sprinting down the stairs.

“You won’t really make me curse your little brother, will you?” You raised your brows at Charlie. He shrugged playfully in response, “Depends on if he’s on the couch or not.”

When you opened the door to Ron’s room, half his bed was up in flames and he was cowered in the corner. You were about to start panicking when Charlie groaned and murmured, “Not again…”

“Again?” You cried as Charlie took out his wand to put the fire out. As he did so, you turned your attention to Ron, who was beginning to seem more irritated than scared. “What happened?” You asked gently.

“They’re pyros!” He said spitefully. Ron recovered quite quickly and ran off when Charlie told him the Ginny had been looking for him—which you knew was a lie.

Charlie took your hand and started to head back downstairs. Pausing at the top of the staircase, he turned back and called out, “George! You’d better be in the living room in 30 seconds or else.”

When you got downstairs, you found Fred sitting on the couch. He was eating a box of Bertie Bott’s that he was definitely not supposed to have at 10am, but at least he was on the couch. Percy was standing next to the couch with his arms folded, glowering at his little brother. Charlie pulled you to sit beside him on the loveseat opposite Fred, and you heard George’s feet scurrying down the stairs.

“Oi, so Perce is just here to watch us get in trouble?” Fred said through a mouthful of beans.

“As always,” George mumbled as he sat beside his brother.

Charlie inhaled deeply and you braced yourself for the stern lecture he had prepared, but his voice came out gentler than you’d expected, “For the love of Merlin, will you two please just cool it for a day?” Fred and George’s faces scrunched with suspicion, and Percy looked a bit disappointed that his brothers weren’t being punished satisfactorily. Charlie continued, “If you don’t give us too much trouble, I promise we’ll give you a reward before Mum and Dad get back.”

The twins’ faces lit up at the mention of a reward before they turned to look at each other. They silently deliberated together, and Charlie squeezed your hand. You knew he didn’t have any such thing planned, but his quick thinking was impressive enough.

“Okay.” Fred said slowly, “We won’t deliberately cause any high-impact trouble.”

Charlie chuckled, “That’s all I ask,”

George stood, “But we will be expecting a good prize.”

Giving them a nod, Charlie squeezed your hand again. That’s when you had an idea, “How about you three go practice Quidditch? That way you’ll be prepared for tryouts when school starts.”

Percy didn’t look excited about this, but he dutifully followed the twins out of the house anyway.

“Good one.” Charlie pecked you on the cheek and you rested your head on his shoulder.

After a few moments, you looked up at Charlie, whose hand had found your thigh and was rubbing mindless circles with his thumb. “What prize are you planning for them?” You asked.

Charlie scoffed, “Dunno. We’ll think of something.” You rolled your eyes as he gave you a cheeky grin.

~ ~ ~

Fred, George, and Percy were still in the yard on their broomsticks as the sun began to set. Ron and Ginny were playing Wizarding Chess at the dining table while you and Charlie were making dinner. He was chopping vegetables to roast while you were cooking some chicken on the stovetop.

The silence was a bit eerie, so you asked Charlie one of your favorite questions: “Tell me about your dreams for the future again Charles.”

He chuckled, mostly to himself, before telling you again, “I want to run off and work with dragons. Maybe somewhere far away. Just go and see where Dragonology leads me… or I guess any other work with magical animals… but I’d like dragons.”

You beamed and prepared to ask him to tell you more about dragons—just to hear him drone on about the thing he was most passionate about. But you glanced up at him before you spoke. He was already looking at you when your eyes met his. Charlie wore a bold grin and there was a brightness in his eyes that you adored. For a moment, you just looked at each other contentedly from across the kitchen.

Charlie broke eye contact first. His eyes flicked downwards for a split second as he opened his mouth, but he was staring back into your eyes before he spoke. “And you’re there. With me… if you’d like.”

At first, you thought you were going to cry. Charlie had never said anything like that to you. Sure, you’d been together for a little over a year now and had been friends for years before, but you weren’t quite sure what the plan was for when the two of you graduated. You had a few different ideas of what you wanted to do after Hogwarts—you’d always envied the way Charlie had known what he wanted since before he even started school—and any of your possible plans were flexible enough that you could move or travel with Charlie. The prospect of adventuring with the love of your life was exhilarating. You pictured a little cottage on an animal reserve where you and Charlie could spend every evening making dinner together and chatting about your days. Maybe you could start a garden out front and spend your days off taking little trips to faraway places.

Charlie’s expectant face brought you quickly back down to earth. “Oh,” you exhaled dreamily, “Yes. Of course, I want to be there.”

You swiftly turned off the stovetop before hurrying into Charlie’s outstretched arms. He wrapped them around you tightly, and your head was pressed firmly to his chest. His woodsy cologne enveloped you. Charlie rested his chin on the top of your head and quietly exhaled, “I can’t wait.”

~ ~ ~

Dinner and bedtime was a bit hectic but relatively uneventful. You couldn’t tell if Ron and Ginny were just on their best behavior for you and Charlie or if the twins had told them about the secret reward. When you asked Charlie about it, he just shrugged and said, “I try not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when it comes to this lot.”

Once all the kids were in bed and you had cleaned up from dinner, Charlie sunk into one of the living room chairs, grabbing your hips along the way so you were sat across his lap. “You really want to come run away with me after school ends?” His voice was low and dreamy but tinged slightly with worry.

His one arm was wrapped around your middle, but the other rested in your lap. You wrapped both of your hands around his before responding, “Of course. I’d love nothing more.” Then you pressed a kiss to his cheek and felt him smile under your lips.

“Let’s go to bed,” He whispered and you stood, following him up the stairs to his room.

~ ~ ~

You woke the next morning wrapped in Charlie’s arms. The sun was up and light flooded the window of his room, but Charlie was still snoring lightly. For a minute, you let your mind wander: imagining waking up like this every day. The thought alone made your heart soar. After a while, you whispered, “Psst, Charlie, we should get up.”

He groaned in response and the arm around your back pulled you closer. “Mmm… not yet.” He murmured sleepily. It was so tempting, but then you imagined Fred and George setting the kitchen ablaze making breakfast, so you wriggled out of Charlie’s strong arms. “Suit yourself…” You said, standing.

Charlie’s eyes were still closed but his arms were playfully outstretched, hoping you were still within reach.

“Hm… maybe I’ll just wear one of your shirts to make breakfast…” Charlie’s eyes shot open quick enough to see you grab his shirt off the dresser and dart out his bedroom door.

Charlie groaned again before pulling himself out of bed and following you to the kitchen. You were standing at the sink in his shirt and pajama shorts, filling up the kettle to make tea. He pecked you on the cheek just before reaching into the cupboard above your head. As Charlie made toast, you asked, “Have you thought of a prize for everybody’s good behavior?”

His voice was still heavy with sleep when he responded, “Not sure yet. Maybe we could all go into town for ice cream cones?”

Before you could agree to the idea, Fred, George, and Ron marched into the room chanting, “Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!” They were still in their pajamas and had messier hair than normal.

“Only if you can keep it together for another couple hours,” Charlie warned as Ron grabbed the toast that Charlie had just finished putting jam on. You giggled at Charlie’s exasperation, which dissipated when he saw your smile.

A few minutes later, Percy and Ginny had joined you all at the table. “We need to de-gnome the garden before Mum and Dad get back and I also think we should probably clean a bit…”

Ron groaned into his glass of milk and Ginny giggled beside him. You caught her eye and gave her a smile that she shyly reciprocated.

“We can split up the work?” You suggested to Charlie, “I can take whoever wants to tidy up inside and you can take the rest outside?”

He nodded. Charlie ended up taking Ron and the twins into the garden to de-gnome, and Percy and Ginny stayed behind to help you make sure everything got put away correctly. After cleaning up the downstairs, Percy agreed to clean the boys’ rooms—including replacing Ron’s charred pillows from the day before—while you helped Ginny with her room and the bathrooms.

You chatted a bit with the youngest Weasley, asking her about the posters on her wall and what sort of things she liked to do. She was still a bit shy around you—maybe she was a little unsure about having another girl in the house—but was warming up quickly. The two of you finished cleaning as Percy changed Ron’s bed sheets, so you turned to Ginny and whispered, “How about we go make lemonade for the boys since we’ve finished first?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Okay!”

Ron, Charlie, Fred, and George came in—flushed from the warm weather—only a few minutes after Percy finished upstairs. Charlie noticed the lemonade right as he came in, giving you a grateful peck on the cheek. Ginny proudly gave her brothers their glasses of lemonade, and George gave her an appreciative pat on the head. It was a very domestic moment, and, with Charlie’s arm wrapped around your waist and the gaggle of redheads in front of you, there was a sudden pang in your chest. It was as if Charlie could read your mind. He suddenly pulled you slightly toward him and caught your lips with his, which were sweet with lemonade.

“Ach-” One of the twins cried.

“I think we all should get sprinkles for having to witness that,” The other said, with raised brows.

Charlie just rolled his eyes.

Then Ron piped up from the table, “When are we getting ice cream…?”

Ginny’s eyes brightened. Maybe nobody had told her about the ice cream trip.

~ ~ ~

You held Charlie’s hand as you trailed behind the younger kids. The afternoon was warm but not too humid, and the sun shone through the tree branches onto the path ahead. When you reached the town, Charlie led the way to the ice cream parlor. Everyone got to pick out a flavor and a cone before sitting at one of the plastic tables outside to eat. Listening to the Weasley family chat and joke as though you were part of the family made your heart soar. Percy told you about the classes he was taking this year and Ron showed you a Chocolate Frog card he had stuffed in his pocket.

As everyone finished their cones, Fred noticed a store across the street with colorful toys in the window. “Charlie we have to go in there,” He pointed, transfixed on the storefront. Charlie glanced around the table, “Fred, not everybody is done with their ice cream.”

“I don’t mind. I can wait with [y/n].” Ginny took another lick of her ice cream, which was beginning to melt. Charlie caught your eye, noticing the excitement on your face, “Okay, meet us in there when you’re done, Gin.” He stood and walked the boys across the street.

Ginny looked over to you, still licking her cone, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” You smiled.

“Do you love Charlie?” Ginny asked. She was suddenly much bolder now that she’d warmed up to you. The tone of her voice was just casual enough to counterbalance the determination in her eyes. You were almost more taken aback by her tact than by the question itself.

After a moment, you decided to be honest, “Yes, I do love Charlie. Is that okay?”

Ginny seemed satisfied with your answer and gave a sturdy nod, “Okay,” She took a bite of her cone and looked at you intently. You weren’t sure what to say, or if you should say anything at all, but Ginny didn’t seem to mind the silence. She spoke again after a minute, “I like your fingernail polish.”

~ ~ ~

The trek back from town tired everyone out, just in time for Mrs. and Mr. Weasley to return. When they appeared in the fireplace, Ron and Percy were playing some sort of Wizarding card game, Charlie was going over Gryffindor Quidditch plays with the twins, and you were painting Ginny’s nails the same shade of blue you wore. Everyone sprung to their feet to greet Molly and Arthur, and Charlie motioned for you to stand beside him.

“See! They’re all alive,” Arthur exclaimed to his wife, who playfully slapped his chest. She looked at you reassuringly, “I didn’t doubt it!” and starting doling out hugs.

“How was your trip?” Charlie said as his mother wrapped her arms tightly around his middle.

She beamed, “Oh lovely. We sat by the beach, had a nice dinner, and explored the little town…”

Her voice softened as she hugged you, “Thank you so much, dear. Hopefully, they weren’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all…” You said earnestly. Charlie finished the sentence for you though, “After the fire everything went swimmingly.”

Molly spun to Fred and George, who were giving Charlie a death glare. “A fire?” She cried, “Oh you two…” But she just shook her head at them.

After Molly and Arthur put their trunks upstairs, they found you and Charlie in the kitchen making dinner. “Oh, you two… have a rest!” Arthur chortled, shooing you away from the stovetop. Molly pulled you aside, but Charlie quickly joined beside you.

“I simply must pay you two for watching everyone,” Molly pulled out a coin purse but Charlie reached out a hand to stop her. “Mum…” His voice was warm, but still held a hint of warning.

“Molly, it was no trouble, really. We wanted to do it.” You cut in. Charlie’s hand wordlessly found yours as you spoke. His warm broad fingers wrapping around yours lovingly.

Mrs. Weasley bit her lip, thinking for a moment. Charlie’s stern gaze made her exhale in resignation. “Alright then… if you’re sure. But I plan on returning the favor for you one day.”

It seemed as though she didn’t realize the weight of her words as she left the kitchen to unpack. Your face flushed and Charlie’s hand tightened around yours. He looked at you with a vague, soft smile and a look that you couldn’t quite read. Before you could say anything, Arthur’s chuckle cut into the silence, “She doesn’t mean anytime soon though.”

Now Charlie’s cheeks were red. He didn't meet your eyes but pulled you outside to sit on the back stoop. Neither of you spoke as you watched the sunset. Charlie’s arm was wrapped firmly around your waist and your head rested on his shoulder. It was fun to think about the future, but, in that moment, you were just grateful for the present.

[hedgefairy]

Okay, I know, I know, it's already old news, everybody and their uncle in the costuming community has already talked it over, but anyhoo, I made notes when I crawled my way through effing Bridgerton and I will be damned if I don't vomit them onto this site. I have 32 pages of this shit, I'm not gonna throw that away.

I'm also typing this on my phone because I'm stuck on a trainride that's just doubled in length because this is the 2021 Northern German snow storm. What, there's snowflakes on the rails? We cannot possibly keep up our schedule, say goodbye to 90% of the connections.

Okay, on to Bridgerton, Episode 1

We're in Britain (oh, London, okay), allegedly 1813. I see people who are clearly meant to be asympatico, but is this size incusivity I spot there? Daring! Gasp! Me li...

Oh wait, no. The character is promptly shamed for her figure (which is mostly caused by the horrible cut of her dress. Every size can look great in Regency garb, but never mind, we need to make the "fat one" look bad!).

Also, no shifts under the stays. Why. There was obviously enough budget, don't tell me you couldn't afford a few strappy tops - it's not like the rest is historically accurate, so it would have sufficed to send some poor underpaid intern to H&M and get some. Nvm, that wouldn't be sexay.

Wait, is the garishly dressed (always a sign of a character of bad character in a costume drama) woman Delphine from Selfridge? Does she always have to play bitches? That's not nice, and just because she has a recognisable face, which by modern (read: americanised) standards is not favourable enough. Ugh. But I like the actress, so I'll let it slide (for now).

Lol, buttocks.

Not sure about the girls' dresses. Also, the Queen is a WOC, cool!

Oh no, one of the Featherington sisters faints! But that's okay because the Featheringtons are just comic relief and foil anyway.

I get weird incest vibes from the Bridgertons.

So the court is clearly 18th century and the show is set in the 1810s. I've by now seen several explanations for this decision, I still think it robs the Queen of reproductions of her actual historical gowns which were heavily inspired by the 18th century but so. Magnificently. Weird. It would have been so neat, and more of a "hey, I'm kinda out of touch with things" vibe, but hey, I'm not the one getting paid for making those taffeta gowns here (her hair is glorious, tho).

I'm very into the intro.

That Regency gossip girl is a real b, not unlike the Dowager Countess of Downton (unpopular opinion, I think she's pretty overrated, yes, I like Maggie Smith).

Again, no shifts.

Where do I know the "pragmatic" Bridgerton sister from? Ah, it's The Paradise. And Jonathan Strange. (Wait, she's my age. And she's supposed to be a teenager. Man, do I love a good Dawson casting. I like the actress, though, she has a face ™!).

Aaaah. We get it. She's the spirited one. She also doesn't care about dresses because she's not like other girls™. I really like her voice (but she still doesn't sound like a teenager).

The heck is up with Lady F's dress and that of her friend? Oh, yeah. Antagonist fashion.

Of course the Featheringtons are Horrid Hags™ aside from Penny who's nice, but the pudgy one (at least we don't get a case of "she's not conventionally attractive so she's bad").

Oooh, the cousin! Supposed to suck, but ofc she's a stunner, and only Penny (who's the nice one, remember!) is delighted to have her around. She's also a POC, which is nice but apparently that means she does not follow fashion, hair-wise. I would have loved to see some Regency hair on her, it would have been so pretty *cries in Greek updo*

Ugh, we're still in Ep. 1, typing this on my phone was a bad idea.

Lady Danbury and the Duke guy are delightful with each other (more POC! So neat!).

The girl the oldest Bridgerbro screws is apparently a singer, which isn't up to status for his doucheship, and she doesn't wear a shift.

The music at the ball sounds like something from the Top 40s, but I'm woefully ignorant of contemporary music charts so I can't tell what it is. I like it when they do that in historical-ish works, making well-known pop or rock stuff work for the ambience (ugh, that dance scene to Golden Years in Knight's Tale. My heart. In a good way.)

I dig the Ducktail hair of Penny's crush. Oh, wait, that's a Bridgerbro. I don't quite get why the hair trends of the time don't apply to the POC characters or extras, but seeing how most white characters also show a shameful disregard for the weirdnes and gloriosity (that's not a word) that is early 1800s hair (the 1830s take the cake, tho) despite those hairdos being basically designed for white people hair, I don't think I care much (well, I do, but about all of them). Overall the hair is horrid and not very 1810s. Let's just leave it at that.

Like a good old romance novel (I've since been told that Bridgerton is supposed to be a pastiche of such novels, but I really couldn't tell from the series, not at all, and I'm not inclined to read the books) we have

a pretty, kind, superpure daughter of the main family

the mean matriarch (could have been an aunt, too, but here she's the mum) of the rivalling or antagonist family

a spirited daughter of the main family (in most romance novels this would be our heroine but so far she refreshingly lacks a love interest and pretty daughter seems to get the most screen time)

a Horrid Suitor™

a Hot Suitor™ who doesn't want attention

a really good and doting good parent

Lol, misheard Greece for Grease with Ducktail Bridgerbro, whose name is Colin, apparently. This is funny because of his Danny Zuko memorial hair.

Overall a bit too much bling for my taste, and too few pearls. It looks like an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen with a Regency theme.

Of course the romance is going to be the Pretty One aka. Daphne and the Duke and he's even bros with her eldest bro. Wait, are they exes? I can haz bi? No? Aww, shucks. Maybe in another episode (spoiler: no).

Okay, WHAT is it with Lady F's dresses and hair. Like, she reminds me of Mars Attacks. Which, as you might remember, was not set in the Regency period.

Lord B (Bridgerbro the Eldest) sucks, he's screwing Opera Girl without any intention of marrying her but he's bitchy about his sister being ogled by his Eton (or wherever) bestie?

Oh, I'm in Hamburg now. And my train back home got canceled, so back to Berlin it is because there's not a single option to get to Hanover tonight, at least that's what the lady from the train station is saying, "oh well, you'll have to go back and try again tomorrow", so that's awesome...

Honestly, if it weren't so late and I didn't have things to do at home I'd find this terribly exciting.

Back to Bridgerton!

Where were we? Ah.

I can't even read my own annotation. Something about George III. I think I was upset about how they totally ignored that it's called Regency because George IV acted as the regent king, and he doesn't even feature in the series, I guess because they wanted to play up the Queen? Not a fan, because thanks to Horrible Histories I'm quite fond of that guy.

Again, no shifts.

Oh, look, it's Horrid Suitor™, destined for leftovers.

The Featherington cousin gets all the attention but no fleshed-out character.

Penny Featherington's dog is named Lord Byron, which ❤️

I like the Duke! He's there, drinking in his club (even though they're a patriarchal remnant of the past I have a weird appreciation for stuffy Gentlemen's Clubs, I blame Bertie Wooster and the Drones), calling Lord B out for his general fuckery.

Oh no, Ducktail Colin is more into the Cousin than Penny, who obviously pines for him!

Thank you, Lord B, for enabling Horrid Suitor™. Nobody asked you to be such a fucktwit.

The Queen is, of course, a bit of a bitch, but patronage from cool Lady *scrolls up for name* Danbury ensues for Protagonist Girl™ Daphne.

"I wish they had found a better trend language", what the heck did I even mean by that? That's what you get for just scribbling down notes while watching and simultaneously sewing. 18th century pants, in case you wanted to know.

Cousin is angry, probably because Lady F behaves like Cinderella's evil stepmother, because Cousin is prettier than her daughters and gets, like, all the suitors because Lord B bitched away everyone who wanted to get into Daphne's dowry ifyouknowwhatImeanwinkwinknudgenudge, right across the street into Cousins parlour.

The Bridgertons are annoyingly perfect. Ugh.

Oh look, it's "banter" between Daphne and Dukey! It's so Pride & Prejudice! It's almost a tiny bit Shakespeare! I put banter in parentheses because wow, nope, I'm not getting any chemistry here.

Uh, Lady B calls out Lord B (aka. her son aka. Bridgerbro the Eldest) for his screwery with Opera Girl and his outpimpery of his sister to Horrid Suitor™, buuuurrrrrnnn. He promptly calls of his affair with Opera Girl.

No shifts!

Penny gets to dance with Ducktail Colin at the thing! Good for her, but it's a country dance with jumping and fun, because she's a) the pudgy character and b) a Featherington, so it can't be something romantic and pretty (I personally like country dances, but they aren't protagonist dances).

Oooh, Cousin had her period, oh no, oh snap, oh she didn't, because she's PREGNANT! Shit, that's problematic, and not because she's an unmarried woman in the 1810s, but because she gets close to no lines at all so far, and suddenly she's pregnant and telling Lady F that she sucks for being privileged, violence ensues, this is ugly. Man, I get what some critics mean by "the POC actors*actresses get all the problems" and that not exactly being great.

Horrid Suitor™ makes property claims about Daphne, eeewwwww, thanks to Lord B's general suckiness, ewww, r@pe attempt ensues, was that really necessary? It doesn't really fit in with the rest of the series and generally nope, yay, broken nose! (which was indeed totally necessary). Nice one, and probably the only scene so far (spoiler: overall) in which I actually like Daphne. Dukey thinks a mean left hook is attractive, and, generally speaking, he's not wrong.

Daphne and Dukey come up with a pseudo-shakespearean plot to pretend to be totally into each other so she can attract suitors by being not available and he gets not to have fangirls by being not available, and as someone who has read a few too many historical-ish bodice rippers I know exactly where this is going. I mean, come on.

I can't see enough of the following choreography to complain about it. Man, I miss historical dance classes.

And that concludes Ep. 1! Finally! Thank you for getting this far, sorry for all of it (especially typos, it's the bane of unwanted autocorrect), I guess?

Update on the train situation: I've been told by the ticket control person that I shouldn't get my hopes up until noon tomorrow.

To be continued,

because I didn't take these 32 pages of notes for nothing.

[luluwquidprocrow]

and i’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones

originally posted: august 25th, 2019

word count: 13,060 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

heavy angst,  canon compliant,  with enough canon divergence that makes the canon compliance worse,  epistolary

summary:

and if you don’t love me, let me go.

[a much less than 200 pages break up letter.]

opening notes:

title from the engine driver by the decemberists

.

By the time you read this

I guess an at least interesting description of us could be like ships passing in the night

I think now is

I think now might be the time for us to

First of all, I have canceled my subscription to the Daily Punctilio, which was just a good move on my part to begin with, and second of all, I couldn’t believe all that anyway, but third of all, do you know, Lemony

You’ll think me such a damn hypocrite, won’t you.

Why now? Why would I

Why would you do this now?

My Heart and I

I.

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.

We sit beside the headstone thus,

And wish that name were carved for us.

The moss reprints more tenderly

The hard types of the mason's knife,

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life

With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.

You see we're tired, my heart and I.

We dealt with books, we trusted men,

And in our own blood drenched the pen,

As if such colours could not fly.

We walked too straight for fortune's end,

We loved too true to keep a friend ;

At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.

How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world ;

Our fancies hang grey and uncurled

About men's eyes indifferently ;

Our voice which thrilled you so, will let

You sleep; our tears are only wet :

What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

It was not thus in that old time

When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime

To watch the sunset from the sky.

Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;

I, smiling at him, shook my head :

'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

V.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

Though now none takes me on his arm

To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh

Of happy languor. Now, alone,

We lean upon this graveyard stone,

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.

Tired out we are, my heart and I.

Suppose the world brought diadems

To tempt us, crusted with loose gems

Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.

We scarcely care to look at even

A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,

We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.

Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?

In this abundant earth no doubt

Is little room for things worn out :

Disdain them, break them, throw them by

And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, — well enough,

I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who knew what she was talking about

My Dearest Darling,

You call me a lot of things but, to be perfectly frank (not Ernest), Lemony, I think I’ve always liked that one the least. There was that summer where, among other things, Bertrand was trying to come up with nicknames for us in that charming way of his, and he came up with a real mess of awful nicknames and then I came up with the list we could Never Repeat In Public (capitals necessary) and then you said something very sweet to both of us, and anyway, we know what happened there, but the point of this is that you held us close and said, very seriously, that you would never ever ever ever ever (for the span of what I’d figure would be maybe two pages, short but evenly-spaced), no matter what happened, call Bertrand ‘Bert’ and that was damn good of you because Bertrand is not a Bert and never will be. We were right to veto Bertie, as well. He is a Bertrand, through and through. The other point was that you wound up calling us nicknames too but dearest darling was maybe the worst of all of them. Bea was my favorite. I liked the way you said it and I liked the way it sounded and I felt noble perfect unstoppable invincible worried fragile good when you said it. And that was good.

Speaking of, right now, Bertrand is with Kit, and don’t worry, they’re not talking about you (I know how you worry). They’re talking about boats and maps and cooking spices and Widdershins will probably come by later to give them both his version of A Stern Talking To (capitals debatable) about open water expeditions, which will probably be something like, ‘Fire this harpoon at anything suspicious! Aye! Shoot first and ask questions later! Aye!’ and it’s a real miracle that man doesn’t have a whole boatload of albatrosses hanging around somewhere. (Unless he does, and I just haven’t seen it.)

Bertrand and I—well, we’ve kept the house up. Even though he has that thing for natural light, you know what I mean. But we’ve managed to decorate it nicely. I got the Gothic Furniture (capitals required), he got his large windows, there is a last unopened root beer bottle in the fridge because every time we look at it both of us think about how you said it’s impolite to take the last one, and I thought, maybe I’d save it for when you came back but I don’t

The last thing I want is to

Bertrand and I, we’re going out to dinner tonight, because we’re still not all that comfortable with the kitchen yet. I mean, why did we get such a fancy kitchen? I’m sure one of these days I’ll come around to it and it’ll be fine but right now it’s, it seems a hassle, I guess. So we’re going out and I’ve already decided that I’m going to order this truly egregious amount of pasta and no one will stop me!

We don’t really have any plans for tomorrow. As it stands right now. We’ve both been sort of taking things as they come lately. Bertrand, Bertrand’s been very busy. Both of us have been busy, but I think he’s been trying to keep his mind occupied. A lot of us have. Even Hector looks more concerned than he usually does. I saw him the other day—not here, in town—and I didn’t think it was possible for Hector to look that harried. So much has been happening lately, I feel like even I haven’t had time to catch my breath, even in this part of the city. It’s like everything’s been going a mile a minute, taking me with it, and the moments where it stops, the moments where I have the time to think, are unbearably, agonizingly slow. But most of my life has been like that, you know.

And I know, I know you are too. Busy. And concerned.

I know.

When you

Did you

The last performance of our play was three days ago. Since the Daily Punctilio doesn’t have a theater section anymore, Bertrand and I haven’t been reading any rave reviews but we were rereading but, what can you do. Geraldine’s moved on to some other column now too, something about, I don’t even know, tax evasion? Shoes? I can never understand a single thing she writes. Even that ‘Secret Organizations You Should Know About’ thing didn’t even pan out, can you believe that? All she did was write about Esmé! All that trouble for

It looks like it’ll be the last play for a while. I know they wanted us to go on longer, but, well, that’s how it has to be. Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without a script to lug around, but I’ll probably memorize something for kicks. Gilda Farrell’s lines, maybe, that’d be fun.

But it’d be better if you

This is really the first time I’ve had one of those unbearably slow moments in a while, and of course the first thing I think of is you. You and Bertrand have always filled those gaps for me, but now it’s different. It’s just

I saw Jacques the other day and he

Ramona’s the only one who hasn’t been so

I want to see you so much, Lemony. With everything I have, I want you with me, and I keep hoping that if I close my eyes, when I open them again, there you’ll be, alive and well and next to me and real. Or I’ll walk away from my desk and this letter and when I look back it’ll all have been a bad dream, the worst nightmare I keep stopping and hoping and when you’re not there and I’m still here I

I don’t know how to do this. I can’t

I didn’t want to do it like this.

I don’t want you to I’m, burying the lede, or doing any of this on purpose or anything, because by now you’ve definitely noticed how long this is (although, personally, I’m only at the beginning, but I have a feeling this is going to get long—I know I’ve said I could run laps around the city in the time it takes you to finish a single metaphor but between the two of us we both know I could go on for much longer and will), and you have a vague idea, or a concrete idea, or an idea you don’t want to think about, of where I’m going to go with this. If it was something simple it wouldn’t be like this. If I was just, telling you the news, I wouldn’t need so much time, and I need so much of it. I’m setting the stage trying to making sure I wanted to I can’t just

I am a weak woman, Lemony Snicket. And that is a complete lie, you and I know, but I am a weak woman and I don’t want to be but my hands are shaking.

You and I. You and I know so many things.

So why should we

We both know how to make Ramona laugh, and the right amount of sugar for Olivia’s tea, and where Jacques will be on Tuesdays even though he pretends he doesn’t keep a regular schedule, and where Monty has his keys stashed in his garden, and everything possible about Bertrand, including what book he’s reading right now even though you haven’t been home in two months (it’s still that cat book because he says he wants to see the look on your face when he reads it out loud after dinner) (it’s still that cat book), and what kind of records Kit wants for her birthday even though she never has the time to play them, and even what Esmé is going to eat tomorrow because would you believe that herring is still in, to her continued consternation. She can talk all she wants about how good herring is but I still see that look on her face when she eats it! Every meal, Lemony! I’m giggling as we speak and I wish you could see her because it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my LIFE

Maybe those things are superficial, but they’re things we know about people, about ourselves, and that counts, doesn’t it? And—and I know what you look like when you wake up and I know what you look like when you’re fixing your typewriter and I have to help and I know what you look like when you think I’m not looking at you, and there was a time where that meant you didn’t look like everyone you knew had just died. You know what I look like at my worst, the worst I ever let you see. You knew it anyway. You It was enough.

And Bertrand. I know I’ve said it before but, you and I were so lucky. Lots of good things came from of this, right? The three of us, you and me and Bertrand. Our apartment and that wallpaper we took down in Bertrand’s when he moved out of his, with those horrendous yellow stripes. The cat we pretended to have and the elaborate medical history we made for it so we’d all have an excuse to go home early. (That poor cat, though. I don’t think it would’ve been possible for it to really survive like that. We should be better to our imaginary pets next time in the future.) Watching Bertrand dance to my records, which was terrible because we hadn’t taught him to dance yet. Trying out those new recipes. Keeping the windows open in the summer. The diner down the street, the ice cream shop on the corner, that night it rained and we all stayed outside and got soaking wet because why not? Bertrand making that excessive amount of soup the next day. You telling us we were the only things that mattered. Bertrand would push your hair out of your face when you were sleeping and I wanted to watch that for the rest of my life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever saw.

Those moments, every moment. Reading in the dark, losing my glasses, you stopped dead the first time we were out with Bertrand and he was under a streetlamp and you both looked so beautiful and you kissed him for the first time and you didn’t even remember to be nervous.

And those million citations Jacques didn’t give us for public indecency during that spring he was disguised as a police officer. (He was definitely kidding when he brought it up. There was no way he could’ve seen us.)

It makes me so happy, to think about all that. I love you and Bertrand so much. I

Oh Lemony. I don’t think I can do any of this.  

-------

In other better happier general news, Gustav let Bertrand and me see the pictures from the wedding, and then he archived them, because we agreed that was for the best, and Bertrand figured you’d probably say the same. I look absolutely stunning, and Bertrand looks incredibly handsome even though he finally admitted he agrees with you, that hat was not his style, and you, Lemony, in that white suit that matched Bertrand’s with those peach-colored flowers because peach is a better color than I ever gave it credit for and it looked so good in the spring because it was the color the wall in the living room turned when the afternoon sun hit, you look

It was such a beautiful day. Still spring, and right after Bertrand’s birthday. Us, Kit, Jacques, Ramona, Olivia, Dewey, Hector. Jerome was invited—or he was supposed to be, who knows what happened there. We barely saw Gustav the whole time too, since he kept climbing up into trees for better angles. The smallest place we could find that would hold all of us and be so out of the way. The cake Kit made, against everyone’s expectations. Ramona cried, because of course she did. All those flowers, no one could move the whole time for walking into at least six bees, but no one minded. So much love. It was palpable, and my whole body was alive with it, with such a soft warmth I could barely breathe. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling, not while dancing or singing or kicking my shoes off because such mortal trappings cannot contain me, or when you and Bertrand danced and you cried, or when a crow flew overhead and we all stopped, just for a single second, before every one of us decided not to care. For a few hours one glorious afternoon.

You look happier than I’ve ever seen you before and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you like that again or forever and I’m sorry, I was right, I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this

-------

I’ve taken a few deep breaths and I’m ready to

Oh who am I KIDDING

Lemony I love you so much and I need you so much my heart is going to break with it

justice does not need eyes to see,

but truth built himself eyes

in the porcelain patterns of his world

and let them do the talking

in the skies he

so kindly

let them see,

with the eyes he gave them,

one after another

after another

after another

i

i was something else

but i lived so close beside

that they could not accuse me

of being blind

but i could’ve seen everything

if i could see with every eye,

one after another

after another

after another,

every eye

a certainty,

every eye

the truth,

every eye

mine alone.

You told me when we were younger that I should give rhyming verse a try and, well, Lemony, not everything you said was good advice.

-------

I do, though. I love you a great deal. I think it confuses people. Besides the fact that some of them never understood our relationship with Bertrand (cowards), I get the impression some of our associates don’t know why I love you. Which is just stupid of them, and I don’t owe them anything, none of them are going to read this. It’s not their business why I love you, it’s ours. And I love you because

How can you explain why you love someone? Someone can say ‘they make me laugh’ as much as they want and sure it’s true but is that really why? Can you ever really say why? Isn’t it enough to love somebody, with everything you have? To say, that’s the one I want, for the rest of my life? Who could I possibly need to defend myself to?

I love you because I love you, because I look at you and think I love you, because I inhale and exhale that I love you, because every part of me only feels right with you.

I love you because you embarrassed me but I thought you were kind. I love you because I didn’t ever have to explain anything. I love you because you always came back to me. I love you because you made me happy. I love you because you didn’t let anything stop you from loving me. I love you because you loved me. I love you because when you took my hand I thought I could do anything with that love.

I love you because you were mine. I love you because you looked at me. And I love you because it was more than that, it always was.

I love you because of the records you played. I love you because of the time we taught Bertrand to make root beer floats. I love you because you’d rehearse our lines with us even though you can’t act. I love you because of the way you would stand in the kitchen and wonder what you should make for dinner. I love you because you said you’d plant strawberry bushes in the backyard. I love you because you could never stand Geraldine Julienne. I love you because we would all sit around the table in my apartment and critique the newspaper articles together. I love you because you’d never take the train. I love you because Bertrand and I found every shortcut in the city for you. I love you because you and Bertrand would knit me the ugliest sweaters on purpose. I love you because you would take care of the bats for me and you were terrible at it.

I love you because you were wonderful where it counted. I love you because we’d stay up late and watch movies. I love you because you would hold Bertrand like it was the most important thing in the world. I love you because you would furrow your brow when you read something you didn’t like. I love you because you’d take me to the beach when it was cold. I love you because we went on picnics in the summer. I love you because when I walked into our apartment and then when I walked into our house it always felt like home. I love you because we made up that cat. I love you because you’d sing with me. I love you because Bertrand would take us bird-watching and name the birds with us. I love you because you bought me flowers.

I love you because you told me what happened. I love you because we went back there with you. I love you because I went into the lighthouse. I love you because I wasn’t going to not go. I love you because no one else would’ve gone. I love you because we let you walk out the door there and I knew you would come back.

I love you because we used to make out in the back of the movie theater and we’d take turns with Bertrand and then try to piece together what even happened in the movie when we got home. I love you because you used to sit in dark rooms with me and pretend we were ghosts and scare the other volunteers. I love you because we could just read for hours and not say a word. I love you because you let me cry in the bathroom. I love you because you would make up songs on the accordion when I was upset. I love you because I would whistle along when you did songs I knew. I love you because you would go out of your way to buy crackers. I love you because you would say things like “when we first met, you were pretty, and I was lonely” and you let me laugh. I love you because you would write me notes during class. I love you because you looked the same way I did the first time we saw Bertrand—shocked, and then a little impressed, and then irritated, because who did he think he was? I love you because who did any of us think we were, really. I love you because we grew to not care. I love you because we became people I was proud of.

I love you because you would feed that cat in the back alley on your way home and I would watch you from the window. I love you because that cat followed us to our house and then we had a real live legitimate cat until someone across the street put out better cat food. I love you because of the way you would read out loud, because you couldn’t act but when you read it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time. I love you because the one thing you did that was better than Bertrand was make tea. I love you because you taught me all your cookie recipes. I love you because we got you to sleep in the middle so we could protect you. I love you because they couldn’t take that away from me.

I love you because I’m here in an otherwise empty house, some boxes still unpacked, letting the dust settle, pouring my heart out when I don’t want to, because I do love you with everything I have, every part of me, every bone and every sigh and every drop of blood, and that’s the end of that. That’s all there is, I love you. That’s what it comes down to, I love you. That’s the only thing I want to say, I love you.

I do, I do love you. Lemony, please believe me.

-------

I know Bertrand has his own thoughts, his own opinions. He doesn’t want to admit that he does, but he gets this, look, on his face. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s lost something special but it was there a moment ago, wasn’t it. He thinks I haven’t noticed. After all this time, he thinks he’s not supposed to be here, and you it hurts, is all.

And as much as Bertrand is a part of us, indelibly, forever, just as you are, both of you so a part of me that I ache with it, this letter is between you and me. Not because it was the two of us first. But because you know, for as much as I don’t want to, I’ll say the things Bertrand won’t.

That’s how this has to be.

-------

So.

Olaf’s started talking to me again, which I didn’t think would happen in a million years. Although maybe I shouldn’t call it talking? More like, he sort of shows up if he knows I’m at headquarters (which is far and few between anyway so, really, what the hell?) and lounges in doorways with these big smiles and says these dramatic things at me instead of to me, which he can’t possibly expect me to believe. How stupid does he think I am? Because I’m not. He keeps going, hey Beatrice, have you read the Daily Punctilio? And I don’t say anything to him, even though yes, I’ve read the Daily Punctilio, dammit.

You and I both know what’s in the Daily Punctilio, and for a while I thought, maybe you were writing those articles yourself, part of another fragmentary plot, and that you’d tell me about it later, and you’d explain it to me, even though I wouldn’t need it to be explained, not really. But you didn’t. Not that you didn’t explain, you just, you just didn’t tell me anything. And you were gone and I couldn’t even see you anyway and that was what really made it hard? It wasn’t like I doubted you. I didn’t. I didn’t doubt you. I knew you wouldn’t do any of those things.

But everyone looked at me and they looked so damn pitying, like, oh it happens to the best of us, only he’s not the best of us. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming, well you know what he’s like, as if nothing had ever happened? As if we hadn’t grown up together? As if we wouldn’t have followed you to the ends of the earth because we believed in you? It’s not everyone, but it’s enough. Like some of them don’t owe you their lives.

Bertrand says that people deal with things in different ways, and saying those things about you is probably just another way they’re dealing with everything. Don’t you think it’s harder, it’s gotten harder, as we’ve gotten older? But they don’t have to throw you under the bus to do it. They don’t have to vilify you to make themselves feel better. They don’t have to look me in the eye like that, like I’m some, some poor miserable thing, or like I have to be protected, or like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like they can’t even trust me.

But what does that make me?

And Olaf would grin at me and I would hold my head high and look him back and spit in his face. I wasn’t going to let it get to me. It had only been a month. How long is a month, in the grand scheme of things? What does a month matter, against the beginning of a lifetime? And when a month became two, what did that matter?

-------

I wouldn’t say that Hector and I were ever particularly close, but I’ve actually seen a lot of him lately. We meet up for tea because he keeps saying there’s something he wants to talk to me about but mostly he sits there and looks at his tea and I pretend I’m not super uncomfortable. And then he insists on paying the check, in exact change.

When I see Hector, I think about Haruki. I know how close they were. And Haruki respected you so much, more than anyone else. As in, he respected you more than he respected any of our other friends, but also more than maybe anyone else respected you, because that was how Haruki was. Loyal, the best of the best, and so fierce about it. I wanted him there at our wedding.  

Haruki was really the first person we lost, I guess. And I hate how we’re never going to know how it happened, because they say no one else was there, and the one person we do know was there, he’s never going to say a damn thing about it, and we all know that for sure. But I remember everyone gathering around to write Haruki’s obituary and how little we had to say. Not because we didn’t know him. But because, what were we going to say? What did we have left to say, who did Haruki have left, besides us? And what were we?

Hector looks at me and I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know what to say to me. I’m terrified he’s going to tell me I should’ve known better too because then I won’t be able to stand it. But he just looks at me and I try not to cry and I’m trying not to cry now because he’s feeling it too, this awful business of feeling like things are starting to break. Sometimes I feel Hector is going to disappear, too.

--------

I guess the question I started to think was, how long was I going to wait. Bertrand and I had waited for longer, and then there were times where we never waited, and hadn’t we reached a point where we weren’t supposed to, anymore? But then, when you’re married, aren’t you supposed to do whatever you have to?

But doesn’t it go both ways? One half can do their part but doesn’t the other half have to do something too and how much is it before you’re asking too much but how long is it before you’re not doing enough and when you’re married aren’t you supposed to know the answers to all the questions, the right and the wrong ones, you’re not supposed to care and you’re supposed to be there and it’s all is supposed to be okay, and

We never did do anything traditionally, though, did we?

-------

I saved the article. I didn’t save all of them, but I saved this one.

-------

UNIDENTIFIED BODY IDENTIFIED

The unidentified body recently pulled from the downtown river has been identified as local ex-theater critic and renowned person of interest, Lemony Snicket, who was last seen surveying the river and saying, “How deep do you think it really is?”

“For the record,” said the local police, who preferred to remain nameless and sent in their response by postcard from three towns over, “it was three feet.”

Mr. Snicket was identified by a source who was also unidentified, but proved their credentials by singing a variety of showtunes for the newspaper staff, to great applause.

“Yes, I suppose that’s him,” said the source, when asked to identify the photo of the river, which was presented to them while they were drinking a glass of water, because they were parched after the showtunes. When the glass of water spilled on the photograph, the source went on to say, “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

The body in question disappeared as soon as it was found, but the police have no reason to suspect foul play, as no livestock was found at the scene, the morgue, or the local bakery, and neither does our source.

“Can I leave now?” asked the source. “I need to go pick up my glasses.”

Mr. Snicket has recently been the suspect in a number of crimes, including arson, lockpicking, theft, and jaywalking without a license. He has been described as “that’s not what I would call a grey suit, it leaned closer to charcoal.” There is no planned funeral service at this time.

-------

Bertrand and I laughed a lot, because it was the most outrageous article we’d ever read, and we kept talking about what sort of bakery would even allow livestock inside, and of course we knew it was about you, but of course it wasn’t you, because we didn’t know where you were but we knew you were alive. You were alive, so no matter what we read or what anyone told us, no matter who wanted to believe what, we knew the truth.

And, again, Lemony, it wasn’t that I needed you to explain. It was that I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to let me in on it. I wanted you to call or come by and tell us, your husband and your wife, hey no big deal but I’m gonna fake my death for the foreseeable future, is that okay? And instead I have to find out from Olaf waving it in my face? I have to find out from some absurd article I shouldn’t have even looked twice at? I have to find out from people I thought were my friends telling me I should have known better?

I sure don’t need to tell you, but, we just got married, Lemony! And we had a house and a life and plans and no matter what happened, no matter what else we had to do, because there was no way we were ever going to give this up and we knew that, we were going to stay together, we were going to do this, what we promised, not to other people but to ourselves, and each other,  and

Sometimes I want to think that you planned it like that, that you sat down and thought to yourself about the best worst way to do it and you thought, leaving us alone like this and faking your death and not saying a single word was the greatest way to break our hearts, especially after marrying us, that would hurt the most, you wanted to do it so you did it and you got away from us for good like you always wanted because you were never going to stay and you knew it, because then I can hate you like I’m supposed to and stop thinking of the way you smile at me

I hate that you aren’t a cruel person, I hate that you didn’t do it on purpose, I hate that the real true human tradition is that people are human and nothing else

How am I supposed to do this?

a bird up in her chamber

eats love for breakfast lunch and dinner

and steadily gets thinner

sings songs she won’t forget,

in the darkness by the lamps

says the shapes of lonely words

said by lonely people

in lonely rooms

to feel better about

being

so

so

what is a life with this alone

what is a life

like this?

“when we grab you by the ankle, where your life is ours to take

you’ll soon be doing wicked things, they’ll keep you long awake

when your whole life is a secret then you’ll be a volunteer

and you’ll scream a long time later, for

the world was never quiet here.”

-------

Bertrand has been making lists. You know his tendency to organize, but the funny thing is he just keeps leaving them places. I’m sitting on like, three of them.

To Do

-Check maps

-Apologize to D

-Extra key

-Secure boat

-Study family trees

To Buy

-Thick, sturdy rope

-Do they make portable record players?

-Paintbrushes (for then and now, so get extra)

-White curtains? Will they match? Check ‘To Think’

-Extra wires, no candles!

To Think

-Ask Kit about Bernadette

-Examine garden for hiding spots

-Turtles or foxes?

-What if it turns out to be true?

-Or birds??

Definitely not birds.

-------

You know, I haven’t seen Jerome in a while. Maybe it’s also been two months, I’m not sure. I feel like, even before the wedding, we weren’t seeing much of him—although it wasn’t like Jacques paraded him around or anything in the first place—but since then, I don’t think Jacques has even talked about him.

This means Jacques’s Tuesdays are open now, although you’d never know it. He still only shows up when he wants to. And if he doesn’t want to, then you have as much luck finding him as finding a grammar rule Jo doesn’t know. It must run in the family. I hate to

I had Kit get ahold of him for me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to say to Kit anymore, which is unsettling, but Kit acts like she always does. She comes over and makes herself at home and talks to both of us like this is average everyday Kit business for her. I don’t know if I admire her tenacity or if it’s going to be something else I can’t stand down the line. I don’t know yet. She hugged me when she left, though. That’s just how Kit is. And I don’t really want to lose that.

I wasn’t sure if Kit would know, the thing I wanted to ask Jacques. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if she did, but when I saw her I thought, maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t talk about you at all. And it wasn’t the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I’m Being Purposefully Vague For Reasons, Now Deal With It’ sort of silence, it was the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I Refuse to Admit I Don’t Know This Piece of Information, So I’m Going to Rearrange Your Bookshelves’ sort of silence. Still don’t know where she put T.S. Eliot. I think she took it with her.

Jacques didn’t want to talk to me. He’s too polite to say it, but I could tell. He kept making excuses, and by the time we finally got him to come here, he was uncomfortable and I was on edge. He came right out and said he couldn’t stay long. He knew why I wanted to talk to him and he told me straightforward that he couldn’t tell me.

I’m not proud of what I said to him.

-------

If it was the last day, but it probably was but Lemony, I don’t I sure didn’t know.

I will remember every second until the day I die.

We waited until after the wedding to move into the house, especially because the only honeymoon we wanted was for the three of us to be there together, alone, for a little while. It was on the outskirts of the city, away from everything else, and we barely told anyone. We didn’t even tell everyone from the wedding.

I watched the sunrise, the soft shadows sliding along the sheets on the bed, catching on the suitcases we still hadn’t unpacked all the way, you and Bertrand warm beside me, and I didn’t want to get up. We put the best bed in the whole world in our room, and rightly so. High bed posts but no canopy because Bertrand was worried about dust. Crisp white sheets and I was so excited to look when we finally got up and see the wrinkles mashed down in them from where we slept because that meant it was ours for real. That rich wine comforter that it was too hot to use the first night so we still had it folded up at the foot of the bed, but you had this look in your eyes when we spread it out like you couldn’t wait for winter and when we’d be squished up against each other underneath it for warmth.

That morning, I just wanted to lay there and savor it. It wasn’t like we’d never been in the same bed before, or that we even needed to be married, but! To know I could hold it in my hands, that’s what it was.

And then Bertrand rolled over and got an elbow into my side somehow and you mumbled something about Wedding Pancakes (capitals implied) and then we had to eat breakfast.

I checked. The wrinkles were all there.

-------

Bertrand and I.

We haven’t

We’ve been

We’ve been angry at each other.

And you know Bertrand, he doesn’t get angry, really, he gets, more disappointed than anything, but he’s. He’s been angry. At me. I know.

I get scared, because I don’t know what to do, so I, I can’t hold a conversation without yelling at somebody, and it’s usually Bertrand, and I hate yelling at him and sometimes he starts to yell back.

We’re not. Okay. Right now.

We weren’t supposed to do this without you and I don’t want to find out that we can’t, Lemony. And I know we can but I know it’s also not a matter of doing it with or without you, because that’s awful, I just keep wondering what if you were what held us all together and if you’re not here how are Bertrand and I supposed to go on like this. Saying the wrong things, avoiding each other, not coming home. I guess that’s how we’re ‘dealing’ with it but that’s sure some sick way to do it.

I don’t want to lose anybody and fighting for them means that I want to keep screaming until everything stops.

-------

Jacques said you’d be back soon enough.

I told him I needed to know how soon was soon.

He said soon enough.

I said that wasn’t enough.

I never though of Jacques as one to yell. And he didn’t really yell, he mostly raised his voice, like I couldn’t hear him. I mean I was definitely talking over him but it was because I could hear him and I didn’t want to.

No one can tell me anything I don’t know. I know they think I haven’t felt the same worries as everyone else but that’s because I never wanted them to think that I did. And I did too good a job, apparently. I know we live hard lives, Jacques. I know it requires sacrifices, Jacques. I know there’s no guarantee, Jacques. I know there’s things you have to give up. I know you can’t be childish or selfish in this business. I know we knew what would happen. I know sometimes no matter how hard you try, you’re just going to fail.

He told me to wait for you.

-------

After breakfast, we organized the library, because we still had so many things in boxes but we agreed we had to get that done. We put everything in, every repeat copy and every notebook because we actually had room for everything instead of trying to cram it all into smaller bookshelves. The library was the biggest room in the house and had that beautiful windowseat. (It still does. We’re still in this house, after all, but this moment, this day, just isn’t right now.) I’ll admit I spent more time lounging on it than I did organizing books, but, you sat on that windowseat with me, you knew how comfortable it was. I loved those windows and how bright the sun was (really.) and how good I knew it was going to look when it was raining. And you agreed, and Bertrand rolled his eyes at us, and I told him, he got his natural light, what more did he want?

For two people to stop lazing around and figure out if we were going in alphabetical order or by genre or by which ones most recently made us cry over lunch, Bertrand said.

It was alphabetical, of course.

We forgot about lunch, because we put the record player in the library until we could find another place for it and started playing our favorites. Bertrand could dance by then, obviously, we wouldn’t have married him if he couldn’t. We were very good at dancing together, after practicing for so long. No one was ever going to do a better three-way tango and we all knew it.

We picked through the fridge and some of the wedding gifts, once we got hungry and tired of dancing. We found out Jerome somehow still sent us at least thirty coasters, and learned that he apparently wildly overestimates our social life, because there was no way we were going to be inviting thirty people at a time over anymore, or at least, not for a while. You and Bertrand stacked them in the dining room in a cabinet, and those you organized by color. Then we stood at the window there and looked out into the garden (the best view of it was from the dining room) and talked about the flowers we were going to plant, and how Ramona was going to send us (express) a clipping from one of the rosebushes in her garden, the ones we’d look at during her family’s masked balls.  

We went to the corner store down the street and you and Bertrand pretended to fuss over tomatoes while I was looking at loaves of bread and when I turned around you were buying flowers for me, red and bright and beautiful. We put them in the kitchen while we all made dinner (salmon, with cherry tomatoes). Somehow I found the time to make sorbet for dessert and it was only then we realized how late it was and we laughed a lot that day and laughed a lot then because we didn’t need to care about things like that. Our house was barely put together and we tried to find a way to use every single coaster from Jerome and we hadn’t had words with the city about the electricity yet because there was so much we’d had to do beforehand that we had to use candles. We all had matches, and we weren’t naive enough to think we wouldn’t have them.  

I can’t tell you how powerful I felt, lighting those candles, because I know you and Bertrand felt it too. This was our doing and ours alone. This space was ours. We looked at each other over the candles, the shadows on our faces, and we’d never looked clearer.  

We could’ve lived forever, in that moment.  

-------  

I called your brother a coward and I told him that whatever happened to Jerome now that he wouldn’t protect him was his fault and his alone and if he could live with himself that’s fine but I couldn’t if I didn’t try to do this and if he didn’t tell me where you were I was going to kill him where he stood and he shouldn’t even think for one second that I wasn’t capable of doing what had to be done and if that meant I had to kill for what I wanted then I would.

-------  

You kissed us in the morning. You smiled. You walked out the door and then came back because you forgot your hat and Bertrand and I were still laughing even as the door shut behind you.  

And then you were gone.  

-------  

Kit came by again, after.  

We sat in that silence.  

She told me that it was the one thing they hadn’t told her. She hadn’t known, until I asked Jacques. We don’t have anywhere else to go, she said, in a moment of unprecedented candidness. So we always come back.  

“I underestimated him,” she said.  

I told her she could keep The Wasteland, since it was practically hers because it had been yours. Kit smiled. She didn’t say much else.  

-------  

Bertrand and I aren’t the only ones losing someone here and I forgot that.  

Jacques and I looked at each other for a long time. I tried to apologize and he kept shaking his head. He told me where you were. He told me he didn’t know when you’d be back—or if you would at all. He told me he was the one writing the articles in the Daily Punctilio. He turned away from me. Then he gave me his handkerchief, and put his hand on mine, and got up and left.

-------  

What it feels like, Lemony, is like you

It feels like you picked

It feels like we didn’t matter and

And it’s not like we could ever choose or have one or the other I know I know I know but

We’re never going to be without it but I thought that

WE GOT MARRIED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LEMONY SNICKET

You picked an idea of nobility that you spent the past ten years struggling with and denouncing and promising you’d never

It wasn’t like we ever set out to save you anyway I

At the end of the day, that’s it. You picked the organization over us. And I didn’t think we were going to have to draw lines like that. At least not now. At least not right now. Because that means I have to make a decision. Because it means I can’t only think about me. Because it means I can’t keep waiting. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.  

-------  

I found out the other day.

I had a feeling, though. You just, you either have the feeling or you don’t, right? And I did. And I keep thinking about what your reaction would be. What you’d say. I keep thinking about your eyes, bluer than blue. I keep thinking about the world we said we were going to make when we were kids, the people we said we’d be. We were tiny and young and idealistic and you’re really only that way once in your whole life and when you’re not anymore, you can’t go back.  

-------  

We can’t go on like this.  

stripped off my dress like a skin,

peeled

so you could see everything

not only then,

but always.

didn’t know i was doing it,

guess i never really ran out of clothes.

you took off you shirt

and I was jealous.

you only needed to do it once and there you were.

I thought.

but now I keep finding shirts

in the places where I found you

and I can’t

find anything

that was mine

to put back on

I really can’t do anything

-------  

Enclosed you’ll find the ring. I know it’s not just the ring I married you with, but the ring I married Bertrand with, but whenever we look at it we think of you and I’m the one who has to wear it all the time and I can’t.  

But I don’t want to give it back because what if it’s the only thing I get to keep of you? But it wasn’t ever mine anyway, or yours, and who knows, maybe Ramona will marry Olivia with it someday, and maybe you’ll be there, only you wouldn’t be if you got the ring back, you’d never show your face again.  

And that’s not what I want, I don’t want you out of my life, Lemony, but if I give it back then maybe I do. Maybe that is what I want. Maybe I never want to see you again like this.  

-------  

Okay, I have to ask. I have to, because Jacques kept his mouth shut about this.  

The last time you saw us. Not the day, but the morning, walking out the front door. Did you know you weren’t coming back? You just left like you always did, to go to the newspaper, before Bertrand and I went to the theater, and as far as leaving someone for good goes that’s so

Did you meet up with Jacques, or Hector, or Jo, or even Kit, and did they tell you? Did headquarters address you personally? Did you take an assignment from someone else? Did someone corner you and were you trying to protect us? Was that the only way you could do it, going into hiding and faking your death? Who else was involved, besides Jacques? How long was it going to go on for? Did they expect you to do it by yourself? Did you have a plan, did any of them have a plan? What fragmentary plot was it even a part of? Did you know you weren’t coming back? Could you even come back? Did it even happen right away? Did it start out as some mediocre assignment you were going to tell us about later and then what happened so that I was reading the paper and there you were being accused of things I knew you’d never do? Why didn’t they ask me? Why didn’t they ask Bertrand? Why didn’t they ask us? You knew we’d do it together, we swore we’d do it together, why didn’t you tell us? What made it so that you couldn’t?  

Or did you really decide for yourself that that was it?  

I don’t want to believe that. I don’t, Lemony. I want to believe that it was one thing and then another but do you know why I can’t, why I keep asking? Do you understand why I need to know the truth? Why I need to be able to put it together? Why waiting and trusting isn’t enough anymore?  

--------  

No one could ever extinguish my love, Lemony, no one, nothing, not a single solitary thing ever, nothing could do it, but my trust is a different matter. Loving someone and trusting someone are two different things and I know you know that as much as I do. You. Knew. All. Of. This.  

-------

You know. If it had ended at the article. I might’ve been okay with it. I might have. Not making any promises, because we both know better than that. But I might’ve. I could’ve.  

It didn’t end with the article.  

Olivia had a short-lived assignment working the telegrams recently. She gave Ramona a very specific telegram. Olivia was honestly surprised it had come through at all. That something like that would be sent over such an insecure line. And of course she showed Ramona. They didn’t show it to anyone else. Which was lucky, because you know Olivia. She wanted to do whatever she could.

Ramona sent it to me. Right away. I got it yesterday. She said she’d never felt worse in her entire life. She said she was sorry. She’s the only one who didn’t sound patronizing about it.

J.S.,

AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED STOP GOING ON FULL STOP

M.K.

I never liked Monty Kensicle all that much as a name either.  

-------  

Lemony I can’t help but think that you’re sick of me, sick with me

It wasn’t like I ever—like I did it to be similar, I would NEVER, because both of us had our reasons for why we did what we did, you on that train, me and Bertrand at the opera. We knew what we were doing. Did we regret it? Enough for it to hurt, on the wrong days. Not enough for it to matter, in the long run. But enough for it to stop me every once in a while, in the way I know it stopped you.

But, but did you think, you couldn’t love someone who

Which would be, extraordinarily hypocritical of you, not to mention

I know you still think about it and I know how much it

I paid my price for what I did, Lemony, and so did you, and I didn’t

Is that how it works? Is that what happens? Is this what else I have to give up, for some shred of nobility, is my life going to be one mistake after another because I followed an order and I though they were right enough? Not even right, right enough, how stupid—is everything that happens to me going to be because of that? Am I losing you because it’s what I deserve?

Don’t I deserve good things? Don’t I still deserve happiness, and stability, and love, and a family, and all those things I worked so hard for? Because nobility wasn’t the end of it for me, this was what we wanted, something better, something for us, something we deserved, and this can’t be it, this can’t be the only thing we get for all of that, there has to be something else! And if I lose everyone close to me because of this organization Lemony I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind like this

--------  

I think of you out there, alone, and probably cold because you never bring a damn jacket with you anywhere. It’s summer but I’m imagining you as being cold, but I think that’s just because it’s sort of what you do when anyone thinks of someone as being anywhere alone.

Or, I’m just—I’m thinking of you out there, alone, for sure. I’m doing that. I’m thinking. About you. Alone.  

I’m

thinking.  

I think of you. Out there. Letting Jacques know, letting Olivia know, because you had to know who was working the telegram, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent it, I think of you going out of your way to tell your brother and not me and Bertrand and maybe you thought they’d tell me anyway but I had to pull teeth to get it from Jacques and if it had been anyone else! No one but Olivia would have said! You got lucky! But not enough! Because you still didn’t tell us! You went out of your way to not!! You! I think of you! Doing that instead of having the nerve! The decency! To tell us first! You!

How could you

How could you

-------  

I think of you, out there—hiding in the middle of nowhere with only the occasional newspaper for company, which, let me tell you, Lemony, is a very frustrating existence. You know what? I keep wanting to hope that you are dead because somehow that would make this easier, I can be angry at a dead man. But I can be angry at anyone, can’t I. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. I can be angry.  

I want to hope that you never sleep comfortably again. I want to hope that every sea is too uneven and every desert is too hot and every mountain is too cold and everywhere you go it’s too much. I want to hope that you try and come back and see how good and happy Bertrand and I are without you and you have to realize, you really did mess up. I want to hope that your boat goes down in the middle of the ocean and I know for sure! I want to think that you’ll be so miserable without us and it’ll never have been worth it!!  

You’re out there, without us. Without me.

I hope it was worth it.  

-------

What am I going to do?

I’m not picking. It’s not—I’m not capable of that, picking between you two, and I know you both had this ridiculous fear that I was going to, but I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I am selfish and clingy and I know what I want and I love what I have, and I love both of you and Bertrand loves both of us and I was ready to stake my life on the fact that you loved both of us too.  

And I hate that I have to say it! Because I do! Apparently I do have to, Lemony! If it comes down to, who would I rather do this with, who would I raise a family with, who would I trust more than anything, and you made me make this choice, I’m sorry it can’t be the man who ran away from me! And part of me keeps thinking I’m not even me for saying that, I’m not, I’m not the Beatrice that was going to tear a room apart with her bare hands to get what she wanted, who would scale walls and climb buildings and shoot a gun and could ski and fence by fourteen, I’m not, taking risks, I’m not doing whatever I have to, and that everyone who told me Bertrand was boring (because there were people!!!) and safe and uncomplicated was right and that I’m betraying some fundamental aspect of myself by not even trying, and that I’m hurting Bertrand especially for making him a damn pawn in what I think my life is

But it’s not like I never did! It’s not like I didn’t spend years and years of my life trying to be a good person, trying to create the life I wanted, all of this is me, every ugly thought and every bad decision and every unfinished book and every theater script I keep leaving around places and every single page of this as I try to figure out where I want to go from here! And it just comes back to one thing, Lemony, just one thing! That we can’t do this! That I can’t have you in my life like this! That I didn’t believe it would happen but here it is, it’s happening!! I can’t avoid it! You walked away from me and expected me to be okay with it! You expected me to wait! You expected me to do it! You expected EVERYTHING from me and I only have so much to give, I’m only so much, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING

And do you know what I am? Do you know what I am, really, when I get right down to it?? I am this, this awful woman with blood on my hands asking you for something that even I could never give anybody, not you or Bertrand or myself and I’m so sick of everything, I’m so sick of myself, I hate everyone and myself most of all, for being like this, for turning into this person, I hate hate hate hate hate all of this and how we were raised and what our future is going to be and what I’ve done and what is it going to take, for things to be better, for me to be better, for—what is it going to take, Lemony, for you to walk back through that door again and not do it over and over and over and I can’t keep letting you do this, I can’t, not to me or to Bertrand, I can’t keep hoping you’ll be there when I wake up and I can’t keep dreaming we’re going to die and I can’t keep pretending that anything about us has ever been okay or ever will be okay! Nothing about this is okay and how am I only realizing it now? How long have we been fooling ourselves into thinking that we could do this? How long do I have to be kind about this? How long do I have to play nice about you and this?  

I’m UPSET and I’m ALLOWED TO BE and I

don’t

know

if

I

can

forgive

you

I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can look at you anymore.

I don’t know.  

Do you know how it was, Lemony? It was us first. You and me. From the second we saw each other in that green-walled room, it was you and me. Lemony and Beatrice. Root beer floats and being purposely mysterious to each other when we talked and being too clever. And I thought that meant we could do anything. We could die and I’d be happy because I was with you. As long as I had you.  

And then there was Bertrand. And life felt different. Bertrand made it different, Bertrand made life different, he made it worth something else. And the bond that you and I had? Irreplaceable. And what we created with him only made it better. We had room in what we had for something so good. It really was Bertrand. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if it hadn’t been for him. And I saw that in you, too. You thought it too.

That was when I worried. When I started dreaming about terrible things happening to us. To you. I kept running from it because I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose.  

I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to be wrong. I’m scared to know anything else.  

I’m scared to die.  

I don’t think you are.  

I’m not sorry.  

-------  

Here are some questions. Here are some facts. Here are some things.  

1 – I’m tired.

2 – I can’t even wonder if we should have done things differently anymore, right after that moment we met. In that room, I never imagined any of this.

3 – Sometimes I do think you lied all along. And that’s not a reflection on our associates or anything but just, see question/statement 1.

4 – You had to have thought about what would happen.

5 – How could we have a family like this?

6 – Did you think you could run all your life? Did you think that would work out? That Bertrand and I would be satisfied with that?

7 – Did you want me like that?

8 – What am I supposed to do?

9 – How long did you think we could keep this up?

10 – Was I wrong?

11 – What did you want?

12 – I know you’d thought about what a family with us would look like and I didn’t think you’d let anything stand in the way of that and maybe that was where I was naive.

13 – What would you say if I asked you this in person?  

-------  

After all this, I—  

Bertrand has asked me if I have any spare pens.  

-------  

Lemony—

A long time ago, I sat in the diner near your apartment. We’d all known each other for a while, and you and Bea were very much together, and I didn’t quite feel like a third wheel anymore but I also didn’t feel like I was a part of everything yet. We were still dancing around each other, and I was doing it truly, incredibly badly.  

I was in the habit of meeting Jo on weekends, when we would go over our reports together because we worked in similar places. We’d meet in the diner. I would arrive early and take a seat near the door. It had the best view of your window. You never turned the lights on, but I would look at it and think about you and—I’m completely serious—write the worst poetry ever to exist. You and Bea have always been much better at it. Jo would take it upon herself to help and suddenly they were these grammar-specific poems, which meant I definitely was not going to send them. Jo is many things; Jo is just not particularly a writer of romance.

I never told you or Bea, because it didn’t seem noteworthy, once we were together. But, things happen in your life and you wish you’d been able to say so much more than you did. I wanted to tell you about the face Bea makes when you aren’t there. She bites her lip and frowns around the kitchen when there’s a lull in the conversation in the spots you would usually say something clever. I wanted to tell you how the bed doesn’t feel the same when you aren’t in it. Bea says the wrinkles don’t set the same, and I feel like it’s emptier without you. I wanted to tell you that the hottest summer days—and I feel like there have been an endless amount of them so far this summer, humid and muggy and not the least bit sultry—even they feel cold when we can’t see you. I wanted to tell you that every time I do the laundry, I remember how you can’t fold socks. I wanted to tell you that I’ve stopped folding socks altogether, which has become quite the problem. Bea and I have stacks of socks in the bedroom now, which is just silly. I wanted to tell you that I love watching you put your hat by the door when you come home, resting it on the table as gently as possible, giving such a small gesture has such a big importance.

I took those things for granted. So much of my life, I’ve thought that loving things so fiercely and so determinedly could be enough, and I’ve relied on that love to get me through what we had to do. Even when the three of us weren’t together, I think I would’ve been happy to stay that way, because I could still love both of you regardless, and just that would’ve been enough. Just to be able to love you, and have your companionship. I would have cherished that always.

I’m the one who’s been so lucky, Lemony. When we all got together, I felt like my life began. I felt like you and Bea pulled me along into something beautiful and breathtaking and nothing would ever compare. I felt like it would always be there, for the rest of my life.

And I’m—

I don’t hate you. I could never. You need to know, that no matter what happens, I will never hate you. I can’t promise to not be upset with you, because I am, and a little angry, and a little disappointed, and a lot sad. But I don’t hate you.

You and Bea have such beautiful ways to say things, and I’ve always been so jealous of the way you two write. You told me that both of you were jealous of my tendency to be a little more forthright, at least when I got down to it, because let’s not forget, I did spend two months coming up with nicknames for all of us instead of just telling you how much you meant to me. But I don’t have lengthy or passionate ways to say certain things, is what it is. Actions, definitely. But when I have to say it, it comes out.

I love you.

And I wish you were here.  

I never wanted to think about it, I guess. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking of things I didn’t want to think about. We do difficult things and live difficult lives. It takes its toll, and I’ve watched it happen. I thought if I held on tight enough—to you, to Bea, to myself—that we could escape some of it, no matter what we’ve done. And we’ve done a lot. We’ve been kept up in turn by sleepless nights and bad dreams and wondering too much. We’re not going to leave—not for good, and each of us know that—but it could be more manageable, together. We would figure it out, when we needed to. Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic about how well I could do it.

I hate to think it was something we did, or something we didn’t see. I hate to think that you gave up on yourself or on us. I hate to think I didn’t do enough. I know it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. I know Bea keeps telling me I’m too kind for my own good, and I think it’s because I’m afraid to really feel anything. Feeling it makes it too real, something I have to actually contend with, and I don’t want to. I really don’t.

I want to say—I don’t want to tell you, I just want to say it—that I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been, and I don’t feel like I belong here without you, and that I think, you didn’t want to do it, but you knew what you were doing, and you did it because some things just sound easier, or hurt more but hurt less than others, and that I despise the people that we’ve become. I despise the things that we’ve been made into, and I don’t know how much of it we did to ourselves. I don’t know how much I can change.  

I won’t lie, Lemony, because I’ve never been much of a liar. It’s been hard without you. Bea and I haven’t been talking very much, and we get into arguments when we do. We’ve been avoiding each other. It’s hard to avoid someone you live with, for a lot of reasons. But we’ve been managing to do it. I’ve been hiding at the Denouement. Absolutely, definitely hiding. Dewey’s not pleased but he doesn’t say no to the help organizing the archives. Bea’s been going to the theater, even though she’s technically off-duty for the next seven months (it was self-imposed off-duty, which I’ll admit was surprising). When we do talk to each other, Bea has a tendency to raise her voice, which I don’t mind, necessarily, because I understand why she keeps doing it. I have a tendency of late to do the same, which I’m not proud of. Taking it out on each other isn’t good or responsible of us, but it’s where we are right now. It is a miserable place to be.

Bea assumes I’m upset with her, but I’m not. I’m upset with myself, mostly. I keep thinking that none of this would have happened if I wasn’t here, that I made things worse. If you and Bea had just gone on by yourselves, maybe there would be so much less unhappiness. Maybe I was what made it hard for you to stay. Maybe I pressured you, maybe I pressured myself. Maybe this is my lot in life. They’re awful things to think, but I’m thinking them. That’s what people do, when upsetting things happen. We try to figure out where we went wrong. We don’t come up with any answers, but it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, which we do enough of too. I know eventually we’ll stop hurting each other, Bea and I. It just feels a long way away right now. A lot of things feel that way. You, myself, my friends, anything I thought I knew or had.

I’m being very unkind, to myself. That’s not your fault. It’s just something I’m realizing now. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unkind to myself. I don’t know how not to be. There are many things I don’t believe that I deserve, a sentiment I know you understand. It’s hard to feel like we deserve anything, even what we love. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe that was why. And that breaks my heart and scares me so much, Lemony, that we—you—are capable of feeling such sadness.

Honestly, part of me wants to keep waiting. The part of me that is a fairly patient person is probably willing to do so. But the other part of me that is less patient and a husband to both of you is the part that hurts, and the part that reminds me that I am allowed to say that there is only so much I can take. I want you here more than anything, but I know for sure none of this is ever going to be that simple again.

But going forward from this, I want to feel like I deserve things. There’s only so much time I can spend regretting, or hating myself, or wishing that I had done something different. It’s easy to get caught up in all of that, and I think I still will be, for a while. I think I’m going to keep thinking miserable things for some time to come. But on the other side of that is something else. Not necessarily a happiness, or a satisfaction, but a certain kind of existence. Or, I guess, a kindness.

I love you very much, Lemony, and I can’t imagine doing this without you. I still don’t want to.

But if you have to—Bea and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here. I can’t promise in what way, but we’ll be here, if or when or anything at all. I hope you can meet us in that something else one day.  

Until then, with all my love,  

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

to give your heart a song to sing,

and then a kiss, but more than this,

I wish you love.

And in July, a lemonade

to cool you in some leafy glade,

I wish you health,

and more than wealth,

I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best,

my very best,

I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,

a cozy fire to keep you warm,

but most of all,

when snowflakes fall,

I wish you love.

  Bertrand    

face the sun

in the night,

find it in the night

in the pieces,

dig for it,

dig it out with my hands alone.

yes.

what I left –

fragments,

every last eye,

unwelcome.

piling it back in.

new sunlight.

-------  

So—the sad truth is that the truth is sad. The real truth is that I never wanted to believe you were right about that. I thought I could get by on good looks and sheer force and well-hidden optimism and believing I was right. I was wrong. We were all wrong, some of us more wrong than others.

Where you went wrong is thinking that we—that I—would be okay with this. And that was where I went wrong too, I admit. The blame could be with all of us.

What I do know is that we can’t be together like this. Not like this. This is where it ends.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I don’t know what Bertrand and I will do. And the two of us—Bertrand and I—can figure that out. In whatever way that is. Whatever you’re doing, I leave you to it.  

You will—always, always, always—be (somewhere) in my mind, and (deep) in my heart, and wherever (wherever.) (parenthetical required.) you are. Be it a boat, or a cave, or the city, or a grave, true or false. That’s the way you want it. That’s the way I will accept it. Good luck.

Beatrice

[schrijverr]

Take the New Texas out of a boy

Jonny still carries a lot of internalized biases and prejudices against himself from growing up in New Texas, which wasn’t progressive. Aboard the Aurora he undergoes a journey of self-discovery in a safe space.

This started as ‘Ooh, wait! What if Jonny wears a corset’ and it somehow ended up as ‘Jonny deals with internalized homophobia, internalized misogyny and self esteem issues, figures out his gender expression, which finally leads to a Jonny centric polycule’ 

On AO3

Ships: Jonny/ Tim, Ashes, Marius and Brian, but the focus ismore focused on the frienship between Jonny & Ashes & Tim while he discovers himself

Wanrings: homophobia, internalized homophobia, internalized misogyny and self esteem issues. Tell me if I missed anything else!

~~~~~~~~~~~

New Texas was many things, well that was not true, New Texas was barely anything at all really, but one of the things that it most certainly wasn’t, was progressive.

The backwater asteroid that claimed to be a planet with potential for life was nothing, but filled with rot and people who would never be more than the dust on their clothes and the smoke in their lungs, who would rather see you dead for being different.

Jonny had never fit in there.

He’d always known he was different, as cliché as that might seem. He wanted more than getting drunk in a casino, playing away his last bit of money so that he could forever be enslaved by the casino boss to become a killer for hire.

That wasn’t for him. He did it out of necessity, but it wasn’t the end goal. Once he would have enough, he would get out of there. He hadn’t figured out how or to where, but he would not rot between these people.

The first moment he’d realized that, was when Henry from the mill had been hung on top of his own propellers. He’d heard that they’d found out he’d tried to pay another man for services, if you knew what they were saying. Apparently it hadn’t gone over well with the other guy.

Jonny had seen the man hanging there, swaying in the wind and a fear had gripped his heart.

You see, just the day before Jonny had been trying to come up with a good way to tell Ronny that he thought he was pretty, well, pretty. He didn’t know why the other boy got his heart racing, but he did and Jonny, being a naive youngster, wanted to do something about it.

Henrys death had quickly discouraged him from that. He still wanted to hold Ronnys hand, but it wasn’t worth dying over and when he’d started to pay attention to his fathers drunken rambling afterwards, he knew who would be the first to do him in for that.

So, he resolved to get out of there to a place where he could hold Ronnys hand if he wanted to. He knew it was probably futile, but it was a dream he clung to when things got too hard.

His resolve strengthened after he sold his life to Jack and his famous casino.

Jacks casino was famous not only because it was the only one in town, but also because Jack had show girls. The only ones there were no other bar where you could see them, Jack made sure of that, they were good for business after all.

They would be decked out with feathers, fishnets, tiny slips and corsets all on high heels. And Jonny adored them. Whenever he would need to be in Jacks casino, whether it was to deliver something or to get new orders, he would stare dreamily at them dancing.

Most of the patrons made fun of him for being in love with the show girls and Jonny would tell them to piss off, pretending they knew the truth.

The real truth was that Jonny wasn’t in love with them. No, they couldn’t be further away from his type. He was, however, in love with their outfits.

He dreamed of how the fishnets would hug his legs and how the corset would make him delicate and how whoever saw him would be taken aback by his beauty like the men in the casino were with the show girls.

Jonny knew that was a futile dream.

He’d heard from many different mouths that he wasn’t really appealing to look at and he was also slowly resigning himself to being stuck on New Texas forever, the idea of getting away only further out of reach with each passing day.

But with the arrival of a Doctor that idea suddenly seemed so weird.

She took him with her, but with how she twisted him and made him into her puppet there wasn’t really time to explore his newfound freedom away from home.

He tried to fight against every new member, but it wasn’t enough. She never stopped until he got rid of her, not that he’ll ever admit it was him. And he could never forget her either.

By the time she was gone a status quo had arisen on board of the Aurora. Jonny had automatically situated himself in a position from where he could fight. He was the though one, the first one, the one who would take the blows. Effectively shutting himself off from any chance to be dainty or delicate.

His new friends were more accepting, though. Ashes was respected, no questions asked, Nastya was allowed to be herself with her girlfriend and any comment made by the others about hot people of the opposite gender, were barely even blinked at.

Jonnys heart felt lighter with that, although he would always catch himself before he could say something. The fear of a lifetime still deeply ingrained in his mind.

After a few centuries the others had picked up on it and Ashes had laughed: “Hey, Jonny, it’s not a crime to be straight. If you’re feeling too awkward to comment, ‘cause of us, feel free. Don’t worry. Marius is also allowed to make comments about girls as well as the blokes.”

“Uh, what? No- huh, I don’t- I’m not-” Jonny had cleverly responded, so taken aback by it.

“Oh that’s okay too, Jonny.” Tim had smiled at him and it wasn’t mentioned again.

Jonny was glad no one expected anything of him, even if he felt guilty about pretending to be someone he was not. But he’d done it his entire life, what were a few millennia more?

But then he got more comfortable over the course of time and after a while the lie weighed too heavily on him, so he’d awkwardly called together the crew. Most of them were raising his brow at him and when he’d struggled for a couple of minutes, Ashes said: “Just spit it out, man.”

He took a deep breath: “I’m not, uhm, I’m not aroace. I’m g- I’m gay…” he rushed to add: “I’m sorry I know I should’ve said it when you all assumed, but I just didn’t- I couldn’t and then it was too late and it was nice to not have expectations, but then I felt bad and I really did want to tell you, but it never seemed to be the time and-”

“Breathe, Jonny.” he got interrupted by Brian, “It’s alright.”

“Really?” Jonny asked, still a bit fearful.

“Yeah,” Tim smiled and cheered, “one of us!”

Ashes pushed him over and said: “Already was, dumbass.”

“I know, but I meant it as one of me and Brian, you know.” Tim agreed.

“We shouldn’t have assumed, god knows us of all people shouldn’t have and you shouldn't feel guilty about waiting until you were ready.” Brian told Jonny with a gentle smile.

Carefully Jonny smiled back and was promptly tackled into a hug from Marius and Raphaella, who had snuck up behind him. Laughing while taking him down to the ground.

After that life continued as normal. The first time Jonny had made a comment about a guy, he’d looked around with fear, only relaxing when Tim smirked: “Well spotted! You should go up to him.”

Jonny had frantically shaken his head. Just making the comment had been scary enough, the idea of actually putting himself out there with people he didn’t know was too much.

“Okay, no problem.” Tim assured him quickly, “Do you mind if I do?”

“No, go ahead.” Jonny had squeaked, watching as Tim chatted the guy up and moments later disappeared with a wink over his shoulder.

A bit of jealousy crept over Jonnys spine and he didn’t know what he was more jealous off. The fact that Tim would be getting laid or the fact that Tim had the confidence to walk up to someone like that while knowing he could get murdered for it.

They couldn't die, of course. Jonny knew that, but the fear was still there and he didn’t think his heart could take it, despite the strong metal it was made of.

As the years passed he got more comfortable, however, until he could flirt like he’d always wanted to when he watched men at the casino try to get a free drink from the bartender with the tiny low cut shirt and the red lipped smirk.

But while he was living one of his dreams, there still was another he kept hidden.

His mind often wondered back to the show girls with their corsets, especially when he saw a dolled up boy on a planet they were visiting or dancers, like back home, in a club. His fingers would itch to try for himself, but he couldn’t.

Jonny d’Ville was a macho man.

He liked violence and weapons, he swore like, well, like a sailor. He was masculine and tried to project that as much as possible. It was a defense, he knew it was, but he didn’t know how he could break that wall down.

Still, he allowed a wistful gaze to linger on display windows, but only after checking if no one could see.

It was doomed to fail, since everyone aboard the Aurora was much more observant than Jonny gave them credit for, so after years of catching Jonny staring out of the corner of his eye on a thousand different planets, Tim commented: “You can steal it if you like it, or buy it.”

Immediately Jonny stiffened, before snapping: “What are you on about, Tim? You think I fucking want that?”

“Well, why else would you be staring at them like they’re your star-crossed lover.” Tim rolled his eyes.

He didn’t see the shot coming, but he did hear and feel it as he collapsed to the ground, only coming to a bit later, slung over Brians shoulder with Jonny nowhere in sight. Tim knew better than to mention it again and life went on. Jonny pointedly never looking at the displays, no matter how much he wanted to.

But even if Tim never mentioned it, he did not let it go. He himself had always regretted never shooting his shot with Bertie and he used this life to never pass up again. Jonny deserved the same even if it was about something different.

So when they were planetside again, he went looking. It had to be something subtle, something believable.

At the end of the day he returned to the ship and loudly exclaimed: “Everyone gather around, here, here, come on.”

“What is it, Tim.” Ashes called out from the kitchen, where they were making themself a drink.

“I shoplifted a bunch of stuff, not really looking, just shoving shit in pockets, you know. I already filtered out what I liked, so now you can fight over the rest.” Tim explained.

“Bold of you to assume we like the same things.” Ashes replied.

“I just told you it was random, there could be stuff you like. And I have impeccable taste!” Tim defended himself.

The rest of the crew had gathered around the table where Tim had dumped a pile of stuff. Jonny was already rooting around in it and Tim waited until he had found it. Bingo, he thought when he saw Jonnys eyes light up as he pulled the gigantic belt from the pile.

He held it up to inspect it, it was brown leather a good 6 inches broad with a big golden buckle, exactly something Jonny would like and the others wouldn’t and it was something that could subtly function like a thing such as a corset, making a figure appear more feminine.

Ashes saw it and joked: “I don’t think that’s your size, Jonny.”

“Yes, it is. Fuck you.” Jonny shot them a glare.

The others were now looking as well and Marius commented: “Are you sure this was all random, Tim? That is too much Jonny to be coincidence.”

Jonnys glare now became suspicious as he turned to Tim. Tim held up his hands and said: “I swear, really. I probably took it because it was shiny.”

“Magpie.” Jonny teased.

“Like you’re one to talk.” Tim stuck out his tongue. Jonny did the same, before shoving the belt in his pocket for as much as that was possible and diving back into the pile.

Once the pile had disappeared into the hands of the crew, they set to drinking together.

The next day when all had awoken en slept off the hangover, Tim saw Jonny again. The First Mate was shooting at an octokitten, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he was wearing the belt. It was a sitting around his waist, a bit higher than normal and it seemed like it had been pulled a hole too tight.

Tim smirked and congratulated himself on the success.

He then went to attack Jonny and save the octokitten from Jonnys violence, because even if he was sure that the critter had probably earned it, it didn’t deserve it.

After that the belt became every day attire for Jonny, so with that in mind Tim set to the next part of his plan. He again snuck off when they were on a planet, he thought Ashes was feeling the need to burn something and Nastya didn’t want that on her precious Aurora.

Coming back he again called everyone together and loudly proclaimed: “I robbed a jewelry store.”

“Since when are you such a thief? This is the second time already.” Marius asked him.

Tim shrugged: “There isn’t much else to do and I thought why not take it before it gets burned, you know. It’s a pity to let it go to waste.”

He looked back and saw Jonny poking the pile with a mixed expression on his face, like he wanted to take it, but wasn’t sure if that would be okay to do.

The others had already grabbed the few things they liked, so Tim decided it was fine before he said: “Just take them, Jonny. They’re going to be in the way otherwise and I’m sure your collection of useless shiny things is far from complete.”

Jonny looked like he was going to protest, before he deflated and grabbed all the leftover jewelry and grumbled: “It isn’t useless.”

Then it was playing the waiting game again.

It took a few weeks, but finally Jonny arrived with a few bracelets dangling around his wrist and a blush high on his face as he tried to hide them and cringed every time they clanked together.

Later he was wearing a chain around his neck and a while after that he’d filled up the holes Tim hadn’t realized were in his ears. He couldn’t know Jonny had pierced them himself just for this, of course.

Tim made sure to complement him each time he saw a piece of jewelry. The first few times Jonny had given him a wary look, but Tim had tried his best to look earnest and now he’d gotten to the point where Jonny would come up to him to show him the jewelry.

When that became normal, he waited a few more days, before laying down on the opposite couch and sighing: “I wish I could paint my nails.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Jonny perk up, then the fake uninterested reply came: “Why can’t you?”

“I don’t wanna do it alone.” Tim pouted, “And Brian doesn’t have nails, not really, same goes for The Toy Soldier. Ashes, Ivy and Nastya don’t like me enough. I don’t trust Marius not to psychoanalyze me over it and Raphaella will turn it into some sort of experiment.”

After a beat of silence Jonny said: “You didn’t name me.”

And now came the important part. Tim sat up with a grin and concurred: “Exactly, I didn’t.”

Jonny seemed to realize what he was implying and shot up saying: “No, I’m not doing that. Don’t involve me in your dumb wishes.”

Mentally Tim rolled his eyes at Jonny, but externally he pouted: “Please, Jonny. I don’t wanna do it alone and you’re the only one who I can trust, please. I promise I’ll try my best. You can even pick a color.”

Jonny bit his lip while he thought about it. He didn’t have to think long, already having decided that this was too good of an opportunity to pass him by, and agreed: “Fine, but you so owe me after this.”

Tim cheered, before getting his stuff.

When he returned Jonny had slid off the couch and was sitting next to the small table waiting for him. He smiled at Jonny and put his nail polishes in a row, letting Jonny pick a color.

He picked black and Tim snorted. Getting defensive, Jonny snapped: “What?”

“Nothing, just expected that already.” Tim said, grabbing the silver bottle for himself and setting the rest aside.

Taking Jonnys hand, Jonny asked him: “Aren’t we doing your hands first?”

Tim shook his head: “No, you need to see how to do it first before I allow you to potentially fuck up my nails.”

“Hey, who says I’m gonna fuck it up.” Jonny exclaimed indignantly.

“Me, because you’re already not paying attention.” Tim told him.

Jonny snapped his gaze back to Tim, who had already started painting Jonnys nails. The First Mate had kept his hands still despite the protesting, something Tim found quite funny.

Soon Jonnys first coat was dry and it was his turn to try and paint Tims hands.

Tim had to fight to keep the smile at bay as he watched Jonnys brow furrow in concentration and his tongue poke out while he carefully painted Tims nails. They weren’t the best, but definitely good for a beginner. Tim told him that, not missing the small blush that appeared.

Tim was fully expecting the nail polish to be gone the next day, but to his surprise Jonny still had black nails during breakfast. Ashes saw them and commented: “Nice nails.”

Jonny froze for a second, then he replied: “Uh, thanks, Tim did them.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to do mine alone, so I roped Jonny into it. Look!” Tim inserted himself into the conversation and showed off his nails as well.

They got some more complements and Jonny relaxed further. The nail polished stayed on until it was completely chipped away.

Up until then, Tim had acted alone in gently forcing Jonny to explore his more feminine side, but for his next part he needed help. So he went to Raphaella.

“Oh, hi Tim! What can I do for you?” she asked, removing her science goggles and setting aside her flame thrower.

“I was just wondering if something was true and since you’re our Science Officer, I thought you would be the best person to ask.” Tim told her, watching her light up at the word ‘science’.

“What is it? What is it?” she asked excitedly.

“Well, you know how some of these planets have these stupid gender rules?” Tim asked.

Raphaella nodded and he went on: “So, I was wondering how much truth there was to the heel thing, because it doesn’t seem that hard to walk on heels, but they’re out there pretending it’s only women who can do it, but I don’t know how to test that.”

Clapping her hands excitedly, she said: “Oh, I know how we can test that. It won’t be a big sample size, but Nastya and Ivy have never walked on heels, so we could pit them against two of the boys. Hm, Brian wouldn’t be a good fit and Marius has one heavier side, so it would be you and Jonny. Oh, this is going to be fun!”

“Nice, I knew I could count on you, Raph.” Tim said, “So, what do we need?”

Tapping her chin Raphaella listed: “Heels in the right sizes, all the same height too, a course to walk and, of course, willing participants.”

“I do the heels and course, you the participants?” Tim asked.

“Sounds good.” Raphaella answered.

Tim got the right parts for the course and the heels, you don’t want to know how he knew which sizes he needed, but he got them pretty easily. It was Raphaella, who was having trouble with her part.

“No, I’m not walking on fucking heels, because you’re some weirdo with some sort of shit experiment.” Jonny seethed.

“Please, Jonny.” Raphaella asked again, “Nastya, Ivy and Tim already agreed and Ashes has already put up a betting pool.”

“They did what?” Jonny shrieked.

“A betting pool. Most money is on you going flat on your face within five steps.” Raphaella told him, let it be known that Raphaella could be manipulative and she wasn’t afraid to use Jonny competitive streak against him.

“Oh that absolute asshole.” Jonny groused, “Fine, I’ll do it. Tell Ashes I want money on me being the best.”

Raphaella smiled cheerily, before skipping away with an: “I will!”

The next day their time had come. The four of the were standing at the starting line, Raphaella had a clipboard in her hands and the rest was cheering them on or trash-talking them.

It was a simple course, walk 20 feet, go down 6 steps then zigzag between four cones.

They hadn’t been allowed to practice and had to put on the heels right at the start. It was alright just standing, but Tim dreaded having to walk. Jonny was so going to owe him so hard after he told him how much he’d done for the guy.

Speaking of Jonny, he glanced over to him. Jonny had a determined look on his face, but his gaze also flicker down from time to time always softening as he admired the sleek black heels with a look of wonder and a small smile.

The signal was given and they were off.

Nastya faired pretty well, she’d been royalty and a certain amount of grace had been needed for that, Ivy on the other hand was struggling. She loved to be with her books, usually walking around barefoot so that she could feel it when she’d accidentally stepped on one.

Tim also wasn’t doing much better, his arms had turned into propellers as he wobbled and shook, he was almost certain he would not be surviving the stairs.

Next to him, Jonny was actually doing very well. No one knew that the First Mate would walk around on this tip toes, pretending to have heels on just to know what it would feel like and the force of knowing that doing good would piss Ashes off kept him walking with a straight back and minimal amounts of stumbling.

In the end both Tim and Ivy fell down the steps. Ivy broke her neck and was out of the race and Tims heel had broken off, so he’d hopped the last part.

Nastya and Jonny finished around the same time, both collapsing on the couch when they were done. Nastya immediately kicked off her heels, but Jonny kept them on, throwing his feet on the table to turn back and laugh at Tim.

Once everyone was alive and well. Raphaella came with the verdict: “It seems like gender rules around heels are baseless according to our findings here, of course, if we really wanted more concrete answers we would need to do a bigger experiment with more people, but we since we can’t really do that this will have to do.”

“Was that what this was about?” Ashes asked, “We all already knew that gender rules were stupid, no need to fucking test that.”

“It was more curiosity and personal amusement, although that didn’t really work in my favor.” Tim told them.

He got an eyeroll from them, but they seemed to find his answer acceptable. They instead turned to Jonny and asked: “Are they glued to your feet or something?”

Jonny cracked open and eyes and looked down, blushing when they saw the heels and quickly saying: “Oh, I totally forgot.”

He was about to pull them off, when Tim said: “I bet my caliber 14 laser rifle you can’t function an entire day in heels.”

His hands stilling, Jonny gave him a look and asked: “What if I loose?”

“If you loose I want the goggles you stole from Hermes, don’t lie and say you don’t have them.” Tim answered, demanding something with high enough stakes that Jonny wouldn’t call bluff, but not high enough he wouldn’t take it.

“Deal.” Jonny said, hands retreating.

“I bet he gives up after an hour.” Marius called out.

“Yeah, me too.” Nastya agreed.

“Hm, I think he can make it through the day.” Ivy mused and Brian agreed: “Yeah, I also believe he can do it.”

Ashes got up and grinned: “Wait, I’ll write the bets down.”

Tim rolled his eyes, nothing to get the crew moving than a few bets. It didn’t matter that most stuff was practically shared and that they never spend money, instead robbing stores if they wanted something.

After a while the excitement had died down and it was just Tim and Jonny together. Tim needed to keep an eye on Jonny to see if he didn’t cheat after all.

“You can’t just sit there and look at your feet the entire day, that’s also cheating.” Tim broke the silence.

Jonnys head snapped up from where he was admiring at the heels. He covered up the fact that he got startled when Tim had called him out, by crossing his arms and huffing: “That was never specified.”

“Yes, it was. You needed to function in heels and I know you’ve never just sat around for an entire day.” Tim said.

“Why do you even care so much?” Jonny asked.

“I want the goggles.” Tim said with a tone like Jonny was stupid.

Jonny frowned, but didn’t meet his eyes as he repeated: “No, I mean about all this. Why do you care so much?”

Had Tim been caught? Had Jonny realized? He decided to play dumb and asked: “I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”

“I mean about all this, about me doing all the, you know, girly stuff.” he whispered the last part as if he was afraid that if he said it louder the words would explode.

Okay, so he had caught on to what Tim was doing and Tim needed to make sure Jonny did hate him after all this. Fuck. He was never good at that sort of thing, he’d hoped Jonny would never find out until he was completely comfortable, but no such luck.

So he thought carefully about his answer, then replied: “It seemed like it was something you wanted, but you didn’t do, so I don’t know, I thought I would help, sorry.”

“No, no sorry, just why would you do that? Don’t you think that it’s weird?” Jonny asked him.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird.” Tim told him, “Why do you think it’s weird? It’s just clothes, no one here aboard cares if you want to wear something that makes you happy. You heard Ashes, gender rules are stupid.”

“Who said it made me happy.” Jonny pouted.

“You’re ignoring the question, Jonny. Besides, I have good vision, surprisingly enough, I see how you get when I convince you to do something more girly.” he used Jonnys word, thinking that feminine might not go over well.

Jonny moped for a bit and said: “I don’t think it’s weird.”

Tim sighed: “Jonny, you just asked me if I thought it was weird and something is obviously stopping you from doing it. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, but you don’t get to lie and say that something isn’t stopping you.”

It was quiet for a few seconds after that, it seemed Jonny was building up the courage to tell Tim something, so Tim waited patiently until the other was ready. Taking a deep breath, Jonny said: “I saw Henry hanging, when I was little.”

“Who’s Henry?” Tim asked, confused and not expecting that answer.

“Just a guy in my town, tried to pay another guy to have sex with him, so they hung him on his own windmill. Threw away all the bread that was made with his flour too and left him hanging there until he fell.” Jonny told him, “I saw him. I think I was ‘round twelve.”

Tim suddenly remembered how scared Jonny had been to admit he liked guys, how they even thought he might be straight at one point, because he had hidden it so well. It was crazy to see how much he’d grown since then.

“That must’ve been terrible.” Tim replied, unsure how else to react.

Jonny shrugged: “Wasn’t the first body, but it did leave an expression. I think what was shittier was how my dad talked about him afterwards, you know.”

“I can see how something like that would stop you from ever trying something that wasn’t considered safe,” Tim told him, choosing his words as carefully as he’d chosen his steps I a minefield “but we all aren’t your father, Jonny. The Aurora is not New Texas. You don’t have to hide here, if you want to walk around in high heels and a skirt with bright red lips and corset then you do that.”

“Everyone will think it’s weird if I suddenly did that. They’ll think it’s a joke and laugh at me.” Jonny was close to tears at this point.

“No, they won’t. I’ll make sure of that.” Tim said, putting a arm around Jonnys shoulders in a comforting manner, allowing the First Mate to lean into him.

“Why are you so nice about this? To me?” Jonny mumbled.

Tim let out a breath and decided that Jonny deserved some honesty in return. So he said: “I loved Bertie, you know, never told him that, but I loved them. When he died, and then I died, I regretted it, but I’ve gotten a new chance at life. I promised myself to never miss an opportunity again, you also deserve to do the things you never dared when you were mortal, Jonny.”

“I’m sorry about Bertie.” Jonny told him.

“It’s alright, I made peace with it, well, sort of.” Tim replied.

After that they fell quiet for a few minutes, just sitting with their sides pressed together. Jonny broke it: “You really think they won’t laugh?”

“Of course not. No one laughs at Ashes either, do they?” Tim said.

“That’s different, they fall in between, I’m still a man. They probably think I’m making fun of them and kill me for it, I would deserve it too.” Jonny retorted.

“It is different, but that doesn’t mean what you’re doing is bad. Everyone expresses themselves in different ways, I do it with painting my nails and braiding my hair or with my goggles and you do it your own way.” Tim said.

“I’ll think about it.” Jonny finally decided.

It was the best Tim could hope for. It was also clear that Jonny wanted the conversation about this to end, so Tim nodded: “Alright, now get up and help me sort the armory.”

“Why?” Jonny asked.

“You need to function on those bad boys and I want those goggles really bad, so walking it is.” Tim replied with a grin, “Chop, chop, we don’t have all day.”

Jonny rolled his eyes, but he seemed better as he pushed himself off the couch and slowly followed after Tim.

By the time the day was over, Jonny was richer and the proud owner of a caliber 14 laser rifle. He also was pretty good in walking on heels, although his feet hurt like a bitch and he complained about it the entire night.

After his conversation with Jonny, Tim tried not to push him any further. He had done his part and now it was up to Jonny to see what he would do with the things Tim had told him.

He still kept a close eye on the First Mate and was glad to see that Jonny still wore the jewelry and the belt, he also noted that his eyeliner had become a bit more elegant.

A few weeks, later Jonny also shyly asked Tim to paint his nails again, so Tim didn’t worry about Jonny spiraling into the wrong direction.

The heels didn’t come back though, but when Tim left his ones by Raphaella in the lab, he saw that one pair was missing.

They had been planetside a few times after that when Tim noticed something one day.

Jonny didn’t have a terrible posture, but he never stood up that straight, his belt was also a bit tighter, so Tim said: “There is something different about you today, can’t pinpoint it.”

His eyes widened and he blushed. He quickly looked around to see if anyone else was there, before he lifted his shirt and showed Tim the corset underneath. He said: “It’s just for me, I just wanted to know what it was like.”

Tim smiled and said: “Well, you look great.”

“Thank you.” Jonny returned the smile.

“Wanna race to the kitchen? I heard Marius was baking today. Loser gets shot, winner dibs?” Tim asked.

“Sure.” and Jonny was already sprinting, a bit more out of breath at the end, but otherwise just business as usual.

It didn’t happen every day and it wasn’t all that noticeable, but Tim could see when Jonny would be wearing the corset. He also got a few more flow-y white blouses and boots with a thicker heel than he normally had.

Months went by like that until one night Tim got awoken by a knock on his door. Grumpily he opened and squinted against the light with a harsh: “What?”

“Uh, sorry, I forgotten how early it was.” came Jonnys voice.

“Is there a reason for waking me?” Tim asked, still waking up, but a bit less grumpy with Jonny there.

“I need you to help me.” Jonny told him.

“Help you with what, Jonny? I don’t have the brainpower for your dancing around what you want me to do.” Tim rubbed his eyes.

Jonny dawdled for a second, then he softly said: “I wanna wear this outfit, but I don’t want anyone to laugh at me, but I also don’t wanna talk to them about it and I hoped you might help, but if you don’t that’s okay, sorry for waking you. That was dumb, sorry. I hadn’t thought about it and now it’s too-”

“Jonny, shut up.” Tim recognized the anxious rambling from when Jonny had come out to them and ended it as soon as possible, “I’ll help.”

“Uh, oh, thank you.” Jonny stammered.

“No, problem, now go back to bed.” Tim said, closing the door again.

He made sure to be up before Jonny and went to the common area near the kitchen. Everyone except Jonny was already there, which was good, so he cleared his throat and said: “People, quick little thing.”

“What is it, Tim?” Ivy asked.

“Jonny is going to come in with an outfit that you’re maybe not used to and everyone is going to be nice about, okay. I know you all like to tease, but not today.” he gave them all an intent looks until he was sure that all would listen.

“Of course.” Brian said.

“How is it differently then?” Ashes asked, “I’m not going to do anything, just curious.”

“Haven’t seen it, he just asked me to tell you.” Tim shrugged.

“Why you?” Nastya asked.

“Me and Jonny are friends.” Tim pouted, a bit offended at the suggestion that they weren’t, “We talk.”

Then the door creaked open and Jonny poked his head around the corner, before walking in. He had his black leather boots with the small heel on, a pair of tighter gray-brown pants that pleated out at the top, tucked in the pants was a papyrus colored corset, one of his white flow-y blouses coming from the top. He also had a few golden bracelets around his wrist, dangle-y earrings and two belts hung loosely around his hips.

He looked at the floor for a second, before he met their eyes and softly waved a: “Hi.”

Tim smiled and said: “Look at you! You look great, Jonny.”

The others realized what Jonny had been so afraid off and all fell over themselves to tell Jonny how much they liked his outfit and how well it suited him.

Slowly Jonny lost the tension and bashfulness he’d showed up with and by the end of breakfast he was roughhousing and yelling like normal and he’d already shot Ashes for finding out they’d cheated during their card game yesterday, like he hadn’t had a stack of cards up his sleeve the entire time as well.

They were about to bring away the dishes, when Jonny coughed and in an uncharacteristically vulnerable voice he said: “Uhm, thank you for not being assholes about it.”

“Why would we be, Jonny?” Brian asked, “It’s just clothes and you look good, comfortable. We wouldn’t be assholes about it.”

Jonny looked helplessly at Tim, who nodded and explained: “New Texas was a shit place, definitely not the best planet to grow up on if you’re someone like Jonny, or any of us for that matter.”

Understanding came over the others as they nodded with sympathetic expressions. Ashes slung an arm over Jonnys shoulders and said: “Well, fuck them anyway. You’re better than that.”

Grinning at them, Jonny agreed with a cheer: “Fuck yeah.”

Over the course of the next few weeks Jonnys outfits became more feminine. He still wore other stuff from time to time, but he seemed happier in the new outfits he wore, less like something was weighing on him. No one had seen the invisible weight until it was gone.

When they landed on a planet, Ashes loaded a gun and told Jonny: “We’re robbing some clothing stores, grab Tim since you’re so attached to him and come along.”

“What?” Jonny asked.

“We’re getting you more nice clothes, come on.” Ashes repeated, then they called out: “Tim!”

Tim poked his head around the corner: “What?”

“We’re robbing stores for nice clothes for Jonny, wanna come?” Ashes asked him.

“Heck yeah.” Tim yelled, running to join them.

“You don’t- I don’t- it’s not-” Jonny was stammering.

“Don’t be daft, Jonny.” Ashes told him, “You look nice and happy, you deserve more of those clothes. I know some of them got ruined with the blood and the bullet holes, so you need more. We’re getting them, no complaining.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” Jonny was utterly confused.

Ashes gave him a smile and said: “I know how nice it is to have clothes that make you happy inside, now come.”

With that Jonny shut up and let them and Tim drag him along to the giant shopping center the planet had.

At first Jonny was hesitant about grabbing stuff. His eyes lingered on delicate necklaces, some socks with bows and even a dark blue skirt with a copper cog pattern on it, but he didn’t dare to touch them. So Ashes just ripped them of the rack and sternly stated: “You better start grabbing things, d’Ville.”

And so Jonny did, he started taking things from the racks. He got fishnets, heels, dresses, skirts, a few pants, dungarees, jewelry, makeup and hairpieces.

He still had a blush on his face throughout the whole thing and he didn’t make eye contact with Ashes or Tim, instead wordlessly handing them the clothes, but at least he was taking stuff he wanted.

It was all going well until Jonny stilled in front of a display and gaped at the feather fans, boas and hip pieces.

He swallowed heavily and stared, not noticing how Ashes and Tim gave him questioning looks and tried to get his attention. After a while of ignoring them, Tim put his hand on Jonnys shoulder and asked: “Jonny?”

Jonny snapped his head around and mumbled: “What? Oh, uh, nothing. I’m fine.”

His eyes drifted back to the display, ignoring Tim once more. So Tim spoke up again: “Want to get the feathers?”

“Oh, no, it’ll be impractical and they’ll get ruined and, you know, it’s stupid. Feathers don’t really fit with the whole aesthetic we got going on either, no matter how pretty they are.” he tapered off at the end, voice getting dreamy.

“We can make feathers steampunk.” Ashes told him.

Jonny bit his lip and looked at the display once more. If he had been hesitant about everything else, that couldn’t match up with how he was hesitating now. He shook his head softly and murmured to himself: “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Why wouldn’t it be the same?” Tim asked.

Startling a bit, Jonny said: “Oh, it’s weird and doesn’t matter. Never mind.”

“We’ve been over this before, Jonny, spit it out.” Tim pushed him fondly.

“It’s just, this going to sound weird, but back home, back on New Texas, Jack he had- Well, you see he had these show girls in the casino.” Jonnys cheeks were burning as he explained, “They danced with feathers and all dolled up and stuff. I always- I, uh, I always wondered what it would be like to- to, you know, to be one of them.”

His voice was barely a whisper at the end and he buried his face in his hands as he whined: “See, it’s weird and embarrassing.”

Ashes lit up and said: “Jonny, we’re making you the prettiest show girl there is.”

“What?” Jonny squeaked.

“Oh, come on, this is what it’s been building up to, isn’t it.” Ashes said, “It’ll be fun, besides I have nothing against you walking around looking like a hot show girl, it’ll be just as good for me as it is for you.”

“I agree, I think it would be amazing to see you walk around like a cute show girl.” Tim agreed.

It looked like Jonnys head was going to explode from the heat on Jonnys cheeks as he scream-whispered: “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” Ashes said nonchalantly, “Now, go pick out some show girl outfits.”

They pushed him into the store and Jonny didn’t fight. This was it, a dream he’d had since he was fifteen. He walked through the store like it was holy ground and he touched all the pieces with reverence.

Tim and Ashes made themselves comfortable on the couch, setting down the enormous amounts of bags they had acquired throughout the day.

They didn’t get to see the outfits Jonny tried out, but he returned an hour later with five more bags and a small smile on his face. He said: “I think I have enough clothes now.”

Returning the smile, Tim said: “That’s nice, wanna go back?”

Jonny nodded and took some of the bags from them. The way back to the Aurora was silent, but comfortable. They took the bags to Jonny room, but before they could leave Jonny stopped them and said: “Uh, thank you, this means a lot.”

“No problem, Jonny.” Tim told him.

“Nah, did it with love.” Ashes winked.

Throughout time they saw more and more pieces they’d helped Jonny pick out and he looked very happy with his new stuff, and after the others had realized how he’d gotten the new outfits and accessories, they also started to leave little gifts for him, making him smile and blush every time he opened them.

Overall he still acted the same, except now he just kicked Marius in the nuts with a twirl of his skirt instead the swoosh of his vest, but they never saw the show girl pieces.

Not that they were going to ask about them either, from what Jonny had said it was clear the outfits were personal, but that didn’t stop them from talking about them.

“I just wonder what he looks like, you know.” Tim slurred, one night when it was just the two of them, draped over the couch with too much alcohol in their systems.

“You’re right, he’d probably have heels and like, ugh, legs.” Ashes tried to get their point across.

Tim understood them perfectly: “Yes! Legs. Oh, and waist. Yeahh.”

Ashes groaned: “We’re so fucked for the dude, aren’t we.”

“Yeah, we are.” Tim slid further down dramatically, “At least he’s pretty. And I think most of the crew is fucked at this point as well. Especially Brian and Marius.”

Agreeing Ashes took another swig, then they toasted: “To Jonnys legs and waist.”

Tim grinned and raised his bottle as well and echoed: “To Jonnys legs and waist.”

Unbeknown to them, it wasn’t just the two of them at all. Jonny had been on his way to join them again, finding that he couldn’t sleep, so drinking was a better option. He had stilled just outside the door to listen when he had heard the conversation.

After the toast the two fell asleep on the couch and Jonny backed away. His head was spinning with the blood that had rushed to it and the information that swirled around in his brain.

He’d put on some of the outfits before, a few times already, just in his bedroom. He’d looked at himself in front of the mirror inspecting every angle with a happy bubble floating in his chest. He liked looking like that, he liked feeling pretty, but the fear of looking stupid or being laughed at or killed had stopped him.

It didn’t matter that the others hadn’t killed him or laughed at him before for his outfits and told him it was okay, this was so much further than those things and he didn’t think he could emotionally survive it if they decided that it was too weird.

But now here were Ashes and Tim, toasting to the idea in that outfit. They liked it, despite the fact that they’d never seen it. That did funny things to him.

He didn’t fall asleep that night, instead he laid in his bed and replayed the conversation over and over in his head until he had analyzed it in a 100 different ways. He wanted advise about it, but the only people he trusted for advise about all this were Ashes and Tim, so he just tossed and turned instead.

The conversation he’d overheard played heavy on his mind the next day and it seemed the others picked up on it, because Tim cornered him and asked: “Hey, Jonny, are you okay? You look like something’s bothering you.”

On one hand Jonny didn’t want to admit what he had heard, but on the other he desperately wanted to know what they had meant with it all and what he was supposed to do with it.

He bit his lip then said: “I, uhm, I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t sleep and I knew you and Ashes were still awake, so I thought I’d come back, but then I heard you talking and it, uh, it was about me so I, I listened.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, Jonny.” Tim said mortified, “We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable at all. Sorry that you had to hear that. God that’s so embarrassing, sorry, really.”

“It’s okay, I just don’t get it.” Jonny replied.

“What?” Tim said.

“I don’t get it.” Jonny repeated.

“What don’t you get, Jonny, I’m still not a mindreader.” Tim told him gently.

Jonny bunched the fabric of his skirt, the dark blue one with the copper cog design, as a nervous habit and confessed: “Why you like the idea so much. For me it’s about liking myself and feeling pretty like the show girls, but I’m not them and I look dumb in it, honestly, so why would you two like it so much?”

“Did you ever think about the fact that we might think you look pretty in the clothes, Jonny?” Tim asked him.

“But I’m not pretty, I know I’m not.” Jonny exploded a bit, “I’m short and stocky with wild hair that never sits the way I want it, I’m a maniac and you can see that in my eyes. That’s not pretty, Tim, don’t tell me that it is.”

“Oh, Jonny.” Tim sighed and pulled him into a hug.

He kissed the top of Jonnys head and said: “Me and Ashes seem to disagree with you. We think you’re very pretty. You never see how lively you look when you’re beating Raphaella to a pulp after she’s pissed you off or how excited you get when someone gets you a little gift. You look very pretty then, there’s a reason the crew keeps giving you them.”

“But they don’t me-”

“Shush, Jonny, let me talk.” Tim ignored the interruption, “You can’t see everything in a mirror, dear. You’re very pretty, especially when you’re happy or violent. I loathe to think, you dislike yourself. We like the idea of you in those clothes, because to us you’re very pretty, beautiful even, and we think those clothes would accentuate that beauty even more.”

Jonny was quiet. He stood there in Tims arms and let the words wash over them. He’d never thought of himself as pretty or beautiful, the clothes made him feel like that, but there was always a voice in his head that told him it wasn’t true.

He swallowed thickly as he tried to get his emotions under control. He didn’t succeed only managing: “You called me dear.”

Like he was burned Tim let go and apologized again: “Sorry, Jonny, sorry, I let it slip out that was uncalled for.”

Jonny blushed and said: “I liked it.”

“You did?” Tim asked, not believing his ears.

“Uh, yeah, it’s nice?” Jonny replied uncertain.

“Oh, can I- can I keep doing it?”

“Please.”

Tim smiled and said: “Well, then, dear, I just want to say you’re very pretty, beautiful, just absolutely gorgeous and if you want to you can wear those pretty clothes and feel pretty, but you don’t have to, I just want to tell you that none of us would mind.”

“They’re a bit extravagant and impractical.” Jonny argued, unable to handle the complement and therefore ignoring it.

“Well, I’m sure that your task around this ship is nothing more than sit and look pretty, which you are very successful at.” Tim teased with a smirk.

Jonny spluttered a bit not able to come up with a good reply.

“Just think about, okay. Just like last time. I’ll be here.” Tim assured him gently.

Still not in control enough to speak Jonny nodded and hugged him again, giving him a small peck on the cheek, before hurrying down the hall, the click of his heels echoing behind him.

Once he’d disappeared Tim slid down the wall and touched his cheek, then he softly, but passionately whispered to himself: “Fuck.”

Before getting up to find Ashes, because they needed to know what had happened. He needed to be able to tell someone and he couldn't think of anyone better to vent to about this particular subject than Ashes.

Except maybe Brian and Marius, he knew those two were staring at Jonny and not all that subtly if he might add, but he and Ashes were the only ones that knew about the show girl outfits and it would feel like a break of trust towards Jonny to tell someone else.

After he’d told Ashes everything they decided that it was completely unacceptable that Jonny didn’t think he was pretty, so they decided to dial up the complements, leaving Jonny flustered. They also gave him the nickname darlin’.

With Tim and Ashes both calling Jonny a pet name of sorts the two others had decided that it was now law. So, Brian called him sweetheart and Marius addressed him as princess. Only The Toy Solider and the wlw aboard the Aurora referred to Jonny by his name.

At first Jonny had squeaked and hid when he was spoken to with a pet name, but now he only flushed a bright red.

It was during dinner when Jonny, with too much nonchalance to be normal, asked: “Is there anything unusual happening tomorrow?”

“Not as far as I’m aware, princess.” Marius said, “How so?”

“Oh, uh, nothing in particular, I wanted to wear this outfit, but it’s a bit impractical, so if there was going to be a lot of action I’m not going to put it on.” Jonny tried a laid back tone, but the thrumming nervousness was still clear.

Tim and Ashes visibly perked up at his confession and Jonny moped: “Okay, calm down. You caught me, I wanna wear one of the outfits, you happy?”

“What outfits, sweetheart?” Brian asked, very interested.

Jonny then realized that only Tim and Ashes knew what he had meant and that he was now going to have to explain it to everyone there what he had been referencing. He gestured vaguely and mumbled: “Oh, you know, uhm, an outfit with, uhm, feathers ‘n stuff...”

He trailed off at the end and ducked into himself, Tim made a questioning noise and Jonny gave him a nod, so Tim said: “Jonny has a very pretty outfit that Ashes and I haven’t seen either. It’s like a show girl. They used to have them back on New Texas, it’s where all this started.”

As red as a cherry, Jonny nodded and mumbled: “It’s just stupid, but it’s fun? It’s not special or anything.”

“Of course it’s special, darlin’.” Ashes exclaimed, “And it’s not stupid, you’re going to look gorgeous in it and if I’m honest I will be looking forward to tomorrow if that’s in store.”

“Ahw, princess, it’ll be nice, getting all dolled up for us.” Marius smiled.

“But it’s so extra. You know what I’m not doing it, it’ll be dumb, serves no purpose. It’ll be weird.” Jonny was already back paddling.

“Dear, no.” Tim said, “It doesn’t have to serve a purpose, do you think I need these goggles for my job? Or Brian and Marius those hats? Or The Toy Soldier that uniform? Of course not. It’s all extra things that make us happy. You wear that outfit if you want to.”

“Alright.” Jonny gave in, making them all smile, “But now it’s blown out of proportion, it’s really not that special.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Brian told him.

The rest of the dinner passed quietly, Jonny hightailing out of there as soon as he was done, not meeting anyones eyes. When he was gone Nastya groaned: “You’re all being disgusting, you know that right?”

“Like you and Aurora didn’t annoy us for centuries.” Tim rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s cute.” Raphaella smiled, “Jonny seems happy, don’t you agree, Nastya?”

Nastya was silent for a beat, then she threw her hands up and said: “Fine, I guess, he is and that’s good. He deserves it after everything, but that doesn’t mean I want it rubbed in my face, he’s like my brother and it’s weird.”

“I recall one time you told him, you quote ‘fuck the ship’, so I think he’s earned a bit of retribution.” Ivy reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Nastya dropped the subject.

After that they all went their separate ways as they thought of what tomorrow would bring, hopefully Jonny confidant in a show girl outfit, but who’s to say. If he backed out, he would and they couldn’t fault him for that.

The next morning, Jonny was standing in front of the mirror inspecting himself. He’d put on his favourite of the outfits, even some makeup to match, but he wasn’t sure.

Yes, the others had liked the idea, but what id he couldn’t live up to it? Or what if they had the wrong idea and when they saw him they would laugh at him? He could still back out, but that would disappoint them and he didn’t want to do that either.

He sighed and twirled again.

In the end it was the Aurora, who made the decision for him. A panel appeared with the message: The others are getting worried, if you’re not there in ten minutes I am 99% sure they’re going to look for you.

Ten minutes, that wasn’t enough time to get this all off and the last thing he wanted was for them to find him half dressed as he hurried to get undressed. He just had to take the plunge and hope they really did like it.

Tim had barely stood up to look for Jonny, when the sound of heels clicking at a fast pace called their attention to the door. A bit winded Jonny stopped in the doorway and breathed heavily as he apologized: “Sorry, lost the time.”

Four mouths hung agape as they stared at their First Mate.

The corset was a light pink that was dripping in pink rhinestones and lace. It was pulled tight to make his waist a few inches thinner. The hip pieces were a combination of feathers in the same pink and white, accentuating the hourglass figure the corset was giving him.

Underneath, he wore sheer white stockings with white lace on top and matching pink heels.

Around his fingers he had a few silver rings and rings with pearls. He also wore velvet pink gloves that went up to his elbow and he had a huge fan made from white feathers in his right hand.

To top it all off, he had put on a light shiny eyeshadow that sparkled along with pink lipstick and sharp eyeliner. On his head rested a silver headpiece, which also had pearls to make it all complete.

Once he noticed them all staring, he realized what outfit he was wearing and promptly hid his face behind the fan.

With the movement Tim came back online and he said with wonder: “Fuck, how are you so unbelievably pretty, dear.”

Jonny peaked out from behind the fan and slowly made his way over to the seat under the scrutiny of everyone else.

Since the others were still processing and Jonny was clearly still a bit uncomfortable with the lack of reaction from most, Nastya sighed and said: “I have to admit, Jonny, I didn’t think you could clean up so well.”

The complement wasn’t as laden with affection nor filled with words his mind couldn’t wrap around, so Jonny shot her a smile and did a little bow as he said: “Thank you, I tried.”

That got the others to function as well and they all told Jonny how nice and pretty he looked. Nastya rolled her eyes at the mushiness, but she couldn't be mad at them for making that smile appear on Jonnys face, not really.

After breakfast Ivy left on her own, while Nastya guided Raphaella and The Toy Soldier away to give the five of them some privacy.

Brian had meanwhile walked up to Jonny and offered a hand. He asked: “Can I have a dance, sweetheart?”

Jonny had never been more grateful for the fan, it really was perfect to hide his blush behind as he accepted the hand and allowed Brian to twirl him around.

He made him spin till their arms were stretched and then Jonny was taken over by Tim, who dipped him before swaying him from side to side, holding him so that he could hide his face in the crook on his neck.

He was then offered to Marius, who made him dance to a faster silent tune, putting his hands on his waist as they spun around the room with quick steps. Marius ended their little dance by picking him up and depositing him in Ashes arms.

Ashes held him for a second, before they carefully set him down on his feet and pulled him into a proper waltz. Jonny couldn't for the life think of where they would’ve picked that up, but this was Ashes and Ashes was full off surprises so he just let it be a delightful surprise.

After the impromptu dance session he was settled on the couch, smile high on his cheeks. They all settled down around him and with a happy sigh he stated: “I don’t know why you’re all so nice to me, but thank you.”

“Because we like you, dear.” Tim informed him.

With wide eyes Jonny looked as they all nodded with a smile. He then frowned and asked: “Really? All of you?”

“We tried to make it obvious, darlin’.” Ashes told him.

Apologetically Brian added: “We didn’t mean to spring it on you like this, sweetheart, and we want to assure you that it is completely fine if you don’t like us back.”

“Oh, no, I do, I just-” Jonny squirmed in his seat, before the word dam broke: “It would be cheating or something wouldn't it? I mean, it’s selfish and weird if I love all of you and I don’t want to make you feel bad or pick one of you or something, you’re all too nice for that and, oh, what would the others say or maybe I’m not- I’m not what you all assume and then you want to leave me or-”

“Dear.” Tim tried to cut him of, “Dear, stop, please. For us?”

Jonny stopped and gasped for air, fiddling with the fan as he vibrated in his seat with anxiety.

“It’s not selfish or weird.” Tim told him, “You just have a big heart, dear, and that just makes us love you more, okay. We’re also not going to make you pick, we don’t mind sharing, really, if you’re willing to love all of us, we would only be honored.”

“And Nastya already gave us as much of a blessing we’re going to get out of her.” Ashes said, “So don’t go breaking your pretty little head about that, darlin’.”

“You don’t have to give us an answer now, princess, take your time.” Marius assured him when Jonny stayed silent for a few moments.

“No, it’s- just processing.” Jonny said with a chocked off voice.

“Would it help if we hugged you?” Tim asked.

The nod Jonny gave was small, you would’ve missed it, if you weren’t paying attention. Luckily they all were paying very close attention, so they quickly gathered him up in their arms, until Jonny was sideways in Ashes lap with his feet thrown over Marius lap, while Tim hugged him from behind and Brian from the side.

They sat like that for a while, until Jonny broke the silence: “I, I do really love you all and I’d be, I’d be honored to call you all my partners, but I’m no good at that and I can’t promise you that I can be what you want me to be.”

“We just want you to be you, sweetheart.” Brian petted his hair softly.

“Yes, you say that now, but…” Jonny replied.

“And we’ll see how it goes, we just need to talk a bit together and see where everyone stands.” Marius said, “But we’ll figure it out. You won’t disappoint us, trust us.”

“But we can talk about all that later.” Ashes lifted the quiet, serious mood, “Because we really haven’t talked enough about how breathtakingly beautiful you look today, darlin’.”

With the temporary breather, everyone relaxed as they again lavished Jonny in complements and praises, this time also softly giving him pecks and hugging him close while they praised him. Until Jonny was flushed entirely red and beaming with pride, practically emitting a happy glow.

He was happy, they were happy and they had an eternity to be happy together.

New Texas was not a lot of things, but it was a shit place to grow up in if you’re someone as special and beautiful as Jonny d’Ville. However, if you managed to take the New Texas out of the boy, you were left with someone amazing.

~~~~~~~~~~

I know I normally only do A/Ns with AO3, but I thought these were too important for that: 

All sexualities and stuff are headcanons, not a reflection of the band members or the characters if they see it differently.

Also, aroace people are queer and 100% valid and I will fight whoever says differently, (just in case that wasn’t clear, I love you all, be proud!)

Clothes are for every gender, fuck anyone who tells you otherwise, you can come to me and I will make sure their kneecaps are gone if they harass you.

In my mind this was just Jonnys gender expression/presentation not identity. For me, he wanted to be part of that world of glamor and attention, so here he still identifies as male with he/him pronouns, but if you want to think this is pre-exploration that will make him later realize he’s trans or non binary or any other gender, feel free! It’s up to your interpretation!

Although most the polycule ID’s as gay that does not mean Ashes isn’t the proud enby that they are, exceptions can be made and if the person is alright with their partner ID’ing as gay despite being with them then that’s their choice, as long as communication is there. It depends on the situation.

I didn’t really include the discussion of boundaries between them, because I am not in that sort of relationship, so I don’t think I would be able to write it down properly and I wouldn’t want to do the beautiful poly community a disservice :D

[v-thinks-on]

Reconciling Jeeves and Bunny

Part 6 of Jeeves and the Amateur Cracksman

First | Previous

My pal Bunny was over for tea one afternoon. We were chewing the fat about this and that as we do, when Jeeves came shimmering in with the necessaries. Under most circs. Jeeves isn’t what you’d call a talkative sort. Sometimes he’ll get to rambling about something or other, but usually, especially when I have guests, he’s the very image of the perfect servant, silent and impassive. However, on that particular afternoon, he was a shade more cold than impassive, not the sort of thing a fellow wants to have around the house.

“Thank you, Jeeves,” I said with a smile, attempting, I confess, to tease an answering lip-twitch out of the chap.

“Not at all, sir,” he said graciously, but there was something dashed uncomfortable in his demeanor, and my efforts were in vain.

“Yes, thank you, Jeeves,” Bunny added hastily.

Jeeves merely nodded, barely glancing Bunny’s way. And then he rippled from the room.

Jeeves’s manner around Bunny has always been a dashed rummy thing and I’d had quite enough of it. It was time I got to the bottom of it.

Once Jeeves was gone, I turned to Bunny and asked, in a quiet conspiratorial sort of voice, “Did you and Jeeves have some childhood tiff, what? Like he had with his cousin Dorian?”

“Dorian?” Bunny asked, perplexed, as though he didn’t recognize the name, but it seemed to come back to him quickly enough. “Oh, no, not like that, I wasn’t- I wasn’t really a consideration.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.

“I mean, compared to someone like Jeeves, or Raffles” - Bunny faltered over his late friend’s name, but hastily recovered - “or Dorian, I was… There wasn’t really any reason for any of them to so much as look at me.”

“That’s no reason for Jeeves to be dashed standoffish toward you! He tolerates me well enough and everyone knows I have about half the intelligence of an ordinary chap, let alone a mastermind like Jeeves. And you’re certainly cleverer than I am.”

“Thank you, Bertie, but I don’t mind it. Jeeves and I have never been particular friends.”

“But you came to him for help, after well-” - I didn’t dare finish the sentence - “didn’t you?”

Haltingly, Bunny explained, “None of the others- I thought he might understand because he has you.”

“I do what I can, what, but I’ve found that Jeeves understands just about everything,” I said proudly, though I had a distinct feeling there was a point I had missed somewhere along the way.

Bunny only nodded and decidedly turned the conversation to other matters.

After Bunny had departed, I sat for a while ruminating on the questions he had left unanswered. At last, when Jeeves came rippling in to do a little routine dusting and straightening and what not, I bucked up the old Wooster courage and confronted the man head on.

“You don’t like Bunny, do you?” I asked.

“I have nothing against Mr. Manders, sir,” Jeeves answered evasively.

“You know, he’s your cousin, you could call him ‘Bunny.’”

“But he is your friend, sir.” If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn there was some disdain in Jeeves’s tone.

“You know he isn’t going to try to steal anything,” I attempted.

“Yes, I am aware, sir.”

“If it’s not that then what is it? You can’t tell me there isn’t something awfully rummy about how you give him such a wide berth and look at him as though he were wearing a Drones Club tie or those Etonian spats.”

“I have no objections to Mr. Manders’s wardrobe, sir.”

“I bally well know that! He’s as conservative dressed chap as you please, if a little worn ‘round the edges. Out with it, Jeeves; what’s Bunny done to deserve your ire? Don’t tell me you’re still beefed about that cigarette box.”

“I have no ‘beef’ with Mr. Manders, sir, if I may use the expression.”

“Then what is it?”

Jeeves let out a breath that was awfully close to a sigh. “I have observed that it often occurs among children that one individual is subject to particular ridicule - or worse - by the rest, and in our family, Mr. Manders was the unfortunate target. Most of my cousins were particularly gifted in one way or another, and we saw Mr. Manders as below us because he was not. Mr. Raffles was the only one who defended him, and for that we scorned him as well.”

“You did it too, Jeeves?”

“I am afraid so, sir.”

“I suppose it goes to show that you really were a child, just like any other, what?”

“That’s is most kind, sir.”

I didn’t see how, but I wasn’t about to argue with the fellow. Instead, I said, “So, what? You’re embarrassed to see him now after all that? I’m certain Bunny would accept your apology.”

“Perhaps so, sir.” Jeeves sounded as close as the chap ever gets to surprised at the suggestion, though I couldn’t imagine he’d never thought of the possibility. 

He paused for a moment, considering a spot on the sofa a few inches to the left of where I was sitting. His expression was inscrutable, not like a stuffed frog, but in a far-off, reflective sort of way.

“The rest of us may have been more proficient in the schoolyard,” Jeeves remarked at last, “but Mr. Manders has succeeded far better at adapting to ordinary life.”

“Now, wait a second, Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “Bunny’s a fine pal, but he wouldn’t make half the valet you are, and I’m sure you would even be a better thief if you put your mind to it - the world ought to be grateful you haven’t. There isn’t anything he can do that you couldn’t do better.” 

“That is very kind of you, sir, but I mean in a more abstract sense. Mr. Manders is more suited to the world in which we live, just as you are.”

“Well, there you have it! Anyone could tell you that if a chap is at all like me, then he isn’t going to amount to anything.”

“Quite the contrary, sir.”

“You’re talking rot, Jeeves. Are you feeling quite all right?”

To my surprise, the corner of Jeeves’s lips twitched upward a fraction of an inch. “If you will pardon my saying so, sir, what you may lack in entrepreneurial skill, I would say you more than make up for with a heart of gold.”

“Really now, Jeeves,” I attempted to protest, but I could feel my cheeks flushed at the assessment and the dashed soft way he’d said it. “Any chap would do the same.”

“I beg to differ, sir.”

There wasn’t really anything I could say to that, my cheeks still warm in a pleasant sort of embarrassment that sent my chest all abuzz. I doubt I looked so different from Bingo Little or one of the other lads at the Drones on one of their more lovesick days, after having just been graced by a glance from their latest lady love.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, thank you, Jeeves,” I said, and I meant it.

This is the final part of Jeeves and the Amateur Cracksman - for now - but the story continues in The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves!

There’s much more to come (including an appearance or two by Bunny), but there’s a lot to this AU that remains to be explored that just hasn’t made it into the story so far - any questions or further prompts are always welcome!

[youllallriseintheink]

Aimless rambling about the ink thinner AU

So, I’ve always kind of wanted to explore this comedy au in more depth (and no, I’m not writing a fanfic on it. It would be aimless). If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the ink thinner AU is one where the crew gets the opposite of their usual personality for a week. This doesn’t include a person’s abilities or attitudes about specific people (it won’t make Wally smart, or make Sammy instantly fall in love with him). It’s an interesting concept to explore- what would you, as a person, do if you could be separated from so much of what keeps you where you are for a week?

I’m going to add an extra detail: on day two, Joey figures out what happened and calls the other twelve into his office to explain. All of those who have families and/or significant others will have a meeting together that night to explain what’s going on to their loved ones so they can work out an arrangement.

Original post is here: https://youllallriseinthenk.tumblr.com/post/187692782312/what-would-happen-if-each-of-the-batim-employees

The post is about what their personalities are, but I want to talk about how they’d handle it.

Henry: has way too many emotions and no way to handle them since he’s always been super calm without much effort. On the plus side, he 100% takes advantage of Joey’s temporary reasonableness so he can get him to make some changes around the studio in regards to working conditions. Does his best to contain himself at home. (His kids mostly just think it’s funny.)

Joey: It was a long week for him. Suddenly developing empathy when you’re a person who’s done so much wrong isn’t easy, and he was also a pretty somber person in general that week. On the plus side, he made some great changes to the company and apologized to a bunch of people he did wrong to.

Sammy: is really even-tempered all week. Takes the opportunity to apologize Susie and Wally for being so snappish all the time, and tackles particularly frustrating parts in the songs he’s working on.

Susie: Is finally able to look at things logically and leave her obsession with the Alice role behind. Being less naive, she comes to a realization that she is being seriously mistreated at Joey Drew Studios and writes down why she thinks that so that she will remember when the week is over. Signs up for auditions elsewhere. Her cynicism is really off-putting, though.

Allison: is outwardly a total bitch all week, but her fire for novelty is gone, at least. It’s pretty uneventful for her, except that Thomas is really kind to her. She and Susie go out to bitch about life over coffee at one point.

Thomas: it’s a very peaceful week for him. He’s able to have a productive and helpful discussion with Joey (see below) and can connect with Allison in a way that’s hard to come by for him now that he’s in a rare state of inner peace and contentment. Will probably miss this more than anyone.

Jack: essentially spends the week making his rounds on every person that routinely takes advantage of him, chews them out, and sets new boundaries on the relationship. Goes harder on some people than they deserve and apologizes to them as soon as the week is over. He also crashes at Sammy’s place so that his family doesn’t have to deal with him being an asshole.

Wally: was so depressed that he spent the first day of it in bed. Afterwards, he was determined to move up in the world and made a plan to do so. He was thinking “who’s the last person I’d normally want the help of,” and invited Shawn to help him.

Norman: was really sociable all week and made a bunch of friends with people not affected by ink thinner. He lost track of most of them afterwards, but he kept a few.

Grant: obviously enjoyed being cheerful and energetic. Used the opportunity to draw up a detailed financial plan for the studio to get as much as possible fixed, and especially to get as much done as possible before Joey was back to normal. Also tackled some things in his home life that usually seem too hard or intimidating.

Bertrum: is essentially thrown into a paralyzing existential crisis because everything he’s ever done was to become as big and noticeable as possible, but now he feels like an disgusting embarrassment and just wants to hide and never be seen or thought of again. (Yeah... a person who hates themself as much as Bertie loves himself is a wild mess.)

Lacie: really has to help Bertrum stand up for himself. Thankfully she’s feeling really gentle and nurturing right now. Eventually she just has to encourage him to take the time off and not make any big decisions until he’s himself again.

Some events:

-Jack chews Joey the fuck out for everything, which makes him cry. Sammy as well. Both of them treat him with kindness that week. Sammy didn’t even realize he was mistreating Jack until he told him because Jack is just that much of a cheerful pushover. Sammy changes his behaviour towards Jack after the week is over. On the other hand, Jack picks a fight with Allison that ends with him in the infirmary.

-on day two, during the meeting where Joey tells everyone what’s going on, Wally drops some line about how depressed he’s been. After the meeting, Grant takes him aside and offers to tell him some of his coping mechanisms, since he’s used to dealing with it. Wally takes him up on the offer. The two passed by each other a few times that week and Grant made a point of asking Wally how he’s doing. After the week, Wally started asking the same thing on the occasions when they crossed paths (until Wally left, that is. See below.)

-Since Thomas doesn’t feel so under-thumb anymore he tries to have a serious talk with Joey about the ink machine. Joey tearfully admits that the ink machine is evil and they should get rid of it. Being both unusually sentimental and naive, Thomas comforts him and promises not to go to the police so long as Joey immediately gives the order to start taking down the machine. Of course, that order is immediately reversed the second the week is over, and so is Thomas’ willingness to go to the authorities.

-Wally and Shawn have a deep, meaningful conversation about their future careers. Wally writes out a plan to take a second job so he can save enough money to take some time off, learn a trade, and go into a career that will make him happier with himself. Shawn considers looking for a job as a chef and leaving the studio behind. The second the week is over, Wally is so glad to feel alive again that he immediately crinkles up the plan and is like, “Hey Shawn, fuck this, I’m happy right here!” To help him celebrate, Shawn sets fire to the plan and dares Wally to stuff it in his mouth. He does. After the week, Shawn actually does go on to become a chef, and gets Wally a job as a janitor at the restaurant. Thus, neither of them get sacrificed.

-Right before the week is over, Jack gets ahold of the intercom, and tells everyone that he’s found more ink thinner and will drink a whole gallon of it if anyone tries treating him like dirt again. A few days afterwards, Grant and Thomas approach Jack, and, well, it wasn’t easy telling the poor guys that there was no more ink thinner.

If you have anything to add, reblog and add it.

[rena-rain]

Miraculous Hogwarts AU (First Day)

“Adrien.” Gabriel Agreste called out his son’s name as he was about to step onto the train. Adrien turned to be greeted with his fathers hands on his shoulders and steel-colored eyes boring holes into his soul. He received no further warning than that before being pulled into a rare, rare hug. Adrien froze for a second then relaxed into the embrace.

Far too soon Mr. Agreste pulled away. “Be good, son.”

“I will, Father.” He gave him one last smile then stepped onto the train.

He opened a door behind which sat a small girl with pink ribbons in her black pigtails. She wore muggle clothing and sat curled up in her seat, staring out the window. An unusually red tawny owl was perched on her knee.

“Hey.”

His voice made her start. “Um. Hi.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Sure, yeah. No! That is I don’t mind, I mean - go ahead?” The girl’s cheeks went pink and she seemed to shrink into herself even more. Adrien guessed she was a muggle-born; she was alone, clearly nervous, and seemed pretty out of her element.

He smiled and took the seat opposite her. “Thanks. I’m Adrien, by the way.”

“Marinette. Nice to meet you, Adrien.” She put her feet down and stuck her hand out. He shook it.

“Likewise, Marinette. So, are you excited to finally see Hogwarts?”

“I guess so. This is all so new to me I don’t really know what to expect. My parents are, well, they don’t have magic, you see.” So he was right. “I guess you grew up waiting to go to Hogwarts, huh?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I thought I heard some other kids talking about houses? I thought we were going to live in a castle.”

Adrien grinned. “Houses as in groups inside the school. A house is kind of like one big team, and they compete against each other. You get sorted into a house depending on your personality.”

Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “The professors separate us then pit us against each other?”

“I - I think it’s more like having a place to belong even on the first day of school. Each house is named after one of the Hogwarts founders: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Everyone in my family has been a Gryffindor for generations.”

Marinette hummed thoughtfully. Before she had a chance to respond, another girl opened the compartment door. She wore muggle clothes too, but the button-down oxford and jogging pants combination clashed so that it was clear she grew up in witch’s robes. She had rich red-brown hair, soft ochre skin, and a cute mole above her right eyebrow that made her look permanently sassy. She had an owl cage tucked under her arm and dark-rimmed glasses threatening to slide off her nose.

“Oh, thank god, all the other compartments are packed. Can my friend and I join you?”

Adrien looked to Marinette, who said, “Of course. Are you a first year, too?”

“Yep. I’m Alya - one sec.” She leaned out the door into the corridor. “Nino! I found a place!” 

She sat down, and another boy came in right behind her. He was already wearing black wizard’s robes. “Thank you so much, dudes. We barely got on the train before it started moving.” He held out his hand to Adrien, who was closest to him. “I’m Nino, by the way.”

He shook it, smiling. “Adrien. And this is Marinette.” Marinette gave a shy little wave.

“Whoa, sweet bird, dudette. I’ve only seen a color like that a few times before!” Nino switched seats so he was closer to Marinette and held out a finger. “May I?”

“Sure.” Nino stroked the owl’s head delicately. It closed its eyes contentedly.

“She likes you.”

“What’s her name?” Alya asked.

“I’ve been calling her Tikki. Is that a dumb name for an owl? I’m sorry this is all new to me.”

“Nah. I once heard of an owl called Pigwidgen. You said new? Are you a muggleborn?”

“Uh, yes, yes I am.”

“Well don’t worry,” Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, making her smile. “We’ll get you all caught up, right boys?”

They both responded in the affirmative. Marinette respondes, “Adrien’s been telling me about the Hogwarts houses.”

“Oh yeah? Have a guess where you’ll be sorted, pretty boy?”

Adrien sighed. Alya’s face and voice were good-naturedly teasing, but he’d long since tired of that nickname. “My whole family’s been Gryffindors for generations.”

“Dude same for mine and Hufflepuff.” Nino gently shoulder bumped him. “Maybe we’ll break the pattern.”

Alya snorted. “Nino if you’re not a Hufflepuff I’ll eat my wand.”

“Why’re you so sure?” Marinette asked.

“Hufflepuff is the most inclusive house. The founder only wanted her students to work hard and be fair, and Nino’s scolded me for taking some of his ice cream.”

“If you wanted a double scoop then you should have bought a double scoop!”

The compartment door slammed open, startling them all. A girl with brand new, jet black robes, red earrings, and a high blonde ponytail posed in the doorway. Unfortunately, Adrien recognized her as Chloe Bourgeois, and old family friend.

“Adrikins! Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. Sabrina and I have a compartment farther up the train. Let’s go, no need to hang out with these losers.”

Marinette folded back into a ball, making her body as small as possible. Nino glowered, and Alya crossed her arms. “Watch who you’re calling loser, you brat.”

Chloe gasped. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Chloe - ” Adrien tried. But she interrupted him.

“My daddy is the Minister of Magic, for your information!”

“Oh who cares?” Startled, Adrien looked to see Marinette clasp her hands over her mouth, apparently just as surprised by her outburst as he was.

Chloe sneered. “If you know what’s good for you, you should. He’s the most powerful wizard in Britain.”

“Most influential, maybe,” Adrien said.

“Et tu, Adrikins?”

Marinette huffed. “Just get out of here. No matter who you are, you don’t get to talk to us like that!”

“Ugh. I’m over this dumb compartment. Let’s go, Adrien.”

Adrien glanced between his oldest - and only - friend, and the three kids who’d been friendlier with him in five minutes than Chloe had in five years. “I think I’m staying. You go ahead.”

“Fine.” She huffed off and the compartment door slid shut on her wake.

Alta crossed her arms. “That girl’s a piece of work.”

“She’s a lot.”

“Let me guess: she’s sweet once you get to know her?”

Adrien thought for a second then shook his head. A faint call in the corridor from the sweets trolley witch reached his ears and he jumped up. “Trolley’s coming, you guys want anything? My treat.”

Marinette and Nino started.

“Oh no you don’t have to”

“I’ve got a little pocket money here”

“Are you two seriously turning down free candy? Guys, he’s offering!” Alya looked perplexed.

Adrien opened the door. “I’ll just get a bit of everything.” He was out before they could make any more protests. Adrien figured they should introduce Marinette to as many wizard of sweets as they could.

As it turned out, Marinette loved the licorice wands but was appalled by the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“Why on earth would anyone want a glass-flavored sweet?” she exclaimed. Adrien hid his chuckle behind his hand.

Alya shook the box, peering inside. “It’s about the dare. And pranking your siblings. I convinced my little sister that a dirt-flavored bean was chocolate. I swear, she was so mad, pink sparks burst out of her ears.”

“Speaking of,” Nino scooped up a couple chocolate frogs, tossing one to Marinette. Adrien had just stuffed his fourth into his mouth. “You gotta try these, they’re the best chocolate in the world and they come with collector cards!”

Besides the ribbeting noises while she swallowed, she seemed to like the chocolate frogs a lot more. She examined the that came inside. “Ooooh, I’ve heard of her! I got Morgana. She was a real witch?”

“As real as a salty ghost,” Alya replied. Marinette gazed in wonder at the card in her hands. Adrien gathered his chocolate frog cards and held them out to her.

“Here, you can have mine, I don’t collect them.”

Her face flushed. “Oh. Oh! Um, th-thanks Adrien that’s sweet really. I mean, that’s really sweet, thank you.” She grabbed them from his outstretched hand and huddled back into her seat. For the thousandth time Adrien cursed his heritage. He didn’t want a cute, nice girl getting nervous around him just because of how he looked.

Marinette was rifling through her chocolate frog cards. “There are witches and wizards on here from throughout history...some are even still alive...why are they all wearing the same thing?”

Nino frowned. “Huh?”

“Look at the chocolate frog cards, the robes hardly change at all. Isn’t fashion a thing in the wizarding world?”

“Of course it is,” Alya said. “It’s just not as finicky as muggle fashion.”

“The clothes just never change...that’s so odd...”

“Wizards are very traditional,” Adrien explained. “Magical artists and designers tend to focus on preserving our cultures and histories.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t accessorize a bit,” Marinette pointed out. “There’s so much potential here. I wonder if I could get a dress form at Hogwarts...”

She pulled a sketchpad out of her purse and began drawing. They were rough, quick sketches, but Adrien could tell the moves were well practiced. With a few strokes of a...not a quill, what’s that writing thing called?...whatever it was, a few quick lines and he could see the clothes she imagined like a projection from her mind.

Adrien noticed Marinette worked with the tip of her pink tongue sticking out the corner of her moth. He decided he definitely wanted to be her friend.

--

Adrien had been called up first for the sorting, and had been sitting with the deliberating old hat on his head for ages. Marinette checked her watch. Six minutes had gone by. “Is this normal?”

“No.” Alya sounded fascinated. “If the sorting takes longer than five minutes we call it a ‘hatstall.’ It’s supposed to be incredibly rare.”

“I wonder which houses he’s deciding between.”

“I don’t know. That boy’s hard to get a read on.”

Her watch was approaching the six minutes and thirty second mark when she heard the hat boom out its choice. “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Alya snorted. “Chloe does not look happy.”

Marinette watched Adrien find a place among his new house mates. They hugged him and ruffled his hair and the lines of his robes became yellow. He already seemed to glow with an alluring, metallic shine, but the big smile on his face made him ten times more beautiful. Marinette shook herself when she realized she was staring.

Chloe Bourgeois got sorted into Gryffindor after a comparatively brief stint on the stood. She proudly and happily strutted to her table as scarlet dripped down her robes.

When it was her turn, the hat blocked Alya’s vision and the hundreds of eyes staring at her. A rumbly voice spoke in her ears. Or was it directly into her mind?

“Mmmm, interesting, I sense fire in this one. Very brave, very stubborn, very noble. But you are a cunning one, as well; I sense great ambition in your heart.”

Alya’s chest clenched. That sounds like a Slytherin thing. But you said brave...

“Little fox, you would thrive in Slytherin or Gryffindor. You straddle a line of values. Ahh, I see you’re another Cesaire.”

You remember sorting my sister?

“And your father. You have their passion in your blood. You all are deeply magnanimous. But you, oh you’re so very clever and resourceful. I’m inclined to place you in Slytherin, if you have no objection...”

...I don’t.

“Very well. Welcome to the house of SLYTHERIN!” The sorting hat shouted the last word to the whole hall and was lifted from her head. She slid off the stool and walked to the table applauding raucously. As she sat and older students shook her hand and patted her back, she watched in wonder as the trimmings of her robes shimmered and turned emerald green.

“Oh, yes, I know precisely where you belong.”

Is it Gryffindor? Marinette dreaded the notion of living in the same place as Chloe Bourgeois.

“I can see your dreams, young lady. You may look all sugary sweet to the outside world, but you’re scrappy. You hunger for your destiny.”

All this was news to Marinette, but she didn’t protest as the hat called out “SLYTHERIN!”

In a daze she found a seat next to Alya. She nudged her. “Girl that was fast. You wore the hat for maybe five, ten seconds?”

“It was very adamant I be sorted into Slytherin,” Marinette confused. “Yours took longer.”

Alya pinched her thumb and forefinger so they were a centimeter apart. “I was this close to joining the Gryffindors.”

Marinette smiled. “Well, I’m glad we’re in the same house.”

They watched as one by one the other first years got sorted. As Alya predicted, the sorting hat barely touched Nino’s head before it bellowed out HUFFLEPUFF! He scooted next to Adrien and gave him a big hug. He looks good with yellow on his robes, Alya thought.

Ko-fi

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: The Aftermath

I can appreciate when a film has lofty ambitions and doesn’t quite get there, but one that has modest goals and still misses is a puzzle. The Aftermath is ostensibly about a steamy affair between a widowed German and a married Brit in the days after World War II. Juxtaposing the lurid, romance-novel allure with the complex world of post-war Europe provides obvious ground on which to slip, and the film avoids this by simply taking no narrative risks at all. Even the title is dull.

Rachel Morgan (Keira Knightley) is married to Lewis Morgan (Jason Clarke), a Colonel who has been assigned to handle unrest in Hamburg. They are given the palatial estate of Stefan Lubert (Alexander Skarsgard), an architect, to call home for the duration, with Stefan and his daughter Greta (Rosa Enskat) being shipped out soon to an unspecified camp. I was unaware of situations like this happening at the time, and was eager to learn more, which I did not. This intriguing detail is passed over in a few lines of dialogue, which is also true of the fact that Stefan had a required portrait of Hitler hanging in his home, which might have offered the film a chance to reflect on the things required of people to survive in that environment.

The movie isn’t really interested in what people were required to do to survive in that environment. Nor is it especially interested in the local resistance, which is tied up into the non-entity of Bertie (Martin Compston), a loyal Nazi with an 88 tattoo who appeals to Greta because she resents the loss of her mother in an allied bombing raid. This is supposed to form the emotional crux of Clarke’s role in the film, which sees him frequently leaving Rachel alone to quell unrest or interrogate a suspect in an attack on soldiers, while trying to encourage tolerance for the Germans. Like everything else in the film, this is a common plot structure, and it’s been used effectively many times in many movies. This isn’t one of those movies. Lewis is a character with no personal complexities, and his enemy is his equal in this regard. When the final confrontation happens, the movie has failed at establishing the stakes so thoroughly that Bertie’s fate and Lewis’s actions all feel like kids playing at spies rather than a real life-and-death matter.

What the film is interested in is the sex appeal of Knightley and Skarsgard, who make smoldering looks at one another as they snipe about matters great and small. I gather these looks were supposed to create tension in the audience. Joe Shrapnel and Anna Waterhouse’s screenplay forces this on us rather than let it develop naturally, and when Stefan first kisses Rachel, it is on the heels of a moment that is not erotic in the least. The same can be said for when they make love, a scene where the actors thrust their hips awkwardly into each other in a way that seems more suited to rough bathroom sex than intimacy. They are drawn to each other over shared loss, he of his wife and she of her son, yet their affair resolves at film’s end with a whimper, foregoing a more daring and thoughtful ending that would have redeemed a bit of the film’s blandness.

It was an odd decision in the first place to try and combine the horrors of living in a bombed-out city in a post-war world with the kind of steamy semi-erotic pap you once found in supermarket check-out aisles. If you’re going to do something like that, you’ve got to have the stones to back it up, and this film plays it curiously safe on every possible level. It has been directed by James Kent, whose film version of Testament of Youth also dealt with breathless, doomed romance against the backdrop of war, and which I found quite a bit better. What puzzles me most is that the novel by Rhidian Brook is based on the real experiences of his family living with a German one in just such circumstances, a story which would have made a far more interesting film exactly as it was. Injecting doomed affairs and a cliche rebellion into it has deprived of us what could have been a fascinating historical drama.

Verdict: Not Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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