#welcome to downton collection

[nathsketch]

No introduction needed, but July is finally here so let’s get it started with much style and in excellent company! 👑👒

Happy Friday!

P.S.: I know you’ve been waiting for these three :) 

#welcome to downton collection #downton abbey #lady mary #lady edith #lady sybil #character design #character art #illustration friday #nathsketch #the art of nathanna erica #visual development #animated downton abbey #artists on tumblr #michelle dockery #laura carmichael #jessica brown findlay #happy july

[notyour-valentine]

What was the situation like when Charlotte fell from the horse when she was little? I want to know more about protective girl dad Robert!

I think this was in reference to what May said. It was about a tree not a horse, but thank you so much for asking. I hope you like it. And you'll be getting protective girl dad Robert in the main series soon as well. This was written as part of my crossover series Welcome to Downton, Mr. Shelby

"The Fall"

It was a big bed for such a little girl. 

Granted, the nursery had many smaller beds, more appropriate in size for a girl of six. 

This was a bed for an adult, in an adults bedroom. And amidst the pillows and blankets she looked like a doll, the kind Edith sometimes tucked into her big bed. 

Yes, that was what this reminded Cora of, a little porcelain doll. And while her skin was just as pale, her hands weren't cold, especially not the one Robert held in his. 

He hadn't let go of it even to shake the doctor's hand. 

Again and again they had told Charlotte not to climb, but in combination with Sybil and Shrimpy's youngest, there was no stopping her. 

Cora couldn't even remember what it was, a ball that got stuck between the branches, or a hoop, all she knew was that Charlotte as the smallest, took it upon herself to scramble up the large old oak tree, further and further. 

She had even gotten the toy down again, but on her descent, her dress had caught and in an attempt to remove it she had lost her balance and - 

No, Cora scolded herself again and again. She hadn't been there, but that didn't stop the moment replaying in her mind. 

Did she try and reach for anything to hold as she fell? Did she scream or cry out in fear? Or did it all happen too fast for her to realise? 

"Robert, darling, you should try and get some rest.", she suggested, running a hand over his shoulder. 

The doctor had come before dinner, and done his best but little assessment could be made until she woke. If she woke. 

She forced her eyes shut and took a deep breath to steady her heart and her ever faster racing mind. 

Robert had insisted she at least get some rest, not that she found any, while he stayed at her bedside the way he had been when they had received the news, already in his dinner shirt, just missing the jacket and the cuff links. 

"No thank you.", he said, without taking his eyes off their little girl. 

Cora sighed deeply, wrapping her arms around him from behind. She didn't know if she was holding him, or holding onto him. 

Sometimes waiting was the hardest part, unable to do anything but hope and pray. 

"Did you see the fireplace in the smoking room?", Robert asked, tearing Cora from her thoughts.

"No.", she said, oblivious to why, of all things, that mattered now. 

"You should go see it.", Robert said. "Norfolk has some Egyptian carvings there. His collection isn't as extensive as ours but they are very delicately made."

She felt her chest tighten. Her husband's…affection with Egyptology was endearing at best, overbearing at worst and right now entirely inappropriate. Their daughter was hurt, and all he thought of were dug up carvings from thousands of years ago. 

"I thought of bringing Charlotte down after the nursery breakfast to see them. Only the maids would be in there then." 

Suddenly a frown fell over his face. 

"Sometimes I wonder if she just pretends to be interested in all these things because she knows I am.", he said. 

She felt her own face soften as she sat down on Charlotte's bedside. 

"Don't be silly, Robert.", she assured him, placing his hand over the one in which he held their child's. 

"Of course she is interested in them because you are. But that doesn't mean she is interested in them to please you. How else would she know of all these things?" 

Sometimes she thought it was far too much, to teach a little girl to recognise the gods of war and death of a far away place. But then she remembered that one time both Charlotte and Robert were nowhere to be found for both lunch and tea, only to find them both in his office, his expensive mahogany wood desk covered in today's, possibly still unread newspaper, as they tried to write all their names in hieroglyphs using her paints. 

It had been a right mess, ruining her dress and his shirts, but they had been so proud of their work- writing not just Charlotte and Robert, but also Cora and Mary and Sybil and Edith, proudly presenting each with their own slightly misshapen version of their names. 

Of all the things she had thought, or even hoped about her now husband when she had met him, seeing him with paint stained hands after a day of play with their fourth daughter hadn't even manifested in her wildest dreams. 

With a deep sigh, Robert leaned into her. His forehead was covered with a thin sheet of sweat. 

"Cora, what if she doesn't-", he whispered against the crook of her neck. 

"She will.", she said sharply, not allowing him to speak the unspeakable. 

"But the doctor said it was a poss-"

"Well it's not."

She wouldn't allow it to be, and neither would Robert. He just needed a little convincing, a little more faith in that little creature. 

"She will.", she said, stroking his hair back as she moved to look at him. "She will and she will be just fine."

The doctor came again just before breakfast, checking her pulse and her breathing, once more remarking that it was steady. 

Then he moved a lamp close to her face, and it contorted. 

"Ah.", he said, moving it away. "Light sensitivity."

"Is that bad?", Robert demanded to know as Cora rushed to smooth down her brow. 

"Not at all. It shows that she is waking. The light sensitivity will pass, but she will most likely be nauseous and have a horrific headache." 

Then he took a thin little metal rod from his bag, and pulled the sheets back. 

He lifted Charlotte's left foot, before poking at the sole. She tugged at the foot, her face twisting again in discomfort. 

"Good. Good.", the doctor muttered, placing her foot down again before he repeated it on the other side with a similar result. 

"Is this necessary?", Robert demanded to know, glaring at the doctor with distrust. It did seem rather…barbaric. 

"Quite, Lord Grantham. It shows that the nerves and muscles in the legs are working as they should, and that there is no injury to her back that could inhibit them."

Robert exchanged a slight glance with Cora, swallowing a bit more than his pride. 

All this prodding and prying unsettled Charlotte. She tried to turn in her sleep, but winced and stopped. 

"Ah that'll be the headache.", the doctor said, sounding almost pleased. "With any luck, she'll wake before breakfast.", he promised. 

While his tone was beyond distasteful, it could be forgiven in the light of the prognosis he gave.. 

They tried to help her along with some cold water. They brought up a bowl from the kitchen, swimming with chunks of ice, and Cora gently dabbed her face and her neck with it in the hope it would breathe more life into her. 

When she stirred, her little face contorted in pain. 

“My darling, can you hear me?”, she asked, after Charlotte brought up her hand to rub her face, even in her slumber. 

She shifted again, under the sheets, wincing and groaning at the discomfort her movement caused her. 

“Mama?”, she asked, rubbing her temple. 

“No, don’t do that, Sweetling!”, she insisted, knowing how sensitive her head would be. 

Only when she felt her hand close around her fingers after she had pulled them back, did she realise that Charlotte was waking up, well and truly waking up. 

The relief washed over her like a wave, when she saw Charlotte open her eyes, the eyes that were so much like hers, as Robert would always remark. 

“Mama?”, she asked again. “My head hurts-”

“I know, I understand.”, she said, immediately shifting closer. “You took a big tumble, my darli-”

She knew her daughter well enough to read the signs. Impatient as she was, she tried to sit up by herself, but that little motion was enough to upset her stomach. 

Cora reached for the bowl in time, if so barely, as Charlotte wretched up what little was left of yesterday’s lunch. 

Robert reached over to help her pull Charlotte’s braid out of the way, as she balanced the bowl on her knee. 

“There now. It’s alright.”, she assured her. 

“My head hurts.”, she whimpered again, and before too long tears were streaming down her fac.e. 

“I know. I know.”, she soothed, as Charlotte leaned into her chest. 

She wanted to smooth down her hair and risk hurting her more. 

“Doctor, what can we do to help her?”, she asked, looking up at the man. 

“I’ll leave instructions to the maids and nurses to make sure she drinks a lot. The cold water will help with the pain. Otherwise, darkness and rest.”

It seemed like a whole lot of nothing to her, but if that was what he recommended.

“How long will this pain last?”, Robert wanted to know. 

“Two days, maybe three. The sickness too-”, the Doctor insisted as he snapped his bag shut. 

“I’ll come check on you this afternoon, my Lady.”, he told Charlotte, who still had her chest buried in Cora’s chest. 

“Lady Grantham.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”, Cora said, rubbing Charlotte’s back. 

“Come, Lord Grantham. Best to leave this part to the women.”, he told Robert, patting him on the back as if he was his friend from his Eton days. 

Robert met his eyes for a moment before huffing. 

“I’ll be seeing you this afternoon then, Doctor.”, he said stiffly, reaching his hand out for the man to shake. 

The man was hardly out the door, when Charlotte was sick again, although this time it was more heaving than gagging than anything else. 

Cora took great care to be as gentle and as slow as she could when she helped Charlotte lie back against the pillows. 

“I’m sorry.”, she whispered. “Mama, I’m sorry.”

“None of that now!”, Cora insisted, making sure to tuck her in again, as Robert closed the curtains to darken the room. “You just rest, Sweetling.”

Her large brown eyes searched for her father. 

“Papa, are you cross with me?”, she asked. 

Robert smiled softly, reaching into his pocket to pull out his handkerchief, and gently wiping the covers of her mouth. 

“Not a bit, Sweetling.”, he said, taking her hand and stroking it, the way he had done when Cora had returned to the room all those hours ago, the way he had done, most likely, since she had fallen.

~

Thank you for requesting!

#wtdms #valentinesanswers #charlotte crawley #matthew crawley #welcome to downton mr shelby

[cynosurus]

Hi and welcome! Say hi if you'd like!

Lately I've been up to:

learning mandarin (but all Mandarin related posts, about learning and other things will hopefully be tagged mandarin)

and watching a ton of videos of the fantastic douyin group 酱油白米饭 in the process

as well as some general lingusitic language nerding about English, Swedish and more

and for a change re-reading some Jane Austen books for the x:th time.

Some other tags I use:

The Mandarin started with me watching the untamed for the first time and having reactions. (I still have three episodes left that I'm gathering the emotional energy to watch!)

Some other the untamed reblogs etc under the general tag the untamed.

I collect stuff, often art, that makes my brain slow down for a moment under the calm tag.

Some terrible puns (not my own!) are reblogged under pun warning.

Somtimes I need to attend the socialist downton abbey watchers' emotional support group.

My brain frequently makes connections btwn other things and jane austen or jane eyre.

I love rabbits and collect some rabbit related stuff under the order name lagomorph.

Things related to my favourite plants grasses under the family name poaceae.

#introductory post

[adamsvanrhijn]

[bi-bard]

Miscellaneous Masterlist

A masterlist of any show/movie/project with less than four fics and only one character written about. This includes shows like 9-1-1, The Umbrella Academy, and The Rookie.

Navigation Guide

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

9-1-1:

Evan “Buck” Buckley:

I’m Sorry… I’m a What

I Think It's Time You Marry Me

Adam [2009]:

Adam Raki:

Safe Place

Rambling

Freckles and Constellations

You're the Right Person, so It's the Right Time

The Bear:

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto:

Welcome Home

Interrogation

Kindness

The Blacklist:

Donald Ressler:

Soft

Well Earned 

Too Cold

This Is Not a Hospital

Threats

Ability

Day Off

Drinks

Aftermath

Of Course

Blood & Chocolate (2007):

Aiden Galvin:

Harsh Reality

It's Got Me Planning for the Future and Worrying About the Past

Bodyguard:

David Budd:

Christmas and New Years

I Stumbled in at the Wrong Time (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Bones:

Lance Sweets:

Nervous

And All of the Nights Will Lead into the Night with Me

Charlie Countryman:

Nigel:

Theoretical

Letting Go

I Would’ve Stayed till Death Took Me Out but Then You Fucked Up and Gave Me the Gun

Confessions of a Shopaholic:

Luke Brandon:

Denial

Death Stranding:

Sam Porter Bridges:

Resting

Realignment

Downton Abbey: A New Era:

Jack Barber:

The Look

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves:

Xenk Yendar:

Cruel Trick of Fate

Ella Enchanted:

Prince Charmont:

I Need to Save the Best for Last, I'm Serious

You Brought Heaven Down to Right Where I Stood

Five Nights at Freddy's [Movie]:

Mike Schmidt:

Babysitting

Gilmore Girls:

Dean Forester:

Fearless 

Jess Mariano:

Quizzing

Good Omens:

Aziraphale & Crowley:

The Angel, The Demon, and the University Student They "Adopted"

Crowley:

When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop

Gossip Girl [2021]:

Max Wolfe:

No Other Expectations

Insecurities & Loose Lips

Parties & Stubbornness

Haven:

Duke Crocker:

Touch 

House M.D:

Dr. James Wilson:

I Don’t Know What I Was Expecting

Commitment

Dr. Robert Chase:

Waste of Time

Ibiza: Love Drunk:

Leo West:

I Don’t Really Care About That

I Came By:

Toby Nealey:

Coming Back for You

The Invitation:

Walt Deville:

Lovely Night

Freedom [Part 2: The Right Choice] [Part 3: The Perfect Eternity]

Roses

Killing Eve:

Villanelle:

Calm Down

Kingsman Franchise:

Gary “Eggsy” Unwin:

New Year’s Kiss

Fights

I'm Wrong, Right?

Mission

Knives Out Franchise:

Benoit Blanc:

Christmas Day

The Last of Us:

Joel Miller:

Human Connection

Is It Insensitive for Me to Say Get Your Shit Together, So I Can Love You?

Fine

There's So Much I Wanna Tell You, But I Don't Know If It'll Fit

Tests

MacGyver (2016):

Angus MacGyver:

Field Work

The Collection of Failed Date Nights

The Mandalorian:

Din Djarin:

I Thought We Were…

Mr. Robot:

Elliot Alderson:

Who Have You Been Talking To?

The Path:

Cal Roberts:

Supportive

Three Things

Peaky Blinders:

Tommy Shelby:

Shock

Polar:

Duncan Vizla:

Stupid Mistakes

Prodigal Son:

Malcolm Bright:

An Extra Dose of Chaos (Criminal Minds Crossover)

Snow On Valentines Day

I’m Not a Party Kind of Person

Roar (Apple TV):

Bobby Bronson:

Drunk Mess

Robin Hood (2018):

Robin of Loxley:

Knock It Off

The Rookie:

Tim Bradford:

The Worst Day

Schitt’s Creek:

David Rose:

Dammit

New Adventures

Stevie Budd:

Helping Hand

Scream (TV Series):

Tom Martin (from season 2, episode 13):

Alive

Sweetbitter:

Jake:

Wanted

A Kind Act

But You’re Not Allowed, She’s Got You Under Lock and Chain

Uncomfortable Questions

Sick Day

Redefining Affection

No Big Deal (I Love You)

Utopia:

Thomas Christie:

How Much Did You Know?

Wolfblood:

Rhydian Morris:

NASA

Protective By Nature

#fanfiction #imagine #x reader #masterlist

[dexmas-month]

We are extraordinarily pleased to announce a brand new Downton Abbey fanwork fest, namely…

DEXMAS MONTH 2022

Now, let’s get to know what, why, how, where and when.

What? Fanfiction, fanart, craft, analytics, playlists, cosplays, cocktail recipes… we welcome each and every possible type of fanwork! Well, as long as it is recognizably and undoubtedly Dexmas vel Hollywood Husbands vel Thomas Barrow/Guy Dexter.

Why? Because after sixteen years, six seasons and two movies Thomas Barrow gets to ride off into the sunset and towards a happy ending. Because kindness is one of the sexiest traits that can be found in a man. Perhaps even because we’re a shallow bunch who can’t resist a good swoon in the arms of a handsome Hollywood star. Whatever our reasons, we’re gathering this month to celebrate our ship!

How? In order to get creative juices flowing and stretch out the submissions across the entire fest, we’ve divided the month of October into four weeks, each one with its own general theme. The themes in question are: Fabulous Fluff, Amazing Angst, Smouldering Smut and Audacious AUs. And since it just so happens that October ends with a bang, we couldn’t resist adding a bonus theme of Haunted Halloween.

Where? Here, on this marvelous blog (dexmas-month-2022.tumblr.com). We accept all kinds of submissions here and via mail (dexmasmonth(a)yandex.com). Of course, if you use our tag on tumblr (#Dexmas Month 2022), you shall be found and promptly assimilated, pardon, re-blogged. For fic submissions, there is a dedicated collection on Ao3, which shall be open from October 1st.

When? Our most glorious Official Opening falls on October 1st. Then, each theme has its own dedicated week, starting from each subsequent Monday, among which Haunted Halloween will be the fifth. Prompt Potluck starts on September 1st and lasts for two full weeks. Get it yet? No matter, let us show you.

Fabulous Fluff (October 3-9)

If your jam is staying sugar-free, you’d better beware!

Amazing Angst (October 10-16)

True sadness lives inside, outside and wherever else the author puts it, we guess.

Smouldering Smut (October 17-23)

Smut! Give me smut and nothing but, a dirty fanfic I can't shut!

Audacious AUs (October 24-30)

Bravely bring us cowboys and aliens, medieval castles or those awful pandemic days.

Haunted Halloween (October 31)

On All Hallows Eve, all the horrors, all the pumpkins, and all the authors come out to play!

[Yes, the themes can absolutely mix, the posting schedule is flexible as well; treat the above as more of a guideline, if it makes things easier!]

Prompt Potluck (September 1-14)

Are you a potential participant? A convivial commenter? A rapacious reader? Perhaps a passer-by? Whichever is the case, starting from September 1st, we will be accepting your Dexmas prompts via ask and to our e-mail account (dexmasmonth(a)yandex.com). If at all possible, please assign them the appropriate weekly theme to make things easier on both participants and mods. All prompts will be placed on our lovely list to be made (optional) use of, with the most riveting ones being highlighted on our blog under the tag #Prompt of the Day. Let’s get those creative juices flowing! Remember, ideas are like rabbits. The more you have of them, the more they breed.

#Dexmas Month 2022 #Thomas Barrow #Guy Dexter #Downton Abbey #Dexmas #Hollywood Husbands #Hollywood Husbands Fanwork Fest #Downton Abbey A New Era #introductory post #the rules

[thehiddenbaroness]

I posted 8,636 times in 2022

That's 867 more posts than 2021!

23 posts created (0%)

8,613 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@infected

@lastoftheptolemies

@ofallingstar

@crowcoyote

@malglories

I tagged 1,231 of my posts in 2022

#a sensible chuckle - 190 posts

#long post - 109 posts

#epicurean - 101 posts

#soapbox - 87 posts

#lingerie - 85 posts

#mineralia - 73 posts

#scrapsofbiography - 72 posts

#lotr - 50 posts

#fav - 38 posts

#weaponry - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#not my fandom but incredibly good points here for writers and worth the read for those of us concerned about character depth and realism

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Wow, four followers short of a thousand and so close to my birthday? How unexpected and lovely! <3

Glad you're enjoying your stay and welcome to new folks!

5 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

#4

Please spare a thought or two over the next couple of days for our newest furbaby Ariel; he's been hospitalized for some gastrointestinal problems. <3

10 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#3

Getting to Know You

(Or for some of us, a check-in on the status quo!) Tagged by @ohtobealady -- thank you darling wifey! <3

Rules: Tag 10 people you want to know better!

Favorite time of the year:

Traditionally I grow more powerful feel more like myself in autumn, but the past couple of years I have a new appreciation for spring. Winter comes close just because frankly it's more comfortable down here.

Comfort foods:

Can't go wrong with a warm meat in gravy with a starch: pasta, stews, savory pies, risotto (in a way), (lately) curries... But I also have a sweet tooth so pastries and cobblers are also up there. At a simpler level, I enjoy warm buttered bread with honey.

Do you collect anything?

I'm a collector by nature and have been my whole life, probably a trait from my mother. My collections are currently tempered by space (and not wanting to inundate the house I share with my Darling Viking more than I already have!) and money, but a few: Japanese porcelain, antique Blue Willow china, a specific pattern of Noritake Morimura, gemstones and minerals, fossils and other natural specimens (responsibly-sourced when not personally found) such as feathers, scarves, perfumes, antiques in general...

Favorite drink?

Probably very boring but I really do love water. I'm also very partial, currently, to my extra-hot caramel macchiato.

Favorite music artists:

I tend to gravitate more toward songs than individual artists, but some coincidental favorites to that end: Thomas Newman, Breaking Benjamin, The Goo Goo Dolls, Ludivico Einaudi, Simon & Garkfunkel, Hiroyuki Sawano, Linkin Park, Michelle Branch, Sash!, Yoko Kanno...

Current favorite songs:

'Midnight Moon' by Eydís Evensen ft. GDRN thanks to a concert by the pianist linked by @karrova; 'Age of Men' by Jo Wandrini because it gives me certain shippy feelz for my novel; 'Firedancer' by Rúnfell because I'm on a Valheim kick recently and it helps keep me motivated for my latest build project; 'Notorious' by Bonnie Grace for more novel work; and 'Dead Man Walking' by Jelly Roll for an added surprise, simply because it's catchy. I should also add that I'm really into Japanese-themed lo-fi lately because it helps me concentrate on my state projects.

Favorite fics:

I'll admit I don't really read much fic presently for various reasons, with the exception of my inherent bias toward @ohtobealady's ouvre, but I have immense respect for all the tireless work everyone in the Downton fandom does. I may be just a satellite to that dreamworld but y'all are amazing from out here.

I'm tagging: @aryasnow, @yelena-belxva, @elegant-moonlight, @plumcoloredblazer, @of-dahlias-gloom, @karrova, @malglories, @oftwodarkmoons, @webedragons, @insomniarama But only if you feel like it, lovelies!

15 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

#2

Baroness' General Writing Tips, Part II

Part I Here's Part II of my general writing tips I've started to compile of little (and big) things I've learnt over the 20+ years I've been compulsively recreationally putting one word in front of the other; I hope it's helpful or at least reassuring!

While much of this is slanted toward fiction, a lot of it applies to nonfiction as well. I've also gone for more general tips this go round. You're welcome to pick my brain about specific topics and I'll do my best to answer.

Again, the key thing to remember is that this is what I have personally found helpful; they may have more or less degrees of usefulness or relevance to you personally, but they can still serve as starting points.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

(12) Remember that your goal is a read-worthy narrative, not a product.

Not everything you write has to be published to be considered valid. Hell, not everything you write has to see the light of day. Your writing is for you. IMO it verges on a spiritual need and whatever actualization of it brings you joy is good and right. Don't let capitalism fool you into thinking all that matters is profitability and never let any kind of numbers dictate your self-worth or smother your creative spark.

(13) Embrace whatever keeps the flow going.

Placeholders are your friends. Write the ending first or start in the middle. Write a scene as a skeletal script to fill in later. Whatever gets the job done.

(14) If you need an outline, make one. If you don't, don't...

There's a lot of documented discussion about 'types' of writer -- you may hear terms like 'gardener' versus 'architect' or the like. Don't feel like you have to fall into one category only or remain the same for the rest of your life. You may find it helpful to do in-depth planning before you even get started, or you may prefer to wing it.

I also find that different projects require different approaches, and that actually the same project can require different approaches at different stages of development. The key thing is that your skills are going to carry over regardless the more you practice them.

(15) ...but keep notes for longer projects.

However, I heartily recommend keeping notes in some shape or form -- the more organized the better -- to help with consistency in longer projects. This will save you time and frustration, trust me.

(16) Keep a writing journal/workbook.

Writing is a mental muscle and part of exercising it is in changing how you process the world. Having a journal or workbook of some kind to jot down ideas for titles, character names, new projects, scene or dialogue snippets, and so on helps your brain learn to transform raw inspiration into new narrative, making it easier to get to work when you have time to sit down and actually write.

And no, you don't need fancy writing software or expensive notebooks. There is no 'doing this properly'. If it brings you joy to have an exceedingly organized writing journal bound in Italian leather, great, as long as you don't spend more time color-coding than you do writing.

(17) Find first readers you trust...

Not everyone has access to a writing group, but at some point you will need to find your first reader. Although I recommend finding one or two people to read your first draft, they can come in at the second, third, or final draft.

At some point you've stared at the project too long and you will be biased, no matter how trained of an editor you are. Fresh eyes will help spot both big plot holes and tiny typos. Find people you trust to give you balanced criticism, rather than just fluff your feathers.

(18) ...but limit access to drafts.

Too many cooks spoil the broth. If you involve too many readers at the drafting stage, you risk losing your own instincts or saturating the work trying to make everyone happy. It can simply lengthen the writing process unnecessarily, too.

Also, remember that some of these early-stage first readers may have been better suited as finished-work first readers; a first draft may put them off from reading the end result, however much it's changed and however much they love you. Curbing your enthusiasm now may yield greater rewards later, in other words.

(19) Remember to look after your physical wellbeing.

It's tempting to romanticize the writer who shuts themselves away in an attic for a week and doesn't eat or sleep until they emerge with a polished draft -- don't do it. Look after your posture, eyes, hungers, and thirsts. Get sleep. Move around frequently. Go outside. Check in with loved ones.

(20) Self knowledge is power...

Find what environment facilitates your best work. For me it's typically isolation, appropriate music, and evenings. Also note this may differ between when you want to write and when you need to edit. Equally, find what inhibits you. For me I know I can't read sink my teeth into a TV series or novel in the same genre and write original copy at the same time. I also find it hard to concentrate when I have paid projects on the books or my house needs cleaning.

(21) ...but accept that part of learning the discipline is being able to work in imperfect conditions.

See #2. By the time you found the right music for that one scene, you could have written the damn scene and half of the next. Often, we will never have enough time or the right time. Learn to work with what you have.

(22) "Write what you know" is generally bullshit...

See the full post

19 notes - Posted July 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Baroness' General Writing Tips, Part I

I decided to finally start compiling little (and big) things I've learnt over the 20+ years I've been compulsively recreationally putting one word in front of the other; I hope it's helpful or at least reassuring!

While much of this is slanted toward fiction, a lot of it applies to nonfiction as well. I've also gone for more general tips this go round. You're welcome to pick my brain about specific topics and I'll do my best to answer.

The key thing to remember is that this is what I have personally found helpful; they may have more or less degrees of usefulness or relevance to you personally, but they can still serve as starting points. Part II

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

(1) Your method is your method...

This goes for whether you plan ahead or just roll with it, but also things like when/where you write.

(2) ...but discipline and practice will help you do the heavy lifting.

At some point the difference in your personal skill plateaus is down to how often you write regardless of your mood, knowledge of where it's going, or perceived skill. Persistence will be your strongest ally during the inevitable droughts and valleys of self-doubt.

(3) Reading is good and helpful...

Read widely, read deep. Learn from the successes and mistakes of others. Learn what you want to emulate and what you want to avoid. Broaden your perspective, take note of different techniques, build your knowledge base. Train your discernment. Likewise, back-reading your own material to see where you left off can be useful if you struggle with consistency / sticking to the point. (4) ...but don't let it distract or saturate. Sometimes, back-reading your own work can scratch the itch you had to work on something and you end up not writing new material. This can happen with others' work in a related genre/field -- it scratches the itch you had for that type of content, or conversely you begin unhelpful comparisons between their work and yours.

Most of all, you will need to learn the difference between being inspired by something and mimicking it to the point of plagiarism.

(5) Learn to take a break, not to quit. If you feel a piece truly isn't working, don't let your first response be to give up on it. Put it away for a while and come back to it, then maybe try, for example, a different angle or point of view. (6) Light immersion in related media helps with burnout while still being useful. Sometimes writing isn't going to be the most helpful thing to do. You will always need to replenish your creative batteries, but sometimes this can feel like avoidance or laziness -- it isn't. Browse concept art. Sketch. Work on some worldbuilding that'll never make it in. Visit a museum. Listen to an audiobook in your genre. Watch a documentary on the same topic.

(7) Your first draft is just that -- a draft. Be open-minded and forgiving, and embrace the process. The most important thing in this stage is to get content on the page, because you can't do anything without it. Trust your gut and let the words flow how they want.

(8) There is immense opportunity in the editing process... Often the best breakthroughs come through asking questions during your editing. The answers can forge new links or callbacks, or open up new avenues for plot, or enrich what's already there. Editing isn't pass/fail -- it's a conversation. (9) ...but don't be a forever-editor. Perfectionism is the enemy. Nothing will ever be perfect to you -- accept that sooner rather than later -- but it will be perfect to someone out there. Yet they'll never see it if you don't let the project out into the world. (10) Read it aloud. No matter your experience, this will inevitably catch clunky sentences, weak pacing, and even sub-par semantics. It's very important to do this with dialogue so that it sounds natural.

(11) Accept you belong in the writerly ecosystem just as you are.

There's three aspects to this: first, that everyone feels like an imposter at some point and probably will in the future, regardless of their experience or how much they have published. Second, that there are no new ideas, but your telling will always be new. And third, that you remain a writer if you haven't written for years or struggle to jot down a sentence a week just as much as if you churn out a book a year. Don't let these things hold you back.

20 notes - Posted July 24, 2022

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[papermoonloveslucy]

FANTASY TV GUIDE ADS

Sequels, Spinoffs, and Reboots We Never Saw - But Wish We Had!

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"Hot Bench” ~ Today: “The Case of the Damaged Television & Fractured Friendship”. Judge Moroni Olsen and Bailiff Bobby serve justice at 4 ET / 3 CT. 

“Desi’s Desert Island Discs” ~ Premiere!  Desi’s first guest is Ricky Ricardo. Viewers are treated to excerpts from his top ten. Special appearance by Lucy Ricardo singing “Sally Sweet”. 

“Bent Fork R.F.D.” ~ This week the Sheriff (Will Wright) arrests a Pontiac full of Yankees headed for Hollywood. Guest star Ernie Ford tries to pawn off Teensy and Weensy (the Borden Sisters) on the westbound travelers, but they get all tied up. 

“My Big Fat Fabulous Life” ~ Premiere!  In this musical docuseries, Teensy and Weensy are profiled at their mobiel home in Tennessee. It’s a “Ricochet Romance” when the girls become obsessed with the Bent Fork BBQ Buffet - and it goes bankrupt. 

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[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 44: January to Early May 1925

Masterlist

Emma, Tom, Ivy and Michael all stay long enough for Marigold's second birthday but the first at Downton and by late January, they're off to Boston while Atticus and Rose leave shortly after.

Emma, three months pregnant, staggers off the ship, one hand clasped to her mouth while the other holds Ivy's hand. Tom follows with Michael and a suitcase.

"Oh, Christ," Emma mutters wincing, now glad to be on solid ground. The cold temporarily distracts her from her nausea. Why did no one tell her winters in Boston are absolutely freezing?!

"Mama not well?" She hears Michael ask.

"She'll be fine," Tom reassures their son, as he places him down and then grips his hand tightly. "Boat was a bit much for her, that's all." He sounds calm but flashes Emma a concerned look to which Emma swallows and tries to give him a reassuring smile.

"Tommy! Tommy Branson!"

Emma looks up, scanning the dock for the owner of the voice and finds a wiry, dark-haired fellow coming bearing down on them, bustling through the crowds and waving heartily, a big, welcoming smile on his face.

"You made it then?" He greets them.

"Aye, we did. It's good to see you, Patrick." Tom says, breaking into an answering smile.

"You too, cousin, you too." Patrick replies, pumping Tom's hand enthusiastically.

Tom gestures to Emma with the suitcase. "This my wife, Emma."

Emma presses on a smile and holds out her hand politely. "How do you do, Cousin Patrick."

Patrick's eyes widen, but he takes her hand and shakes it. "Jaysus, you really married a proper English lady, eh, Tommy? 'How do you do'?"

Emma clenches her jaw, alert to any suggestion that Tom's cousin might be making fun of her even as they'd only just stepped onto American soil.

Patrick looks down smiling at Ivy and Michael, who are staring up at him with wide eyes. "And who do we have here?"

"This is our daughter, Ivy and our son, Michael. Michael, Ivy, this is Cousin Patrick." Tom says, making the introductions.

"Hello." Ivy says while Michael stares on shyly. Emma narrows her eyes at Patrick's raised eyebrows once he hears her daughter's English accent.

"So, where's your luggage?" Patrick asks, peering around. "I'm guessing you didn't come over in steerage with just that one little suitcase you've got there."

"No, we have some trunks." Emma replies shortly. "We were going to come second class, but Robert wouldn't hear of it. It was his parting gift to upgrade us to first."

Patrick snorts. "Very nice too. But then I suppose that's what comes of living with rich aristos. You'll need to go to the luggage collection office then. It's just over there. I'll flag down a taxi while you're sorting it out. I'll see you out front in ten minutes."

With that, Patrick hustles off, leaving them standing on the quayside. Emma watches him go, a sliver of unease pricking at her as she wonders whether they are doing the right thing.

——

They stay with Cousin Patrick, his wife Kathleen and kids Pat Junior, Kathy, Rose, Philip and Bridie for the first few weeks.

After spending the weekend getting used to their new surroundings, Tom is thrown into work as Patrick takes him to see the business. His cousin has a good set-up: a few shiny cars in the showroom and a garage out back with a couple of mechanics labouring under the bonnets of the cars in for repair.

In late January/early February, with Kathleen's help, they found a ground-floor flat available to rent not far from their cousin's house. It is long and thin, with a corridor running the length of it from the front door to the kitchen at the far end. Off the corridor were the parlour, the dining room, a tiny bathroom and two bedrooms, one large enough for a double bed and a wardrobe, the other big enough for two single beds and a few bits of furniture. Outside is a small private garden the children can play in. It was is far cry from the expansive grounds of Downton, but it gives them both a little bit of green space to enjoy.

It takes them a while before everything is settled in, Ivy with her school and Tom settling into his new job. Emma hasn't been able to apply to any nursing jobs, first. It is because they believed at least one parent should be at home, supporting the children as they settle into a new country and since Tom is the one already with a job, it makes sense Emma will take that role. Then, while Emma is only five or six months pregnant, they know hospitals would be reluctant to hire her (yay to female rights that do not exist) unlike Downton where she had been there a good while beforehand.

——

What's interesting about travelling back in time is getting used to the different modes of communication. When you travel to early 20th century Yorkshire, you're faced with writing letters. Emma thankfully didn't have to write any letters at first as everyone she knew was a short walk away or living in the same house as her, so she was not faced with having to write any nor experience how slow it is compared to texting. Then, when in London, Gemma sent her a letter regaling her in life at Downton for those left behind and Emma was faced with the panic of having to write a letter, thankfully they were passed between them quite speedily. Then there was the odd letter she had written to Tom and Gemma when she and Sybil were having their nurse training but both that and London were only temporary. But then she moved to Dublin and the letter quantity increased as well as the time they took and the expense, but it wasn't too bad then she moved to Boston though they had a higher income this time.

They usually send the one letter with little notes for specific members of the house. Emma makes sure to send some to Thomas on the latest drama downstairs (there are murmurings of people possibly being let go and Thomas worries he's on the chopping block) while Tom questions Mary and Robert on how the estate is running (Mallerton, a neighbour ring estate is being sold), Mary has officially taken over Tom's role. Both of them share notes with Edith on what she is doing next for her paper though it seems she's having trouble with the editor and is contemplating what to do with her London flat - whether to lease it out, sell it, or live in it herself. And also, Billy and his struggles to escape the flirtatious nature of his office's new secretary.

Mary's letters are a mixture of news about the family and the business, telling him about George, the estate, the pigs and a couple of Mary's social engagements, plus a brief bitchy moment about Edith.

Mary privately tells Emma a former chambermaid at the Grand Hotel where Mary spent the night with Anthony Gillingham and attempted to blackmail her into giving her money in exchange for her not selling it to the press. Though thankfully it's resolved through Robert paying her off with a smaller amount and getting her to sign a confession of attempted blackmail.

They receive welcome news in the March, the case of the murder of Mr Green has finally come to an end with a woman confessing to his murder. Robert, Cora, Mary and Edith apparently go downstairs to the kitchen to share in the good news with the servants, all sharing a glass of champagne together in celebration. Emma and Tom make their own toast.

——

March 1925

Emma, now five months pregnant, is hurrying along the street from the shops, bags full of groceries. She had paid a local girl to keep an eye on the children but only for a short while and time had run away from her while she'd been getting food. She just gets to the top of her road when she stumbles and drops one of her bags, the insides spilling out.

"For Christ's sake!" She cries.

Before she can begin putting her other bags down to collect the dropped produce, a voice interrupts. "Like some help with that?"

Emma looks up to see a woman not much older than her walking towards her. She recognises her as one of the neighbours, Bridget Rice.

"Oh, no, l-I'm good. Thank you." Emma tries to insist, feeling embarrassed.

"Now just you never mind." She bends down and collects it all back into the bag. "Here." She doesn't hand it back to Emma though, continuing to hold it.

"Thank you." Emma mumbles.

"I remember when I was having my first." Mrs Rice says. "My back ached something fierce, and that handsome, but lazy sack of bones I call a husband never did lift a finger."

Emma frowns. "Oh, well my husband isn't like that."

"Oh, you lucky thing." Mrs Rice remarks. "Your husband is a strange one, so I suppose that makes sense."

Emma narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mrs Rice shrugs causing Drew's to pool in Emma's stomach. "Well, it's just I thought he was a republican, fighting for Ireland's freedom like the rest of us but instead he's married you and lived with an English Earl."

"He still believes in Ireland's freedom. We both do." Emma retorts.

"Sure, you do." Mrs Rice says, looking her up and down doubtfully. Emma feels like she is being patronised.

"Well," Emma utters sharply, pulling the bag from Mrs Rice's hand, "thank you for your help, Mrs Rice, but I must get back to the children."

"Of course." And she's not happy with that smile.

——

Early April 1925

Emma emerges from the house into the garden to call in the children to find Ivy pulling Michael along with a string attached to his wrist. Okay...

"What are you doing?" Emma asks as she hurries over to them as best she can with her six-month stomach. The children stop, turning to her with a grin.

"Having our own hunting party, Mama!" Ivy declares. "Just like Auntie Mary and Donk!"

"I'm a dog!" Michael tells her.

"Well, be careful with your little brother, Ivy." Emma warns her daughter. From what she can see of Michael's wrist, Ivy hasn't pulled on the string thankfully but can never be too careful.

Michael pouts. "I'm big, Mama!"

Emma smiles softly, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "I know you are, my little man but Mama worries."

She does worry about her children. Ivy has become good friends with Bridie, Patrick's youngest daughter, and Michael with Philip, the youngest son. Ivy also adores Kathleen and Kathy while Michael trails wide-eyed after Pat Junior. The local children are unkind to Ivy in particular but after promptly pinching one in the face after they began insulting Robert, the other kids have left her alone when she is playing outside. But it means, that apart from Bridie and Philip, Michael and Ivy don't have any other friends, which breaks Emma's heart.

As far as Emma can see, Ivy in particular isn't completely unhappy in Boston... but she isn't happy either. America hasn't changed her life for the better like Emma hoped. Not to her mind anyway. In fact, she is worried it has made it worse.

——

Dear Mary,

It warms my heart to hear from all of you on the goings on at Downton, it often shocks me how much happens!

I know I've already said it but thank you for the gifts you sent for Michael's birthday in the February. He absolutely adores that bike and is already arguing that he's big enough to ride a proper big bike and gets annoyed when we tell him no. I still can't believe he's already three. He's running around like mad after Ivy now so it's good that we found a flat with a garden. Ivy's settling in and she'll be picking up the accent in no time I'm sure so you'll have to warn your father and grandmother of it before we all see you next. I'm sure Cora will be thrilled.

With Tom so busy since they've opened a new sales room, it's down to me to keep them in check. It's proving successful as a venture, pulling in both farmers after modern machinery and ordinary citizens after an automobile. America is embracing the motor car more quickly than England, I think, probably because the distances between places seem greater here. Patrick assures us sales will pick up even further as the weather becomes warmer as people like to drive out of the city during the hot summer months. You'll be pleased to hear the last significant snowfall we had was in March. The weather is definitely improving. They're going to have to hire another person for the salesroom at this rate.

I'm glad to hear you're taking over the role of agent as I worry that anyone would understand just how much you care about Downton. Tom feels your pain when you talk about Robert and his adherence to the old-fashioned way of doing things with the estate. I know it used to drive both Tom and Matthew mad. I don't want you to fall out with him but don't forget, Mary, that while he is the earl, you own Downton as much as he does. I know you're very aware of the fact that you're safeguarding the estate for George. Your opinion counts for much.

I am happy to hear Downton did so well at the Livestock show. I know you still see your sister's behaviour as 'faux mothering syndrome' and that you think her worry about Marigold going missing at the show even for a moment was silly but be kind to your sister, she deserves to have someone else to focus on and no child should have too much love. Also, I know your father should've discussed with you about the Drewes leaving but I'm sure everything's fine and it's not that big of a mystery. Though, reading about the family day out, the twists and turns makes me feel tearful as I read it. It's true what they say: distance makes the heart grow fonder.

You shouldn't be surprised that I'm on your mother's and Isobel's side when it comes to the fate of the Downton Hospital. A modernised Hospital will be good for patients. Your grandmother shouldn't forget it's not her who's in the firing line when it comes to medical treatment. Though I can say your description of Robert being the piggy in the middle of it all.

Now, about Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, you must let Mrs Hughes decide where to hold her wedding breakfast. I know you mean well, my love, but it is her day, not yours. And I am quite sure that Mr Carson will be happy as long as she is happy. He loves her, so he will put her first and do what he thinks is best for her and that will be giving her what she wants on their wedding day. It may not be your idea of a wedding breakfast, but you must allow her to have things as she wants them on her special day. Promise me you won't interfere with their plans, no matter how tempted you are to do so. It's their day, not yours.

Also, are you sure Rose may be pregnant? Or should I contain myself from jumping up and down in excitement?

I'm not sure I would describe our life in Boston as exactly 'fish back in water' so to speak. The Irish community has definitely had varying opinions on Tom and I's backgrounds.

I haven't told Tom yet, but I am missing Downton, more than I thought I would. I dreamt last night I was in the park at Downton, walking with Ivy and Michael under the great trees, listening to the pigeons cooing in their branches. And when I woke, my eyes were filled with tears. I'm missing you all more than I ever thought I would.

Anyway, on that cheery note, considering all that's going on, it might be difficult for us to attend Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson's wedding as I imagine it'll be sometime soon. Don't be too controlling and give them my best wishes.

All the best,

Emma.

——

Late April 1925

"You might think it's stupid—" Tom begins to say one evening. They'd just finished cleaning up after their dinner, the kids in bed after a long day at school. Emma had spent the day with Kathleen, taking a walk in the park to feed the ducks (Ivy had pleaded with her to after they couldn't go over the weekend due to the weather) and sending off her latest letter home.

Emma put up her hand cutting him off, pulling herself from her position of lying on his chest. "I'm going to stop you there. When have you ever said something stupid?"

"What about when I was ranting and raving the first time both of us experienced having dinner with Larry Grey?" Tom reminds her pointedly.

Emma rolls her eyes. "In your defence, you'd been drugged. And so had Billy, so you weren't alone."

"True." Tom shrugs before shifting nervously. "Anyway, I, uh, I've been thinking."

"About?"

"Us, the children, Boston. Whether it's a right fit for us. I wasn't sure right from the beginning whether we were doing the right thing in coming to Boston, but I felt I had to try." Tom says, the words tumbling out of him.

"Me too." Emma admits. "When we came here, I thought it was for good with the odd visit back to Downton but now I'm wondering if we made the right decision. The children miss it."

"I know what you mean. I hoped that– I wanted the children would have a fresh start somewhere where they wouldn't have all the baggage they'd have in England." Tom confesses. "Somewhere where having working-class parents living with the upper class wouldn't mean a damn thing. Seems I was wrong about that. It seems the Irish care about that even more than most of the English."

"For the opposite reason mind you." Emma points out. "I am realising more and more that the Irish and Irish Americans we meet here see me and the children as utterly and irredeemably English and – with a few notable exceptions – most of them greet both of us with a strong distrust."

"That's what is making this all so wrong for me. The children, I don't want them to have to wake up every day and know that there are people in the world who hate them simply because of who their parents are. That didn't happen at home." Tom scrunches up his nose distastefully then. "For once, the English have proved themselves more tolerant than the Irish in that respect."

Emma lets out a snort. "Did you just call Downton home?" She smirks.

Tom rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that look, it's home to you too."

"It is." She admits. "I think Downton is home for all of us now, maybe more than when we were in Dublin. They took me in when I had nowhere to go, helped me find my footing in a world that used to be over a century old to me even though they didn't know it. I wanted to desperately give Boston a chance but the way they treat all of us, like we're the enemies."

"All of Patrick's friends," Tom says, "they think I might be reporting back to British military intelligence."

Emma scoffs. "I don't get it. You were literally banished from Ireland while fighting for its independence."

"Tell that to the boys." Tom retorts.

Emma smiles a self-deprecating smile. "Being married to me probably doesn't help."

"Hey," Tom strokes her cheek softly. "Being married to you and having the children is the only things keeping me sane."

"Bridget Rice thinks different." Emma grumbles.

"Bridget Rice doesn't know you." Tom argues, grinning. "I could tell her all sorts things about you that makes you nice."

Emma giggles and they share a kiss.

"When do you want to leave?" Emma asks, pulling back.

Tom hums softly, stroking her stomach as he thinks. "There's a certain wedding in a few weeks weeks that I'd like us to make it back in time for if we can. Mrs Hughes has been kind to us over the years, I want to wish them well."

Emma nods, agreeing with that idea. "You'll need to tell Patrick soon."

"He already knows."

"What?!" Emma exclaims. "But we've only just decided."

"Apparently it were already obvious." Tom grins. "He sat me down today, asking what date we're leaving. Turns out they already suspected we'd be leaving and put an advertisement in a few newspapers and trade publications for someone. He's asked me to look through the possible candidates."

"Better get started then." Emma declares.

——

16th May 1925

The door opens and a hall boy stands there, which is unusual. It is rare that Mr Carson, Mr Bates' Thomas and the footmen, Albert, Andy and Mr Molesley, would all be out at the same time.

"Can I help you?" He says automatically, then looks at them, Emma, Tom and two sleepy children in their arms plus luggage that they'd already taken out of the car they had taken from the Station.

Peter's face breaks into a surprised expression. "Mr and Mrs Branson, no one said you were coming today."

Tom smiles. "No, well we wanted it to be a surprise, so the family didn't know we were."

They go inside. "Is anyone in Peter?" Emma asks the hall boy.

"No ma'am, they are down at Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes wedding in the Village." He tells them.

"That's today? Oh, I thought it was tomorrow. So, you are on your own?" He nods in response.

"Right, well in that case, let me help you get our luggage inside." Tom says. "Mr Carson need never know that you didn't do it on your own if you don't tell him." Peter nods and begins to do so. Tom turns to Emma. "You take a seat in the Library with the children, put your feet up, then we'll go down to the Village to find everyone."

Emma nods, taking the children through.

Thirty minutes later they walk back down the drive towards the Village, or more accurately Tom walks, Emma waddles and the children run ahead, then back to their parents, trying to encourage them to hurry up. Smiling at their antics, Emma and Tom keep their pace considering Emma can't exactly run at seven months pregnant.

Ivy and Michael stop inside the gates when they reach them and wait for me, remembering our rule that they must not go through without either their parents, one of the family or staff with them. Emma is glad they had remembered the rule before they had needed to call out to her.

——

They stand outside the School Hall in Downton Village. Michael balances on Tom's hip and Ivy grips her mother's hand, staring at the entrance, hearing the rumble of Mr Carson's deep voice through the open door. A mixture of nerves and anticipation churns inside Emma at the thought of seeing them again after all these months.

Ivy shifts next to her, drawing Emma's attention. "Ready?" She asks her.

Ivy beams at her and nods. "Ready."

Emma shares a look with Tom who nods and takes a deep breath and walks into the building.

The first thing Emma sees is the decorations. It is cheerfully decorated with the traditional sit-down wedding breakfast with groaning tables. Her breath catches as she takes in all the familiar faces. Anna stands beaming next to Mr Bates, Daisy stands with Mr Mason and Mrs Patmore with Andy and Thomas lingering nearby. Isobel and Violet are gathered together, and Robert, Cora, Billy, Edith and Mary stand with their backs to the doors. All gaze upon the couple in the centre of the room.

Then Robert leads the toast to the happy couple. "The bride and groom!"

The crowd of people in the room echo the toast.

"To the bride and groom." Emma and Tom both say in the ensuing silence that follows as the guests sip their drinks.

A sea of faces whirls around to face the newcomers. The family's faces light up at the sight of them standing there at the back of the room.

"Emma! Tom! And Ivy and Michael, darlings! What are you doing here? And how did you know where to find us?" Mary cries happily. She moves towards them, joined by Billy, Cora and Edith, and embraces Tom and Emma in turn.

Emma laughs, slightly embarrassed. "I got the dates wrong, thought the wedding was tomorrow," she receives an embrace from Cora who turns to greet Tom, "but we turn up at Downton to be greeted by the hall boy who told us where you were." An embrace comes from Cora too.

Tom turns to Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes (or should they say Mrs Carson?) with a smile. "And it means that we can congratulate you in person. Mr and Mrs Carson."

"Oh, are you back for a holiday?" Mrs Hughes asks, very touched.

"Say you'll stay!" Mary begs.

"That's just the point." Emma replies. "We can stay as long as you want us."

"I don't understand. What are you saying?" Edith asks, with a hesitant smile.

"Just this. That we've come back and we'd like to stay for good." Tom explains. "If Lord Grantham will have us."

"Of course, we'll have you!" Cora exclaims. "We'll be delighted!"

"I echo every syllable." Robert says very happily. He takes Michael into his arms. "Hello, Michael, my boy! Give old Donk a kiss!" They kiss.

Ivy pulls away from Emma. "And me!"

"Oh! And you of course!" Robert hands Michael over to Cora to happily greet Ivy.

"Emma, Tom, this is amazing news. Are you sure?" Billy eagerly questions, getting his chance to embrace Emma with a kiss on her cheek and shakes hands with Tom.

"Don't worry." Emma reassures. "We're really, really sure."

Robert puts Ivy down and shakes Tom's hand cordially before greeting Emma with a kiss on the cheek.

"So, what happened?" Billy asks.

"Well, it's quite simple. He had to drag me all the way to Boston," Emma's comment receives a few chuckles, "to work it out and it took us a while, but we got there in the end."

"Go on, what was it?" Mary presses.

"We learned that Downton is our home. And that you are our family. If we didn't quite know that before we left, we know it now." Tom answers tearfully.

George and Sybbie have spotted Michael and Ivy, waving. Cora and the nannies put the children down, and George and Sybbie run to Ivy and Michael and give them hugs. Little Marigold totters after them.

"Marigold?" Edith softly encourages her daughter to say hello, too.

Marigold walks up to Ivy and Michael, rather more shyly than George and Sybbie. Ivy puts her arms around her. "Hello!"

Michael decides to join in by wrapping his arms around Marigold as well.

And everybody coos over them happily. Emma's heart swells. She's definitely not crying.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

#downton abbey

[pulsdmedia]

The Week Ahead 1/15-1/21

Celebrities. Open bars. Cocktails. Free workouts. Clay Shooting. Why not do it all, and without spending too much dough? We’re all about living your best NYC life, and with all this inflation happening, we still want you to have fun in The Big Apple, minus breaking the bank...

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"Drink sir, is a great provoker." So is the famed line from Macbeth, and the perfect way to sum up a night at Drunk Shakespeare! Dubbed by Time Out as a “live-action Drunk History,” Drunk Shakespeare always starts the same way: classically-trained actors perform the classics with upgraded style, while one cast member downs shots of whiskey - what's next will be a complete surprise. The stage is set at The Garden New York, a hidden Victorian drawing room with a splendid collection of paintings to take you back to Shakespearean times. This intimate setup will have you right in the middle of all the action! As the drinks flow, both on stage and in the audience, the revelry is only heightened. Prepare to laugh until your cheeks hurt, get swept up in the rowdiness, and cheers to a wildly unforgettable evening...

Kristin Chenoweth Book Talk

Join Barnes & Noble - Union Square as they welcome Emmy and Tony Award-winning actress, singer, and New York Times bestselling author Kristin Chenoweth to celebrate the release of I'm No Philosopher But I've Got Thoughts. This inspiring high-design, colorful book features philosophical-ish musings on connection, creativity, loss, love, faith, and closure.

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Enjoy Museum of the City of New York's first Cocktails & Culture event of the New Year! Soak in live music by acclaimed bandola performer Mafer Bandola; enjoy specialty Venezuelan Guarapita cocktails and mocktails; and taste delicious bites from their Empanada Mama pop-up café.

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[nathsketch]

I’d rather have the right man than the right wedding”.

So true, Anna! One more piece for the collection! ♥️

Happy Friday! 👒🎩

#downton abbey #welcome to downton collection #character art #character design #anna bates #john bates #anna and john bates #lovelies #visual development #nathsketch #artists on tumblr #art collection #vintage style #vintage illustration #illustration friday #joanne froggatt #brendan coyle #my artwork

[everythingcanadian]

I posted 3,789 times in 2022

That's 2,316 more posts than 2021!

26 posts created (1%)

3,763 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@riversboundtorise

@everythingfox

@eatallthecalories

@keep-calm-carry-on

@punsbulletsandpointythings

I tagged 3,077 of my posts in 2022

Only 19% of my posts had no tags

#queued up - 2,136 posts

#art - 226 posts

#vid - 180 posts

#cute - 174 posts

#funny - 168 posts

#photography - 160 posts

#txt - 120 posts

#food - 75 posts

#tf2 - 70 posts

#downton abbey cast - 59 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#jimmy is content now. mind now longer a mess and mudle while he was in service. hes had time to think and become himself again. no lady a

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

What the fuck does tumblr think my interest are????

6 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

#4

So thommy right?

But make it soft

Jimmy and Thomas sitting across from each other before the fire in the servant’s hall in those rocking chairs. Ankles side by side or even crossing each other. Jimmy is slouched in the chair, near asleep as the clock ticks on the mantle. And Thomas is softly reading to him from a collection of Christina Rossetti poems. His words flowed like music and Jimmy bathed himself in it.

But also think one eye cracking open when Thomas stopped reading, seeing the man rubbing at his eyes at this late of an hour and Jimmy is sitting up. Disentangling their ankles and hearing his spine pop. He needs to get Thomas up to bed, they need sleep. And so they both make their way up the stairs after curbing the fire and coals. Before departing to their rooms they have a small moment of saying goodnight. All sleepy and sore from the day.

Thomas has Jimmy plastered to his front, yawning and hugging him around the middle. And Thomas smiles, hums richly in his chest and returns the goodnight hug. It's affection and they both bask in it. Being touch starved is for tossers. Having a healthy appreciation for it is for them.

They're open and welcoming to each other. And it's evident in their teasing and their downtime.

13 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

#3

Looking at how people talk about Thomas as a character it is easy to see a separation of eras for him.

Pre Jimmy, during Jimmy, and post Jimmy. Then the darker, breakdown era within the post Jimmy era.

I will not elaborate but we all know it.

28 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

#2

Too all the people who created fan content for RT AH and seeing what is coming out.

Too all the people who spent countless hours working on fan content and are seeing this shit show.

To all the people who feel like they wasted days, months, or years creating stuff for a YouTube company that is shattering.

I feel for you as I am along side you. But what was not wasted was the hours spent honning your work to be better than before.

Take the knowledge of betterment and move on from this train wreck. Use the skills gained from this to your advantage. Do not give up be it art. Edits. Writings. Or even simple cutting of audio/video.

Keep going foreward and breath a bit easier that it was not wasted. At least not entirely.

246 notes - Posted October 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Dublin and her teef.

279 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[downtondownstairs]

Downton Abbey - A New Era 

(in UK cinemas from April 29th / US cinemas May 20th)

#downton abbey #downton abbey a new era #downton movie 2 #team downstairs #elsie carson #charles carson #daisy mason #joseph molesley #anna bates #john bates #mrs patmore #thomas barrow #you're welcome #this set makes no sense whatsoever because it is only a collection of downstairs #nothing more #just wanted to have the downstairs bits that were giffable on here

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Spare Me A Moment? // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: I’d love to request a Benedict fic, if that’s okay ☺️ Maybe one where the reader doesnt belong to the ton and works for the Bridgertons and he falls for her but she can’t quite believe it (because why would he fall for someone of her status?) but eventually admits that she has feelings for him too? I hope this is something you’d like to write 🙈 Thank you so much 💛 - @dreaming-about-fanfictions

A/N: My first Bridgerton request and it’s from my dear, Astrid! Thank you, my lovely. I only hope I have done it justice. There are moments in this that are inspired by Downton Abbey (a different time period, I know, but I adapt) and the way the fic is written is meant to jump about POVs before finally bringing the reader or Benedict as the sole focus of the scene.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: use of she/her pronouns, female reader, class differences, societal differences, pining, mutual pining, kissing, honest conversations, bridgertons being bridgertons, healthy family relationships.

Word Count: 5.4k

Of the families that resided in Grosvenor Square, there was not one so loved by their staff than that of the Bridgertons. They treated their staff fairly with decent wages and housing well as treating them with respect. The staff that work for the Bridgertons are so admired by the family that those in their employment tend not to leave for years on end; perfectly happy to remain devoted to one family.

To be a housemaid in a home such as Bridgerton House was an honour; as was repeated by the butler, Jenkins and the Head Housemaid, Mrs. Thorpe when (Y/N) began working in the house many years ago.

There was no other way to put it, (Y/N) adored working in Bridgerton House. She never minded the early starts, or the late finishes when the season was in full swing. She could never find herself bothered by having to pick up after the youngest children; their shoes and books lying about hallways and staircases, ready to cause an injury. (Y/N) was utterly devoted to the family; she could never imagine working anywhere else.

And if she had admired the second born Bridgerton with an interest that spoke to more of an employer/servant relationship, then that was (Y/N)’s cross to bear.

-----------

For months he had watched her from the centre of attention. He had observed how she held herself; tall and proud of the work she completed daily.

It had been a passing glance that had started it all. A polite smile and nod from her as Benedict passed in her the hallway, and suddenly he was hit with one, if not all, of Cupid’s arrows. After that, Benedict started to notice (Y/N) everywhere – started to notice the extra attention she paid Hyacinth when she was missing Gregory; he noticed how she would go out of her way to ensure his mother’s comfort in her drawing room, fluffing up cushions and pillows, and offering a blanket should there be a chill.

Benedict began to notice all of this and for a moment, he wondered whether he was beginning to lose his mind. He knew of the barriers between them, but that didn’t stop him from experience the raw emotion of wanting her. Benedict didn’t like to think how many hours of the day he devoted to thinking of her; dreaming of her.

All he wanted was to talk to her. To have a few minutes with her to plead his case; to help her understand that there is the very real possibility of a relationship between then should she feel the same way. How often he had dreamed of her feeling the same way…

A lovesick fool. Benedict Bridgerton was a lovesick fool but should (Y/N) spare him a moment, he would be her lovesick fool.

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

From the very moment she woke, (Y/N) had been on her feet, rushing from room to room, tidying up after everyone. The whole Bridgerton family would be descending on the main house for the final meal of the day; they were welcoming Anthony and his new wife, Kate, home from their honeymoon.

That meant everything had to be perfect. That meant there was very little time to wander through the house; Jenkins was already close to tears; he could not be pushed any further.

The chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway has (Y/N) hastening her steps, trying not to look too rushed as she thinks of the dinner service still needing to be taken upstairs and the wine to decant and the port to breathe. Whilst Anthony had a collection of whiskies and brandies in his study, the port was kept to the realm of the butler – Jenkins knew exactly what to buy and when to serve it. Tonight was one such occasion, and it still needed to breathe.

“(Y/N)!” Benedict calls, hurrying after her as she makes her way back to her quarters to dress for the dinner service. Jenkins, the Butler, would not be best pleased if she were to show up late.

“Mr. Bridgerton, how can I help you?” (Y/N) asks, curtseying to the second-born Bridgerton before eyeing the grandfather clock and noting the time.

“Spare me a moment of your time, please?”

“You should be getting ready for dinner. I know that Benjamin has laid out your clothes.”

“I want to talk to you… only for a moment, I know you have jobs to attend to.”

Smoothing down her apron, (Y/N) smiles softly at the brunette. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I thought it was obvious but perhaps not,” Benedict murmurs to himself, practically ignoring her question.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Bridgerton but I must be getting on.”

“No!” He all but shouts, reaching for your hand, “Spare me another moment of your time… please.”

She wavers as if caught between the berating she will no doubt receive from the Butler for being late to the dinner service or letting down her employer whom she stands in front of. After a moment’s silence, her decision is made. “How can I help you, Mr. Bridgerton?” She repeats.

“Call me Benedict, please.”

She shakes her head, “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Bridgerton. It would be improper.”

Benedict hesitates; his hand still outstretched towards her as if desperate to feel her underneath his palms. “I’ve gone about this all wrong,” He says, eyes sad.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” Benedict confesses, speaking plainly as if he hasn’t changed her world in six words.

“What?” She gasps; propriety falling away from her for a moment as the words he uttered settle into her skin.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” Benedict repeats, voice firmer as he becomes surer of himself.

“How?” She asks, her face and voice puzzled, “I’m a housemaid, Mr. Bridgerton.”

His eyebrows furrow as if such a thing shouldn’t matter in their world. Yet it does – status is everything; titles are everything. A man who hails from a family such as the Bridgertons could not marry, let alone fall in love with one of the serving class. It simply didn’t happen. There was the occasional affair, but (Y/N) knew herself well enough not to be reserved as a mistress – it was not her destiny. She was to marry for love.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I find myself thinking of you every waking minute of the day. I find it hard not to stare at you when I see you completing your duties. At night, I long for it to be you lying next to me instead of the emptiness of the bed. I don’t know how it happened, (Y/N). All I know is that I am in love with you. This is no farce or folly.”

The words fall over her as rain would fall over grass. They soak into her skin, mould to her bones and become part of her in the span of mere seconds. Mere seconds, and her world has changed. As much as she longed to hear those words from his lips, this could not happen. Moving away from him, her chest aching with every step, she whispers her excuse to escape, “I’m sorry, Mr. Bridgerton, I need to get back downstairs.”

Watching her walk away from him, Benedict feels something heavy settle in his chest, pressing his lungs down and making it difficult to breathe. The barriers between them were so entrenched into society, Benedict begins to worry that he has lost her before he every truly got to know her.

Shaking his head, determination sets his nerves to steel. He would try again, he promises himself. He would not pester, but he would do what he could to ensure a brighter future for the both of them.

----------

“We’re down a footman,” Jenkins panics, “I’ve had to send William to bed with a head cold. We’re down one footman in the dining room.”

“What do you propose we do?” Mrs. Thorpe asks of the grey-haired man. Hands on her hips and her lips, thin, Mrs. Thorpe was not a woman to be trifled with. She had not run Bridgerton House for close to thirty years for Jenkins’ panic to ruin a single evening. So far in their shared career with the Bridgerton family, his nerves had almost ruined an engagement party, a christening, an end of season masquerade ball and now, a traditional family dinner.

The colour fades from Jenkins’ face as he mutters, “I’m going to have to have a housemaid in the dining room.”

Mrs. Thorpe rolls her eyes at the antics of the overly dramatic butler. “It won’t be the end of the world to have a housemaid in the dining room. Take (Y/N) – she’s liked well enough by the family and knows how to serve.”

Jenkins sighs wearily as if the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. “I suppose I have no choice. Will you let (Y/N) know?”

(Y/N) is walking down the stairs to the lower levels of the house when she hears Mrs. Thorpe call her name. Turning, as she lands on the bottom step, she has a fond smile on her face for the Head Housekeeper. “Mrs. Thorpe,” (Y/N) greets.

“We’re down a footman this evening, dear,” Mrs. Thorpe says in greeting, never one to beat around the bush, “Would you be able to cover the dining room with Jenkins and Benjamin?”

“The dining room?” (Y/N) questions as the rug is pulled from underneath her feet for the second time that afternoon. It would mean having to see Benedict once more, but what choice was there.

“Yes,” Mrs. Thorpe confirms, “There aren’t enough bodies to cover the whole family. Everyone is dining tonight.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) smiles, “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll also take William a tray when I get a moment’s reprieve.”

Mrs. Thorpe smiles; the corners of her eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You are a gem. Thank you, dear.”

(Y/N) nods, smiling at the Head Housekeeper though she knows it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Having to see Benedict so soon after his confession had sent her mind into overdrive; her stomach tying itself into knots – she could only hope that the gentleman wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t humiliate her in front of his whole family.

Mrs. Thorpe touches (Y/N)’s shoulder, asking her softly, “Is everything okay, dear?”

(Y/N) nods, trying her best not to let her emotions show on her face. She had been blindsided by Benedict and his confession; didn’t ever expect such words to leave his mouth… well, expected them but never thought they would be directed at her.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Thorpe,” She smiles and whilst the Head Housekeep returns the smile, she does not believe the one on (Y/N)’s face for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay to help out in the dining room? Jenkins can always find someone else.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, knowing the butler better than she knows herself. “He would cause such a panic. No, it’s better I do it myself.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” She pats Mrs. Thorpe’s hand. “I am sure.”

-----------

It takes everything she has to stop her hands from shaking as she enters the dining room with her tray of food. Following Jenkins’ lead, (Y/N) holds her head high as she serves the Bridgertons, beginning with Anthony and then making her way from his right.

Benedict all but freezes in his spot when (Y/N) finally comes to serve from his left shoulder. He turns in his chair to find her staring down at him; a serving plate in her hand, the tongs pointed in his direction. Their fingers brush as Benedict reaches for the utensil sending a zap of static electricity up (Y/N)’s arm. She sucks in a breathe, desperate to keep the connection between them yet she is the one who straightens, who schools her face into a mask of polite interest.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, still unable to take his eyes off her.

“You’re welcome,” She replies, swiftly moving onto Gregory who sits patiently by Benedict’s side.

Jenkins who had noticed the exchange between Benedict and (Y/N) clears his throat, gaining the attention of the family waiting to start their meal. “I am terribly sorry for the informality. William took ill at the last moment and (Y/N) graciously offered to fill his shoes.”

Anthony Bridgerton smiles at (Y/N). “Thank you, (Y/N), for stepping in so quickly,” He states before turning his attention to Jenkins, “Has a tray been organised for William? Do you need us to contact the doctor?”

Jenkins watches the young Viscount with warm eyes; having known the Viscount since he was a babe in arms, it has been his pride and joy to watch him grow to the man he is today. “(Y/N) has offered to take a tray to William as soon as she is finished here. As for the doctor, my Lord, it seems only to be a head cold.”

“Let us know if anything changes, please.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

As food is served and wine is poured, happy and warm conversation flows through the Bridgerton family. Laughter is the most often heard sound in the Bridgerton home; it punctuates the air whether the chuckle and giggle comes from a member of the family or a member of staff.

Tonight is no different, it seems, as Hyacinth snorts midway through her laughter at Gregory’s latest antics. Visiting home for the weekend from Eton, Gregory was on hand to entertain his brothers and scandalise his dear mother with stories of his school life.

“I do hope you are paying attention in your lessons,” Violet admonishes her youngest son though there is nothing but maternal love in her voice.

Gregory smiles widely, holding a hand over his heart as he promises, “I do nothing less.”

His words receive an amused snort from all three brothers and a roll of eyes from his mother. (Y/N) turns her face away from the loving scene to keep the smile on her face from growing. This; this is what she years for – family, love, laughter and warmth. No matter how Benedict phrases his feelings, and no matter how she may feel for the Bridgerton, a relationship that harbours the four things (Y/N) holds dear would be impossible due to her station. A sad fact, but a universally accepted truth.

The topic of conversation once again shifts; this time focusing on the latest branch in literature. A novel had been published that had managed to scandalise not only the religious community, but also the scientific one. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was, to (Y/N), two things. Not only was it a book that promised the reader to be horrified, but it was written by a woman. Shelley was not the first female author, and she would not be the last but this latest venture into a new genre of literature inspired pride within (Y/N). With the growing availability of books through libraries, (Y/N) felt it was only time before something big happened in the fight for rights for women.

Though she kept those thoughts readily to herself.

“What do you think, (Y/N)?” Benedict asks, blue eyes sparkling over the rim his wine glass as every member of his family turns to look at her.

Eyes wide with shock, she glances over to Jenkins. He nods but he doesn’t look pleased at her having been called on by the employer. Taking a step forward, she curtsies slightly before answering, “I couldn’t possibly say, Mr. Bridgerton, sir. I haven’t read the book.”

“Come now, (Y/N),” Benedict continues, his smile growing wider, “You must have an opinion.”

“Benedict,” Violet chastises, “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s only serving tonight as William has fallen ill. There is no need to badger her.”

Violet smiles at (Y/N) apologetically as she takes a step back to the wall, her hands held neatly in front of her. Conversation soon turns to another subject, another topic which gives (Y/N) the space to breathe; to slow her racing heart.

Benedict’s eyes continue to steal glances of her figure for the rest of the meal. It feels close to a brand; the heat of his gaze burns through whatever shield she has up to the point where she is certain Benedict has laid her bare for all to see. It’s all she can think of; his keen gaze and his words to her before the meal.

Trying her best not to fidget, (Y/N) keeps her eyes focused on the portrait of a Bridgerton ancestor hung on the wall across from her. She only rouses herself from her nerves to serve the courses of the meal. (Y/N) cannot help but thank any god or deity out there when the dessert course is brought up and the meal is soon brought to a close.

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

It is easy to avoid someone when you ask for extra duties, (Y/N) thinks to herself as she carries a pile of dresses to be mended. The muslin is smooth against her skin as she lays the dresses out on the mending table before turning to find the sewing kit. Thankfully, for the dresses, there was not much to be done but mend a few holes that had torn near the hem. The danger of heels and quick walking women, (Y/N) humours.

It had been a week since the conversation with Benedict; his words constantly playing on her mind until she wakes in the middle of the night with them on her lips, as if she were reciting the conversation in her sleep.

Benedict had tried to gain her attention; he had made clear attempts at wanting to talk to her. However, she simply curtsied and went on her way. She didn’t know what to say to him; she couldn’t understand how he – the son of a Viscount, no less – had fallen in love with her.

It felt preposterous; it felt too good to be true. Yet as the oil lamps are dampened for the night and the other servants in the house have fallen asleep, (Y/N) lets herself dream of what it could be like to be loved by Benedict Bridgerton. She wonders about the curve of his mouth; what it feel like, whether he would smile into their kiss. She thinks of his hands; his long, artistic fingers and she briefly ponders whether he had ever drawn her, whether in his many sketchbooks there lies a portrait of her.

When she’s feeling a particular glutton for punishment, (Y/N) lets herself dream of a life with Benedict where class status didn’t matter. She thinks of what it would be like to wake up to him every morning; to feel the heaviness of his arm wrapped around her waist as he rises to consciousness with the sun. She yearns to know what it would feel like to be able to reach over and take his hand in hers, tangling their fingers together as if they had always meant to be intertwined.

The longing for him is what breaks her. It’s what causes the tears to roll down her face as she lets herself accept the fact that she is sure she has known for a long time. She lets herself accept that she had met the cliché of so many housemaids before her by falling in love with Benedict Bridgerton a long time ago, before he had even come to know her existence.

-----------

The drawing room on the upper level of the house was where Violet Bridgerton spent most of her day. On occasion, her sons’ joined the family, but for the most part, it was her daughters that kept her company. Violet remains occupied by her stitching patterns; a garden of tulips for the birth of Anthony’s darling new baby, however, she keeps a weather eye on Eloise and Hyacinth – her only daughters to remain at home and unmarried.

“Eloise,” Violet murmurs, “Would you be a dear and ring for some tea. My throat is parched.”

Eloise pauses in her writing; so occupied these days, Violet thinks as her second eldest daughter rises to ring for the kitchen. “What are you working on?” Violet asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Eloise frowns, collecting the papers out of fear anyone should read them. “I’m writing to Penelope if you must know.”

“Writing? She lives just across the way, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you calling on her.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Eloise allows, “But there is nothing wrong with practicing my handwriting, is there mother?”

Violet smiles; a pained one that shows her exhaustion with her beloved daughter. “No, my dear. There is no harm in that.”

Eloise nods, smiling softly at her mother before returning to her letter. Violet watches her for a moment; the way her eyes read and reread the sentences written on the page – this was not a letter to Penelope; it was to a suitor. Violet knew full well, however, that Eloise would come to her when ready – she was not someone to be pushed into giving information.

Returning to her stitching, Violet finds that her attention is once more interrupted by the opening of the door. She sighs, placing the stitching down, curious as to whether she would get the piece done before the arrival of the sweet babe.

Turning to face the door, she is surprised to find her second-born, Benedict entering the room. His eyes, sad and his expression, solemn as he runs a hand again and again through his hair.

“Mother,” Benedict greets, leaning down to press a kiss to her ageing cheek. “May I speak with you about a private matter?”

Violet’s eyebrows furrow but she says nothing as she dismisses her daughters; each one complaining as they leave the room, closing the door behind them. At the click of the lock, Violet smiles warmly at her son – he was so different from Anthony and Colin, not the least interested in their games such as Pall Mall but would rather sit to the side with his sketchbook in hand. He had a boisterous streak; could play with the rest of them, but he had his moments where he fall into a tranquil state and produce artwork that could rival the greats.

Nerves tangling his stomach to pieces, Benedict begins to pace the room. His hands are hooked behind his back as he begins to pace backwards and forwards, trying to form sentences from the jumble of words in his mind. He knew, deep down, that whatever he should want to do with his life, his beloved mother would support him, but even Violet Bridgerton could not ignore the class lines so entrenched within society.

“Benedict, my dear, you’re beginning to make me dizzy. Stop pacing and tell me what’s wrong.”

Benedict pauses his pacing but does not sit down. Instead, he stands as still as a stone, hands gesturing wildly as he tries to form thoughts into sentences. Mouth opening and closing, he struggles of how to bring up the issue of love and marriage.

“You would never stand in the way of who we love, would you?” He finally asks, running a hand through his deep brown hair.

Violet frowns, “I would not considering they were within reason. Why? Have you fallen in love, Benedict?”

“I think… No. I know I have, but there’s a problem.”

“Are they a drunk?”

“No.”

“Do they gamble?”

“No.”

“Then whatever is the matter?”

“She’s a servant. A housemaid to be precise… in this house.”

Violet would be the first to admit that she is surprised by her son’s admission. Sighing, she pats the cushion next to her, urging her son to sit down. “Who?” she asks as Benedict falls into the seat beside her.

“(Y/N),” He admits, fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

She runs a hand through his hair, “Does she love you too?”

“I don’t know,” Benedict admits, “She ran off after I confessed.”

“Then I need to speak to her to find out once and for all,” Violet declares, smoothing out her skirts.

“Mother…” Benedict groans. Violet shakes her head, “Let me talk to her. I can reassure her in ways you cannot. I can tell her that I approve.”

“You approve?” He asks, shocked at the words leaving hid mother’s mouth. “I thought you would disapprove…”

“Because of her class? My dear boy, you have found your love match, that is all I wish for my children. Should (Y/N) feel the same then of course I approve. I would rather you be happy than miserable, my son.”

“Thank you, mother,” Benedict replies, kissing her cheek once again, “You’re truly the best there are.”

Violet blushes at her sons words, dismissing him with a wave of her fan. “Off with you, and ring for Jenkins before you go.”

Benedict bows before pulling the cord by the door. Leaving the room, Benedict cannot help the smile that crosses his face. He truly holds some hope that (Y/N) might feel the same as he does and if his mother should approve, then there should be no issue to their courting and their union.

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

(Y/N) wrings her hands together on entire walk to Lady Violet’s drawing room. Having been summoned by the Lady herself, this could be either of two things. One: she was about to find herself suddenly unemployed for reasons she did not yet know. Or two: Lady Violet knows about the conversation with Benedict.

Neither reason made (Y/N) feel particularly confident as she is shown into the drawing room. Her heart remains in her throat even as Lady Violet smiles at her warmly; gesturing for her to sit down across from her and take some tea.

Adding one lump of sugar to her tea, Lady Violet bluntly asks, “Do you love my son, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) promptly drops her spoon into her tea causing it to splash on the table cover. “Oh!” She gasps, reaching for a napkin to clean up the mess as best she can, “I am so terribly sorry, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet chuckles, “It’s no problem, (Y/N). Tea tends to wash out as I am sure you are well aware. I do not want to think of how many table cloths and dresses I have stained in my time… but I love the drink so many more stains are due to come.”

“My mother says that the world can be put to rights over a good cup of tea.”

“Your mother sounds very wise.”

“She is,” (Y/N) nods, smiling wistfully as she thinks of her mother with the fondness of a child. “I write to her nearly every day. She likes to hear about the city and what is happening. She feels as if the Bridgertons are her own family.”

Violet beams at that, “I am glad to hear it, (Y/N), but you have not answered my question.”

“I apologise, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Are you in love with Benedict?”

(Y/N) remains silent for a moment before beginning to nod her head. “I am. I know I am,” (Y/N) begins, “But…”

“But what?”

“I could bring nothing to the courtship and then nothing to the marriage. My family are not rich enough for me to have a dowry; I have no title or land; I barely know proper etiquette – I would offend everyone the moment I stepped through the door. On top of that, think of the social connections Benedict would lose – there would be families who would never speak to him again all because he had the rotten luck to fall in love with me.”

Violet’s blue eyes grow determined as she begins to list off: “You do not need a dowry; we have enough money as it is. There is no need for you to have a title or land, Benedict has his own homes. In terms of etiquette, you converse with me quite well, so I see no issue there. As for social connections, if people cannot see how happy you make my son then that is their issue, not yours and not Benedict’s.”

“What about the Viscount, Lady Bridgerton? Surely he has final say.”

A glimmer of something maternal shines in Violet’s eyes as she smiles. “Let me handle my eldest son. You have no reason to worry, (Y/N). Benedict loves you. I will not stand in the way of his happiness.”

“So you approve?” (Y/N) asks, forgetting herself for a brief moment before dipping her head in apology.

Violet dismisses her apology with a wave of her hand; after all, if things go to plan, she would be calling (Y/N) daughter in no time. “Do I approve of having to find another housemaid as talented as you? No, I do not. But do I approve of the lady that my son has given his heart to? Absolutely. To be entirely truthful, I would rather it be you than someone in society.”

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) says gratefully, feeling the all too familiar prick of tears in the corner of her eyes.

“Now go,” Violet smiles, the familiar sting of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “Go find my son and tell him how you feel.”

Standing from the chair, (Y/N) curtsies with a smile before rushing from the room. Her mind in a daze as to what has truly happened just now.

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

(Y/N) finds Benedict in the library, sat awkwardly in one of the chairs with his sketchbook propped up in his lap. He’s focused entirely on the sketch at hand; his mouth set in a determined line as a finger delicately smudges part of his work.

For a single instant, (Y/N) watches Benedict in his element, finding that the butterflies in her stomach have turned from slumbering to a full blown riot at the mere sight of the man that had captured her heart. Still riding on the high from her conversation with Lady Bridgerton, (Y/N) steps further into the room. Benedict freezes in place at the sight of her stood by the stacks of books; her eyes are bright, and her skin flushed as she fiddles with the hem of her apron.

The painting flashes in his mind suddenly and his fingers twitch with the urge to turn the page of his sketchbook whilst simultaneously asking her to remain still so he can immortalise her on page. She’s perfect; she’s the perfect model and she doesn’t even realise it; Benedict thinks to himself.

“Spare me a moment?” She asks tentatively, as if worried of his reaction.

“All my moments are for you,” Benedict whispers honestly setting her heart racing in her chest. He stands from the chair, long legs coming out from under him as he leaves his sketchbook behind.

“All mine are for you too, if you’ll still have me…”

“What?”

“I love you too,” She confesses, voice small as she fiddles with her fingers, eyes cast on them – too scared to meet his gaze.

A finger under her chin has her meeting his deep blue eyes. Eyes that are alight with the happiness that surges through his veins; that highlight just how his heart sings at hearing those magical words leave her mouth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” (Y/N) begins to ramble, “There is so much that is standing in the way for us, and I know you do not care or at least, I think you do not care but I cannot help but worry that if we were to happen, one day you would wake up and regret every moment of it. I am not from the same class as you, Benedict, I do not want to ruin you.”

A smile breaks across his face despite the stark desperation of her words. She furrows her eyebrows, half in curiosity, half in concealed frustration. “What are you smiling at?” She demands.

His hands move to cradle her face; thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones as he chuckles, “You called me ‘Benedict’.”

Thinking over her words, she smiles despite herself. “I suppose I did.”

“As for your worries: I do not think there will be one day in my future that I will not wake up and be grateful. However, that will only happen if you are in it – if I am waking up to you every morning. Darling, I do not think you can ruin me. I think you will be the making of me.”

“Do you promise? Not to regret me?” She whispers, a note of vulnerability in her voice.

“I promise,” He vows, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then to her nose and cheeks. Then as he hovers above her lips, he whispers, “With every moment you spare me, I could never regret falling in love with you.”

******

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[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

‘Wow, there’s a lot of sex and swearing’: Channel 4’s top-rated drama ever, 30 years on - The Guardian

Partner-swapping, nudity, Felicity Kendal: it’s three decades since raunchy wartime series The Camomile Lawn broke TV ratings records. How does it hold up?

Nice-but-dim nymphos … Jennifer Ehle and Toby Stephens in The Camomile Lawn. Photograph: Moviestore Collection

‘There’s going to be a war! What the heck do Sophy’s knickers matter?” What indeed, Felicity Kendal. This week marks the 30th anniversary of The Camomile Lawn, a bosom-heaving period drama that broke ratings records back in spring 1992. All is fair in love, war and lingerie.

Revisiting it, the hammier-than-Peppa-Pig five-parter often feels like a spoof. And wow, there’s a lot of sex and swearing in it. No wonder it was known as “The Camomile Porn” by the popular press. This is Game of Thrones with gravy-painted legs. Or perhaps Euphoria with a ration book.

All ravishing Cornish coastlines and lip-quivering passion, Channel 4’s starry adaptation of Mary Wesley’s beloved semi-autobiographical novel came as a welcome burst of nostalgic sunshine in PM John Major’s grey, boring Britain. It was written nearly a decade earlier when Wesley was 70 – part of a remarkable burst of creativity in her twilight years. This late bloomer only turned to her typewriter as a way to earn some cash after she was left impoverished by the death of her second husband. She proceeded to bash out 10 bestsellers in the last 20 years of her life.

The sumptuous miniseries was directed by theatre titan Peter Hall – who cast his daughter Rebecca as orphaned Sophy, the soul of the story. It’s an astonishingly accomplished turn from nine-year-old Hall, who radiates star quality in her first professional role. Wesley’s text was faithfully adapted by screenwriter Ken Taylor, who had previously turned Paul Scott’s The Jewel in the Crown into a prime-time blockbuster.

Pulling in more than 7 million viewers, The Camomile Lawn became Channel 4’s top-rated drama ever – a record it still holds, with only robo-thriller Humans and Russell T Davies’s It’s a Sin coming close. At a time when most homes had only four channels, The Camomile Lawn’s potboiler plot and tabloid notoriety meant it attracted one-third of the total TV audience.

The handsome saga traced the intertwining lives of three genteel families. As storm clouds gathered over Europe in 1939, four teenage cousins visited a clifftop country pile in Cornwall for one last idyllic holiday. Their lives, as dramatic convention dictates, would never be the same again.

Wartime sequences were intercut with scenes from a family funeral four decades later, as the characters were reunited at a graveside. But who had died? Who had married who and were they being faithful? Who was a famous novelist and who had grown “fat and respectable”? And who was about to call a fellow mourner the C-word and throw a punch? This was an upmarket soap in the vein of Downton or Bridgerton.

A major draw was the pan-generational ensemble cast. Kendal starred as matriarch Helena Cuthbertson, owner of the enviable Cornish mansion with its eponymous fragrant lawn. It was Helena’s reminiscences in her dotage – with Kendal wearing a ropey wig, even ropier ageing makeup and slugging single malt from a silver hip flask – which framed the story.

Youngsters were played by Jennifer Ehle (the flighty, ludicrously named Calypso) and Toby Stephens (her brooding suitor Oliver), both making their screen debuts. Helena’s harrumphing husband Richard was winningly played by Paul Eddington. A clever piece of casting, since he and Kendal’s characters always had an unrequited vibe in The Good Life. The older Calypso was played by Rosemary Harris, Ehle’s real-life mother. Claire Bloom took over as midlife Sophy.

The family were joined by identical brothers from the local rectory, only ever referred to as “the twins”, along with Max and Monika Erstweiler, a Jewish refugee couple from Austria. Max became a famous violinist and, despite his ’Allo ’Allo accent and Einstein-esque grey fright wig, somehow managed to seduce pretty much every female. “You open the legs, ja?” he purred to one paramour.

However, it was mainly Calypso who put the phwoar-time into wartime. We followed her transformation from prissy virgin into prolific saucepot – a metaphor for how the war swept aside traditional morality. As Wesley herself said: “We were a flighty generation. We’d been brought up so repressed. War freed us. We felt if we didn’t do it now, we might never get another chance. It got to the stage where one woke up in the morning, reached across the pillow and thought, ‘Let’s see, who is it this time?’”

Wesley poured those memories into The Camomile Lawn, which saw all manner of bed-hopping and “raunchy romping”, as it was termed in tabloidese. Ehle’s screen career was launched with a string of nude scenes. “I haven’t done any nudity since and never will again,” she later said. “I didn’t realise there would be so much of it, but no one forced me to do it. The first time I felt really shocked – then came a whole day of naked scenes. I went home and was physically sick. I had forgotten that I’d be seen naked in a lot of living rooms.”

Predictably, there was lots of female flesh on display, with just the odd male buttock as a nod to equal opportunities nudity.

One memorable scene saw Calypso go into labour under a kitchen table during the blitz, with schoolgirl Sophy acting as midwife. As furniture fell and plaster crumbled around them, Calpyso screamed, “Fuck Hitler! Bugger that bomb!” while she gave birth to a son.

Cousin Polly (Tara Fitzgerald) formed a proto-throuple with the twins. She had their children but nobody knew who fathered which. Felicity Kendal, a pin-up for men of a certain age, steamed up their spectacles with a woodland sex scene that wouldn’t look out of place in current period romps Poldark or Outlander. Even the seemingly stuffy Richard and Helena swapped partners with Max and Monika. “May I fuck you now?” asked another character who was “fearfully randy”. Oliver demanded his “comforts” whenever he returned home from military postings, at one point telling Calypso: “I’ve got an erection. I want to poke it into you.” Steady on, old chap.

It all gave pensioner Wesley a reputation as a purveyor of posh smut. Her style was described as “arsenic without the old lace” and “Jane Austen with sex”. Her family disapproved of this late-career pivot. Her brother called her novels “filth”, while her estranged sister strongly objected to The Camomile Lawn, claiming some characters were based on their parents.

It wasn’t until the last year of her life that Wesley collaborated with biographer Patrick Marnham on an authorised memoir, Wild Mary. The title referenced her childhood nickname and her liberated sex life. Wesley shared her memories from her sickbed, saying: “Have you any idea of the pleasure of lying in bed for six months, talking about yourself to a very intelligent man? My deepest regret was that I was too old and ill to take him into bed with me.”

Nowadays The Camomile Lawn comes with a warning, not just about strong language and sexual scenes but “offensive, racist language and attitudes”. These were indeed different times. Racial slurs were bandied about, as was the word “Bitch!” (mainly on the rare occasions when women declined an invitation to bed).

Blimpish old gents in crumpled cream suits blustered that “concentration camps must be splendid places”. Calypso boasted about meeting “awfully nice” Nazis while skiing. Uncle Richard admitted an unhealthy interest in young girls, with references to him “groping” his nieces – which everyone dismissed as a harmless eccentricity. At one point, a coastguard flashed “his pink snake” at 10-year-old Sophy and ended up being pushed off a cliff for his trouble.

It’s a tale of toffs who are so pampered they don’t just own separate town and country houses – some have town and country spouses, too. Everyone goes “up to Oxford” from boarding school, dines at the Ritz or the Savoy, drinks like dehydrated sailors and demands kedgeree for breakfast. Uncle Richard nearly cops it when he ventures outside during a bombing raid to rescue a case of vintage claret.

The Camomile Lawn is like a time capsule. A relic of a lost England. It’s Brideshead Revisited meets Ian McEwan’s Atonement, with Jilly Cooper drafted in to sex things up. The acting is stiff, stagy and laughably plummy, like a bad Radio 4 audio play. Stephens’ attempts to emote are often reminiscent of a parody by Victoria Wood or French and Saunders.

Fittingly, proceedings climax in typically absurd fashion. There’s the sort of unconvincing, hysterically shrill laughter that might precede the credits of a bad sitcom, before Wesley’s nice-but-dim nymphos find themselves facing something truly dreadful. Something guaranteed to send a shiver down the spine of any right-thinking toff. As the series closes, some ghastly parvenu is overheard discussing his plans to dig up the camomile lawn and replace it with a swimming pool. Bally typical.

The Camomile Lawn is available for streaming on All 4 and BritBox

Credits: The Guardian

#the camomile lawn #toby stephens

[chunkybird]

°My name is Natalie, 21, she/her pronouns, lesbian

° Some things I'm interested in and always willing to talk about: MBTI personality types/enneagram, middle aged actresses, books (I collect antique books 😁), any of the wlw ships you find on my page. Asks are always welcome!

° Fav shows: criminal minds, downton abbey, the haunting of bly manor, bomb girls, killing eve, the walking dead, parks and rec, mad men... I will also always be down to talk about these lol

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