So sad to hear about Patricia Routledge’s death. Keeping Up Appearances is something I’ve watched and loved since I was a little kid. It’s a funny, goofy comedy on the surface but underneath it you have probably one of the best pieces of commentary on the British class system you can ask for.
RIP, Patricia Routledge.
What profound words about aging. All of them so true. My parents introduced me to your show, Keeping Up Appearances. Such a great sitcom that continues to bring joy to so many. Thank you for all the laughs.
Here's a profound letter about aging that she wrote in February of last year. It's a reminder that it's never too late.
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"I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.
My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found.
At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.
At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.
At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.
At 80, I took up watercolour painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever.
I’m writing this to tell you something simple: Growing older is not the closing act.
It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again. Let these years ahead be your TREASURE YEARS.
You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
summary: for a good actor jensen is struggling to keep up the facade
tags/ warnings: smut, p in v sex, oral f receiving, secret relationship, jealousy, teasing, slight breeding kink, begging, implied reader is younger, mentions of m oral, dirty talk, bratty reader, unprotected sex, you can decide if this is an affair or not, fake insta
notes: no lie this came to me in a dream and what a dream it was
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‘Hello,’ you breathed answering the phone you’d plucked off the table, the incessant vibration against the veneer covered plywood too distracting to ignore.
‘Have you seen this?’ Madeline baulked, her voice higher and shriller than anticipated.
‘What?’ you panicked.
‘Jensen Ackles is a douchebag,’ she said.
‘What?’ you said, your mind swimming as you tried to focus it.
‘An article talking about on set drama,’ she explained, anger punctuating her sentences. It made sense, your boss was nothing of the sort. In fact in your time in the industry he was probably the nicest person you’d met. So an article like this was out of the blue to say the least.
‘Yeah talking about how he’s walking around all angry and surly. Speculating about issues on set or home. And get this,’ she said, pulling the phone away to put it on speaker as she read whatever trash website had printed it, ‘he treats his assistant like a piece of crap.’
‘Well that’s bull,’ you said.
‘No I know I just don’t know where they get off,’ she muttered. Funnily enough you were thinking the exact same thing.
‘What’s the plan?’ you asked.
‘Try and find out who it is if you can. But don’t say anything to anyone,’ she said, you grunted an agreement, ‘you okay?’
‘Fine,’ you said, your voice heady. She paused as though she didn’t believe you, as though she was worried you were getting worked up at the thought.
‘Look I’ll deal with it but maybe you can do a post or something in a few days’ time. Casual you know, a response without responding,’ she said.
‘Mmhmm,’ you breathed.
‘And don’t worry. But remember people are watching. Just look like you’re having fun,’ she said.
‘Right,’ you said your voice squeaking, ‘shit.’
‘Are you-’
‘Yep, fine. Actually he needs me I got to go,’ you breathed, clicking off and throwing the phone on the table as your orgasm crashed over you, legs trembling as you tried to keep up right, your knuckles white as they hung on for dear life against the table top.
‘What was that about?’ Jensen asked, looking up at you. His hair was a mess from where you’d knotted your fingers in it, pupils blown and beard glistening with you. It was a sight you’d never tire of. Even if it did make answering work calls, at his request lest it be something important, a tad harder.
‘Apparently you’re a douchebag,’ you said, playfulness evident in your tone though your words came out shaky as he kissed your bare skin, lips leaving warm imprints up your thigh until he was moving to your neck, nipping and sucking his way along the perspiring flesh like a man in the desert.
‘Excuse me?’ he hummed, vibrations thrumming against your clavicle.
‘Madeleine says there’s a whole article about it,’ you mused, as you wrapped your arms around him, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, ‘apparently you’re mean to me.’
‘It’s that right?’ he asked, pulling back with a sparkle in his eye as you whimpered at the loss. You pouted, hand trailing down his front until you thumbed at his belt, tugging at it to get it open. Thankfully his costume today was a little easier to get into since the amount of finagling it took to get into soldier boys pants really a mood killer. He stopped you anyway, enjoying your frustration as always.
‘I can believe it,’ you goaded.
‘Mm?’ he smirked, leaning in to kiss your lips but you turned giving him your cheek and making him breath a chuckle as you continued, ‘always bossing me around. Calling me to your trailer. Taking me away from talking to nice young set runners.’
‘Well if you didn’t flirt with them to piss me off when I’m on set I wouldn’t have to,’ he said darkly. You felt his hand on your hip gripping tight it might bruise and you looked at him; all jealousy and lust rolled into one look.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ you lied. You knew exactly what you’d been doing. Since this whole thing had started, since your relationship had changed one snowy January night away from home the two of you had been insatiable, wrapped around one another at any chance you could only to be broken by something as formal as work. And when you did have to pry yourself apart, save prying eyes catching on it made you long for him. Especially as you watched him from the sidelines, whatever character he was playing that day the complete opposite of the man you’d grown to adore. At home he was soft and gentle, but the separation made you both turn needy and your work days became filled with pockets of raw want and desire. Like you were now. You’d only been speaking to Jake, the runner, for a day or so, laughing at his jokes and chatting away when Jensen was indisposed. You knew he could see you. You knew that it’d drive him wild, that your free moments wouldn’t be spent on set with the others but here in his trailer as he made up for lost time.
‘Sure you don’t,’ he laughed, thumbing over your nipple which made your breath hitch, ‘you think I don’t see you laughing and joking with him when we cut for a take. That I don’t see your hand on his fuckin arm like you weren’t on your knees begging for my cock before we walked out to set the morning.’
‘Hey, I’m young free and single for all he knows. Gotta keep up appearances oh god,’ you whimpered. You’d felt his hand leave your hip, but you’d been too distracted by his eyes and the feel of his breath as it intermingled with yours, your mouths tantalising out of reach. You didn’t notice his cock until it was brushing your sensitive clit, moving smoothly through your slick and nudging your needy hole at a torturous pace.
‘Keeping up appearances huh?’ Jensen teased. His voice was so low you barely heard it, but it was so devilish sent another throb to your cunt anyway.
‘Mm,’ you said weakly, ‘he’s a nice guy. I think he might ask me out-’
And that was it, whatever game you were playing was gone. Jensen’s eyes darkened as he grabbed at you, spun you round and pinned you against the table, his cock buried in you before you could utter another word. You moaned as he bottomed out, hands gripping at your hips, barely letting you breathe before he slammed back into you.
‘Single my ass,’ he said, ‘what would he do huh? When he took you home and found damn near soaked just from being at work. Found all this from just watching me-’
The sound of him inside you was enough to have you begging, but his words, his calling you out ruined you. Made you desperate in ways you couldn’t bear.
‘You think I’m mean to you?’ he said, pulling you roughly off the table by wrapping his hand around your throat, his breath warm against your ear. You struggled to keep your feet stationed around his causing you to be speared further onto his cock as he thrust up into you.
‘Baby you haven’t seen mean,’ he grunted, ‘think you could go without? Think you’d cope without it-’
‘No,’ you managed to moan.
‘No what?’ he asked, ‘c’mon now. I’m your boss remember.’
‘No sir,’ you groaned, your legs shaking as you hit your peak again, his fingers playing with your clit the way he strummed a guitar, like he knew the perfect notes to make you make the sweetest tune.
‘That’s right,’ he cooed, ‘they think I’m mean to you because you play the nice little assistant. They don’t get to see you acting up to get what you want. Don’t get to hear that smart mouth teasing me. What are we gonna do about that mouth huh?’
‘Could fill it,’ you breathed. He chuckled.
‘That’s what you want?’ he asked. You shook your head, teetering on your tiptoes to keep steady, to take him deeper.
‘There she is. Always so good to me,’ he murmured, turning your head so he could meet your lips, ‘you gonna be good again?’
‘Yes,’ you breathed, ‘yes sir.’
‘Alright baby,’ he said, his hips faltering in rhythm as you reached to hold him against you, pulling him in deeper as you whispered, ‘please. I’ll take you so good. I promise.’
He sounded like he was choking, groans catching in his throat as his hand gripped your face a little too hard to stop your own moans echoing out. As he ploughed in deeper your knees gave out, his cock glazing the inside of you before he slipped out leaving everything hot and sticky between your thighs. He didn’t let you drop though, just staggered the pair of you back until there was something sturdy behind his knees for him to drop into.
You felt limbless, weightlessly flopped against him and exposed enough that you’d never recover if someone knocked on right now. You weren’t entirely sure the pair of you were quiet enough that no one had heard you if they’d passed the trailer in the last few minutes at but you couldn’t think about that now. Because Jensen was holding you tight around the waist, nose nuzzling into you as his lips burnt a gentle trail against your neck.
He was back to normal, the frenzy the pair of you had whipped yourself up into now past no doubt until you were forced apart for a long period of time for him to film. When you could be near one another up you were fine, just two happy go lucky just people who worked together. Casual, boring. Able to keep up appearances. But when you were apart it was like you couldn’t breathe, like you needed one another and nothing else mattered. It made maintaining the façade hard. Made him being snappy or surly a regular occurrence. One that was only solved by you being marched to the trailer. But for now it was all the pair of you could have.
You didn’t want to leave and head back to set. You didn’t want to move or breathe if it meant leaving this moment but you knew you had to. You had work to do, the phone call from before creeping in like an unwanted visitor.
‘You okay?’ he asked after a second. He could see you thinking, his brow furrowing with concern.
‘Fine,’ you lied.
‘You really miss me already don’t you?’ he laughed, his hand on your jaw, thumb stroking gently along it.
‘Don’t know why,’ you grinned.
‘Right I’m just a douchebag,’ he chuckled, decanting you onto the sofa gently as he reached for something to clean up, his touch gentle and accompanied by a kiss to your head before he stood up, tucking himself back in his underwear. His pants were ruined but, the good assistant that you were, you had made sure to have another pair on the rack just in case. You passed them over with a grin before checking yourself in the mirror. If the runner could see you know he’d be straight to the websites again, this scoop surely more interesting than whatever false narrative he was trying to craft. You ran a hand through your hair, adjusted your clothing and tidied the smudges of your pink lip balm up just as he came up behind you, his dishevelment making him look even more handsome as infuriating as that was.
But his eyes were serious when they met yours, unsure as though something you’d said had lingered in his brain.
‘You okay?’ you ask, hands resting on his arms as they wrapped around you.
‘I know it’s hard this,’ he didn’t label it, there wasn’t one that fit right now, ‘but you’re not gonna date him right? The runner guy?’
‘Is that a serious question?’ you asked, your face falling as he frowned, dropping his gaze shyly. You turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck and forcing him to look at you.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ you said.
‘But there’s so much-’
‘We’ll figure it out,’ you promised. He smiled, leaning in to kiss you gently before a knock at the door pulled him away with a sigh.
‘Yeah,’ he called, not letting go of you as he listened to the AD tell him it was time to head back to set. He shouted an agreement back and sighed.
‘I gotta go,’ he mumbled, untangling from you. You nodded, letting him go albeit reluctantly. He checked his self in the mirror, knocking his hair into some kind of shape before he looked at you and smiled, ‘coming?’
‘I should probably call Madeline back,’ you said. He nodded, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles before he headed out the door.
You sighed and stood, checking your appearance once more before you grabbed your phone. Messages littered your screen and you rolled your eyes. Back to keeping up appearances it was.
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yourusername not a bad way to spend a work day. happy wednesday from me and the worlds okayest boss
In memory of veteran British actress Dame Patricia Routledge who has passed away at the age of 96. With countless stage, screen, and television credits to her name over her seven decade long career, Patricia was best known for her portrayal of snooty, upwardly mobile Hyacinth Bucket ("It's Bouquet, dear!") on the beloved 1990s Britcom Keeping Up Appearances which remains popular in re-runs around the globe.
Born on February 17th, 1929
Died on October 3rd, 2025
May she rest in peace. ❤
