#nonepizzawithlaolafi

[laolafi]

Ok, Google. Listen to me. When I google "aristocratic wedding customs 1920s UK" that's exactly what I'm looking for, and for a good reason*. Give me proper sources. Not a metric fucktonne of “easy DIY ideas to decorate your glam Gatsby-style roaring 20s retro vintage wedding on a budget" bridal blog brainrot and certainly not fucking Becky from Nebraska's "royal wedding inspired" Pinterest moodboard.

(*) yes, writing Downton Abbey fanfic is a good reason.

[nonepizzawithleftglitter]

Sometimes writing Downton Abbey fanfic involves asking yourself "Would my blorbo be homophobic?" and genuinely contemplating if the answer would be yes instead of reflexively going no.

[nonepizzawithleftfanfic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

It's here: the next installement of our fic, the long awaited-dinner party, which comes on the tail-end of weeks of heartbreak and scandal. Brought to you by myself and my wonderful darling of a co-author @laolafi . Come have a look, see what parts of canon we have messed with this time ;)

Summary: There is to be a grand dinner party at Downton Abbey. Stakes and emotions are running high. William is dreading it all.

[laolafi]

Making myself stupid hungry writing a dinner party scene ... anyone fancy fictional salmon mousse with asparagus, oxtail consommé with root vegetable julienne, vol-au-vents three ways (chicken, anchovy, duxelles), turbot with hollandaise, quail with watercress ... and a French white wine William can't pronounce. There might be none pizza too. Nom.

[laolafi]

It was on the curb at the corner where the cab had dropped them off that Tom was first hit by a whiff of home. Not some abstract, romanticised concept of "Irish Air", but the very real, distinct scent that lingered over Na Saoirsí so thickly it could be cut with a knife. Most people wouldn't describe it as pleasant at all, most people even abhorred it, but to Tom's nose, it was like a warm and mollifying embrace that still lingered in his childhood memories and his homesickness: the scent of malt and hops and fermentation ever emanating from the brewery, the beating heart of the neighbourhood. If Sybil, for lack of nostalgia, found herself less than enthusiastic about the olfactory backdrop, she didn't show it.

Prophetic words, written about a year ago (prologue of Til Death Do Us Part) & now I'm making a home less than 200m away from the brewery enveloped by that very smell.

[laolafi]

Til Death Do Us Part, Chapter 10 is here!

Brought to you by @nonepizzawithleftglitter and yours truly. May contain traces of heartbreak. May also contain traces of wedding night related activities. Enjoy!

[nonepizzawithleftglitter]

I am normal about my fanfic & it does not make me mess up very basic questions in trivia quizzes.

[laolafi]

Man Up (Accidental Child Acquisition)?

Oh dear where do I start?! Some context for this: it's "Boat Boys", the TDDUP spin-off where Charles Blake's two exes get together (they will, eventually, make an appearance in the main series too, more than that actually). They're both OCs, both officers in the Royal Navy (Louis a flag officer at the naval college, Alec captaining a training ship), it's the mid 1920s and they've been in a relationship for seven years by now and they've somehow managed to live and build a life together, despite everything. Alec comes from this big, boisterous, all-around loving and batshit insane family (oof we love them), Louis from a more lower-middle-class background and he has a meh relationship with his family of origin. And then this happens:

~~~~

Penrose, the manservant, had already left for the night. Louis was finishing some work. The doorbell rang. Louis looked up, rather puzzled. He wasn't expecting visitors, and the person he was expecting had his own key to the place. And so had Penrose, in case he had some reason to return after he'd taken his leave as usual.

Before him stood a lanky lad of fifteen, maybe sixteen. Clad in a simple brown suit, rather dusty and crinkled, holding a newsboy cap in his hand. What startled Louis most, however, was the bruise over the jawbone. One that had clearly drawn blood and started to heal a bit already, in addition to shimmering in all shades of black and blue.

"Uncle Louis?"

"Freddie? What on earth?"

"I'm in trouble, Uncle Louis."

"I can see that." He pulled the door open wider, motioned inside. "So you decided to come … all the way to Devon?"

"'m sorry to bother you, Uncle Louis. Mum'n'Dad kicked me out. I've nowhere else to go."

"Excuse me?" Louis took his nephew's coat and hat, hung it on the peg by the door, motioned to the sitting room door. Whatever was happening, he'd get to the bottom of it. And then, he'd call his sister, because whatever had happened, how dare Barbara kick her eldest son out? "Take a seat, lad. I'll make us a cuppa."

The boy nodded sheepishly, gazing around the room, clearly lost. Louis had never been as uncomfortably aware of his change in station as now. Maybe once or twice, but not like that. Not with a member of his own family.

"So, out with it, lad," he said, returning with the tea. "What got you in trouble as dire?"

"I couldn't possibly say."

The boy's lower lip was trembling.

"It can't possibly be that bad, can it?"

But Louis got nowhere with his questioning.

"Is it something that'd get you in trouble with the police?"

The boy nodded peevishly.

"Did you kill someone?"

He tried to deflect with humour; it couldn't be as bad as that, certainly? But the quip fell flat, the boy just shook his head, mutely. All but choking on his still-too-hot tea.

"Did you steal?"

Another mute shake of his head.

"Get in a brawl, maybe?"

And another. Louis was losing his patience now, running out of guesses.

"Freddie, you'll have to tell me something at least. Else I can't help you."

"T's too shameful, Uncle Louis."

Louis gave a deep sigh. They weren't getting anywhere, not like this.

"Freddie." When he reached out to give the boy a reassuring pat, he snatched his arm away rather too violently. "Freddie, I want to help you, only …"

"Got caught," Freddie pressed out.

"You got caught," Louis repeated slowly. Yes, he'd figured as much. "Got caught doing what?"

A harrowing silence, and then, barely above a whisper, "Got caught with another boy."

"Yes, but doing wh–" And then, the penny dropped. Of course. Of bloody course.

A mumble. "'mso'shamed."

"Am I understanding this correctly? And mind you, I'm not judging. But you got caught … kissing a boy?"

"'mso'shamed."

"Your parents, or whoever really, caught you kissing a boy and decided to kick you out for it?"

"Worse?"

No. She wouldn't. Barbara wouldn't call the police on her own son. She wouldn't be as cruel as that.

"t'wasn't jus' snoggin' … 'm sorry, 'mso'shamed."

Louis closed his eyes for a moment. "Freddie, I have to ask you this. Did you want it?"

Freddie shook his head rather too vehemently, tears pooling in his eyes. And then, a recalcitrant "What difference does it make?"

What difference, indeed. "Like night and day, Freddie, believe me."

The boy peered up at him, uncertainly.

"I know it's sinful, Uncle Louis, and disgusting, but …"

Louis let out a sigh. "No buts. Let me be perfectly clear, Freddie. If it's something you wanted, I'll do my very best to protect you. But if it's something you didn't want, woe betide the scum who …"

Freddie shook his head rather hastily, staring at his uncle in utter confusion. "I did … I do … I shouldn't, and I'm sorry, but I did. Please don't hate me, Uncle Louis. Please don't be disgusted."

"I don't, Fred. How could I?"

"'s a sin. A 'bomination."

Louis hadn't heard the front door going, all he heard was a too familiar voice calling out his name. Next to him on the sofa, his nephew froze.

"In 'ere, love!" Louis called out, and barely a moment later Alec, still in uniform, entered.