Fic: Jeeves and the Dress-Up Doll
Jul. 8th, 2009 01:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
princesshannah4.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupSo a few plotbunnies got together. One was Jeeves losing control, one was the remnant of an old OMC/OMC pairing of mine (the younger thought he was dying of leukemia and let himself become his partner's sex toy), one was from a fic I read a while ago that I can't remember the name of where Jeeves is portrayed as a "seducer of men," and last but not least, one was one of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
queen_fiend's captions remarking "Jeeves and his Bertie-doll."
They started breeding. One of their rabbitlings was a dark-fic.
Many thanks totoodlepipsigner for beta'ing!
Title: Jeeves and the Dress-Up Doll
Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie
Summary: Jeeves is missing a few layers in the old onion and has come to view his master as more of a possession than a person...
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,189
Disclaimer: Contains elements of sexual objectification, rape, mental instability, and hints of clothing fetishism.
Imagine, if you will for a moment, that Jeeves is not completely sane…
My doll’s name is Bertie.
But I must call him “sir.”
My doll is beautiful, a lithe vision of physical perfection that strides with elegant grace down the streets of this dark, cruel world. An ethereal beacon of light in the labyrinthine, black, silent whirlwind that is the innermost recesses of my scarred and tortured consciousness. I’ve hidden it away quite expertly, wouldn’t you say? Behind the opaque veil of Shakespeare and Spinoza? It’s quite cold there. No one else around, no one to see me in my shattered and damaged frame of mind, no one to comfort me.
Except for my doll.
My doll loves me.
I sleep with my doll at night and I cling to him and hold him in my arms and he sleepily tells me that I am everything he has ever wanted and that we shall be together forever. I kiss him and tell him that he is mine and shall always be my only doll.
Solely mine to hold, to kiss, to groom.
And to dress up.
My doll cannot dress himself and that is why he needs me. He is physically capable of putting his clothes on, but I am the one who will dress him. I lay out his garments and wait with restless silence, as he becomes naked and then clothed again. I grieve at my limits of choice in his poor wardrobe, all the tweed and waistcoats. Where is the leather and lace? The short, revealing articles purchased in seedy back-alley shops that would let me and only me gaze more properly upon his godly, perfect figure?
Those ties would be put to better use binding my doll to the bedpost while I touch him and bite him and…
No, I do not think I should treat my delicate doll so roughly.
He tells me he is leaving for the Drones, that he will be back in time for dinner. I wish him a pleasant afternoon.
I bow respectfully, as I always do. As I have to. Oh, how I wish that closer proximity would grant me the opportunity to go lower…lower...so that I could lick my doll where I wanted, to suck him, to call him mine with my mouth in a wordless way for once.
He is gone. My doll is gone.
For now, he is gone. But he will return.
And when he does, I will have him again.
And this time, I will have him.
But first I must prepare to dress him up properly. A doll must have the right clothes for every occasion. But before that, I must recover. The sound of my doll closing the door to the flat sends a kind of traumatizing shock wave through me. I retreat to my quarters to become calm again, to curl up on my bed and stroke myself, never bringing myself to completion but to peace. I hold my cock in one hand and embrace a pillow with the other, trying desperately to tell myself that, for now, this is my doll. My dearest beloved doll. A few drops always fall from my length and disappear into my sheets before I am ready to collect myself and rise again.
I go to the shop and purchase leather and lace. I tell them it is for my wife. They foolishly believe me. This is what I shall dress my doll in tonight.
My doll arrives home. He is going to prepare for dinner, but I have not yet prepared dinner. First I shall prepare my doll for dinner.
“I have laid out some evening garments for you on your bed, sir.”
“Ah, thank you, Jeeves.”
He discovers the leather and lace.
“…I say, Jeeves, are you sure you’ve laid out the right…”
“Do you question my judgment of attire, sir, when I have been correct in these matters so often in the past?” I attempt to silence myself. I must not talk this way to my doll. He notices, with the slightest shift of his cerulean eyes.
“Well, maybe they’ll look better once I put them on…”
I am a patient man, but when one’s carnal urges draw one to one’s doll, there can be no rational expectation for one to be completely still. I begin to relieve myself of my heavy, obstructing garments; those abominable sheets of black that cry out to the world “Stay away! This man is a servant and is not to be touched!” Still, only a man’s doll should be allowed to touch him, and a doll should only be touched by his man. My upper torso now bare and exposed to the world, I slide my hand down the center and into the topmost folds of my trousers. But I cannot touch myself there yet. My doll will touch me there. I wonder if he is ready now? Surely his slender frame can accommodate the tight, sensual confines of alternative women’s intimate attire. I can see him in my mind’s eye, corset binding his immaculate chest, white lace subtly wound through his golden-down locks, little skirt concealing his treasures which only I can plunder.
It is not my mind’s eye now. It is my real eye.
“I say, Jeeves! What on Earth has gotten into you?”
I stare. My own perfect little dressed-up doll.
He stares. His own perfect undressed man, hardly little…certainly not now.
“You have, sir.”
I remove my hand from my trousers and inch slowly towards my doll, to get him used to the sight of me so. He backs away from me.
My doll…my doll is afraid of me.
No. I must remind him that he is mine and I am his.
“J-Jeeves…I say, this a bit much, what? Why are you making me…”
“You are mine and I am yours, sir.” A blush comes to my doll’s pale face, as though he finally understands. And, is that…the smallest of smiles? Yes. Of course my doll must smile. All dolls must smile when they are with their man.
“But Jeeves…how did you know I…”
“You tell me things in your sleep, sir.”
Oh goodness, no. Is the smile going away? No. A doll’s smile must never go away. I am very near to him now. I will force that smile back to his face, if I must.
“I…Jeeves, I can’t express how long the Wooster heart and soul have longed to have you in my bed but…dash it, what have you been doing to me while I was in the dreamless?”
I am in front of him now. Close proximity and…
“Nothing serious, sir.” I finally cup my doll’s face in one hand with the pleasure of having those two crystalline orbs gazing back at me. I kiss him. Properly, on the lips this time. May their redness never fade from repetition. I draw back to see if the smile has returned. It has, and I intend to keep it thus.
“But, really, Jeeves? I mean…out of all the bally wonderful, brilliant coves in this vast, expansive world, you choose the mentally negligible chump that is your Bertram? Why, Jeeves? Why did you choose me?”
I reach one longing hand up his short little skirt, gently hugging his thigh as I go until I finally cup one perfectly rounded buttock.
He gives a little gasp.
“Because you are my doll, sir.”
I reach around to the front and the skirt falls away, laying my doll bare against the wall from the belly down. Caressing his sensitive flesh, my head makes its way down to where my doll needs me. I brush the swollen length against my face, taking in the smell and closeness of my doll…mine. Only mine.
“Dolls are supposed to make people happy.”
In one swift motion, I take him in my mouth and begin to suck him. Gently, of course, for I must not hurt my doll. I must be as a newborn suckling at his mother’s breast. All the rest of my doll becomes a ragdoll as my tongue against his hardness and my fingers stroking his sides melt him onto the floor, his back still arched against the wall. I go down with him, ever so slowly increasing my speed. My hands explore him unsupervised, caressing him everywhere from the downy hair beneath his corset to the twin sacs beneath my chin. My doll is breathing in heavy desire now, catching his fingers in my artificially wiry hair, softening it and gradually returning it to its natural state, urging me on. All it takes is one last flick at the slit of his cockhead to finally bring him off. How glorious it is, the taste of my doll. He slouches contentedly against the wall, stated. But I do not.
“Undress me, sir.”
My doll’s attention is eagerly drawn to the stiff bulge at the front of my trousers, brushing it a little before making quick work of my flies, stripping me bare and taking all of me in with his eyes. Would he take all of me in his mouth? Lord in Heaven, please…
“Jeeves, you jolly well are perfect,” he said, reaching out to molest my throbbing hardness with his elegant, nimble fingers. “You’re even better than in my dreams, and twice as good as when I got the real thing from Rocky…”
The whole world stopped.
No.
I seized the wrist that was tending to my need and dragged the rest of my doll with it.
He’d been with another.
My doll had let another man play with him.
NO.
“Good heavens, Je...!”
“You are only MY doll, sir.”
I tossed my doll, MY doll, onto the master bed. I needed to possess him, wholly, completely, with all of me, to remind him who he belonged to. The doll called Bertram Wilberforce Wooster belonged to Reginald Jeeves and no other.
NO other.
The smile was still there. Now? Of course, he was pleased that I was finally going to take him. I pounced upon him and threw my hand under his leather corset, ripping it off and possibly breaking several of the cords—no matter. All that mattered in the world was having back that pristine porcelain body, that perfect…no, it had been marred by someone else. I would re-claim him, re-polish him.
“Oh…Jeeves…please…keep going…”
Tears nearly sprang to my eyes. My doll wanted me back! And he would have me. But first, I must have him. I have had him in my mouth, and now I must have the rest: all of him. Before can I forgive him, I must remind him.
Using only the slick from his spent member slathered across mine, I force myself into him.
In an instant, my doll is screaming.
In another instant, my hand is at his mouth. I must silence my doll, for dolls do not scream so. My other hand binds his wrists. My cock ravages virgin territory.
I do not know if you have ever fought a battle to reclaim something that is rightfully yours. I can assure you that it is a difficult and arduous task, but I carried it out with all the strength I possessed in that bed that evening. I would erase the markings of previous false owners. I would tell him every day that his body was mine and no other’s.
My doll. My one and only doll.
He’s struggling. One hand is not enough. Its companion leaves my doll’s mouth to keep his arms still. I grow closer to my peak with each thrust…
“JEEVES! PLEASE!”
That’s right, my doll…
“STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME!”
I explode within him, and the porcelain shatters.
He’s leaking in three places.
Uncharacteristic tears fall from each eye as a trickle of semen-laced blood spills from his bottom.
Oh dear.
Good heavens.
I have broken my doll.
He lies trembling under me, with glassy, spherical eyes that stare at me in horror, as though begging. Begging for an answer.
‘Why? Why weren’t you gentle with me?’
My doll must be terrified of me now. Oh no, have I wiped the smile permanently from his face? I pray that he can see my face in this dimming light, my regret at my failure to control my own desperate need for ownership of something…one…all to myself. I lay myself down next to him and cradle the broken remains of my doll in my arms, his shuddery and traumatized breathing a blessed reminder that he is still alive. I run my fingers along him, attempting to soothe the cracks in the porcelain that I myself have put there. I should not have punished my doll like this. My doll is still crying. I kiss him gently and stroke his tangled hair and whisper to him that he is mine and I am his and we shall always take care of each other for ever and ever from now on.
I tell him that tomorrow, I will dress him up properly again.
I tell him that tomorrow, I will try and fix him.
My doll’s name is Bertie.
The End
And if anyone feels as disturbed as I did when I finished writing this, here: have some good sugary fluff
queen_fiend's captions remarking "Jeeves and his Bertie-doll."They started breeding. One of their rabbitlings was a dark-fic.
Many thanks to
toodlepipsigner for beta'ing!Title: Jeeves and the Dress-Up Doll
Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie
Summary: Jeeves is missing a few layers in the old onion and has come to view his master as more of a possession than a person...
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,189
Disclaimer: Contains elements of sexual objectification, rape, mental instability, and hints of clothing fetishism.
Imagine, if you will for a moment, that Jeeves is not completely sane…
My doll’s name is Bertie.
But I must call him “sir.”
My doll is beautiful, a lithe vision of physical perfection that strides with elegant grace down the streets of this dark, cruel world. An ethereal beacon of light in the labyrinthine, black, silent whirlwind that is the innermost recesses of my scarred and tortured consciousness. I’ve hidden it away quite expertly, wouldn’t you say? Behind the opaque veil of Shakespeare and Spinoza? It’s quite cold there. No one else around, no one to see me in my shattered and damaged frame of mind, no one to comfort me.
Except for my doll.
My doll loves me.
I sleep with my doll at night and I cling to him and hold him in my arms and he sleepily tells me that I am everything he has ever wanted and that we shall be together forever. I kiss him and tell him that he is mine and shall always be my only doll.
Solely mine to hold, to kiss, to groom.
And to dress up.
My doll cannot dress himself and that is why he needs me. He is physically capable of putting his clothes on, but I am the one who will dress him. I lay out his garments and wait with restless silence, as he becomes naked and then clothed again. I grieve at my limits of choice in his poor wardrobe, all the tweed and waistcoats. Where is the leather and lace? The short, revealing articles purchased in seedy back-alley shops that would let me and only me gaze more properly upon his godly, perfect figure?
Those ties would be put to better use binding my doll to the bedpost while I touch him and bite him and…
No, I do not think I should treat my delicate doll so roughly.
He tells me he is leaving for the Drones, that he will be back in time for dinner. I wish him a pleasant afternoon.
I bow respectfully, as I always do. As I have to. Oh, how I wish that closer proximity would grant me the opportunity to go lower…lower...so that I could lick my doll where I wanted, to suck him, to call him mine with my mouth in a wordless way for once.
He is gone. My doll is gone.
For now, he is gone. But he will return.
And when he does, I will have him again.
And this time, I will have him.
But first I must prepare to dress him up properly. A doll must have the right clothes for every occasion. But before that, I must recover. The sound of my doll closing the door to the flat sends a kind of traumatizing shock wave through me. I retreat to my quarters to become calm again, to curl up on my bed and stroke myself, never bringing myself to completion but to peace. I hold my cock in one hand and embrace a pillow with the other, trying desperately to tell myself that, for now, this is my doll. My dearest beloved doll. A few drops always fall from my length and disappear into my sheets before I am ready to collect myself and rise again.
I go to the shop and purchase leather and lace. I tell them it is for my wife. They foolishly believe me. This is what I shall dress my doll in tonight.
My doll arrives home. He is going to prepare for dinner, but I have not yet prepared dinner. First I shall prepare my doll for dinner.
“I have laid out some evening garments for you on your bed, sir.”
“Ah, thank you, Jeeves.”
He discovers the leather and lace.
“…I say, Jeeves, are you sure you’ve laid out the right…”
“Do you question my judgment of attire, sir, when I have been correct in these matters so often in the past?” I attempt to silence myself. I must not talk this way to my doll. He notices, with the slightest shift of his cerulean eyes.
“Well, maybe they’ll look better once I put them on…”
I am a patient man, but when one’s carnal urges draw one to one’s doll, there can be no rational expectation for one to be completely still. I begin to relieve myself of my heavy, obstructing garments; those abominable sheets of black that cry out to the world “Stay away! This man is a servant and is not to be touched!” Still, only a man’s doll should be allowed to touch him, and a doll should only be touched by his man. My upper torso now bare and exposed to the world, I slide my hand down the center and into the topmost folds of my trousers. But I cannot touch myself there yet. My doll will touch me there. I wonder if he is ready now? Surely his slender frame can accommodate the tight, sensual confines of alternative women’s intimate attire. I can see him in my mind’s eye, corset binding his immaculate chest, white lace subtly wound through his golden-down locks, little skirt concealing his treasures which only I can plunder.
It is not my mind’s eye now. It is my real eye.
“I say, Jeeves! What on Earth has gotten into you?”
I stare. My own perfect little dressed-up doll.
He stares. His own perfect undressed man, hardly little…certainly not now.
“You have, sir.”
I remove my hand from my trousers and inch slowly towards my doll, to get him used to the sight of me so. He backs away from me.
My doll…my doll is afraid of me.
No. I must remind him that he is mine and I am his.
“J-Jeeves…I say, this a bit much, what? Why are you making me…”
“You are mine and I am yours, sir.” A blush comes to my doll’s pale face, as though he finally understands. And, is that…the smallest of smiles? Yes. Of course my doll must smile. All dolls must smile when they are with their man.
“But Jeeves…how did you know I…”
“You tell me things in your sleep, sir.”
Oh goodness, no. Is the smile going away? No. A doll’s smile must never go away. I am very near to him now. I will force that smile back to his face, if I must.
“I…Jeeves, I can’t express how long the Wooster heart and soul have longed to have you in my bed but…dash it, what have you been doing to me while I was in the dreamless?”
I am in front of him now. Close proximity and…
“Nothing serious, sir.” I finally cup my doll’s face in one hand with the pleasure of having those two crystalline orbs gazing back at me. I kiss him. Properly, on the lips this time. May their redness never fade from repetition. I draw back to see if the smile has returned. It has, and I intend to keep it thus.
“But, really, Jeeves? I mean…out of all the bally wonderful, brilliant coves in this vast, expansive world, you choose the mentally negligible chump that is your Bertram? Why, Jeeves? Why did you choose me?”
I reach one longing hand up his short little skirt, gently hugging his thigh as I go until I finally cup one perfectly rounded buttock.
He gives a little gasp.
“Because you are my doll, sir.”
I reach around to the front and the skirt falls away, laying my doll bare against the wall from the belly down. Caressing his sensitive flesh, my head makes its way down to where my doll needs me. I brush the swollen length against my face, taking in the smell and closeness of my doll…mine. Only mine.
“Dolls are supposed to make people happy.”
In one swift motion, I take him in my mouth and begin to suck him. Gently, of course, for I must not hurt my doll. I must be as a newborn suckling at his mother’s breast. All the rest of my doll becomes a ragdoll as my tongue against his hardness and my fingers stroking his sides melt him onto the floor, his back still arched against the wall. I go down with him, ever so slowly increasing my speed. My hands explore him unsupervised, caressing him everywhere from the downy hair beneath his corset to the twin sacs beneath my chin. My doll is breathing in heavy desire now, catching his fingers in my artificially wiry hair, softening it and gradually returning it to its natural state, urging me on. All it takes is one last flick at the slit of his cockhead to finally bring him off. How glorious it is, the taste of my doll. He slouches contentedly against the wall, stated. But I do not.
“Undress me, sir.”
My doll’s attention is eagerly drawn to the stiff bulge at the front of my trousers, brushing it a little before making quick work of my flies, stripping me bare and taking all of me in with his eyes. Would he take all of me in his mouth? Lord in Heaven, please…
“Jeeves, you jolly well are perfect,” he said, reaching out to molest my throbbing hardness with his elegant, nimble fingers. “You’re even better than in my dreams, and twice as good as when I got the real thing from Rocky…”
The whole world stopped.
No.
I seized the wrist that was tending to my need and dragged the rest of my doll with it.
He’d been with another.
My doll had let another man play with him.
NO.
“Good heavens, Je...!”
“You are only MY doll, sir.”
I tossed my doll, MY doll, onto the master bed. I needed to possess him, wholly, completely, with all of me, to remind him who he belonged to. The doll called Bertram Wilberforce Wooster belonged to Reginald Jeeves and no other.
NO other.
The smile was still there. Now? Of course, he was pleased that I was finally going to take him. I pounced upon him and threw my hand under his leather corset, ripping it off and possibly breaking several of the cords—no matter. All that mattered in the world was having back that pristine porcelain body, that perfect…no, it had been marred by someone else. I would re-claim him, re-polish him.
“Oh…Jeeves…please…keep going…”
Tears nearly sprang to my eyes. My doll wanted me back! And he would have me. But first, I must have him. I have had him in my mouth, and now I must have the rest: all of him. Before can I forgive him, I must remind him.
Using only the slick from his spent member slathered across mine, I force myself into him.
In an instant, my doll is screaming.
In another instant, my hand is at his mouth. I must silence my doll, for dolls do not scream so. My other hand binds his wrists. My cock ravages virgin territory.
I do not know if you have ever fought a battle to reclaim something that is rightfully yours. I can assure you that it is a difficult and arduous task, but I carried it out with all the strength I possessed in that bed that evening. I would erase the markings of previous false owners. I would tell him every day that his body was mine and no other’s.
My doll. My one and only doll.
He’s struggling. One hand is not enough. Its companion leaves my doll’s mouth to keep his arms still. I grow closer to my peak with each thrust…
“JEEVES! PLEASE!”
That’s right, my doll…
“STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME!”
I explode within him, and the porcelain shatters.
He’s leaking in three places.
Uncharacteristic tears fall from each eye as a trickle of semen-laced blood spills from his bottom.
Oh dear.
Good heavens.
I have broken my doll.
He lies trembling under me, with glassy, spherical eyes that stare at me in horror, as though begging. Begging for an answer.
‘Why? Why weren’t you gentle with me?’
My doll must be terrified of me now. Oh no, have I wiped the smile permanently from his face? I pray that he can see my face in this dimming light, my regret at my failure to control my own desperate need for ownership of something…one…all to myself. I lay myself down next to him and cradle the broken remains of my doll in my arms, his shuddery and traumatized breathing a blessed reminder that he is still alive. I run my fingers along him, attempting to soothe the cracks in the porcelain that I myself have put there. I should not have punished my doll like this. My doll is still crying. I kiss him gently and stroke his tangled hair and whisper to him that he is mine and I am his and we shall always take care of each other for ever and ever from now on.
I tell him that tomorrow, I will dress him up properly again.
I tell him that tomorrow, I will try and fix him.
My doll’s name is Bertie.
The End
And if anyone feels as disturbed as I did when I finished writing this, here: have some good sugary fluff
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 07:49 pm (UTC)And don't worry, I needed to settle down with an episode of the actual show to make myself feel better after writing this. You're not alone.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 08:14 pm (UTC)Creepy-insane Jeeves is something I've never read before but you pulled it off :3
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:02 pm (UTC)Gonna be honest and say that I'm just left staring at my screen.
Totally good job, please know that. I'm just in shock. I think I need to stare at the fluff picture you included for about an hour. *biffs to do so*
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:29 pm (UTC)xXx
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 11:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 04:04 am (UTC)Because it is just THAT good... and that bad... and that good...
no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 04:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 05:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 09:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 07:58 pm (UTC)Once minor criticism:
Gently, of course, for I must not hurt my doll. I must be as a newborn suckling at his mother’s breast.
Would I be right in guessing that you've not actually breast-fed a baby yourself? It KILLS. Talk about nourishing a viper in one's bosom. :D
I normally don't read fics like this. I tend to think that they're sort of invalid, because the style and the events that take place seem so many thousands of miles away from what we originally fell in love with. But with this one, I'm starting to understand that the characterization is actually just as authentic. You've taken a plausible element from the original characters and giving us a sort of exploded view of it. This fic might be a bit much to sit easily with the canon Jeeves, but if you think of it in the context of being an expansion on an element that is already present, you start to realise that, while extreme, perhaps it's not so many thousands of miles from the original characterization at all. I mean, I think we can all agree that the canon Jeeves is someone who very much needs to be in control of Bertie, and is perhaps even possessive of him... it's fun to see you take that pretty solid element of his character and run with it.
Sorry to babble.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 08:25 pm (UTC)My revelation in that last sentence just made the creepy blowjob analogy make a lot more
creepysense.(And it's okay to babble, since you made such an interesting insight into the whole expanded-characterization thing)
no subject
Date: 2009-07-10 09:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-11 10:32 pm (UTC)I like insane!Jeeves! Makes for a nice change although I couldn't fight the image of Jeeves in a clothing store, buried in heaps of lace with a maniac giggle... ^^;
no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:37 am (UTC)Some weird part of me wants to draw that.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:23 pm (UTC)Look, I have homework so someone else adopt this all right? Right.
Okay, Jeeves is not in service but is still Jeeves (gay for clothes, conventional) and is actually working in the garment industry. He can have his own tailor shop or haberdashery or something, or be someone's sagacious second in command. Anyway, he notices that a tailor's dummy (not a mannequin, mannequins are too creepy) seems to acquire these ridiculous, unsuitable outfits out of thin air, and staying up at night to see who's playing silly buggers with the clearance rack, he sees that the dummy itself is apparently secretly alive and in love with garish clothing.
I do not even know where the hell it would go from there. Take good care of my baby.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 05:34 pm (UTC)But that's an interesting premise for an AU fic.
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Date: 2009-07-16 09:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-16 12:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-17 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-19 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-18 06:47 pm (UTC)