Genevieve

Fanfiction: Some Kind of Wonderful

gen717 — Sun, 12 Jul 2015 23:26:08 GMT

Some Kind of Wonderful

Show: The Musketeers, BBC
Pairing: Constance and d'Artagnan
Rating: M - Explicit
Spoilers: End of Season 2
Author's Note: Takes place two months after d'Artagnan and the boys depart for war. Constance finds a perfect way to see her husband, and has some news for him. The song "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Grand Funk Railroad was on the radio while the plot bunnies were forming in my brain for this story as I'm driving to work. It's an oldie, but It kind of fits how d'Artagnan feels about Constance. I've also borrowed a bit from a fic I wrote years ago to fill in some gaps on this one. o.o

She begs the queen to send her. After all, it’s not uncommon for women and children to travel with their fighting men. And she’ll return as soon as her mission is complete. No one will suspect a woman, she reasons. She can be trusted, she’ll be careful. Her Majesty doesn’t like the idea; she considers it reckless at first. There are couriers available to handle this kind of mission, but the queen knows that Constance has more reasons than one to travel to where the Musketeer regiment is encamped near the Spanish border. Minister Treville thinks she’s gone mad. But even he has to smile inwardly at her gumption. He’s witnessed her courage first hand, and he’s well aware of how stubborn she can be. He gives his begrudging approval. The queen has entrusted Constance before with sensitive information. This is no different.

Constance packs lightly. The secret missives are tucked neatly away. She’s not certain what they contain; she only knows they must reach the hands of her old friend Athos in three days’ time. She’s given a map, and checkpoints where trusted allies will put her up for the night, offer protection, and guide her way if needed. She has a gentled gelding for companionship, and rations of food and water. Gone are her palace dresses, traded for a nondescript peasant woman’s drab brown skirt and cloak. Two muskets, and a dagger in her boot complete the ensemble. She carries little money. What she does carry is news of more than one kind to deliver, and precious cargo that has nothing to do with wartime strategy, or military orders. Perhaps she is reckless, and though they’ve communicated through letters these last two months, she feels so strongly about seeing her husband again, that she can’t contain herself. Seeing d’Artagnan has become an imperative, as though her very life depends on it.

* * * *

When she reaches the camp three uneventful mornings later, she’s stopped by the guard. Most of the Musketeers know her, and she shows them a letter from the king, granting her an immediate audience with the captain. Two of the guards escort her to his quarters, and leave to care for her horse. She enters his tent.

If Athos is surprised to see her, he doesn’t show it, though he does take in her poorly-dressed, somewhat disheveled appearance. “You’ve traveled a long way, come, sit. This must be important.”

“I have information from the palace,” she says, digging into her pack, too anxious to sit. She fishes out the sealed letters and hands them to him.

While Constance waits anxiously, Athos opens and reads the documents. They contain information about enemy camp orders, thanks to the Duchess of Savoy, as well as the amount and type firepower they possess. He raises his head, eying Constance curiously. “This was a dangerous undertaking Madame.”

Constance swallows nervously, waiting for more scolding. But all she can think about is one thing. “d’Artagnan?”

“Soon to return from a scouting mission.” Athos steps toward a makeshift desk where he pours them each a glass of wine. “It seems the queen has given you a gift,” he says, handing her a glass.

“A gift?”

“d’Artagnan has, by the queen’s orders, been given leave to escort you back to Paris.”

“Oh…. I… she has?”

Athos hands her one of the pages from the documents to view.

Constance skims it. “I had no idea…” Detailed in the note are not only permission for d’Artagnan’s leave, but apparently arrangements have been made for them to spend three days in Comtesse de Larroque’s former summer retreat in a quiet rural area just outside of Paris. Her heart feels as though it will burst with gratitude for Her Majesty’s thoughtfulness and generosity.

“I’m sure we’ll make do without him for a few days,” Athos deadpans.

When Constance meets his gaze, she sees that he’s teasing her. Her shoulders relax, and she gives him a watery smile. He’s not angry. She even thinks he just might be smiling back, just a little. “Thank you.”

“It will do him good to see you,” is all he says.

Constance sips her wine, and waits for her husband’s return.

* * * *

Sometime later he bursts into Athos’s tent, having been told by the others that his wife had arrived. At first he’s elated, then angry, then worried. When he sees her, he sweeps her up in his arms. Even as strong arms envelop her, Constance can’t help but notice he feels a bit thinner. His handsome face is a bit drawn and tired. But he’s alive and well, and she’s in his arms again, and that’s all that matters. She breathes deeply taking in the scents of horse, and leather, and d’Artagnan.

Wrapped in her embrace, his first words are uttered in between kisses. “Why have you come? It’s too dangerous here, Constance. Are you all right? Why are you dressed like this?

She laughs and holds his face in her hands. “I’m here to deliver information. I know it’s dangerous, but I had to come. And I’m completely fine… more than fine now,” she says, stroking his cheek. “I’m dressed this way so as not to draw attention.”

They pull apart slightly, heads turning at the sound of Athos’s voice. “As soon as you’ve given me your report, you two can be on your way.” A rare Athos grin appears as he places his hat on his head and exits the tent.

* * * * *

A servant and a stable boy greet them at the doors of a grand estate. Constance thinks they must be mother and son. As the boy takes their horses, the woman gives them a small tour of the home. She explains where things are located, shows them where food, water, and wine have been stored, and says that she’s been instructed not to disturb them. Before she takes her leave, she lets them know where she’ll be if they need her, and they watch her walk down a path to a smaller cottage not far away.

As soon as the servant is out of sight, d’Artagnan grasps his wife’s hand and with a mischievous grin, pulls a laughing Constance down the corridor that leads to the bedroom. They’re like children, their laughter and footfalls echoing through the unoccupied estate.

They don’t make it to the bed. As soon as they enter the main sleeping chambers, they undress each other, eager hands seeking to rid one another of the coverings that impede them, taking every opportunity to touch and caress as they do so. Skirts, smallclothes and leather pants land in a heap on the floor. They stand together naked, the caress of bodies brushing against one another. He doesn’t want to wait. He wants her now. He takes her face in his hands, and lowering his head, he closes the distance between them, his lips capturing hers, gently covering her mouth, slowly devouring the softness of her lips.

He raises his head, his lips a mere inch away. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers, then recaptures her mouth with his, this time more impassioned, telling her with his kisses, and the pressure of his body against hers, exactly what he wants.

Instinctively, her body arches toward him, her hands sliding and skimming over the muscles of his back, her soft curves and skin, and breasts, pressed against his lean body. “I know,” she smiles, her voice a silky murmur against his lips.

“You drive me mad with desire,” he breathes desperately, as he kisses around her mouth and jaw line. The closest piece of furniture is a wood-carved table. d’Artagnan lifts her slightly, and sets her on the smooth table top, his hands grasping her knees, separating them. His mouth creates a tantalizing trail moving lower, kissing, licking, and nipping his way down her body until his lips and tongue are working amazing magic between her thighs.

“Oh!”

She rests her weight on the palms of her hands, leaning back slightly to give him better access. She wants this, but she doesn’t. She wants him. Inside her. She lets him know without words what she wants. His fingers graze her thighs, sending tingling sensations through her, as he stands up and moves between her legs, his erection almost immediately seeking entrance, the tip of his manhood probing and rubbing against her wet slit.

“It feels like it’s been forever,” he whispers. His lips find hers once again, his passion rising. “Can’t wait any longer,” he pants lightly, his lips brushing against hers.

It had been two months since she’d felt her husband filling her, hot and hard inside her, and the way he’s kissing her and touching her, and whispering his need in her ear, drives her, the passion in his voice reverberating deep into the soft core of her body. His need becomes hers. His hands on her body cause shivers of delight to follow his every touch. How she’d missed his hands, and his mouth, and his skin against hers. Constance surrenders to him completely. She threads her fingers into his dark hair pulling him toward her, drowning in his kisses as she tips her hips to welcome his body.

Increasingly urgent sighs and moans mingle and fill the room. d’Artagnan flexes his hips, gathering her against his body, hands grasping and sliding beneath her bottom. His fingers dig into her soft flesh, as he pushes himself further inside her, then partially withdrawing, entering again, easing his way into her slick warmth further with each rocking motion of his hips, inch by inch until she envelops and surrounds him completely. He shudders.

“Oh God,” her voice quavers, trailing off as he begins a slow, delicious rhythm, plunging deeper, harder each time, filling her, overwhelming her, until there is nothing else that exists in the world but him. His movements quicken, his arduous pace increasing, mounting with every thrust. “d’Artagnan…” his name becomes a long whispering moan.

A torturous, guttural sound escapes his lips in answer to his name, and he stills himself momentarily, deep inside her, resting his forehead against hers. They breathe each other’s erratic breaths. He licks his lips, wetting them. “Damn,” he pants. He has to stop, or he’ll spill himself too quickly. He’s been too long without her.

Constance tips her chin to capture his mouth with hers. “Don’t stop, d’Artagnan. I don’t care,” she whispers between kisses. “We have all day, all night,” she breathes more kisses against his lips, and over his cheek. “Come for me,” she whispers in his ear. “Don’t stop. “

She begins to wiggle her hips against his, making him groan. His mouth covers hers hungrily, and he moves against her, meeting her over and over. Filling her again and again. Together they find the frantic tempo that binds their bodies together. “God…”

His raw sensuousness carries her to greater heights. He’d been worried about her pleasure, wanting her to be satisfied, but his concern is needless. She’s missed him just as much, and is just as close as he is to her own orgasm, a burning sweetness low in her belly, building with every thrust. Her desire for him consumes her as his passion swirls around her, reaffirming the knowledge that d'Artagnan is the only man she's ever loved, or will ever love. “Harder,” she urges.

His brows knit, then relax as his eyelids close over. “Constance…” her name is a moan of ecstasy slipping through his lips, groaning sounds escaping him as involuntary tremors shake him, an arc of electricity passing through his body to hers. Too long without her. Too long, and he wishes he didn’t ever have to be away from her again. d’Artagnan came for her, with her, shuddering in his release. His head falls forward against her shoulder, his breath fanning her heated skin, his hands stroking her thighs, sliding up over her hips, around her back, pulling her closer.

They relax against one another for a time, until he lifts his head, and his lips seek hers once more. He doesn't want to leave her body. Not yet. She's still spasming around him. Tiny, involuntary tremors, clenching along his length, like aftershocks. When he finally pulls away, they gaze at one another for long moments. He brushes the fringe from her eyes with a gentle touch. Her hands roam his body, soothing his heated skin. They can’t seem to satisfy the desire to touch one another. No words are needed between them. He rests his forehead against hers. They’re together again, for now, and it is everything.

Constance slides from the table, and pulls him toward the large, white four-poster bed. They fall upon the rich, pale blue embroidered bed covering, each pleasantly languid and drowsy, wrapped in each other’s arms. Mid-morning light filters through the gauzy draperies of the large main window, illuminating their bodies in a soft glow. He tucks her head beneath his chin. He thinks back to their honeymoon, and a short laugh escapes him. “This is much better than the garrison,” he muses quietly, as he takes in their more lavish surroundings. His hand continues to absent-mindedly caress her bare shoulder and back. He’s missed her so.

“It doesn’t matter where we are,” she says. “As long as I’m with you.” She squeezes him lightly around his middle, as a bit of nervous excitement fills her. She has to tell him. “I have wonderful news.”

“What is it?” He asks with a sleepy smile, shifting slightly to draw her closer. He presses a kiss to her forehead.

Constance grasps his free hand and places his palm over her abdomen, sliding his hand lower, just below her navel. “There,” she whispers. “Right there. Yours and mine.” He turns his head to get a better view of her features. She smiles at his dumbfounded expression and adds, “This is what happened at the garrison.”

d’Artagnan raises up on an elbow, and looks down at where she’s placed his hand. As realization dawns, brown eyes meet blue ones. There’s a husband’s question in his eyes, and a wife’s answer in hers.

d’Artagnan sits up. “You’re certain?” He asks, the amazement in his voice, evident. His eyes roam her body, as he moves his palm caressing the spot where his unborn child grows. He’s utterly speechless.

“Your aim was true, Musketeer,” she says quietly, as she watches his hands begin to stroke and caress and worship almost every part of her. d’Artagnan can’t seem to form any words. Instead, he places a soft, lingering kiss to her belly.

“My mother died when I was young,” he whispers finally, his hands still moving over her, as though discovering her for the first time. “My father…” his voice trails off, breaking.

“Would be proud of you,” she finishes for him, urging him back to her side. Seeing his pain at the thought of his father brings unshed tears to her eyes. Constance takes him in her arms, cradling his head to her breast, sensing that it’s what he needs, so affected he’s become by this turn of events. Her fingers delve into his hair, soothing him.

He’s still stroking her, palming a breast, as though testing its weight, he thinks he should admonish her for riding three days closer to the battlefield in her condition. She could have put her life in danger. But those thoughts are pushed aside by new ones. Amazing, frightful thoughts of impending fatherhood. “I love you, Constance,” his breath shudders, his voice so thick with emotion, she thinks he will break. He slides a slow hand down the curves of her body from breast to hip and back to the place where their child rests. “I love both of you.”

The remaining days are spent mostly inside the country estate. They’re inseparable. They eat together, bathe together, they make love. d’Artagnan realizes that his wife is right. It doesn’t matter where they are. They don’t need lavish surroundings. They only need each other. He has everything he could ever want at this moment. Their time here is too short, and they must return to the harsh realities, devastations and hardships of a country at war. But this time when they part, there is not devastating sadness. There is new hope.

Years later, when this conflict is long over, and there are more children, and d’Artagnan is a lieutenant of the Musketeers, he and Constance will remember these days fondly as beautiful stolen moments during a time of death and destruction; finding some kind of wonderful in the midst of horror.

Fanfiction: Impatience

gen717 — Sun, 12 Jul 2015 23:18:10 GMT

Impatience

Show: The Musketeers, BBC
Pairing: Constance and d'Artagnan
Spoilers: Season 2 Ending
Rating: M - Explicit
Author's Note: This oneshot explains why on earth Constance and d'Artagnan were clothed in their honeymoon bed. I needed to fill in some blanks. ;)

One of the many things she’s taught him is patience. But at this moment, she’s the impatient one. Impatience or desperation, he’s not certain which. He senses both in her. Her new husband of less than an hour has been called to war. As soon as they’re inside and he closes the door to his quarters, he finds himself shoved against it. Eager hands are pulling his head down to meet her heated kisses. Her urgency fuels his and they’re both suddenly on fire.

He’d envisioned his honeymoon differently. He would have unlaced her corset with tantalizing leisure. He would have reveled in the slow peeling away of trappings and underpinnings of silk and lace and feminine fashion in between fevered kisses, until his hands found warm, smooth skin. But no. Not today. Not now. All they have is now. He doesn’t want to leave her, but she understands and for that he’ll give her anything, everything, even if he thinks she deserves more.

“d’Artagnan.” His name escapes her lips against his throat, caught between a sigh and a moan. She’s working the laces of his doublet with swift, frantic fingers.

He’s urging her stumbling toward the bed, removing and tossing outer garments, a sword belt clanks against the wood floor, the leather vest lands in a corner, her corset joins it, those little flowery straps are torn away from her dress and flutter haphazardly.

One of the many things he’s taught her is passion. His presence in her life allowed the courage she didn't know she possessed to blossom and grow. She drew strength from him. And at this moment, she’s taken control. He’s always known what she’s wanted. Right now, she doesn't want slow. She wants a whirlwind. She wants hard and fast, and his head is spinning because his wife, his wife (God, he loves the sound of that) has undone his breeches, shoved them down over his hips, taken him in her hand, and has him hard and trembling with need.

She pushes him onto his back and into the small bed barely big enough for two, and he falls with her willingly. She climbs over him, lifting her underskirts, to straddle him. His hands search frantically beneath yards of thin fabric, finding the flesh of her hips. She did things to him, his Constance. She made him feel things he’d never felt for any other woman. She calmed his restlessness, and eased the pain of his father’s loss. She was the voice of reason, at times when he didn't feel very reasonable. She soothed his soul. She is brave and beautiful and God, how he loves her.

“Now. I need you, now, d’Artagnan,” she whispers against his lips, her fevered words creating a new surge of heat in his blood like heady wine. She settles herself over him, her fingers circling around the part of him she wants most. She guides him between her legs. She’s teasing him, hips gyrating as she rubs herself against the thickness of his erection. His fingers dig into the flesh of her bottom as he groans and nearly comes right up off the bed. She’s pure energy in his hands. She comes to him readily, with no reservations, no shadow of guilt, or fear or pain of the past. It’s more than he could ask for, dreamed of.

The entire garrison knows it’s his wedding day. The voices of his fellow soldiers outside preparing for battle, vaguely reach his ears. It’s merely a reminder that this time might be all they have. Somewhere in his brain he thinks they should be quiet, but the sound of erotic pleasure she makes, and the low growl in the back of his throat when he shifts his hips upward and swiftly sheaths himself inside her, makes him forget about quiet. He wants to hear more. He wants to watch her ride and grind against him, until she’s lost all control. Let them drown out the sounds of war preparations and the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. He wants to savor how he feels inside her and take this moment with him as a balm for his soul. He knows not when this war will end, or if he’ll see his wife after today.

Her movements above him cause her shift to fall from her shoulder, exposing a breast. It’s an invitation he can’t deny. He grasps both sleeves, yanks them down and groans with want as her breasts push against the palms of his hands. His caresses send her over the edge. She’s losing herself. Her body arches offering and wanting more. His gut clenched tight, she slides down to him, soft, boneless, limp.

d’Artagnan rolls them, switching their positions. She’s beneath him, breathless, blue eyes glistening. He cups a hand beneath her bottom, tilting her, burying himself deep-deeper until he can’t stop the long, ragged groan of release.

He collapses above her, “Constance.” She opens her eyes and smiles up at him. A smile tinged with worry and sadness. He kisses a tear away from her cheek. She doesn't have to say anything. He understands, because he feels the same rush of bittersweet emotions that make his heart ache .

She takes a quivering breath and a short laugh escapes her, a husky draft of amusement. “You’ve still got on your breeches.” She says, as though to avoid the painful subject of their parting.

His slow grin makes her heart flip. “And my boots as well,” he says, rising from the bed to kick off the offending footwear and pants. “My wife is impatient. You’re still wearing your shift.”

“Hmm,” she sighs contentedly as he returns to her and arranges the blankets to their waists. She snuggles comfortably against him. “Indeed I am. I can hardly be blamed,” she says, playfully feigning innocence.

They don’t speak for a long time, content to communicate through touches, kisses, caresses. Each one is a promise. He toys with her hair, freeing the last auburn curls from their pins. The sounds of the garrison drift in through the closed window behind them. A clattering of horse’s hooves, the voices of the men. This isn't a place for a new wife.

Constance’s hand is toying with the ties of his tunic, caressing him through the fabric. Finally, he speaks quietly. “You deserve more lavish surroundings for your honeymoon. Most men would've taken their new bride to some rural idyll…”

Constance lifts her head from his shoulder, her eyes seeking his. “I didn't marry most men,” she interrupts. A smile lights her face, and he thinks she has the look of a woman who’s just been loved well. She’s beautiful. “I married a Musketeer.” She playfully touches his lower lip with a finger, before he reaches for her, kissing away her smile. Passions stir and rise again. Athos will return soon, and then d’Artagnan must leave her, but for now, he’ll make love to his wife once more. And he’ll come back for her.

Haven't been around in awhile...

gen717 — Mon, 28 Jul 2014 16:56:39 GMT

So I thought I'd post something! Here's the newest addition to my family: Her name is CHLOE! She's six months old in this photo taken last month. and she's the sweetest thing. My kids got her for me for my birthday in March. So now we're the crazy family with three big dogs.

Who all seem to love jumping on my bed, when they're not supposed to!

What else have I been up to? Not much, still riding horses and teaching at an all-girls high school. Loving it. Also enjoying a few new shows such as Sleepy Hollow and The Musketeers BBC. I mean how can you not like watching a show with swashbuckling hotties?

Of course this means shipping is involved so I love Constance and d'Artagnan or Constagnan in The Musketeers:

And I adore Ichabbie of Sleepy Hollow:

The voice over career is not happening as I'd hoped, lol. I've had tons of auditions, but haven't gotten any jobs whatsoever. I'll keep at it, and hopefully someone will hire me. I did do a commercial for my school that was aired on Chicago radio back in February. Here's the commercial: http://yourlisten.com/GT717/simpson-academy-commercial
And here's my demo: http://www.genevievetuerosvo.com/GenevieveTueros_COM.mp3 I know I can do it, but I'm an outsider to the field and half the time I'm not even sure producers listen to what is sent to them. I haven't given up yet though. :)

I've seen a few people comment on my fics. I'm thankful and so blessed to have people still read my Chlollie stuff on occasion. A few have asked whether I'll be finishing one of the incomplete fics. Truth be told, I don't know. I've been incredibly focused on other things going on in my life, and I haven't been inspired to write much at all with my mind on other things. I apologize to anyone reading to come upon a dead end, I know it sucks. I hope any of my LJ peeps reading this are well and happy. Blessings to all!

Ooooh..shiny. This looks like something I could get into..

gen717 — Sun, 19 May 2013 20:49:04 GMT

Let's hope it's good!

It's Been Awhile..

gen717 — Mon, 06 May 2013 23:29:19 GMT

It's been about a year since my last entry. So I thought I'd make one so that my account doesn't get purged and deleted or whatever. I had a scare trying to access LJ from my phone and kept getting an error that my account was gone. Hmm. What's new with me? I'm working longer hours and have more responsibility. Love my school and my students..., teaching Spanish and Journalism/Media production, and also trying to get a Voice Over career started. Here's my website in case anyone's interested in hearing me. Keeping fingers crossed that I start getting v/o work. http://www.genevievetuerosvo.com

What else? Not much. Hope all is well with my LJ buddies. :)

To my friends with dogs - Pet food recall

gen717 — Sun, 06 May 2012 04:18:37 GMT

I have two fur babies of my own and thought I'd pass this information along. I don't use these brands of food, but there's been some pet food recalls due to salmonella. Pets and pet owners alike are at risk.

http://truthaboutpetfood.com/articles/distributor-states-canidae-natural-balance-and-one-wellness-product-recalled.html

Also keep an eye on the http://www.fda.gov/ website for information.

Arthur/Gwen, Chloe/Oliver. Why I'm not that upset by the Merlin finale.

gen717 — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 16:32:07 GMT

Maybe it’s because my ultimate OTP is Chloe and Oliver from Smallville, who never got enough screen time, and most of their development happened in Offscreenville.
Chloe and Oliver fans didn’t expect much, and we were usually thrilled to pieces with whatever crumbs show-runners gave us. Some fans bitched and complained whenever they had more than two minutes of screen-time devoted to them (Just as they do for Arthur/Gwen!). But Chlollie fans ate up those two minutes with joy. They were an underdog, non-canon kind of couple, and Chloe like Gwen, had her fair share of fandom hatred and love alike. Truth is, while Smallville was a show about pre-Superman, the only reason I watched it was for Chloe and Oliver.

Arthur and Guinevere remind me so much of Chloe and Oliver. Wealthy, worldly, arrogant, bad-boy-with-a-heart hero, meets spunky, intelligent, loyal, good girl next door. They're unequal in status. They’re almost opposites, but they believe in the same things, share the same fight. And somehow they find themselves falling in love. Separately, they are great characters, but together they’re puzzle pieces that fit together to create something greater than themselves. Once together, they’re unstoppable. There’s synergy. Maybe because I don’t expect to squeeze Shakespeare or Jane Austen out of a TV show like Merlin. Maybe my expectations aren’t as high as some viewers. In fact, they’re probably fairly low.

I gotta say, I wish more time had been spent on A/G and I’d have loved to have seen an actual wedding, (Chloe and Oliver’s wedding was offscreen too!) or seen them work through their problems more (Chloe “betrayed” Oliver too by using his money for Kryptonite weapons without his knowledge). Or had a reveal of Gwen’s enchantment over Lancelot, or any number of things, regarding Arthur’s behavior toward Gwen (Oliver once demeaningly called Chloe a booty call, after he discovered her “betrayal”. He'd trusted her, and you know man pain, and stuff). Chloe and Oliver, like Arthur and Gwen also had a long period of separation (though for different reasons) whereby we watched both men be miserable without the women they loved.

Despite some misgivings, (that I know will never be rectified by the show) overall, I’m pretty damn happy that my Merlin OTP got married, just like my Smallville OTP got married. I’m a happy shipper. My only hope is that the writers of Merlin do not stop the Arwen relationship from growth and deepening now that they are married, and keep things going in series 5. Do I expect writing brilliance? No. There’s less disappointment that way. Smallville taught me well.

Look at how beautiful they are! Thank God for Angel Coulby and Bradley James, because their acting ALWAYS elevates bad writing! (The same way Allison Mack and Justin Hartley did for Choe/Oliver) Arthur and Gwen wouldn't be as wonderful without these two. They've taken us from Prince to King, and servant girl to Queen.

The dog didn't actually eat the homework...

gen717 — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 04:49:28 GMT

Our dog Jasper, doesn't want my daughter to do her homework.

I Make a Difference.. I'm a Teacher.

gen717 — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 22:01:51 GMT

Writer's Block: Leaping from the page

gen717 — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 21:03:35 GMT

Hahahahaha.. are you kidding me? Green Arrow played by Justin Hartley cast alongside Allison Mack as his crime-fighting wifey, Chloe Sullivan-Queen. Was there any other answer?

Game of Thrones

gen717 — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 16:03:39 GMT

Well, I've finally caught up with the series. I have a new ship too. Anyone know if there's an LJ community for these two? I haven't found one yet. Maybe I'll start one! (Yes, I know what happens to them, shhh be quiet!) :(

P.S. I started a comm for them, here: danyxdrogo if anyone finds a community already in existence please let me know.

Dreamwidth

gen717 — Thu, 26 May 2011 20:50:45 GMT

If anyone needs Dreamwidth sign-up codes, I have five invites I can give away.

5DDFMCZV84NQFAAAQ99K
CYZVJCCFKHNWAAAAQ99L
XNHXCJ9QH3CFEAAAQ99M
7TJAYDNC4ANCKAAAQ99N
8B9BSXYV35WEEAAAQ99P

Good Lord...

gen717 — Mon, 16 May 2011 02:04:17 GMT

OMG Miss tehzo are you trying to kill me? Hahaha I love you for this. BOOM! Pregnant!

The End of an Era

gen717 — Sun, 15 May 2011 19:44:56 GMT

Goodbye Smallville.

SV fandom was the first fandom I'd ever become deeply involved with. I mean, very deeply. From letter writing campaigns, to sending spoons and postcards, and pencils, to delving into the world of fanfiction for the very first time. It's been both exciting and frustrating. Over the years, I've had a love-hate relationship with the show. There were times the writing and execution of the show were brilliant, and then other times equally so horrid, that even grammar school kids could craft better plot lines. After a time I grew disillusioned with both the show and fandom itself. I stopped watching, because I felt that my favorite characters, who happened to be secondary characters, were constantly being screwed over. I encountered hatred and venom from other fans, who were disgusted with any attention my favorite characters received. The only reason Smallville kept me as a fan, was because of two characters: Chloe Sullivan and Oliver Queen. I loved them both equally for many reasons, and wanted so badly for them to be together, because it was so right. Chlollie is just so right, it doesn't matter what the comics say. And people who cling to one version of the story, seem to forget that comics are constantly evolving and changing over the years. They refuse to accept, that Smallville's version of Oliver Queen, ends up happily married, and has a son with a woman he loves deeply. You can keep your comic version, if it makes you feel better, I'll keep mine.

The show miraculously gave me what I wanted. Chloe and Oliver ended the show happily married with a son. No one and nothing will convince me that their ending was left "open". The haters and naysayers can believe what they want. I won't debate with people who'd rather pull crazy theories out of their asses, than believe what was shown to us onscreen.

That said, I don't think I will ever involve myself in another fandom as deeply as I have with Smallville. I will never become so invested in a show, or a TV couple again. I love Merlin, and I love Arwen, but I can never see myself involved in letter writing, fic writing, etc. And now that Smallville is over, I don't see myself being very active in anything other than Chlollie fandom, and interacting with the amazing friends I've made because of this couple. After the things I've read recently, I no longer have the stomach for overall general Smallville fandom. It saddens me that people will go out of their way to shit all over something other people love, to try to bring us down, to spout hateful, hurtful things just to try to prove a point that has no basis in anything other than their imaginations. It was not onscreen. They'd rather denigrate what others enjoy, disrespect and insult their fellow fans, instead of simply leaving us alone. The hypocrisy of haters disgusts and saddens me, and I won't be visiting certain places ever again. I will leave them to grasp at their straws. Sweet freedom.

Goodbye Smallville. I'm taking what I want and leaving the rest behind. Thank you for giving me Chlollie, and their beautiful happy ending. It's all I ever wanted. Chloe and Oliver defied comic mythos. The sky didn't fall.

Like father, like son: (courtesy of fidesangelus on tumblr)

Courtesy of tehzo on tumblr:

courtesy of fyeahchollie on tumblr:

And just because they are so pretty (from mandylove on tumblr):

from fyeahchlollie:

from tehzo:

Want your house to smell like a pizzeria?

gen717 — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 15:57:59 GMT

Hmm.. am I crazy for kind of wanting one? LOL Do you want one?

Drive by posting.. randomness.

gen717 — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 20:52:50 GMT

-I think I'm officially hitting menopause. Night sweats, hot flashes, perpetual tiredness, a few gray hairs, weight gain while merely looking at food, and all. How fun. NOT! Mother nature, you've tortured me for years every month. With migraines and cramps and bloating and mood swings, and let's not forget those fun-filled 40 days or so after childbirth. Can you not cut me a break now? Which leads me to..

Man, I'm getting old. Time to get back to the gym, and stop stress-eating I think. That might help.

- I'm in fangirl limbo. Merlin is filming, and Smallville is on hiatus. Got any new shows I can get into? Any good couples to ship? :D Morgan/Garcia is looking like it might be kind of interesting to me, hmmm.

- I miss my Chlollie and Arwen.

- I miss writing, but I can't seem to wrap my brain around an idea or finish a fic I should have finished a long time ago. I actually did try to start writing today, but lost patience. I'll try again later.

-I think I'm addicted to Kingdoms of Camelot on Facebook.

-How awesome is it that the Chloe/Oliver marriage is DC Comics Approved? Yes, I'm still thrilled that my OTP got married! :) How can we get the real Chloe written into Green Arrow Comics? :D

-My dogs have been chewing on the bottom rungs of the kitchen chairs. One day we're going to sit down to dinner and fall on our asses. They are now gnawing on huge rawhide bones. Good puppies.

A Question for my Twitter savvy friends.

gen717 — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 13:52:40 GMT

I'm not on Twitter very often, but recently I'm noticing that I'm being "followed" by people I'd rather not be followed by. This morning I got a notice that I was now being followed by a well-known "hater" in fandom. I'm not even sure why this person is following me, since A.) I'm hardly ever on twitter. B) If I am on twitter, I don't talk crap.

So hater person, who probably just did a search of some sort to see what I DO like, or who's lists I might appear on (which happens to be what she hates) is following me... why? I've blocked her tweets, but I wasn't following her anyway, so that won't work. There's no way to block your own tweets from someone? Sorry, as I've said I'm not on Twitter much and so not exactly sure how it all works.

Birthday Wishes!

gen717 — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 20:33:43 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY hmsharmony !! I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY, SWEETIE!

Chlollie fanvid recs

gen717 — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 04:16:17 GMT

I've been watching these two vids over and over. Still on a Chlollie high! Go leave some love for aflawedfashion on YouTube. Her vids are amazing!

MY OTP IS MARRIED!!!

gen717 — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 02:57:23 GMT

For all those who called me delusional, or defriended me because I ship them, insulted me, or thought I was crazy for shipping a non-canon, non-comic, non-couple: You can all go suck it. Chloe Sullivan and Oliver Queen are fucking married! MY OTP IS MARRIED! FUCK YES! Chloe Sullivan gets her dream job as a journalist, a HOT hero husband who LOVES HER and ADORES HER. CHLOE SULLIVAN AND OLIVER QUEEN GET THEIR HAPPY ENDING. Thank you, that is all.

PUPPIES!

gen717 — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 04:40:22 GMT

Okay, so they're huge now. But technically still kind of sort of puppies. Rayne (Black German Shepherd) will be a year old and Jasper (Anatolian Shepherd) is 8 months old. He's a beast. He weighs about 80 pounds now, and still growing! But as you can see, they are the sweetest!

Messing up my daughter's bed. Bad dogs!

Don't be mad, momma. I'm too cute.

She knows shes pretty. But she's got brains to match. Very smart girl.

Arthur/Gwen Vid Rec! (And a Chlollie vid rec too!)

gen717 — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 15:43:51 GMT

So, not only have I been suffering Chloe/Oliver withdrawals for months now, the Arthur/Gwen withdrawals begin as well. *cries* Anyway, to ease the pain, I usually end up spending time on YouTube looking for fixes, like a junkie with the shakes. I found this absolutely gorgeous video by Meeshell384. If you love Arwen, YOU MUST WATCH. Please leave some love on YT, it's well-deserved! Enjoy!

And a new Chlollie Vid too! Yay for talented vidders who help us get through! Thanks to energis121 for this gem!

Bless Your Beautiful Hide..

gen717 — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 17:57:11 GMT

Bored and feeling nostalgic. I loved this movie as a kid and had the biggest crush on Howard Keel. Hahahaha.. Man, they don't make 'em like this anymore.

Writer's Block: A charming defense

gen717 — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 13:17:43 GMT

You don't choose an animal spirit. They choose you.

OMG. The Medieval Boyband!

gen717 — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 22:58:31 GMT

New promo pic for Merlin came out. HOLY MEDIEVAL HOT BOYS. That is one sexy Round Table. Oh, and look! Arthur with Excalibur!

You know you want to click on us and enlarge for full effect.