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Old April 22nd, 2011, 06:19 AM   #1
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Default Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Seeing as I'm on something of a loose-reviewing kick lately, and that Linda Berdoll's doorstops have been giving me the evil eye from the pile of books I've demoted to gathering dust in a corner of the bathroom...well, here goes nothing.

We'll help each other through this, G.I. Jane.



If only you knew how many times I have tried to read these books from beginning to end, and failed.

It may just be enough to know that Ms. Berdoll wrote the first book, at least, with the 1995 miniseries as her only point of reference, despite an alleged four years‘-worth of research and writing. And thus, with Firth and Ehle firmly in her mind’s eye and an antiquated thesaurus by her side, Ms. Berdoll sallies forth to grace us with Pemberley: The Soap Opera. As far as I can tell, every character has been distilled into pure, unadulterated clichés and wank fodder for frustrated fan girls.

Even the preface is full of awkward phrase choices that clump and shuffle along. Essentially: “LET’S GET TO THE SEXY BITS, AUSTEN.”

Let it be known that I am far from averse to sexy bits. It’s just…well…

You’ll see.

Part One: Chapter One

Elizabeth is walking funny and it is embarrassing and so her Pride (eeeeh--eeeeeeeh? *wink*wink*) leads her to stubbornly refuse to ease herself on the carriage ride by sitting upon the gaudy cushion her new husband offers her to make amends for having wrought this havoc with his epic dong.

---

Scarcely a few paragraphs in, we encounter our first use of the word betwixt.
You’re going to endlessly revile that word before we are done here. Trust me.

Also: hitherto and various terms in French and/or Latin (MAKES THEM MORE GENTEEL, Y’KNOW? THE F-WORD IS SO UNFASHIONABLY ANGLO-SAXON.) Let the irritation begin.

---

Elizabeth is pouting because Mr. Darcy has taken to calling her Mrs. Darcy instead of LIZZY LIZZY UNF LIZZY MY ONLY LOVE. Her pouting is short-lived as she then begins to recall his epic dong and LIZZY LIZZY UNF LIZZY MY ONLY LOVE and hurrrr let’s hold hands lovah-boi.

Their superfine carriage turns heads in Mayfair. Because they are THAT AWESOME.

Enter Super Couple.



“Obfuscatory” fog; really? REALLY? The fog was thick as shit, basically, and this has no particular bearing on the plot whatsoever.

---

LIZZY: omg Darcy why are you being so cold and distant after our wedding night?

DARCY: I will explain my feelings in full to you, Elizabeth--

WHAT REALLY HAPPENS:

LIZZY: *says nothing*

DARCY: *remarks on the weather*

LIZZY: *smiles faintly and says nothing*

---

Enter flashback.

Lizzy forgoes a bath the Morning After the Wedding Night Before because she likes to smell Darcy's...Darcy[sup]TM[/sup] “emanating from her body.” ‘Scuse me while I hoark into the waste paper basket. It’s supposed to be sentimental, I suppose, but it just comes across as creepy.

And from a purely sensible point of view, a hot bath would probably help your hurty bits, Lizzy. Also if you’ve spent the whole night getting vigorously sexed up and sweaty and stuff, suffice it to say that the maid who dresses you is probably not fooled in the slightest at your pretending to have bathed.

---

Upon getting back to the carriage after breaking for lunch, Lizzy tries to discreetly nab the pillow without Darcy noticing.

DARCY: Let me help you with that.

LIZZY: Man, fuck your chivalry. Fff---

THEIR EYES: *meet*

LIZZY: FffffuuuuUNF.

CARRIAGE: *jolts* That’s enough, you crazy kids! Break it up!

LIZZY‘S THOUGHTS: BOY THIS CARRIAGE RIDE SURE IS MAKING ME FEEL SICK. YEAH. MOTION-SICK. MOTION-SICK...IN MY PETTICOATS. ALL NIGHT LONG TO THE BREAK OF DAWN.

Her thoughts are drawn to Epic Darcy Dong and she uses the term “ ‘tis” approximately a bajillion times in her stream-of-consciousness ramblings about dick.

And I never want to read the phrase “flesh proud” again. I feel all kinds of dirty about that term and I don’t know why.

Darcy tenderly lays a hand on her knee and asks if she is unwell.

LIZZY‘S THOUGHTS: YOUR HAND THERE IS MAKING ME SICK. SO SICK. SO SICK I COULD JUST CLIMB YOU LIKE A TREE RIGHT HERE AND NOW.

God help us, Lizzy has unlocked her inner sexbeast.

Darcy absently fondles her leg and she just about passes out.

DARCY: By the way, apropos of nothing aside from proving how ~in tune~ our minds are I must tell you I didn’t take a bath this morning because I liked smelling like your--



And that concludes chapter the first. Out of ninety-three.



...so if he smells like her and she smells like him are we caught in some kind of endless and uncertain smell-loop or did they just swap Smelly Hats or something and I really want to stop thinking about this right now...
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Old April 22nd, 2011, 08:14 AM   #2
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Oh my god that is horrendous. I'm squirming.
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Old April 22nd, 2011, 08:16 AM   #3
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

It's so gross. More than one person who has read that first chapter agreed with me that the not-bathing thing made them want to be physically sick.
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Old April 22nd, 2011, 08:24 AM   #4
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Lol! I think I got this book for free at some point on my Kindle--should I read it just for the fun of seeing how bad it is? Or will I want those moments of my life back?
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Old April 22nd, 2011, 09:27 AM   #5
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Ms. Berdoll must be an interesting individual to meet. ^_^
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Old April 22nd, 2011, 11:20 AM   #6
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Quote:
Originally Posted by JRosemary View Post
Lol! I think I got this book for free at some point on my Kindle--should I read it just for the fun of seeing how bad it is? Or will I want those moments of my life back?
I can't quite say. I willingly paid money on a lol-whim for these books and now I feel like I must read them or feel defeated. And I will NOT be defeated by horrendous writing.

It feels like the squicky Twilight of P&P fanfiction.
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Old April 23rd, 2011, 01:21 PM   #7
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

OMG!! This is so sweet it makes me want to-- *puke*
Ah, who am I kidding. I'll probably have nightmares tonight. I think I'd rather read a Anne Rice book.
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Old April 26th, 2011, 12:50 PM   #8
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Onward and downward, folks. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. Actual quotes will generally show up in quotation marks, unless otherwise noted.

Chapter Two

In which Lydia shows us how to slip a condom onto a banana. Or maybe it’s an eggplant. It's hard to say.

"It had been a heady two months’ engagement."

Welcome to Little Flashbackington. Population: weeping with dread.

This week, on Paraphrase Theatre:

You’d think Mrs. Bennet would be freaking out that her daughters’ fiancés were staying a scant three miles away (haven’t you heard? Darcy’s epic dong could easily cover three miles to Lizzy’s Netherfield!) and thereby take extra precautions to make sure they didn’t screw like rabbits before having it ordained by the church, but she wasn’t.

I’m not sure if we’re talking about the same Mrs. Bennet. This is the woman who was totally chill with Lydia shacking up with Wickham for weeks on end as long as it ended in a marriage. She’s probably flicking water onto Jane and Lizzy’s shifts as we speak.

LIZZY & JANE: *feel they must make up for Lydia’s behaviour by being scrupulously proper before their weddings*

Until Lizzy somehow accidentally invites a kiss from Mr. Darcy and everything gets blown to hell by their legendary lust.

INNER SEXBEAST: THE BEST LAID PLANS OF DAINTY LADIES COLIN FIRTH IN A WET WHITE SHIRT ETC..

Then it rains, bringing an end to their outdoor liberties and confining our quartet of young lovers to Longbourn and NO MORE SHENANIGANS FOR SEXBEASTS.

And unto this domestic scene, lo, doth enter one Lydia Wickham, from Newcastle.

---

Yo I herd u likd flashbacks so we put a flashback in your flashback so you can get tediously awful backstory tangents while you’re reading your tediously awful backstory tangents.

The Wickhams are married and they are bored with one another and, most importantly and worst of all, have stopped having good sex shortly after their nuptials. Seeing a chance to be rid of Lydia, Wickham encourages her to go on an extended visit to her sisters for their wedding.

Lydia pouts a little bit upon realizing that while Wickham might be a charming hottie, he has no money; whereas Bingley and Darcy have buckets of it. And she means cash. Cold hard, spend-able coin.

LYDIA: omg want

But to better persuade Jane and Lizzy to let her have a larger allowance, she has to make herself useful. By passing down all her Married Woman Wisdom.

Yes, this IS going to be as hilaribble (hilarious + horrible) as it sounds.

I already am hating virgo inactus as a phrase, and it just feels like horrible Latin. Classics nerds, back me up, here. That just doesn’t sound right. Thank goodness these girls are going to hopefully be wedded and bedded in short order so I don’t have to keep reading that shit.

Mrs. Bennet being of the Lie Back and Think of England school of marital congress, Lydia takes it upon herself to dish to Jane and Lizzy about what is going to go down on their wedding nights. So to speak.

Wickham is noted to be a sex god. Because he says so. I do believe the narrator is winking at us in this, and we are not supposed to believe it because Lydia is stupid and Wickham is evil; and stupid evil people NEVER master the rug rhumba.

Lydia fails as a sexbeast because she can’t cajol Wickham into feeding her massively hungry libido. It is also vaguely implied that she is fairly kinky, or at least open-minded. I’m not sure why this is played as being a bad thing--it’s like all it is is a symptom of Lydia’s fickleness and boredom.

WELL IT’S A GOOD THING LIZZY DOESN’T EVER GET BORED WITH DARCY’S VANILLA MISSIONARY-STYLE PROWESS.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The words ado, bedlam and brouhaha are used in a single sentence. Consecutively. Oy.

After dinner, Lydia eschews the gathering in the drawing-room and shunts her two big sisters into the first available bedroom for their first Sex Ed lesson.

I think I saw a porno like this once.

Jane sits, trembling and wide-eyed, because in Berdoll‘s world, being a positive, generous character who wishes to think the best of everyone means one is a mollycoddled little weakling. Lizzy strikes a defensive pose because she is the snarky badass heroine. Lydia heaves a theatrical sigh by way of a preamble. With our overdone character extrapolations firmly in place, we continue.

LYDIA: Oh you sweet little innocents! Babes in the woods! The woods being a forest of COCKS.

JANE: OMG WHAT?????? D: D: D:

LIZZY: …I hate you, Lydia; but…these cocks you speak of intrigue me. Damn and blast your fascinating hints at carnality! Go on…


"Decorum and society demanded benightedness."

Benightedness. Seriously. Who thinks of this shit? Also Berdoll has chosen to use the spelling “compleat” for all possibly forms of the word. Someone just stab me in the eye right now, please.

LYDIA: BEWARE MR. DARCY’S UNWED EMBRACE.

LIZZY: …beware the who in the what now and YOU are the one schooling me about pre-marital shenanigans?

LYDIA: It’s going to hurt like hell the first time.

JANE: OMG WHAT??????? D: D: D:

LYDIA: BUT THEN IT GETS GOOD. OH MY GOSH SO GOOD. SO GOOD YOU WANT TO DIE FROM THE GOOD.

LIZZY: Okay, Lydia, that’s enough…

LYDIA: ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME YOU KNOW BETTER ON THE SUBJECT?

LIZZY: ..........................................no.

LYDIA: --AS I WAS SAYING: “BIG AND RED AND HARD AND ANGRY AND ENORMOUS”. UP YOUR “NONNY-NONNY”. AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND--

JANE: OMG WHAT??????? D: D: D:

LYDIA: And then it’s sweaty and sticky and I just used the word “larydoodle” in a sentence and WICKHAM IS SO HUGE AND HUGE IS AWESOME HE TOLD ME SO HIMSELF.

JANE: So…so…a gentleman…loses all control of himself?

LYDIA: His manly instrument might just burst out of his breeches and launch a full-fledged attack in the middle of the drawing-room if you’re not careful, is all I’m saying. OKAY BYE.

JANE: Lizzy. Hey. Lizzy. Psst.

LIZZY: Huh what no I was not thinking about Darcy’s body hrm?

JANE: If it’s going to suck so bad and hurt so much why in the name of the little baby Jesus would anyone want their husband to be hugely endowed?

Away with your earth-logic, Jane.
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Old April 26th, 2011, 12:53 PM   #9
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Wait, they're not already married in chapter 1?
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Old April 26th, 2011, 01:12 PM   #10
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

They are in chapter one, but now we're into multiple flashbacks layered upon more flashbacks.

Chapter Three


It’s a Wickham chapter, and even more flashback, so bawww whatever I’ll be as brief as possible.

Wickham prances into a bar and gets the stare-down from the locals.

WICKHAM: But I’m so pretty! ;__;

It’s basically an opportunity for Berdoll to fling around antiquated French insults and make the reader feel stupid until they go to Google and realize that even Google doesn’t know what the frell Berdoll is on about.

WICKHAM: Newcastle is DULL and it is making my shiny shiny boots DULL. ;__;

So he spits into Lydia’s lace-edged hanky to polish his boots. And the readership collectively clutches their pearls.

(Farewell, lacey hanky. We barely knew ye.)

WICKHAM: BRING ON THE BUXOM BARMAIDS.

WICKHAM’S DIARY: Hate lack of buxom barmaids. Hate sheep. Hate Newcastle. Hate my fellow-officers. Hate their wives. Hate MY wife.

Aaaaand Berdoll just used fanciful high-falutin Latin to describe Wickham’s scrotum.

“…the very lovely Elizabeth Bennet was to marry his nemesis.”

KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN.

“…in the vacuum that was his soul…”

I’m just going to lay my head down upon my desk, here…and weep.

WICKHAM: If I’d only known Darcy fancied her so much, I could have pumped him for SO MUCH MORE MONEY. ;__; WHY DO YOU HATE ME, WORLD? WHAT DOES HE SEE IN ELIZABETH BENNET I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT BECAUSE THERE IS NO CAPABILITY OF LOVE IN MY ICY BLACK HEART. DARCY GETS EVERYTHING. DARCY DARCY DARCY.

LYDIA: *gracelessly sucks chocolate from her fingers*

WICKHAM: I really hope you’re just turning into a lardass and not knocked up. -__-
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Old April 26th, 2011, 01:16 PM   #11
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Snooze, I can't stomach reading this right now.
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Old April 26th, 2011, 01:38 PM   #12
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Sorry, Tundra. It'll all be here waiting for you like foetid roadkill for whenever you feel up to it.

Chapter Four


Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

The ladies return to the drawing-room and sit down. Shortly thereafter, the gentlemen join them.

Jane looks like she’s about to have a fit when Bingley sits next to her, as usual.

Lizzy wishes she were able to reassure the terrified Jane that “Bingley’s privates were unlikely…to burst from his inexpressible as if an enraged squirrel.”

Enraged. Squirrel.

I’m just going to leave that with y’alls. Let it sit. Let it infuse itself with your brain-juices. Let it steep long enough to release all the full complexities of the aroma and full-bodied flavour of its what-the-fuckery.

Alas, Lizzy is in no position to assist poor Jane, as she struggles with this new insight provided by Lydia.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: HOW CAN YOU ALL BE SO CALM WE ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF DARCY’S COCK OH MY GOSH HE IS SITTING BESIDE MEEEEE.

LYDIA: Biscuits, anyone? Mr. Bingley? Mr. Darcyyyyy? BISCUIT?

LYDIA’S BOSOMS: HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, BIG D?

DARCY: NOTHANKYOUMRS.WICKHAM.

LIZZY'S THOUGHTS: Bitch I KNOW you did not just try to milkshake my boy over to your yard!

Later that night Darcy sneaks a kiss in the vestibule and Lizzy now has the vaguest notion that there is actually a physical body beneath his layers of clothing and cravat.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: AWWWWW YISS.

---

And so it was that they might have been able to make it two months with just kissing if Lizzy hadn’t turned into a VIXEN and set her teeth upon his lower lip.

LIZZY: hoshit that was embarrassing I’m so sorry is your lip okay I didn’t mean t--

DARCY: SHUT UP AND FRENCH ME.

HOUSTON WE HAVE LIFTOFF MAKEOUTS. Channeling Edward Cullen, he tears himself away and begins to bleat about how terrible his lack of control is.

LIZZY: Oh, hush it.

DARCY: :3

LIZZY: :3

---

But, lo! The next day, Bingley arrives at Longbourn alone, and with a letter for Elizabeth, from Darcy.

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN.
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Old April 27th, 2011, 04:37 PM   #13
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Oh good Christ this book sounds awful.



.....I must read it.

Have you read Gone with the Wind Snooze? Ever tried one of the 'sequels'? They are an experience very similar to this.
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Old April 27th, 2011, 05:59 PM   #14
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Scarlett? So I've heard. XD
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Old April 27th, 2011, 06:32 PM   #15
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Oh honey, that's just the tip of the iceberg. The most recent one is 'The Wind Done Gone' told from the one of the slaves perspectives. That slave being Scarlett's half sister. Who (SPOILERS!) --> is sleeping with Rhett. In fact, slept with him first. <--

And it goes from there.
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Old April 28th, 2011, 04:50 AM   #16
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Oh my gosh. I'd heard that title but thought it was a joke.

And that plot...

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Old May 1st, 2011, 12:41 PM   #17
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Yup that pretty much covers it, Snooze. Also, why do people dress up when they know they are going on the Jerry Springer show?? It's something I've always wondered.
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Old May 1st, 2011, 02:36 PM   #18
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Do they really dress up?

Or do they just automatically look more put-together by comparison to who is onstage?
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Old May 4th, 2011, 06:09 PM   #19
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Chapter Five

Enter Darcy flashback. (You knew it was coming.)

As of age twenty-eight (i.e. the Pre-Lizzy Years,) Fitzwilliam Darcy had never fallen in love as we know it. He was a stoic stud muffin who saved his heart and peen for one fine-eyed filly from Hertfordshire.

Whoa, now, let’s not be too hasty! The last thing we want to read is two bumbling vrigins trying to figure out what goes where. Given that our readership is 99.9% female-gaze-oriented, it has to be an awesome experience. And of course Lizzy didn’t learn the ways of love the summer she was sixteen and locked eyes with a handsome young under gardener who would take her passionately behind the stables at Longbourn.

Naturally, by projecting onto our heroine, each lady-reader will vicariously re-experience their own loss of virginity but this time without the agony, awkwardness, and the dulcet tones of Toto in the background.

Also we all know that Regency men are never virgins and ladies always are, so.

At least Berdoll can’t take the heat for the historical cock-up that is this heinous double-standard of the stud-vs.-slut mentality which continues to plague the feminist movement to this day.

(Does this soap box make me look taller?)

Darcy is bad at whispering adoring flattery to his beloved Lizzy. (HEY LOOK A FLAW IN OUR HERO. Except not really.) Because Until Lizzy, he just had sex to relieve his blue balls, and never out of affection.

In fact, he has no idea how to express the magnitude of his adoration for Lizzy. (Never fear! Berdoll & her trusty thesaurus are here!)

DARCY’S THOUGHTS: Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeliiiiiiings. I HAVE NO MOUTH. AND I MUST SCREAM.

DARCY: To the Netherfield library, Bingley!

(“His poetic inclinations favoured Pope, but he believed Blake might offer some inspiration.”)
Thank you, Berdoll, these poets are RUINED FOREVER as Darcy uses them to try to express the burning ache of his pent-up MUST-BOINK-age.

Alas, no sooner does he settle with a book to try to put his love into words, his body puts his love into dick.

And then she had bitten him during their kiss, and his breeches being so tight as they are, Darcy had to turn his back on her because he now has a boner like unto a sequoia.

Yeah, we all wanted to know that, thanks.

Again channelling the Cullen, he meebles inwardly about how much Lizzy must despise him for such a loss of control.

Essentially this whole section is chapter four retold from HIS perspective.

Yippee.

DARCY’S THOUGHTS: Must…save…Lizzy’s…honour…from…MYSELF…

Your condescension is much appreciated, Mr. Douchey.

“It had not always been thus…”

AND CUE MOAR FLASHBACK.

At fourteen, Darcy is pretty much finished puberty. He just IS, okay?

ME: …fucking hell, what kinds of growth hormones are they experimenting with in Derbyshire’s cattle?

Darcy, despite being a year younger than Wickham, is several inches taller, nicer, richer, better-looking, and probably has a bigger penis. Because he’s the HERO, damn your eyes, that’s just how these things WORK.

Wickham’s ego does not suffer this gracefully.

The would-be Colonel (herein christened Geoffrey Fitzwilliam,) is older than them both and shorter than them both but is so good-natured a butt monkey that he doesn’t give a damn.

Oh, Darcy is stronger, too. FYI. They play competitive games and Wickham always loses. Finally, Georgie Porgie turns over the proverbial Monopoly board and storms off, declaring himself too mature for Monopoly. Or anything in which he loses to Darcy, really.

Then he regales Darcy with tales of all the maid-ass he has tapped at Pemberley.

Unluckily for Wickham, the maids have already started giving young Darcy the eye. Also Wickham has stress-based acne and his acne stresses him out so HAHA CLEAR SKIN IS FOR COOL-HEADED HEROES ONLY, SUCKERRRRR.

Berdoll graces Wickham with the worst insult she can think of for a man she cannot make ugly without explicitly contradicting Jane Austen herself (though you can tell she wishes she COULD make Wickham physically repellent,) and names him a dandy. Darcy, however, is indifferent to how others perceive him and thus the gods have made him a hottie who doesn’t even have to try. Of course.

“The stage was set for a battle as old as time.”

If they start sword-fighting with their dicks, I’m out.

Enter Abigail Christie, 19-year-old chambermaid and sexually-voracious redhead. She’s gotten around enough to be able to peg Wickham’s hamwick as only average.

She hears through the grapevine that Darcy is exceptionally well-hung. (Who is spreading this around the house? Teen!Darcy’s valet, in all likelihood an older male?)

For Darcy’s part, when he thinks of the chambermaid at all, he thinks she’s kind of on the fat side and doesn’t like her nose but YOU KNOW WHAT FAT CHICKS GENERALLY HAVE FANTASTIC RACKS.

Hypnotized by boob, Darcy knows precisely what to do when Abigail throws herself onto his bed. The act lasts all of a single sentence (and likely not much longer in realtime,) and that’s that. Every day thereafter is spent in Darcy getting servile poon. On his second attempt, she orgasms. (For sale: one bridge, excellent condition.)

Of course, Abigail now refuses to entertain Wickham’s advances. (Hoshit!) What’s a Wickham to do? Tattle to Old Darcy, of course.

DADDY DARCY: Son, I am disappoint.

Apparently Old Darcy never thought his fourteen year old son might be having these urges around this point in his life, and so the whole facts of life discussion apparently comes about well after the angry squirrel is out of the breeches.

Abigail disappears from Pemberley, and all the female servants are replaced by fat fifty-year-olds.

TEEN!WICKHAM: …no, wait! D:

These boobies are gross because they are old, so.

Darcy and Wickham head off to Cambridge some years later, and Darcy finds in his trunk a note from his father:

Dear Son--here’s the address of a good brothel in Mayfair. Not creepy at all. Yours, etc.. Dad.

Though why he thinks a Mayfair address is going to do the boy any good in Cambridge is anyone’s guess.

Darcy’s just stupid, though. Following a crazy night in a carriage with identical twin sisters when he’s eighteen which leaves him paranoid that he might‘ve impregnated one or both of them, he cuts back on drinking and is more careful about where he sows his wild oats.

He then has an affair with an actress but finds her too beneath him to continue…being beneath him.

After a string of lovers who are all greatly satisfied with him and his money and his masterful lovemaking skills, Darcy is, himself, dissatisfied by all of them for various reasons. These reasons culminate in a list of rules he makes for himself.

1) No sex with virgins.
2) No sex with married or engaged women.
3) Careful who you might get knocked up.
4) Don’t do it while drunk.
5) No sex with social inferiors.
6) No sex with social peers and equals one may have to later make small-talk with at parties.

Which leaves him with pretty much no options. He disdains masturbation--’cause you needed to know that.

LOGIC: HEY DUDE HEEEEY HOW ABOUT A MISTRESS?

DARCY: I DON’T WANT COMPANY, I JUST WANT COOTER. I’D HAVE TO TALK TO A MISTRESS.

So he fences, a lot. Because going at other dudes with a long pointy thing is totally going to help him with his heteronormative frustrations. Also, he is surly and about as close to being mean as Our Hero can possibly get.

Finally he caves and makes tracks to the Daddy-Approved brothel in Mayfair.

All is well until he meets Elizabeth. Of course.

He tries to go back to the brothel, and he isn’t impotent (shhhh not THAT, anything but THAT!) but he’s gonna definitely whine about how it just doesn’t feel right, anymore.

Then Elizabeth turns him down.

He hies himself back to the brothel, and doesn’t fail in the ACTUAL attempt, given that he consciously abstains from even making The Attempt, instead opting to spend his evening in a sulk.

He vows to himself, then, that if he cannot have Lizzy, he will live celibate. Now THERE is a book I would read. The AU meeblings of an endlessly frustrated Darcy who never does get a chance to renew his proposals and is consumed with lust for the rest of the evening his life.

Thank goodness she consented at last, or “he might have actually burst.”

Blue balls is real, you guys. Let us each shed a tear for our brethren who have fallen prey to this insidious malady.

*removes hat*
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Old May 4th, 2011, 06:19 PM   #20
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Chapter Six

“Viscountess Eugenia Clisson was revered as the most beautiful woman of St. Etienne.” Oh, great! Just what we need! More flashbacks, only this time about OC Mary Sues never previously mentioned!

The Viscountess’ daughter looks just like her. Viscountess dies, the Viscount is emotionally unavailable, his sons are pretty much ignored and young Juliette is caught in the fallout of the Revolution. (I’ll spare you the “history” lesson.) She goes to Paris to make her way in the world.

Also, something about goats. (???)

She snags a Marquis for a keeper, but then he’s arrested alongside her.

JULIETTE: Mais, prison weel destroy my complexion! D:

They are sent to the guillotine; and, not being so gallant as to insist upon ladies first, down goes the Marquis. Only his neck is apparently too fat for the blade. Some dude has to jump up and down on it.

There is an extensive and madcap scene full of revolutionaries and wigs and a severed head rolling about like a stray marble and an unconscious fat man and a poop joke.

I’m not even going to try and explain in greater detail.

The slapstick end to it all is that the unconscious official awakes to find his nose jammed into Juliette’s bodacious cleavage.

Thus she lives to whore another day.

Boobies: getting free drinks and overturning death sentences since 1792. At least.
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Old May 5th, 2011, 11:14 AM   #21
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I mean, people who actually star on the show dress up, expecting that thier husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/etc has some important news that they are going to tell on the air. When the Springer show has been running for as long as it has, why do people still dress up, when they know it's just bad news, like thier girlfriend has a penis or something?
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Old May 5th, 2011, 12:40 PM   #22
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That's not necessarily horrible news; whether it's a good or bad situation depends on their reaction to hearing it. :P

I wish I could find that old crappy webcomic that illustrated my point, but suffice it to say it's a Springer-like setup where a girl admits to having a lesbian affair with her cousin and her redneck boyfriend shouts "COOL CAN I WATCH?" and he gets the cattle-prod and screams, and promises he'll "do it right" and corrects himself by woodenly parroting "I will beat your ass with this chair." to which his girlfriend deadpans "you do not have the balls."
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Old May 5th, 2011, 12:47 PM   #23
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Chapter Seven

And, we’re back! In…the first flashback. I.e., the one where Darcy’s just disappeared eleven days before their wedding and left a letter for his fiancée after dry-humping her against a tree.

Oh, Caroline Bingley. How shall YOU be extrapolated as a character into the world’s most heinous woman because you have dared, nay, have had the unmitigated GALL to want Darcy for yourself?

The soon-to-be-wed Bennet girls are dining out at Netherfield four days before the wedding, and Caroline Bingley is being a condescending jack hole who keeps referring to Elizabeth as “poor dear” because Darcy has gone off without much preamble and Caro’s glee is so thinly-veiled it’s going to catch consumption.

Elizabeth notes that these “poor dears” are her third-least favourite thing, topped only by the prospect of being tied up in a sack with rats or being Mrs. Collins. Given that there’s no real danger of either of the latter circumstances, I’m really not sure what’s being implied here via such needless hyperbole other than Elizabeth hates Caroline Bingley’s snickering ass more than every other reality in her world.

The letter is nothing much--two lines excusing himself on business and promising to return for the wedding.

Berdoll makes reference to Elizabeth’s sewing, but then a moment later it becomes embroidery. IDK maybe she accidentally embroidered the hoop to her skirt, somehow. *has totally never done that* >_>

Jane and Lizzy chat. Much is said of “Mr. Darcy’s away,” (away as a noun,) and it sounds so awkwardly try-hard-ish a phrase it’s just sad.

The dinner at Netherfield is ten courses (…just a small family affair, you know,) with no apparent knowledge of basic Regency dining à la française and how it differed from Victorian dining à la russe; but then that hardly surprises me, anymore. I leave it to the other nerds to seethe on my behalf, there--I’m pacing myself as far as flailing outrage goes. I have to get through this whole book. And its sequel.

Anyway the characters are clearly modelled after the TV series, as Mr. Hurst is a fat man who likes his food and drink, and Miss Bingley has a long face and nose. Elizabeth sees only hypocrisy in Miss Bingley and doesn’t even feel sorry for her having lost Darcy (of course).

Jane and Bingley are in their own happy little world at the table, leaving Elizabeth to deal with Miss Bingley’s comments and attitude. Jane, c’mon, you’re smarter and more sensitive than that. Help your favourite sister out. If you’re the Cassandra Austen to her Jane, there is no way you’d abandon her to such a fate over the course of an evening, no matter how ~in lurve~ you are!

CUE THUNDERSTORM.

In a bizarre parallel of the infamous storm of the original novel, the Bennet girls will now be forced to stay overnight.

LIZZY’S WINEGLASS: *drained*

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: Welp, nothing to do now but get drunk.

MR. HURST: RIGHT ON.

But lo! A gust of wind extinguishes the candles! Lighting flickers! A shadow appears in the doorway! Mrs. Hurst freaks out!

ENTER DARCY.

He is soaking wet (the fan girls rain, you see,) from the dash from coach to house.

THEIR EYES: *meet*

“So, her cheeks did what they did best. They coloured.”

Oh Lizzy, for heaven’s sake, you’ll have to be better at keeping your countenance than that! -__-

Darcy excuses himself to go get changed, and then they all meet in the drawing-room, where he greets Lizzy last and then sits beside her and starts talking earnestly to Bingley.

DARCY: Well, Bingley you see I stopped at Longbourn but heard the Miss Bennets were here and I worried their carriage might be caught in the storm and so I fought hell to get here in my own carriage.

ME: …that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. And if they have a carriage, why the hell can’t they make it back to Longbourne? It’s only three miles. Are the roads that bad in so short a space of rain?

Also, do thunderstorms happen in England in the winter? Recall that the TV-wedding was all frosty and pre-Christmas-y.

Fast-forward to bedtime and Darcy FINALLY grabs her hand and Lizzy feels like bursting into tears of vexation and worry.

Because that is totally the Lizzy Bennet we know and love.

Anyway, he offers no explanation, rather he hauls out a gift--a necklace.

The sapphire pendant is the size of his thumbnail, circled by three rows of diamonds and set between an unspecified but vaguely large number of pearls upon pearls upon pearls.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: If you think you can buy my forgiveness, buddy, you’ve got another thing co--

DARCY: My dying father gave this to me to give to my wife. It was my mother’s.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: omg so beautiful and touching ;__;

He puts it around her neck because it doesn’t look funny with her simple gown at all.

LIZZY: …Miss Bingley made fun of my dress.

DARCY: Piffle. You’re too pretty to need fancy dresses like hers.

She touches the pearls at her neck and Darcy touches her hand and so it’s kind of like he’s fondling her neck and, uh…where is this going?

Lizzy then calls him SIR and begins rambling about how WORRIED she’s been and her voice breaks on the word agony and she can say no more

Darcy mumbles half a dozen disconnected words and can’t seem to explain himself.

It’s like everyone suddenly has a vocabulary limited to YES, NO, I, and varying conjugations of the verb TO BE and a hell of a lot of ellipses.

Or maybe this is just Firth practicing for his role as Bertie.

There’s a full length mirror on the wall (…in…the drawingroom…) and they turn around and he stands behind her (unf) so they can both stare at themselves together and murmur vaguely sexy things.

THEIR EYES: *meet*

He begins to kiss her neck and then Lizzy notices his face is all agonized and chalks it up to the sight of his dead mother’s pearls.

…right.

Apparently Darcy only now realizes they are in the drawing room, still, and so they leave together.

JANE, THE BINGLEYS, AND THE HURSTS: O_o *cricket sounds*

(Okay apparently our super-couple are the last to leave the room but it’s not explicit so I like to imagine that this all happened while everyone else was politely putting away the deck of cards and finishing their sherry.)

Miss Bingley overtakes them and hustles Lizzy off to her guest room. Alone.

She’s just trolling Lizzy AND Darcy, now, and I kind of love her for it.

---

Lizzy sits on her big fluffy guest-bed and wishes she could talk to Jane about her troubles, but has no idea which room is Jane’s. (Really? REALLY? They didn’t say goodnight to one another? Are there SO MANY guest rooms and Caroline decided to put the sisters at opposite ends of the house just for laughs? Logically, shouldn’t they be put in adjacent rooms, even just to make things easier for the servants?)

A KNOCK: *at the door*

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: Jane! :3 …or maybe it’s Caroline. D:

LIZZY: *opens the door like this D: *

DARCY: …is this a bad time?

LIZZY: NO NO COME ON IN HAI THERE!

ME: *facepalm*

LIZZY: I can see by the pain in your eyes and your jacketless state that you are in some distress.

(Ladies, note that shirtsleeves are a sure and certain sign of a man’s despair.)

Lizzy shuts the door, her thin muslin nightgown all visibly a-tremble against the bare skin beneath it.

WELL IT IS PROBABLY COLD AS FUCK IF IT’S DECEMBER AND A CHILLY GUEST ROOM.

Maybe Caroline loaned her muslin instead of flannel out of spite or something and hopes she catches double pneumonia and dies before the wedding. Well-played, Miss Bingley.

Actually, it’s all trepidation and barely-tethered desire, of course.

Lizzy’s only thought as to how to stop her trembling is to LEAN AGAINST THE DOOR.

Yeah, that’s TOTALLY going to help.

DARCY: *eyesexes her slowly from loose-hair-head to bare toes*

He suddenly turns away and starts pacing and not looking at her SO HARD and getting his King’s Stutter on and he doesn’t know quite how to stand, even, so he rests one hand on his hip.

ME: FAAABULOUS! He is here to tell her he and Bingley are running away to Gretna Green together.

LIZZY: Is this because I was such a wanton as to bite your lip?

DARCY: IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S ME!

ME: Pretty sure it’s both of you.

LIZZY: …you snuck into my bedroom to tell me you were trying to avoid being carried away by passion while fully-clothed?

DARCY: …well when you put it THAT way, of course this situation looks REALLY STUPID. Where are you slippers? Put on a robe! Stand by the fire, you’ll catch your death and your nipples are staring at me.

LIZZY: …it’s not like I packed an overnight bag for a dinner visit. This is all Caroline Bingley could spare me.

So he wraps her in the duvet from the bed (and now I’m going to imagine Netherfield has been entirely furnished by IKEA.)

Then she climbs onto the bed in the most obvious “indirect” set-up I’ve ever seen, apparently her reasoning is so she can rest her head on his chest.

“…she assumed the reins of her own chastity, threw off the quilt and kissed him upon the mouth.”

Or not.

Make-outs are muchly had.

While her nightgown offers little significant resistance, he’s still in his waistcoat and tie (BERDOLL THE WORD YOU ARE LOOKING FOR IS CRAVAT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE,) and the waistcoat in particular is a hindrance to letting them consummate their passions.

(IDK, I always figured the flap at the front of the breeches was the only real impediment. Maybe Darcy wears oldschool long waistcoats like the Restoration dudes.)

Buuut he’s too busy groping to deal with the waistcoat, so Lizzy takes it upon herself to rip it open and scatter buttons everywhere (YOU GO GIRL) and then they tumble back onto the bed and he starts looking for the hem of her nightgown.

DARCY: omg legs omg omg omg

LIZZY: omg my legs omg omg omg

A KNOCK: *at the door* >:]

LIZZY: Darcy? Darcy!

DARCY: WHAT I AM KIND OF BUSY HERE

LIZZY: Somebody’s coming!

DARCY: PRECISELY.

JANE: Lizzy? Are you in there?

LIZZY: It’s JANE!

DARCY: Uuuuuuuuuugh bonerdeath.

BERDOLL: Isn’t he the sweetest? He could have just continued on his raping merry way but he totally stopped when he sensed Lizzy’s attention was divided.

…yes, it’s always so nice when dudes exercise any measure of self-control when it comes to gaining consent. Let’s give him a gold star sticker. 9__9

JANE: LIZZY?

LIZZY: …if I pretend to be asleep she’ll freak out and wake everyone up.

DARCY: Well I’m not going to hide.

LIZZY: That’s my man, saying to hell with the appearance of propriety! ^__^

DARCY: I…I’m going to need a minute to…to think about Margaret Thatcher.

JANE: LIZZY?

DARCY: I’m going to punch your sister in the mouth, I swear.

LIZZY: “Coming, Jane!”

ME: *giggles like a twelve year old*

Luckily, Darcy’s waistcoat somewhat hides his epic erection, and they open the door defiantly, together.

Darcy bows to Jane, bids her a solemn good evening, and departs.

Jane cranes her neck to watch him exit down the hallway.

JANE: Daaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, Darcy. How did I end up with your frizzy friend, again?

LIZZY: >:[

JANE: I was worried you guys had fought, but I guess you’ve made up, now?

LIZZY: Something like that. And thanks for being such an epic cockblocker. NOT.

JANE: Hey, that’s pretty much my only purpose in this book.
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Old May 5th, 2011, 01:56 PM   #24
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Can....can I live in your head? It seems like a fun place.

I was laughing so hard that my partner kept coming over to figure out what was so funny. He's now got orders to read Pride and Prejudice, just so he can understand the epic lols.

So I'm to take it that the author did approximately zero research into customs of the time? Marvellous. Sounds like the Narnia director who said in an interview that he had never read the books, and was just going to wing it. Always a good idea that.
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Old May 5th, 2011, 02:42 PM   #25
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At least Narnia was a made-up magical world, rather than being a text rooted in the custom of the its time and place of origin. -__-

Boy-Cat has decided he is going to help me with my reading and reviewing.



He found chapter seven adequate, but rather uncomfortable for prolonged napping.
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Old May 5th, 2011, 02:48 PM   #26
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

My cat Zac discovered that my Kindle can get warm, so now when I'm reading he tried to lie on top of it instead. Silly kitty, books are for humans. I've tried to explain to him that if he lies still on my stomach I can prop the Kindle on him like a book stand and then we both win. No dice thus far.

Also, you've written that much from only a fraction of the book? This is going to be a long haul. (and I will enjoy every second of it)
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Old May 5th, 2011, 03:11 PM   #27
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How in the hells can there be seven chapters in that few pages? That doesn't look like even two decent chapters there.

Koeniou, this is one of the shorter sporks I've seen, so far. Quite succinct compared to some (which is definitely a good thing). You should check out the sporkings of Gloria Tesch's self-published 'masterpiece', Maradonia, if you want to see what a long haul looks like.

Although I must say you're taking this is very good spirits, snooze. Most people who do this sort of thing are already heavily into the good spirits by this stage.
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Old May 5th, 2011, 05:37 PM   #28
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My netbook gets warm, too. Boycat rested his head on the side of the keyboard earlier and for a full ten seconds I panicked and couldn't figure out why everything I'd just typed had been deleted. Because his chin was on the backspace key.

The chapters are anywhere from two to six pages each, so far, on average. They're pretty arbitrary and the structure's all blown to hell in the beginning, anyway, with re-capping bits of the original novel and what happened between that ending and the beginning chapter with the cushion and then going back even further in time and then back to the other flashbacks and yeah.

If I weren't going to laugh, I might cry.
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Old May 5th, 2011, 06:08 PM   #29
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Chapter Eight

Jane and Lizzy don’t discuss What Jane Saw because it’s JANE and Jane wholeheartedly believes he was only there to perhaps offer her sister a particularly fine specimen from his hothouse.

LIZZY: Well, he kind of was

---

HOUSTON WE HAVE WEDDING.

Thank GOD.

…awwwwwwwwww shit this is going to be the chapter where It Happens, isn’t it?

*grudgingly unfurls the gigantic sparkly Darcy & Lizzy 4 Eva banner and lights the scented candles and puts on the Kenny G*

Jane is radiant with purity and Lizzy is wearing something more…off-white, shall we say?

I wish Berdoll had balls so I could land a kick in her goolies for that. Well, and for other things, but let’s start with what we’ve got.

Mr. Collins arrives some days before the wedding (daring Lady Catherine’s disapproval,) very David Bamber-ish, to smarmily offer his services in performing the marriage, seeing as his invitation seemed to have gotten ~lost in the mail~. What was once a delicately-done caricature of ridiculousness which needed no particular physical defects to complete one’s abhorrence of it is now rendered a grotesque sweaty blob upon the page and everyone’s lives.

Also Berdoll makes Collins the son of Mr. Bennet’s sister, which, yes, does in fact make him Lizzy’s first cousin; but if I recall correctly the relationship was rather different (Mr. Collins’ father was Mr. Bennet’s first-cousin?) in the book, and cousin was also a catch-all term for people who weren’t immediate family, or aunts/uncles/nieces/nephews, really. Though if I’m going to get into “well in the BOOK…” I’ll be here until 2012.

The narrator takes this opportunity to point out that Charlotte really should not have married Mr. Collins because Lizzy wouldn’t and everyone should be more like Lizzy and not give a shit for silly things like poverty and spinsterhood rather than a respectable marriage to a decent man as being their only provision and CHARLOTTE YOU JUST NEEDED TO GROW A SPINE, OKAY?

Apparently Lizzy and our author are operating under the delusion that Charlotte is living in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I’m not saying living with Mr. Collins has got to be sunshine and daisies and discussing Proust over crantinis; but he’s hardly a dickbag of epic proportions just because he’s a pompous idiot.

Anyway, Lizzy rather too-graciously points out that Mr. Collins’ help will be unnecessary as they have a famous Bishop friend of Darcy’s to perform the ceremony or whatever. (I like to think it’s the dancing guy from the T Mobile commercial.)

They have the wedding-breakfast at Netherfield (though clearly in the series they are married from Longbourne church? Whatever, consistency is not going to be a strong point, here.) The Bingleys are going to honeymoon at Netherfield/Longbourn or something because they suck. The Darcys are beating a retreat to London. Bingley wants to share his good fortune with the rest of the pack; but Darcy wants to drag his kill off to a quiet cave somewhere and devour his bride in peace. Or something.

They arrive in early evening to the Darcy townhouse, having pretty much only held (gloved) hands during the whole journey.

Lavish meal, (again, served in separate courses and I just want to throw a candelabra against the wall, now,) well-appointed house, Lizzy too grumpy to bother noticing any of it. Darcy’s a grumpy bear, too. They are grumpy together in silence, and finally give up on even trying to eat and leave the table.

DARCY: Well, I’ll just leave you in the hands of your maid, then. BYE.

Lizzy puts on her fancy embroidered nighty and there’s a carved silver brush and mirror set from Darcy and the maid brushes out her hair and Lizzy suddenly realizes that she feels she barely knows the man she’s just married.

WHOOPS: LOL

Also something of a dilemma in trying to decide if she ought to wait for him in bed or hang out in her dressing room until he arrives in the bedchamber beyond?

DEAR LIZZY: no1curr

She slowly peeks through the door and the light from the dressing room spills into the darkened bedroom and Darcy freezes like a deer in the headlights, wearing only his shirt and breeches as he scatters fresh rose petals upon the bed from a silver bowl.

WHAT’S THAT IN YOUR HAND I HAVE IT IT’S TWO TICKETS TO THAT THING YOU LOVE LOOK AWAY LOOK BACK THE TICKETS ARE NOW DIAMONDS ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE WHEN YOUR MAN IS FITZWILLIAM FANGIRLIZED DARCY.

Again, Berdoll is unable to find the word “cravat” in her dictionary, and Lizzy is hypnotized by, of all things, Darcy’s bare neck.

Hence it comes as something of a surprise to her to find herself being scooped into his arms and deposited on the bed.

AWWWWWWWWWWW YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH.



Lizzy is kind of half-blacked-out insofar as her memories are shuddery and jumpy at this point, and she’s overwhelmingly aware of the smell of roses and omg kissing and more kissing this is totally happening you guys.

Also he’s all wet or something because apparently he was in the middle of taking a bath before he just said “fuck this” and stormed the lady’s bedchamber with his dish of flowers.

Alas, now they must contend with the way clothes kind of cling uncomfortably when one’s skin is damp or wet.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAND STRIP.

“torch of love” what in the actual fuck are you trying to do here Berdoll

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: hahahahahahaha no seriously where’s the real penis that thing is biologically impossible not to mention I have serious doubts about putting that anywhere within firing range of my exhaust port.

DARCY’S DONG: *finds your lack of faith disturbing*

LIZZY: …eeeeeep alright so what happens now?

Approximately ten seconds of foreplay and then The Inevitable.

LIZZY: Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OW. Okay. OOOOW.

DARCY: LIZZY UNF UNF LIZZY MY ONLY LOVE UNF

LIZZY: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWW--

DARCY: *shuts her up with his tongue*

The first major assault over, Lizzy begins to think this might not be so bad and dares to move ever so slightly, which only renews Darcy’s vigour and Lizzy realizes that motion on her part was a Bad Call.

DARCY: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m SO-rryyyyy...

LIZZY: Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Mmmmffffow.

DARCY’S FACE: *is stupid*

UNF: Hi.

Cue montage of fireworks, guns discharging, sea mines detonating, burgeoning mushroom clouds, and bottles of Diet Coke and Mentos bursting upwards.

DARCY: *flops off to one side like a half-comatose beached whale*

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: …is that IT, ASSHOLE?

Heeeeeeeeeeeee okay so it isn’t entirely rainbows and unicorns…yet.

Luckily her resentment is so short-lived she scarcely has time to think ill of her husband at all before he is cuddling her and asking her forgiveness. Lizzy contentedly settles to playing with the hair on his chest.

Unfortunately, this is apparently just as bad as daring to have drawn a breath mid-coitus.

ROUND TWO: ding ding ding

RECOVERY TIME: *glances up from a sudoku puzzle* …don’t look at me. I don’t even work here.

MEN OF THE WORLD: =__=

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: But Lydia said Wickham would be useless following--

DARCY: *is so clearly the opposite of everything that Wickham is how many times do we need to go over this*

LIZZY’S NIGHTGOWN: BYYYYYYYE!

Just as Darcy is massively endowed, he feels the need to comment repeatedly on how small her corresponding part is.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: Well that does wonders for my sexual self-image.

And they merrily boinked off into the sunset several consecutive amazing super fantastic times that night.

MR. KNIGHTLEY: *cough*BULLSHIT*cough*

ETA: I forgot to mention that there's a line where Lizzy asks afterwards if this means she is "taken" and Darcy replies uh-huh and it's like WINK WINK TITLE REFERENCE and I just barfed a little in my mouth.
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Old May 6th, 2011, 04:17 PM   #30
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Chapter Nine

Tom Reed is our next random OC to get a cold introduction. (Also Berdoll uses “quitted” instead of “quit” for the past tense and have I mentioned just how damn cluttered all this language feels?)

Tom Reed is drunk. He hits the door to open it, and it bounces back and slams him in the face. (Oh those 19th century tavern doors--they swing so fast and so silent!) Tom Reed gets into a fight with the door and finally prevails, and with smug satisfaction surveys the street.

Here, the narration changes tone ever so slightly to reflect Tom’s lower-class status. Rather than friends, he has “mates”.

Tom is off to find himself a cockfight to watch. (Animal cruelty! Not anachronistic, but I get the feeling we are not supposed to like this drunken peasant.)

His friend Jack Lewis declines an invitation to join him at the cockfight.

JACK: Sorry, I don’t swing that way, Tom.

Aaaaaaaaaaand cue Rustic Phonetic Dialogue.

“Ain’t got time fer such, Tom. Aye gots to wait ‘ere fer them gem’men. Make good money wi’ em.”
“Whot’s fightin’ if yer got rules, Jack? Brother of the Ring! What flummery! Yer’ll git yer bowsprit smashed!”
“Aye’ve got me plans, Tom. Aye be no fool.”
“Yea? Well Aye’druther be a fartcatcher than a ninnyhammer w’ beat conk.”

I’m not sure whether they’re talking about the cockfight or boxing, anymore. Or why they’re saying Aye for “I” when that’s exactly what “I” sounds like already.

Anyway, Reed is drunk and he’s pretty dim even when he’s not drunk, according to our narrator, and then more reams of unnecessarily convoluted language in the description. Basically he’s a big meanie who goes to see executions for fun and finds them boring unless there’s a real riot and innocent people die and would have preferred to see a woman hang, for kicks, instead of just dudes. So…there’s that.

I’d like to just ask straight out, right now--ARE THERE ANY NORMAL PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD OR ALL THEY ALL ANGELS AND DEMONS?

I have a feeling I already know the answer.

Tom Reed’s done time in prison, we are told.

‘Cause he stabbed a guy to death.

And then strangled his way out of prison before they could punish him for it.

And he blames everyone else for that happening.

Slow down, crazy, slow down.

A wild barmaid-slash-hooker appears!

Tom seems to know her, and gives her a slap on the ass as greeting.

But wait…it seems that we know her as well! One Abigail Christie!

ABBY: ‘Sup.

Tom is abusive and they sort of live together but he sort of pays her for sex and lodging but then he sort of doesn’t and Abby has a mass of filthy babies that aren’t his and he beats on them all and she swears that she’s going back to Pemberley with her brood rather than stay in London.

TOM: What, and leave all this?

ME: What, you didn’t think to head on back to Derbyshire BEFORE you were worn to tatty shreds by hard living and liquor and prostitution and poverty for the last fourteen years?

ABBY: PEMBERLEY IS THE BESTEST AND THE DARCYS ARE THE RICHEST AND YOU’RE A TOOL SO SO WHAT I AM A ROCK STAR I GOT MY ROCK MOVES AND I DON’T NEED YOU

TOM: …the richest, you say? Not the Darcys of Pemberley I now conveniently recall my brother having mentioned he works for?

ABBY: LIKE WHOA. PEACE OUT. *she and kiddies get the hell out of Dodge*

TOM: HEY BRO.

FRANK, TOM’S BROTHER: Oh fuck. What do you want?

TOM: TO BE A FOOTMAN.

FRANK: Uh…there’s no vacancy.

TOM: *points to the guy in livery who is literally standing right there* I’ll take his job, then.

GUY: But…

TOM: BY THE WAY HAVE YOU SEEN MY BOWIE KNIFE?

GUY: WELL THAT’S ME OFF TO JOIN THE CIRCUS BYE!

TOM: *putting on his uniform jacket* oooh it’s still warm! :3

FRANK: D:

HOUSEKEEPER: … *shrug* Fine, whatever. This is London so I don’t really give a shit.

TOM: HEY THAT HOUSEMAN IS LOOKING AT ME WEIRD I BET HE’S GAY IF HE LOOKS AT ME AGAIN I’LL FEED HIM HIS OWN SCROTUM.

FRANK: -__-’
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Old May 6th, 2011, 05:02 PM   #31
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Chapter Ten

Aaaand Lizzy is coming back to earth as day breaks over London.

LIZZY: Hot. Damn.

Now, the narrator points out that under any other circumstances Lizzy might first have contemplated the loveliness of the lavish furnishings and elegant taste of the house, but given that we have naked Darcy wrapped in silk sheets (SILK. SHEETS.) Lizzy is totes okay with just ogling in that general direction. She could be in Grozny for all she knows or cares.

She hugs a pillow while she stares at him, to prevent herself from snuggling him awake because the poor thing has got to be tired after his…feats.

ME: HE SHOULD BE DEAD, REALLY.

Clutching the sheet to her boobies (because she knows the fangirls are watching, or something,) she lifts the other side of the sheet so she can let us all know exactly what he’s got going on.

Also, the word “netherlands” is ruined forever. No, spellcheck, no. I know you want to capitalize it. I do, too. But we are not talking about the country.

Lizzy is reeling and confused upon two points--one: how in the heck did his manmeat fit into her sausage casing? And two: how could he be so cold and distant at times and then DO WHAT HE DID OMG DID I MENTION WHAT HE DID?

Lizzy, I am embarrassed for you, right now, for real.

Darcy wakes up, and they cuddle. Lizzy notes that…

Okay, this is gross. Like…really gross.

…his spooge is leaking out of her. And not for the first time in recent history, apparently.

“Her cup, evidently, runneth over.”

I just…I…no. NO. BAD AUTHOR. BAD. *rolls up newspaper*

Also her magical cooter can sense the moment he orgasms. Your mileage may vary on that point, I guess, IDK. But of course it does. It’s Super Couple.

He formally, politely, requests that he be allowed to look at her nude. Which allows him to note (via boobies) that the room seems cold. He rings the bell, and the fire-making maids appear.

Lizzy dives deep beneath the sheets to hide until they’re gone. Darcy lolls about with the sheet draped across his hips with the smug look of satisfaction such as only a dude who just got laid can wear.

DARCY: …you can come out, now.

LIZZY: omg did the servants see you like that? WHAT WILL THEY THINK OF US?

DARCY: …that we were fucking like rabbits all night?

LIZZY: EXACTLY.

DARCY: …

LIZZY: omg we totally were

DARCY: …is kind of my point.

LIZZY: …so…every married couple knows what we just…and EVERY MARRIED COUPLE MUST--OH GOD CHARLOTTE AND MR. COLLINS WHY IMAGINATION WHY

DARCY: Okay, this conversation is over and we are getting up and going to Pemberley, now.

LIZZY: …but…I have boobies!

DARCY: BLAST. KRYPTONITE.

MUSIC: BOM-CHICKA-WO--

LIZZY: Ugh, do we HAVE to?

DARCY: ;__; …no. Sorry. Er.

LIZZY: Get up, I mean. Do we have to get up right now?

DARCY: :3

And they head off for their fifth victory lap.

Only Lizzy’s still kind of smarting from rounds one-through-four (and rightly so.)

LIZZY: SON OF A BITCH!

DARCY: ;__; okay this sucks

LIZZY: HE HATES ME MY LIFE IS OVER BECAUSE MY COOTER IS TOO SMALL I HATE MY LIFE HE IS GOING TO GET AN ANNULMENT AND I’LL HAVE TO BECOME A NUN AND DIE ALONE AND THEY WILL PUT ON MY TOMBSTONE “HER COOTER WAS TOO SMALL”.

You don’t know how badly I wish that was hyperbole on my part. Those are her actual thoughts.

LIZZY YOU ARE NOT ROMAN CATHOLIC YOU CANNOT BE A NUN AND I AM PRETTY SURE ANY CHURCH MIGHT OBJECT TO MAKING REFERENCE TO YOUR VAGINA ON YOUR TOMBSTONE.

LIZZY: JUST GO ON AND LEAVE ME TO MY MISERY, NOW.

DARCY: …wait, what?

LIZZY: I HAVE A FREAKISHLY SMALL COOCH. I CANNOT BE A PROPER WIFE. YOU SAID SO YOURSELF--‘THIS SUCKS.’

DARCY: I meant small as in…UNF. You…have a…firm grip.

Oh gosh so embarrassed for you, dude.

DARCY: And it sucks that I’m hurting you because my dong is so epic.

LIZZY: …HOW epic?

DARCY: …epic. Not Way Epic, just…well. I mean, look at it.

LIZZY: …I really don’t have the necessary experience to draw my own comparisons, here. Blame it on the sexist repression of a patriarchal society which pins the honour of its males to the chastity of its females as though female sexuality were an abstract commodity with an inherent moral value in its being withheld and general disgrace by its being shared except under the most restrictive of circumstances. Like this marriage.

DARCY: …I don’t want to talk about my dong, anymore.

LIZZY: But I do!

DARCY: I have a better idea.

ROUND SIX: IN DA HOUSE!
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Old May 7th, 2011, 07:49 AM   #32
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

So I made a .gif to cheer myself up after making it through ten chapters of this hot mess.

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Old May 8th, 2011, 02:13 PM   #33
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Oh. Good. Lord.

*dies a little inside*
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Old May 8th, 2011, 04:41 PM   #34
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Sorry, the original picture might not work and for some reason I can't edit the post.

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Old May 9th, 2011, 04:59 PM   #35
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Chapter Eleven

Pemberley is one fucking huge piece of property. The driveway is so long and the gates already thrown open in expectation of the Darcy’s arrival that our newlyweds are caught unawares when the carriage jerks to a stop outside the front door.

All coy references of “equestrianism” aside, they were screwing in the carriage, just so we’re clear.

A hundred and sixty-eight people/staff/lookie-loos are waiting on the steps to greet them and start side-eyeing each other during the several minutes between the arrival of the coach and the eventual appearance of the dishevelled couple as they exit their equipage.

They head up the stairs and inside, and Lizzy prays she isn’t walking funny because apparently she cannot listen to her better judgement and seriously give the fucking a rest you have your entire married life ahead of you until puerperal fever hauls you into an early grave.

Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam are there to greet them, and I am kind of sad for them already. (Were they not at the wedding? Perhaps they travelled directly from Longbourn?)

Oh, and there’s also Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother and his wife and their mother. Not that I really care.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: omg so many servants there’s, like, a different maid to tug at each of the fingertips on my gloves I am so rich now holy fuck!

DARCY: Well thank you for the welcome, all, we are quite tired so I think we’ll just be heading upstairs for a rest.

Oh you’re not fooling anyone, sweetums.

HEY! IT’S THE DOGS FROM THE MINISERIES!

Except now they’re Irish wolfhounds. I…don’t recall those being the ones we saw in the miniseries, but I could be wrong. Maybe these are different dogs who loyally loped along at Darcy’s heels when he went to go whack off in the music room after Lizzy smiled at him.

Elizabeth comes perilously close to being knocked down the grand staircase by the dogs, but Darcy saves her.

LIZZY: PUPPIES!!! :3

They get into the bedroom (noted as THEIR bedroom because no one thought to tell Ms. Berdoll that married couples of any standing would maintain separate private apartments when financially feasible. Not that I’m trying to force our super couple to conform to general modes of the era--a shared bedroom is really not high on my (very long) list of complaints thus far…) and the dogs are all frolicking on the bed and around the room until Darcy commands their obedience and they settle down to lick Lizzy’s hands when she pets them. Because she is Snow Fucking White and woodland creatures adore her.

Even the dogs are Sues -- named Troilus and Cressida.

LIZZY: that’s so tragic lol you emo kid

DARCY: Seriously, when you rejected me I locked myself in my room and listened to My Chemical Romance and Linkin Park for WEEKS.

LIZZY: Oh. Right. Sorry for having such power over your moodswings.

Aaaaand Berdoll has discovered the word cravat--YAY!

As boobies are to Darcy, so is Darcy’s bare neck Lizzy’s sexual kryptonite. Thank goodness she lives in an era of cravats--she’d be paralysed with lust the moment she left the house. I hope she never chanced to see any bare-necked peasants working in the fields.



Anyway, back in book world, Lizzy accuses Darcy of being ungentlemanly by his initiation of whatever the hell happened in the carriage.

LIZZY: ON A PUBLIC ROAD DECENCY BLAH

DARCY: Public road? Gurl, please.



They begin to make out on the bed and we receive a pointless narrative flashback to his spurned proposal and Lizzy’s reasoning in her refusal. I.e., “…his vainglory was the basis for her entire refusal.”

It’s not like she was pissed on Jane or Wickham’s behalf, at all. Nah, she just didn’t like his stuck-up attitude and calling her only tolerable.

Blah blah blah lucky she went north with her aunt and uncle and his love was constant.

Their bedroom shenanigans are interrupted by the hustling of servants bringing in all their trunks and shit. Lizzy finds something else to do in wandering around the room, while Darcy just sprawls on the bed like any surly spoiled teenage boy.

She finds on a dresser a miniature painting that looks very much like her. In fact, it is her. She notes that she never sat for such a portrait, and Darcy informs her that he had it done, from his memory, months ago, after she had turned him down.

I know this is supposed to be the cutest thing ever, but I don’t mind telling you that I would find such a gesture more than a little unsettling, however sweet.

Lizzy’s bath is drawn, and she goes off happily to bathe, having finally realized that travel plus sex plus more travel plus sex-while-traveling makes for GET IN THE BLOODY TUB ALREADY WOMAN YOU ARE FILTHY. She consoles herself that no matter how much she bathes now she won’t have to go long before she’ll smell like eau de Darcy all over, again.

Eurgh.

While Lizzy goes off to enjoy her bath (because why bother with naked characters unless they’re Doin’ It?) we flashback to Darcy’s happening upon an artist’s studio and chancing to find a painting of a provocatively nude wood nymph who bears a striking resemblance to one Elizabeth Bennet, as she was then. Darcy pays fifty pounds so he can keep the gigantic portrait of Nekkid Lizzy in his basement where only he can see it and masturbate furiously and has the miniature done so he can have a more proper and pocket-sized picture of her so he can masturbate furiously while on the go.

Anyway, now that he’s married to her he plans to send the Playboy centrefold spread back to the artist and he can display it to whoever he likes because WHEE DARCY GETS TO BANG THE REAL THING AND IT IS SO MUCH BETTER. Apparently he’s not worried that anyone else who knows Lizzy might make the connection that the painting STILL LOOKS STRIKINGLY LIKE HER.

Hours pass and they go down to a dinner with the Pemberley family. Fitzwilliam is nice and isn’t on Lady Catherine’s side (Lady Catherine who is absent, whatever,) and his brother is a bit melancholic but apparently their dad just died so hey they’re allowed and the brother’s wife is apparently some shrew who cannot wait for her mother-in-law to die so that she can be the Countess of Matlock, whatever.

GEORGIANA: SWEET I don’t have to be the hostess, anymore! Also, I am so blonde and ethereal and so sickeningly straight-out-of-the-miniseries you wouldn’t believe it.

After dinner, Lizzy makes a point of trying to coax Georgiana into conversation because her first job as Mrs. Darcy will be to fix Georgiana’s crippling shyness with her own wit and vivacity. Still, the Colonel distracts her from this task with his easy conversation and friendliness.

LIZZY‘S THOUGHTS: DAMN YOU AND YOUR ABILITY TO GET ALONG WITH ME LIKE A HOUSE ON FIRE.

DARCY’S THOUGHTS: Holy crap man stop talking to my wife all the time seriously back off what the hell.

COLONEL FITZWILLIAM: Isn’t this fun? I do love our get-togethers. I haven’t seen you in AGES!

DARCY: *Care Bear Glaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare*

Fast-forward to bedtime (natch) and Darcy leads his bride up the Grand Staircase in Grand Fashion holding her fingertips in his and arms straight out at shoulder-level or something and this apparently feels as awkward for them as it reads for us. Eventually he tugs her in the direction of the bedroom instead of her dressing-room.

DARCY: AT LAST. HOME SWEET HOME. AND COOTER SWEET COOTER.

LIZZY: What was with the glaring?

DARCY: I glare because I care. And because I want to throw you on the carpet and ravish you in my every waking moment.

LIZZY: Go for it.

Meanwhile, narration informs us that Darcy is increasingly worried by just how out of fugdamn control he is during the conjugal embrace. At first he convinced himself it was just because it had Been A While.

Colonel Fitzwilliam is one of the few men Darcy would ever allow to monopolize Lizzy’s conversation the way he did, (because he is a Manly Man Who Will Control Who His Wife Talks To???) and the reason Darcy was so quiet and darkly thoughtful was because he spent the entire evening brooding about sex to himself and vowing that tonight was the night Lizzy Gets an Orgasm.

DARCY: Hence we dispense with the need for dressing-rooms and maids and whatever--this is happening, and it’s happening now.

HAIRPINS: *ping*ping*ping*

Nooooo why are the hairpins always the first to go? ;__;

The clothes come off rapidly at this point.

While the dogs watch.




















Yeah, I can’t even pee while there are dogs or cats wandering into the bathroom. It’s just too invasive. And I harbour a private paranoia that no matter how much I love my pets there remains the slightest chance that they’re bio-bot plants with a live camera feed attached to their optic nerves, so enabling them to spy on my every move. So this whole idea squicks me out beyond all reason.

Anyway, the dogs scratch these clothes into a heap and flop down on them happily to wait until their master is asleep and then sneak onto the end of the bed. Troilus gets Lizzy’s panties thrown in his face and doesn’t even care. His soul is already dead.

Thankfully, we are spared the details and simply made to note Darcy’s Herculean restraint and ability as Lizzy begins to moan with climactic rapture.

The dogs take this as their cue and begin to howl in unison. (Back at Longbourn, Mary Bennet softly hums ‘Slumber, Fair Maid’ in her sleep.)

LIZZY: OH MY GOD TELL ME THAT WAS NOT ME MAKING THAT NOISE.

DARCY: Well…not ALL of it.

Darcy grabs the dogs by their collars and shoves them out into the hall and slams the door behind them.

And thus, Pemberley slept undisturbed by the dogs’ howling, even as Darcy and Lizzy boinked until dawn.

…so…any plans to ever actually sleep? Ever? …no? …okay, keep me posted.
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Old May 9th, 2011, 11:25 PM   #36
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Snooze, I hadn't stopped by this thread before today, but you had me cracking up. I've never seen the miniseries or the book or the author but your retelling of the story is hilarious. Just remind me not to ask you for a review for my next novel, called "War and Piece... of Ass". You thought the English were randy and hard to read? They've got nothin' on the Russians...
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Old May 10th, 2011, 01:17 AM   #37
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Oh gosh, I know. That Catherine the Great...
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Old May 10th, 2011, 05:54 PM   #38
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Chapter Twelve

DARCY: Gee, this whole getting married business has kept me away from my beloved estate for four months. Even if it is winter. I should really…check on things. Except I have all these servants and a steward to take care of things for me so all I need to do is spend money within my budget. Which is vast. But I’m the hero, so I care.

He rides out with his steward, hours behind schedule, which bugs him, but he smirks to himself because he can still smell Lizzy.

ME: *eye twitch* What is this obsession Berdoll has with SMELLING each other? It’s a little Edward Cullen. Or Creepy Thin Man. Only creepers make a point of sniffing at their love interests.

DARCY’S THOUGHTS: It is so nice to have a wife who lets me do all sorts of kinky things to her. Like have sex in a moving carriage.

INTERNET: You call THAT kink?

1800s: Well…

INTERNET: Fair enough.

Now, Darcy was not in the habit of telling his sexual partners how purty he thought they were, believing his evident physical interest honest compliment enough to be paid.

…hell, he’s right.

But…



He notes that he must be careful in how he praises her, however. To tell her that she’s the sexiest would imply that he has found other ladies sexy to some degree, before her.

Evidently he’s presuming that Elizabeth is not quite in-the-know about the sexual double-standards of the day, and hopes she just believes he’s an awesome virgin lover…

AHAHAHA YEAH I COME BY IT NATURALLY GIFT FROM GOD I GUESS…

>_>

Also apparently to “possess” a lady is being used euphemistically to refer to doing the deed with her (…or to her, as the case may be,) and my mantra for this entire book so far has mostly been to remind myself that it’s SUPPOSED to be romantic. It’s Darcy and Elizabeth, for crapssake. And all I feel is…horrified. Uncomfortable. Disturbed.

Playing by historical rules for manners and modes of relationships is one thing; and if any relationship ought to be allowed certain liberalities in intimate moments, it’s Darcy/Lizzy; but it’s not even that, so much--it’s the language. The wording. The narration. The voice of God in this writing is just so problematic I want to squirm. I’m not saying all 19th century literature needs to be rewritten to suit the modern feminist agenda; but Berdoll--you should know better, and you should not be setting out these ideas of sexual possession as romantic ideals. You and Smeyer go sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done while the grown-ups try to deal with the hot mess you’ve made of this next generation of girls who have taken this shit to heart and gone off into the world like social-guerilla Marianne Dashwoods ready to get psycho-emotionally fucked by the first bit of domineering beefcake to cross their paths.

Anyway, back to our book.

THIS WEEK, ON CAPSLOCK KEYSMASH THEATRE:

SDHSGNLFGUIPAERSDJKFWS;’SG;’AS’LSFJIWEHDAJH3UI3FHS NSFKFNASMFNJSDNKFSN MAL;K;SA’;XCM,VNXCMEIOWEURASKLFJASIETJ

SERIOUSLY

WHAT DID I JUST READ

I’VE BEEN ON THE INTERNET SOME YEARS NOW, I’VE READ A LOT OF GROSS STUFF

HELL I GOT THROUGH MOST OF 2 GIRLS 1 CUP

BUT AUGH

I NEVER THOUGHT

I WOULD READ A LOVING AND DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETH DARCY’S GIRLPARTS.

*roll credits*

…the word “tufted” just bothered me endlessly, for some reason. Was it really necessary to remind us of pubes? I get that this is a pre-Brazilian world, and actually I’m thankful that’s not a cosmetic ritual we’re ever going to have to contemplate, but I feel like the softcore cooter description here is really more suited to a hetero-male readership.

I could be wrong, though. Lesbians, let me know your thoughts, here.

I might be less bothered by all this if I could convince myself these were still fictional characters; but Berdoll is constantly dropping reminders into the text that this is the 1995 series and she is RPFing Firth and Ehle in costume, basically. And I’m pretty embarrassed for them. They are fantastic actors. I don’t want to imagine how inviting their genitals must appear from certain angles.

DARCY‘S THOUGHTS: EVERY TIME I HAVE HER I ONLY WANT HER MORE.

Shouldn’t his brain have melted by now?

Anyway, Darcy discovers that riding a horse while sporting an erection is super-hurty, so he Talks Business with his steward as they ride out, with the Emo Dogs loping along at their hooves.

We’re introduced via narration to Darcy’s nearest neighbour--the hunt-mad Lady Millhouse, and her estate, Pennyswope. SWOPE is just a horrible sound to have in a stately name for one’s grand country seat.

This is all I can picture, right now:



They ride into the village of Kympton. (What, not going to rip off Lambton?)

At the Inn in Kympton, Darcy had given instruction for the day of his marriage to be celebrated with free food and booze for all.

The inn (called the Fox and Hogget…no, I don’t know…) sports the smell of vomit and stale beer and some charming drunks still passed out (…48 hours later…)

Something tells me this wasn’t quite the family-friendly celebration Darcy might have imagined.

Berdoll gifts the publican with what she probably considers a name of Dickensian quality in Phineas Turnpenny.

MAY YOU ROT IN EVERY CIRCLE OF HELL, BERDOLL.

Apparently it’s unheard of to see THE Darcy of Pemberley IN such an establishment and the unwashed are all aquiver with excitement as Darcy gives the publican two gold coins for his trouble and Mrs. Turnpenny grabs them and stuffs them into her cleavage because apparently she is some kind of hooker.

There are further touches of lovely rustic phonetics and weird-ass idioms that I don’t believe for a second are sourced from any text contemporary to Austen’s day and age.

A vomiting drunk blocks the doorway.

Things are awkward.

Imagine, if you will, the Jeopardy! theme played upon a pianoforte. Or perhaps a harp.

DARCY’S THOUGHTS: Ew that floor is nasty, but I gotta look somewhere while we wait for the vomiting to finish and damned if I’m going to look these filthy poor people in the eye and…hey, what are you all looking at?



Don’t. I. Wish.

Actually, what is hanging on the wall behind him is a Stolen Silk Sheet.

A Stolen Silk Sheet covered in Certain Stains.

Evidently it’s supposed to be glorious celebratory proof of virginity and virility and therefore a sign of the continued prosperity and propriety of Pemberley and all the people of Derbyshire who depend on that great estate and blah blah blah you’d think he was the king of a small nation.

Darcy makes a point of wanting SO BADLY to tear that shit down and beat everyone into a bloody pulp because MY PRECIOUS POSSESSION IT IS SULLIED.

(Hah, who feels violated NOW, Mr. Douchey?)

But he doesn’t. (BOOOOOOOO for dignity!) Stoicism prevails.

DARCY: Oh you peasants and your hippy-dippy earth-mother hoodoo…*sigh* …Mr. Steward I demand you go back in there and take that sheet and burn that motherfucker to the ground. The sheet, I mean. Not the inn. Not that if you wanted to burn that inn to the ground I wouldn’t…well, that is to say…the magistrate might be conveniently distracted from the matter.

NARRATOR: BOY GOOD THING LIZZY WON’T EVER FIND OUT ABOUT THIS THINK HOW EMBARASSED SHE WAS WHEN THE FIRE-LAYING-MAIDS FOUND THEM IN BED TOGETHER.

DARCY‘S THOUGHTS: ELIZABETH I SUFFER THESE GROSS INDIGNITIES TO SPARE YOOOOU.

STEWARD:

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Old May 13th, 2011, 02:59 PM   #39
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Chapter Thirteen

In honour of tomorrow, we now have CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

Lucky us.

Not.

We open to a mental image that made me literally slam the book shut for horror and hold my head in my hands while fighting the urge to weep.

Darcy, perched on the edge of the marital bed that morning, is taking a piss into the chamber pot.

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: Awwwwwww yeeeeeah that is my man emptying his bladder omg so sexy.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

IS.

WRONG.

WITH.

YOU.

Dear Future Mr. Snooze: when planning to do a number one (or two, for that matter,) please remove yourself and your sweaty ballsack from the bed I have to sleep in.

Anyway, here we have paragraphs and paragraphs about all the crazy sex they had in the carriage (Darcy smouldered at her once and she was compelled to fling up her skirts and ride it like it was stolen.)

LIZZY’S THOUGHTS: Well, I guess I’m just a total slut now and I don’t even care.

ME: -__- Mmm the taste of internalized misogyny in the morning.

MRS. REYNOLDS: Hey, now that you’re here to take over being the mistress of Pemberley, here’s a folder full of handwritten notes done up by Darcy’s mother. She must have known he’d grow up to marry a Mary Sue whose author doesn’t know how to make HER know how to run a household, at all. Think of it as a handbook.

SERIOUSLY IT IS LIKE A PHONEBOOK: *thump*

LIZZY: omg

MRS. REYNOLDS: I approve of you because you took five seconds to look at that thing rather than throwing in the air before gallivanting off to spend your new money.

GEORGIANA: I approve of you because now I can blow off everything and play the piano all day. ALL. DAY.

LIZZY: oh my goodness Georgiana was that a definitive statement I heard coming out of your mouth? How quickly my wit and intelligence influence you in growing a spine!

GEORGIANA: I NO RITE

Darcy returns (after the events of chapter twelve, for those of you playing along with timelines at home,) and discovers the pretty domestic scene of his wife leafing through OMG DON’T FUCK THIS UP: The Manual while Georgiana toodles away on the piano.

DARCY: Good afternoon, Wife. I’ve taken the precaution of locking all the doors so you can’t run away. Heh.

I know this is supposed to be Darcy’s way of joking around with his witty superstar of a wife, but I AM SO ENDLESSLY CREEPED OUT BY MR. DOUCHEY.

LIZZY: lol you can’t get rid of me THAT easily with your monster dick, Husband. Bring. It. On.

GEORGIANA: …my brother is joking around what the fresh hell is going on here?

DARCY: I know I’m back early but there were some things that upset me emotionally let’s talk about my feelings and stuff and things and…I already said things, didn’t I?

LIZZY: …um…

DARCY: HEY WHO WANTS TO GO ON A PICNIC?

(IN DECEMBER? I DON‘T CARE HOW FINE LIZZY INSISTS THE DAY IS “FOR THE SEASON” THE SEASON IS ALMOST CHRISTMAS, I’M PRETTY SURE YOU ARE ALL GOING TO LOSE SOME FINGERS.)

LIZZY: Georgiana, of course you are invited as well, but you know what’s going to happen, don’t you?

GEORGIANA: THANK YOU I HAVE SOMEWHERE ELSE TO BE RIGHT NOW.

LIZZY: Of course you do.

And when Darcy says picnic, he means just him, Lizzy, and a packed lunch in a basket.

The servants avert their eyes (out of embarrassment?) as Lizzy and Darcy joins hands like thirteen-year-olds and scamper off on their walk.

LIZZY: I have so much to learn about how to not fail you as a wife in society.

DARCY: At least I’m not a duke.

LIZZY: Duke Darcy. Heeee that sounds awesome.

DARCY: Nah, I’d be the duke of something. Like…Duke of Pemberley. And you’d call me Pemberley.

BERDOLL: LOOK I DID RESEARCH. ^__^

ME: Oh, sit down, you.

LIZZY: Testing, testing…*ahem* OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH PEMBERLEY OH GOD YES PEMBERLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY.



LIZZY: Naaah I prefer to scream “DARCY” mid-coitus.

ME: By Grabthar’s hammer… >_<

---

They wander for about fifteen minutes, then settle in a clearing surrounded by enough trees to seclude them, but still sunny enough to be warm. Darcy spreads the blanket, takes off his jacket and cravat and freezes to death.

They dine on rustic warm roast partridge and torn bread and pared slices of fruit. Darcy lays his head in Lizzy’s lap and she tickles his face with a blade of grass.

WHERE IS THIS GRASS COMING FROM. I have seen grass in December, and it’s…not something I want brushed against my face.

Anyway, cue the Inevitable.

A poacher stumbles upon them mid-make-out and Action!Darcy is immediately on his feet to protect his bride.

The poacher just about pees himself when he recognizes the master of Pemberley and realizes that not only is he poaching on this dude’s land but he is killing the moment and books it.

Lizzy had carefully picked up the fruit-slicing knife to FIGHT FOR HER MAN and now pretends she totally didn’t because she is a LADY not some kind of sexbeast knife-toting Amazon. >_> She flops back upon the blanket to gather her composure, her bosom a-heave.

DARCY: *boobzombies*

They proceed to throw all fear of dying of exposure to the wind and make it in that sun-dappled bubble-world where it is idyllic June all the time, even in December.

---

Meanwhile, the poacher continues on his way, and the narrator tells us that the Darcys are kind enough to allow moderate poaching among the poor who use it to feed their families. Five minutes later, the poacher runs into “the nefarious Thomas Reed”. Tom pushes him down with one hand, and grabs his gun, and tells him to get the fuck out or die. Also, he hits one of the poacher’s dogs. Because we should know that besides being a sadistic murdering psychopath he hates puppies.

TOM: Ugh, that dumbass is so damn POOR his gun isn’t even any good. Whatever. What was I doing here in the first place? Oh right…

“…the fair Mrs. Darcy, that beauteous bounty of woman-flesh.”

WHAT.

WHAT.

---

More flashback for Tom Reed.

Much like Darcy, he has never known “love” before setting eyes on Lizzy. His idea of love is free sex. And his definition of free sex includes rape, as long as he doesn’t lose any money by it. Whores are tricky, though; so he prefers women with no self-esteem and enough of a drinking problem to be unable to fight him off, like Abigail Christie. Though sometimes he likes it when they fight back.

Berdoll why are you doing this he is like a ball of Satan’s smegma with no redeeming qualities or any reason why any person, ever, should like him.

Also, if he was hired as a footman to the house in London, why is he back at Pemberley?

Oh, right. The plot.

Much like Darcy, Tom Reed has an uncanny sense of smell and quite literally follows his nose to the scent of Lizzy’s vagina.

Only, y’know, it’s creepy and evil when he does it.

And to throw another wrench into the works, apparently Tom (now a veritable Peeping one,) was hired before the wedding? And was working on Darcy’s coach long enough to glimpse Miss Elizabeth before her wedding and spend hours imagining her anatomy in explicit detail and growl to himself because he’s not allowed to hit that.

TOM: Yeah, there’s a lot of virgins around Longbourn, but OMG LIZZY’S TITS ARE SO AWESOME.

Why is it always her boobies? And I thought Jane was supposed to be the pretty one?

Anyway, Tom seems to believe that because he’s heard about bored and neglected rich wives having it off with a footman, he’s in with a chance.

He creeps up to watch, but the same foliage that hides him apparently screws up his view of the proceedings, and so he just sits and listens.

Aaaand we are spent unceremoniously finished with chapter thirteen and I need to go eat a Tums and get a sweater because everything is cold and hideous.

---

ETA: Early on in chapter fourteen it is yet again confirmed that we are in the depths of winter. So, yeah. I don't even know. That picnic. What the hell.

Brits, if there is some crazy warm-spells that settle around Derbyshire in the month of December as a matter of course, let me know.
Otherwise, feel free to call enough bullshit to fertilize all the farmland in the county.
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Old May 14th, 2011, 04:40 AM   #40
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Default Re: Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife

Perhaps it was a flashforward? Anyone can do flashbacks, it takes a literary genius to do a flashforward! Although with the advent of Tom's time-traveling job search, perhaps it's a parallel universe thing. Or perhaps the main aim of this prose is to titillate (pun intended) so it's assumed the flaws of continuity would be as overlooked as the dialogue in an X-rated movie while everyone still has their clothes on.
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