#distinctly i would marry YOU for a bit but also a couple other friends. i just think it would be silly to marry one of my friends

[mishapen-moth]

i’ve been waiting for this one

"you cant get married platonically, marriage is about LOVE and COMMITMENT" yeah love for the bit commitment to the bit

[blossom-hwa]

You Look So Lovely, Darling (I’ll Love You for Lifetimes) - |BaL|

Kinda feels weird to be writing the proposal scene so early, but like? This drabble series is all out of order so whatever lmao :) enjoy some sweet nervous channie who just wants his proposal to be perfect <3

(and again, thanks to @deathbykpopboys​ for helping me work out this scene!! I LITERALLY owe you the world if you ever have ANY requests I'll be willing to write them :D)

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, slice of life, single parent!au

Triggers: cursing

Word Count: 2.9k

Chan just wants to give you a picture perfect proposal - why is that so hard?

SKZ Masterlist | Breathe, and Live | Touching Stars (TBZ teacher!au)

Proposing, Chan comes to learn, is no easy task.

It looks so simple in movies. One of the couple pulls a ring out of their pocket, kneels down in front of their significant other, and pops the question. There might be tears, but it always ends in pure joy.

Movies make it seem like a formula, a simple algorithm that Chan just has to follow in order to get this proposal right. In real life, though, Chan thinks he’s about to lose his mind.

Because movies don’t demonstrate how to act in front of an older brother very protective of his sister. They don’t show him how to talk to his children or hers, how best to ask them if they’re all right with gaining new siblings and a new parent. They don’t give him insight on how to pick the perfect god damn ring, something maybe reminiscent of the promise rings you both wear on chains around your necks, but also not too similar because what if you think he isn’t being creative?

And the worst thing is, they don’t tell him how to pick the perfect moment. They don’t tell him where to go, what ambience is right, whether or not little kids in the room will ruin the timing.

At this point, just thinking about proposing turns Chan into a stammering mess. Even though you’ve discussed marriage before, you haven’t made any large moves beyond that. Jisung and Felix have been calling you Mama for a bit, but Hyunjin has only just started calling him Papa, and mostly on accident (though each time he does, Chan’s heart fills with this overwhelming happiness that brings tears to his eyes). What if you decide now isn’t the right time? What if you decide you want to wait a little longer?

What if you decide Chan isn’t the right person for you?

That’s a question that plagues Chan every time his mind even brushes on the topic of marriage.

He loves you, though, he loves you so much. And he knows you’re the right partner for him, even if in the end you might decide he isn’t the right partner for you.

Patience, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. He really should be working on this new track, but instead, he’s staring into his hands, trying to map out the perfect proposal. Not too fast, Chan. Take it in steps.

The only problem is, step one scares him out of his wits.

. . . . .

Chan is a full year older than Minho, and then some. By all rights, he’s the elder, and he shouldn’t be as terrified of the younger man as he is.

Minho’s a scary person, though. He’s driven, concentrated, focused – it’s how he’s gotten so far as both a dancer and a father. Chan knows he’s hardworking, but Minho is just as much, if not more, than he is.

And he’s very protective of you.

(When Minho found out you two were dating, he told Chan, verbatim, “I won’t hesitate to take you to international waters, chop up your body, and toss the parts overboard if you hurt my sister.” Just thinking about the blank expression Minho had on when he spoke those words is almost enough to make Chan lose his nerve.)

But here he is, standing just outside of Minho’s studio, ready to knock. He’s sweating, not because it’s hot or anything (it’s actually pretty cold because Minho is weird like that), but just out of sheer nervousness. His heart feels like it’s pounding a mile a minute.

Oh, God. Chan raises his hand again to rap on the door. Stop thinking. Just do it.

He knocks.

A few seconds later, the dancer opens the door in all his sweaty glory. “Chan?”

“Yeah.” Chan tries to smile, but he’s pretty sure it just looks like a grimace. “Can I ask you something?”

A glint comes into Minho’s eyes. “Of course, come on in.” He opens the door widely, smiling in a distinctly cat-like fashion that is literally scrambling Chan’s brain.

Why does he look like he knows what Chan’s about to ask?

The door swings shut with a soft but audible click, and with the noise goes Chan’s last chance to run away.

“So?” Minho looks over once Chan’s inside the room. He’s enjoying this way too much.

There’s no way he doesn’t know what I want to ask.

“I… um, so I’ve been dating your sister for a few years,” Chan starts.

Minho actually snorts. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Chan can feel the tips of his ears turning bright red. “Right. Um, I just wanted your approval for – I’m planning to – well, with your permission, of course –”

The smirk on Minho’s face only grows with each stuttering word that comes out of Chan’s mouth. And in all honesty, he actually has no idea what he’s saying. All of the sentences he rehearsed in his head before coming here seem to have completely flown out of his brain, and from Minho’s expression, he just sounds like an idiot.

He keeps going anyway, because nervous Chan doesn’t always make the best decisions to make himself look good.

“Well – um, look, I just really love her a lot.” Chan looks down with the admission, knowing he’s definitely rambled too much already, but he needs to get on with it and ask the stupid question. “I… wantedtoaskifyouwouldbeokaywithmeaskingtomarryher.”

Minho leans forward, eyes innocently wide. “Sorry, I didn’t get that, can you repeat what you said again?”

Lee Minho, you are a grade-A asshole.

Face burning, Chan clears his throat. “I wanted to ask if you would be okay with me asking to marry her. Your sister, I mean.”

Silence. Minho leaves him in silence for five whole seconds which feel more like five millennia. Chan thinks he’s going to crumble into dust on the floor out of terror and embarrassment.

“Do you have a ring?” Minho finally asks.

Chan’s cheeks burn redder. “Not… not yet.”

“So you’ll need help picking one, then?” The dancer raises one perfect eyebrow.

“… Yes?”

“Beautiful. I’ll be there whenever you need me.” Minho smiles. “Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Chan just stands there, dumbfounded. “So… is your answer yes?”

The smile immediately drops off of Minho’s face, replaced by an eye roll and a sigh. “Yes, Bang Chan, you idiot.” He punches Chan’s shoulder. “No one’s ever going to fully deserve Y/N, but you’re the closest I think anyone’s going to get. You really thought I’d say no?”

Rubbing his arm, Chan smiles sheepishly. “You can’t blame me for being nervous.”

“What? Nervous, around me?” Minho laughs, sharp and loud. Even though Chan knows he’s teasing, it’s still a bit frightening. “Never would’ve thought that.”

“You’re just proving my point,” Chan says.

“No, I’m not.” Minho smiles, close-lipped and slit-eyed. It’s terrifying. “Now, off you go. And don’t come back unless you need help picking a ring!”

It takes Chan five minutes of sitting in the hallway, garnering strange looks from several people passing by, before his legs are stable enough to take him back to his own studio. Heart still pounding, he mentally crosses a line through step one.

Next comes step two. Chan purses his lips. Step two is a bit less scary than step one (mostly because it involves children and not Lee Minho), but no less challenging.

Well, he got through Minho. Chan sighs. He just has to hope that the kids will be as receptive to the idea of a new parent as Minho was to a brother-in-law.

. . . . .

The kids know that you and Chan are at least, in some shape or form, together. They might not understand the nuances, like how you’re technically dating but don’t always refer to yourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend (because it just feels so much deeper than that, somehow), but they understand that you two “like” each other (Jisung pretends to vomit every time he hears the word “love,” so Chan just uses the word “like” to avoid that) and thus live together.

They love it, most of the time. Hyunjin was a little put out when he found out he would have to share a room with two other boys, but after Minho moved out and Hyunjin realized he would get his uncle’s old (and slightly bigger) room, he happily accepted the new plan. Jisung and Felix were mostly just happy to live with their best friend.

(Children, Chan just thinks. They’re so easy and so hard to please.)

Of course, there are difficulties. Jisung’s sensitive and has more than once broken down when he thinks Chan isn’t giving him enough attention with a new boy in the household. Felix’s tantrums are rarer, but they exist, and Hyunjin is still getting used to sharing his mom with someone else.

They’re a family, though, a messy, mostly happy family that can pull together at the end of the day and whisper “I love yous” to each other before bedtime. And that’s something Chan values more than anything in the world.

Which is why obtaining his kids’ approval for officially tying the knot is something so important to him.

He gathers them together one day in the apartment with the promise of watching a cartoon show after he asks them something. Three pairs of big eyes stare up at him from the couch, and Chan feels his heart melting with love and racing with anxiety.

Chan takes a breath. “Do you know what marriage is?”

“Yeah!” Jisung pipes up. “It’s when a girl and a boy get together and kiss!”

The laughter spills out of Chan’s mouth before he can even think. “Well, not quite, Jisung,” he chokes out, trying to stifle his remaining giggles. “It’s when two people who love each other very much get together officially. Marriage can be between a woman and a man, a man and a man, or a woman and a woman. Any two people can get married.”

Three small heads bob their heads in understanding.

“I wanted to ask you three if you would be okay with me marrying Y/N.” Chan looks each of the boys in the eye. “Is it?”

Felix nods quickly. “Yes!”

Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “Are we still going to live together?”

Chan smiles. “Yes, Sungie.”

The other twin nods. “Okay!”

Hyunjin’s mouth pouts slightly. “Will I have to call you Papa?”

A little piece of Chan’s heart breaks, but he tries not to show it. “No, of course not, Hyunjin.” He smiles as brightly as he can. “You can keep calling me Channie or Uncle Channie or whatever you want. You don’t have to call me Papa if you don’t want to.”

Hyunjin’s round, dark eyes gaze into his with a solemnity Chan honestly didn’t know toddlers could have. “Do you want me to call you Papa?”

Oh, fuck.

What the hell does Chan say to that?

With a sigh, he decides to be honest. “I would love it if you did, Hyunjin, but like I said, you don’t have to. I’ll never force you to do something you really don’t want to.”

There are a few seconds of silence, then Hyunjin nods. “Okay. You can marry my Mama.”

A weight lifts itself off of Chan’s chest and he smiles, freer this time. “Thank you, kids. One more thing – don’t tell Y/N about this!” He looks into each of their eyes, trying to convey how serious he is but in a fun way. “It’s a secret, okay?”

“Like a spy mission?” Jisung bounces in excitement.

The smile on his face widens. “Yes, Sungie. Like a spy mission.” He looks at the other two boys. “Do you promise? Pinky promise?” He holds out his pinkie.

The three resulting shouts of “YES!” make Chan hope their neighbors won’t come knocking. But even if they did, Chan thinks, he wouldn’t care.

He’d go to the ends of the earth to defend these three kids, after all.

. . . . .

Step three goes by in a flash. Out of sheer anxiety, Chan actually takes a full day off from work and calls Minho for help in finding the perfect ring.

Miraculously, he finds something within his budget range – a silver band with a small diamond set in the center. It’s simple but elegant, and the diamond glints beautifully in the sunlight. Really, the ring matches the way Chan often finds himself summing up your existence.

So only the last step remains: the actual proposal.

Looking back, Chan has no idea why he thought each of the other steps was so stressful. This is pure stress, he thinks, waiting for the perfect time to pop the question. Should he plan something extravagant? Or should he just go with the flow? When is the perfect time, anyway? What constitutes “perfect” in your mind? In his?

Minho just tells him to wait for the moment he thinks is “right.” But what the hell does “right” even mean?

“You’ll figure it out.” The dancer gives Chan a bright grin, patting his shoulder. “And if you don’t, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

Chan just puts his face in his hands and screams.

. . . . .

When Chan proposes, the sky is dark. The kids are already tucked in bed, and you’re sitting on the couch, leaning into his shoulder as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

Absently strumming his guitar, Chan smiles down at your face, illuminated by your phone’s glow. As if sensing him staring, you look up as well. “Sing me something?” you murmur.

“Of course, love.” He leans down to kiss the top of your head. “What song?”

“Anything you choose,” you reply. “Anything.”

Chan thinks for a moment, then starts strumming the instrument.

Softly, with mood, tightly hug her

Use it once a day, every day…

When your eyes meet hers, smile.

The characteristic chords of one of your favorite songs make you relax even further into Chan’s body, a smile blooming across your face. He badly wants to stop playing and just kiss you good and full, but he keeps his fingers strumming the guitar.

Let her breathe under a different sky, a different wind,

Sometimes, kiss her without a plan…

Chan almost stops playing.

Without a plan.

He doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t have any proper plan on how he’s going to pull the little box out of his pocket and ask the question. But now…

Maybe he’s got an idea.

The final chords die away, and Chan finally gets his long-awaited kiss when you sit up lethargically, pressing your lips to his softly. “Are you awake enough for one more?” he whispers when you pull away.

“Mm, one more.” You nod happily, snuggling back into his side. “Then sleep.”

Chan takes a breath. One chance, Chan. This is your chance.

His fingers start strumming a song very familiar by now to him and the boys. From the way your eyes light up, you recognize it too.

It doesn’t have words. It’s just a collection of guitar chords, hastily arranged in a sweet, rough melody. In the track version, it would have piano, but because Chan only has two hands, he has to make do with just the strings of the guitar.

It’s the first song he ever wrote for his twins, the song he created that day so many years ago when they weren’t even born, when they were still kicking in their mother’s stomach. They think of it as their family song, the song he plays when the twins are sad, when they can’t get to sleep, or when they just want to hear something nice.

The last strains of the song fade away and Chan looks at you to see a tear glittering on your cheek. “You play that when the boys are sad,” is all you say. “It’s your family song.”

Chan smiles softly. “But you’re part of the family too.”

When he pulls out the box, your eyes widen. “Chan –”

“Shh.” He presses a finger gently to your lips. “Y/N, the past few years you’ve been with me have been some of the best of my life, and I can’t ever thank you enough for staying with me all this time.” There’s a tear welling up in Chan’s eye, but he blinks it away. “I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, if you would marry me.”

There’s a moment of silence that nearly gives Chan a heart attack. What if you say no?

“You – you stupid romantic sap.” The tears are really sliding down your cheeks now, but your mouth is smiling wide. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Chan. I’ll marry you.”

Chan can’t speak as he slides the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. Throat choked, he can only pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder as your tears soak his shirt. “I love you so much,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough for to see your eyes sparkling with love, so much love. Your touch intoxicates him, with your fingers pressing gently against his skin as you press your lips to his in a sweet, sweet kiss.

Yes, he thinks. You’re the right partner for him.

The perfect partner for him.

Teary-eyed, he smiles. “I love you too.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 congratulations for the newly engaged couple!!!)

[traincat]

I feel like I've read a ton, but I'm honestly still pretty new to comics rn. That being said... What is one more day? Ik we don't like it and it happened a while ago, but that's about it [,=

Time for Spider-Man History With Traincat: Highly Controversial Storylines! And that feeling is totally normal with comics with huge canons -- you can read a ton and still have some fairly big blindspots in your understanding of the total picture. That being said, this is kind of a big one, both in terms of Spider-Man history/canon and in terms of how Spider-Man fandom functions. I would say probably no other storyline has had quite as much impact on how the fandom views and interacts with the source material as One More Day/Brand New Day. It's been the Wild West out here ever since it happened. (Which was in 2007, so like, yes, fairly long ago, especially when you look at how Spider-Man canon has evolved since, but in the grand scheme of things, also kind of recent. One More Day is not old enough to rent a car.)

So when people talk about Spider-Man's One More Day, they're usually actually talking about two related arcs: One More Day and Brand New Day. For the sake of simplicity, I'm going to be covering both. For the sake of transparency, I am going to admit that I think One More Day, as a self-contained story, is good, actually. This is controversial! I admit that! But I stand by my stupid opinions on this blog, for some reason. I think One More Day when you examine it on its own, by which I mean you ignore the decade and a half worth of canon that came after it, as a Spider-Man story and as a PeterMJ-centric story holds up under scrutiny and that people who don't like it don't like complicated love stories and might actually throw their own mothers under buses. No offense to the OMD haters. Little bit of offense to the OMD haters. Brand New Day, which is the continuation of One More Day, on the other hand -- largely bad. Very largely bad.

But let's backtrack. One More Day is a four issue crossover storyline that takes place directly after Civil War, during which Iron Man and Captain America got divorced and divvied up the superhero community and Spider-Man made some startlingly bad decisions and made a fugitive out of himself and his family in a manner that got Aunt May shot, and Spider-Man: Back in Black (Amazing Spider-Man #539–543) which examines Peter's actions immediately after Aunt May is shot and ends with him humiliating the Kingpin in front of an entire prison. One More Day consists of Amazing Spider-Man #544 -> Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #24 -> Sensational Spider-Man v2 #41 -> Amazing Spider-Man #545. In One More Day, Aunt May is dying, all of Peter's efforts to save her have thus far failed, and, consumed by guilt, he is rapidly running out of time. Approached by Mephisto, a literal demon from hell, Peter is offered a deal: Aunt May will live -- and Peter's identity, which was previously revealed to the world at large during Civil War, will once again be hidden from the memories of all but a select few -- if Peter trades him his marriage to Mary Jane. Peter and Mary Jane struggle with this, but eventually both agree to the deal. The clock strikes twelve, the deal is done, and Peter and Mary Jane's marriage fades into history.

(ASM #545) A reasonably simple premise for a story that caused so many problems -- most, I would argue, not actually the original story's fault. So obviously, this was an unpopular move -- Peter and Mary Jane had for a long time been a fan favorite Marvel couple, and in a fictional universe where most relationships are doomed as soon as they begin, the enduring Spider-Marriage was sacred ground. And then, with a snap of its fingers, it was gone: Peter wakes up in Aunt May's house, no longer married, with Mary Jane out of the picture. (She would not return to the book on any sort of consistent basis for over 50 issues.) In the wake of One More Day began Brand New Day, which is basically what it sounds like: a promised "brand new day" of "exciting" Spider-Man content and a publishing schedule where Amazing Spider-Man came out three times a month. (Which sounds good on paper but I think in practice caused more problems than it created good storylines.) Peter, newly single again, had new love interests! And also Harry Osborn was alive again for some reason! I generally like Harry's post-BND stories so that part's fine with me.

But overall? Brand New Day is a mess. It knows it wants to tread new and exciting ground with Peter -- tell new stories! ensnare new readers! make them fork out for a book three times a month. -- but it doesn't know what those stories should be. Readers who were invested in Peter and Mary Jane's relationship -- a major facet of Spider-Man comics for decades at that point -- felt rightfully betrayed that the marriage could be so easily traded in and that Mary Jane herself, perhaps the second most important figure in Spider-Man comics after Peter, could be tossed aside. From a personal point of view, I think Brand New Day fails in large part because it abandons what has always made Spider-Man such a compelling series, and that's the mix of Peter's personal life with his vigilante life. BND sees Peter with new friends, new jobs, new love interests, etc -- it is very much a brand new day! But it isn't a better day compared to the stories that came before it. I do like some post-BND stories, especially American Son (ASM #595-599) and Grim Hunt (ASM #634-637), but compared to pre-BND where I think the majority of canon is good, it's a very lacking body of work that is hurt by the way it divorced itself from the PeterMJ marriage as Spider-Man's central relationship.

"But Traincat, I thought you said you liked One More Day?" Yeaaaaah. I do. This is why I keep saying I like One More Day on its own merits, and not on the merits of the stories it opened the doors for. I like a good romantic tragedy in fiction, and the way Peter and Mary Jane's final scene in One More Day plays out is beautiful. I like the idea of Peter caught in this impossible situation, being asked to choose between two women he loves more than his own life. A really common criticism I see leveled against One More Day is that Peter should have chosen his relationship with Mary Jane over May's life, which is -- okay, I think it's weird that people keep insisting on this, not in the least because by asking Peter to sacrifice his aunt's life they're essentially demanding he commit a callous, out of character act in order to further his own interests. It's also weird because the thing is, Peter already chose Mary Jane over May -- that's what gets them into this situation. It's literally in the scene where May is shot:

(ASM #538) When the gun goes off, Peter's spider-sense kicks in, and he covers Mary Jane, leaving May in the path of the bullet. He does choose Mary Jane over May, regardless of whether he realized what he was doing. And that's why he can't make that choice a second time. His actions in One More Day do make sense for him as a character, whether or not any individual reader likes them, and Mary Jane's actions make sense, too -- after all, she's the one who ultimately tells Mephisto that they agree to the deal when Peter can't bring himself to voice it.

A lot of people also like to nitpick One More Day by going, well, why could (x) or (y) with life saving powers save Aunt May which is like -- yeah, I guess, but if we're going to ask that about this specific comic book near death setup, you kind of have to do it with every single one, and I'm not going to stake every single moment of comic book drama on whether or not that gold kid from the X-Men was busy at the time. Comics are soap operas in flimsy paper form: serialized longform storytelling that relies heavily on melodrama. Sometimes you have to go with things. Sometimes you sell your marriage to the devil. Stuff happens. That in and of itself doesn't make One More Day a bad story -- and while some people blame the Spider-Marriage's dissolution entirely on One More Day, I think that's a little shortsighted when you look at the history of Spider-Man since the turn of the century. It's clear -- and Marvel themselves have been perhaps a little too open about this -- that Marvel in the past few decades has had trouble with the direction they want to take Spider-Man. They WANTED Spider-Man to appeal to a distinctly youthful audience that they didn't think they were actually reaching -- understandable, considering that Marvel nearly went bankrupt around 2000 and was saved by Ultimate Spider-Man, an out of main continuity series which retold Spider-Man from the beginning and focused heavily on Peter as a teen -- but the problem was Spider-Man in the main continuity was at that point in canon a happily married man who was pushing the dreaded 30 whether or not they wanted to admit that. This is also why Marvel has continually pivoted away from Spider-Man having kids, because they feared that making him a dad would age him too much and make him unrelatable to their coveted audience of Teens. (This is also why almost every new Spider-Man property, especially the live action movies, perpetually stick him back into high school, despite that occupying a very small slice of 616 canon.) So around the year 2000, they started trying things in relation to the Spider-Marriage, which was viewed as a major problem -- after all, what's more adult than being married and liking your wife. First, they had Mary Jane presumed dead. Then, they had Mary Jane and Peter separate. Then, when Mary Jane and Peter had only recently gotten back together, One More Day struck. If One More Day specifically hadn't gone the way it had, it's pretty clear that the Spider-Marriage was going to go one way or another -- it's a little bit of a shame it happened when it did, because OMD is the end of J Michael Straczynski's run, and JMS wrote a really beautiful Peter and MJ relationship. But Marvel as a company and especially editor in chief at the time Joe Quesada viewed Peter and Mary Jane's relationship as a major problem in how they wanted to portray Spider-Man and thought that striking the relationship from the books would allow them more freedom in their portrayal of him as younger and more relatable to their Desired Audience of people who I guess really wanted to see Peter sleep with characters who weren't Mary Jane.

(ASM #546. Younger! Fresher! Less attached! Kissing random women in the club!)

The problem with One More Day has always been in the follow through -- from the content of Brand New Day to the pacing of events to the fact that Marvel withheld key information for such a long time that it allowed misinformation to thrive. After all, what does it MEAN to trade Peter and Mary Jane's marriage to the devil? It altered the events of canon in Peter and the majority of other characters' memories so that the marriage didn't exist, but it left people wondering -- did the relationship as they remembered it existed? How much of Spider-Man canon was altered? And the answers didn't come for over 100 issues of Amazing Spider-Man. One Moment In Time or OMIT (Amazing Spider-Man #638-641), which revealed that while Peter and Mary Jane never got married in the altered canon they did continue their long committed relationship up until just after Civil War, was published in 2010, so essentially readers were hung out to dry without answers for three years. That's a long time to string people along, but not as long as it took Marvel to confirm that the popular fan theory that Mary Jane retained her memories of the original timeline as part of her own deal with Mephisto was also true, which happened this year. I would say, at least from my perspective, a lot of the frustration doesn't come from the individual One More Day storyline so much as how Marvel has continually dragged out the aftermath, using the promise of a Spider-Marriage return to keep fans on the hook. Which is why One More Day continually comes up in discussion of current Spider-Man, because Spencer's run has relied very heavily on imagery from that period with a serious question of whether or not there actually was going to be payoff, something which is still up in the air.

This has been Spider-Man History With Traincat, brought to you by anonymice like you.

[asphalt-cocktail]

Finding my way back

Summary: Nearly a decade after you and John break up you manage to find your way back to him.

A/N: Hello my dears! So I wrote this for Beatle and Queen secret santa exchange! Apologies it’s not heavily Christmas/holiday themed; it does take place during winter so I hope that counts for something. I hope you enjoy your fic as much as i enjoyed writing it @sweetrosetta-martin​! I wrote this after I heard the song Green Papaya by Lianne La Havas which makes me feel some type of way. Also shout out to @casafrass​ and @moodysunflowergirl​ for putting this together! Thank you for all your hard work and organization for this! 

Pairing: John Lennon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Okay friends, we’ve got a bit of everything in here! It’s got some mild illusions to smut and steamy smooches, some angst, some fluff, pinning, longing, break ups, cigarettes, alcohol (I think), swearing, we’ve got Teddy boy!John and 70s!John. But no actual smut. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Your heart ached in your chest as you sat in front of John, “What do you mean we can’t see each other anymore?” Your voice cracked with emotion.

John watched your watery eyes from behind his glasses and let out a deep sigh, “I’m going to be touring a lot and Brian wants us to move to London, so I just…” His own voice cracked with emotion, “So I just don’t think we should keep seeing each other.” He looked away unable to maintain eye contact with you.

“But we survived Germany!” You protested back, “It will be okay, I can visit you when you have shows nearby,” You wanted this to work, being with John felt like home. You sniffed, “You know like wait backstage with flowers and everything.” You said and began to rub your stinging eyes.

You were right, the two of you had survived Germany, but it was only because it lasted a few short months and your relationship was open out of respect for the two of you; John didn’t know how long this Beatles thing was going to last and from the looks of it, it was going to last quite a while. John rubbed the tears from behind his glasses, smudging his finger along the lenses and clouding the vision of your perfect face. He squeezed your hand tightly in his own, “It’ll be fine I promise,” He said pausing to kiss your knuckles, “I love you [Y/N] I really do, and if it’s meant to be we will be together again.” He gave you one last chaste kiss; your faces were wet from tear and it was sad and short lived. You embraced him tightly inhaling the scent of cigarettes, mint gun, and a smell that was so distinctly John before finally letting him go to part ways.

The two of you exchanged letters for the first few months of his first tour, but at this point it has been so long that you didn’t remember who stopped writing who and honestly, why did it matter? John was constantly an aching thought in the back of your mind, and you had constant reminders of him from posters to news articles, to full size cardboard cut outs that sat in record stores. It seemed everywhere you turned you saw him which only increased the yearning.

It took several months but you finally found yourself back in a routine that didn’t include John, it was almost like when he went to Germany except this time he wasn’t coming back for good. You finished up school, found a job working in marketing, and had several shitty boyfriends before you found yourself in New York city working in the marketing division of a fashion brand and met Noah. He was nice, but he wasn’t John.

He didn’t smoke cigarettes, or wear glasses, and couldn’t understand art. But he was here, and the sex was pretty okay.

Noah was nice and he made you a pot of coffee every morning he slept over and didn’t try to pry too far into your personal life. All around you didn’t have any qualms with him; it just didn’t feel complete.

The scent of freshly roasted coffee drifted through your home as you woke up with your alarm clock blaring in your ears. You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and rolled out of bed. Noah was busying himself in the kitchen, you should just ask him to move in at this point. “Did you get the paper?” You asked sitting down at the table.

“On the counter, love.” He answered before grabbing it and sliding it across the table towards you. Much to your surprise in big bold letters on the front page “PAUL SPLITS THE BEATLES” were plastered across it. Naturally a picture of the doe-eyed man you once called a friend accompanied it as well as a smaller picture of the group.

“Fucking Christ.” You mumbled to yourself and turned the page, hoping to find something else to read, some couple getting married or some advice column, but no, your eyes continued to draw themselves back to the fab four and specifically John. He looked wildly different now; long hair, glasses, eccentric wardrobe all made him look almost unfamiliar

You finally gave in and read the article; from what you observed in the news and on television tensions were high between the four and it seemed as though fame had gotten the best of them, “Crazy, right?” Noah asked handing you a cup of coffee, “Who would have thought? It looked like they were going to be together forever. But get your riches and split I guess, yeah?”

A sour feeling filled your belly, John and Paul cared more about the Beatles than Noah could ever know. The idea of get rich and dip was ridiculous, wasn’t it? “I don’t think that is the case.” You mumbled before abruptly getting up to get ready for work, forgetting your morning coffee.

It had been almost a decade since you had last seen John, and a lot could have changed. He was no longer the tough teddy boy you had grown to love. His hair had grown out and he was with Yoko Ono now, from the looks of if they were essentially attached at the hip. A part of you hoped you and Noah would never achieve that level of need in your relationship.

Unfortunately, as months passed there seemed to be no other way to progress your and Noah’s relationship and one day he slept over and never left. You no longer had your own space to escape to or much alone time aside from when Noah came home an hour after you from work. You felt throttled and frankly didn’t like it, nor did you like Noah much anymore. It seemed like the right step though, after three years of dating; you could tell Noah craved monogamy.  

Your day at work was long and exhausting. All you could think of was your hour of peace and quiet before Noah came home and talked about his boring life at work. If you had to use a color to describe your life it would be grey, dull, boring, no vibrancy or excitement.

New York was full of bright vibrant colors and never slept; it was much livelier that than the cloudy northern United Kingdom city you once called home, but in the small apartment that you lived in there was constant monotony. Waking up, making coffee, going to work, coming home, reading and making dinner, going to sleep; only to repeat that for five days in a row and then sit around the house during the weekend, or leave to get groceries if you were lucky. If you were unlucky, Noah’s accountant friends would come over and talk your ear off about their corporate work life you just couldn’t wrap your head around.

Your mind was swimming with thoughts, mostly about your stagnant life as you navigated your way off the subway once you reached your stop and walked off. It was loud and cramped as everyone flooded off; you kept your head low and pushed your way through the crowd. A firm, but boney shoulder pushed into you causing your thoughts to flee and your brows furrowed as you looked up, “Watch it, asshole.” You mumbled under your breath and looked up before you froze.

Your eyes locked with a pair of eyes that were all too familiar and all the breath in your body seemed to leave, “[Y/N]?” John asked you, seemingly just as shocked as you were.

Despite being in the subway station the world around you stopped. A few sputtering words came out to form an incoherent sentence as you were consumed with shock. Your body became ridged and you sharply exhaled before turning and continuing your short jaunt home.

That night you laid on your side and your mind was consumed with so many thoughts, mostly John if you were being honest. You’d thought you had long since blocked the ghost from your memory, but it appeared that seeing him caused a number of memories to rouse from the depths of your consciousness. You hated it. John Lennon was once again living in your head rent free.

Noah gripped your side and kissed along your shoulders and neck while his hand rubbed your hips and slowly began to wander upwards towards your breasts. The sudden touch caused you to jump, “Not tonight,” You mumbled trying to sound tired.

Noah let out a soft sigh before giving your shoulder one last kiss, “Sorry, you had a long day, love.” He said pulling you close against him and resting his head on your shoulder. As you pretended to sleep you laid in your bed and stared at the wall of darkness in your room.

When the hell did John come to New York?

Did he live nearby?

Was Yoko with him?

Questions swirled around in your mind; questions that would not get answered unless you actively sought out an answer.

As sleep consumed you, you dreamt of John.

The Reeperbahn had a smell you would never forget. You didn’t know cities could have distinct smells until you traveled to Germany to visit John for the first time since he had left Liverpool. It was a combination of pollution, beer, and a smell you had hoped to never figure out what caused it. From his letters this place seemed larger than life, and when you took your first steps off the train you saw it was.

John tackled you with a warm hug, he smelled like sweat, beer, and cigarettes, “You stink.” You grinned and laughed as he kissed your face all over.

“Our options are kind of limited, love.” He grinned and wrapped his arm around your waist keeping you close to him as the two of you walked down the busy street.

He took you to a restaurant, you honestly hadn’t expected him to take you on a date especially with where you were and how little money he had. “Come on, I’ve got a show in two hours,” He grinned, excited to have you watch him play.

“And then we met this group of Germans, they’ll be at the show tonight. I know you’ll love them.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, “Stu is going with one of them, Astrid. She’s great too, her ma lets us shower at her place and makes us dinner sometimes.” You soaked in all the stories John had to share.

His life seemed so exciting here in Germany, but you could see how exhausted he was beginning to get, “You’ve got to hear how we sound now, Pete’s still shit, but Paul, George and I are really getting better.” He shifted in his seat and poked at his food, “I don’t know if Stu is going to stick with us much longer though; he’s been talking about going back to art school.”

That night you and John slept cramped together in his little bunk bed in the back room. You woke up to him rubbing your arm with the tips of his calloused fingers and he kissed your shoulder.

Rolling over you captured his lips in a soft kiss, he tasted of beer and cigarettes and he clung to you, holding you so close it almost hurt. Breaking the kiss, he began to pepper soft kisses along your jaw and neck, “I love you so much,” He said between heavy breaths.

“I love you too John.” You responded letting out a soft whimper as his fingers began to rub you through the cloth short wore to sleep.

With a gasp you shot up in bed, coated in a layer of sweat and looked around the still dark room, wide eyed. Noah rubbed his sleepy eyes as he woke up, “What’s wrong, hun?” He asked.

You gained control of your breathing once more and laid back down, still uncomfortably sweaty; “Nothing, just a nightmare.” You answered and swallowed thickly.

---

For weeks, John plagued your mind and you were starting to convince yourself that you hadn’t truly seen him and that you were just going crazy. Your sleep was becoming more and more restless as time went on. It got so noticeable that even Noah questioned it.

“Take some time off, hun, you work too much.” He said.

So that was what you did. You finally had a week off after what felt like ages.

It was nice, but you were barely half a day into your vacation, and you began to feel restless. What could you possibly do to fill your time?

Your mind began to wander and drift off to thoughts of John; a wave of nausea immediately washed over you. “I need to leave.” You abruptly said and grabbed your purse and house keys before leaving your flat.

You soon found yourself at Central Park. Despite it being autumn, the weather was nice, the kind of nice where you look outside, and it seems warmer than it is. The breeze was soft but brisk you walked through the park enjoying the breath of fresh air. As you walked through the running paths you admired the changing leaves and the crunching sound they made under your feet.

You eyed a bench that overlooked The Lake, so cleverly named, and brushed the fallen leaves that covered it before you sat down. For once you felt like your mind was free from worry and the anxieties that had been consuming you the last several weeks.

That was until you got up and saw a familiar figure walking down the path that would directly cause yours. A shot of adrenaline shot through you and your heart began to race. It was as though your fight or flight responses had kicked in and they were telling you to get the fuck out of there. You frantically looked around and it felt like a lose-lose situation with whatever option you chose. So, you stayed; how bad was it going to be? Maybe he wouldn’t even notice?

John walked past your little out cove and glanced at you and then looked again, “Fucking hell.” He mumbled stopping in his tracks.

The two of you stood frozen, staring at each other for what seemed like a lifetime before John finally broke the silence, “I thought I saw you at the subway station.” He said bluntly, his familiar voice causing a warm feeling to erupt in your belly and spread to the tips of your fingers.

You opened your mouth and closed it, trying to think of something to say, “You did.” Was what you finally spoke.

“Right,” He sighed, looking down in defeat.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets and shifted the weight on your feet, “Do you want to sit?” You asked abruptly.

John looked at you through his round lenses and nodded, “Sure, I could sit for a while.” He answered.

The two of you sat across from each other on your respective benches, “So, how long have you lived here for?” John asked watching you nervously pick at your fingers.

You looked up from your hands, “About 6 years now.” You leaned back, now feeling confident enough to study his features. His face was thinner, age lines had begun to map themselves out on his face, and his hair was messily layered and framed the sides of his face nicely. He was still as handsome as ever, “How long have you lived here for?”

John cleared his throat and pulled out his cigarettes, placing one in his mouth, “About two years now,” the conversation was weird, like the two of you didn’t know what to talk about. You watched as John’s long fingers light his cigarette, the spicy smell filling the space between the two of you and the smoke delicately curling up towards the sky, “So do you work near by or something?” He asked casually crossing his legs and resting his arm on the back of the bench.

You shook your head, “No, I don’t I just needed to get out of the house.” You said, staring at the reason you felt urged to leave your home in the first place, “I only live about six blocks away. It’s a nice walk.” You added, your stomach suddenly feeling sour as you remembered Noah.

John hummed, inhaling deeply on the cigarette the ember burning a bright red before dimming ever so slightly, “Do you work at all?” His tone came off ruder than expected, but you knew he didn’t intend for it to.

“Marketing.” You answered simply. Your brain swam with question you had for your former lover, “Do you live nearby?” You asked returning the question back to him.

John nodded behind him, “The Dakotas.” He mimicked your shortness. You looked and could see the large building peaking out from the tops of the trees.

You hummed, “Must be nice.” You said flashing him a closed mouth smile.

“It is.” He added and stood up, taking one last deep inhale before stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette in the snow and putting it in his pocket, “You look good, you know.” He said, his eyes studying your seated form before settling on your face.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious and very aware of your existence you crossed pulled your winter coat tighter around you, “So do you John.” You responded, “You’ll have to show me your place sometime.” You boldly suggested.

John flashed you a crooked smile before fishing around in his pocket, “Call me and I’ll see if I can fit you into my schedule.” He said before handing you a business card. Of course, he had business cards.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you took the thick and expensive paper and pocketed it, “I’ll have my people call your people.” You allowed a smile to break your nervous features.

That night your mind saw no peace. You sat in the bathroom staring at the business card in your hand. It was nearly 3 am and the delicate gold letters reflected in the shitty florescent lights that made your eyes ache as you repeatedly read the phone number and name.

The rest of your vacation it seemed as though you were not going to get the mental break you so desperately craved. You watched as Noah left for work and felt a pang of guilt rising in your chest; a pice of you felt greedy for wanting to see John again. So, you figured it would be best to tuck it away in the back of your mind to the place where your other thoughts of John lived and put the card away in a shoe box and tried to forget.

---

Forgetting about your interaction with John seemed to work well, that is until you and Noah broke up.

He stood in the doorway with the boxes of his things. You could tell he didn’t feel great, and neither did you. But a piece of you felt thankful that he was finally moving out. After seeing John your body craved the spontaneity that he used to give you, and the spontaneity that Noah had lacked.

Once the last of his things were moved from your apartment you felt as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You felt good, like a breath of fresh air. You busied yourself by rearranging your home and filling the empty spaces that Noah left after he and his belongings vacated your space.

As you moved your shoe boxes and rearranged your closet a business card slipped from the tear in one of them. It was the one that John had given you only a few months ago.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the intricate gold letters you familiarized yourself with that night that seemed so long ago. You looked at the clock, it was only 4 PM and you had hoped he wasn’t busy.

You curled up on your couch and held the phone receiver against your ear listening to it ring as you absentmindedly played with the stiff card in your hand.

“Hello?” You instantly recognized John’s voice.

“John?” You responded back, “It’s, um, it’s [Y/N]” You felt a surge of nerves pulse through you.

“You know, I expected you to call sooner.” John skipped the formal greetings.

You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, “Yeah, sorry about that. I suppose nerves got the best of me.” It wasn’t a whole truth, but a half truth, “Do you think you’d be interested in showing me your place sometime?” you asked remembering back to the conversation the two of you had several months prior.

John hummed and you could hear the soft rustle of paper in the background before he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I suppose I could fit you in. Did you want to stay for dinner?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, “Dinner?” You question out loud and let out a puff of air, “Yeah, I suppose I could.”

“Right, so 6 o’clock sound good?” John asked, “I can send a car for you.”

“A car?” You asked, not accustom to the luxuries of being a Beatle, “I can walk it’ll be fine.”

John let out a sigh, “It’s freezing outside and nearly pitch black. You aren’t walking.” He said firmly.

“Fine.” You answered in defeat and gave him your address to send the car.

“Right, be ready by 5:30.” He said  

“Shit, okay.” You said before bidding him farewell and scrambling to get ready. The sleek black car arrived and drove you to the Dakotas. It was nice, far nicer than any building you had ever been in before. The driver walked you up to John’s apartment and let you in.

The room was decorated in a hodgepodge of John’s interests, from music to art to antiques; with everything tastefully on display. John walked out, dressed casually in a shirt, jeans, and no shoes and drank in your figure as you stripped off your jacket. You shifted nervously under his intense gaze, “So, you wanted a tour, yeah?” John asked.

You nodded and watched as he crossed his arms over his chest, admiring how his biceps flexed and bulged when his hands rested in position, “Yeah, a tour.” You said secretly hoping this would amount to much more than a tour.

John stretched his arms out, “Well welcome to my humble home.” He greeted in a grandiose manor.

Humble, right.

John’s home was more extravagant than you could have imagined. It was much better than the apartment he lived in with Stu or the back room they had in Hamburg and even better than when he lived with Mimi. He had several cats that roamed around his home; it made you smile and remember the time he brought a stray home and convinced Mimi to keep him. It seemed as though old habits died hard when it came to John.

The two of you made your way back to his living room and he sat down on his couch, “Come on, sit.” He said patting the spot next to him.

“Oh,” You abruptly said, not noticing you had been standing in the middle of the room studying the various things on the wall, “Right.” You quickly sat on the couch uncomfortably stiff, “So… dinner?” You asked.

John nodded his head, not having forgotten the food and pulled out a box of take out menus, “Do you want to order something, I haven’t gotten much for groceries this week.” He admitted sheepishly.

You rifled through the various menus in his collection, “So,” You started, “Where is Yoko?” You asked honestly wondering where his other half was.

“We’re separated right now.” He said sounding uncomfortable.

You glanced over at John and noted his somber expression, this was obviously a topic he didn’t want to talk about. “Sorry to pry.” You said before sliding him the menu of one of your favorite Chinese restaurants in the area.

“It’s a valid question.” He stated, now intently focused on the menu, “What about you?” He asked, peaking up to glance at you before quickly looking away.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, your love life and what not.” He followed up quickly.

You shifted uncomfortably, “Oh, well my ex just moved out today.”

John arched one of his thick brows, “Hm,” He grunted, “Nice lad?” He questioned.

You shrugged, “Yeah, I suppose. Just boring.” You answered thinking back to the stale and stagnant version of your life that was your reality only a week ago.

John watched you frown in distain before he got up to place your orders, “What did you want again?” He asked.

“The number 23 dinner special with an eggroll.” You had your order memorized.

As John placed the order on his telephone, you listened to the sound of his muffled voice and leaned back on the couch. It was interesting how despite not seeing each other for nearly a decade, you still found your way back to him. One of his cats climbed their way on your lap and purred as you scratched behind its ears.

“She likes you.” John said as he walked back into the room, “Food should be here in 45 minutes.” He said plopping back down. The black cat nuzzled its head into your head and let out a soft meow.

“What’s her name?” You asked enjoying the attention your newfound friend was giving you.

“Salt.” He said, a smile cracking his features.

“Salt?” You asked letting out a small huff of laughter.

“Her sister, Pepper is somewhere around here.” He said reaching over and petting Salt, scratching her behind the ears.

Your 45 minutes with John was spent chatting and catching up, he talked about Mimi and told you that she asked about you often and he never knew how to respond, and you talked to him about how you finished college and began your marketing job.

It was interesting how the two of you were able to smooth over the awkwardness of your conversation in just a few short hours, unlike your previous run ins. The familiar warm feeling you would get every time you’d talk to him quickly returned. When your food arrived the doorman from the front of the building brought it up and the two of you laid out your spread on the coffee table.

John walked over to a shelf of movies and pulled one out. He turned towards you, flashing you the box. It didn’t surprise you when he showed you Clockwork Orange. It was a very John movie, “Want to watch it?” He asked smiling softly.

You nodded your head, “Pop it in.” You said waving your hand towards his television.

The movie played in the background as the two of you continued to talk and eat your takeaway, “How are you doing?” You asked.

“I’m fine, how are you?” He responded a confused expression plastered on his face.

You shook your head, “No, John I really mean it; how are you?” You said giving him a sympathetic expression.

Putting his chopsticks down, John sighed, “I don’t know.” He pursed his lips deep in thought, “I mean I suppose I’ve been better.” He answered honestly, “I mean, my wife left me, my friends I’ve known for the last two decades don’t really want much to do with me.” John shrugged his should and looked away from you.

You nodded your head reaching over and grabbing his hand, rubbing it with your thumb before you patted it lightly and pulled it away. John chased your hand with his own and laced his fingers with yours. The rough underside of his palm brushed against your soft ones. The contrasting touch made you shiver, “I missed you.” He said and squeezed your hand.

John brought your hand to the side of his face and pressed your palm to his cheek, leaning into the warmth of your hand, “I missed you too.” You said as you thumb stroked his cheek bone. He turned his face and kissed your skin.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat and the feeling of John’s lips burned into your palm. You watched him, his eyes closed and a calm expression taking over his tense body. Slowly you slid closer to him, closing what little space was between the two of you, “John,” You said breaking the soft silence that had settled between the two of you. He hummed and looked up at you urging you to continue, “You know what you told me when we broke up?”

John looked down, you could tell that the topic hurt him as much as it hurt you, “If it’s meant to be, we’ll find each other.” He said softly now looking at your fingers as he played with them.

In this moment he just looked like John, you’re John you had last seen nearly a decade ago. You pulled your fingers away from him and cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. Hesitantly you moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of John’s body radiating off him. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as your noses touched, lightly brushing against each other.

A soft whimper manifested itself in the back of your throat and trickled out when you felt John press his lips against yours. He pulled your close against his chest and held you against him tightly craving your warmth and body. Your mouths moved with a familiar synchronicity, so familiar it caused your stomach to ache as you frantically clung to John. Your hand managed to fall from his face and tangle itself in his shirt as you tried to pull him closer.

The way your nose bumped against his glasses reminded you of when you were 18 and sneaking into Mimi’s house, giggling as he told you to quiet down while the two of you kissed. You couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

John pulled away and left open mouth kisses on your chin and jaw and finally on your kiss. He immediately went to his favorite spot placing a wet open-mouthed kiss on it. You gasped at the feeling and craned your neck urging him for more.

Which he gladly gave you, pulling more sweet sounds from your mouth. He pulled back and studied your face through hooded eyes. John’s hand came up and he stroked the side of your face with the back of his hand. His touch was light and the back of his hand soft. You let out a sigh and leaned into his touch before looking back at him.

You laid back and pulled John against your chest. He responded by wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his head into you, “I’m sorry for what’s happened John,” You said and admired the weight of his body against yours.

John rubbed his face into your chest and didn’t look at you, “Stay the night, please.” He pleaded with you.

You rubbed his back as he clung to you, your heart ached hearing the loneliness in his voice, “Of course.” You said and kissed the top of his hair. John hummed with content feeling your fingers tracing patterns against his back.

The following morning you woke up next to John, his arm firmly wrapped around you and hair buried in the back of your neck. You turned around and wrapped your free arm him while your other remained pinned on your side. John let out a soft sigh and pulled you close against his chest and kissed the top of your head. You’d forgotten how much you missed and craved affection. You moved to leave, and John pulled you back, “Don’t leave me,” He said softly.

“I have to use the bathroom.” You said smiling and turning towards John.

He let out a playful groan, “Fine.” He said rolling over and sprawling out on his bed like a starfish.

When you returned John was still in the same position, you’d left him in. As you crawled back into the bed John’s arms slithered around you like a snake and pulled you into his chest. You inhaled deeply, missing his smell and smiled against the thin shirt he wore to bed.

In just a short amount of time the life that had once felt so grey and strange was now beginning to once again feel like home.

[riversofmars]

Love Is Begun By Time

So this is sort of my contribution to Pride Month... two wlw couples breaking out of the Tower of London to steal a jewel from Queen Elizabeth I. River/13 and Liv/Helen! 

Featuring: 

endless River/13 banter and healthy relationship

Liv being a gay mess 

River flirting with EVERYONE 

Helen being cute, clueless and working through the prejudice of the time she grew up in 

aliens in Elizabethan London 

BAMF River Song 

Shakespeare quotes

Eight being a clueless himbo

Anyway! Happy Pride!

Love Is Begun By Time

“Any bright ideas?“ Helen Sinclair shifted her weight, trying to get comfortable but no matter how she tried, she didn’t seem to be able to. The heavy iron chains that kept her fixed to the wall left her with little wiggle room.

“Nothing springs to mind…“ Liv Chenka looked around the dirty dungeon cell. The stone wall behind her was cold and hard against her back, the ground was wet and grimy; the straw did little in the way of cushioning. The metal of the chains had started digging into her wrists and were rubbing her skin red and raw. She’d just about had it with being locked up. “This is usually when the Doctor turns up to save the day…“ She groaned, annoyed at the situation they found themselves in. Liv had always been partial to trips to her ancestral home-world but since getting locked up in the Tower of London pending execution, she had quickly fallen out of love with Elizabethan England.

They had lost track of how long they had been imprisoned for as there was very little natural light. All Liv knew for sure was that she was getting hungry. As she considered the hopelessness of their situation, she glanced to Helen in the twilight. She was huffing and puffing, trying to get comfortable and Liv smiled a little, despite it all. She was glad that she wasn’t alone. If she was to choose someone to be locked up with, it would be Helen Sinclair. Liv’s thoughts on how lovely her best friend looked in period dress were interrupted when she heard distant voices.

“Can you hear that?“ The med-tech looked up and listened out. The walls of the dungeon were thick but she was sure someone was heading their way.

“Voices?“ Helen listened up as well. “Maybe someone is coming to get us, maybe it’s the Doctor! Hello?!“ She called out but there was no response. There were, however, voices in the corridor and they were getting close enough to make out.

“You just had to do that, didn’t you, you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself!“ The first voice was female, distinctly Northern and obviously deeply annoyed.

“Well, how is one to keep one’s hands at one’s sides when one is pressed to one’s wife in a broom closet.“ The other voice - also female and oddly familiar - seemed to be taking the whole thing far less seriously.

“That voice…“ Helen had noticed it too and they exchanged confused glances. It was incredibly familiar but neither of them could quite place it, not yet anyway.

“We were hiding!“ The Northern woman snapped, still getting closer, and the response came promptly:

“You needn’t have squeaked like that!“

“You could have given me some heads up before jumping right in.“

“What can I say, sometimes foreplay seems like wasted effort.“ The exchange was quick, witty and effortless. Whoever they were, they knew each other very well and knew how to press each other’s buttons.

Liv raised her eyebrows at the statement, trying not to chuckle. She spotted the expression on Helen’s face, noticing a faint blush at the impropriety the words insinuated, and in Elizabethan times no less!  

“We’ve been married for thousands of years, you still need warning?“ The familiar voice teased.

“Well, this body is different…“ The heavy wooden door opened and a blonde woman came into view. Her hair fell in a short bob, her clothes were a colourful ensemble that did not match the local trends of fashion and her bright eyes were firmly fixed on the woman beside her who smirked:

“Yes, I have noticed.“

Liv and Helen gasped in surprise as they recognised none other than Professor River Song, time travelling archeologist and wife to their best friend! She was lead into the cell alongside the blonde and appeared to be teasing her with great enthusiasm.

“Shut up, the two of you!“ The guard that was accompanying them snapped. He had clearly heard enough of their bickering along the way. “Get in there.“ He gave them both a shove.

“Alright, alright, no need to be like that.“ The blonde rolled her eyes.

“Now, really that’s no way to treat a lady.“ River feigned outrage. She straightened out the era appropriate dress she was wearing - much like Liv and Helen themselves. She looks fantastic in a corset. The unbidden thought struck Liv like a punch in the gut. She forced her eyes away and focused on the other woman instead. Her long coat, rainbow t-shirt and odd three-quarter length trousers were certainly not of the time; the only logical deduction was that she was a time traveller, too. Perhaps they had just found their way out of their awkward situation.  

“You will hang in the morning for attempting to steal the Queen’s jewel.“ The guard snapped, glaring at the two women who seemed remarkably unfazed at the prospect of their impending execution.

“Not to mention the indecent behaviour, right?“ River called after him but he didn’t respond, he just threw the door shut.

“River?“ Helen spoke up first and the two new arrivals looked around, surprised. They had been too caught up in their conversation to notice the two women chained to the wall.

“Liv? Helen?“ It was the blonde that spoke first and they looked at her in surprise. How does she know our names? Liv wondered. Had they, perhaps, come to save them? Or maybe she was someone from their future? Maybe they just hadn’t met yet. She didn’t have an opportunity to continue the thought process as River demanded their attention:

“Hello girls!“ A wide grin spread across the professor’s face. “Fancy seeing you here!“ She turned to the woman at her side: “Don’t tell me you’ve done this before.“

“I don’t remember it.“ The other woman shook her head slowly. “But of course, must be because of the time lines crossing.“ She exclaimed, as if the penny dropped. “Come here you two!“ She skipped over and threw herself at them for tight hugs that they couldn’t evade in their tied up state.

“Do we… know you?“ Liv frowned pulling away as much as she could manage. It wasn’t that she disliked a hug from a pretty girl, she just usually preferred introductions first.

“Oh right, the body, uh…“ The blonde straightened herself up, confused for a moment, she looked to River for help who started laughing.

“This is the Doctor.“ River gestured to the blonde who gave a sheepish grin.

“No…“ Helen’s eyes widened in shock.

“Really?“ Liv was just as dumbfounded.

“What can I say, regeneration is a lottery.“ The Doctor grinned and took a little twirl that was so very much like the Doctor they knew.

“And you hit the jackpot this time around.“ River smirked as she regarded her wife’s backside while the Doctor faced her friends again.

“I’ll say…“ Liv found herself saying before she could think better of it.

“So you two are still…“ Helen looked to River, seemingly confused.

“Thirteenth honeymoon, if you will.“ River grinned.

“Right…“ The language scholar managed a smile that wasn’t quite comfortable and it made Liv’s heart sink. Of course. Helen, despite all the wonderful adventures they had been on and all the extraordinary things they had seen, was still a woman of her time, Liv realised. Born 1933. It wasn’t usually noticeable. She took scientific advancement and alien life in her stride but every now and then, a little bit of her upbringing, the time she was raised in, shone through.

Liv rarely thought about their different backgrounds, in most things they were so very much alike; but still occasionally, the awareness of it painfully push itself to the forefront of Liv’s mind. Usually when she considered how the light reflected in Helen’s bright, intelligent eyes or how much she missed her when she wasn’t right there by her side. The awareness remained like a wall, in insurmountable obstacle, that Liv never dared approach. It was what always kept her hand firmly by her side, rather than slipping into the one well within reach.

“Thirteenth?“ Liv forced herself out of her painful thoughts and instead marvelled at how different that Doctor was to the one they were travelling with. She had seen them change before and learned how one person could wear different faces, but that was quite a change indeed.

“Long time into my future - your future - however you want to look at it.“ The Doctor seemed to appreciate that it was a lot to take in.

“I’m going to need some time to process this…“ Helen laughed lightly, seemingly over the initial shock.

“Maybe you could get us out of these chains in the meantime?“ Liv suggested as her right hand was falling asleep and her wrists stung.

“Well, Ms. Chenka, in my experience there is a lot of fun to be had with restraints.“ River gave her a wink and Liv rolled her eyes. Did River Song have any other modi operandi apart from witty seductress and deadly assassin?

“Very funny.“ The med-tech huffed, hoping the little bit of pink that snuck onto her cheeks didn’t show in the dark of the cell. She wasn’t even necessarily attracted to River, but there probably wasn’t a person alive in this universe - no matter their race, gender or sexual orientation - that was immune to River Song’s charm. She hoped Helen hadn’t noticed.

“Yes chains, right, then we find a way out of here. Not really in the mood for a hanging.“ The Doctor ignored the little exchanged, clearly not phased by her wife’s flirting, and pulled her sonic screwdriver from her coat.

“Oh you know, some executions can be quite entertaining or even enjoyable affairs, there is this little planet just off the Orion belt where…“ River started but for once, the Doctor dared to interrupt her.

“I don’t think they care right now, River.“ She crouched down and sonic-ed the restraints until they fell away. “There you go.“ She smiled satisfied as Liv and Helen shook off the rest of the chains.

“Much better, thanks.“ Helen smiled, rubbing her aching joints.

“So what did you two do to get banged up in here? Were you having a bit too much fun in the broom closet as well?“ River smirked as they clambered to their feet and brushed off the dirt.

“Sorry?“ Helen looked over to her, visibly confused.

“River.“ The Doctor gave her wife’s arm a little slap.

“What?“ River looked back to the Doctor, confused, apparently wondering what she had done wrong. She then looked back to Liv and Helen, sizing them up. Liv averted her eyes while Helen just looked utterly confused. “You don’t mean to tell me, after all this time, you still haven’t…“

“I think that’s quite enough of that, River, dear.“ The Doctor grabbed River’s hand and pulled her along to the door. “Let’s see if we can’t get us all out of here before past me turns up and this gets really complicated, hm?“

“Now there is a fun idea, you had such luscious hair back then too…“ River reminisced, brushing her hand through her blonde bob while the Doctor attempted to sonic the door.

“Wood, damn it.“ The Doctor groaned in annoyance.

“You would have thought after all this time, it would do wood.“ River sighed theatrically.

“Wise arse…“ The Doctor huffed as she crouched down to examine the lock more closely.

“So what were you up to, my favourite girls?“ River turned back to the other two women who were watching their interactions with fascination. They knew River was the Doctor’s wife, she had told them as much, but she had also told them that their Doctor couldn’t know about it yet. Therefore, they had never actually seen them interact as lovers might. Looking at River with that version of the Doctor, they could picture it. The Doctor really hadn’t changed all that much.

“We were searching for an artefact…“ Helen started and looked to Liv to help her out.

“Alien technology that has been given to Queen Elizabeth as a gift and it’s been influencing her, she’s been commissioning these towers that the Doctor reckons the aliens will use to create a… oh God knows what, the Doctor will have to explain.“ Liv shrugged. They had been detained rather early on in their attempt to sneak into the palace, so they had very little to go on.

“Yes, that’s what we’ve been looking for, too.“ The Doctor exclaimed excitedly.

“We were having a lovely honeymoon, actually.“ River interjected. “The theatre, you know. Shakespeare? Live? You just had to check this out.“

“Well, I didn’t remember that it was all in hand already, did I.“ The Doctor retorted.

“So do you know where the artefact is?“ Liv asked, hoping there would be an easy solution to the whole mess.

“We would have had it by now if someone could have held their nerve.“ River pursed her lips.

“You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.“ The Doctor glared at her wife.

“Can you honestly blame me?“ River smirked giving a little shrug.

“I can’t… blame you, I mean.“ Liv found herself saying, looking the Doctor up and down.

“Thank you very much.“ River gave the med-tech a winning smile and proceeded to stick her tongue out at her wife who just rolled her eyes.

“Liv?“ Helen raised her eyebrows questioningly at her friend who was still in a world of her own when the Doctor bent over again and continued to examine the lock.

“Hm? What?“ Liv blinked, looking back to Helen who seemed rather incredulous.

“That’s the Doctor!“ She pointed out, her voice somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Yeah but… not really… I mean…“ Liv began to stutter. “Past him, good God no, but… I mean…“

“Right…“ Helen’s eyes widened in surprise and Liv silently scolded herself.

That went very badly for so many reasons, Liv realised. She didn’t mean to look like she was checking out their best friend, just because they had changed bodies. She didn’t mean to make Helen uncomfortable by flaunting interest in a pretty girl. And most importantly, she didn’t want Helen thinking she was interested in the Doctor or anyone else for that matter. Anyone else except for Helen herself, of course; but that she couldn’t say.

River, apparently, could tell that Liv was getting very uncomfortable, so she decided to move things along.

“Anyway, where were we.. trying to break out? Step aside dear.“ She gently pushed her wife aside so she could have a look at the lock herself. She pulled something that looked an awful lot like a swiss army knife from somewhere within her dress.

“You okay, Helen?“ The Doctor noticed that Helen had gone rather quiet and contemplative.

“Yeah fine, I…“ The language scholar managed a smile.

“There we are.“ River announced triumphantly and gave the door a gentle nudge, swinging it open.

“You really are good, aren’t you.“ Liv chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief.  

“I’m not sure good is the right word.“ Helen laughed a little as well.

“Better not be.“ River smirked and hid the knife somewhere around the edges of her cleavage. “Come along, girls.“ She stuck her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear. The corridor was indeed empty and confidently, River and the Doctor lead the way. Liv and Helen followed slightly more cautiously.

“So… the Doctor…“ Helen said after walking in silence for a few minutes.

“What?“ Liv looked around to her, confused.

“You said you couldn’t blame River…“ Helen observed, mulling over what she had said.

“Helen…“ Liv felt her throat close up. Of course she had got the wrong end of the stick, but how to explain without making the situation worse?

“No, I mean, I uh…“ Helen seemingly was struggling to find the right words as well, so Liv hastily tried to justify herself:

“I didn’t mean I wanted to… I mean, she’s the Doctor. Plus, she’s with the Professor, so…“ She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. She hadn’t meant it like that at all.

“But if she wasn’t, you’d…“ Helen looked ahead to where the Doctor and River were standing to either side of a door and glancing into the next corridor; a perfect team, so in tune with each other.

“Why are we talking about this?“ Liv asked gently. She so badly wanted to reach for her arm or her shoulder, create some physical contact, but she didn’t.

“No, I mean… I just didn’t realise you had these feelings…“ Helen huffed, her tone incredibly difficult to pick apart.

“I don’t! Not for the Doctor.“ Liv grabbed Helen’s arm and stopped her. She couldn’t leave her in that belief.

“But you said…“ Helen didn’t look at her, she adverted her eyes, looking up ahead to make sure they didn’t lose track of River and the Doctor.

“She’s pretty, that’s all. That was all I was saying, nothing else. I don’t want to and never would and… this is the Doctor we’re talking about!“ Liv insisted firmly, she would have shouted for emphasis if they weren’t currently on the run, breaking out of prison. Her tone must have been a lot sharper than she realised, as Helen stared at her shocked. Quickly, Liv let go of her arm. “Besides, it’s not just about that, is it.“ She mumbled, somewhat apologetical about her outburst. “To be… interested… in someone like that, there has to be an awful lot there. Like trust. Mutual interests. Shared values. Time… spending time with that person, getting to know them, making memories together and experiences and…“ She broke off. “I just mean, a pretty face isn’t everything.“ She shrugged and started walking again, partly because she reasoned that they should keep up with the others, partly because she wanted to put an end to the conversation.

“But you’d… like a pretty pace? More than, say, someone like our Doctor…?“ Helen asked after a few moments of silence between them.

“You mean a man?“ Liv retorted without looking at her. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

“Uhh… yeah… I guess that’s what I mean…“ Helen mumbled, not looking to her either.

“I really don’t care, Helen.“ Liv sighed, defeated. She actually laughed a little at how absurd the conversation was from her point of view. Humanity had moved past that a long long time ago and she couldn't believe that her beautiful, clever friend hadn’t come to the same realisation yet. “When you like someone it’s not for their gender, you like the person, wouldn’t you say?“ Liv asked, looking over to her at last.

“I’d never… really thought about it, I guess…“ Helen replied, her voice soft.

“That’s just your time, the way you were raised, it’s… you can’t help it…“ Liv shook her head, she couldn’t even blame her. She was born in a different world and it would take time to unlearn what society had drummed into her for most of her life. Far flung adventures in impossible worlds just weren’t enough. It would take time, like all things. Love is begun by time… Liv thought, Shakespeare making an unbidden appearance in her troubled mind. Love is begun by time and time qualifies the spark and fire of it. She wondered if that spark would ever be allowed to turn to a blaze. A steady, hungry fire had been burning inside her for so long already; and perhaps Helen would douse it in cold water at last.

“Seems so silly now, looking back…“ Helen spoke to herself more than anything else but took Liv by surprise nonetheless. “After everything I’ve seen, the places we’ve been too, the futures we’ve experienced…“ She shook her head to herself. “I guess I still haven’t quite caught up with everything yet…“

“It does seem silly…“ Liv didn’t know what else to say but she felt a sense of relief at Helen’s thought process on the matter. Her friend was intelligent, inquisitive and considerate. She reflected on things and didn’t just take them for granted. She questioned and prodded, more than able to make up her own mind. Maybe she just had never had reason to reevaluate her feelings on the matter and Liv felt a sting for knowing she herself hadn’t been reason enough to do just that. But then, perhaps, she had never dared to give her a proper reason to, either.  

“Shush, you two, or we will be back in the tower in a minute…“ River pressed her finger’s to Liv’s lips as they came to an abrupt halt and she nearly bumped into her.

“Guards?“ Helen whispered as Liv was too dumbfounded to utter anything with River Song’s slender finger pressed to her lips.

“I’m going to create a distraction, you guys go ahead and I’ll meet you by the exit.“ The Doctor spoke quietly. She glanced around the corner. There were four guards heading their way. “Where did I say I went? Where was I when you were detained?“ She turned back to her former companions.

“You were taken to the Queen, apparently she had been looking for you everywhere.“ Liv answered slowly, recalling the series of events that had brought them there.

“Ahh, yes… Lizzie…“ The Doctor couldn’t help a little smirk.

“Virgin Queen no longer, naughty naughty, good job I’m not the jealous type.“ River wagged her finger at her wife who gave an innocent shrug and sheepish grin. “She’s not the jealous type, either, just for the record.“ River gave Helen a wink who had no idea what to do with that. River Song’s constant flirting and innuendo was a lot to handle. She flushed a little, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Liv who felt a wave of jealousy knocking her slightly. She had no right to be jealous, did she? River just had that effect on people.

“So what would the Queen want with the Doctor?“ Liv tired to focus her mind on something else.

“I may have married her… previous me… future me, from your point of view…“ The Doctor waved it off as unimportant.

“Seriously?“ Helen exclaimed and all of them shushed her.

“Anyway, that will keep the Queen preoccupied, won’t it. Plenty of time for us to steal into the palace and get the artefact.“ The Doctor whispered with some urgency. The guards would be getting close. “Let’s get out of here, my TARDIS is parked just at either side of the Houses of Parliament.“ There were nods all round. “So about that distraction…“ She turned back, reached for her sonic and realised that River had suddenly disappeared. Then there were muffled cries, groans, sounds of something knocking into the wall, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor.

“Let’s get going, dear, we haven’t got all day.“ River called to them, signalling that the coast was clear.

“Why do our honeymoons always end like this?“ The Doctor huffed as they stepped out onto the corridor where River had struck down four fully grown men without so much as ruffling a hair on her impressive head of curls.

“Because you really like it when I strut my stuff, Sweetie.“ River winked at her wife who did seem a little tighter wound than a moment before. “You know I can have you on your back even quicker than that.“

“Promises, promises.“ The Doctor mumbled but the pink on her cheeks betrayed her feelings on the matter.

“Does the flirting ever stop?“ Liv felt a little hot under the collar as well. There certainly was something incredibly attractive about a woman that could handle herself like that.

“Not as long as it makes her blush like that.“ River smirked proud of the effect she had on her wife.

“Is this what you two are usually like?“ Helen asked. She seemed intrigued to know how River would have been with their Doctor, given half a chance.

“Your Doctor didn’t know who I was yet and couldn’t know, so you can’t really compare it. Doesn’t mean I love him any less.“ River answered, seemingly knowing full well where she was going with it.

“Maybe a little bit less?“ The Doctor interjected and River shook her head, laughing:

“I love all my spouses equally.“ She slipped her hand into the Doctor’s before she could start sulking. “Now come along, we haven’t got all day!“

“Wow…“ Was all Helen and Liv could manage as they stepped into the Doctor’s TARDIS.

“You redecorated.“ Helen observed and the Doctor grinned:

“You like it?“ She asked as she marched up to the console and set coordinates. “Just a quick hop…“ She pushed down a lever. “And we’re in the gardens of Richmond Palace.“

“You seem to have gotten better at flying her.“ Liv commented as they stepped outside and were exactly where she had intended for them to go.

“Don’t let appearances fool you, Ms. Chenka.“ River hummed in amusement.

“Right, where are we going?“ Helen asked before the Doctor could launch into a defence of her flying.

“I’m keeping the Queen busy so we just need to evade the guards and find the artefact, destroy it, and be on our way, easy, no?“ The Doctor put her hands on her hips, looking around for confirmation.

“If we knew where the artefact was and what it looked like.“ Liv sighed. They had gotten as far as that last time, with their Doctor.

“Way ahead of you.“ River smiled and pulled a scanner from somewhere in her dress. What else does she keep in there, Liv wondered. “Looks like it’s in the private vault… at least that’t not the private chambers.“ River mused, holding out the scanner for everyone to see. There was a red dot pulsating not too far away from them.

“Now, that would be awkward…“ The Doctor admitted.

“You guys better stay here.“ River turned to Liv and Helen

“What? You’re leaving us behind?“ Helen protested, incredulous.

“I’d leave her behind too but she gets offended.“ River nodded towards her wife.

“River!“ The Doctor huffed.

“Oh, alright then, all come along, just don’t moan if we end up back in the tower again cause you got us caught.“ River sighed, giving in.

River was quick to find a window on the ground floor that was easily opened with the help of her sonic trowel - another item she just happened to have on her person - and they climbed inside. The corridor was empty and there were no alarm systems to consider in Elizabethan times.

“This way…“ River indicated, following her scanner.

They snuck through corridors and glamorous rooms, each sitting room more luscious than the next, until finally, they came to a room full of display cases.

“There it is.“ The Doctor whispered and pointed to the far end of the room. A large jewel sat upon a red cushion, guards stood either side of it.

“Allow me…“ River was about to make a dash for it when suddenly a large tentacle shot out of the darkness and knocked all of them over, like bowling pins. Despite the racket, the guards in the room up ahead didn’t even blink, they seemed to be under the influence of the jewel.

“Bloody hell…“ Liv groaned, dazed for a moment after hitting her head.

“Are you okay, you knocked your head pretty badly…“ Helen seemed to have fared better, she was quick to lean over her and brush her hair back. Liv’s struggle to think clearly was not due to head injury but rather the way Helen pulled her up and held her close.

“I thought I was the med-tech around here…“ She managed a half-hearted joke but got lost in Helen’s bright eyes. The concern she found there made her heart beat a little faster.

“You’re not from around here…“ A deep voice hummed demanding their attention. A creature the size of a small van stepped from the shadows. Stepped was probably the wrong word for it. It slid, as it resembled a slug. A slug that had been crossed with an octopus, as long tentacles hung at its sides. It accessed the group with beady, black eyes while they clambered to their feet.

“And neither are you.“ The Doctor squared her jaw, holding her sonic out like a weapon. Protectively, she stepped in front of her friends. “You do realise this is a level five planet, don’t you?“

“This planet is not important.“ The creature declared with a guttural sound that resembled a laugh.

“Oh, I beg to differ and you have made a very big mistake by choosing it.“ The Doctor retorted firmly.

“The one that’s made a mistake is you, by coming here. This world will soon be ours.“ The alien seemed unimpressed by her declaration and slid forward. Behind it, guards appeared and advanced towards them as well. The Doctor and River exchanged glances, as did Helen and Liv, weighing their options.

“No, it won’t. Not once we’ve destroyed the jewel you’re using to exert control over these people.“ The Doctor stated but retreated a little as the guards came closer. Their eyes were blank, they looked into nothingness but moved ahead regardless.

“Their minds are weak.“ The alien laughed again.

“And you’re ugly but I wasn’t gonna mention it.“ The Doctor snapped. “Now, you have a choice. You either leave this planet and spare yourself the humiliation of us kicking you out, or we make you.“ She did her best to sound threatening.

“You and what army?“ The creature tilted its barely distinguishable head.

“I don’t need an army, I’m the Doctor.“ The Doctor declared and she halted her retreat. Time to stand tall and firm.

“You’re the Doctor?“ The alien echoed.

“Heard of me then? Good! That should give you reason to run.“ The Doctor grinned.

“Doctor who?“ The alien asked and the Doctor’s face fell with annoyance.

“Well, that’s a bit disappointing, never mind, but that means you probably won’t know my lovely wife either. Professor River Song, top-notch archeologist, great hair and one hell of a marksman… woman… Anyway, I digress, point is, she’s a great shot, and while you've been listening to me singing her praises, she’d taken aim at your jewel and any second now, she’ll…“

A shot rang out and the sound of splintering glass was ear piercingly sharp.

“NO!“ The alien wailed as the guards collapsed where they were marching. Gone was their puppet master’s influence and it left them spent and unconscious.

“Never give her the opportunity to talk.“ River pointed her gun at the alien. Another thing she just happened to have pulled out of her dress. Or was it from under it? Liv found herself swallowing hard at the thought of River having strapped a gun holster to her thigh… Either way, she had shot the jewel at a great distance, through two windows and an open door. And it had only taken her one attempt.

“You will pay for this!“ The creature screeched and lashed out with its tentacles that suddenly grew sharp thorns.

“Oh no, you don’t!“ The Doctor sonic-ed a chandelier above its head that came crashing down while River delivered three quick shorts, two at tentacles, the third right in the head. It was, however, Liv that reacted the quickest.

“Helen!“ She pulled her friend around, out of the way of the one tentacle that made it past River. She knocked her to the ground just in time and River quickly shoot the tentacle for good measure, even after the creature lay motionless.

“Let’s get out of here before actual guards arrive, come on!“ The Doctor didn’t give them time to recover, she pulled her friends up and pushed them alone the corridor as voices approached.

“You saved me.“ Helen seemed thoroughly out of breath when they finally reached the safety of the shore of the Themes. She looked to Liv would was just as exhausted and leaned against the balustrade to catch her breath.

“Well, couldn’t just let it get you, could I, not after all that time the Doctor and I have spent on getting you back…“ Liv huffed, trying to downplay how terrifying the thought of losing Helen really was. She had been in that situation, not knowing whether she was dead or alive, if she would ever see her again, and she couldn’t risk losing her again.

“Right… he probably wouldn’t have been best pleased if he’d have to find an antidote to some weird disease or God knows what that thing would have done…“ Helen mumbled.

“Exactly…“ Liv brushed her hair back awkwardly.

“You know, you two are really painful to watch!“ River interrupted, her voice full of frustration.

“What?“ The two of them looked up simultaneously to find River scowling at them, placing her hands on her hips, seemingly about to give a lecture.

“Right, I’m not telling you what to do but come on!“ The professor exclaimed exasperated. “Liv! Just take the plunge, okay?“

Liv blushed deeply. Was she that easy to read? To River Song, apparently so.

“I think I’ve had enough of London for the time being.“ The Doctor interrupted, deliberately intervening to give her friends an out should they need it. They didn’t look ready to have that conversation. “We can catch Shakespeare another time. Tropical beach next?“ She looked to River who rolled her eyes at her interruption.

“Wait, what about the Doctor, our Doctor?“ Helen suddenly realised.

“He’ll get himself out of that situation.“ The Doctor waved off her concern. “Might just take a little while. Maybe don’t wait up…“ She winked.

“So you do remember it! You said you didn’t!“ River exclaimed somewhere between affronted and amused.

“Only vaguely, time lines and all…“ The Doctor tried to play it off but her wife wasn’t having it:

“You just didn’t want to tell me what the sex was like!“ River retorted.

“I thought you weren’t jealous!“ The Doctor laughed.

“I’m not jealous, I’m curious! The virgin queen, I mean, there’s a story there, isn’t there!“ River insisted with a mischievous grin. “Besides… I’m taking you home tonight and that’s what counts.“ She grabbed hold of her chin and placed a firm kiss on her slightly parted lips. The Doctor chuckled and kissed her back. Nothing quite like a kiss from her wife at the end of an adventure, so it seemed. Liv couldn’t deny she quite enjoyed seeing them kiss, though there was a twinge of jealously as well. It wasn’t directed at either one of them but at the station in itself. She looked to Helen, more longingly than she probably should have, but the language scholar didn’t noticed as she just cleared her throat:

“Are you just going to leave us now?“ She asked as River and the Doctor pulled apart and looked back to them, somewhat sheepishly, almost as if they had already forgotten they were there.

“We’ll see you guys around, places to go, people to see, marriages to consummate.“ River smirked with a little wave of her free hand, the other pulling her wife close to her side. She regarded each of them with an affectionate smile. “Hope to see you again soon.“

“Until next time, my dear friends. I miss going on adventures with you…“ The Doctor smiled as well, fondly, in a reminiscent sort of way. “Be good to yourselves.“

“And you, Doctor.“ Liv mirrored her warm expression. “Till next time, Professor.“

“Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.“ Helen smiled. “Have fun.“

“You too!“ River grinned and pulled something from her corset. Because why wouldn’t she. “Here, in case the Doctor is a while yet.“ She threw something towards them and Liv caught it rather clumsily.

“What’s that?“ Helen asked and Liv opened her hand to reveal a key.

“Key’s to the honeymoon suite we were staying in. That lovely pub right across from the Globe, maybe you can go and catch a show and crash there. Won’t be needing it now.“ River grinned and turned to leave.

“Liv?“ The Doctor demanded her friend’s attention one last time, making River wait a moment longer.

“Yes?“ The med-tech looked up from the key.

“I think you’ve both waited long enough. Perspectives do change.“ The Doctor smiled encouragingly, waving a final goodbye. Then she took her wife’s hand and they made their way along the shore of the river, taking the long way around back to the TARDIS.

“What did she mean by that?“ Helen asked curiously once they were out of earshot. She turned towards her and seemed to assume that she knew exactly what the Doctor meant.

“What she means is… I need to stop being such a coward.“ Liv mumbled, taking a deep breath. How to even start? The pressure was unbearable as she considered what she stood to lose if she was wrong, but the thought of what she could gain was ever so tempting. Particularly when Helen reached out, took her hands into hers, gave them a firm, reassuring squeeze.

“You’re one of the bravest people I know!“ She insisted, full of determination and Liv could tell that she meant it.

“Not always, not when it comes to this…“ Liv sighed, averting her eyes.

“To what?“ Helen retorted, puzzled. She wasn’t making any sense to her and Liv couldn’t blame her. She couldn’t get coherent words out. “Liv, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?“ Helen raised her hand and pushed it under Liv’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.

Liv decided that she couldn't delay any longer. She had to do it. Maybe it was obvious to everyone but Helen who just didn’t expect it, didn’t know how to read the signs or what to do with them. Maybe it was a stupid idea but the Doctor and River seemed to think it wasn’t. Maybe they had foreknowledge they did not. They were from the future after all. Liv decided to trust them, to take the leap of faith and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her best friend’s lips.

It was like a still moment. One of those special spots in space and time that the Doctor might speak of, where everything was fixed, everything was just the way it was supposed to be and always would be. A still point in time. Liv pulled back slowly and searched Helen’s eyes, full of surprise and confusion.

“I like you, Helen. More than I think you realise or know what to do with.“ Liv whispered, unsure how to put an attraction, an affection, an adoration and admiration into words that wouldn’t scare her away and bare the heavy burden a declaration of love.

“Oh…“ Helen’s voice was soft.

“It’s uh…“ Liv started to panic when she didn’t say anything beyond that. No response. Not one way or another, just Oh. “I’m sorry.“ Heat rushed to her cheeks and she quickly let go of Helen’s hands. She took a fearful step back. She realised she had messed up. “That was stupid… forget I even, I mean… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, if you’re just not… that’s fine, you’re my friend, I don’t want to jeopardise that and…“ She started rambling excuses. She wished she could go back to before, her friendship with Helen meant everything to her. If that was all it was ever going to be, she could content herself with that, she could make her peace with it, but she couldn’t lose her.

“Liv…“ Helen held up her hands trying to calm her. “Liv, stop!“ She took a step towards her and grabbed her wildly gesticulating hands again. “Please listen…“ Liv stopped, Helen’s hands in hers pulling her back to the present, demanding her full attention. She remained quiet for a moment and just looked at Helen who ran her thumbs over the back of her hands, holding them tightly as if she was worried she would run off.

“Yes?“ Liv asked slowly, her heart hammering in her chest.

“You’re quite wonderful, you know?“ Helen smiled softly.

“I uh…“ Liv didn’t know how to respond, it was like her brain had stroked out, which, being a med-tech and all, she knew it hadn’t but that was what it felt like. Helen’s words just didn’t sink in, not until she let go of one hand to be able to place it on her cheek instead.

“You can kiss me again, if, you know… that’s something you want to do…“ She said softly, blushing a little and Liv could tell she meant it. Maybe it would take some getting used to, those feelings, and allowing herself to feel them but Liv was determined to help her along. Help her to accept them for the precious thing that they were and allow herself the freedom to find a kind of happiness that she previously hadn’t considered for herself.

“Oh I really want to…“ Liv’s inhibitions fell away in one liberating blast. She took Helen’s face in her hands and kissed her. Properly. With all the love and longing she had carried in her heart for so long and Helen didn’t pull away, she wasn’t scared or overwhelmed, she just leaned into it, kissed her back and held her close.

“You’re right, you know…“ Helen whispered as she rested her forehead against Liv’s.

“About what?“ Liv asked softly, running her fingers through Helen’s soft blonde hair like she had longed to ever since meeting her.

“With what you said in the Tower about time… and love…“ Helen closed her eyes. “Love is begun by time…“

“Shakespeare.“ Liv chuckled at the irony of them both thinking of the same quote. For all they knew, Hamlet might be having it’s world premiere at the Globe right now.

“We’ve been through so much together. Experienced so much. Spend so much time together. Precious time. Time doesn't just bring love… it’s also inhabited by it…“ Helen broke off, embarrassed and Liv wouldn’t push her for more. She had already gotten so much more than she had dared hope for. They had so much more time yet to come.

“You do have a way with words, Helen Sinclair…“ Liv whispered, not trusting her voice not to break were she to speak up.

“Well, that’s sort of my job…“ Helen chuckled and Liv laughed, shaking her head to herself. She didn’t have a way with words herself, so she just leaned in and kissed her again, confident she could get her point across another way.

“Liv? Helen? What are you…“ A voice called from down the road, footsteps hurrying closer. “Oh… Uh…“ The Doctor halted, confused for a moment.

“Doctor! We thought you were still… preoccupied…“ Liv let go of Helen who blushed like a teenager caught by their parents while making out with their crush.

“Yes, the artefact, I…“ The Doctor started but Liv interrupted him:  

“We’ve dealt with it.“

“You have?“ His face fell, almost disappointed and the two of them nodded. “Without me?“ There was a long pause as they nodded again. “Well, that’s just marvellous, isn’t it. How did you do it?“ He exclaimed after brief consideration. Helen and Liv exchanged amused glances, knowing full well he usually preferred to be the one to safe the day but they were quite capable in their own right.

“That’s a bit of a complicated story.“ Liv chuckled, wondering how to best explain without mentioning his future wife or the fact he would eventually turn into a very pretty blonde.

“I like a good story, let’s get back to the TARDIS then, if I can work out where I parked it…“ He looked around slightly disoriented. “I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me all about it.“

“Maybe another time…“ Liv said, closing her hand around Helen’s as they started walking in search of the TARDIS.

“What?“ The Doctor looked over his shoulder, confused, watching the two of them following after him. He frowned and they could virtually see the clocks ticking in his brain. He was trying to work out what was different and why they would possibly be turning down a marvellous cup of tea.

“The recounting of the story… maybe that can wait a little while.“ Liv explained.

“Why?“ He seemed genuinely put out and they almost felt sorry for him.

“It’s just, Liv and I, we have some other stuff we want to talk about…“ Helen came to her aid, giving her hand a squeeze and Liv felt her heart soar. She had expected Helen to be more reluctant to hold her hand, particular in a public place in the distant past where it certainly was even less permissible than she had experienced. She could only hope that it didn’t feel as strange as she might have feared but the it felt extremely right.

“Right…“ The Doctor huffed, trying his best not to let his disappointment show. “Guess it’s just tea for one then… and you’re sure you don’t want me to tell you how I escaped the chambers of Queen Elizabeth?“ He looked back to find them shaking their heads.

“Not right now, no.“ Liv gave him an apologetic smile.

“Do you think he knows what’s going on?“ Helen whispered to Liv who just shrugged:

“Seems clueless as ever… Maybe he needs a few regenerations to think it over. Another five or so…“ Helen laughed a little and the Doctor started rambling again, up ahead of them, as the TARDIS come into view:

“Mind you, I have got this new novel, that’s gonna keep me busy while you do whatever it is you need to do. Came highly recommended. Detective novel, private eye in old town New York, Melody Malone, that sounds like a woman after my own heart.“

“Certainly sounds like it.“ Helen grinned and Liv laughed:

“Sounds like she would have a bag of tricks up her sleeve… or dress!“

[your3fundamentaltruths]

my favorite partner

With love to a lovely fandom, a continuation of my most popular Polin drabble on AO3, the color green, in honor of Polin Day. (Also related to no matchmaking.) You can also find this one on AO3. Happy Polin Day!

—

“Bridgerton has always thought himself such an easygoing fellow, but he does not much like being thwarted,” Lord Billington comments casually as he leads her to the floor.

“Does anyone, my lord?” Penelope asks rhetorically.

Lord Billington nods. “Touché, Miss Featherington.”

“Especially a man and I daresay our friend in particular is little used to it. Seeing as he is so often able to charm others into bending to his will.”

“But not me and, it seems, not you.”

Not any longer. “I have known him forever,” she says simply, echoing Colin’s earlier words.

“And familiarity breeds contempt?” Lord Billington queries with a grin.

“I wouldn’t call it contempt,” Penelope chides, but she knows her answering smile is cheeky. “Merely an ability to resist his charms.”

Lord Billington laughs loudly. “That probably annoys him more than actual contempt.”

She giggles. “You do know him very well indeed.”

“I vow I can feel his eyes boring into my back even now,” Lord Billington informs her with a smirk that she's quite sure she mirrors.

They have a lovely waltz, for Lord Billington is a fine dancer and excellent company, so much so that she thinks it a pity it is unlikely to be repeated. Not only because Lord Macclesfield had to nudge him in the first place, but also because, unlike his fellow Determined Bachelors, Lord Billington has no mama or aunt to pressure him to attend society events at least occasionally. It is likely only his friendship with Colin that has him making an appearance at a Bridgerton ball and Colin seems so very cross with him that she is not sure he’ll be able to count on another invitation any time soon.

—

Much to Penelope’s surprise, on the rare occasions Lord Billington does make an appearance in a London ballroom, he always saves a dance for her, even after he is married.

His wife Ellie is a lovely woman and doesn’t mind a bit both because she befriends Penelope immediately (we redheads must stick together) and because she knows her husband would not be himself if he did not take every opportunity to tease and torment one of his old friends.

And it certainly torments Colin whenever the now-formerly very rakish earl escorts her to the floor.

It seems Colin really does not like being thwarted.

—

Even after she is married, Lord Billington makes a point of asking Penelope to dance with him at the first ball she attends after her secret is revealed. “For old times' sake, Lady Whistledown?” he says with a wink as the strains of the waltz begin.

The invitation had had their proper address crossed out, with Lady and Lord Whistledown written in a distinctly masculine hand just above. At the time, her husband had been amused.

She expects he is less amused now.

“If you try to claim my wife’s waltz, I will bludgeon you right here in your own ballroom.”

Right in one. She knows him so well.

“If you really must murder me, do try to do it cleanly. My wife should hate the unnecessary expense of having my blood scrubbed off the floor.”

Lady Billington is unable to stifle a snicker, but quickly composes herself to nod solemnly.

“Taking ‘lovesick newlywed’ a bit far, though, eh?” Lord Billington can't resist ribbing him further. “I expected it what with how sickeningly sweet you were at your wedding, but I thought you would’ve mellowed some after all that romantic drivel at the Hastings ball. What a spectacle you made of yourself, old boy.”

“It was lovely and very grand,” the usually quite sensible Lady Billington says approvingly, elbowing her husband disapprovingly. “A fitting swan song for the cleverest lady in London.”

“Oh, I don’t know about cleverest. Second cleverest, I’d say, unless we are out of town,” says Lord Billington affectionately.

“Speaking of lovesick,” Colin mutters in the other couple’s direction before taking her hand. “I do believe this is my dance.”

“I suppose it must be, if only to prevent a homicide.”

“Only for that reason?” he asks airily.

“I should not like to be widowed so soon after our marriage because you were hanged for murdering a peer of the realm. And I’d hate to lose my favorite partner, you know,” Penelope replies as they take their positions.

“You do mean me, don’t you?”

“Who else, my love?” she teases. Her eyes widen when he doesn’t answer right away. “Colin Bridgerton! You didn’t really think –”

“I didn’t like not being your first choice,” he confesses with all the bashfulness of a schoolboy as he leads her gracefully through the steps of the dance.

She can’t help smiling. Goodness, but he’s absurd. He nearly married another woman her first season and subsequently became quite the rake, likely consorting with more ladies than she cares to consider, but he’s been harboring a secret insecurity over being refused in favor of his friend for a dance. “You ridiculous man,” she scolds affectionately. “I suppose it’s a good thing that I wasn’t often in the position of choosing between eligible gentlemen.”

“But you should’ve been,” he says quietly.

“It was for the best,” she says soothingly. “Otherwise, who knows who might’ve swept me off my feet whilst you wandered?”

“Had I been a bit cleverer, perhaps I wouldn’t have wandered so long or so far before coming home to you.”

Though he’s smiling, he still looks a touch too serious for her taste, so she bites back the quip or into so many other ladies’ arms. “Truly, it gave me time to grow up and become my own woman. Otherwise . . . well, I adored you so that I don’t know that I would’ve bothered to learn who I was apart from you if you’d loved me from the start. Nor would you have had time and space to grow into the man you were meant to be.”

He sighs in that way she knows means he wishes they were not in public so he could kiss her. (Not that that’s always stopped him.) “How is it you always know precisely what to say to me?”

“I know you.”

“That you do, my darling,” he says softly, looking down at her with that look - her look, the one she’s been seeing for a very long time, though it’s only recently she’s come to realize what it meant, to understand that he’d begun to fall long before he knew it himself.

[monabela]

hello! it seems to be @aphrarepairweek2021 and I'm not one to ignore that! here's some... domestic denfin stuff for day 1, language. I've gone for a pretty liberal approach to the prompts this year, but that's mostly so that all my fics will fit into the same universe :> (it is also the same universe as two of last year's rarepairweek fics! I'll make a tag for it) (that is also the reason I had to call sve berwald and not torbjörn like I usually do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) they will all be standalone little fics but take place in the same au, over the same sort of time period!

--

in major scale

pairings/characters: Denmark (Søren)/Finland (Tuomi), Estonia (Eduard), Sweden (Berwald), Hungary (Erzsébet) + past SuFin mentioned word count: 2219 summary: Tuomi admires how much Søren cares about other people. It inspires him to do the same.

--

A series of thumps and clomps heralds Søren’s arrival home. Tuomi looks up with amusement when the door of his little home studio in the back of their house bursts open.

“Tuomi!” Søren shouts. He brings with him the smell of recent rain and early spring blossoms.

Eduard, who is sitting behind Tuomi at his keyboard and wearing headphones, very nearly tumbles off his stool in shock.

“Søren!” Tuomi just returns, while his brother rights himself and glares. “You seem unusually excited.”

Eduard snorts, which makes Søren grin. ‘Unusually excited’ means something different when applied to him than most other people.

“Guess what!” he says, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His socked feet are both tapping on the ground, with no rhythm to it. Tuomi is sure he couldn’t say what’s got into him; as far as he knows, Søren was just looking after his young nephews for the afternoon.

“Your brother didn’t hide the sugar well enough,” he guesses.

“No, that’s—well, he didn’t, but that’s not my point. Berwald’s gettin’ married!” Now, he waves his arms around wildly. “My brother’s gettin’ married, Tuomi! I’m so proud of him.”

Turning slightly, Tuomi exchanges an amused look with his own brother, who has taken his headphones off and is leaning forward over his keyboard, elbows planted over the keys.

“Now, Søren,” Eduard starts, using his haughtiest voice, which is very haughty. It’s an odd talent.

“Don’t you dare,” he interrupts, though he’s still grinning, “bring up the time he and Tuomi were plannin’ on gettin’ hitched, ‘cause that was ages ago and ain’t relevant anymore.”

“Alright, alright.” Eduard holds up his hands placatingly, and Tuomi just snickers. Søren’s right, he thinks; it’s been over fifteen years since then, and although the whole thing where he took up with the brother of the man who was nearly his husband was awkward at first, for all that it happened several years later, he’s since become good friends with Berwald again. It’s probably better this way.

“That’s great, Søren!” he just says. “And you’re gonna be the best man, I assume?”

“Of course!” His dark blue eyes crinkle at the corners, scrunching up his many freckles in laugh lines and dimples. Tuomi really admires how much Søren cares about other people, even if sometimes it comes at the expense of himself. Tuomi can always remedy that, after all.

“That means you’re gonna have to help with a bunch of organizing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound do skeptical of me, Eduard!” Pushing away from the door, Søren lightly strums the strings of an uncovered acoustic guitar sitting in its stand before taking a large step towards Tuomi and bending down to kiss him over the microphone between them, Tuomi angling his own electric guitar out of the way. He smells like sea wind and hair gel, and does taste distinctly sugary behind the smile his lips are still curved into.

Tuomi mutters, “I think you’ll do great. Berwald’s lucky to have you.”

“I hope so. Y’know, the boys are excited as anythin’.” Now, he practically melts, draping his long limbs over Tuomi and his guitar. He always does this when he as much as thinks about his nephews, Berwald’s young sons. Tuomi and Søren are very much the fun uncles. It is a title they both wear with pride.

Patting his jeans-clad ass affectionately, Tuomi pushes his nose into Søren’s wild coppery hair.

“Yeah? They’ve given their blessing, then?”

“Already fightin’ over who gets to be ringbearer.”

“Cute.”

The door of the studio opens.

“Whoa! Am I interrupting?” shouts Tuomi’s half-sister, bursting in.

Eduard, now leaning his head in his hands, says, “Please save me.”

“Berwald’s gettin’ married!” Søren shouts, into Tuomi’s ear. He gets along with Erzsébet far too well.

“Tuomi’s ex?” she yells back, and Eduard promptly loses it. He doubles over his keyboard in hiccupping laughter, shaking and pressing almost all the keys in a horrifyingly discordant tone. Søren looks betrayed in a very comical way. He crosses his arms as he turns to Erzsébet, folding his hands into the sleeves of his red knit sweater. Berwald made that one.

“She not wrong,” Tuomi tells him, holding back laughter of his own. Now even more comically betrayed, Søren turns back to him, with his dark eyebrows raised high and ready to deliver a quasi-outraged speech, but Erzsébet forestalls him.

“You need to make a song for the wedding!”

“Yes!” Tuomi perks up, almost poking Søren in the hip with the neck of his guitar.

“A song?” the man echoes, looking between all three of them. Eduard is now only playing a couple of notes at the same time, thankfully, and he straightens up fully to explain their family tradition.

“We always do it for weddings. It has to be something they’d like, and something the couple can dance to.”

“And then we give it funny lyrics,” Tuomi finishes, “about the person getting married. But we always make sure it’s good.”

“Well, I ain’t surprised about that part, ya snobs.” Søren shakes his head affectionately. He has absolutely no feel for music, but that just means that he appreciates things that most other people wouldn’t give their time of day.

It also means that he somehow considers Tuomi’s very musically inclined family to be elitist about music, which Tuomi thinks is dumb, but he’s not one to argue. He’ll leave that to his brother; it’s very amusing. As a matter of fact, Eduard is already narrowing his eyes at Søren, but doesn’t say anything before he continues.

“I don’t know if Berwald would like that, honestly. It’s not really something we do.”

“Come on, everyone likes music!” Erzsébet enthuses, walking further inside and skirting around Søren and Tuomi in the small space to lean an elbow on Eduard’s shoulder.

“Sure, he likes it, but, I mean—we ain’t like you guys, is all.”

No one is quite like his family, Tuomi thinks, but he appreciates that all the more these days. Søren is the most generous, openminded person he knows, and has broadened his worldview amazingly in the time they’ve been together. Not that his family isn’t openminded; they’re just less inclined to explore than Søren is.

Still, “Music is a universal language, isn’t it?” Tuomi asks him, bumping his shoulder into Søren’s upper arm. He inclines his head in agreement. “It doesn’t even have to have lyrics if you think Berwald wouldn’t like it. Or his fiancé, of course,” he adds, because he doesn’t know the man that well but knows he, like Berwald, doesn’t really appreciate being made fun of, even in good humor.

This is, again, unlike Søren, which is probably why it didn’t work out with his brother and does work with him.

Well, it’s part of it.

Erzsébet, the lyricist of the family, gasps dramatically at the mention of not having lyrics to go with the song, and coughs. She should really quit smoking. Eduard pats her back awkwardly, getting a face full of long brown hair for his efforts.

“And then?” Søren’s asking, but his head is still tilted thoughtfully, as if he’s considering it.

“Well, then it can be for a dance! Consider it a wedding gift from me.”

“His ex,” Erzsébet murmurs, recovered, and Eduard starts giggling again.

“His brother-in-law.” Tuomi blindly throws a guitar pick at her over his shoulder, which, going by the plink and following yelp, hits Eduard’s glasses instead.

Huh. That’s pretty impressive.

“Well, someone will have to teach him how to dance first—”

They all look away.

“—but that sounds awesome, actually! Would you guys be willing to play it?” In his excitement, Søren has leaned very close to Tuomi again, vision filling with his grin and his many, many freckles, and Tuomi can’t help but kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I’d love to.”

His siblings make agreeing noises.

“Right! Well, should I—what’re you guys workin’ on, actually?” Søren gazes around the small space as if hoping to glean clues. Which clues, Tuomi is not sure. He can’t really read music, after all.

“Just tinkering a bit,” Tuomi says. Eduard plays the first few chords of the most recent wedding song they’d written, several years ago already. Erzsébet slaps the cymbal of her drum set in apparent agreement, reaching behind her.

“Hey, I wrote some lyrics, actually,” she says. “I think they’re pretty good.”

It’s been years since they actually made original music that they deemed good enough to send out into the world, but their songs are still getting decent amounts of listeners on Spotify, which is nice; it’s mostly a hobby for all three of them, after all. Lately, though, Eduard and Tuomi have started seriously considering making some new material, and Erzsébet seems to be on board. She promises to send the lyrics to both of them. Although she, like both of her half-brothers and much to Søren’s amazement, plays several instruments, she doesn’t have much talent for composing.

Tuomi tried to teach Søren guitar once. It was fun, but very unsuccessful. He does like the drums.

That’s probably why he gets along with Erzsébet so well.

Deciding that today is probably not going to be very productive, all four of them go into the house instead, and Tuomi makes coffee while Søren hands out some cupcakes that he made yesterday, because Søren very much believes that food is a universal language. He isn’t wrong, if you ask Tuomi, but that’s mostly because Søren is very good at making food, unlike Tuomi.

They’ve all got their talents, he supposes, and it’s how they use them in combination that matters. Even if he’s been banned from using the oven for anything more than frozen pizza.

Eduard, of course, asks for the recipe, because Eduard didn’t get that memo about talents and has too many of them.

Tuomi’s siblings don’t actually stay around for very long after that, both promising to think about the wedding song for Berwald. It is mostly an empty promise on Erzsébet’s part, but that’s okay. Eduard walks away while muttering about waltzes, which Tuomi appreciates, because Berwald seems like a man—is a man, he knows this—who appreciates a bit of tradition, and he’s never tried to compose an instrumental, mostly classical song before.

“You’re adorable, you know,” he tells Søren, who’s standing behind him in the hallway of their house after having seen his siblings off. Søren just grins, rocking back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and looking much younger than he is.

“I’m just happy for my brother.”

“I know.” Tuomi reaches up to flick some errant hair out of the way. “It’s really cute.”

He gets excited about the smallest things, Søren. Random dogs on the street and odd world records and warm coats and almost everything that’s even a little bit nice. It’d get annoying, Tuomi’s sure, if he weren’t so sincere about it all the time. He got very excited about their civil union as well, which was honestly mostly practical. Tuomi had almost wanted to get married, just to see his reaction to it, but he’d decided years before that marriage wasn’t for him, and remains glad that he stuck by that belief, in the end.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Søren suddenly asks, blue eyes searching Tuomi’s face.

“What? Oh, no, of course not. Berwald’s a good man, and he deserves to be happy.” He shrugs. “I know he’s always wanted the whole… Domestic thing.”

“Guy’s had a plan for a wedding since he was twelve or something,” Søren confirms, grinning. “Only took him thirty years and a couple kids.”

Tuomi knows; he was shown the plan, sixteen years ago, but he decides not to mention that. It’d been quite intimidating at the time; he’d only been 22 and much more interested in… Well, practically anything besides marriage.

Søren slings an arm across his shoulders, squeezing him tightly to his lanky form, and starts walking them both back to the kitchen.

“You’d know, I guess,” he muses, then pulls a face. Tuomi laughs.

“That one was your fault!”

“I know, I know. Don’t remind me.”

Tuomi stops walking, tilting his head up at Søren.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asks. Turning back, Søren blinks at him.

“Obviously not,” he says, but he bites the inside of his cheek and furrows his dark brows, so there’s evidently something more there.

There’s another thing Tuomi had to be taught by Søren; reading body language. It’s not his fault his family is so unexpressive!

“But?” he prompts.

“I just hope I can do well for him.” Søren shrugs. “He’s my big brother, y’know, and I do kinda feel like I ruined his first chance of marriage sometimes. I know that’s dumb,” he adds hastily.

Tuomi mumbles, “Yeah, that was definitely me.” And then, “Like you say, he’s your big brother. He loves you. Speaking as someone with two older siblings, they might razz you a bit—”

“That’s just your siblings, Tuomi,” Søren interrupts, but the grin is back on his face and just as bright as before. “But I get what you’re saying. Thanks.”

Tuomi boots him with his shoulder, and he laughs, clomping ahead. Tuomi follows, quickly.

Before he eats all the other cupcakes.

[loosesodamarble]

For your 200 followers event!

OC fun: ONE

The oc i would love to hear your input about is my oc, Sasha.

Sasha is a young girl (roughly around 7) and the adopted daughter of Langris. She has dark tanned skin, dark brown hair and orange colored eyes. For the most part she is a very quiet girl but that doesn't hinder her from being full of energy. A bad habit she has is wandering off while on outings and therefore getting lost.

Sasha's magic is people orientated transportial spatial magic, which has a guardian angel theme going.

Sasha's likes are: cinnamon pie, Langris.

Sasha is terrified of the dark.

and that's all i can think of about her.

EEEEK! OC talk yes!

Thank you for sharing Fire! You've mentioned Sasha before but now I can really share my thoughts on her!

Okay so for one, I have a soft spot for children. I've done baby-sitting in the past and have met many kinds of kids. Usually straightforward and pleasant to be around.

But onto Sasha.

Given how dominated Clover seems to be by fair-skinned people (Sol is the only distinctly dark-skinned character that comes to mind for me), I like the idea of adding more characters of color. Sasha also having orange eyes is interesting since orange, as far as I've seen, isn't a popular color for eyes. I honestly can't remember any characters in media I've seen with orange eyes. And I've given ocs yellow or amber eyes but that's the closest I've ever come to orange. So hearing that Sasha's eyes are orange makes her distinct in my mind.

Quiet and energetic. You don't see a lot of that either. It's terribly easy to fall into the "loud and energetic" or "quiet and docile" stereotypes after all. I'm imagining that Sasha is a kid who just goes and does something without announcing it to the world. Like your example, running off during an outing. I can also see her as having high stamina. As in, she could spend a whole day at an amusement park and she wouldn't need a break between rides and would be too restless to just sit for anything other than a rollercoaster. And she wouldn't even need to drag others around or announce every action to the world, she just goes in whatever direction she feels. Which is... not smart of a child but still feels childish. Like, Sasha might just assume that Langris and whoever else will be able to follow along with her.

Thankfully she has transportational magic and would be able to find her way back to whoever else was with her. Maybe. Hopefully.

Going off the magic thing, cool to see you building on the angel thing the space brothers have. And now their new daughter/niece is another angel in the family.

I really like the idea of Langris taking care of a little child because his personality would make him incompatible with most if not all children. He's still a bit of a child himself. Taking care of a kid will force him to grow up. And we know he has a soft side underneath his snark and anger and pettiness. How soon does he start doting on his new daughter though? I gotta know!

This is my first time hearing of cinnamon pie and now that I've looked it up, I know I have to try it! I've never seen it sold in grocery stores or bakeries so looks like I'll need to find a recipe!

KLDHG! Aaw! Sasha really is fond of her new papa (or whatever she addresses Langris as)! Gotta love the characters whose likes include a beloved family member.

Well I know a couple characters who Sasha should interact with, if only for the hilarity. She ought to meet Nacht and Yami and dislike them the instant she sees their magic. Also, I want to see her with Finesse because she could be a mother figure of sorts, even if Finesse and Langris don't marry. If there's any other characters I want Sasha to meet, it'd be the Hage church kids. Some friends her age and all.

I liked learning about Sasha and if you every have any content of her in the future, please @ me so I can appreciate her more. She is officially adopted as one of my fictional children.

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

.-

The FIC this HC is from 

.-

So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

[ghostnebula]

Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

    Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

    Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

    They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

    That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

    Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

    He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

    He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

    It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

    He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

    When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

    He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

    Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

    “Ah, he lives.”

    “Ugh,” says Eddie.

    “I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

    Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

    “Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

    Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

    “Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

    “Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

    Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

    Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

    It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

    He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

    He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

    He expects regret.

    He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

    “Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

    “More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

    Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

    He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

*

    “$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

*

    “Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

    “Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

    “Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

    “Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

    Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

*

    “How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

    “Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

*

    Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

    Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

*

    He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

    “We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

    But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

    “Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

    All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

    Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

    “God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

    Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

    Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

[tomhardysteeth]

u wanna say anything for spn ending? Today's their last day of filming

Yeah sure! I love how you worded this ask, it makes me want to give a very serious answer. I’ve been rewatching random episodes the past few days and thinking about how much of my life was shaped by this random lil tv show, both positively and negatively, so here we go. 

I started watching Supernatural during my junior year of college, when I was grappling with being gay and religious, and had a pseudo-girlfriend who was emotionally abusive. I remember I started watching the show because I had been on tumblr for a while and thought, well this is a popular show on tumblr and looks like something I’d enjoy, so I might as well try it. I remember barely paying attention to the first season and thinking it was kind of silly, and I distinctly remember making fun of it right up until the season 1 finale when that truck slammed into the Impala and I said oh.

I remember sitting in the dining hall between classes, hiding in a corner with my pink headphones and my laptop, watching one episode after the other, completely consumed by it. My personal life was a mess at the time and I was angry and sad and frustrated, but I could forget about everything for a little while when I watched spn. I remember falling in love with Dean Winchester, season 3, when Sam gave him the amulet. 

Because I had already spent a lot of time on tumblr, I knew about Castiel. I couldn’t wait to get to season 4, the anticipation killed me. I didn’t really have a choice in shipping destiel, I literally shipped it before I even watched a single episode of the show lol. My first time watching seasons 4 and 5, I remember how mad I would feel every time the opening credits scrolled at the bottom of the screen and Misha Collins wasn’t listed. I cared about almost nothing but Dean and Cas interacting with each other. I was totally enamored by them, by their potential. At some point I got over that and watched the show because I liked the show, but boy did my heart and brain break for destiel. 

I broke up with my abusive girlfriend. I started coming out to more people, including people involved in the Christian campus ministry I was heavily involved in, and it was very very hard. It was 2013. The first episode of Supernatural I watched live was the episode where Dean turns into a fucking dog. 

I don’t remember when I started reading fanfic, and I had no idea how to read fanfic. A friend invited me to ao3, what is ao3? I didn’t know. I used my email address as my username. I read Twist and Shout and Pie Without Plot and other very popular fics that I knew about because everybody knew about them. I vividly remember the first fics I read because I was 21 years old and had never had an orgasm in my life and believed sex was sinful and so when the sex scenes in fics turned me on, I felt guilty about it. 

I quickly got over that and started writing explicit destiel fanfic. 

I still had no idea what I was doing. I know the very first fic I ever wrote was a mess, I’ve completely erased all traces of it, but other than that I began posting with abandon. Pretty much everything I’ve ever written for spn is still on tumblr and/or ao3. I was running a Hannibal blog at the time and started posting more Supernatural content than Hannibal content, so I created a sideblog, @deancasheadcanons​, and things very quickly got out of hand after that.

I was depressed, I was confused, I was spending my last couple years of college trying to figure out my sexuality, trying to hold onto a religion that was rejecting who I was becoming, trying to find my identity while picking a career path and being sad and being pulled in a hundred different directions. Sometimes I was working three jobs at once, on top of 17-credit-hour semesters. I was getting a degree in a field I did not care about, and I spent every class reading and writing fanfic, scrolling through tumblr, making internet friends, letting my life be consumed by Supernatural. I projected myself completely onto Dean Winchester and partially onto Castiel and did not even realize it. 

I started dressing like Dean, and my sister and brother-in-law noticed and assumed I was gay. They were extremely unsubtle in their attempts at getting me to come out by pointing out the flannel and army jackets, and I did not have it in me to admit to them that I was dressing like a fictional character, but I DID tell them I was bisexual. 

I went to therapy every week during my senior year of college, and I was embarrassed about how often I talked about my “internet life,” as I called it. I remember having the arbitrary goal of getting 1,000 kudos on a fanfic, and I remember the day it happened for the first time and I remember going to therapy that week and saying that I didn’t feel any different, that I thought getting attention for my writing would make me feel better, somehow, but I still felt the same, and my therapist asked me if I would still be writing if I was the only one who got anything out of it and I said yes. But I was still obsessed with writing things that were meaningful, and despite the fact that I would receive 10 negative/mean anons per day, I never turned anon off because I desperately wanted people to tell me that my writing meant something to them, that it mattered to them. I was fighting with myself every day over my sexuality and my identity and my purpose, and I put all of that on the shoulders of Dean and Cas. 

There was also chubby!dean. I had lived my entire life with this inexplicable thing, this shame that I knew I could not share, that I knew I would just have to suffer with for my whole life, and then I joined the spn fandom and found that there were others like me, others that had a fetish and had similar experiences as I did and were drawn to Dean Winchester because there’s no other character that could make eating and gaining weight be as enticing as he makes it (in fanfic). For the first time in my life I had a community of people that I could relate to about a thing that I never thought I would ever be able to talk about with anyone in my life. I don’t remember if I consciously chose to start posting publicly about it, but at some point I did, and I started writing kink fic, but I was still so uncomfortable with myself and so scared of the things I felt, and I tried so hard to temper myself and not offend anyone and not go “too far” and not be too weird and I was so sexually repressed and pent up and full of guilt and shame, and so now when I go back and reread some of the stuff I wrote it feels like reopening an old wound and letting myself bleed out. 

I was constantly comparing myself to others and wondering why I wasn’t getting as much attention as so-and-so, and I always made excuses about how maybe my writing was too weird and I was too much and maybe I just wasn’t good enough and I hated myself and wanted to delete everything I ever wrote, but also I’m awesome and receive a lot of attention and get a lot of good feedback but maybe that means I’m just a narcissist! I acted like an asshole online and justified it by saying it wasn’t really me, that I could be someone totally different on tumblr than the person I was in “real life,” but in hindsight, now when I think back on my early 20s, I cannot separate what I was doing in “real life” from what I was doing in the spn fandom. I shared so much of myself with the spn fandom without even recognizing that that’s what I was doing. 

And I made mistakes, god I made mistakes, and I tried to be so careful about everything I said but I was also presenting a certain version of myself to the spn fandom so that people would like me (for instance: running a destiel blog and trying my best to hide the fact that I also ship wincest) and still I got in trouble constantly, and I grew bitter and mean because you can only receive the “when are you posting the next chapter?” comment so many times before you want to bang your head into a wall. I became defensive and unkind, afraid to check my inbox because it was a nightmare, and yet unable to turn off anon because, like I said, I desperately needed that feedback, I needed people to tell me that they felt what I felt, that they understood what I was writing and why I was writing it.

I expected Supernatural to give me everything I needed. I fantasized about Dean Winchester being canonically bisexual because I thought it would confirm something in me, that it would somehow make my life a little bit easier. I didn’t want to watch other shows that could maybe help me, I wanted Supernatural to do things for me that it had never promised and would never deliver, and it’s because I was defined by it for so many years. Now that I’m back on tumblr, I’ve been going back through some of my old posts on deancasheadcanons and it’s like reading a stranger’s words. Even so, I find myself telling people “I was deancasheadcanons” instead of “I ran a sideblog called deancasheadcanons” because it really was such a huge part of my identity. What’s wild is that every time I’ve tried to explain it to someone in real life, they just look at me like I’m not making any sense. 

It was easy to stop watching Supernatural. I didn’t have cable, and I had been driving to my dad and stepmom’s house each week and watching it on their tv after they had gone to bed. I was in a new relationship with a woman I nearly married, I was back in school for a new career, I was working full time and absolutely did not have time to continue writing fanfic as prolifically as I had done for so many years. I finally reached a breaking point in 2017 and haven’t watched any new episodes since then (I don’t remember the last episode I saw). But now, as I rewatch some old episodes, it is easy to feel the way I felt the first time I watched the show. It’s easy to see why this campy little heartfelt show was a lifeline during my formative adult years.

So it turns out I have never reckoned with any of this, have never written it down, hence the 2k jumble of words you see here. And it’s like, I know that a lot of this may seem silly, trivial, especially for a show that in itself is not very serious, but as it comes to an end I have to reflect on it as a person who put so much of my heart, my creativity, my pain and my floundering identity into it. I am somewhat embarrassed and wish I could respond to this ask with a joke instead, but we’re in a pandemic and I live alone and have had way too much time to think and reflect and become a lot more self-aware, and part of that reflection has definitely been about my time in the spn fandom. I remember thinking the show was never going to end, yet here we are at the end and I felt compelled to type all this out with a desire to, I don’t know, get some closure? Convince myself that I was a whole person, that I wasn’t just a faceless URL posting destiel fics into the void, that my real life was not at all disparate from the time I spent online? In any case, I’ll always think fondly of the time I devoted to Supernatural, and I’ll take the good and the bad and everything in between. Thanks for the nice ask, anon, apparently I needed to get some things off my chest.  

[andoqin]

C-Novel Rec

So, I have a Deep Abiding Love for Chinese Webnovels, but not often do I get one that actually gets me deep in my heart in a way where I think about it after I’m done and so I wanted to talk about it a little here.

The novel I want to talk about is called Rebirth of a Star General (重生之女将星) , by Qian Shan Cha Ke (千山茶客). If you’ve read (hetero) c-novels, you might know her name, since she also wrote the novel Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage, which is almost a classic in this kind of rebirth genre. 

This Rec/Review/overlong essay is going to contain spoilers, so if you’re completely allergic to those I’ll just give you my TL;DR here: I preferred it a lot over RMEML.

Now to my endless wall of words:

Rebirth of the Star General is pretty much what it says on the tin, main character He Yan, is a famous general in her own right, but no one knows about it because she was only the stand-in for her sickly brother. When her brother grew up and was no longer sick, the family decided that he should receive the military honors she had earned and she would be married off. This was possible thanks to the fact she had always worn a mask, so as not to be discovered.<o:p></o:p>

He Yan was not entirely happy with this decision, but she thought she would make the best of it. Of course, it gets worse because not even a year into her marriage she is first poisoned and then blind as a result and later murdered by her cousin, a concubine of her husband.

She gets reborn as He Yan, beloved and spoiled daughter of a city guard and vows revenge, both on her former husband and on her family, but most of all she longs to become a general again, but this time under her own name and with acknowledgement of her being a female general. 

If you want your rebirth novels to include lots of face slapping or intricate revenge plotting, this is not the novel for you, since soon after she is reborn, she kills a guy out of self-defense and when his family and the city guard are after her she uses this chance to enlist in the army, disguised as a man. 

This is where she meets her arch-rival in her previous life, a man so gorgeous, once again entire paragraphs are filled trying to describe his magnificent beauty - a hallmark of this author if I ever saw one. She decides she will use this chance anyway, her knowledge of military tactics and her knowledge of her rival (and former classmate) possibly being beneficial in this case. 

The author makes it a point to emphasise that He Yan struggles initially to keep up with the military training, since she is now inhabiting the body of a woman who does not have experience with hard work and that she has to work twice as hard to be even mediocre, in the beginning. Obviously mediocrity does not lead to quick military advancement, so her getting incredibly fit very quickly anyway is not very realistic, but even before she had enlisted, He Yan had trained her new body and she has many years of experience as to how to get better and fighting experience, so I gave the novel a pass on that one. 

Up to this point the novel was entertaining, but it didn’t really grip me too hard, although I was impatient enough to MTL it, but as the story goes along He Yan really developed into one of my favourite c-novel heroines ever. So often in novels like this, the female character is treated as exceptional and all other women are dumb bitches, often just in the way of our main couple and dispatched accordingly. But He Yan does not treat other women like this and over the course of the novel builds lasting connections with all sorts of women.

And then there is the scene that made me go: okay yeah, this is going right up the favourite list.

He Yan meets up with the Second Male Lead (who never really is a serious threat to the OTP, He Yan only ever sees him as a friend and somewhat nice guy) and he tries the “oh you’re so unique and special, no other woman is like you” speech, but He Yan stops him and rips into him and the patriarchy in such a beautiful way, that even MTL doesn’t hamper:

   "A-He is very different from ordinary women."

     He Yan looked at her, "What's different?"

     Chu Zhao continued to walk forward, his voice still soft: "Most women, even though they are faced with such a predicament, are already numb and indifferent, and do not think as much as Ah He does. If A-He is thinking about them now, it is very likely that they wont enjoy it, and they will even complain that you are meddling in their affairs."

     He laughed: "This sounds a bit condescending."

     Chu Zhao smiled, "Why do you say that?"

     "The court is a man's court, the world's affairs are a man's world affairs, even when studying in the battlefield, it is men who are the only ones who have the grace. It is so unreasonable that men take advantage of the world, but in turn blame women for being numb-minded and unmotivated, what is this if not superiority?"

     "Brother Chu thinks that I am different from ordinary women because I have studied, I have left the house, and I even went to the military camp. But if you let those women be like me, who have seen the snow of Liangzhou Wei, the water of Jiyang City, the long moon of the desert, the rivers and mountains, do you think they would still be willing to be trapped in a jealous mansion, would they still be complacent and numb and foolish?"

     She smiled a little bit like Xiao Jue, "I think the men in the world are worried about this, so they have set up many ridiculous rules to bind women, breaking their wings with the three rules and five rules, and using those unwarranted 'virtuous wives and beautiful women' to judge them. The more foolish they are, the more reassured the men are, and the more they say, 'See, the women are shallow', when they are the ones who caused it!"

     "Because they also know that once women are given the chance to 'choose', they will never become a vase in the harem with their hands outstretched waiting to be fed by their husbands. Those good women would become generals, chivalrous men, scribes, staff, and compete with them for the grace of the world, and they, in turn, might not win."

     The girl's eyes were as clear as the water in the springtime of Ji Yang City, transparent and clear, seeing clearly and distinctly, as if they could reflect the most splendid daylight.

     He was always able to speak well and would not bring the atmosphere to an awkward point, but at this moment he did not know what to say. It was as if there was nothing he could say to refute the person in front of him. It was clearly a ridiculous, insouciant, naive and annoyingly righteous statement, but it shone out the shadow of a human being, with nothing to hide.

    He was also uneven in his heart.

     Although pretending to be "He Ru Fei" had brought her a lot of pain in her life, it had also taught her to see sights that many women would never see in their lifetime. If she hadn't pretended to be "He Ru Fei", she would not have known that men could do so much more than women. If you were talented in literature, you could be a bachelor with a full belly, if you were skilled, you could be a general with a good war record. Even if you were mediocre at everything, you could still be the most ordinary man on the street. To put it mildly, even at the Raketongzhuang, women were gambling prostitutes and men were gamblers.

    It was only because she later became "Madam Xu" and worked as both a man and a woman that she realised that the world treats men and women so differently, that it is not that men do not suffer, but their suffering can be the basis for judging themselves. The women, on the other hand, spend their lives waiting for the men's affirmation of their hardships.

    It is obvious that they are both born as human beings, but who is more noble than the other? It is ridiculous that some men still look down on girls from the bottom of their hearts, which makes people speechless.

and this is when the author pretty much states why He Yan would never be with SML 

   Chu Zhao and Xiao Jue were, after all, not the same. With women, they both considered them weak and unable to protect themselves. But the former's judgement had a hint of negativity and condescension in it, while the latter, as evidenced by the treatment of the female corpse in the Sun family's backyard in Liangzhou City, had more to do with pity.

And I loved that so much??? Yes, both the ML and SML have patriarchical attitudes towards women, but for He Yan there is a subtle and important difference. And this continues to be a theme throughout the book. One woman later keeps telling her son “Don’t underestimate women!” to later add, after He Yan has become a female general in her own right, under her own name, that He Yan might not be the only female general, there will be two, three or even more.

The romance is of the very, very slow variety and the main couple doesn’t even get together until the last quarter of the novel, officially, but before that we have all sorts of delicious fake relationship, cohabitation and other delightful tropey shenanigans.

The slow romance and relatively easy way the revenge is dealt out might mean this is not for everyone, but if you’re into a nice novel about a woman realising her goals, with a man who will always support her by her side, this might be for you.

And yes, she continues to lead armies after they are married :D

[jcmorrigan]

001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

[bleachluna]

Three First Kisses

This all got inspired by the prompt 'How'd they be after their first kiss'. It's more of a tangent rather than strictly following the prompt, but I liked how it turned out! I hope you enjoy! Also on AO3!

Their first ever kiss had been decades ago now, not that either of them actually remembered it. They'd been in nursery, Toshiro barely four years old and Karin only seven months older. They had decided to play with toy cars but there were only two left in the box, besides the ones that either had tires missing or didn't roll very smoothly, and Karin figured those didn't count. She didn't really like the yellow one, but she gave Toshiro the blue one anyway as she knew it was his favourite colour. Toshiro had always been bright, and he quickly worked out that Karin had decided to put up with the car she didn't like so he could have the best one. Toshiro wasn't always very good with words, especially back then, so he grabbed the sides of her face and clumsily pushed his lips against hers instead. Karin had blinked at him for a moment before smiling and hugging him briefly before pulling him away from the toy box and towards the part of the floor that was best for rolling the cars around, and that was that.

Their second kiss, the first one they remember, is the one they both consider to be their actual first. Looking back, Karin supposes it had been building for a while. Toshiro's family moved when they were still in elementary school, not too far away, he didn't have to change schools thank goodness, but it meant he ended up in a different catchment area than her when it came to middle school. Going to different schools and living just a bit too far away to visit on her own had inevitably led to them drifting apart, eventually not hanging out at all. Karin always thought that was a shame, Toshiro had been her first friend, her best friend, but because of something as simple as location it fell apart.

She distinctly remembers the moment she saw him again, the first time in years. It was the second day of high school and she had gone to the lockers to grab something only to find him at his, a few metres away. She had called out his name immediately, mainly out of surprise and watched as he turned to face her, recognising her instantly. Karin was a little impressed he did to be honest, it had been ages since he last saw her and she had changed a lot. She'd become taller than him, her hair long, her face slowly losing baby fat. Toshiro had changed too of course, but with his white hair and bright blue eyes he was always much easier to spot. At the time Karin hoped they could just pick up where they left off but found that it wasn't really possible. They both wanted to be friends again, the effort was there, but it was awkward. Back in elementary school they always knew everything about each other because they had been friends since nursery, they spent practically all their time together as they were in the same class, it was pretty much impossible to hide anything from each other. But suddenly they had to learn about each other in a way they hadn't before. They had become firm friends again within the month but it felt different, like there was a barrier between them.

It had taken Karin a while, several months in fact, to figure out what that barrier was. Why talking to him felt different, why she didn't feel like she could be as tactile as she used to be. They had put the barrier up themselves, a self-defence mechanism, afraid to get too close to each other, because things were different. Karin found herself looking at Toshiro a little too long just as often as she turned to see him rapidly look away, clearly having been staring at her. Watched Toshiro turn down dating offers for flimsy reasons like being too busy to date despite having no problem going with Karin to watch new movies at the cinema, or going to the park with her. Just as she turned down boys for, well, not being Toshiro. It had been frustrating, dancing around each other for months, with Karin constantly flipping between being sure he liked her back to being sure they were just being friends and she was fabricating it all in her head. Both of them would push against the barrier between them, test it, but they always pulled back, scared to push all the way through. Until one day in June. It had been stiflingly hot, and Karin had been completely fed up of being cooped up in a warm school building all day, so the minute the bell rang for the end of the day she found Toshiro and dragged him to an ice cream shop nearby. It was too busy for them to sit inside, so Toshiro had pulled her towards the side of the building instead, away from all the pedestrians, the tall brick wall giving them a bit of shade.

Karin had been teasing him, about how he always got watermelon flavour without fail, while Karin had a tendency to try out different flavours, her favourite seemingly depending on the month. Toshiro had rolled his eyes, told her that she hadn't actually tried watermelon yet, and that she wasn't allowed to judge him until she did. He scooped some up with the little plastic spoon and held it out to her. She knew he was goading her, didn't actually expect her to go for it, but she thought it would be funnier if she did, staring him down as she guided the spoon in his hand towards her mouth. Watched as his eyes widened a little in surprise, and then go down to her lips, staring at them. Karin didn't know why that day was different, maybe the heat had gotten to her head or something, all she remembers thinking in that moment was 'fuck it'. She went for it, went crashing all the way through that barrier and kissed him. Her right hand still holding her ice cream cone, she slid her left hand round his neck, pulled him to her and pressed her lips against his, perhaps a little aggressively, but Toshiro didn't seem to care. His hand mirrored hers, gripping the back of her neck lightly and he kissed her back. It was a little awkward, with it being their first proper kiss and Karin pulled back after a moment to giggle at it all. Toshiro smiled back, blush on his cheeks before they both looked away. It had taken a couple of tries to start a conversation, both of them feeling pretty embarrassed and shy even though they were happy. Eventually through stilted words they had managed to agree out loud that they should start dating.

Karin hadn't really thought about their future back then. She was only sixteen years old, she was just happy to be dating the boy she liked, didn't really think about whether they'd last, where they'd be in ten years. She wondered if that's why things went so well, because they didn't really overthink it. Naturally they ran into problems, the main one being going to different universities, but they had been dating for two years by then, long distance sucked, but with their solid foundation they weren't about to split up just because of distance, not again thank you. They loved each other, it was easy to stick together. And sure, maybe they took longer to get married than other people expected, but it had simply been their natural path. Dating throughout high school and university, getting engaged the year after graduating at the age of twenty two. It was a little strange at the time, a voice in her head asking that 'wasn't she too young to get engaged?', but it was one of the easiest decisions she'd ever made. She and Toshiro had just been regularly separated for years to study, they both wanted something to definitively tie themselves to each other. Both of their families were ecstatic, wanted to start planning the wedding immediately, they didn't really understand that at the time they only wanted to be engaged. Betrothal felt right, marriage not quite yet. She was confident in the promise, but not in their situation just yet. They were still trying to settle into careers post-graduation, trying to get finances sorted, trying to find a place to live together before they went all the way to marriage. They didn't even think about wedding planning till another year later. Well not officially anyway. Both she and Toshiro had ideas ready before they started properly discussing, making it obvious that they had been thinking about it, to themselves.

Said wedding planning took a while, they were both busy, working full time, and they weren't really rushing to get married anyway. They took their time, writing out ideas, forming to-do lists and eventually settled on a wedding date fifteen months in advance. Their first idea was to get married in June, to get married on the anniversary of their first kiss. It was a sweet, romantic idea, but not really a practical one. Toshiro hated the heat, and while Karin tended to fair hot weather better, she didn't know if that would hold true while wearing a wedding dress. They ended up going for September instead, still warm and sunny, but not overly hot. The wedding planning went by in a stressful blur and suddenly she was here, on their wedding day, a bit over ten years later from when they started dating. Somehow out of everything the thing she was most nervous about was the kiss. The kiss they'd share after all the ceremony, after all the vows. Karin had no doubt about marrying Toshiro, had no doubt that the wedding would be lovely, both she and her soon-to-be-husband were pains in the asses about organisation, so she doubted anything major would go wrong. But she's never had to think about kissing him in front of all her friends and family before. It was a weird feeling. It was going to be their first kiss as a married couple, part of her felt like it should be private, just between them.

She tried her best to hold back her nerves as she walked down the aisle, as she stood up next to Toshiro, looking as beautiful as he ever did. She didn't want him to think she was nervous about marrying him, that part was fine. Fantastic even. It had been a long time coming. She let out a breath of relief as she noticed the little signs of nervousness on his face, feeling grounded next to him, knowing he felt a little nervous too. As expected, the whole ceremony went without a hitch, except for the vows where it took all of her strength to not cry as she spoke. She didn't want to cry now, she didn't cry often but when she did she could cry for ages, and she wasn't about to do that with dozens of people watching her. A couple of tears escaped as Toshiro read out his vows to her, the realisation finally hitting her. She was marrying Toshiro. She was marrying the absolute love of her life. And suddenly she didn't care that everyone was watching. Their minister finally, finally, proclaimed that they were officially married, and that Toshiro could kiss her. She didn't give him a chance. She threw her bouquet vaguely in the direction of her bridesmaids and grabbed him, desperate to kiss him, her husband. She didn't care about their audience, about how they looked, she was officially married to the person she loved more than anything, this was their first kiss as husband and wife, and she was going to kiss him properly thank you very much. She pulled an inch back from him when she ran out breath, grinning happily at him, unable to stop herself from kissing him again. She pulled back a second time, for good this time, laughing a little at the shy look on Toshiro's-, no, her husband's face. “You're stuck with me forever now.”

He held her hands and grinned back at her. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

[veronicamarsconfessions]

I was hugely excited by the announcement that a fourth season of teen noir show Veronica Mars was going to be made, nearly fifteen years after the show’s initial air date (and cancellation after three seasons), and five years after the crowdfunded movie came out. As soon as the show dropped on Hulu (or Stan, if you’re in Australia like me) – a week earlier than initially slated, I rushed to watch it. And I was so distraught by the ending that it genuinely took two days for my mood to return to something even vaguely resembling ‘okay’.

For those of you who haven’t seen it *SPOILERS FROM HERE ON*,

season four has Veronica (Kristen Bell) chasing down a serial bomber who seems to be trying to destroy the Spring Break business in Neptune. It turns out that the first bomb was set by property developer ‘Big’ Dick Casablancas, trying to destroy the Spring Break business in order to buy the waterfront properties cheaply, and the subsequent bombs were set by a pizza delivery man, Penn Epner (Patton Oswalt), who fancies himself a detective and is out to find glory after he is initially ridiculed for his public accusation of an incorrect suspect. The season itself had several issues (one of them being some seriously murky motivations behind Epner’s behaviour, like, if he really was that much of a genius, why was he a pizza delivery man?, and that the people ultimately behind the crimes are more or less ‘hidden in plain sight’ all along, which is a disappointing departure from the way the initial seasons cleverly hid the villain until quite late in proceedings). However, the issue for which there is not enough therapy in the world to appease me is the season’s last-minute killing off of reformed bad-boy and Veronica’s long-time boyfriend, Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring), right after they finally got married.

Series creator and showrunner, Rob Thomas, justified this decision by saying ‘I know this seems crazy or harsh but Veronica is at her best when she’s an underdog and I don’t know that there’s much to root for if she’s now got a perfect relationship. I need to keep her fighting and I need to keep her a little bit uncomfortable in order to have a show. There’s nothing funny or interesting about perfection.’

Except that’s a deeply flawed understanding of how relationships function, and a deeply messed up thing to push on to people.

It’s fair to acknowledge that once the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ is resolved, TV shows often decline in quality, or at the very least, significantly depart from the original formula which made them into such beloved hits at their beginning. But there are two significant issues with this: First, the assumption that TV shows must remain the same in order to be good. There are some interesting observations that the job of the sitcom episode (in particular) is to return all characters to more or less their original starting points. While that is broadly true, TV shows, like life, need to evolve in order to stay interesting, and as across seasons, audiences grow alongside the characters they watch evolve and mature.

Nevertheless, it was fair for Thomas to note that the characterisation of Veronica is someone who is embittered and cynical about people’s fidelity and inherent goodness  – after all, when we first meet her at the age of sixteen, her best friend has been brutally murdered, she’s been raped, her alcoholic mother has upped and left, and her adored father and moral compass has been socially ostracised for a) doing his job and b) being not super wealthy. It’s a lot. Veronica’s very understandable trust issues are compounded by the moonlighting she does as a P.I where, to she regularly sees people cheating on one another and generally behaving in unpleasant ways. So it’s reasonable to point out that for Veronica, the notion of the ‘happily ever after’ is a deeply uncomfortable one. But to keep her in the same mindset as she was at aged 16 is to deny her the capacity to grow as a character.

It’s fair that there was a desire to avoid repeating the pattern previously established (withdrawn/bitter etc), but – and here is my ultimate point – that could have been avoided.

Some of the most complex and interesting storylines come from couples who get together and have to navigate relationships; compromising to fit together, find a way to make it work. Think about the evolution of Niles and Daphne’s relationship in Frasier (and leave aside some of the aspects to his earlier infatuation with her that seem distinctly distasteful in a post-#metoo world). While much of the humour between them in earlier seasons was because of his unrealised ardour for her, after they became a couple, the hardships they navigated through being a couple, and the deepening richness of their relationship that was both romantic and based in friendship, produced some truly hilarious moments. Similarly, one of my (and our fabulous Chief Nerd, Elise’s) favourite TV shows, Chuck, *SPOILER* has the two leads get together in season 3. The show was no lesser for that fact because as Chuck and Sarah’s relationship deepened, they explored facets of themselves that they hadn’t previously shown – it provided more material for the writers, not less.

One of my favourite articles on the ending of Veronica Mars, season four, pointed out that Logan has the most interesting character development because he works to better himself – he has come a long way from the miscreant teenager who organised ‘bum fights’, and he had the potential to become an even more interesting character. How this interacted with Veronica’s cynicism could have provided significant fodder for more story.

But, giving full credit to Rob Thomas for a moment here, the show is called Veronica Mars, not Logan Echolls. So the decision to axe Logan was made to push Veronica’s character development forward, especially given the shows position as a gender-flipped noir which so often has the embittered, cynical detective dealing with the ongoing pain of a tragically killed love.

But the problem is that I can’t actually see how this is going to do anything but ossify Veronica’s primary characteristics: bitter, a hardnosed and reckless desire to catch the bad guy at any cost. Moreover, in most of the noir detective stories, this love has died before we meet the hard-bitten detective.

Thomas said to The Hollywood Reporter, “Moving forward, we’re going to really build around [the idea that] the case is the thing and less of the soap opera of Veronica’s life.” Except Veronica Mars is all about character. Her interactions with her father, Keith (Enrico Colantoni) and the genuine bond of affection between them evokes some of the show’s most poignant interactions. Her internal struggle when the pursuit of justice comes up against questions of morality is inherent grounded in her character. One of its most interest aspects across the years is that Veronica is often wrong. She falsely accuses people (including Logan himself), she behaves badly, she takes her friends for granted, and she can be reckless to the point where she endangers herself and someone has to come in and rescue her (case in point: wandering into the base of an Irish gang that had a particular grudge against her father). So to strip away the elements to the story that allow for depiction and consideration of those complexities would be to lose much of the show’s point.

There’s also a part of me that feels the way in which Logan was killed feels personal. Logan and Veronica were never initially meant to get together, but in the first episodes, the chemistry between the characters, and Kristen Bell and Jason Dohring was so profound that it was written in. I might be putting on my tin foil hat to say this, but it feels as though Thomas resented the manner in which LoVe became such a pivotal part of the Veronica Mars ‘brand’. What really underpins that for me is that the way the series sent off other characters was considered, and gave them a certain ‘exit’. The way in which Logan was killed off feels almost like an afterthought, made more so by some of the questions that arise from the manner. How did he know that she would be in it when it actually blew up? Moreover, the convenience of him leaving a voicemail for his therapist about why he wanted to marry Veronica (why exactly would he call his therapist to tell him about his epiphany? Who has that kind of relationship with their therapist?), and this woman’s decision to keep it from Veronica for a year seems weirdly contrived. Because it was.

However, to be fair, one could claim that the season mistreated some of its other characters, too. Tina Majorino who plays Cindy ‘Mac’ Mackenzie specifically noted that she did not want to return because she did not want her character to be sidelined. Similarly, the complexity to Eli ‘Weevil’ Navaro’s character was stripped away, as was the depth of his relationship with Veronica. What’s worse is that this could have been a really interesting storyline; why he decided to walk away from the court case which would have seen him awarded with compensation for what happened to him in the movie. While we are told that his wife left him along with his child, prompting him to return to his old gang-running ways, the depth of his grief and the reputable life he lost were never really portrayed. Honestly, I would have preferred that rather than the convoluted storyline that involved Mexican cartel hitmen.

But beyond my argument as a writer as to why Logan’s death was a totally unnecessary element to bring in, it also feels like a real slap in the face to fans. I’ve previously talked about the relationship this show has with its fans. Realistically, season 4…hell, the movie, only existed because of the love and support fans showed the show.

Any narrative material exists to interact with fans. Obviously, there is a fine line that can cross into blatant pandering, and there is also a trend that offers a ‘gritty’ or ‘sad’ end (ie the tragic death of the lover), but it’s a balance.

The Veronica Mars movie was very much fan service – it was, after all, fan funded. Much of the movie’s contents and storyline were determined by what Thomas was seeing from fan comments on social media, noting “I did have an idea of things people wanted to see, characters I wanted to get an appearance in, whether it felt extraneous or not.” He added, “there’s no way in the world we would have had a fan-funded movie and I would have killed Logan,” he added.

In the same interview, he said, “I fear that leaning into the high school soap that the show started out as is a losing proposition, that it will start feeling nostalgic rather than vital. If Kristen [Bell] and I want to make more of these Veronica Mars mysteries, I think it’s going to survive best as a true mystery show with a badass PI at the center of it, and I think that works better if the PI doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

Yet for a show whose who schtick was challenging the noir detective genre, it seems the prospect that someone fundamentally gritty and damaged can also have a relationship that the struggle to be healthy was simply a bridge too far.

And at the crux of it, what really frustrates me – as a fan, and as a writer – is that for Thomas, it simply felt too hard to give Logan and Veronica an enduring relationship, and it if wasn’t too difficult, then he perceived it destroyed some fundamental part of the show by making it emotionally sappy. If that’s the dichotomy in which Thomas thinks, then Veronica Mars is no longer the show which attracted its die-hard following of fans and may as well be a different show with a similar premise.

[misscrawfords]

Hey hey! My apologies for not answering your delightful Agatha Christie comment on my blog awhile back -- I was out of town over the past couple days and it cut into my Tumblr time. Basically, I would love any and all recs! I have an extra fondness for characters getting stuck in eerie isolated locations (including but not always big old houses!) and, of course, compelling female characters in general. :)

It has been so long since you sent this but I have finally got round to thinking about my one true love, Agatha Christie, and put together a list of recommendations! I’ve picked out 10 you might enjoy, aiming for some that are maybe a bit less well known. Everyone knows And then there were none which is tbh the most well known “characters stuck in eerie isolated locations” novel. Similarly Death on the Nile, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Murder on the Orient Express etc.

These are in no particular order.

1. They came to Baghdad

A surprise first choice but this is one of my favourites and one I re-read quite frequently. It’s a thriller with a plucky young woman as its heroine. Victoria Jones is determined to travel and follows a handsome man to Baghdad where she gets caught up in international espionage. Exotic locations! Fun heroine! Ludicrous spy plot! Unnecessary inclusion of archaeology because this is Christie! I love it and I think it would make a terrific film.

2. The Hollow

Personally, this is Christie’s darkest and most psychologically compelling novel, though I know others will disagree. It features Hercule Poirot who arrives at a country house to find a man shot dead in the swimming pool, his wife standing over him holding a gun. Seems simple, but obviously it isn’t. This is very much a country house mystery but the motivations of the suspects, including some very well drawn women, are dark and complex.

3. The Seven Dials Mystery

A bunch of young people play a trick on their friend Gerry with tragic consequences and get caught up in, you’ve guessed it, international espionage. The plucky heroine, “Bundle”, is great fun and the mystery pulls you forward between country houses and creepy locations in Soho, London. Not deep but definitely fun.

4. N or M?

I can’t create this list without at least one Tommy & Tuppence mystery and this one is my favourite, set when they’re married and during WW2. The setting makes this for me, in a distinctly creepy seaside boarding house, making something very mundane seem full of peril. Tuppence definitely has the run of the investigation here too and she’s a great sleuth. If you want to read them in order, start with The Secret Adversary which is also fun but quite similar to other books on this list.

5. Cat Among the Pigeons

Not a country house here, but a girls’ boarding school! In many ways just as confining and isolating. This is a Hercule Poirot mystery but most of the cast are women from school girls to teachers with a past. I remember the solution to the mystery being unexpectedly touching and this is definitely a story dominated by women with compelling back-stories.

6. Body in the Library

I couldn’t not include Miss Marple here because you don’t get more of a compelling female character than her - she is my contented spinster role model and I’m not even slightly joking here - and this is arguably one of the best. As for plot, couple find an unknown body in their library and call Miss Marple in to help. I mean, it pretty much does what it says on the tin.

7. The Big Four

A bit like The Came to Baghdad I feel like this is one I love and nobody else does, so I have to recommend it even though it doesn’t really fit either of your criteria. Poirot and Hastings chase all over Europe to increasingly implausible places to bring down a global conspiracy. I mean, there is a very clever female character in it, but mainly I just think this is really cool and I love thrillers.

8. Appointment with Death

Do the cliffs of Petra count as an eerie, isolated place? Because a vile matriarch is murdered there and I keep coming back to this one when thinking about cool and creepy settings and compelling female characters. The murder victim and her influence definitely counts but her relatives are also pretty messed up and interesting. This is a Poirot mystery.

9. Dead Man’s Folly

Another country house murder, this time involving everyone’s favourite apple eating authorial avatar, Ariadne Oliver. She’s invited to stage a fictional murder hunt for friends at their country house, but gets a bad feeling about it so invites Poirot along. Guess what? There’s a real murder! Plenty of twists and turns and some interesting women along the way.

10. Peril at End House

Poirot steps in to protect an extremely... accident prone... young woman. Nick Buckley is a rather darker version of characters like Bundle and Victoria mentioned above which makes this quite a compelling story.

There are, of course, lots more I love, and now I really want to go away and read Christie for the rest of the weekend!

If you want other detective fiction recommendations, can I suggest Lindsey Davis who has written the Marcus Didius Falco series set in Ancient Rome. Her style is fabulous and witty and she’s very historically accurate. Alongside Falco is also the wonderful senator’s daughter, Helena Justina. And she has recently been writing a spin-off series starring Falco and Helena’s daughter, Flavia Alba, whcih are also great. They do need to be read in order though, so start with The Silver Pigs (not the best one tbh but sets the scene).

I’d also recommend Elizabeth Peters’ Amelia Peabody series, starring a forceful Victorian lady and her irascible archaeologist husband, Emerson, who solve mysteries in Victorian Egypt. Start with Crocodile on the Sandbank. 

And it goes without saying, but if you haven’t read Dorothy Sayers, especially the Harriet Vane books, you need to do that right now. Start with Strong Poison.

Happy reading!