#I’m ridiculously grateful for having found my way to the ST fandom this year and a big part of that is because of uncle Wayne

[unclewaynemunson]

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! 🥳🥳

I would love it if you celebrate with me by sharing some uncle Wayne love! Tell me what you love about him or give me some cool headcanons, literally anything! i wanna hear all your thoughts unfortunately i can’t give you cake so i need to do something else instead 💖

[kyluxtrashpit]

TROS Review

Okay here is my extremely long (almost 4k words >.>) review of tros. And that’s without the 2k meta on redemption arcs I also have filed away lmao. First off: I am not leaving the kylux fandom. It’s not a good enough movie to warrant that. Second: I might make a post of things I wished we’d gotten later, but this is already WAY too long lmao. Warnings for spoilers, opinions, and general negativity

EXPLICIT RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT

So. I have watched the thing. I went in knowing the spoilers and oh boy, am I glad I did. Still, overall this movie was… not great lmao. It’s messy and the pacing is off and there are some very weird and straight up Bad moments, but I’m not actually upset about it anymore. It’s more like ‘there’s a lot to unpack here’ except we’re not going to unpack it or even throw away the whole thing, it’s just gonna become that one box that’s still packed and untouched from when you moved 3 years ago. It’s there, but you rarely think about it beyond the occasional ‘maybe I should finally unpack that? Nah, too much effort’

I see a lot of people writing fix it fic and that’s totally valid but tbh… I don’t think it’s worth the effort for me. I think I’m just going to pretend it never happened and write my kylux the way I always have. Maybe I’ll do something with tros at some point, maybe some mean!Hux + redeemed!Ben because I’m awful lmao but for now, it hasn’t changed my plans at all. Which is actually a good thing tbh

Anyway. I’ll start with the good simply because there’s less of it lmao. Best thing about the movie? Everyone in it is looking like a fucking snack. It’s great. These people have always been hot, but this movie really nailed that. Also the trio stuff was fun and felt genuine. I LOVED the hints that Finn is Force sensitive, and I liked him in this movie even though I wish he got more story/time. I enjoyed Rey at the beginning, but her actions and plotline made less and less sense as the movie went on. Kylo was fun; I had gotten worried after that interview that said he’s calm now but he wasn’t lmao, like at all, so that was good. Also I didn’t like how Hux died but I’m endlessly grateful Kylo wasn’t the one to kill him. That might’ve actually ruined the ship for me

The visuals were excellent (save that strobing near the beginning; I’m not epileptic, but I had to close my eyes because it was too much). Some of the jokes hit will, as did some of the emotional bits (Chewie’s “death” was very well-executed and Rey’s scream broke my heart). Weirdly enough, C-3PO is kind of the heart of the movie, which I did not expect at all. Lando’s appearances were too brief but good. I also loved D-O a lot and he’s very cute. I liked seeing a bunch of new planets and environments, however briefly. The acting was also really great throughout on most accounts. I really enjoyed 2 of the Hux scenes (when he’s sitting in that board meeting making a face like he’s mentally eviscerating everyone in the room and when he gets so excited to finally get to blow something up and then Kylo shuts him up with the Force BUT WITHOUT HARMING HIM!!!)

That’s kind of it tbh. The movie overall is really messy. I’ve seen people say it feels like a fever dream and it really does. I’ve seen descriptions of people dreaming the plot of tros and they’re less weird. The pacing in the first chunk is way too fast and there’s way too much to take in. Then things get weird in the middle. Then, well, that ending. It feels like it’s trying too hard to be liked. It’s ‘joke’, ‘reference to past movie’, ‘joke’, ‘reference to past movie’, ‘mention of hope without showing it’, etc. etc. on and on throughout it. Some of those are fun, but it got tiring very quickly. And it made it impossible for me to suspend disbelief long enough to actually get into it

I also saw a lot of reviews saying if you didn’t like tlj, you would like this one. That was not correct. I disliked this for many of same reasons I disliked tlj, but it also managed to hold tfa’s weaknesses as well. Honestly, tros feels like the worst aspects of tlj mixed with the worst aspects of tfa, mixed with way too much nostalgia and then blended up with a good heaping of mania and desperation to keep it going. It tried so hard, wanted to be liked so badly, and you can feel that watching it. It doesn’t feel genuine

It also feels like every single movie in the ST was actually from a different trilogy. None of the 3 connect to each other. You can’t say tros is a successor to tlj or tfa; it’s totally on a different path, which I’m honestly not sure how they managed that. As much as I felt tlj wasn’t a true continuation of tfa, tros feels like its own trilogy mashed into one movie. There wasn’t one consistent plot or character thread to follow between all 3 movies

I think bringing palpatine back was the first fundamental mistake. It didn’t fit. And after creating Kylo and Snoke to be very specifically Not Sith, why bring the Sith back all of a sudden? Palpatine has had his day and he didn’t need this. No one did. Much as he was creepy as hell and that was well done, it didn’t feel right to have him there. Also, I really don’t like the implication he procreated at any point skdfjskldjk

As for Rey… I know I’m in the minority here, but I never found here to be a good narrative foil for Kylo. The connection between the two doesn’t really interest me at all (and this was one of the reasons I didn’t like tlj). It worked better if they were related, which was the biggest reason I was a proponent of Rey Skywalker, but that didn’t happen. The commonalities they have are just: 1) can use the Force, 2) have been lonely. The contrasts are: 1) light vs dark (sort of; this is less explicit in tfa and I miss that greyer view of the Force) and 2) had a family vs didn’t. And that’s pretty much it. In order for 2 characters to contrast and hit the ‘complimentary opposites’ sweet spot, you need much, much more than that. Finn has and always will be a better foil for Kylo and it’s a damn shame they abandoned that in tlj and even more so in tros. I have more thoughts on her that I’ll get to later too

I did like Rey in the beginning, but the longer it went on, the less I could rationalize her actions. Why is she doing that? Why is she trying to ditch her friends all the time? Why does she heal the cave snake? Why does she stab Kylo when he’s just become a non-combatant? Why does she heal him after? Why is she trying to reach out to the spirits of past jedi? Why did she Do That after she wakes up in the end? Why did she then seem to not even care that Kylo died right after? None of this is explained. Show, don’t tell, is great, but you can’t just make massive leaps like that. I didn’t get it. None of this felt like the character I’ve gotten to know over the last few years, nor did it feel consistent within the movie itself

That said, I want to discount one complaint I’ve seen: I got no impression she’s exiling herself on Tatooine at the end. It’s very clear she’s just doing a quick funeral ritual for Luke and Leia. The Falcon is still there, ready for when she’s done. I don’t get where the ‘she’s all alone in the desert again forever and ever’ comes from because it’s clear she’s not. It’s just a private ceremony (plus obvious fanservice). That’s it

For Finn: I liked that his character got to be a lot cooler here. I’m sad that he didn’t get half the attention and plot he deserved, but at least he wasn’t treated as a joke and a coward. My tlj complaint for Finn was that he went through the exact same arc he did in tfa over again; here, he doesn’t. He’s clearly grown into himself. That I liked. But damn, he was supposed to be a main character and he really got sidelined hard. It’s also very clear finnrey was planned at some point but didn’t end up in the final cut. The tease with that felt cruel tbh. He deserved to get to tell Rey he loved her on screen

And Poe: Poe was okay in this one. He felt to me like a different character in tfa and tlj, but this one managed to mesh the two characterizations well. He’s a bit of a hothead who doesn’t think (tlj), but he also really cares about people and is trying his best to lead (tfa). That was very successfully done. However. Poe is the one character with the most backstory. He’s got novels, comics, all of it. Where in the fuck is this history of being a spice runner in all that??? Sketchy as hell to make your one Latino character being a drug runner but you know. It also felt like a HUGE retcon of the one character that actually has fully revealed backstory. Also his thing with Zori was just weird and forced and exhaustingly heterosexual. Completely pointless tbh

As I was rereading this, I realized I forgot Rose but really, that’s because she does pretty much nothing. She has very few lines, never comes along. It’s like they forgot she was there. Or just didn’t care. It was really sad and a huge disrespect to everything KMT has gone through. Both her and her character deserved more

For Hux: I liked the 2 scenes I mentioned above, but other than that I was disappointed. I said this on twitter already, but the biggest crime they committed was getting rid of his fanaticism. Tlj may have turned him into a joke, but at least he was still a zealot. Here, it’s clear he gave up his last fuck like a year ago. It’s 9 am and he’s had 6 glasses of wine because he’s lost the will to live and it’s all pointless. Might as well fuck around and give the Resistance info that might lead to the end of everything he’s worked for his entire life because nothing matters and at least Kylo will lose. That’s dumb and violently ooc. I get him being a traitor to Kylo, I am DOWN for that, but not to the FO. He cares about the FO. He is fanatically devoted to the FO. That was ridiculous and wildly out of character. Also the FO is just gone in favour of Palpatine’s fleet as soon as Hux dies? What happened to them? Are they still out there? Who even knows? WHAT A FUCKING WASTE

Also Pryde? Fuck that guy and fuck JJ/LF/Disney for thinking it’s okay to have an old imperial kill Hux. Especially since the visual dictionary today confirmed Pryde knew Brendol and our Hux had known him for years. The possible implications are gross as fuck. If anyone was going to kill Hux one on one, it should have been Finn (with a wonderful stormtrooper rebellion arc involved) for the sake of both characters. I’m personally going to choose to believe Hux was wearing a blaster proof vest (thank you, Delilah Dawson, for putting those into Black Spire as canon) and faked his death. He’s living in blissful exile with Millie now or rebuilding the actual FO and ready to take over as the Emperor he deserves to be

Oh and Leia’s scenes did feel weird. I appreciate them trying to incorporate her, but it didn’t quite work. I feel like having her be offscreen yet present would’ve worked better than most of what they used. Some worked better than others though. I also have some Thoughts about her death but I’m about to get into the second half of the movie stuff and I’ll cover that there

Now Kylo. My darling, sweet, disaster boy. So. Okay. I knew no matter what happened his end would be controversial. And I have a lot of feelings on redemption arcs that can be distilled into one thing: if they’re written well, I like them, no matter how much bad the character has done; however, they are almost never written well enough. One of the first things I said coming out of tfa back in 2015 is ‘that’s going to be a disappointing redemption arc in a few years’. It was never about what ending I wanted (I actually favour something more grey than simply ‘oh he’s good now’ or ‘dies evil’, but that was way too ambitious for them to attempt so I never bothered to hope for it), because I knew it was coming. So this didn’t really bother me beyond the fact that it was too sudden. I do blame that partially on tlj, because it took Kylo from conflicted and torn apart to ‘yeah, I’m in charge now’, but I still think this was not the way to do it. Anyway. I have a 2k word rant somewhere about redemption arcs and when they work and when they don’t that I never posted and this is the much, much shorter version of that

Also. Okay. One more thing on this. So I usually don’t like redemption arcs because they’re written badly, but my least favourite redemption arcs are those that end in death. The only one I can think of that actually worked was Vader’s, but it doesn’t work as well with Kylo. Why? Because redemption is about making amends, not being punished. It’s about choosing to stop doing bad shit and instead to do good things to make up for what you’ve done. In self-sacrifice, not only does it send the message that the only path to redemption is death, but also it means you do literally one thing and then die. That’s it. One good deed, die, you’re done. That’s too fucking easy. True redemption is waking up every single day, for the rest of your life, and continuing to choose to do good. You know that evil is easier, feels better; you’ve done it. But you’re making the choice to keep doing good and to make amends instead. And you do that for years. Decades, even. That is SO MUCH harder to do than just one good thing and then immediately dying without showing if that change is lasting or not. That is how redemption is achieved: in making that choice not once, but again and again and again. So yeah. I didn’t like that. Death redemptions aren’t convincing to me because one choice is easy; consistently making that choice over the rest of your life is much, much harder

End of point: if they were going to redeem Kylo, he needed to live and work to make up for his past mistakes in order to make it impactful. It’s a damn shame he didn’t

Also: having Leia die for the sake of a man, son or not? FUCK THAT. And, even worse, if we follow the movie’s logic: Leia died trying to reach and save her son. Which lead to… him dying anyway?! Which means Leia’s death is meaningless and she died for literally nothing. Fuck that. FUCK THAT. What the fuck. That’s bullshit

Again on the redemption: Kylo just… kills his good friends the KOR without a shred of hesitation? Also the KOR literally never speak? And Kylo says literally one word (‘ow’) after the redemption? I admit, it was fun watching him fight and also watching him get hurt. If I ignore the context of it, watching him crawl out of the pit, scrabbling on the ground, so hurt he can’t even stand up? Fuck. That was good shit tbh. Also those big, desperate puppy eyes. They’re even worse with him as Ben instead of Kylo. Bravo to Adam for playing such a convincing sad boy. I hate that his scar got healed though; I liked it

Now. The whole ending and the plot stuff. Rey being a palpatine is… okay. Fine. I don’t like it but whatever. Seems like an unnecessary excuse to bring him back. Also Luke and Leia knowing? How? Luke knew Rey for literally 1 day. And how would Leia know? And why not tell Rey, who was so desperate for answers to her past when they thought Palpatine was dead? It makes no sense. It’s just very unnecessary. Not to mention the line “you’re a palpatine” is not a thing any real human being would ever say, jfc that was clumsy and unrealistic dialogue. I don’t mind Rey going a bit dark for some time, but this was not the way to do it. Also I was really hoping for a resolution beyond ‘dark siders dead, light sider alive’ because the dichotomous nature of the Force MAKES NO SENSE. Balance is needed. Leaving the only Force user alive a light sider means something dark will come again for the sake of it – Rey should’ve gone grey and tbh tfa made me hope this trilogy would end with all surviving Force users grey. So that was disappointing

Now. The kiss. Straight up: I do not ship it. I don’t mind if other people do, but I do get touchy when they go out of their way to prove there’s nothing inherently problematic about it. I ship kylux; it’s problematic as hell. That’s a good part of why I like it. So I’m fine with r*ylo shippers as long as they do the same. Problem is: most don’t and go around insisting it’s actually the highest romance possible while leaning on incredibly misogynistic and racist tropes to prop up that argument rather than accept their ship has some questionable parts to it (like kyluxers do). It’s more a problem with the fandom for me than it is the ship in theory. Still, I don’t like it and that’s what matters for this

The fact of the matter is it felt extremely sudden and out of place. The entire first half of the movie is Kylo being an aggressive, creepy asshole to Rey. I can theoretically entertain the idea of Kylo having feelings for her (though I don’t), but I cannot see the other way around, not when Rey has so many kind, wonderful people around her. Which is why this feels so weird. There was not enough build to it. I saw a cam clip off reddit before I went in, so I had accepted it was happening but I expected a lot more lead up to it to make it not seem so sudden. None of that was there. There was no build up or reaching of understanding so it reads exactly like those versions of it I dislike: there is nothing wrong with a man berating you and insulting you and attacking you and you should love him for it. That is not enemies to lovers. That’s just abusive bullshit

And then the death. Both of them. Rey dies from… what exactly? It’s never shown at all. And same with Kylo. The leaks said it was Force exhaustion, which a) why? And b) that’s not clear in the damn movie. You need to explain things!!!! And also that means Leia, Luke, Kylo, and Rey all died (even if one didn’t stick) from using the Force too hard. Meanwhile Darth Maul survives getting cut in half and Palpatine survives falling down a shaft in a space station that explodes 2 minutes later (and, you know, all the wacky Force shit he did in this movie too). The fuck? It’s dumb. I hate it

Also the dyad thing was weird. I know the early leaks had it more explained, then the leaks said they cut it, but now it looks like they left in 3 lines of dialogue with it and cut the rest. Again, explanations people! This is not a thing in previous canon! Maybe in the EU, but that’s not canon anymore! The fuck!!!! The idea is dumb and forced to begin with, but the execution made it worse

And now for the final, largest criticism I have. A confession: I am not a star wars fan by nature. I’ve always liked them, but I preferred other sci-fi more. I’m more of an invasive species who forcibly carved my way into this fandom ecological niche because I really loved Kylo lmao. But if there is one thing star wars is defined by, I don’t think it’s love or family or any of those common themes people say. It’s hope. That’s the thing star wars does well. Even when things are darkest, it keeps the hope alive and it makes you feel that. Good will triumph. There is reason to believe in heroes, even when they stumble

This movie is not hopeful. Rogue One, a masterful tragedy, still manages a message of hope despite every single lead character dying. This one doesn’t. And tbh, I think tlj missed on this a bit too (a lot of talk about having hope, not a lot of showing us reasons to be hopeful), but it was still there. Tros does not feel hopeful. The Skywalkers are all dead. Rey has decided to download the legacy (why? No idea! The whole message was ‘don’t be afraid of who you are’ and she just then decided to become someone else? Makes no sense!!!). Anakin’s sacrifice meant nothing because Palpatine came back (and it is CRIMINAL we never got an Anakin and Kylo scene). Han and Leia’s and even Luke’s (a bit) deaths meant nothing because yeah, Kylo turned back in the end, but then he died anyway. They all gave their lives to save him and it was all for nothing. He’s still dead. Palpatine is gone and so is his fleet, but what about the FO fleet? Are they still out there? Are there brainwashed stormtroopers still trapped in its clutches (also, they were so close with Jannah and Finn to adding depth here, but nope, the stormtroopers are still cannon fodder in every fight scene even though they’re literally slaves!!!!)? Who knows!

This movie only feels conclusive in that so many characters we love are dead. That’s it. There’s more questions than answers and so much left unresolved. There’s no sense of hope in it. There’s barely a sense of victory. It’s not satisfying. Even the celebration at the end feels weird and like it’s trying to force you to be happy. The jedistormpilot hug was good, but the lesbian kiss was such a cheap attempt at trying to appease people calling for representation. The moment with Lando and Jannah at the end was probably the most hopeful part of the movie and neither of them are lead characters

Idk. I know this is pretty negative. But I didn’t really enjoy this movie. Some parts were fun, or funny, or exciting, or emotional. But overall? No. This was not a satisfying conclusion for any of these characters, either the new or the old. They missed. Hard. Not one character was truly done justice. And it’s disappointing. But it’s over now and I have no intentions of letting it dictate my fandom activities. I’m just going to pretend it didn’t happen and call it a day

[thecoleopterawithana]

Just wanted to say I love your blog! I am like you, only fairly recently got into this fandom and am so intrigued by the Lennon/McCartney partnership. I think I’ve read about anything that could have possibly attributed to the ending of their partnership. But, just today I read that Paul had secretly been buying shares of Northern Songs in 1969 which (understandably) angered John when he found out. It puts the “nobody hurt john like paul” in a different light.. do you know what happened?

Hey there! Welcome to the fascinating story that is Lennon/McCartney! It truly is a very intriguing relationship, and I’m happy if my blog has aided your explorations in any way! 

I want to thank you a lot for your question. In truth, I’ve been focusing more on the emotional dynamics, but ignoring the business conflicts becomes somewhat faulty if they made it personal. So I’m grateful that you made me dig into this side of it, so that I can get a more complete picture. 

Now, like I said, I’m very new to this facet of the story and my knowledge in business is extremely lacking, but I’ll do my best to give a somewhat informed opinion. 

First, let’s go over what is Northern Songs and how it came about, so that we can better understand how they get to the point of losing it in 1969.

In 1962, Brian Epstein was advised by George Martin to look for a good publisher, as the latter felt EMI’s publishing company had done little to promote “Love Me Do”. One of the suggested names was Dick James, as he was trustworthy, England-based, and “very hungry”, meaning he would work very hard to promote the songs. He indeed won Epstein over by getting the Beatle’s latest single, “Please Please Me”, a spot on a very prestigious TV show at the time.

On February 1963, James makes the suggestion to create a separate company for Lennon/McCartney compositions. Thus, Northern Songs Ltd. is born. And even though John and Paul thought they were getting their own company, they ended up with a 20% share each, Brian with 10% and Dick James and his partner, Charles Silver, with 50%. James was to be the manager for the next 10 years (earning 10% of the gross receipts), while Lennon and McCartney agree to give the company full copyright of the compositions published in the following 3 year period.

John and Paul would later feel as if they’d been ripped off, that the rates were unfair. In truth, at the time, it was perfectly unusual for songwriters to be so involved with the publishing of their songs, happy just to give them over for 50% returns. But for John and Paul, the attitude was completely different. Their songs were their babies, not something to be bought, sold and exploited. In their innocence, they didn’t even realize that songs could be owned!   

In May 1964, John and Paul form a private limited company to which their share of the resulting royalties can go, Lenmac Enterprises. John and Paul own 40% each, Brian the remaining 20%.    

In February 1965, a lot of things happen that would prove determinant in the future course of the Lennon/McCartney song publishing business. 

First, despite the first agreement not expiring for another year, Northern Songs is given full copyright of every Lennon/McCartney composition, created together or apart, for the next 8 years (February 1973), with the two composers having to provide a minimum of 6 songs/year. Also, the resulting royalties (50% as of 1965 and increasing to 55% for songs written after 1969) would be sent to a new company, Maclen Music, owned in 40% each by John and Paul, with the remaining 20% belonging to NEMS (Brian Epstein’s company, of which he owned 50%, his brother 40%, and each of the Beatles 2.5%).

A week later, Northern Songs is made public, to reduce the income tax burden. James is appointed managing director, with his partner functioning as chairman, an together they held 1,875,000 (37.5%) of the shares. John and Paul each retained 750,000 shares (15% each), and George and Ringo 40,000 (0.8 %) each.

On April 1966, a fatally flawed decision is made. Maybe hoping to free up some money, John and Paul sell Lenmac Enterprises to Northern Songs for £365,000, effectively relinquishing their rights to the direct royalties from their first 56 compositions. This includes every song from 1963 to 1965, those associated with peak Beatlemania. 

Around this time, Dick James starts to get proposals from his old friend Lew Grade, from Associated Television, who is keen on buying the Beatles song catalogue. But for now, Northern Songs is doing too well for him to consider selling it. 

It was only after Brian Epstein’s death, in August 1967, that the Beatles were forced to manage their own business. It was during these explorations of their contracts that John and Paul first realized what exactly they were getting from all their songs. They were not happy.

They wanted to renegotiate their deal with James, and in the summer of 1968, they saw the perfect opportunity to force his hand. Inviting him to an Apple Records meeting, they made their proposal for increased royalties, while filming the encounter. 

‘It was in those days when we taped and filmed everything and we thought: that might be the thing to do, let’s get Dick to come round. And we happened to have a film crew there; we thought we might just force him into doing something. On camera, he can’t really say no.’

Paul recalls their approach to Dick James and the slightly reluctant response.

‘Hey, Dick, I hope you don’t mind this being filmed…’ Paul said.

‘Well, all right then,’ Dick replied.

Paul: ‘Look, we’d really like to ask for a little bit more [percentage royalty from their songs’ income]. We’ve been more successful now than any songwriters have been for any publisher. And we’re on a not awfully good deal, as you and we know. It’s not bad… but couldn’t you see your way to giving us a raise? That’s really all we’re doing, asking for a raise.’

Paul says now: ‘We have been asking for a raise ever since to whoever has been in charge [of Northern Songs]. And now, of course, I am a long-serving, thirty-year employee, when even the lowliest of people get raises. But Dick said: “No, I can’t alter it. I’m in this with Charles Silver. It would be absolutely impossible for me to change the terms of the contract.”

‘We said: “Why?”

‘I now know, running a business, you can change it at a stroke of a pen. You can say: I hereby revoke that contract. I’d like to give these wonderful people a bit more. They should have 5 per cent more each. It would’t have been difficult; Dick took on a lot of stress which he possibly didn’t need. You can only have so many meals a day.’

‘That was what we were trying to say: “Look, you’ve done great. From being the guy who sang ‘Robin Hood’ to becoming the publisher of the Beatles.”’ Paul and John pointed out that Dick had accrued a great reputation and consequently plenty of extra business because he had the prestige that came from being the Beatles’ music publisher.

‘John started to use an analogy of an acorn and an oak tree, and it was very good, a smart thing. He almost got Dick over a barrel on this one. He said: “Look, Dick, it was an acorn and it’s grown into an oak tree and it’s even taken over the whole bloody garden now.”’ Dick responded to the effect that he owned the original acorn and he now owned the oak tree and there was ‘nothing to be done’.

— Paul McCartney, c/o Ray Coleman, McCartney: Yesterday and Today. (1996)

This confrontation significantly soured the relationships between James and the two Beatles, who he now saw as stubbornly arrogant ‘in-grates’.

Of course, trouble was brewing within the Beatles themselves. The previously united-front of Lennon/McCartney was fracturing. Paul had met Linda, John had gone out with Yoko in conceptual art demonstrations which were ridiculed by the general public, and they hardly knew how to take care of their newborn Apple. Paul’s efforts to cut back expenses were thwarted by the other Beatles, and by January 1969, John was telling Ray Coleman that Apple was ‘losing £50,000 every week and if it carries on like this we’ll be broke in six months’.

The report went around the world and the music industry smelled blood. One of such sharks was Allen Klein. But that is another story.

Alarmed by the tensions between the partnership of Lennon and McCartney and wounded by their behaviour the previous year, Dick James is looking to jump ship. And so, in March 1969, seizing the fact that John and Paul were away on their respective honeymoons, without further notification, James sells his shares of Northern Songs to Lew Grade. With James’ and Silver’s shares, plus those acquired during the public purchase, ATV now owned 35% of the company, with plans to buy the remaining 15.1% necessary for its control. 

John and Paul first find out what happened when questioned by journalists looking for a reaction. While Paul could not be reached, John confidently answers for both of them that “I’ll be sticking to my shares and I could make a pretty good guess that Paul won’t sell, either.” Indeed, Paul later confirms that “You can safely assume that my shares are not for sale to ATV.”

But the betrayal was huge. Even old friends or music industry people that respected Dick James, such as George Martin and Roger Greenway (a prominent figure in the world of music publishing who was also signed as a songwriter to Dick James Music), where enraged by the dirty move. But none were more hurt than John and Paul.

[Dick] James, in fact, was quoted as saying that at the time ATV took over Northern Songs “the wolves stopped baying”. He firmly believed that it would have been wrong to sell Northern Songs to either Lennon or McCartney individually but, even so, he admitted that when he met the two songwriters at McCartney’s St John’s Wood home: “Paul was annoyed* but John was inconsolable, he was hurt and I was very sorry.”

However before Dick James met up with Northern Songs’ two main creative sources, he had to face the wrath of the other Beatle who was signed to the company. Harrison apparently visited their song publisher in his central London office to make clear his own feelings about the proposed sale and when James, explaining that it was important he moved his shares quickly before the price fell, said it was a very serious matter, Harrison reportedly screamed back at him: “It’s fucking serious to John and Paul is what it is!”

According to NEMS director Peter Brown, the songs in Northern Songs represented something very special to the two main composers. “To John and Paul, Northern Songs wasn’t just a collection of compositions, it was like a child, creative flesh and blood and selling it to their business antagonist Sir Lew Grade was like putting that child into an orphanage.”

— Brian Southall, Northern Songs: The True Story of The Beatles’ Song Publishing Empire. (2006)

*Of course, it is only James’ reading that classifies Paul as merely ‘annoyed’ by the happenings. From what little I can glean from Paul McCartney, it strikes me as more likely that he was hiding how wounded he was while trying to keep a cold grip on things. He wouldn’t still be fighting for his and John’s songs to this day if he didn’t care. And considering Paul’s net worth, it isn’t just about money either.

The Beatles gathered arms and consulted with their lawyers and accountants to see if it was still possible to wrestle for control. It became clear that the Beatles still controlled only 30% of Northern Songs among them. 

It was also while looking at these figures that John realized Paul had 751,000 shares (worth around £1.4m), while John had 644,000 (£1.25m) plus another 50,000 as a trustee. 

This caused conflict between them. John suggested that he and Paul had made a verbal pact to keep their ownership of the company on an equal footing. Paul later explained that he was investing in both himself and John and that, in his memory, he had told John about it and they had often agreed that investing in their own work was a good principle.

— Paul McCartney, c/o Ray Coleman, McCartney: Yesterday and Today. (1996)

We’ve finally reached the point of your question. 

First, just by looking at it, it seems to me as if it was not really Paul buying more shares as it had been John selling his, as they initially had 750,000 each. This means that the difference was created by Paul buying 1,000 more shares (0.02% of the company), while John sold more than 100,000 so that he could set up a trust fund for Julian at the time of his divorce with Cynthia. 

Now, do I believe that John didn’t understand this and would take it as a personal betrayal that there was an unbalance in the financial holdings of their partnership? Yes. Especially at a time when the toxic combination of drugs, people whispering in his ear, and personal insecurities were making him extremely paranoid of anything and everything that Paul did.  

Do I believe that Paul was trying to take advantage of him and secretly get ahead? No. I do think he genuinely believed he was looking out for both of them under John’s consent. And how ahead could he get with 0.02%?

This all seems just like another instance of miscommunication between them, quite similar to what happened with “The Family Way”, in which Paul asks for a go-ahead, with John answering “Yes” while internally expecting Paul to read his mind and see “No”, and then getting hurt when Paul goes ahead and does it (like they’d agreed). I can even see a business-conscious Paul trying to discuss the subject with an easily-bored John, who just agrees out of disinterest, without really knowing (or caring to know) what that entails.

But getting back to your question, I don’t know that it puts the “nobody hurt John like Paul” in a totally different light. I mean, this sure added to the pile of resentment and distrust, but I don’t see this episode as the Big Hurtful One. In my head, I reserve that spot for Paul’s announcement that the Beatles were over and that there would be no Lennon/McCartney songwriting partnership in the future. 

Because, until that point, all of John’s antics were at their core a cry for Paul’s attention, trying to force his hand into acting by threatening the thing Paul held most dear: the Band. So after getting hopeful following Paul’s negative reaction to his divorce announcement in September 1969, where he urged John not to make any permanent statements and left the room crying, he was devastatingly hurt when Paul finally broke it off in April 1970.

Of course John, in his usual manner, forgets that in the early months of 1970, he, together with Klein and George, had stepped over Paul twice. Not only had Lennon given the Let It Be recordings to Phil Specter, who had smothered them (especially Paul’s songs) in over-production (with Paul requesting changes and Klein claiming it was too late), but they also tried to force back the original release of Paul’s solo debut album, McCartney, from April to June, to make room for Let It Be, sending Ringo as the messager. And even if they relented at Ringo’s urging (after he was tossed from McCartney’s house, and saw the true extent of his hurt and anger), it proved to be the last straw for Paul. 

But it was the fact that Paul left him that hurt John like nothing had done before. He even tells us that that’s the one thing he will never forgive him. 

And it’s not merely a matter of pride or jealousy, it’s not that it was Paul who made it public when it was his band. It’s not that Paul left him, it’s that Paul left him. He made true the biggest fear John had: being abandoned and rejected.

That’s what I see as John’s biggest wound, what he sees as the biggest betrayal. Nothing that happened with the business could surpass that. Sure, like I said, it added wood to John’s raging fire of paranoia and resentment. But he would have understood and ultimately forgiven that too if Paul had connected with him in the way he needed.

But just to finish the story of Northern Songs, by September 1969 ATV had managed to buy the remaining shares so that it controlled 51% of the company.  Defeated, both John and Paul sold their shares, effectively relinquishing the rights to around 250 Lennon/McCartney songs, their own music.

-

Sources:

Ray Coleman, McCartney: Yesterday and Today (1996).

Brian Southall, Northern Songs: The True Story of The Beatles’ Song Publishing Empire (2006).

The Beatles | The Beatles Companies | Northern Songs. Accessed on: http://www.rockmine.com/Beatles/BeatleCo.html (14/03/19).

[doctortreklock]

An Ancient Place (the by his side remix) - December 32, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Full of History and Secrets (x)

December is a month of remixes and sequels!!!

Fandom: Good Omens

Title: "Night Vale is an ancient place. Full of history and secrets, as we were reminded today." Welcome to Night Vale, Ep. 4

Words: 4635

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If there was one thing Aziraphale hadn't expected from a brisk fall day in 1967, it was meeting Anthony J. Crowley.

He'd been doing his usual afternoon stroll through Soho, feeling somewhat more lonely than perhaps he customarily did, when he decided, on some whim that he would be forever grateful for, to pop into St. Patrick's for a brief visit.

Like all holy sites, he felt a pleasant warmth as soon as he set foot on the hallowed ground. Surveying the sanctuary with all the satisfaction of a job well done by someone else, he noticed a particularly striking man by the basin of holy water.

He was dressed in what Aziraphale had come to suppose must be the fashion of the day: an overly tight outfit in a somber black that looked out of place in the brightly lit church. With dark, round sunglasses and heeled boots to be precise. He found it a bit ridiculous, but was quietly aware that they must find him equally ridiculous for his own, more old-fashioned, apparel. Not that the thought made him anxious to match the current trend. Aziraphale had determined long ago that he would only bend to the latest fad if it was no longer the latest. It would hardly be worth updating his wardrobe for any style that lasted less than at least three decades.

Though most trends in human fashion were perplexing and often downright distasteful, Aziraphale couldn't help but note that this man seemed to wear the clothing with ease. The dark jacket flexed easily around his body as he carefully held a glass jar in the water to fill it. His black leather gloves were likewise somewhat jarring when compared to his otherwise brilliant surroundings, Aziraphale noticed. But, he admitted, to the contrary, they also seemed to fit him just as well as the rest of his ensemble, regardless of how out-of-place they seemed in context.

As he watched, the man pulled the bottle cautiously out of the water and held it nearly at arms' length, as if struggling to figure out what to do with it. Unbidden, Aziraphale felt a smile slip onto his face.

It quickly vanished, however, when the man seemed to discover an itch in the most inconvenient place, giving what could be overestimated as a full-body flinch. The general effect, however, was that the glass bottle slid against his leather gloves and began to fall.

Before he knew it, Aziraphale had reached out and caught the jar. He wasn't out of breath, which meant he must have employed a minor miracle to have made it so quickly. Hopefully Gabriel wouldn't audit his miracles any time this century. Either way, he didn't regret his slip in the slightest, as it made the man's face light up in the most relieved smile he'd seen in decades.

"Here you go," he told the man, surprised to find himself a little breathless after all. "Careful that you don't drop it again," he cautioned. "That glass would be quite a bother to clean up."

The man took the bottle back with a dazed nod, holding the bottle gingerly, close to his body this time. Good deed done, Aziraphale began to turn away, ignoring the hollow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. There was no reason for it, after all. He'd only just met the man.

"Would you like to grab a drink?" the man blurted, and Aziraphale halted in surprise. "As thanks," he finished.

The hollow feeling vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a warmth that Aziraphale couldn't quite attribute to the church, no matter how much he wanted to rationalize it away. "I would be delighted," he told the man.

The man adjusted his grip on the bottle, tucking it close to himself and reaching out with his free hand. "I'm Crowley," he said. "Anthony Crowley, but most people call me Crowley."

Aziraphale smiled and shook Crowley's hand, the leather of his glove soft under Aziraphale's fingers. "Ezra Fell," he said, introducing himself by his current pseudonym. "I sometimes go by Zira," he added on impulse. He wasn't sure why it mattered to him that this human, who he had never met before and likely never would again, address him by even a portion of his true name, but he could not deny that it did matter.

Crowley grinned at him, a wide smile of delight, and for a moment, Aziraphale was so distracted he couldn't have said if he was standing in a church or on the moon.

--

Anthony Crowley turned out to be the most fascinating person Aziraphale had ever met, and he'd spent time with everyone from Virgil to Arthur Doyle. They seemed to click instantly, almost as if Crowley had been made as his mirror, a perfect foil. If Aziraphale hadn't known, deep in his corporation's bones, that his Creator had never been so generous and would never forgive him for his arrogance, Aziraphale might have wondered if Crowley had not been made just for him.

He could picture Crowley everywhere, at every point in his own history. Cutting a dashing figure through ancient Rome, rescuing him when he'd been discorporated in France during the Revolution, even standing next to him at Eden as he watched the first thunderstorm. Even now, looking back at his memories, Aziraphale could nearly taste the empty spaces around him where Crowley would have stood, slotted in so neatly it would be impossible to tell he hadn't been there the entire time, warping the emptiness around his own solitary figure into a pair of companions, two partners, a binary star system in perfect balance.

--

"Packing is exhausting," Crowley proclaimed, flopping back onto Aziraphale's bed. Though, as of today, it was their bed, really. Aziraphale felt a flutter of joy at the thought. He'd only known the man a month, but already he knew that he wanted to spend as much of Crowley's life with him as the human would allow.

"It was mostly unpacking today, my dear," Aziraphale told him in amusement. "The packing was yesterday." He flitted around the room, tucking away more pieces of his solitary life that he hadn't quite managed to get out of the way yet.

"I don't care," Crowley told him firmly. "Packing, unpacking, it's all the same to me. Moving is exhausting, angel," he declared with a wide gesture in front of him. That he happened to be gesturing at the ceiling did not seem to put him out at all, Aziraphale noted with a burst of affection.

"Well, then," Aziraphale said lightly. "Maybe you should just never move again." He didn't pause, stuffing the detritus of the 1930s into the corner of another drawer. He also didn't look at Crowley.

"Maybe," Crowley echoed, and Aziraphale could hear the smile in his voice.

He chanced a look over at the bed, and Crowley was watching him with something like wonder and something like love in his gaze. "Maybe," Aziraphale repeated more firmly.

"C'mere, angel," Crowley said softly, sitting up and holding out a hand. Aziraphale went to him effortlessly, allowing himself to be pulled down next to Crowley on top of the quilt. "Zira, I--"

"What is it, my dear?" Aziraphale prompted when Crowley faltered. He reached out and gently tucked a lock of Crowley's hair behind his ear.

"I--" And Aziraphale had only known Crowley a few short weeks - though it felt like a thousand years already - but he'd never seen the man so vulnerable. "Zira, I've been alone for a long time," he said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, and Aziraphale's heart broke a little at seeing the tears well up around his eyelashes. "I never thought I'd meet anyone who would want to spend a month with me - me, as I truly am - much less a lifetime. And I just..." he fell silent, overcome with emotion.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale whispered to him, cupping Crowley's cheek with his palm and pressing their foreheads together until their noses brushed and their breath mingled and Crowley's face was too close for Aziraphale to see the tears in his beautiful, golden eyes. "I know."

He held Crowley close until the man's breathing evened out and Crowley fell asleep. Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to move if God themself had appeared and ordered him to. Instead, he expended a few small miracles on switching off the lights and repositioning them under the blankets instead of on top of the covers.

Aziraphale carefully lifted one of Crowley's hands from the sheets, kissed it gently, and held it, all night long. He didn't sleep.

The cool October winds whistled at the windows that night, but inside an angel kept watch over his slumbering partner and vowed to never let the man be lonely again for all the days of his life.

--

Sometimes Aziraphale wondered bleakly what he thought he was doing. Playing house with a human was never something that could be forgiven or overlooked by his superiors. It was only a matter of time before they found out. Even if his time with Crowley was long past by the time they discovered his infraction, it wouldn't stop them from issuing punishment.

Even if he managed to slide under the radar for another century, it wouldn't matter in the long run. Crowley's soul was bound for Heaven; Aziraphale refused to contemplate otherwise. But angels and human souls were strictly separated. Even if he discovered Crowley's location and broke a thousand rules and laws, he still wouldn't be able to find his beloved.

Somehow, though, when he watched Crowley coax another stubborn bromeliad into blossoming, a small, genuine smile on his face, he had to admit that it was worth it. If he lost Crowley sooner than anticipated, if he was demoted, if he Fell, if he was plunged into a column of hellfire, if he searched fruitlessly for all eternity... It would all be worth it for ever smile he could put on his dear Crowley's face.

--

They had just gotten back from Warlock's birthday party when Aziraphale got the message from Gabriel. It was clunky and awkward, the way Aziraphale could only imagine his own would have been if Crowley hadn't patiently dragged him into the twenty-first century.

"Aziraphale," Gabriel demanded. "What is the meaning of this? Was it not the point of adapting Heaven's communication system so that you could be easily reached at all times? We should have kept scrolls. I liked scrolls. Uriel liked scrolls too; I know they did. Michael liked telephones, though, so we had to switch. Ugh." It was around that time that the answering machine had run out of space and cut him off.

Aziraphale frowned at the telephone, but was distracted by Crowley's announcement that he was going out on an errand.

"That sounds fine, my dear," Aziraphale told him. "I need to go 'round the corner as well. I've got a message from a rare bookseller I know and he wants to meet with me," he lied. It was his standard lie for the Heavenly business he was still called upon to complete. He would have worried about how often he needed to be gone, but Crowley traveled around the country as well on technological consultations, so they could align their absences to each other's.

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how he felt about the fact that his bookshop, once a comfortable home for one, now felt empty without two. He settled on being very thankful for Crowley's entire existence.

Once Crowley was gone, Aziraphale locked up the bookshop and walked a few blocks over to his favorite sushi restaurant. Well, third favorite sushi restaurant and his favorite to go to without Crowley. Crowley adored the conveyor belts in Aziraphale's first and second favorite restaurants, but Aziraphale preferred the chirashi from the third. The other two never seemed to get it quite right.

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel boomed. Also, Aziraphale's third favorite sushi restaurant was the only one Heaven knew about. Which was why it was so ideal for these sorts of meetings.

"Gabriel," he greeted, not quite meeting the same level of excitement as the other angel. "Why did you need to meet with me so urgently?"

And then Gabriel told him about the Apocalypse.

It was all he could do to nod in the correct places as Gabriel extolled the virtues of the coming End of Days. "Right, right," he agreed at the end. "And what's my role in all this?" He was desperately hoping his role was to tuck himself into a corner somewhere and come out when it was all over. At least that, he could do with Crowley.

"You are to take up arms alongside the rest of Heaven!" Gabriel told him cheerfully. "Come back with me and prepare for the Great War!"

No! Aziraphale's brain screamed at him. "I've got a couple things to talk care of," he prevaricated. "Earth things, you know. Principality duties and the like. I'll pop up when I've got a minute," he promised.

Gabriel didn't seem to like that very much, but he did accept it, and a moment later, he vanished.

Aziraphale immediately collapsed back into his seat as if all his strings had been cut. "Oh my," he whispered to himself. "Oh my word."

Aziraphale had once been a Guardian of Eden, with the sword, rank, and title to go along with it. He had seen six millennia of human history unfold before him and had held his beloved in his arms for fifty years. He had anticipated watching human history for another six millennia and holding his beloved for as many years as he had left.

So now, to see the world dwindle, that future history cut short, was devastating. But not as devastating as realizing he wouldn't have the millennia after that he had planned on.

Human lifespan was limited by design. But just as Aziraphale had imagined Crowley beside him for the first six thousand years of his life, he had hoped to imagine him by his side for the next six thousand. That once he'd lost Crowley standing beside him, he would still have the painful, bittersweet memory of Crowley as his companion for the rest of time, lingering in the space around him, in the empty spot that Aziraphale knew he would now reflexively compensate for for the remainder of his existence.

Which now seemed lingeringly brief. His breath caught in his throat as he had sudden visions of Crowley cut down by flaming swords or beset by hellhounds. "No," he whispered, the word escaping before he could stop it. There were more casualties of war than the loss of his eternity, Aziraphale knew.

He threw a few bills on the table and rushed back to the bookshop, abruptly desperate to retreat behind her familiar walls. Maybe Crowley would be home soon, he thought longingly. Then he could hold his dearest partner tight and pray and try not to become swamped by the despair he could already feel rising inside himself.

There was nothing he could do to stop the Apocalypse. It was ineffable, after all.

--

Every once in a while, when Crowley seemed surprised to find another birthday at hand, or when he cursed under his breath at the arthritis creeping through his joints, Aziraphale would excuse himself and sit in the corner of their bookshop, staring at his own hands until they stopped shaking and his vision had cleared again. Then he could wipe his face, breathe for a few minutes, and go find Crowley, a smile on his face.

His hands were never the aching, swollen mess that Crowley's became as they aged. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of his hands hurting too much to hold his books, so he had simply introduced weaknesses into the bones, sapped the strength from the muscles, allowed the skin to thin and age until it was almost like the vellum pages of his favorite tomes. He had hoped Crowley wouldn't think it an unusual sign of age.

Once, when they were younger men, when Aziraphale had found the first of Crowley's grey hairs, curled just above his ear, when Aziraphale's stomach had dropped for the first time at the inevitability of time, of aging... Once, Aziraphale had sat next to Crowley on a park bench in St. James and remarked quietly on the shortness of the human lifespan and then, quieter, on how happy he was to have the opportunity to spend any of it with Crowley.

Once, Crowley had frozen, then abruptly curled closer into Aziraphale's side and had asked Aziraphale in a rough voice to emphatically "never bring it up again, please, angel." And Aziraphale had simply curved himself over his dear, dear friend and carded a hand gently through Crowley's still-mostly-dark hair and assured him gently that he never would. It had broken his heart enough to say it the first time.

--

There was a book. Oh, thank his Creator, there was a book.

Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure where it had come from, given that he had an encyclopedic knowledge of his collection and The Nife and Accurate Prophefies were decidedly not in it, but he had elected not to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were. Maybe the appearance of the book was itself ineffable, he thought giddily. Maybe it was a sign.

Crowley had been wound tighter than a particularly high-pitched harp string the past few days, but Aziraphale couldn't blame him. He knew he had been fraught with tension himself ever since the conversation with Gabriel. Even the tender moment with Crowley that evening hadn't dissipated his lingering dread.

He had finally deciphered the identity of the Antichrist and the location of the Apocalypse's commencement, when Aziraphale's thrill of discovery trailed off into hesitant contemplation. What was he going to do with the information? If there was anyone else he could trust to definitively wish to halt the Apocalypse...

Crowley sprang to mind instantly, but Aziraphale discarded him just as quickly. Crowley was the love of his existence, a deeply sarcastic man with a heart of gold, but he was still only human. In a battle of angels and demons... Aziraphale had to keep him safe.

The next best option was Heaven itself. Surely the angels would want to stop the Apocalypse. Surely they would. And then Aziraphale and Crowley could have the remainder of their happily ever after. So he called them.

Unfortunately, it appeared Heaven itself did not have quite the same view on Heaven's role in halting the Apocalypse as Aziraphale did. He had only just managed to extract himself from his conversation with the Metatron when the Witchfinder Sargent himself burst into the bookshop. Aziraphale only had a fleeting moment to be thankful that Crowley was out before he vanished in a beam of white light.

--

The next few hours were harrowing for Aziraphale. He had needed to get to Tadfield as quickly as possible, and so had ended up riding shotgun with Sargent Shadwell's - ahem - lady of the night. All the while, he had fretted to himself about whether Crowley was alright and how frantic he was going to be when he returned to the bookshop to find Aziraphale missing and he'd left a chalk circle on the floor, oh dear, and was he going to call the police and file a missing persons report or was there a minimum amount of time Aziraphale had to be missing for that?

So he was understandably a little distracted from the actual Apocalypse itself. Once he was himself again, it took him a moment to realize the vision of Crowley running towards him was not actually a stress-induced hallucination. For one, Crowley's skin was pale under dark soot and when he hugged Aziraphale, he smelled of smoke. For another, even Aziraphale's imagination couldn't accurately conjure up the feel of Crowley's arms around him, no matter how many times he tried to memorize it.

Then he and his partner had to introduce themselves to the Antichrist. And what a bombshell was dropped. It did oddly remind Aziraphale of a bomb strike. Or perhaps one of those grenades he'd found himself on the wrong end of once or twice. The inciting event. A moment of ringing silence. And then an explosion.

Only this explosion didn't bring rubble or fragmented metal shards. It brought--

"Me, too," Crowley said, eyes wide in astonishment.

And that didn't make sense. "What?"

"I'm immortal too," Crowley said with hushed awe. "Neither of us is going to die."

Aziraphale's world ground to a halt. "What?"

"I get to keep you," Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale could see something like wonder and something like love in his gaze, just the same after so many years together.

Then they were rudely interrupted by the attempted continuation of the Apocalypse. After a spot of encouragement, Adam sent Gabriel and the accompanying demon away, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone once more.

"Let me introduce myself again, properly this time," Aziraphale said, excitement bubbling up. Crowley was immortal. He wouldn't have a shade of Crowley, he would have Crowley by his side for the rest of eternity. All that was left was to discover the shape that eternity would take.

"My name is Aziraphale, a Principality of Heaven, formerly Guardian of the Eastern Gate," he told Crowley, holding out a hand. "I have been stationed on Earth since Eden, and I am desperately in love with you," he added, just in case it needed saying. And now, laid bare with words, he stripped off the layers of miracles that had been keeping him aging apace with his so-called human partner.

Crowley reached out and took his hand. Aziraphale gripped as tightly as he dared. The arthritis was still running through Crowley's hands, but Aziraphale needed Crowley to understand one thing: he was not losing Crowley. Not now. No matter who Crowley was, angel or demon or other, Aziraphale was not losing him.

"Crowley, Serpent of Eden and the First Tempter," he said, losing layered illusions as well. Aziraphale could feel the fingers beneath his strengthening, straightening, and slimming, and he gripped all the tighter. "I was assigned to the temptation of Earth six thousand years ago." He cleared his throat. "I have been in love with you since you saved me from accidentally destroying myself with a jar of holy water."

All Aziraphale's half-recalled stories of the Serpent of Eden vanished abruptly. For a heart-stopping moment, all he felt was cold terror at the thought that Crowley might have died the day they met, that Aziraphale might have lost Crowley before he ever really got him.

If Crowley had needed circulation, Aziraphale might have been concerned by how tightly his was holding his partner's hand now. "Was that-- What were you doing with holy water, Crowley?"

Crowley looked surprised at his concern. It was the same look he got when Aziraphale reminded him point-blank to take his medications, and that more than anything told Aziraphale that Crowley-the-demon and Crowley-the-human were still the same fundamental Crowley.

Then Crowley told him about Ligur, which he seemed to think would be reassuring. Aziraphale was most definitely not reassured. Spine-chilling terror was not, in fact, more fun to experience for the second time in ten minutes.

Fortunately for Crowley, Lucifer decided to show up shortly afterwards, saving him a long, twenty-seven point lecture on personal safety.

At long last, however, it was over. Finally. For good. The Antichrist and his friends went their way; the young couple went theirs; and Shadwell and Madame Tracy set off for London as well.

In the light of their escape from certain doom, Crowley seemed to have forgotten how he'd come to arrive at the air base. He stuttered to a halt outside the gates, and Aziraphale was going to ask him what was wrong until he caught sight of the same thing and stopped just as abruptly.

"Is that..." he trailed off, because he knew exactly what it was. "Oh, my dear," he murmured, putting a comforting hand on Crowley's shoulder. The demon swayed into the contact, so Aziraphale slid his hand around his back to his other shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. "What happened to her?" He knew as well as anyone who had ever met Crowley, that the Bentley was his most treasured possession.

"I--" Crowley faltered. "I thought Hell might have gotten you. And then the M25 was on fire, and..." he trailed off. "This," he finished, gesturing half-heartedly toward the shell of his precious Bentley.

Aziraphale couldn't begin to touch on all the ways that made him feel. "I love you," he told Crowley firmly. "Wait here."

It didn't talk too terribly long to track down the Antichrist, even if he did have to invoke a minor miracle or two to catch the bicycles. After a rambling explanation and a tentative question, Adam looked surprised and fixed the Bentley with a thought. Apparently he'd thought he'd undone everything already, and the car must have slipped through the cracks.

Aziraphale thanked him politely and went to find his partner.

When he arrived back at the Bentley, it was to find Crowley already tucked inside the cabin, running his hands over the steering wheel and cooing at the dash. "All right?" he asked.

Crowley looked at him. "I love you," he said. "So very much, angel." And then he kissed his hand and his cheek and his forehead and drove them back to London, holding Aziraphale's hand the entire way and using miracles to compensate for being a hand down during shifting.

The drive itself was quiet, as if neither could bring themselves to give voice to the revelations surround their, well, revelations.

At last, Crowley broke the silence. "So many years, angel," he said quietly. "So many years we could have known each other."

"I like to think we made up for it," Aziraphale said lightly. "Quality, not quantity, my dear. I can't imagine we would have been as we are if we had met as ourselves."

Crowley hummed. "You may have a point there, Zira."

"Besides," Aziraphale continued, ignoring the fluttering in his belly at the nickname. Zira was something of himself that only Crowley had. No one else called him Zira. He found he was quite content with that even now, when Crowley had the option of his full name. "It's hardly as if our paths never crossed. The Tower of Babel was yours, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Crowley admitted, glancing at Aziraphale before turning back to the miraculously reconstructed M25. "I was quite proud of that one, actually. Got me a commendation for original thinking."

"I can't say I enjoyed it as much," Aziraphale told him. "All those new languages meant more rules to learn. And the translations!" he exclaimed. "I had never imagined they could be so terrible."

Crowley snorted. "Should I be apologizing for doing my job?"

"Never," Aziraphale told him warmly. Then, "I pictured you there, you know," he said quietly, holding Crowley's hand tightly. "With me. Every lifetime, every city. You slotted into my memories as if you had always been there."

Crowley exhaled. "I never could," he confessed. "Not because you're so modern, angel," he teased, "but because I couldn't imagine you having lived and died so long ago."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just held Crowley's hand. "I'm here," he settled on. "Now and for always, my dear."

"I know," Crowley said, meeting his eyes again. They were full of warmth and love. "I'm so glad for it, you have no idea, Zira." Then he continued, lighter this time, with a familiar, curious smile. "I've been wondering. Did you ever met Virgil?"

[lamiacalls]

Dear Yuletide Author

Thank you so much for doing this! This is my first time doing Yuletide, and I’m really excited!

Onto what you’re here for! I’ve never really given prompts before, so these are kind of sketchy and maybe not very good. I’m happy for anything, whether it adheres to any prompts or goes in a completely unexpected direction.

General Likes: 2nd + 3rd person POV, mutual pining, slice of life scenes that are stolen moments from canon, angst but also fluff, enemies-to-lovers (and maybe even -back-to-enemies), exploration of how canon affects characters mentally — and how it affects their power dynamics, smut, love-to-hate, side characters being given the spotlight, unlikely friends and pairings, fake dating, small age gaps, adversaries finding things in common and realising they could be friends in a different life, height differences, pretending-we-don’t-have-feelings, hurt/comfort, some more angst, sensitive portrayals of complicated characters.

General Do Not Wants: ABO, underage, incest, non-con, scat, vomit, piss, the phrase “to the hilt”, pregnancy, misogyny or slut-shaming, character bashing of most stripes, infidelity, 1st person POV.

THE FOLK OF THE AIR - HOLLY BLACK

Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Ahh, these two, my little heart can’t take it. Between now and the Yuletide deadline, the third book comes out — I’m happy with this being pre-QoN or included the QoN events, either would be great.

I like it when the sap is kept to a minimum — I want pining, I want angst, I want “collapsing into myself like a dying star because I can’t admit I love you”.

Prompts:

Anything between two disaster artists is great, but I particularly love anything that plays up the fact that they want to hate each other. I prefer almost-sex and kisses to straight sex between them.

I occasionally enjoy canon events from Cardan’s POV, mostly as long as it isn’t too fluffy.

Pre-canon fanfic would be really cool too, as Cardan starts to think more about Jude and starts to hate himself for it. That whole delicious mess. Maybe this would be a Nicasia/Cardan scene, I don’t know.

THE BROKEN EARTH TRILOGY - N.K. JEMISIN

Alabaster, Essun/Damaya/Syenite

Please note, spoilers ahoy for the series. If you haven’t read it yet, please don’t read this and instead, go and read it!

This series is one of my favourites, and I’m still healing from it, I think. And the relationship that builds between these two is about the only thing that stopped it being unbearably bleak at times. I really loved the slow burn of them learning who each other are, and Alabaster finally trusting someone. You can bet I was gripping my heart when we see him again in book 2, alive (sort of). I don’t really have prompts for this one, unfortunately, but I’d genuinely be happy with anything. It could deal with the darkness of the series, a post-book one-shot, for instance, but I’d be equally pleased with a quiet moment found within the canon — a missing scene.

This also doesn’t have to be romantic. Any kind of interaction is fine. But I would just love it to be soft and quiet, in comparison to the books.

On the other hand, anything surrounding their child...would destroy me and I would gobble it the heck up.

STARDEW VALLEY

Female Player/Harvey

I love this game so freaking much. It is so calming and lovely to play, and it’s really surprising how emotionally invested I get in characters that have such a limited script set! My current farm is in its 4th year and I just freaking adore it.

Harvey is my fave boy by a mile! I actually used to only marry girls in SV before I did a run of romancing every single option and discovered that this moustachioed doctor was a hidden gem. He’s got that maturity going for him, and he’s just so sweet. And like, I don’t know, I really like how grateful he seems to leave the bachelor life behind.

Prompts:

So something revolving around his gratefulness to be taking part in farm life, to be getting his hands dirty and coming home to a warm house with a warm body in it, would be really lovely.

Or something from early in their interactions — I imagine Harvey is the kind of guy who would never suspect someone has a crush on them, but maybe he’s really hopeful he’s not misreading the signs? Or beating himself up for even hoping? Or he’s oblivious completely to the farmer’s flirtations until someone knocks sense into him.

THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR - AMAL EL-MOHTAR & MAX GLADSTONE

Red/Blue

This book, holy shit. I don’t know what to write about it really — if someone has signed up to write for it, though, I assume you know what this book does to a person. THIS BOOK. If you haven’t read it, goooo read it. It’s short and beautiful and incredible.

Prompts:

Blue’s years undercover, more detail there could be really, really interesting. What happens in the moments she’s not writing to Red?

Anything post-canon that explores their relationship would be cute — do they get that time to sit and drink tea, as they hoped?

JONATHAN CREEK

Jonathan Creek/Maddy Magellan

I have rewatched this series a ridiculous amount of times, so imagine my joy when I saw this on the approved fandom list! Maddy is by far my favourite “assistant” of any detective series ever. I feel like none of the assistants they got in afterwards even on Jonathan Creek could match her for acidic wit balanced with loveable charm.

I don’t really have prompts for this one, but here are things I love about their relationship:

Their sexual tension. I’m not sure I want it resolved. The closest we got (the scene where Maddy has a bunch of chocolate under her pillow) is good enough for me. I just want those moments where it seems likely but they aren’t sure. Or Jonathan ruins it by doing something too calculating.

Jonathan getting embarrassed or exasperated by Maddy’s bullishness, but then having to be impressed that she got information out of people or talked their way through something or has stolen something while he wasn’t paying attention.

My headcanon is that the only reason Jonathan keeps the final reveal to himself until the end is because he wants to watch Maddy’s face and see if she’s impressed by his powers of deduction.

I know Jonathan is married in current canon, but I’m happy for that to be ignored.

Or maybe, and this is actually a prompt I think, for them to have a fraught few moments where they have to navigate what their relationship is meant to be like now that they’re not both single. Maybe Maddy is married too, even.

[angel-gidget]

Stars Unearth Your Fires (ch4/?)

Title:  Stars Unearth Your Fires (Ch 4/?)

Fandom: DCU, Teen Titans, Red Robin (preboot)

    Rating:  PG  | Words: 2800  | a03 link 

    Summary: Tim Drake never thought of himself as a troublemaker as far as Robins go. But a passing accusation quickly escalates into a case of stolen memories, technologically backwards clues from his past self, interdimensional hijinks, reflections on the good old days, and possibly the rekindling of a foregone romance. Eventually Tim/??? Mystery ship!

Ch 4: Tim has to look up an old friend or two before he can dig up his (hopefully existent) clue.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. It’s ended up becoming my longest one yet. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews! While there is sadly no Core Four in this chapter (Bart tried to elbow his way in, he really did), they will make more appearances soon. It’s time for Tim to reconnect with a few non-caped companions. My lovely beta Kiragecko took a much-deserved break this week, so all mistakes are 100% me. Sorry if I missed anything!

He and Ives were still friends. He was pretty sure. Mostly. At least, the guy hadn’t taken it too personally the last time Tim had visited out of the blue without speaking to him for over a year.

If anything, Ives had been shocked that Tim wanted to hang with him when he was in the middle of cancer treatment, as so many other friends had flaked out when things got too intense. Tim had just been grateful to have warning, for once, that one of his friends might die. He wasn’t usually so lucky, though he didn’t know how to tell Ives that without telling him way too much.

Two rings. Three. And then—

“Does my caller ID deceive me, or is this richest and dorkiest of my foul weather friends?”

“Don’t you mean fair-weather friends, Ives?”

“No, no, I don’t. You should brush up on your Shakespeare. And cheap surfer-stoner productions in the park don’t count, by the way,”

There were voices in the background, and music too. If anything, Tim would have sworn Ives was in the middle of a… club?

Ives continued, “I do mean foul-weather. That’s what you call people who stick with you when life is sucking but unexpectedly ditch you when it’s time to party. Case in point: I’m throwing a party and you’re not here. Because you never pick up your damn phone, you ass.”

Oh. OH! “Congratulations on your remission, man.”

He could hear the smile through the phone. It wasn’t the same as being totally forgiven, but Ives wasn’t the sort of person who could be happy and hold a grudge at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s my one-month anniversary of the big NED. Looks like for the time being, I’ve rolled a twenty on breathing. It’s worth celebrating.”

Smooth opening. Here we go.

“Feel like doing a more personal celebration too? Maybe something nostalgic? Like digging up our time capsule from the 8th grade? I’ll buy the pizza.”

“Oh, man. Yes. You better, Prince Midas. Hold up.”

He was distracted, clearly talking to somebody else at the party. Tim took a moment. It was just as well that he’d caught Ives when he was distracted. The guy didn’t do parties much. Introvert that he was, they took a lot out of him, including his tendency to say no to things. Even before he’d been sick. Tim didn’t have many childhood friends, but they were bookish gamer geeks, the lot of them.

Ives voice came back on the line.

“I got a friend who wants to come with. The dude’s curious about everything, a real Nancy Drew. Wants to know about my nerdy little 8th grade self. I told him the biggest difference was that I was little and in the 8th grade, but he’s bored and I promised to include him in more stuff.”

“That’s cool. Saturday, noon?”

“That’s high noon to you, buckaroo. And yes.”

——-

He’d outgrown his best nerd shirts.

Tim didn’t even know when it had happened. It wasn’t that they didn’t fit him through the arms and chest—he was wiry enough that they did—but he’d gotten so long in the torso, that the edges of his shirts rose up obnoxiously from the waist of his jeans, constantly baring strips of skin.

When this had happened to Cassie, she’d embraced it and pulled off the sexy belly-shirt like a pro. Tim… couldn’t do that. Or rather, he couldn’t do that without pulling out a persona.

Ives had an meet-up with Tim Drake, not Mr. Sarcastic. So belly nerd shirts were a no-go.

He’d yanked out what appeared to be his least-expensive hoodie and Alfred-purchased designer jeans, and hoped for the best. This was supposed to be about nostalgia for Ives, though Tim had mixed hopes.

What would be worse? Finding nothing but exactly what they had buried years ago, and pretending to laugh with his friend while secretly pulling out his hair over a dead end of evidence? Or finding the evidence he needed in its place, but then having to somehow cover for the oddness of whatever they found by lying to Ives again?

It had been a while since he’d had to lie to someone he loved, and Tim wanted to keep it that way. (And lies of omission didn’t count. Especially to Bruce. And to Dick. And to whomever else he’d been lying to by means of omission lately.)

“Best not to overthink it,” Tim muttered to himself. He had been ten minutes early to the discolored tree that had been the site of his and Ives’ 8th grade paint-ball fight. Also, the site of their only paintball fight, because apparently nobody had told Ives that there tended to be bruises from such a thing.

If Ives was anything like his old self, he’d be five minutes early, and… yup.

Tim smiled and waved as Ives’ old Chevy pulled into the park’s lot. He was about to say hello, when a second person slid out from the car, following after Ives with a growing Cheshire grin on his face.

Tim gasped, “F@*#$ing hell.”

Bernard Dowd.

Ives new Nancy Drew pal was Bernard. Fragging. Dowd. The nosey-est (and therefore worst possible) person to have on a dig that might or might not yield incriminating signs of inter-dimensional antics.

“Why Timbo! With a greeting like that, one would almost think you weren’t pleased to see me.” Bernard bumped the car door closed with his hip as he balanced a brand new shovel on one shoulder.

Ives blinked, “You two know each other?”

Tim scratched his head, “You two know each other?”

“As I’ve told you both,” Bernard set the shovel down by the largest tree root, “I know everyone who’s anyone.”

As if to prove the solidity of his nonchalance, Bernard took his best guess as to which patch of dirt housed the capsule, and made a sweeping ‘you first’ motion with his arm at Tim and Ives.

Tim pulled out Alfred’s trusty gardening hoe, and braced himself as Bernard began to snicker. Because he’d brought a hoe. Because, for all his eloquence, Bernard was emotionally twelve. Ives stared at them both like they had doubled their number of arms and limbs and turned green.

Tim felt his eyes narrow in suspicion in Bernard’s direction, “You knew I’d be here.”

Bernard pulled back his laughter into a finely-controlled smirk, “When dear ol’ Sebastian told me he had an eccentrically neglectful, ridiculously rich childhood compadre named Tim… well, I did the math. But I waited for a face-to-face to be sure,” He winked, “It’s more fun that way.”

Tim purposefully and carefully ignored that entire description of himself as he stared incredulously at Ives.

“You actually let him call you Sebastian? Him?”

“It was the only way to get him to stop calling me ‘St. Ives’ along with several other unholy variations of my surname,” Ives took a deep breath and pitched his own shovel into the dirt, “Now lets get this show on the road.”

Once the digging began, it was a simple matter to let Bernard dominate the conversation, explaining to Ives that he and Tim had gone to the aptly-named Grieve High for a semester together. Until the Aquista gang war had come to their front door step.

Tim’s mind remained vaguely on Bernard’s story, but mostly on the ground they were unearthing. There was a reason Bernard had been able to see the digging spot. It was especially uneven compared to its surroundings, overgrown with grass that was clearly seeded, a slightly different color than what was surrounding it.

Which was suspicious, considering Tim and Ives hadn’t laid down any grass seed when they were kids. Not that someone responsible for the park couldn’t have laid something down, but it didn’t look quite right. It had been what? Six? Seven years since he and Ives had buried the thing? It should have blended with the rest of the milieu perfectly. But it didn’t. Not quite. As though it had been dug up again at least once in the interim.

“Earth to Timinator,” Ives poked him in the forehead, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Ives looked like he wanted to smack Tim with his shovel and Bernard looked… oddly serious.

“Did Bernard’s dream girl turn into a super villain and try to kidnap you?”

And this was why he didn’t want Bernard here. There was the guy’s ongoing conspiracy theory habit, and then there was the fact that he had actually seen way too much.

“No,” Tim heard Bernard begin to protest, but he continued, “Darla didn’t try to kidnap me. She tried to make me into her personal moral compass and I told her where to get off.”

Bernard stared, “You what??? But she—you—she dismantled my car! She had these… these…”

Ives jumped in, “Phenomenal cosmic powers?”

“Yes,” Bernard continued, “And you just told her to go jump off a cliff? And got away with it? What the hell, Timothy!”

Tim blinked. He had forgotten about that. When Darla Aquista had died and returned from the dead with dark magic powers via one of Robin’s enemies, she had sought out her friend Tim Drake out for “advice.” Tim had forgotten that she had gone to Bernard first. He had never bothered to call Bernard and let the guy know he was okay. For all Bernard had known, he’d sent Tim’s untimely demise to his door when he told Darla where to find their former classmate.

Tim put the shovel down for a moment.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Bernard. I meant—I meant that if Darla wanted to be a hero, and she did, she couldn’t rely on me to tell her right from wrong and hold her to it. Heroes take responsibility for their actions. She gets that now. She went off with a superhero team called Shadowpact. She was okay.”

“And you?” Bernard exhaled.

Tim grinned.

“I’m always okay.”

Neither of his friends looked like they believed him.

Ives returned to digging, “See this is why you should call me more often,” He grunted as his shovel finally struck metal, “Your life gets really, really weird without me. Dating undead superheroes, Tim? Really? Oy vey.”

“We didn’t… never mind.”

He could have pulled the chest from the remainder of the hole without grunting, but watching Ives and Bernard wheeze and strain from the physical activity set a good bar for Timothy Drake Wayne’s level of sluggishness. So he panted along with them.

“Makes..nnghhh… a lot of sense in hind sight, though.” Ives breathed.

“What does?”

“Cancer probably doesn’t look like so bad of a boss battle after you’ve seen the fire and brimstone.”

“I…” He could be honest about this much. He could. “It made me glad for the people who are alive. However long they’re alive. Y’know?”

Ives gave him the most earnest smile Tim had seen all day.

“Okay, geeks! And Tim, for all your previous disguise, I see now that you are—in fact—a geek. It’s time to unbox this baby.” Bernard crowed.

Their “time capsule” was less a futuristic tube and more pirate-chest themed lockable luggage from the nearest department store. It had space for stuff, and it looked cool. Even as an adult, Tim felt he could stand by that choice.

Three seconds to blow off the dust. Forty-two to smash the lock. (He and Ives could both remember Tim swearing when they were kids that he would remember the combination, but well, he hadn’t.)

“A moment of silence for the defunct game boy who’s grave we have disturbed.” Ives mock-solemnly intoned, as he pulled out the old system preserved in plastic.

Tim blinked, “You buried your game boy? You loved that thing.”

“Exactly,” Ives poked him in the chest, “I was committed to this project. Unlike you.”

Tim frowned.

“I was too committed. Behold,” he lifted a green mud-crusted travesty that had not aged well, “Rusty the water pistol. Never got in a water gun fight without him. And look! My pog collection.”

“You mean my pog collection.”

Tim shrugged, “Our pog collection.”

“You are both the nerdiest nerds who ever nerded in the eighth grade. I don’t know why I expected differently.” Bernard sighed.

“I did warn you, buddy.” Ives laughed.

Bernard muttered something unintelligible, but it set Ives off on a lecture about the impact of popular culture. Tim took it as a much-needed distraction.

It wouldn’t have done Tim any good to have remembered the lock combination anyway. The lock wasn’t as old as it should have been. And while the capsule was filled with mementos from younger years, there were two small evidence bags at the bottom that were Batman standard issue.

They were hair samples.

Easily researched. Easily pocketed.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief as he quietly slipped them into the back of his jeans.

That had… not gone nearly as badly as he anticipated. He reminded himself that it wasn’t quite over yet. After all, he owed Ives pizza.

Ives and Bernard were still arguing amicably.

One of the reasons Ives never had too many friends as a kid was because most people couldn’t understand that the guy’s favorite form of conversation was a heated debate. When he felt like conversing at all outside of Wizards and Warlocks.

Bernard… well, Bernard just decided when someone was his friend and treated any attempts to escape his friendship as an amusing joke. It worked for him. But he also had a tendency to look down his nose at people who fit too neatly into a category, and Ives tended to wear his categories loud and proud. So it was… curious.

“So, how did you guys meet?”

Ives and Bernard paused and then grinned in unison.

“Elizabeth Spillgrave.”

Who? It took Tim a moment. Right.

Elizabeth Spillgrave. Real name: Jodie Weise. Internationally recognized alien conspiracy theorist, and one of Ives favorite authors. Or least favorite, depending how one looked at it. He always holed up in his room on the day one of her books released, reading voraciously. He would spend the next two weeks debunking her entire book paragraph by paragraph. Sometimes with charts if he was feeling particularly zealous and homework wasn’t challenging him enough.

Tim blinked, “And you became friends over this?”

It didn’t seem possible. Because while Ives was the sort to spend two weeks disproving the sort of theories that were the woman’s bread and butter, Bernard was just the sort to spend the same amount of time proving it. Or perhaps editing how such events would be possible, turning each paragraph into a spring board for his own theories. He would stop short of making charts, though. Bernard thought excessive chart-making was for nerds.

Ives shrugged, “We were both late to her book signing last year, and had to team up on scalping tickets to get into the VIP meet and greet.”

“We shared mutual disappointment that she could but spare us two minutes each, even after all that hassle.” Bernard sighed.

Ives rolled his eyes, “And then he started going on about his idea that the UFO’s mentioned in her last book might be Kryptonian. From a hundred years ago.”

“Magic is a thing, Sebastian.”

“They’re aliens, Bernard. Superman is vulnerable to magic. He’s not going to carry around something that could kill him.”

“Humans do it all the time.”

They continued on as they packed up their tools and piled into Ives’ car. Tim didn’t get a word in edge-wise to ask where they were going, but he quickly recognized the route Ives was taking. Pizza Planet, appropriately enough.

He pulled the clear evidence bags from his pocket to glance at them once more.

One contained extremely short snips of dirty blond hair. The other contained a single jet-black lock that looked like it had been curled around someone’s finger before getting cut.

Both sets were sufficient for a DNA database search.

Tim sat back in his seat.

First pizza, then catching up with the two civilian friends who were still speaking to him, maybe some nostalgic passing around of ye olde Game Boy, and then…

Answers.