#Pairing: Berena

[akaanonymouth]

Big loves to all in the Berena fandom for once more seeing me through another death, another period of whatthefuckery and all the shit that comes with it; the fics, the GIFs, the meta, the tags, they're all getting me through and giving my brain something else to hold on to when it feels like I'm just... I dunno. Nothing, I guess.

[pers-books]

20 Questions fic writers' Q&A. I was tagged by @meluisart (thanks pal - sorry I forgot to mention that in the first version of this post!)

1 - How many works do you have on AO3?

661 (one more than the last time I did this meme in Nov 2023!)

2 - What's your total AO3 word count?

2,444,608

3 - What fandoms do you write for?

Most recently Berena (Holby City) and Original Fiction. But I’ve written very little since losing my mum in April 2023.

4 - What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Letters to a Naturalist (Holby City) (30,350 words)

Jason Haynes: Matchmaker (Holby City) (17,560 words)

The Red String of Fate (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)) (51,896 words)

One Life Stand (Holby City) (33,815 words)

The Hacktivist, The Agent, and the Clairvoyant (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Thor (Movies)) (35,849 words)

5 - Do you respond to comments?

Hell yes, always.

6 - What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Still this one:

Lascia Ch'io Pianga (Let Me Lament My Cruel Fate) for the James Bond (Movies) fandom. Although it does have an ambiguous ending, almost everyone who commented on it said they assumed that Bond & M both died.

7 - What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The vast majority of them have happy endings as I rarely write sad ones.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Used to back in the day when I wrote Ten/Martha fic for Doctor Who. There were a lot of Doctor/Rose shippers who hated my pairing with a passion and didn’t hesitate to share that hate instead of just staying in their fucking lane and using the back button/scroll button. Bunch of snowflakes.

9. Do you write smut?

Used to, not so much lately.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have done, yes. The craziest one is probably the Doctor Who x Wallace & Gromit one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup - a few years ago someone translated one of mine into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A long, long time ago.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Eh, I don’t have just one - given I’ve written for 20 different fandoms over the last 16 years.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Oh, I’ve no idea - I only have one incomplete WiP actually posted on AO3, but I’ve no particular desire to finish it, especially given it’s 6 or 7 fandoms ago!

Of course, I have a whole heap of WiPs on my hard drive, but I doubt I’ll get to finish any of them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Goodness knows. Someone else would have to answer that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have been told I write too much. Ironic, really, given how little I’ve written this past year.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’d do it if it’s needful, though I don’t think I have.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Eh, no, I don’t have a favourite fic - I’ve liked every fic I’ve written as I was writing it and I’ve occasionally re-read some of my own fic just because.

Tagging, with the usual caveat that you don't have to participate if you don't want to! @slightlyintimidating @doctorjameswatson @jinxedwood @bonnissance @ariverandasong @daisydoctor13 @fortytworedvines @onaperduamedee @hokuspokusthings @ceridwyn2 @thisbluespirit and anyone else who wants to participate!

Questions to respond to:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fic?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

[backjustforberena]

I miss your Berena content

It's not going anywhere! I've got meta rants saved in drafts and a whole HOST of gifsets, pictures and content all queued up. And you're always free to pop into my inbox for a chat about Bernie and Serena. I still adore that pairing, I've just been slightly swept up in all the new content for a new OTP as well. :)

[onthesandsofdreams]

The Dragon & The Winter Rose [2/?]

Pairing: Berena Stark/Maekar Targaryen Rating: T Summary: I know this is very sudden, but I do know a great place. If you’re busy, no hard feelings. Words: 1263 Notes: Modern Westeros

Read @ AO3

Maekar is not quite glaring at the paperwork, but it is a near thing.

Aerys’ and Bloodraven’s plans have him near his wits end. He’s not entirely sure if he ought to smash their heads together, because he can’t quit. Stepping down would only cause more trouble, all of his children were underage and he was bloody sure he would not be having Bloodraven as regent. Over his dead body.

And so, he carries on. Every dutiful, ever faithful.

He can feel a headache coming in, and to be frank, he’s quite hungry. He leans back into his chair, closes his eyes and breathes deeply, exhaling slowly to try and calm down. But his stomach grumbles and he’s about to scowl, when his phone pings with a new text. He opens his eyes and looks, Lady Berena Stark.

He had given her his number after Aerys’ party, she had been funny in her own way and she did not seemed offended by his slight standoffish nature.

It was an invitation for lunch. I know this is very sudden, but I do know a great place. If you’re busy, no hard feelings.

He weighted his options and decided that, what harm could there be? So he replies that he is free now.

Lady Berena’s text comes quick, The Silver Shield Tavern, meet me there.

He texts a quick, on my way, takes his jacket and makes his way there. He’s surprised that she can walk in to The Silver Shield, that place is always booked and full, and you cannot have a table there unless someone cancels or doesn’t show up. Such a curious thing. He makes his way quickly, his stomach rumbling and he is eager to eat, he has – apparently – a ravenous hunger.

He finds Lady Berena standing near the door, she’s dressed stylishly in black slacks and a gray blouse. Sunglasses on and a purse under her arm. She smiles when she spots him. “I’m glad you accepted, Maekar.”

He takes her offered hand, “I will admit I am curious about this place. And the company is a welcomed one.”

Her smile grows, “And who says Maekar Targaryen doesn’t know how to flatter a lady? Come, you will love this place.” Lady Berena says and walks in, she looks at the doorman and says, “Stark. Table for two please.”

The doorman nods, “Please follow me,” and takes them to a corner. “A server will be with you in a moment.”

He looks around curiously. The tavern is old, a lot older than what he had thought. The decorations consist of simple blue walls and portraits of the tavern at different stages, also of patrons past and present. But what really calls his attention is this, the emblems of several families hang from above the bar area and he does not spot the Targaryen one. “This is different.”

Lady Berena, who it seems can read his mind, answers with, “The tables are passed down from generation to generation. This tavern was built by several houses, and they always give priority to those. A bit unfair, I will admit, but it is a nice and cozy place to eat when you really don’t want to be bothered.”

“Now, that is unfair.” He agrees.

Lady Berena gives him a look, “I will see what I can do for you to have a table. Not even King Aerys would enter here if he came without a reservation, much less Lord Brynden.”

That sounds great to him. He’s about to speak when the waiter comes with two glasses of water and the menu. Promises to come back in a few moments.

Lady Berena gives the menu a once over and sets it aside. He inspects it carefully, “What would you recommend?” He asks her.

“Get the steak and ale pie,” Lady Berena says without hesitation. “That is absolutely divine. Secret recipe and one I have not been able to harangue out of the chef.”

“Very well, you do know the menu better than I do.”

The waiter comes, takes their order (Lady Berena goes for the chicken pot pie) and leaves them alone. Only to return with their drinks. A dark beer for him, a glass of wine for her.

“Tell me about this place?” He asks. He is genuinely curious about the tavern. Oh, he has heard about it. But it is mostly shrouded in secrecy. He had planned on making a reservation when he had heard Bloodraven complaining of being unable to eat there without a reservation and he had rolled his eyes. He was sure that now Bloodraven thought the place sympathetic to the Blackfyre cause.

“Oh, well. It started about one hundred and fifty years ago. The owner was a second son of Lord Cerwyn who wanted a quiet place to eat. One that was exclusive to people of discretion. But he had no founds, and when he asked several Lords and those who gave money, got a table for six open for them at all time. And the reason he asked several Lords is,” Lady Berena leaned forward to whisper, “that there is a secret floor above this one. So, when you really don’t want to be seen.”

His brows shot upward just as the food comes. And his mouth water and his stomach rumbles loudly. A flush makes it to his face, but Lady Berena waves her hand, “It does smell delicious,” he says of the pie. “And the secret room sounds…”

“Like it would worry Bloodraven?” Lady Berena gives him a knowing grin, then takes a bite of her pie. She washes it down with her wine.

He follows her example with the pie and… Lady Berena is right. It is absolutely divine. The meat melts in his mouth and the stew is thick and rich and oh-so decadent! “Good Gods, this is the best steak and ale pie that I have ever eaten.” He says and drinks his beer, “And yes on the Bloodraven count.”

“Then, you have nothing to worry about,” Lady Berena replies. “This place is for rest, not to plot overthrowing the crown. Rest easy.”

“It is not me who you need to convince.”

“Oh I know, Lord Bloodraven seems quite paranoid of the Blackfyres.” Then Lady Berena’s face twisted. “Enough to forget other things.”

He takes a large gulp of his beer, he knows what she means. “He has a personal vendetta. Not that I agree with him, in fact I…”

“Did your best to help us. We know.” Lady Berena reassures him. “My father’s anger is reserved for your brother and Lord Bloodraven, we know you did what you could.”

“Thank you, Lady Berena.”

“Just being truthful.”

They continue to eat and exchange stories. And he discovers that Lady Berena has a sharp wit to her that he finds charming. She is kind and understanding, but with a mind for the practical and for improvements of her people’s lives. To the point that he is now thinking on giving her a spot in his cabinet.

They finish their meals and they make plans to meet again in a week (the earliest possible for him) in the same spot. And before they part ways, Lady Berena smiles at him and says, “Maekar, please call me Berena.”

A corner of his mouth twitches upwards, “Very well, Berena.”

La – Berena smiles at him and walks away.

He watches her go for a bit, then makes his own way back to the palace with a quiet sense of peace he had not felt in a long time.

[ylizam]

tagged by: @chainofclovers

last song: The Loneliest by Måneskin

last show/series: that I finished watching? hmm, High Fidelity. I think. ooh, or Only Murders in the Building (obviously only through the most recent season, but yes).

currently watching: oh gosh what am I not watching? (plenty, obviously, as there is SO MUCH tv these days.) Abbott Elementary is a delight and a must-watch for me every week; I watch it the morning after it airs, and it’s the best way to wake up. the Laws and Order are my bad-for-me copaganda programs, and I spent a bunch of them yelling at everyone not to trust the police but also, look, Olivia Benson and I go way back. I’m enjoying Queer for Fear and Interview with the Vampire so far. Stars Trek: Lower Decks and Prodigy (when the latter comes back). General Hospital. And sometimes Days of Our Lives (it’s not my soap, but I like some of the characters and I’m trying to support the show in this strange, streaming world it’s in). 

favorite color: orange

sweet, spicy, or savory: yes, and. 

currently reading: Honey in the Marrow by Emily Waters (okay, technically I just finished this, but I was reading it when I was tagged so). This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared by Rabbi Alan Lew. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (re-read). Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel (re-read). The Oleander Sword by Tasha Suri. fanfictions when they cross my path (mostly SVU lately tbh). 

what i'm working on: hahahahaha. ha. (which is to say that I have been so stuck, so very blocked, on just about everything, even though I have so many things I want to write and I really need.) (but now I have one exchange fic with a hard deadline and then Yuletide so hopefully those will help.) anyway in addition to like seventeen million ideas and things I’ve abandoned and may return to one day but also who knows, these are the official five things for now:

my femslash exchange fic. (it’s a secret.)

the TNG fic I’m co-writing with @summervillen (the goal is to finish before the Picard season 3 premiere date).

the original soap opera romance thing(ies: I have an idea for one story set in the 1980s, at the heyday of the genre, and one set current day when shows have been canceled and gone to streaming etc.; so it’s a duology, I guess?). the first one is fake dating for PR and whatnot. the second is a second chance romance for a background pairing in the first. 

the SVU Olivia Benson Becomes a Vigilante fic of the Cabot/Benson/Stabler variety. which stalled dreadfully during summer hiatus times, but I am feeling more excited about now that it’s network television season again. 

the Holby City remix fic that I’ve started and re-started and started again many times over the years, and which I really want to finish because I feel like I’ve never gotten any Berena closure for myself and also like I’ve slipped away without meaning to and would like to return.

currently obsessed with: the opening of Wolf Hall (“So now get up.” ugh, I want to roll around in it. it’s so good. I just, how did she do that? how is it so visceral, so there?). soap operas, as form, but also the history and cultural impact and fandom of; the watching of; the way you can grow up watching one, grow up and watch the characters age alongside you, racing ahead through life (sometimes you even get a character around your age that they don’t SORAS, and you grow up with them) (sometimes you get to watch a character age and still have adventures, romances, lives, and sometimes a character will devolve into someone who only shows up to talk to their—her, usually, because even in a genre where you get older woman living full lives, there’s still that pesky societal misogyny at play—grown child or grandchild); the shift from the heights of the daytime soap in the u.s. to now; the cancellations of shows and how that hurts (the way so many of these shows weren’t preserved over the decades, the film destroyed or taped over or whatever). the cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation. (found family!) Kira Nerys and where she is now (or in the future, post-DS9, post Lower Decks; where she is now, whereas now is however many years post-DS9). Into the Woods. Russian Doll. apples. 

tagging: anyone who wants to answer these.

[dryandsweet]

Coffee & Sympathy (Berena)

Before they become the world to each other, Bernie and Serena are a world unto themselves. (Also on Ao3)

For @santahanssen for @berenasecretsanta 2018 who asked for ‘coffee dates & lingering hugs.’

Bernie took Serena up on her offer of a coffee and a chat early on. Bernie wasn’t exactly swimming in offers of friendship and here was Serena going out of her way to make Bernie feel welcome.  She’d have been a fool to lock herself away in misery for its own sake.

Serena suggested meeting up away from the hospital to free them from the awkwardness of prying colleagues. The walls have ears and they talk. Bernie didn’t want any more talk if she could avoid it.

Serena bought Bernie coffee at this little place a few blocks away from the hospital. The mugs were large and sat heavy in both hands; coffee filled them to the brim.  Long minutes passed where all they did was drink and people watch. Semi-familiar faces, some from other hospitals, some former patients; lots of university students lumbering through, half-dead and dazed. The typical haunt for anybody subsisting on caffeine and a vague sense of purpose.

“Tell me about you,” prompted Serena. Bernie resisted her natural tendency to redirect.  She wanted to befriend Serena, not frustrate her into indifference.

“What haven’t you heard?” According to Mo Effanga there was all manner of rumor circulating Holby already. Bernie was a loveless, self-aggrandizing narcissist or a decorated officer tragically cut down in the prime of her military career. The truth was altogether more ordinary than either extreme.

“I want to hear your story from you, not the tittle-tattle from the grapevine.” Serena’s foot nudged Bernie’s under the table, reminding Bernie this was a friendly chat, not an interrogation.  Serena wasn’t her solicitor asking for the intimate details of her infidelity, pricking her with her weaknesses. Her intentions were kinder than that.

“Former army medic out of RAMC, Major. Married for twenty-five years. Two kids I hardly see. Blown up by an IED a few months ago. Did a number on my back.”

“Way to bury the lede.” This startled a laugh out of Bernie though there was nothing much to laugh about. She supposed most people would have led with getting blown up.

“It was. It was frightening. I try not to talk about it if I don’t have to.”

“So we won’t talk about it. Tell me about your kids.”  Serena glossed neatly over that conversational hiccup and Bernie followed her. Keep calm, carry on, and so they did.

“Cameron, 26. Charlotte, 21. Cameron’s still trying to figure out his future. Last I heard he was backpacking in Australia.  Charlotte is at university, reading law last I heard. Not sure if that’s changed. We haven’t had a chance to catch each other up on future plans.” The house was tense when Bernie first came back. Once they were certain Bernie would survive, they were all reminded that they scarcely knew each other. Then, the silence crept in.

“Too much uncertainty in the air?”

“You could say that.” Bernie took a noisy sip of coffee. It was good stuff. Far better than anything Pulses had to offer.  Were it closer to work, she might come here more often.  “Tell me about you?”

“Divorced. One difficult daughter, Elinor, and a wonderful if somewhat challenging nephew, Jason. Elinor is studying drama and Jason is a porter here at Holby. You already know what I do.  There’s not much to say about me.” False modesty was a poor color on Serena.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I like red wine and old movies and moonlit walks on the beach, if you know somebody who might be interested in such a thing.”

“I prefer white wine.”

Serena held her heart. “Oof, hold off a couple of dates before you stab me in the back, why don’t you?”

“Thought I’d be better rip the plaster right off. Wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Too late for that. Somehow, contrary to years of romantic and platonic experience, that wasn’t a deal breaker. I must like you.”

Bernie smiled. Serena smiled. There was a great deal of that going around today.

“I have a suggestion. Let's play Three Truths and a Lie." “What for?” “So I can get to know you better without resorting to shoving bamboo shoots under your fingernails to get you to talk.”  Bernie was anything but the easiest person to get to know where personal lives were concerned. She was willing to give it a shot. “Okay. Do you want me to go first?” “Please do.”

Bernie picked three facts out of the air and an obvious lie. This wasn’t one of the games she’d excelled at in her youth. “I have two children, I was in the army, I had an affair, and I'm afraid of heights.” “Should I have specified truths I don't already know?” Everybody knew Bernie’s business thanks to her nervous hands mistyping Dom’s email address. Her mistake. “I’ll work my way up to it.” “Fine by me. I assume you aren't afraid of heights.” “I'm not. I tend to be steady at any altitude.” “Likewise. Though if you ask me to climb a mountain there'd better be an above average vino waiting at the summit to make it worth my while.” “Duly noted.” She waited for Serena take her turn. "Three truths and a lie. Hmm." Serena tapped her jaw till a smile stole across her lips. She'd thought of something.  "My older sister was adopted out before I was born, I wanted to be a professional dancer growing up, my father was an accountant, and I always wanted more children but never found the time.”  There was enough gossip fodder about Serena to fill a dossier. Bernie had heard some things, but stopped listening fairly quickly when someone began to fill her in on Serena’s late mother.  Some topics were too personal to hear from a stranger. “Let's see. Those all sound likely enough. You have an MBA, could be your father inspired you.” “Could be.” “Any chance of a hint?” “None at all. Working it out is part of the fun.” “Could be your dad was an accountant so I'll say 'true' on that.  I always wanted more children in theory but in reality I wanted to advance my career more. I scarcely made time for Cameron and Charlotte before dashing back to theater. I am going to say 'true' again. You mentioned your nephew Jason. Could be he was your sister's child. Or he could be from a different sibling, not necessarily one who was adopted. We'll leave that one for the time being. You wanted to be a professional dancer. That one’s out of left field. You're graceful in the theater.” "I'll take that." “But you don't move like a dancer.” Bernie had occasion to meet many dancers in her travels and there was a difference, not matter what style they were trained in, in how a dancer moved, whether they were dancing or not.  Serena had her own flowing manner, but it wasn’t that of a dancer. “Were I a tiny bit less confident, I'd be offended.”

Bernie tapped a finger on the back of Serena’s hand.  "You have every reason to be confident, dancer or not. You have attributes most dancers would kill for.” “Are you flirting with me?” “Will that get me out the dog house?” Serena laughed, and Bernie dipped into her coffee to hide how Serena’s throaty laughter sent a ripple through her.  “I think it just might,” she said. “Then I'll keep going.” Bernie had a way with people she hadn’t noticed till she took up with Alex this past year. Men responded to it, but women, some women went molten for it. She wasn’t ready to examine how much she wanted Serena to be one of them.  “Was I right?” “You were bang on the nose. My father was an accountant and he inspired me to attend Harvard for my MBA. Jason is my half-sister Marjorie's son. We never met.  I wanted more children but I did not want them with my ex-husband. Our marriage was unstable right out the gate and I don't believe in having multiple children to hold bad relationships together. I never found anybody else worth having a family with. Elinor is enough.” “No aspirations to professional dance?” “I did take ballet classes as a little girl but I was a touch too clumsy and my proportions were never ideal, as I heard often. I was fine because I tried but I wasn't anything special and I quit as soon as I was allowed. I was, however, something of a marvel on a stripper pole back in uni to hear my friend Sîan tell it. Serena Ballerina, she called me.” “Ding dong, I'd pay for that show.” Serena short-circuited Bernie’s instinctive mortification response with a conspiratorial whisper. “Catch me at Albie's after a couple of bottles and you'll see more than that.”  Serena lightly nudged her ankle. “Your go again.” “I dance a mean waltz, I can operate an armored tank, I speak German conversantly, and I don't regret my upcoming divorce.”

Serena eyed Bernie up, no doubt seeking justification of one possibility over the other. Bernie prided, and derided, herself on being unreadable.

“Here’s what I think: I buy the tank as a fact. I can just picture you forging across a battlefield in one.” “Dare I ask what you think I got up to out there?” “Lots of heroism, I expect. Dirt on your face, windswept hair, rippling muscles. Staring stoically toward the horizon. Am I getting warm?” “It wasn't anything that romantic, or remotely that sexy.” “I know. But, you're built to be a romantic hero. It's the cheekbones.” Bernie snorted. “Bite your tongue.” “I’m not the only one thinking it. You should hear how the juniors sigh over you.” “My CV maybe.” “That isn't all. I admit I keep expecting to see ‘I heart Major Wolfe’ scribbled on the walls of the ladies.” “Go on.” “I'll never tell.” Serena smirked.  “Operate a tank, yes. Dance a mean waltz? You have a sort of grace about you, don’t you?” “Do I?” Serena looked her over once more, taking her time to inspect Bernie’s hands and arms, lingering at the set of her shoulders and the column of her throat. Bernie softly cleared her throat and Serena’s eyes jerked back to her face. “I’m going to say yes to the waltz. And it’s obvious to me that divorce is the right decision for you. I hope you don't regret it." It was she that reached out this time, a light touch of solidarity that had Bernie reaching back.  Their hands linked fast, fingers almost knotting in their eagerness to take mutual hold.  Yes, Bernie had made the mistakes, but it was still her family in flames.

“I regret the pain, not the decision.”

“Good enough. As for German…”  Serena thumbed Bernie’s wrist.  “You can't speak a word of German, can you?” “Nein.” Bernie dodged Serena's ensuing swat.  “No need to get physical, Ms. Campbell. We haven't even had dinner yet.”

“Just for that—“ Serena balled up a paper napkin and threw it at Bernie’s head. “Manners!”  Bernie tossed a second balled up paper projectile back at her. “Act your age!” “No, you!” “We're the same age.”

There was a better than good chance they were never permitted back at that café, so it was good luck it was out of Bernie’s way.

Serena was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes on the pavement outside the coffee house they’d just been politely ejected from.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun on a coffee date in—actually, ever. That was one for the books.”

“You like your dates to end in permanent bans from public establishments?”

“It wasn’t permanent; they said we could come back in a month if we could behave ourselves.”

“We are never coming here again.” Bernie didn’t think her stoicism could withstand the judgmental stares. Knowing Serena they’d find themselves in twice the mischief next time around. She’d probably enjoy it, damn her penchant for troublesome brunettes with beautiful eyes.

The first Serena Campbell hug Bernie ever experienced took her by surprise.

Serena’s arms came around her and Bernie froze.  Serena was shorter than her by a couple of inches, though her trainers largely compensated for the disparity. She was so very different from Bernie physically that it took her arms just that little bit longer to remember what they were meant to do. She returned Serena’s hold as she was starting to let go, and they were stuck in this awkward tangle of limbs that was no less embarrassing than Bernie’s initial lapse. It was just—people didn’t touch Bernie. Could be a symptom of her rank or her natural reserve; whatever the reason, others were loath to cross Bernie’s unspoken boundaries and Serena had charged right through, not unlike a bull in a china shop, though nothing was broken.  Everything was fine. Better, even.

“Not much for hugs?” Serena asked once they’d sorted out whose limbs was whose and teased their bodies apart.

“Not many people are in the market for a full-on embrace in the army, no.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice. I can’t remember the last time somebody was happy to see me.”

“More fool them. You’re amazing.” Bernie scuffed the ground with her boot, wanted so very much to hide behind her fringe but felt that would be telling.

“Was that coffee Irish, by any chance?”

“Hardy har har. No, I’m demonstrative to my friends. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.” Bernie pursed her lips. “Could we, could we try again?”

“We can.”

When Serena went for the hug, it was met with Bernie’s full-bodied approval. Serena’s sigh of contentment unleashed a flurry of emotion in Bernie’s heart.  Somebody wanted her here, somebody was happy to see her.

When Serena didn’t protest, Bernie hung on a little tighter for just a little longer. It was nice to hold someone and be held in return.

Serena greeted Bernie at the entrance to Pulses with an excitable grin that would have been the equivalent of an intravenous caffeine drip were Bernie slightly more rested. They’d gone on multiple coffee outings at various spots around Holby outside of work hours and it had cemented them as firm friends.  Bernie hadn’t made a friend like Serena before.

Serena guided her into the wending line of customers, holding onto her arm eager as a child at Christmas.

“I’ve decided we’re going to be adventurous this time.”

“Are we?”

“No more Americanos.”

“But I like my coffee black as my mood.”

“So do I, only my daughter was telling me just today how boring that is. You and I are at the top of our field, we are not boring.  We’re branching out. How does caramel macchiato strike you?”

Bernie screwed up her face. “Sounds sweet.”

“We’re trying it.”

Bernie groaned and shuffled nearer to the counter as the queue ahead of them shrunk.

“Oh god, Serena, why?”  Karma had come for Bernie Wolfe, surely.

“We’re going to carpe that diem, Bernie.”

“Can’t we carpe our usual and save the exotic alternatives for a day when I’ve slept more than two hours?”

“What were you doing that kept you awake?”

“Assembling my new dresser.”

“You should have called me. I’ve spent years putting together my own furniture. I have a tool kit.” The idea of Serena wielding home improvement tools was intriguing and Bernie wasn’t lucid enough to contemplate the reasons why.

“The instructions were in Mandarin.”

“Did they send you the wrong set?”

“I really don’t know.” She yawned into the crook of her arm. “Anyway, I got the thing together in the end, threw myself in bed and got a whole two hours of sleep before my alarm sounded this morning.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Serena rubbed her arm and pulled her to the counter to put in their order.  “In that case, black coffee for you, because I know the army runs on the stuff. I’ll have a mocha frappuccino.”

The barista was quick today and produced their drinks order in about ten minutes. Bernie spent the wait daydreaming about getting back into bed.  Serena’s previously jolly spirits were already beginning to flag.  By the time they were handed their respective cups, she was thoroughly disheartened. They took their first sips after knocking their cups together in a companionable ‘heads up.’

“How is it?” Bernie asked once the world began to regain its color.

“Sweet.” Serena winced. She’d mentioned her preference for dark chocolate over milk or white once before. “Loving the bite of chocolate though.”

Bernie raised her cup in a mock salute. “Better you than me.  You can share my coffee when you’re falling asleep half an hour from now.”

“Generous of you.”

They hauled arse to AAU with the speed of clinical leads, in other words, as quick as they bloody well felt like it, which is to say not at all quickly by either of their standards. They arrived on the ward to stow their belongings in the locker room and check on the state of things with Morven and the other F1s under her tutelage. They did a few superficial obs, ordered some tests, bloods, and diagnostics and gathered their paperwork for a meeting with Hanssen, the Board, and the other senior consultants.

Bernie grabbed her lukewarm coffee as she left the office. Serena’s frappuccino was nowhere to be seen. They squeezed into the back of the crowded lift for the ride upstairs. Bernie took the furthest corner from the door while Serena propped herself up against the rear wall to make room for a porter and a nurse wheeling in a couple of non-ambulatory patients.

“Do you want a sip? Your eyelids are drooping.”

Following a voracious yawn, Serena took a hearty gulp of Bernie’s coffee.  “Remind me never to listen to my daughter again. She gives terrible advice.” That would not be the last Serena said that in their years together; in the end, Bernie will wish she got to say it more.

They departed their meeting upstairs hours later much diminished for having sat in a darkened conference room listening to a board member entirely lacking in charisma drone on about profit margins into the early afternoon.  Bernie’s almost positive Serena mentioned dating him once.

Serena stared at the down button for the lift for roughly thirty seconds before remembering she needed to push it first.  “Was that the most boring meeting we have ever attended or am I just exhausted?” “It's up there. Coffee?” “An emergency shot of espresso is in order unless I want to be snoring into Mr. Donorat's abdominal cavity at 3:30.” “I’m slightly more lucid, want me to take him?” Bernie could subsist on a single cup of coffee for twice the amount of time of the average person. Necessity and all that. “And I'll review your half of the admin?” She sounded hopeful. “I wasn't going to suggest that but if you're offering.”  Bernie hated the usual NHS administrative drudgery something terrible. She’d take most any out she could get to avoid it. “Consider it done." Serena ambushed her with a brisk hug. Bernie hadn't known hugs could be brisk. Serena rubbed her back and bussed her cheek, then dashed for the elevator with a backwards wave, no doubt off to  wade into their chest-high backlog like the expert swimmer she was.  Bernie smiled at her retreating figure and made for the stairs, whistling softly as she began her descent. They were workplace hugging friends now.

Bernie came back to their shared office after Mr. Donorat’s surgery ran into the early evening. There had been complications, including a couple of free bleeds that had necessitated a transfusion and a fresh set of scrubs for Bernie.  If he survived the night, he’d live to see seventy, in Bernie’s opinion.

On Bernie’s desk, there was a steaming cup of coffee in a cardboard cup holder that read Ziggurat’s Coffee & Patisserie.  They’d been banned from there months ago and all of Serena’s wheedling hadn’t convinced Bernie to go accompany her there again. The smell of dark hazelnut roast greeted Bernie. There it was again, that feeling of being cared for, wanted and appreciated.

“You didn't need to bring me back coffee.”

“You saved my bacon on that surgery, it's the least I could do.”

Bernie didn’t tell her that friends did that for each other. That was a given. Serena didn’t need to be told what friends should do; she needed to see it. So Bernie would do it and Serena would see the kind of friend she had in Bernie. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” Serena tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. “Dinner tonight?”

“Kebab?” “You read my mind.” After their shift, they repaired to a wonderful Turkish eatery they’d found on their meanderings through town and split a set of beyti kebab while treating themselves to a pot of fortifying Turkish coffee.   Noting how Serena was eyeing the last skewer on the platter, Bernie signaled the server to their table to expand their order. It would take a stronger woman than her to deny that face anything. "Take two?" They pored over the menu, likely butchering the pronunciation of every dish but giving it the old college try before settling on çöp şiş for Bernie and patlıcanlı kebap for Serena. Sharing food was out of the question; they both enjoyed eating their fill too much to share.  Marcus used to give Bernie grief if she ate too much at once. For all that he claimed it was for her own good, Bernie often questioned whether he wasn't worried she wouldn't look the way he preferred if she gained a few pounds. Serena didn't care. She made the right noises about diet and exercise but Bernie had yet to meet a woman more content in her body, or who had more of a right to be.  “Back to our game,” Serena announced unprompted between bites of pide bread dipped in yogurt sauce. “We have a game?” Bernie asked around a mouthful of garlic and tomato dripping with oil, tasting of black pepper and thyme. It was so good she didn’t actually want to stop eating to speak. Serena raised a finger, finishing a segment of eggplant off in its entirety. “Three Truths...” “...and A Lie.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, let's go.” Bernie liked getting to know Serena this way. It was low-pressure and Serena made it even more so. She wanted to know Bernie as a person, not Bernie as some larger than life heroic figure. Bernie wanted to know everything there was to know about Serena and more. “You first.” Serena counted off her on her fingers: “I played hockey as a girl, I once dyed my hair an unfortunate shade of dishwater blonde, I tried yoga—twice, and I have always dreamed of summering in the south of France.”

Bernie sat back to let herself digest some of the food she’d just eaten. She had every intention of going back to it. “I don't think you'd like yoga very much.” “Ah ah ah, I can be flexible.” In theater, yes; in life, Bernie had observed that Serena had difficulty with sudden, unexpected change.  She and Jason very much had that in common.  Nevertheless, both were adapting swiftly now that Bernie’d come around. “I know you can bend when needed, I've seen you in theater.”

Serena batted her eyelashes.  “Flirt.” “Likewise.” Flirting with Serena had become Bernie’s latest cardio fad. Nothing got her heart rate up like seeing Serena shine with mischief.  Back on task, Wolfe. “You'd love wine country.” “We'll have to go together someday.  I can ply you with the best varietals of Shiraz until you come to your senses.” “Not if I get you to enjoy Malbec first.” Serena unleashed a mighty scowl.  “Never gonna happen.”

“We'll see.” Bernie had Serena beat for bullheadedness any day. “Hockey?” “Never underestimate school mandated physical activity.” Serena’s scowl was more annoyance than disgust this time.  “What are you staring at?” “Trying to imagine you shouldering a bunch of year eight girls out of the way to launch the ball into the net.” “I could have done it,” she defended.  Serena balked at the implication that she wasn’t as capable as anyone.  Bernie would have done the same, had done the same on other subjects. “I bet you could. But you didn't.”

Serena cradled her cup of coffee and narrowed her eyes as if to intimidate Bernie into flinching.  It would have been more effective were it not for the drop of coffee on the corner of her mouth that Bernie couldn’t stop staring at. She wanted to kiss rub it off. “Your final answer?” Serena asked her. Bernie contemplated what remained of her food and threw a hand up to request a take-home box.  Her stomach was doing somersaults; she was in no fit state to eat more. “My final answer.”

Serena flopped back her chair with an air of disgruntlement not unlike the Elinor she’d heard countless tales about.  "You're annoyingly good at this game." “You have a tell.” “What?” Serena followed Bernie's line of sight to her necklace and the double charm she was dragging along its chain. “I've been doing that all my life. Don't even notice it most of the time.” “You do it when you're nervous or when you fib.”

Serena chuckled.  “I'll keep that in mind if we ever play poker.”

Bernie could see Serena on Keller with herself and the others having hospital-approved drinks at the end of shift and dealing cards in the break room. Something told her this woman talked a much better game than she played. “I'd wipe the floor with you.”

Serena’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. She sensed fresh meat. Bernie sensed a trap and like a lemming she dove right in. Serena propped her chin on her hands.  “Can't wait to spend your hard earned money on coffee next time.” “Was that a challenge?”  Bernie liked to win, but more than she liked to win, she liked Serena. She’d take her up on a game of Twister if Serena decided it was a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon. “Name the time and place, Ms. Wolfe.” “My place, next Tuesday after work. I’ll provide the booze.” “I'll bring the takeaway.”

“It's a date.” Bernie finally heeded the internal alarm shrieking that she was coming dangerously close to asking out her newest friend and changed the subject.  “So dishwater blonde?” Serena deflated. “I hoped you'd forgot about that.” “Memory like bank vault, me.  Was it a dare? Is there photographic evidence?” “Never you mind that.” "Should I ask Jason?” Serena almost spit out her coffee. “No! And you are never allowed to meet Sîan Kors.” “I am going to ask every one of our colleagues until I get her number, and I am going to start with Ric.” Ric enjoyed getting Serena’s goat slightly more than Bernie did and he didn’t care one way or another about taking sides. If nothing else, he could tell Bernie where to search next.

“Bloody Ric Griffin.” Serena gave Bernie all the best bits of Ric’s history to make up for his inevitable betrayal. Bernie forgot all except the choice tidbits. Rocky Griffin had met his match in the two of them.

Serena and Bernie said their goodbyes at street parking. Bernie had a meet-up with the kids in an hour or so if they decided to show. Part of her wanted to ask Serena to tag along for moral support, but she knew this was the time for her to be brave again. That was the version of Bernie her children needed to see. Serena knew all about the upcoming meeting and had done all she could to keep Bernie’s mind off it. She’d done well.  That was her gift, aside from being an excellent surgeon and a relentless shill for the Shiraz makers of Europe, she was a daunting distraction.

Serena bumped Bernie’s shoulder.  "Not a bad meal, and I can't fault the company."

"I'll take that for a review."

“You can take that to bank.”

Serena took one of Bernie’s hands. They were cold as the year grew cooler with a change of season.  Serena never took any notice, seemed as eager to touch Bernie when she was warm as when she was icy.  “Thanks for today.” “Just doing what comes naturally.”

“Saving my sorry backside?” “Looking out for one of my own." Bernie slunk forward to put drape her arms around Serena.  She even dared a kiss upon the rosy apple of Serena's cheek. “You're welcome in my foxhole any day.” “I bet you tell that to all the pretty consultants.”

“Just you.” Serena buried her face in the folds of Bernie’s coat and laughed.  It was only a second and Bernie heart rate still climbed.  Serena pulled back and brushed strands of hair from Bernie’s coat.

“You’d better get a move on before I try to take you home with me.”

Bernie clicked her tongue.  “You won't hear me complaining.”

“Be good, Ms. Wolfe,” said Serena, going stern though not nearly as convincing as she seemed to believe.

Beautiful. Beguiling. Utterly unattainable. Just Bernie’s type. “Where would be the fun in that?”  Serena held Berne’s door for her as she got into her car. They clasped hands through her open car window.  “Goodnight, Serena.” “Goodnight.”

Bernie waited to see Serena safely back in her car and they drove their separate ways. As always.

Serena held the lift doors long enough for Bernie to squeeze through. Yes, she was running behind. She had slept in.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

Bernie cocked her head. “How’d you know today’s my birthday?”

"I'm clinical co-lead of our ward, not to mention former deputy CEO. All the personnel files used to cross my desk, including yours.” “You remember my birthday?” She was lucky if her children remembered. Sometimes Alex had. Bernie had stopped celebrating in her thirties; there’d been more pressing concerns, career, marriage, kids. It ceased to be an event to anybody else and so Bernie had let it go.

“I remember the birthdays of all my friends.” Serena dug around in her seemingly bottomless coat pockets and produced  a large novelty size Crunchie bar, an oversize travel mug that smelled of Bernie’s favorite decadent coffee beverage (one of Serena’s ideas for an Americano alternative had stuck) and a paper packet that was giving off an aroma so sweet Bernie’s mouth began to water on the spot. Bernie hardly knew what to say.

“You got me cheese Danish.” “You're always eyeing it up on the dessert case and talking yourself out of it. Eat up, you're beautiful, Bernie, and you're as young as you feel.” “I feel about 22 right now.” “You look it.” “That settles it, it's time for a visit to the optician. I’ll drive.” “I’ll go if you go.” "So you can steal my glasses like you steal my hoodie?" Serena turned beet red.  “I did that once because a patient sicked up on my blouse and I didn't have a spare. I washed it and returned it the very next shift.”  Bernie had smelt of Serena's laundry detergent for three days, light and floral and soft.  Time and again, she would catch a whiff of herself and whip around, mistakenly thinking Serena was nearby. Serena's scent was a comely ghost she wanted to be haunted by, that she mourned not a little when it faded to nothing.  “So you did. That wasn't a 'no', by the way.” “You would let me borrow your glasses, wouldn't you?” Without hesitation. Bernie had proven herself a soft touch for this woman from the first handshake. “You'd only steal them if I didn’t.” “I wouldn't steal them, I would borrow them while you weren't looking.” “As I suspected.  You're not to be trusted. And no pouting, you've only got yourself to blame.”

Serena’s lower lip poked out in defiance.  “I've got a department head meeting to haggle over budget acquisition for your trauma bay. When my birthday rolls around in a few months’ time, I want you to remember I took this bullet for both of us."  She pulled Bernie into her arms. Unlike her usual brisk, crushing hug, this was a steaming bath of an embrace, soothing and deep. She held Bernie as tight as their respective possessions allowed and rubbed Bernie's back, stroking a line of bracing heat down her spine. She then kissed Bernie's cheek twice in quick succession. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Bernie didn’t get out more than a stammered word of thanks before Serena pushed her out the lift onto AAU and headed upstairs for her budget conference.

Bernie and Serena had leveled up to a shared ward, unsolicited gestures of kindness, hugs, and terms of endearment. Bernie greeted the ward staff feeling lighter than she had in months. Her feet scarcely touched the ground. 

Months and years and births and deaths hence, Bernie stretched sloth-slow on her side of the bed.  “Coffee?” she offered, voice hoarse and croaky from deep, restful slumber. Serena reached out of her goose down hibernation cave to reclaim Bernie's sleep heavy body for a pre-dawn snuggle. “Five more minutes?” Bernie rolled over to nuzzle under Serena's chin, going limpet and creeping vine stuck with her under the covers.  She wasn't going to turn down a lovely cuddle in this winter weather, nor with this lovely woman. The children and grandchildren and extended relations would be arriving soon and they’d expect food. "Five more minutes." They made it downstairs in fifty. Close enough.

[jocelynknights]

It isn’t a man...

[lezziemanville]

I’m going to say something controversial, yet brave.

Hacks is the next Mirandy.

[bisexualsurgeonextraordinaire]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Chandler & Co (TV), Silent Witness (TV), Berena - Fandom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elly Chandler/Jill Raymond Characters: Elly Chandler, Jill Raymond Additional Tags: Hauntober, prompts, Moonlight, Tea, Angst, Fluff Summary:

Elly returns home after a long weekend working. What does she find?

[tea-and-procrastination]

without you to hold//two thousand miles is very far through the snow

@berenaadvent, days eight and nine, obsession and magic, set in my newsreader/war correspondent AU.

AO3: eight // nine

Christmas Eve, and Serena wakes to a cold bed and the smell of Bernie. For just a moment, in that hazy liminal space between dreams and reality, she forgets that Bernie isn’t here, hasn’t just got up, isn’t just in the kitchen putting the coffee on. But she isn’t, isn’t even in the country. She’s in Lebanon, two thousand plus miles away. Serena thought she had got used to it, has missed Bernie every time she’s been away but managed just fine on emails and Skype calls and news reports, and knowing she was only away for weeks instead of months at a time.

It’s that it’s Christmas, Serena decides as she gets up, snagging Bernie’s hoodie from her side of the bed and wrapping it around herself like a hug. Christmas, when everything is sentimental and everyone is talking about family plans and travelling to be with the ones they love.

Only five days to go, she reminds herself as she dresses for work, carefully spraying a handkerchief with Bernie’s perfume, raising it to her nose to smell it before folding it and putting it in her pocket.

Sitting in makeup that evening waiting for Essie, she takes it out and smells it again, conjuring Bernie’s presence in the room with her. It’s been a comfort all year, every time Bernie has been away, but tonight it brings tears springing to her eyes. Essie is kind enough not to mention it, but she offers a sympathetic glance in the mirror, squeezes Serena’s shoulder when she’s done.

‘You still on for lunch at ours tomorrow?’ Fletch checks when she walks into the studio.

‘As long as you’re sure I won’t be intruding?’

‘Not at all. Raf’s been preparing food for days already – I know there’s six of us in the house, but I think we’re gonna have enough for a medium sized army. And the kids’ll be over the moon to see you.’

‘Then I look forward to it,’ Serena smiles, ignoring the twist of her heart.

Because however much she loves her colleagues, however happy she is to be spending the day with them, however much she had assured Bernie that it was fine for her to be away over Christmas and that they could have their own Christmas later – however much it was fine at the time – if she could have one Christmas wish it would be for Bernie to be waiting for her when she gets home tonight, for them to be able to spend tomorrow together.

‘Two minutes,’ comes Fletch’s voice in her ear.

Serena sits down, allows herself one last, deep inhale of Bernie’s perfume, and settles her mask in place ready to read the headlines.

*****

Bernie steps out of the cab, shivering as snowflakes blow into her face. It couldn’t be more different from where she was this morning: Beirut, a balmy 20 degrees and bright sunshine. But despite the cold, there’s nowhere she’d rather be this Christmas Eve.

Shouldering her bag, Bernie turns and heads inside Broadcasting House, heads in the general direction of the studio she knows Serena will be in, nodding to and exchanging greetings with several of the people she passes. She’s almost there when she passes a TV screen and sees the News at Ten titles, sits on the nearest seat as the camera switches to Serena behind the glass desk.

Bernie’s heart clenches at the sight of her. It’s over a month since she left London – left Serena – for a stint in Lebanon, the longest she’s been away since becoming Middle East editor. They’ve spoken on the phone, on Skype, on the news, seen each other on various screens. Now they’re in the same building, half an hour from seeing each other in person again. Not that Serena knows. Serena thinks Bernie is still in Beirut, thinks she’ll be there for the best part of another week, thinks they’ll both be alone for Christmas but get to see the New Year in together.

As Bernie gazes at the screen, drinking in Serena’s every word, she hopes her early return is going to be a nice surprise.

When Serena hands over to the local news teams, Bernie is already on her feet and moving. She slips into the studio, smiling to crew members she knows, looks around until she spots Serena talking to Fletch. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees her, gaze tracing her shoulders, her spine, her waist. She doesn’t notice when Fletch sees her over Serena’s shoulder, can’t hear him telling Serena to turn around. But when Serena does turn, eyes scanning the room until they land on her, Bernie finds she can’t move, finds she’s frozen to the spot, heart racing with worry and anticipation.

Serena seems rooted to the floor too – until Fletch nudges her shoulder and breaks the spell, and she slowly crosses the room until she’s standing in front of Bernie.

‘But you’re in Beirut,’ she says, disbelieving.

‘I was,’ Bernie corrects her, forcing her hands to stay by her side when she’s itching to reach for Serena. ‘I missed you. I wanted to spend Christmas with you.’

Serena says nothing, just stares at her, and Bernie begins to think this was a bad idea. ‘You’re really here,’ she murmurs eventually, raising one hand to hover between them.

‘I am,’ Bernie says, finally touching her, their fingers sliding together automatically.

And then, all of a sudden, Serena is pressed against her, and Bernie wraps her arms around her tightly, the silk of her blouse cold under Bernie’s palms.

‘I’ve missed you too, darling,’ Serena whispers as Bernie breathes her in and holds her a little tighter, refreshing her memory of how Serena feels, the warmth and solidity and realness of her after weeks of having to imagine it.

[mysticgirl84]

When someone comments on your fanfiction...

[thesoundofawesome]

[pers-books]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

660

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

2,440,956

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Most recently Berena (Holby City) and Original Fiction. But I've written very little since losing my mum in April.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Letters to a Naturalist (Holby City) (30,350 words)

Jason Haynes: Matchmaker (Holby City) (17,560 words)

The Red String of Fate (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)) (51,896 words)

One Life Stand (Holby City) (33,815 words)

The Hacktivist, The Agent, and the Clairvoyant (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Thor (Movies)) (35,849 words)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, always! If someone's taken the time to comment then it's only polite to respond.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably this one:

Lascia Ch'io Pianga (Let Me Lament My Cruel Fate) for the James Bond (Movies) fandom. Although it does have an ambiguous ending, almost everyone who commented on it said they assumed that Bond & M both died.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The vast majority of them have happy endings as I rarely write sad ones.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Used to back in the day when I wrote Ten/Martha fic for Doctor Who. There were a lot of Doctor/Rose shippers who hated my pairing with a passion and didn't hesitate to share that hate instead of just staying in their fucking lane and using the back button/scroll button. Bunch of snowflakes.

9. Do you write smut?

Used to, not so much lately.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have done, yes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup - a few years ago someone translated one of mine into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A long, long time ago.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Eh, I don't have just one - given I've written for 20 different fandoms over the last 16 years.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Oh, I've no idea - I only have one incomplete WiP actually posted on AO3, but I've no particular desire to finish it, especially given it's 6 or 7 fandoms ago!

Of course, I have a whole heap of WiPs on my hard drive, but I doubt I'll get to finish any of them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Goodness knows.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have been told I write too much. Ironic, really, given how little I've written this year.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'd do it if it's needful, though I don't think I have.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Eh, no, I don't have a favourite fic - I've liked every fic I've written as I was writing it and I've occasionally re-read some of my own fic just because.

Tagging (with the usual caveat that you don't have to participate if you don't want to): @slightlyintimidating @doctorjameswatson @jinxedwood @bonnissance @ariverandasong @daisydoctor13 @fortytworedvines @onaperduamedee @hokuspokusthings @riversofmars @meluisart @ceridwyn2 @thisbluespirit and anyone else who wants to participate!

Questions to respond to:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fic?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you write crossovers?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

[backjustforberena]

okay but just another thing about "Brave New World" (yes, another, I'm constantly thinking about this pairing k??) Is Fletch's condition being a metaphor for Berena, and specifically Serena wrapping her head around the whole possibility.

Particularly when they try and bring round Fletch for the first time. The timing is good, and Serena deems it too risky, so they decide to watch and wait for him to get stronger.

I'm particularly thinking about the fact that once they diagnose the ventricular tachycardia, Bernie says it's Serena's call. The power is in her hands and she seems it too risky.

Just like how Bernie treats the whole incident with the kiss: she takes her cues (Or perceived cues) from Serena. Serena is in control of the situation. And judges it, at the beginning, to be too much too soon.

[onthesandsofdreams]

(This Romance Is) From Afar Calling Me Silently [2/?]

Pairing: Berena Stark x Maekar Targaryen Rating: T Summary: Whatever news had come from the South had thrown her parents and brother into a frenzy. Willam had taken to stare at her and smirk, causing her to almost loose her usual calm and either slap him, or hit him upside down his head. Whatever it was, she had the certainty that it involved her. Words: 1032 Notes: Sorry for the late update, the former outline was giving me trouble, so I decided to start from scratch. So wish me luck with that! I have also decided to add Berena's POV here and there, but it will mostly focus on Maekar.

Read @ AO3

Berena made her way to her father’s solar.

Whatever news had come from the South had thrown her parents and brother into a frenzy. Willam had taken to stare at her and smirk, causing her to almost loose her usual calm and either slap him, or hit him upside down his head. Whatever it was, she had the certainty that it involved her.

Once she arrived at her father’s solar, she knocked and only opened the door once she heard her father’s deep voice calling, “Enter!”

“You wanted to see me, father?” She says, closing the door behind her. Her mother is there, she is giving her a reassuring smile that fails to calm her down. Willam sits at their father’s side, swirling a goblet of wine, he looks solemn. She sits at her father’s wave of hand, dread pooling in her stomach.

“Aye, Berena.” Her father stops for a moment. And it is a strange thing to see her father momentarily lost for words. But he shakes his head and recovers. “As you know, messages have come and gone. Well, those messages are from King Aerys. The Iron Throne is trying do heal the rift between our houses caused by their inaction when it came to the Greyjoys,” here, her father near snarls, “actions.”

Oh. A heal of wound. Oh, by the Gods. She know what this is, she is to marry someone. She does not need her father to speak those words for her to know. “That is good, no?” She does her best to make sure her voice does not tremble. “That they have seen their error and are trying to fix it.”

Her father gives her an approving nod. “Aye, there is that. Well, I will not butter it up for you, Berena. They ask for your hand in marriage.”

She gulps. “And who am I to marry?”

“The Prince of Dragonstone, Maekar.” Her father says. “One of his daughters has been promised to House Lannister, but you, my daughter will marry him. That means, if things go well, you will be Queen.”

Yes, she would be, wouldn’t she? That is, if she did not died on childbirth like the late Lady Dyanna had. And while her child might not sit on the Iron Throne after her father, it was still a good marriage and she supposed, she was an old maid. She nods. “I see. A good match, I have no objections father.”

It is her mother who speaks, “We thought you would.”

“Why? Because my child would not follow his father?” She shakes his head. “Regardless of that, a marriage to the Iron Throne is a good one, whatever children that I have, they still be siblings of the King, and they would have good matches.”

Her father gives her an approving nod again, “Well, I am glad that you saw the same as I did. Prince Maekar will come and marry you here on our Godswood, and there will another ceremony in the Sept at King’s Landing.”

“It sounds fair to me,” she says. And to be honest, it is. A Godswood wedding to appease their sensibilities and a reaffirmation in front of the Sept to appease the New Gods. “I shall start my wedding gowns and cloak as soon as possible.”

“Tell me what you need, daughter. I will spare no expense in your gown and cloak. I have already commissioned some jewelry pieces for you, I will not have it said that I do not treat my children well.”

She gives her father a small smile, her father had always been a good father. Who else would have allowed her to remain an old maid for so long? She and her sister both, to be frank. And they were well loved by their father. “Thank you father, I shall. Give me a couple of days so I can have a design in mind.”

“Very well, Berena.”

Her mother finally lets her solemnness fall, she stands and embraces her with joy. “My daughter, Queen-to-be!”

She returns her mother’s embrace, hiding her nose in her mother’s hair. “That would take a while, mother.”

“Oh, shush, do not take away the excitement from me.”

“I would never!” She laughs. “I am simply concerned that if someone overhears, they would think that you would speed our King’s demise, and I would not have that.”

Her mother laughs, holds her at arms length and rolls her eyes. “I fail to see who would repeat my words. Your brother knows better than to cross me, and your father has a reputation to upkeep.”

“Here sister,” Her brother approached her, offering a goblet of arbor gold. She had not even noticed him move. Once she let go of their mother, she took the goblet with a smile. “A toast,” her brother says. “To my little sister, Berena, Queen-to-be!”

She toast her glass to her brother, her father and her mother rise their own. She takes a large sip, the wine is a fine vintage. “And when may we expect my betrothed?”

“Prince Maekar should be here in four moon, gives you enough time to make your dresses and your cloak. Gives enough time for your mother to plan the feast and gives me enough time to come with terms that you will leave the den.”

Her eyes blur with unshed tears, but she blinks them away. “Will he come alone, or with a small entourage?”

“A small entourage. The last letter we received said that Brynden Rivers will be coming, and I do not doubt that someone else and Lord River’s Raven’s Teeth.”

She nods again. “Very well, I will be ready.”

“Your betrothal and wedding will be announced tonight, do you object to that?”

“I see no reason why I should,” she shakes her head. “It is as good time as any. I only have one small request.”

“Yes?” It is her mother who asks.

Her lips curl upwards and she winks at her mother, “I request some honey cakes for me to finish my meal with!”

Her parents blink, and when they realize what she meant, the four of them laugh. “Of course, dear heart!” Her mother chuckles.

[sistersofdorothy]

Ship Name: Berena Film/TV Show: Holby City (BBC) [TV] 2016-ongoing Canonical Pairing: Yes | No | Undecided Characters: Bernie Wolfe, Serena Campbell Actors: Jemma Redgrave, Catherine Russell Ending: Happy | Sad | Ongoing | Undecided Other Traits: Slow Burn, Older Ladies Why you should watch it: This is a beautiful pairing with a lovely slow burn that climaxed in some great on screen moments. It’s two older ladies slowly falling for one another with lots of drama pumped in between it all. The show runs weekly all year on the BBC so there are lots of moments between the two (though the show focuses on a largely rotating cast) Both actresses have taken a break from shooting (Catherine Russell is returning very shortly) and it caused a controversial “ending” to their romance. Producers have been supportive and hinted at the Berena storyline not being over. What you may not like about it: Some overly dramatic sad stuff and lots of character suffering.

[[ BONUS ]]

Links so you can watch it yourself if you haven’t

The Playlist that started it all (and the expedient playlist if you want to get to the meat of the story featuring scenes with both characters) 

The Long Playlist if you want all of the scenes of both characters from the moment Jemma Redgrave joined the cast

Okay so you’re fully obsessed and you want all of the Bernie scenes

Okay so you’re CRAZY obsessed and want all of the Serena scenes through the history of time.