#but i’ve never been convinced by elizabeth’s love for darcy

[cto10121]

Hey so I read your "What is a Romance" post and found it very informative so thank you lol. I was confused about one part tho:

Can a romance focus on a beta couple as well? Generally no. In American romance novels, authors do set up the couple for the next installment, but that is not quite the same as page time and development. Romances focus on one couple at a time—once that couple’s love story is done, writers can move on to another couple’s romance. Stories that have more than one couple tend to be something else entirely.

I wanted to know how this related to works like Much Ado About Nothing (Hero and Claudio) or Pride and Prejudice (Jane and Bingley) (though I suppose that last one is a marriage plot so it might not count anyway).. Isn't Much Ado About Nothing a romance that focuses on more then one couple?

I also wanted to know this because I'm working on a romance novel and there was a side couple that i wanted to give attention to.

…I’ve been waiting for someone to ask this question, ha. Knowing all the while that I’d have to give my very unpopular opinion. Well, here it is (and thanks for in advance for being the one to bring it up!)

So no, I don’t categorize Much Ado About Nothing and Pride and Prejudice as romances, not so much because they have a beta couple, but because of their plots and thematic concerns. Much Ado is social comedy/satire and Pride and Prejudice is a wedding plot. Let me explain.

Much Ado About Nothing

Ah, Much Ado. I know people adore Beatrice/Benedick (ditto, they’re great) and feel very uncomfortable with Hero/Claudio (with good reasons). But ultimately neither of these couples constitute a true romance. Their love in the play function as social satire/commentary on the battle of the sexes. Beatrice and Benedick’s respective sexism (Beatrice’s scorn for men and Benedick’s sexism toward women) make them refuse to entertain marriage/romance and shield their obvious attraction for each other. Ultimately, though, their sexism stems not from ideology, but from personal hurt feelings and/or insecurity, so the moment they hear that the other likes them, then they are eager to cast off their previous convictions. Shakespeare even hints that B&B had been a couple before, so their realization that they actually love each other is not really true romantic development. Claudio’s actual sexism, in the meantime, actually does lead him to reject Hero. Though framed as romance plots, these two strands are part of the satiric commentary on sexism and misogyny.

Pride and Prejudice

So yeah, Pride and Prejudice is almost purely a marriage plot. Austen sets up the stakes very early and very clearly: The Bennett sisters must marry or else their estate is entailed to their cousin. But wait! Elizabeth grows to love Darcy, right? She learns she was mistaken about him, right? Isn’t that romantic development?

Well, no. Romantic development would entail mutual attraction on both sides, foiled by obstacles. While Darcy is canonically attracted to Elizabeth, Elizabeth doesn’t even begin to catch feelings until after she realizes that Mr. Darcy was the victim in the Darcy-Wickham scandal and finding out he was the one who forced Wickham to marry Lydia. Oh, and seeing his beautiful estate Pemberley. 😑 Real romantic. Austen even lampshades this by having Elizabeth joke about it!

So yeah, that is not a romance between two people attracted to each other and struggling with their class hang-ups. This is story of a woman learning that this seemingly snobbish rich dude is actually not that bad once you get to know him and his £10,000 a year manor home.

Yes, Austen was obviously inspired by Shakespeare’s Beatrice and Benedick subplot when she wrote Pride and Prejudice. But while Shakespeare focuses on sexism as the obstacle between these lovers (and the mutuality of their attraction), Austen replaces the sexism with classism and class resentment that both characters need to overcome. All well and good, but there is no more mutuality; Mr. Darcy starts to give her 🥺 from the second he notices her fine eyes while Elizabeth flirts with Wickham and still thinks he is a rich asshole for over half the book. Her change of heart is genuine and humbling, but it does not follow that she should start liking Mr. Darcy romantically. She actually doesn’t until at least the Lydia affair.

The fact that Austen gave little consideration to romantic development (there are few if no courtship scenes between the two) leads me to conceive P&P as more of a marriage plot than a romance one. That is the true goal here, not the love. It is merely enough that Mr. Darcy is established as truly a worthy man to marry. Hence, a marriage plot.

(As for Jane/Bingley, it basically functions as 1) a softer iteration of the classism theme and 2) an obstacle to Elizabeth/Darcy. Again, a marriage plot, and not a romance either.)

[earlgreytea68]

My Golden Ratio Theory (and television finales)

I have this theory that I call my Golden Ratio Theory. The theory states that there is some golden ratio of angst to end-happiness that you must hit in order to have your audience truly believe in the happy ending and find it satisfying. I do not have any precise mathematical formula in mind, I just know that, proportionately, the more angst in the overall narrative, the longer the happy coda at the end has to be to convince the audience that the ending actually will stay happy. 

Because, the more angst you’ve had through the length of your narrative, the more you’ve conditioned your audience not to trust happiness, to believe that it only lasts for fleeting moments before being yanked away again. If that’s the pattern you have established in your narrative, why would you expect your audience to accept a tacked-on happy ending? Your audience has been primed to mistrust that, to wait for the other shoe to drop. Knowing that it’s the ending doesn’t shift the subjective feeling of anxiety and nervousness at the happiness that’s reared its head. 

This is why television series finales are so often so incredibly unsatisfying. Television series are very long-form angsty narratives. Because of the rules of television storytelling, no one is happy for anything more than a few breaths at a time, because more story must quickly be flung at them to keep the viewer engaged. Television writers tend to keep telling their angsty narrative up until the final five minutes of the whole show, and then they’ll slam a happy ending in there and be like, “Ta-da! They lived happily every after!” 

But the thing is: You don’t feel that, and no wonder, because they never lived happily ever after before, so why should they live happily ever after now? I sometimes see people disdain happy endings as feeling fake or contrived, but this is often what the problem is: the writer not recognizing the Golden Ratio that governs how persuasive a happy ending is to the audience. A five-minute happy ending does feel fake and contrived, and then that gets understood somehow as “all happy endings are fake and contrived,” instead of recognizing that a happy ending is actually really hard to write correctly, not that happy endings are intrinsically bad forms of storytelling. 

So. Golden Ratio theory. You know who violates this theory? Hallmark Christmas movies. You know how the couple never kisses until the last scene? You know how you never leave a Hallmark Christmas movie really shipping the couple? How could you? You know nothing about how they function as a couple. I have nothing against Hallmark Christmas movies -- we watch a lot of them -- but the happy ending of a romantic story is usually not the first kiss, or the moment when they get together. Think about Bridget Jones’s Diary, which is a book and movie I truly love, but like, hahaha, at the end of either, did you have great confidence that Bridget wasn’t going to mess everything up with Mark????? 

Now, some stories are perfectly fine with a quick happy ending because there hasn’t been much angst beforehand, because you’ve already laid the foundation for the happy ending so thoroughly that it makes sense to the audience. I feel like maybe Pride & Prejudice is a story that ends fairly quickly after they get together but there is so much carefully laid-out character development that I think convinces you Elizabeth and Darcy will be okay (as opposed to Bridget Jones, which, although retelling P&P, is also telling a very different story). 

I think about a story like, say, “You’re the Culmination of Everything I’ve Never Had.” I could have ended that story when Patrick shows up and sings “Deep Blue Love” to Pete. But they’d been through so much that I think it would have felt unsatisfying. How did you really know that they wouldn’t find more incredibly harsh words to shout at each other? So everything after that I considered fulfillment of the Golden Ratio: You needed to see them in a cozy Chicago apartment writing music together, you needed to see Pete cuddling a small, dark-haired boy. And then you hit the end and you’re hopefully smiling, thinking, They’ll be totally okay. 

I am biased, because I love to write the Golden Ratio bits. That coda to “Culmination” is my favorite part of the whole fic. But I think also that those bits mean more than might be realized during first-read. Whenever I walk away from a story feeling dissatisfied, even though it had a theoretically happy ending, the problem is almost always one of Golden Ratio. And luckily, that is something many of us are primed to correct in fandom. Why so much curtainfic? We’re constantly trying to Golden-Ratio happiness out of our angsty canons. Sometimes, it takes hundreds of thousands of words to make you think, Okay, they’ll make it. And then you’re ready to hear The End. 

[palimpsessed]

Tag Game

Finally have some time to kill at work so let’s knock out a tag game. Thanks for tags @fight-surrender @bazzybelle @angelsfalling16 Let’s go!

Three ships:

Oh wait I think I have a legit answer for this.

1. Snowbaz duh

2. Symbrock

3. Victuuri (just rewatched yoi and the feels are fresh)

First ship:

First ship I was aware of as a “ship” is snowbaz. I’ve never been in fandom spaces before so I’ve never been accustomed to thinking in “shipping” terms. But looking back? My first ship was probably Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Do they have a ship name? Idk.

Oh no. Wait! First ship was definitely Jaina Solo and Zekk (did he have a last name?) from Star Wars Young Jedi Knights, my favorite book series growing up 😂 This is bringing back memories of me making KidPix fanart (did anyone else use KidPix?) and attempting to write fic of Zekk’s backstory. 🤣🤣🤣 omg y’all I’m on a journeyyyy now

Last Movie:

Venom or Venom Jr (@jbrrring don’t even tell me how long it’s been I will cry)

I don’t really watch movies anymore but I’ve watched these two a bunch. What can I say? I love me some disaster monsters 🥰

Currently reading:

AWTWB audiobook relisten (#5)

Currently watching:

Nothing. I also don’t really watch shows anymore. But YOI is the last thing I did watch and only because it was a watch party.

Currently consuming:

Oxygen. Um earl grey with milk. I think it’s supposed to be with lemon, but I like it with milk. All the 80s alternative rock classics my ears can gobble up.

Currently craving:

Dinner. I’m almost off work and I’m gonna go home, make a fried egg sandwich, and bake a skillet full of butternut squash. 😋

Favorite color:

Blood red

Last song I listened to:

You Were Always On My Mind by the Pet Shop Boys. Did you know New Order and Pet Shop Boys are on tour?! I am debating if I would feel safe being around people by october. I’m not convinced tbh...but...

Sweet, savory, or spicy?

Pretty much in that order. My fussy little tummy can’t handle spicy or even like fucking garlic. Tho I am a big big fan of ginger. That’s the only somewhat spicy thing I can do and I use it on everything. But yes I am a little slut for my sweet tooth.

Working on:

Tail porn. So much tail porn.

I guess that’s it. I don’t know who’s done this because I got to it late because of the aforementioned porn. But I did tag @jbrrring so this is me doing it again 🥰 and my other symbrock watch party peeps @sillyunicorn @martsonmars @tea-brigade @prettylightsbigcity @mostlymaudlin and literally anyone else.

[anghraine]

I’ve talked about this a million times before, but every time I see arguments about which broody adapted Darcys are better, I just think of:

“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy.

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”

Darcy only smiled.

-

“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”

“And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.”

“And yours,” he replied, with a smile, “is wilfully to misunderstand them.”

-

“It is your turn to say something now, Mr Darcy—I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

-

“What think you of books?” said he, smiling.

“Books—Oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”

“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”

-

“It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”

As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she understood.

-

“Indeed, Mr Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire—and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too—for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear.”

“I am not afraid of you,” said he smilingly.

-

“I have always supposed it to be my own fault–because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”

Darcy smiled and said, “You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting.”

-

Elizabeth walked on in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it arrested her—and she beheld a striking resemblance of Mr Darcy, with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her.

-

she sat in misery till Mr Darcy appeared again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile.

LET 👏 DARCY 👏 SMILE 👏

[belettewrites]

Some mountains and a dog part 5

previous | next | masterpost | AO3

“Well,” Jaskier started as he put down his lute case next to the bed, “I’ve got to say that I wasn’t expecting that when I asked you to go for a trip to the mountains.”

He turned around to look at Geralt, who was clenching his bag in his arms as if he didn’t know what to do. It was an endearing sight, at least in Jaskier’s opinion.

“What do you think? Violet and Lila are very nice, and I do believe that Roach is having the time of her life. And yeah, sure,” he babbled as he made his way towards the table in their room on which Violet had set a bucket full of water, “you did end up with a contract while all I wanted was you to take a break, but, overall, it’s nice here.”

He shed off his doublet, putting his hand in the bucket to test the water temperature. It was cold, and he made a face, but he needed to at least wash his face before playing tonight. The dust of the road had stuck to his cheeks and he wanted to get rid of the feeling of dryness it gave him.

He heard a ‘thunk’ behind him: Geralt had put his bag down. He glanced back, only to find that Geralt was walking closer to him. The witcher wordlessly cast Igni to heat the water, then turned back to his bag, searching for a shirt cleaner than the one he was currently wearing. Jaskier felt his heart melt in gratitude.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispered before proceeding to wash his face. Geralt tapped on his shoulder, and Jaskier blindly reached out to him to take the soap that he knew Geralt was offering. Soap in hand, he heard that Geralt had started to unpack their bags.

“It’s… nice,” Geralt agreed after a while. “I didn’t think that – well, I didn’t think you did all of this for a specific reason. That you wanted me to- take a break. I thought you just wanted to see some mountains.”

Then it meant that Geralt had agreed to come just because he thought that Jaskier wanted to, and it made Jaskier’s heart ache with how much he loved his friend, always ready to please, always acting selflessly – so selflessly that it sometimes was worrying.

He straightened up, drops of water falling on the ground, and when he turned around to grab a towel, he found that Geralt was already handing him one. It was a white towel, with a small “L” embroidered on it, and Jaskier had no doubt that it was Violet that had made it for her wife. A bit like the dandelions on his cloak, when he thought about it.

Shaking his head to make the stupid thoughts go away, Jaskier went to his bag to find a nice doublet for the evening; one that would keep him warm, but not too much, and would feel comfortable while still being pretty.

Geralt was sitting on the bed, taking care of his leather boots. The dust from the road made them look more gray than black, and he was currently using an old shirt to clean them, the smell of the leather polish he used perfuming the room. He did that when he needed to think, Jaskier had noticed over the years, so he was careful not to disturb him while still mulling over what he could reply to what Geralt had said.

Alas, “dear heart, you looked exhausted and you deserve the world, and life is more than just being a witcher or a father, and I wanted you to take a break to be able to watch your smile as the burden that has been put on your shoulders when you were six years old finally lifted for a while” wouldn’t do.

He sat next to Geralt, wanting to put his head on the other man’s shoulder but knowing that it would not be comfortable, if only because Geralt was still taking care of his boots and thus moving his arm.

Jaskier sighed, and Geralt glanced at him.

“I saw you trying to not put weight on your left leg,” he said quietly, eyes back on his boot which he was now rubbing to make it shine. “Your knee is still hurting you.”

It was said so matter-of-factly that Jaskier had to laugh – Geralt *knew* he was right, the little shit.

“You should apply more salve on it,” Geralt carried on, and Jaskier recognized the suggestion for what it was, a way for Geralt to tell him that he was worried.

“Don’t you worry, dear,” Jaskier sighed as he let himself fall back on the bed, his head and back hitting the soft wool covers, “it barely hurts now. I’ll still put salve on it after singing tonight, when we’ll be back to our room.”

His friend hummed, pleased – but whether it was because his boots were now clean and shining or because Jaskier had agreed to take care of himself, he didn’t know.

“Well, my dear Geralt, I think it’s time for us to go downstairs, what do you think?”

***

“I’m exhausted.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t insisted on dancing while playing and singing, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“How dare you,” Jaskier started while putting his lute down, “I’ll let you know that I saw you smiling, dear heart, so you don’t get to say anything.”

“Hmm,” Geralt smiled, and Jaskier knew he had lost the argument – how could he go on, when Geralt was smiling like that?

“Anyway,” he said, “let’s go to bed, darling.”

He quickly prepared himself to go to bed, packing his lute in its case and putting it near their bags, careful not to make it fall over.

Despite his state of exhaustion, Jaskier found that he didn’t want to go to sleep, not yet. Tomorrow would bring new responsibilities, more for Geralt than for him, and he wanted to enjoy the night, when they were safe and both alive. He didn’t doubt Geralt’s capacities, but the witcher was about to go and search for a beast about which they knew nothing, so sue him for being worried.

No, right now they were safe, and they could do whatever they wanted. Jaskier liked the evenings when they were alone, just the both of them, because he got to enjoy his friend’s presence without being disturbed. Violet and Lila were nice, but being alone with Geralt, right now, was the height of his evening.

Now, to make it last.

“Darling,” Jaskier started after fishing the book from his bag, “what if I continued to read the adventures of Elizabeth and Darcy?”

“I thought you were exhausted,” Geralt replied as he sat on the bed.

“I- still feel like reading, though, and I want to know what happens next.”

“You told me you had to read it during your time at Oxenfurt.”

Of course Geralt remembered.

“It’s still nice to read it,” Jaskier said as he let himself fall on the bed, giggling when he bounced on it. “Now, move over and let me read to you.”

“You didn’t put the salve on your knee.”

“Are you being difficult on purpose, dear?”

The malicious look in Geralt’s eyes was answer enough.

“Ugh, fine”, Jaskier sighed, putting on a show of getting up to go search for the salve, then applying it. “Happy?”

“Hmm.”

“Alright, you idiot, let me read now. Where were we?”

“Chapter nine,” Geralt helpfully replied, golden eyes watching Jaskier as he slid under the covers.

“Ah, yes, perfect, thank you dear.”

He tried to read the first sentence, but found that he could not, and stayed silent for a few seconds.

“You’ll be careful, tomorrow, right?” he ended up whispering, eyes still on the book, not daring to look at Geralt. “I always worry when you’re out on a hunt, and you don’t even know what you’ll be facing, and-.”

He fell silent.

“I will be,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier shouldn’t have understood it as a promise but still did. He knew Geralt couldn’t control it, but sometimes a sweet lie was better than a bitter truth, and Jaskier did prefer the caress of honey over the bite of dandelions. 

“Alright then,”, he said, voice only a little bit strangled, “let’s go on.”

He started to read again, feeling the warmth of Geralt next to him, their shoulders pressed together, Geralt’s eyes almost closed. Here, in the silence of the night only broken by his voice, Jaskier could almost convince himself that the moment would never end.

[e-louise-bates]

It’s Jane Austen’s birthday! I hate ranking lists that claim objectivity (Austen Heroes, Worst To Best, Absolutely And Completely The One Correct Way To View This, No This Isn’t Clickbait Why Do You Ask?), so here, instead have my own personal opinions of least-favorite to favorite Austen Heroes and Heroines.

First, the dudes, because, well, why not:

7. Edmund Bertram. Look, Edmund is unfailingly kind, but good grief. So judgmental toward others! So blind to his own weak spots! So unforgivably dense about the Crawfords! I could forgive the blindness and denseness if he didn’t set himself up as the wise and unfailingly correct judge and mentor. Edward Ferrars is also an idiot (see below), but at least he doesn’t go around considering himself better than everyone else.

6. Edward Ferrars. A bit of an idiot, but trying his best, poor thing. Kind of remarkable he turned out as well as he did when you consider his family and his tutor.

5. Colonel Brandon. A bit boring (unless portrayed by Alan Rickman), but a true gentleman and a man of sterling worth. Not much else to say about him.

4. Captain Wentworth. I disliked Captain Wentworth for a long time because of his unyielding bitterness against Anne. But you know, the older I get, the more I like the fact that he’s not perfect, and his flaws are actually kind of major ones, and he really does have a lot of growing to do throughout the story--and he does so. And yes, the letter. Swoon.

3. Mr. Darcy. The man who recognizes his flaws and then acts to correct them, both out of love for the woman who shoved them in his face and because it was the right thing to do. I have little patience for those who claim Mr. Darcy’s “real” problem was social awkwardness--Austen makes it thoroughly clear that yes, he is socially awkward, and that’s no excuse: he doesn’t think highly enough of other people to work to overcome his discomfort.

2. Mr. Knightley. I’ve already written an entire post on why Mr. Knightley is one of the best Austen heroes, so here I will simply say: I love his kindness, and empathize with his dislike of social gatherings, and admire his willingness to participate in said gatherings despite his dislike (unlike a certain other Austen leading man ...)

1. Henry Tilney, of course. He has a sense of humor! He cares about people! He’s kind! He makes mistakes, and then acts to rectify them! He’s mischievous! He’s human and adorable, and I love him.

The ladies!

7. Marianne Dashwood. Oh, Marianne. When I was sixteen, I too believed I knew exactly how the world ought to be, and was convinced my views were utterly correct and would never change. I suspect I was just as irritating to the people around me as you are. Marianne is a difficult character to really like. Yes, she does grow and improve by the end of the story, but I suspect she will always remain an exhausting individual.

6. Catherine Morland. Poor naive Cathy, she is so easily mistaken for a nitwit--that’s how I read her for years, until I had enough maturity myself to recognize that no, she’s simply an innocent girl who is too prone both to letting her imagination run away with her AND to expecting everyone else to be as straightforward as she is. Her character development isn’t as finely drawn as it would have been had Austen written her book later in life, but it is there.

5. Fanny Price. I love Fanny--she is not a drip!--but even I can admit that she is a difficult protagonist to admire. Her quiet steadfastness and strong moral compass are incredibly admirable, but her timidity and lack of self-esteem make for difficult reading, especially for modern readers who more easily resonate with a “headstrong, impertinent girl,” then with someone who cowers in the corner and passively accepts the terrible treatment she is given. That said, I do love her for the fact that despite the terrible treatment, despite her natural inclination to avoid conflict, despite her lack of faith in her own judgment, she still stands firm on what she believes is right and wrong, and won’t bend from that.

4. Emma Woodhouse. Emma is such a complex character. She’s not very likeable, but her journey from self-absorption to genuinely thinking of others (not just of how wonderful she is for appearing to think of others) is compelling. I especially appreciate Romola Garai’s portrayal of her as a too-intelligent woman desperate for mental stimulation and broader horizons, yet compelled to remain closed in a tiny box out of love and duty, and the indication that much of her errors came about as a result of that situation.

3. Elinor Dashwood. Elinor is nineteen at the start of S&S, and man, the poor girl. The only person with any sense (hah) in her family, she is forced to crush down all her emotions because otherwise her mother and sisters would be destitute and most likely disgraced. She’s not a very joyful character, but she is lovable, and especially when played by Emma Thompson, you rejoice all the more with her at that glorious ending.

2. Elizabeth Bennet. She is witty and intelligent, she makes mistakes and then strives to do better, she sparkles, and she is utterly lovable. There you go.

1. Anne Elliot. Anne is The Best, and that’s that. (Oops, I said I was going to stay away from objective statements, didn’t I? Let me rephrase) So far as I am concerned, Anne is The Best, and that’s that.

[keelymewett]

Zombie Movie: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (2016)

Three words: that fight scene. 

So upon recommendation from a friend, I have recently watched the BBC mini-series of Pride and Prejudice, as well as the Keira Knightley movie. Therefore, I have about 8 hours of Pride and Prejudice knowledge under my belt, so here we go into probably my favourite type of adaptation ever: simply adding zombies.

Uh, medium to light spoilers, but it’s nothing really Earth-shattering especially if you have the gist of how Pride and Prejudice goes. 

Firstly, I love all the Bennet girls in this movie. The subversion of what makes a “lady” is great - instead of sitting around embroidering, they sit around cleaning guns (to then use them) which makes total sense for this period of war. 

Unlike in actual war-time throughout history, where it happened in a “far-off” place wherein the war was seperate from home life, in PPZ (I’m sorry I have to abbreviate it the run on sentence of a title is too much) the war is literally on the home front - anyone can become a zombie, therefore everyone is part of the war, not just soldiers like in the original P&P (had to put the & because otherwise it’s PP which will make me laugh too much yes I’m a child).

We get this absolutely fabulous getting-ready-for-the-ball scene which literally made me scream in excitement - firstly, knives, secondly, FUNCTIONAL FASHION. 

On the subject of fashion, the leather accents on everyone’s outfits in this movie is just *chef’s kiss*, and Mr Darcy is 100% emo. Like, he literally squeaks through every scene he’s wearing that much black leather. 

I will also never not be over the opening scene where he’s like “this guy’s a zombie. Let me finish my drink first though.” That’s very Australian of him, I approve (yes, I know this is British.) 

We get great fight scenes, although in terms of it being a Pride and Prejudice adaptation the plot is a little confusing - all of the plot-beats that make total sense in the BBC series are a bit lost in all the blood. 

I just want the letter scene where Mr Darcy is the one who catches her crying and comforts her - is that too much to ask? 

Other random notes:

Lady Catherine is awesome. I like Mr Collins. His actor, Matt Smith, played him brilliantly. On the subject of actors, Lily James as Elizabeth Bennet? Yes please and thank you. 

Oh and Lydia doesn’t marry Mr Wickham!!! Thank God. 

The zombies

Firstly, they’re called zombies. That’s a win. Secondly, they’re kinda freaky because they can still function as members of society. Which brings me to the first thing that surprised me about this movie: as much as I hate Mr Wickham, I kinda agreed with the dude. Like, he figured out how to win the war by essentially “befriending” the zombies and making a peace treaty. And then Mr Darcy went and ruined the whole thing which is just... ugh. When I pointed this out to my friend, she proposed that Wickham’s plan could’ve just all been a ploy to attack the humans and win, which I will gladly accept to redeem Darcy and condemn Wickham. Might’ve just been a lost-in-translation thing from the book (yes, I haven’t read either book). 

That fight scene 

Welcome to how I convince people who love Pride and Prejudice to watch PPZ. The fight scene. Take the iconic verbal argument, set it in a war-with-zombies period, give the Bennet girls fighting skills and you get this masterpiece, which is filled with so much (romantic? sexual?) tension. If you’ve seen it, you know what I mean when I say the buttons. 

Also, this P&P adaption really amps up the romance between Elizabeth and Darcy (who, I only just found out in this film, has the first name Fitzwilliam. Excuse me what?). So if you’re in it for the romance, you’re in luck. Also, if you’re worried about the horror aspect, as long as you can handle SFX gore it’s not that scary. Just very dramatic. And emo. (Thanks to Darcy.)

I thiiink that covers pretty much everything I wanted to say. As you can see I’ve used GIFs instead of my own screen-grabs because I wanted to watch this for fun. I didn’t even take any notes or anything like I usually do because I really just wanted to watch the movie and when I saw it was on Netflix I wanted to quickly watch it in case they took it off. 

Closing GIF instead of remarks: 

[oddcoupler222]

Do you have any book recs like yours and w. epic love scenes like yours?

I appreciate anything I’ve written being called epic in any way :) 

I don’t really know if I could accurately compare any books I’ve read to my own but I do have some book recs that I adore! I’ll give you my top ten lesfics for some variety

- Behind the Green Curtain by Riley LaShea (my ultimate fave romance)

When Caton’s sleazy boss offers her a position as his wife’s personal assistant, she accepts the job with reservations, certain Jack Halston has ulterior motives. After meeting Jack’s wife Amelia, though, it’s Caton’s motivations that begin to unravel. As vicious as she is beautiful, Amelia threatens Caton’s position and her sense of decorum. As the attraction between the two women spirals into a torrid affair, Caton is drawn deeper into Jack and Amelia’s world of privilege and prestige, where everything is at stake and nothing is what it seems. 

- All That Matters by Susan X  Meagher

Life is going damned well for Blair Spencer. She's a very successful real estate agent, happily married to a man who encourages her to live the independent life she loves; and they're actively working to have a baby. The wrench in the works is that Blair favors adoption, while her husband David desperately wants to have a biological child. The fates are against them, and they finally seek the help of a group of reproductive specialists. One of the doctors, a surgeon named Kylie Mackenzie, eventually becomes a good friend to Blair. And she needs all of the friends she can get when things start to go horribly wrong at home. As her marriage teeters on the brink of collapse, she relies more and more on Kylie's friendship. Kylie's happily gay; Blair's happily straight. But the way they structure their relationship leads friends and family to privately question whether the pair is setting themselves up for heartache. They eventually come to a crossroads, which could either destroy their friendship or turn it into what each of them has been seeking. The question is whether each woman can change her view of herself and her needs. The answer is all that matters.

- Alone by EJ Noyes 

Half a million dollars will be Celeste Thorne’s reward for spending four years of her life in total isolation. No faces. No voices. No way to leave.

Since Celeste has never really worried about being alone, the generous paycheck she’ll receive for her participation in the solitary psychological experiment seems like easy money.

When she finds an injured hiker in the woods bordering her living compound, her strictly governed world is thrown into disarray. But even as she struggles with the morality of breaking the rules of the experiment, Celeste can’t deny her growing attraction to the kind and enigmatic Olivia Soldano. Still, how much can you really trust a stranger? And how much can you trust yourself when you know all the faces you’ve seen and voices you’ve heard for the past three years have only been your imagination?

But what’s real? Celeste’s reality may lie somewhere between the absolute truth and a carefully constructed deception. (the concept of this is just INcredible. and the execution as well - perfect)

- The Goodmans by Clare Ashton

The lovely doctor Abby Hart lives in her dream cottage in the quintessential English border town of Ludbury, home to the Goodmans. Maggie Goodman, all fire and passion, is like another mother to her, amiable Richard a rock and 60s-child Celia is the grandmother she never had. But Abby has a secret. Best friend Jude Goodman is the love of her life, and very, very straight. Even if Jude had ever given a woman a second glance, there’d also be the small problem of Maggie – she would definitely not approve. But secrets have a habit of sneaking out, and Abby’s not the only one with something to hide. Life is just about to get very interesting for the Goodmans. Things are not what they used to be, but could they be even better? (there are not one but TWO perfectly written romances intertwined in this *chef kiss*)

- Pretending in Paradise by M Ullrich

When travelwisdom.com assigns PR specialist Caroline Beckett and travel blogger Emma Morgan to cover a hot new couples retreat, they're forced to fake a relationship to secure a reservation. Ten days in paradise would be a dream assignment, if only they'd stop arguing long enough to enjoy it. Reputations are Caroline's business. Too bad she was forced out of her previous job when an ex smeared hers all over the office grapevine. She's never getting involved with a coworker again, especially not one as careless and unprofessional as Emma. Emma knows that life is too short to play by the rules. But when she goes too far and a defamation lawsuit puts her job in jeopardy, she has to make nice with Caroline, the image police, and deliver the best story of her career.

Only pretending to be in love sure feels a whole lot like falling in love. When their story goes public, ambition and privacy collide, and their chance at making a fake relationship real might just be collateral damage. (there’s just SOMETHING about this that is super freaking cute)

- The Brutal Truth by Lee Winter

Australian crime reporter Maddie Grey is out of her depth in New York, miserable, and secretly drawn to her powerful, twice-married, media mogul boss, Elena Bartell, who eats failing newspapers for breakfast. As work takes them to Australia, Maddie is goaded into a brief, seemingly harmless bet with her enigmatic boss—where they have to tell the complete truth to each other. It backfires catastrophically.

A lesbian romance about the lies we tell ourselves.

- The Red Files by Lee Winter (kudos to her for being the only author that makes it to this list with two separate books)

Ambitious Daily Sentinel journalist Lauren King is chafing on LA’s vapid social circuit, reporting on glamorous A-list parties while sparring with her rival—the formidable, icy Catherine Ayers. Ayers is an ex-Washington political correspondent who suffered a humiliating fall from grace, and her acerbic, vicious tongue keeps everyone at bay. Everyone, that is, except knockabout Iowa girl King, who is undaunted, unimpressed and gives as good as she gets. One night a curious story unfolds before their eyes: One business launch, 34 prostitutes and a pallet of missing pink champagne. Can the warring pair work together to unravel an incredible story? This is a lesbian fiction with more than a few mysterious twists. (as someone who is usually pretty bored by any plot other than the romance, I actually enjoyed this mystery)

- Tricky Wisdom/Tricky Chances by Camryn Eyde

(for tricky wisdom)  Darcy Wright is a closeted lesbian who has been infatuated with her best friend, Taylor, since junior high. Leaving her small northeast Minnesota town for Harvard in a quest to become a doctor, she moves in with med-student Olivia Boyd, a neurotic, anal, gigantic pain in the backside. The first year of juggling medical school is grueling, but it’s nothing compared to living with Olivia.

Coming out to her friends and family with an anti-climactic flop, Darcy uses her newly publicized sexuality to try and win Taylor’s affections through an ill-hatched scheme that crosses uncomfortable lines. The result is as unexpected to Darcy as Darcy’s affinity for medicine is to Olivia.

The first year of medical school is a nerve-wracking encounter in medicine, learning lessons the hard way, and finding what her heart desires.

Tricky Chances is the sequel to Wisdom, but it’s the only lesfic sequel that i truly felt added to the first one and was just as gripping! Plus, the first book is only 48k words so the followup is perfect to come right after

- Who’d Have Thought by G Benson

Top neurosurgeon Samantha Thomson needs to get married fast and is tightlipped as to why. And with over $200,000 on offer to tie the knot, no questions asked, cash-strapped ER nurse Hayden Pérez isn’t about to demand answers.

The deal is only for a year of marriage, but Hayden’s going into it knowing it will be a nightmare. Sam is complicated, rude, kind of cold, and someone Hayden barely tolerates at work, let alone wants to marry. The hardest part is that Hayden has to convince everyone around them that they’re madly in love and that racing down the aisle together is all they’ve ever wanted. What could possibly go wrong? (this book comes in 9th because i don’t love it QUITE as much as i do all the others, but it was the one that got me into lesfic so! it’s good stuff)

And in a guest pick from the only other voracious lesfic reader i know, @debbie-eagan - 

Beautiful Dreamer by Melissa Brayden - 

Philadelphia real estate broker Devyn Winters is at the peak of her career, closing multimillion-dollar deals and relishing it. She’s pretty much blocked out her formative years in Dreamer’s Bay, where the most exciting thing to happen was the twice a year bake sale. Unfortunately, a distress call hauls her back home and away from the life she’s constructed. Now the question is just how long until she can leave again? And when did boring Elizabeth Draper get so beautiful?

Elizabeth Draper loves people, free time, and a good cup of coffee in the warm sunlight. In the quaint town of Dreamer’s Bay, she’s the only employee of On the Spot, an odd jobs company. She remembers Devyn Winters as shallow in high school, but now everything about Devyn makes her lose focus. Though her brain knows Devyn is only home temporarily, her heart didn’t seem to get the memo (I’m personally not a huge Brayden fan but a lot of other lesfic readers are so I reached out for a second opinion on this matter)

I hope you enjoy!

[taylorinthetardis]

Only Human - Prologue and Chapter 1

Hey everyone! So this is the Pride and Prejudice AU I’ve been working on for a while now. It’s set in Modern Day London and told from Darcy’s POV. It is cross posted on AO3, the link to it will be below. I promise I will update it soon, I’ve just been a little bit blocked for a while. But I promise there will be more. So here we go, the prologue and first chapter are under the cut! Enjoy!! Feedback is much appreciated!! If you like it and want to be on a taglist, please feel free to say so!!

Thank you to @madbaddic7ed for all your encouraging words and for convincing me to cross post!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109365

Only Human

Summary:  The events of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice as seen through the eyes of Darcy. Story takes place in modern day London. Lizzy and Jane are American students studying abroad. Their sisters take turns visiting them throughout the story. Bingley and Darcy are recent business partners, but longtime friends. Caroline is as snake-ish as ever. George Wickham is an actual rapist - the rape will not be described in detail.

Pairing: William (Will) Darcy x Elizabeth (Lizzie) Bennet; Charles Bingley x Jane Bennet

Rating: Explicit due to eventual smut

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.8K

                                                       Prologue

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I, William Darcy, am an arsehole. The following tale, dear reader, will explain how that came to be and how, I hope, I have made the preceding statement a falsehood instead. The following tale does not often show me at my best. I hope, however, that you may look past my faults and forgive my disgraceful, ignorant, and often impure thoughts as I relay to you the circumstances by which I came to fall deeply in love with the most wonderful, challenging woman I’ve ever met, the method by which I nearly ruined an incredibly important friendship, and the events surrounding the creation of a familial fissure that will never heal. I hope you will not judge me too harshly.

                                       Chapter 1: Hanover Terrace

I was sat in my office. My office. Still getting used to that. When I took over control from my Aunt Catherine in April, a lot of work was done to make this office mine. Catherine’s taste in furniture was, how should I phrase this, medieval. I was honestly surprised we didn’t have to remove any torture devices when her furniture was cleared out to make room for my more practical mahogany desk and overstuffed leather chairs. My degree from Cambridge’s Judge Business School was propped in my bookcase with photos of my parents and Georgiana on either side. The office is still rather spartan in comparison to Charles’ but I don’t mind it. Our companies had recently merged, an event that proved profitable for both parties and served to deepen our friendship. Our offices are across the hallway from each other now, as opposed to being across the Thames. The economic windfall had been excellent for Charles. He had decided to purchase a new home, one big enough for himself and his sister and closer to her university. Charles is an orphan, like myself, and the sole caretaker of his younger sister Caroline, who recently began her studies at the fashion and design school at Regent’s University. I feel for Charles sometimes. His younger sister is an absolute terror, but I guess we can’t all be blessed with saints for sisters. Caroline is an uncommonly cruel young woman. She delights in shit-talking friends and strangers alike. She also is labouring under the delusion that she will one day be my wife. Her older sister, Louisa, has enjoyed several years of trophy-wifery and it seems Caroline has decided that is the life she wants to live as well. Although she just recently came of age, she has flirted with me non-stop since the first day Charles invited me home with him. We’ve known each other since we were 18 years old. We are now 25. Damn near seven years. SEVEN YEARS. Seven fucking years dealing with Caroline’s shite. She just turned 18 earlier this year. What the hell did she think I was going to do with her when she was eleven goddamn years old? Go to prison? I sure as shit think not.

Charles entered my office at around 1. He was bouncier than usual. He had either had more than one of his normal sickly-sweet coffees or he was in love again. Turned out it was both.

“Oh, Will I’m so happy you convinced me to snatch up Hanover Terrace. I met the most beautiful woman in world yesterday. I never would have known her if I hadn’t decided to take your advice. I invited her and her sister out with us tonight. You don’t mind, do you? Even if you do, once you meet her, you’ll forget you were ever bothered.” He spoke at such a speed that I only caught about every third word. My ears perked, however, at the ‘out with us tonight’ part. Out with us? I don’t remember agreeing to go anywhere with Charles. He always wants to go to nightclubs. He knows I don’t dance. He always does this. Drags me to some poppy nightclub with strobe lights and terrible music.

“And how did you meet this one Charles? Spill your coffee on her? No, wait, you were walking Caroline’s stupid pug and she thought it was cute and wanted to pet it.”

“Christ, am I becoming that predictable?” Yes Charles. Every girl you’ve ever fancied has fallen into your life in a cliché.

I nodded.  He sighed.

“Well, it’s different this time. She isn’t like any other girl I’ve been with. More beautiful than Sarah, kinder than Tilly, oh and her sister Will. Her sister has got to be one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever spoken to in my life. They’re both very beautiful Will. If I was a betting man, I’d wager that Lizzie might even be beautiful enough to tempt you out of your shell and entice you to have some goddamn fun for once. Maybe she’ll even get you to dance.” He nudged me with his elbow, winking. Yeah right Charles. Not even Charlize Theron could get me to dance at a nightclub.

“I seriously doubt that Charles. So, what’s this one called, hm?”

“Jane.” He said it with a sigh. Oh, he’s already long gone. “Her sister is called Elizabeth, but she prefers Lizzie. They’re American, Darce. From the Midwest. They’re both studying abroad at Regent’s for the year.”

“And to what godforsaken place will you be attempting to drag me to tonight?”

“I was thinking Drama? I wanna show off a little Will. I really like her; I want to impress her.”

“Drama might be a little much for a midwestern girl, don’t you think? What about that place we went in Camden a few months ago, by the lock?”

“Lock 17? Isn’t that a little down market for you Darce? There isn’t even a dress code!”

“Come off it, you know I couldn’t care less Charles. I don’t even like going out. I just think Lock 17 will be the better choice for her. You don’t want to scare her. Anyway, I think you’ll have a nice time. Without me.”

“Nuh uh, you aren’t getting out of this. You come or you’re dead to me.” I rolled my eyes. Jesus he’s such a goddamn drama queen.

“Ugh fine I’ll go. But I’m not dancing and you can’t make me. I’m a grown man Charles. So, meet at Hanover Terrace at, what, 8pm? Or should we meet earlier?”

“I was thinking 7:30, that way we’ll all have plenty of time to get ready and you can get to know them before we go. I’m going to order the cab for 8 so we’ll have plenty of time to get there if there’s any slow spots.”

“Please tell me you’ll be leaving Caroline at home.”

“Yeah, so she can kick my arse over it later? No chance. Besides, we’ll probably lose her to the dance floor as soon as we get in. She’ll find some nice dumb boy to buy her drinks and you won’t have to see her all night.” No Charles she’ll be on me like white on rice all damn night and you bloody well know it.

“Alright. But I’m not dancing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived at Hanover Terrace about 7:30. As soon as Charles opened the door, I immediately regretted my decision to come. I should have told him I got food poisoning from lunch or something. Caroline was stomping through the front room, going from box to box screaming that she couldn’t find her favourite clubbing heels. Who the fuck has a favourite pair of heels for clubbing? Heels seem so impractical for dancing. Charles’ new love and her sister had yet to arrive and Charles appeared to be in a slight panic.

“What if she doesn’t come Will?” He said shakily. Christ he’s in a full meltdown.

“I’m sure she’ll be here in a few minutes Charles. It’s not even close to 8 o’ clock yet. You’ve got plenty of time, just relax.” I took a minute to look around his new home. He had barely unpacked. I helped him get everything in order for the move about two weeks ago and he moved in a few days later. Everything was basically where it was when I visited three days ago. “Have you genuinely not unpacked anything Charles? How are you even living in here?”

“I’ve got enough clothes unpacked upstairs to last another week probably. Caroline’s rarely home in the evening anymore so I just keep getting take-away. There’s a Chipotle just around the corner on Baker Street. You know I love a burrito bowl. Something I have in common with the lovely Jane.” Gag. Well, at least the movers got his furniture set up, although most of the downstairs furnishings were unusable because they were covered with cardboard boxes and plastic totes and suitcases. The sofa in the main living area was clear enough that I took a seat. Caroline continued her tear through the front room until a triumphant screech echoed through the relatively empty house. The heels in question were easily six inches high, sparkly platformed monstrosities. They completed a look which can only be described as what a disco ball would look like if it was a contestant on Love Island. Hopefully Jane and her sister would be a bit more sensibly dressed, like Charles and myself. I decided on a plain black tee and black jeans with my black and white trainers. Charles had gone with a less monochromatic palette, wearing a bright blue button down that was almost the colour of his eyes and a pair of dark blue jeans. We’re wearing the same shoes. Us and every other man in London. Suddenly there was knock on the door. I checked my watch, 7:35. I told Charles he was worrying for nothing. He bounced towards the door like Caroline’s pug when he needed a shit. He opened the door to reveal a young blonde woman and a younger looking woman with auburn hair.

“Jane, Lizzie, I’m so pleased you’re here. Sorry about the mess, haven’t had much time to unpack yet, with work and all.” Charles led them through to the room I had posted up in. The dark-haired girl peered at me through purple framed glasses. Her sister gave her a little nudge. Well fuck, Charles wasn’t kidding. God they’re both gorgeous! They were dressed considerably more sensibly than Caroline. Jane wore a low pair of black heels that complemented her red cocktail dress. Her sister was even more comfortably dressed, in black leggings, Doc Martins, and a plain white t-shirt. She wore a black leather jacket over the tee. Neither girl appeared to be wearing much make-up. Both were possessed of the natural beauty that Caroline tried to fabricate in her hour-long make-up routine that left her looking like she had Photoshopped her own face, but in real life. I stuck my hand out. “Will Darcy. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Wow, sound more like you’re a hundred years old, why don’t you Will?

“Will, this is Lizzie,” he gestured to the brunette, “and this is Jane.” He put his hand on the small of the blonde’s back and she blushed redder than Charles’ hair.

“Lizzie Bennet. It’s so nice to meet you Will.” She took my hand with her considerably smaller one and shook it. It was a firmer handshake than I’d had from some of my business associates. She dropped my hand and her sister took up the vacancy. Her handshake was much softer, grip much lighter, much more feminine. Looking at the two women before me, I wouldn’t have known they were sisters if Charles hadn’t told me. They couldn’t have been more different. One blonde, one brunette. Jane had soft blue eyes, Lizzie’s were bright and hazel. Jane was tall and slender, her sister shorter and softer around the middle. Taking all of her in I came to a sudden realization: she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Okay Will be cool. For once in your bloody life be cool. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak Lizzie launched into an animated conversation with Charles about her day. It was all I could do not to stare at her mouth while it moved faster than Charles’ ever had, no matter how in love he was or how many Frappuccinos he had consumed. I sat back down on the sofa, while Lizzie sat on the carpet, Charles on the coffee table, and Jane remained standing. Lizzie told us about one of her professors, an archaeologist who taught university classes when he wasn’t on digs.

“He’s like a real-life Indiana Jones except without the bullwhip and the hat. And he’s not Harrison Ford. But still. Oh, and don’t even let me get started on my Shakespeare professor. George. He’s my most favourite.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying your studies Lizzie. But don’t forget to explore the city while you’re here! London is full of endless things to see and do. I’ve lived here most of my life and I still haven’t seen everything!” Charles is so blessed. I wish I could just talk. Talking is better than staring. C’mon mouth, work! “Wouldn’t you agree Darce?”

Shit, I have to talk now? I nodded, again opening my mouth to speak, but no words came. Charles picked the conversation back up, turning to Jane to ask if she had a pleasant day as well.

“Yes. I took a lovely walk through Regent’s Park today. I only have the one class on Thursdays so I’ve been using the rest of the day to explore a bit. Lizzie’s schedule is so much fuller than mine so I’ve been finding places for us to go on the weekends. We’ve gone to Camden Market and Hyde Park. When you met us the other day, we were on our way back from the Tate Modern, I don’t remember if I said or not.”

“Yes, you said Lizzie was disappointed because she thought you were going to the Tate Britain.”

“Do you have something against modern art?” Oh, cool. Thanks, mouth. Why did that come out like I’m angry about that? Modern art is dumb. How is a pile of rubber or a cut-up McDonald’s bag art?

“I can appreciate that its art, like how I can appreciate that romance novels are literature or techno is music, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I prefer the old masters and classical art to a splash of paint on a canvas. My little cousin can do that too, does that mean her art belongs in a prestigious museum? Naw fam it sure don’t.” Yes. I wholly agree. Why does she have her eyebrow raised at me? Does she think I don’t agree? What is my face doing? Am I scowling? I don’t want to scowl. Did she say ‘fam’? That doesn’t matter. Why does it feel like it matters?

“You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s never been shy about her opinions. And she has a lot of them.” Jane shot her sister a disapproving look. Lizzie just shrugged. Caroline chose that moment to come swanning into the room. Seeing there was a perfectly good space next to her brother on the coffee table, she chose to throw herself down into my lap. Oh, for fucks sake. She’s gonna get fake tanner on my trousers.

“Will, my love," I threw up in my mouth a little, "we’re going to have such a wonderful time at Drama tonight.” I can’t wait to burst her bubble.

“Caroline, did Charles not tell you? We aren’t going to Drama. We’re going to Lock 17, in Camden.” I tried to move her from my lap, but she dug her heels into the carpet for grounding. Fat Christ, Charles will you get your sister under control?

She sputtered, on the verge of a full tantrum directed at her brother when, blessedly, Charles’ phone vibrated. “That’ll be the cab. Caroline are you still coming?”

She jumped up off my lap and straightened the piece of sequined cloth trying to pass itself off as a dress. “Of course I’m going Charles. I put all this on, I can’t just not go out now!” She stomped off to the dining area to get her bag from the table. Charles led Jane towards the front door. I extended my hand down to Lizzie, who took it. I pulled her up from the floor. You should let go of her hand now Will. You’re being weird. I dropped her hand like it had burned me. Smooth. She looked at me, smirked and cocked that eyebrow again. Saying nothing, she followed her sister and Charles out the front door. Caroline took advantage of my initial inaction by slipping her arm into mine, leading me towards the cab. And my doom.

[marvel-medigeek-fics]

ao3 link 

For Maddie, work was a welcome distraction from the hovering of her brother and her boyfriend. Josh’s looks bordered on slight worry, while Buck and Chimney stopped just short of hellicopter parents. She moved the wrong way and their mother hen instincts exploded. Frankly, it was exhausting.

But tonight Maddie was due for a surprise. When she set her things on the counter in Chimneys apartment, Albert was waiting for her. He popped up from the couch like a spring loaded toy, and grinned in a way that was almost suspicious.

“Chimney has a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.” Albert hopped from foot to foot in anticipation, looking at the door excitedly. A few seconds later, Chimney came out of the room dressed to the nines. Maddie’s lip curled up when she saw him.

“You look handsome.” Maddie said, showing her satisfaction by kissing him. Albert turned around to avoid the show, his grin never leaving his face.

When they finally stopped, Chimney whisked Maddie into the room. Laying on the bed was the green dress she had worn when she met the Lee’s. It was the dress that had made Chimney realize he loved her and he wanted her to wear it on this night.

Once she had put it on and come out looking flawless, as always, Chimney took her hand and led her to the beginning of what would hopefully be the best night of both of their lives.

Chimney had been planning this night for weeks, with a lot of help from Bobby, and a lot of pep talks from Hen. Eddie had pulled the strings for the reservation, and everyone had kept Buck completely in the dark about any of the details. He knew Chimney was proposing, because Buck had picked the ring and given his blessing. He just didn’t know when, where or how, Chimney would be proposing.

Chimney couldn’t keep his eyes off of Maddie while he drove to the restaurant. Twice, Maddie course corrected the wheel to keep them from causing a crash. Chimney refused to tell her where they were going, until he pulled up outside.

“What should’ve been our first date.” He said, after parking and giving Maddie a kiss. How do people have self control when their women looked this good? Of course, no one was a pretty as Maddie in Chimneys eyes.

The two of them walked hand in hand to the door, their steps syncing. That is until, the screeching of brakes grabbed their attentions and a scream pulled them into an emergency.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Maddie said to the woman laying on the ground.

“Yeah. I’m Darcy.” The woman said. Her date was directing the car that almost hit her, before he grabbed her hand and relayed what happened.

“My ankle gave out. I shouldn’t have worn heels.” Darcy said, sitting up and wiggling her toes. “I’m fine, Brad.” She accepted the hands of Chimney and Brad, who helped her to standing. Her ankle didn’t look particularly bad, but both Maddie and Chimney advises the couple to forgo their plans to go to the hospital.

They were about to go inside when they heard another scream. Neither of them could ignore it as it continued. “Never a dull moment.” Maddie teased, searching for the source of the screams.

Coincidentally, the screams came from the car that almost ran Darcy over. “Help!!! I think I’m in labor.”

Maddie and Chimney exchanged a look. “I’m chimney and that’s Maddie. How far along are you?”

“32 weeks.”

“Is there anyone you can call to take you to the hospital?” Maddie asked, letting the woman squeeze her hand.

“I’m supposed to be getting dinner with my sister for her birthday. She’s going to be so pissed I’m late.”

“What’s her name?” Chimney and Maddie had the same thought, and as soon as the question was answered, he ran inside to find the sister, Elizabeth.

Maddie stayed with Fiona, who had told Maddie her name after answering Chimneys question. By the time Chimney came back with Elizabeth, Maddie had realized their wasn’t time to go to the hospital. This baby was going to be born in a restaurant parking lot.

“I guess our real first date will have to wait.” Maddie looked up at Chimney, and into his eyes, his expression a mix between pride and sadness. But they both knew that helping this woman was more important than any date.

Less than 30 minutes later, there was a new baby in the world, and a very thankful family. There was also a rescheduled reservation, and Maddie and Chimney eating McDonalds fries in the hospital parking lot.

“I love you. And I love you too.” Chimney said to two of his favorite people in the world. Maddie kissed his forehead and covered his hand with hers. Little miss or mister kicked in reply, causing both Maddie and Chimney to grin, and kiss, the salt of the fries the only thing they tasted.

When they pulled apart, smiles dancing on both their lips, Chimney was holding a box. He snapped it open, causing Maddie to gasp.

“I know you public proposals make you squirm, so I hope this is private enough. I love you, Madeline. You give me all the joy I could ever hold, and you’re the love of my life. You’re the only girl for me. I want you, and only you. So, will you marry me?”

Maddie rushed forward to kiss him, skimming his jawline with her hand lightly. Chimney cupped her cheek as he pulled back. “Is that a yes?”

“I’ve never been happier to say yes to something.”

—

“So that’s the story of how Maddie and Chimney got engaged.” Josh said, sipping his coffee and looking at Maddie with the level of happiness reserved for his best friend.

“Definitely not how Chimney planned it.” Maddie said, laughing as she remembered Chimney telling her how he planned to propose: at the top of the stairs when they both were in their pajamas. Of course, Bobby and Athena had convinced him to at least wear some pants. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

In many ways, the proposal was exactly like their relationship: never a dull moment, and at every important moment, there happened to be an emergency. Oh, the stories they’d be telling their children.

[allthevmff]

Getting the ball rolling for May 17th’s “high note” themed Veronica Mars Friday FanFic Favorites. Join us on Twitter @allthevmff or comment on this post to share one, some, or all of your favorite Veronica Mars FanFics that incorporate music or song(s).

I'm Only Human, After All, by @mrskissytaylor

"Don't get on the bus. Don't get on the bus. Don't get on the - DAMMIT!"

Sometimes, all it takes is one split decision to change everything.

// Playlists: I’m Only Human, After All & Bobcat’s List of Delectable Hits

Hollywood Lost and Found, by @cheshirecatstrut

Cover Art by @sorokinalina

Logan, Veronica, Mac and Casey wander the streets of 1981 West Hollywood, looking for a one-night-only Runaways reunion show.

// Playlist: Hollywood Lost & Found

Mr Darcy Comes to Neptune, by @vmsteenbeans

Cover Art by @sorokinalina

P&P, baby: Pride and Prejudice! A modern re-telling of a classic, set in Neptune, CA. Veronica Mars will be playing the role of Elizabeth Bennet. And Mr. Darcy? Why, Logan Echolls, of course.

Featured Band: HorrorPops

Our Song, by @brittany4824

Cover art by @sorokinalina

VERONICA: It should have been the worst night of my life. It should have left me gutted and alone. But instead I found him... or he found me, rather. The worst night of my life led me to a whirlwind love affair that had a time limit. I knew it. He knew it. But it was devastatingly beautiful. I thought I left the man with amber eyes behind me. A nice memory to pull out on a rainy day. But here he is, handsome as ever in my present. He's bad news, but something keeps pulling me back to him like it had all those years ago. ---- LOGAN: It was the worst night of her life. I should have just been the messenger. I should have gone home and forgotten about her beautiful, tear stained eyes. But she was my last supper. My last fling before I headed back to my dismal reality. I didn't make promises I knew I couldn't keep. We had rules. We followed them. In the end we said goodbye. But ten years later, I find that pretty blonde that haunts my dreams in the last place I ever thought I'd find her. But I'm no good for her. I never have been and never will be. But how do I convince myself of that when she's all I've ever wanted?

// Inspired by Taylor Swift's song 'The Moment I Knew'

What is Past is Prologue, by @scandalpantsstuff

Cover Art by @sorokinalina

Future fic, takes place seven years after the season finale. Veronica and Logan are 26 and living in New York. Yes, it's a LoVe story. Is there any other kind? 

// Featured Song: Turn on Billie by The Pierces

You Put the Boom Boom Into My Heart, by Sarah's Crack

She's his lady, he's her fool. Why must they fight?

// Written for the Cheesy Love Song Challenge

[shireness-says]

Playing the Part

Prologue: Overture

Summary: As a stage manager who's clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s finally here - the Broadway AU I’ve been threatening to write for ages! I’m excited to finally post this, and I hope you’re excited to read it. I’ve got a bunch of these saved up - 7 completed chapters and significant chunks of 4 more - so I should be able to post these every Monday.

I had a lot of help getting this to its final state, so special thanks to @katie-dub for coming up with the title, @kmomof4 for proofing my outline, and @snidgetsafan for her ever-exceptional beta skills. Y’all are the best.

Each chapter title will be pulled from musical songs. The overture is traditionally the music that plays after the lights dim but before the show starts, and oftentimes sets the stage for the show to come by combining snippets of the musical numbers to come.

Overarching disclaimer: my theater experience is purely on the community theater level and only on the techie side, not the acting side. I strive for accuracy, but pull on my own experience and as such may not achieve it.

Tagging those who have expressed interest or I think will like this: @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, @revanmeetra87, @onceuponaprincessworld, @courtorderedcake, @snowbellewells, @branlovesouat, @aerica13, @searchingwardrobes, @teamhook, @awkwardnessandbaseball. Send me a message if you want me to keep tagging you or to be added to this list!

Without further ado: enjoy!

Emma Swan falls into working theater crew somewhat on accident.

That’s the story of her life, really – unexpectedly pregnant at 18, moved to New York on a whim (the reasoning being roughly “if not now, when?”), ended up with a job at Granny’s Diner because it happened to be next to what must be the only free parking in the city, and with a roommate because the owner’s granddaughter just happened to be looking for an apartment and a roommate at that very time.

In the same vein, while it was less of an accident that she became friends with Mary Margaret Blanchard (NYU theater major and friend of Ruby’s who liked to study at the diner), it was entirely by chance that Mary Margaret got her working crew. The truth of the matter is that Emma had a 4-month-old and very little cash, and the NYU theater department needed someone to do some scenery painting. While she may not have been the most artistic of people, Emma was pretty sure that she could handle putting paint on the wall. She could come in whenever she wasn’t working at Granny’s, and best of all, she could bring Henry with her in his carrier. It’s a perfect convergence of circumstances. The powers that be must have been pleased, because come show week, they’d asked her to stay and help move sets. And after that, well… things just spiraled from there.

The funny thing is that Emma had never considered herself a theater fan. When she had started working NYU shows, it had just been a job, not some great passion. Granted, she had only seen a terrible high school production of Fiddler on the Roof and a nearly worse community theater production of Ragtime – and both only because they were free and through her school at the time. There just wasn’t really a chance to see any quality theater as a foster kid. Ruby, when she found that out, naturally decided to fix the situation immediately by taking Emma and Mary Margaret to see Chicago for her own birthday. And as soon as Emma heard “All That Jazz”… she was gone. There was no going back.

Emma somehow found herself an unofficial member of the NYU theater family, especially when visiting lecturers and special events used the auditorium – events that still needed staffing but that the theater majors were reluctant to assist with. From there, she followed Mary Margaret and Ruby (their own aspiring costume designer) through their own smaller roles and shows. Ruby took extra classes in hair and makeup at a local cosmetology school, hoping to expand her portfolio of talents. Mary Margaret kept adding to her resume any way she could, working on any show that would cast her. And Emma somehow continued working her way up the ranks, recommended by word of mouth, towing a toddler (and later a child) along with her. Somehow, all those fortunate accidents brought her here, to this moment – an adult with her own place, a great kid, a support system of friends she views as family, and an ever-rising positive reputation in a decently paid profession. For someone who thought, ten years ago, that her life would be a series of dead end jobs and tiny apartments shared with roommates she’d despise, every day is like she’s living a dream.

This feels like the pinnacle of her achievements, however. She’s certainly worked as a stage manager before – in fact, it’s become her own niche, calling the shots. Her unconventional education has resulted in a working knowledge of nearly all the aspects of technical theater, which has proved incredibly helpful in dealing with her various colleagues. It’s like speaking another language - people are more willing to fill her in on the more complicated terminology when she shows she knows the basics. But this… this is a whole different thing. This isn’t one of her Off-Broadway shows, or one of her limited runs, but a major production. It wasn’t supposed to be – when she signed on as stage manager, set to work with a young director she came up with at NYU, it was still Off-Broadway, an adaptation of Pride & Prejudice they already knew would either be a huge hit or sink into obscurity. But then, some investor who loved the original work caught wind of Merlin’s vision, and suddenly, they had a significantly higher budget, a theater right in the heart of the theater district, and likely a lengthy run – if all goes well. Oh, and one more thing had significantly increased – the pressure on everyone involved.

Of course, just to complicate things, the change in venue isn’t the only thing weighing on Emma’s mind. Initially, Emma had been asked to serve as one of the assistant stage managers, to work backstage the way she prefers and relaying the stage manager’s orders, helping the entire show run smoothly. However, even that plan had changed. The intended production stage manager, finding herself pregnant with twins and violently ill as a result, chose not to participate in the show. Emma can’t blame her – she remembers how tired she was with Henry, and he was only one baby. But Merlin had then asked Emma to step up into an expanded role, saying that he trusted her for this position more than anyone else.

Emma’s flattered, she really is, but the truth is that she’s never run a show at this level. Call the cues for a show, check the equipment, coordinate everything that needs to happen? Yes, sure, of course. She can do that  in her sleep now (somewhat literally, sadly – she’s developed an unconscious habit of dreaming the various light cues). She’s stage managed her smaller shows without any issues. But with a budget this large and stakes this high? Feeling like she personally is the linchpin that could make this show soar or crash in spectacular fashion? On a show they’re all aware could make their careers? That’s new, and terrifying, and Emma privately wonders if she’s the right woman for the job.

But she takes the promotion for that very reason - it’s new, and an incredible opportunity to get her name out there if the production succeeds. She’d be an idiot to turn this down, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

Really, at the end of the day, this latest promotion is representative of how she’s made her way through most of her career – a bunch of happy accidents and an unwillingness to say no to any opportunity, now having lead her to a cold room and a crowd of men who all want to be Mr. Darcy.

Nice.

Honestly, this part of the job leaves her as basically a glorified secretary, recording everyone’s contact information so that she and Merlin can handle callbacks later. He asks for her opinion every so often, but honestly, what is he expecting her to say? She can’t carry a tune, and her opinions are usually “yeah, he seems like he won’t be a complete pain in my ass”. They’ve already pre-cast their Elizabeth – a lovely woman named Belle French, who had been an up-and-coming TV actress before an ugly scandal with a prominent producer – but Merlin had wanted someone new for Mr. Darcy. Emma can’t help but understand and agree with that decision – Mr. Darcy is somewhat of an unknown factor for so much of the source material, it seems appropriate that their actor also be something of an unknown quantity, someone the public doesn’t know how to define yet. Unfortunately, they must have overly emphasized the arrogant side of Darcy in the casting call, not the shy romantic, which seems to have brought out every egotistical actor in the city - all convinced that they would be perfect for the role. Don’t get her wrong, the arrogant façade Darcy presents is certainly important (and definitely present in this room, good lord), but Pride & Prejudice was one of the few books in high school Emma actually enjoyed – she knows there needs to be more than that. Whoever they choose needs to also be able to pull off a certain amount of vulnerability, a certain level of discomfort and awkwardness. So many of these would-be Darcys are just too… suave for her taste.

That’s why she’s particularly hopeful about this next prospect. He had swaggered in, as confident as the rest, but as she’d watched him interact with the others, there had been a certain amount of nerves that the rest weren’t letting show. He aces the choreography audition (perhaps because he throws himself into rehearsing in a way the others don’t, like it’ll ruin their persona if they’re shown practicing the steps), has a singing voice that will work well for Darcy (while looking adorable, scratching behind his ear when they ask about his relatively small experience on the stage). What really sells things for Emma, however, is how, when introduced to Belle for a test of how they’ll act together, he stutters over all his words and turns bright red after finally blurting out a “oh, I’ve heard so much about you!”. He’s an awkward mess behind that swagger and false confidence, and it’s a little perfect.

(It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes, and one of the more polite Darcys she’s dealt with today.)

So when, after a very long day, she’s asked her opinion about the variety of men who auditioned that day, Emma doesn’t hesitate to put her personal vote in for Killian Jones.

God, she just hopes she doesn’t come to regret that decision.

[purge-that-urge-rhackathon]

36. Sapphos and 38 Roses please

36. sapphos - favorite poet?

Oh geez i don’t have one. Couldn’t really name one either haha poetry is really not my thing. I think Jane Austen summed it up pretty well with what Elizabeth Bennet has to say on the matter (and i have been in the same situation and yes, it did kill every romantic inclination i might have had for the guy haha)

“I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”

“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy.

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”

38. roses - what flower do you find most beautiful?

Oh jfc i LOVE spider lillies. I’ve never seen them in the states but I used to buy them all the time back in japan :3 THEYRE GORGEOUS

Also, orchids. And not just because it means testicle.

…maybe a little because it means testicles >_> LOLOL

soft asks meme ♡

[letters-to-the-world]

My dearest Marie,

Please do not hate me more than you already do for this. I hope I’m doing this right, I’ve never written letters like this one before but I’ve seen the ones you keep secret in your drawer and I know how much you love Pride § Prejudice. I know I’ll never live up to Elizabeth’s Mr. Darcy but I will never stop trying. If this is awful, I beg you to save the last shreds of pride and dignity I hold and stop reading.

I can’t remember the last day that I did not think of you. You seem to be the only thing I’m able to focus on. I wake up thinking of your smile, fall asleep imagining your laugh and spend the night dreaming of how everything could have been so different.

You will never believe me when I say how sorry I am. I’ve been trying to find a way to put it into words, to make it sound pretty and convincing, in a way that you would like, that would make you want to keep this letter but I can’t. Marie, I’m trying so hard but I can’t. I don’t know how to talk about my feelings like you do, I don’t know how to make everything sound like poetry and I’m certainly not like one of the guys in the books you read, those who always have the right words for everything. This is so hard. Ever since that night, I feel like my body is slowly, slowly sinking in a deep body of water while burning from the inside. I don’t know if I’ll drown or burn to death first but I know it is getting harder and harder to breathe. I haven’t seen you in eighteen days and it feels like three years. It feels like I’m dying. This is agony. And I don’t know if I am allowed to complain, because I deserve this. I deserve everything happening to me and I will never forgive myself. But I hope one day, maybe, you will be able to forgive me; no matter how selfish that hope is of me. I can’t help but be selfish when it comes to you, Marie.

I don’t know how you are feeling. I hope you’ve been doing better. I want to say I hope you have moved on, that you’ve found someone else but I can’t bring myself to lie to you. I do not ever want to lie to you again, even if it means sharing ugly truths with you.

I don’t know if this is okay. I don’t know if you’ve made it this far into the letter. I hope you are still reading, but I wouldn’t blame you if you’re not. This is pathetic. I’ve tried writing this letter four times already, and the words never seem to come out right. I have so many things in my head and I have no idea how to get them out and it makes me panic and it makes me want to scream and to cry and you always helped me with that but I can’t ask you to any more and I don’t know how I ever lived without you when it feels I’m going to explode every. Second. Of. The. Fucking. Day. Fuck, my hands are shaking. I’ve been sitting here for three hours, it’s dark now. I don’t know how I ever did it, Marie. I don’t know if it was like this for you too, (if it still is?) or if I was always that much more dependant on you than you were on me. I’ve been feeling very bad things. I’ve wanted to do very bad things. I never realized before my mind could be such a dark place.

I hate myself for what I did. I wish there was a better way to make it up to you. Please, baby, if there’s anything I can do, tell me. I wish I could think of something myself but I don’t want to fuck everything up even more. I don’t want you to hate me even more. I want to show up to your house and talk to you but I don’t know if you’ll ever want to see me again.

I won’t stop sending letters. It’s what hurts the most because it makes me feel so vulnerable but I want to be that for you. Texts or emails don’t work as well to convey feelings. It’s also because I’m a coward and can’t stand to know that you’ve received my messages but won’t read them. If you don’t answer, I’ll never know if you’ve read my letter or not.

But please, Marie, please send something back. Tell me that you love me, that you hate me, that I’m an asshole, a coward, a piece of shit, an idiot.

Tell me anything. I just want to have a piece of you. Tell me that you want to see me or that you never want to hear about me again. Tell me that you never loved me. Tell me it was all fake. Tell me you never cared. Tell me you will never stop loving me. Tell me everything.

I just want to feel something. You’re the only one who makes me feel so much, Marie. Tell me anything you want, but never goodbye. You can’t tell me goodbye, Marie. Take anything you want from me but please, don’t take my hope away. I never want to stop believing, even if you don’t even remember who I am.

I will never stop waiting for you.

Please don’t stop believing in us. I’ll do it for the both of us, just in case.

Completely and forever yours,

Ivan

[pagesoflauren]

Weddings with Jack (Jack Lowden x reader)

Moodboard credit: x x x x x 

“He’s just around the bend,” the photographer says as your bridesmaids help you navigate through the garden with the train of your dress and bouquet with white roses and blue rice flowers. A gold ribbon keeps the bouquet together, keeping with the colors you and Jack picked for the big day. Once you turn the corner, you see Jack standing in his kilt with his back to you.

You’d seen him in a kilt before and been to plenty of weddings with him, but seeing him today, in his kilt sends a new feeling of elation bursting through your chest. You want to run to him and jump in a taxi to get away now, just seeing, hearing and thinking about him. You laugh when the groomsmen exclaim in excitement when they see you, Calum’s face lighting up particularly bright when his eyes dart from you to his brother. 

Jack on the other hand feels his heart pick up when he hears his friends cheer, knowing he could turn around right now and see you. He’s already smiling, and his fingers begin shaking. You stand back to back with him, your bridesmaids fixing your train and the hairstylist fixing the strand framing your face. 

“Alright, Jack, go ahead and grab Y/N’s hand,” the photographer says.

Jack reaches his hand out, not turning around, but feeling his breathing hitch when your delicate hand grabs his. He squeezes and runs his thumb across the back of your hand.

“Hey, lass,” he greets. “Hi, Jack,” you almost whisper.

The photographer takes a few pictures of you two like this, you looking at your joined hands as Jack tries his best to compose himself. When she’s done, she instructs the bridal party to count down from five. At one, you guys can look at each other. Your friends have fun counting down, causing a proper ruckus in the otherwise quiet garden. Some birds even fly away when they yell the numbers. At one, you quickly turn, your eyes meeting his.

He’s absolutely beaming until his face crumbles with so many emotions: joy, excitement, love, adoration and everything in between.

“Oh god,” he sighs, tears spilling over his eyelids as he covers his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes appear to be darting around, but he’s looking at you. All he sees is you. The eyes he had spent hours looking into, the lips he had pressed his own against, the way your hair falls to frame your face, how your veil floats behind you in the slight breeze that blows. You look completely ethereal, and he wonders how on Earth you breathe the same air he does, how your heart beats like his does.

You laugh, your chest inflated with affection as you reach up to cup his jaw with your free hand, “Oh gosh, you look so handsome, Jack.”

“Jesus, forget about me, you look absolutely stunning,” he sputters out, wiping tears from his face and laughing as well.

“Thank you,” you say as you blush, looking down at your dress, “Do you like it?”

“Yes, I love it, it’s gorgeous, you’re gorgeous,” he babbles, his emotions getting the best of him.

You laugh again, thinking that there is nothing and no one on this Earth more adorable than your fiancé at the moment.

“As much as I hate to break up this beautiful moment,” the photographer interrupts, “but we’re due back to the Hedsor House in less than two hours if we want to take pictures there, so we only have so much time before we’ve gotta be back at the venue.”

Everyone laughs and the makeup artist rushes to you to fix your foundation that had smudged from your tears. The photographer shouts out directions for everybody to pose, everyone changing positions and walking around as you can Jack remain in the center.

Some photos you take as you and Jack walk hand-in-hand or walking as Jack helps you carry the train of your dress. Other photos are candids of you two laughing together or the entire wedding party as everyone dances and skips from one location of the garden to the next. You favorite photos are the ones you can Jack can take together, looking into each other’s eyes with beaming smiles and looks of adoration.

After pictures are done, you all spend time in the bridal suite as you wait for the ceremony to starts. You’re thankful you finished taking photos early, giving you time to rest your feet. Jack squeezes your hand to bring your attention to him.

“Have I told you you look beautiful?” “You have,” you say as you laugh. “Well, I haven’t said it enough,” he says. “You’re an absolute vision. Can you wear this everyday?” “I’d rather not,” you laugh, “I’d have to do my hair and makeup like this everyday and deal with the train. Could you imagine this getting caught in the door of the Tube?” “Fair enough,” he says, kissing your temple.

Suddenly the TV’s shut off and your wedding planner, Candice, is rushing in, telling everyone to get ready to go downstairs and get into their positions. The photographer snaps photos as you walk down the stairs, Jack holding your hand to help steady you and your bridesmaids carry your bouquet and dress train. You and Jack practically skip to the door, ready to run down the aisle to marry each other.

“Alright, Jack, come on,” the wedding planner says, gesturing for him to come and stand next to his mother. “I’ll see you at the altar,” he says, hands holding onto your left with your engagement ring. He bends at the waist to kiss the back of your hand before letting you go to hook his arm with his mum.

You’re too busy shaking your jitters off to notice when your parents come in, your mum accompanied by her brother, your godfather, who’s going to walk with her down the aisle. Jack’s father appears as well with one of Jack’s godmothers and suddenly it’s all real. Candice scolds you, telling you you need to be around the corner so that no one sees you when the doors open.

“You ready?” your dad asks, offering you his arm. “Promise you won’t let me trip,” you say, your voice shaking. “Never,” he replies, smiling and kissing your cheek.

You hear the doors creak open and you hear the familiar tune of the Beauty and the Beast instrumental theme. Candice says a series of “go”s and “you’re up”s as the line grows shorter and people walk down the aisle. Your maid of honor and Jack’s best man smile at you before heading out the door. The doors shut and Candice calls you to come forward as the officiate instructs your friends and family to “Please stand and greet the bride.”

The bride. That’s you. And Jack is your groom. Your fiancé. He’s going to be your husband in twenty minutes.

The doors open as the music swells and you almost forget how to walk. You step forward and walk with your father. You know everyone’s looking at you. There’s about 200 eyes on you, but you’re only thinking about one pair. The bright blue ones, the ones that are watering and crinkling at the corners as you look into them. You want to drop your bouquet, detach yourself from your father and sprint down the aisle. You want to jump into Jack’s arms and have him take you away to your honeymoon. You want, you want, you want…

Jesus, has the aisle always been this long? Wasn’t it shorter yesterday?

You reach the altar just as the song is ending, your father kissing your cheek and whispering how much he loves you with tears in his eyes. You watch him stand next to your mother, and the officiate signals for everyone to sit down.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to bear witness to the union…”

You zone out, looking at Jack. He’s smiling his close-lipped smile, his dimple on full display. You’re itching to reach out to him, to just hold his hands and weave your fingers with his. You wish now you hadn’t chosen to have readings for your wedding; your own ceremony is taking too long.

“And now, Jack and Y/N will exchange vows. Ladies first,” he says, handing you a microphone.

You turn to your maid of honor, who hands you your vows. There’s a small part of your mind that’s worried they’re not good enough. You had spent weeks on them, writing and rewriting, typing and backspacing, reading and groaning when words didn’t fit quite right.

You unfold the paper with some difficulty; the microphone was quite clunky in your hand. “Um, okay,” you start, laughing at yourself a bit. “My dearest Jack.”

You huff another laugh, pressing your vows to your chest as the realization that you’re reading them to him hits you.

“My dearest Jack, I’ve spent my whole life reading and watching love stories. I read about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s pride and prejudice, watched Wesley and Buttercup share the most passionate and pure kiss, and cried over the power of Noah and Allie’s love. I had idolized these and so many other couples in fiction, because I had convinced myself that a powerful, beautiful, captivating love is something that’s left to be fictitious. When I met you, I was so confused”—you hear scattered laughter throughout the venue—“I was so confused because I felt something in my heart, something I thought was only reserved for pages in a novel or the silver screen. You made me believe that the powerful, beautiful, captivating love was something I could own, and you’ve given it to me. And I’m forever grateful for that.

“In return, I promise to be a steadfast source of support and loyalty. I will be there to run lines with you and kiss you goodbye at the airport or train station. I will be there to kiss you when you come home and take care of you when you’re sick or hurt. I promise to tell you when a role doesn’t suit you, like when you turned down the role of being the antagonist in a film because, let’s face it, you’d be the worst villain ever.”

Jack bellows a laugh, wiping away a tear, and others laugh with him.

“I promise to stand by you when your days or weeks get long and to provide you with detailed grocery lists so that you don’t get lost in the supermarket. Above all, I promise to love you forever and ever and even a little bit after that.”

You exhale, tears in your eyes, as you hand the microphone to Jack. He’s absolutely beaming. Light from the sun pales in comparison to how he’s looking at you right now.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says, his groomsmen laughing, hooting and whistling. Jack reaches into his jacket and digs around before pulling out the folded up piece of paper with his vows, his hands shaking as he sniffs and takes a deep breath.

“Y/N, my love. When I moved to London, acting was the most important thing in my life. It was my career, and it was all I wanted to do. That night in the pub, I went because an audition didn’t go well. I saw you with your friends and suddenly acting didn’t matter anymore. Any…any tricks I had learned to suppress my nerves had all gone out the window and I panicked, because I knew I just had to talk to you. I had one shot to talk to you and I knew I couldn’t blow it because you were just so immaculate. I watched you walk up to the bar and I tripped over myself to get there. When you agreed to go out with me, it was like gravity no longer had an affect on me. Rather, it’s you that keeps me held to the Earth.”

Your head tilts when you realize he hadn’t unfolded the piece of paper in his hands.

“I had…spent years acting in school, but within a matter of minutes, you became the most important thing in my life. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, making you happy, taking care of you, coming back home to you and growing with you. You have made me into the man I am today, and I am a better version of myself because you deserve nothing less than my best. I love you. And I will spend the rest of my life reminding you and proving it to you.”

Jack blindly hands the officiate the microphone, eyes completely focused on you.

“The wedding ring is a symbol of married love, the precious metals show that your love is your most precious possession, and the unending circle symbolizes that your love may never cease. May I have the rings, please?”

Calum steps forward to give him to two plain silver bands you and Jack had picked out. He hands Jack yours.

“Jack, please repeat after me. ‘Y/N, take this ring…’” “Y/N,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear before his voice softens, “take this ring…”

You realize what he’s doing. He’s creating a sphere around the both of you, where it’s just you him, the rings and your promises to each other.

“…as a symbol of my love and fidelity … I pledge to you all that I am … and all that I will ever be as your husband. With this ring, I thee wed.”

He slides the ring to rest above your engagement ring, giving your hands a small squeeze before the officiate hands you Jack’s wedding band.

“Y/N, please repeat after me. ‘Jack, take this ring…’” “Jack, take this ring … as a symbol of my love and fidelity … I pledge to you all that I am … and all that I will ever be as your wife. With this ring, I thee wed.”

Once the ring reaches the bottom of his ring finger, he grabs your arms, looking at you with pure elation.

“I know pronounce you husband and wife, you may now signify your marriage with a kiss.”

You hear cheering erupt, but it sounds like it’s far away. You can’t even see anything else except Jack. His hands travel to your waist and bring you closer to him as your hands cup his jaw. He presses his lips to yours in a soul searing kiss, holding you unbelievably tight. You feel tears spill from your eyes when the kiss breaks and you open your eyes, Jack continuing to stamp kisses across your face, stopping at your temple.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Lowden!”

You bounce on the balls of your feet and take your bouquet from your maid of honor. You and Jack walk back up the aisle and into the mansion.

“We did it,” he says once you’re inside, “We did it. I’m…I’m your husband.” “My husband,” you echo, you say as you caress his cheek and look into his eyes, “And I’m your wife.” “My wife. My wife. Y/N, my lass, my wife.”

The photographer calls you for more pictures of you two with your families and close-ups with your wedding bands. The sun sets, lights flicker on and candles wicks become ignited. Music blasts and you dance around with your friends, laugh with your cousins and happily kiss Jack at the sound of silverware clinking against glasses.

The night comes to a close and your guests trickle out. Your wedding party is the last to leave, hooting and hollering as you and Jack ascend the stairs to go to the bridal suite.

“As much as I can’t wait for our honeymoon,” Jack starts, shedding his coat and replacing it on the hanger in the closet, “I’m so glad our flight is tomorrow night.”

You laugh, standing in front of the mirror to take off your veil and undo your hair. “Me too—ow,” you wince when a hair pin pulls a couple strands out. “Need some help, Mrs. Lowden?” Jack asks pointedly, coming to stand behind you. “Yes, please,” you say.

You chat mindlessly, recounting the day from your own perspectives and telling each other what you had done the previous night before Jack’s groomsmen whisked him away for a night on the town, as Jack fishes pins out of your hair.

“How many of these are there?” he says, watching a pile accumulate on the dresser. “I have no idea. But at least I won’t have to go to the shops for them anymore.” “C’mon, lass, I know you. You’ll lose half of these in Italy,” he says, pulling the last pin out as you sigh in relief. That one had been unpleasantly pressing against your scalp all day. “Thank you.” “Mm,” he hums, running his fingers through your hair, untangling the strands and kissing your temple again.

You take off your bracelets and necklace, setting them next to the pile of bobby pins. Your earrings are next and you pull your hair over one shoulder. “Jack, will you…?” “Of course, Mrs. Lowden,” he says, beginning to unfasten the long line of buttons on the back of your dress. “Thank you, Mr. Lowden.” “S’not the same,” he sighs, continuing to work, “You’ve always called me Mr. Lowden.” “Maybe you should’ve taken my last name instead. Or I can just call you ‘husband.’ Thank you, husband.”

Jack bellows in laughter, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades as that area of skin exposes when enough buttons have become undone.

When the buttons have all been undone, you exhale comfortably. Jack finishes discarding his own clothes and you grab his shirt, buttoning a few buttons and crawling under the duvet. Jack follows, pressing his chest to your back and kissing behind your ear.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Lowden.” “Goodnight, Jack,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers with his and falling asleep next to your husband for the first time.

:D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS SERIES GUYS!!! I can’t say this is the definite end, but it’s the ending for now. 

This series means the absolute world to me; it’s allowed me to meet and interact with so many wonderful people that I love so dearly and I’m so glad you guys all love it (so far).

Again, thank you so much for reading, I love you all so much! 

tagging: @albionscastle

[academiablogs]

Yes, It’s All About You (in Writing, Anyway)

I recently noticed that in every one of my novels—five of them now—there’s at least one “letter scene.” Sometimes two. These are scenes where we watch someone write a letter, and what is written, as well as what the character imagines writing, becomes an important part of the story. Letters fascinate me for a number of reasons, though chiefly because we tend not to write them anymore. But imagine a world where people only really spoke through letters, since in society you were carefully monitored, especially as a woman, with family members forever watching you, making sure you were doing your duty and never going too far. To speak your mind to someone you cared for could only be done in a letter, and even then, it had to be done carefully, meticulously. And once delivered, the letter was a precious object, a one-of-a-kind artistic creation that only one other person in the world possessed.

Imagine how different that is today, when even e-mails are never private. We never possess the actual first draft of someone’s thoughts. Being able to see someone’s handwriting and imagine the pressure they placed on a specific word or letter speaks as loudly as the letter itself. In short, to write a letter was to escape from the strictures of society and speak unfettered, truly naked before one other person, be it a friend, a lover, a parent, or a child. You could act, you could quibble, you could even lie in a letter...but it was so much easier for the reader to see the truth.

Since I write fantasy set hundreds of years ago in an alternative past, letter writing is how my characters see the world. In many of the great novels of the past, letters frame an important moment for the characters—think of Elizabeth Bennet’s letter from Darcy in Pride and Prejudice or more humorously, the letter delivered to Malvolio in Twelfth Night. We love these meta moments in fiction, allowing us to read a character in the act of reading, or even better, envision a writer writing about a character themselves trying to put words on a page. As writers, many of us enjoy this, too, since it reflects our own frustrations and doubts about writing. We want to see our own creations struggle with the same problems we do, since they are, in a sense, versions of us. We want to see them cross out words, not find the right words, or not be able to write at all. Perhaps we merely want our characters to suffer the same hell they put us through?

Or should I say, I want to see this, since my books are fundamentally pieces of my own autobiography. So often when I’m writing, there are two kinds of passages: (a) passages that move the story along in some fundamental way and (b) passages that allow me to look at myself in a mirror. The letter scenes are exactly that, and I dash them off like nobody’s business. No Writer’s Block here, just sheer fun and inspiration. The “a” passages are much harder to write and I tirelessly revise them, often losing inspiration in the process. Of course, this begs the question: if the “b” passages are more autobiographical and so much easier to write, are they really all that good? Are you merely indulging in some shameless diary entries or budget psychoanalysis? After all, everyone has an equivalent to my “letter scenes” where they get to indulge in subject matter that is the verbal equivalent of a warm bath. You sink into the words and lose yourself in a bliss of self reflection/satisfaction.

I would argue that every novel (or any kind of writing) needs both passages, “a” and “b.” Maybe a little more of “a,” but the “b’s” make the story. Because a story without your unique stamp as a writer and thinker is no story at all. You have to play to your strengths as a writer and know what motivates you and allows you to get inside the mind of your character(s). The powers-that-be always say, “write what you know,” but that doesn’t necessarily mean “write about someone like you in a place like the one you live in,” etc. It means write about the things that make you excited about the world around you; those things that make you understand your fellow man and woman; the ideas that make character seem alive rather than cardboard cut-outs or convenient tropes. For that reason, a letter scene in my novels helps me ground my characters and truly talk to one another—and quite often, discover what they really want and who they truly are.

In my novel, The Winged Turban, the main character is trapped in an earlier time and appears there as the spitting-image of another character’s lost love. Clearly, she is not this woman, and yet everyone is convinced that she is, to the point that she begins questioning who she is, too—all the more so, that she begins remembering shards of the centuries-deceased woman’s life. She eventually allows herself to believe that she could, possibly, have a life with Charles, but only if such a life is based on the truth; he has to know who she is, or was, if they can ever mean anything together. How could she tell him this? Through a simple conversation? A series of them? Or...a letter?

The Crystal Ball by Waterhouse, 1902. I caught myself here, since I knew I was falling back on my old bag of tricks. And yet, this is what made the story exciting for me: that a woman who was falling in love had to convince herself, and the man she loved, that they weren’t fooling each other. That they could actually see one another for who they were, rather than what they might have been. The story became much more personal for me at this moment, since I understood what she wanted and why she couldn’t let herself have it. So I wrote a letter, probably the letter I, myself, would have written in her shoes. But I did it in her voice, and the result is pasted below, and I continue to think it one of the more successful parts of the novel:

[From Chapter 32] 

Beatrice slumped against the wall, feeling trapped in more ways than one. In her mind she had already written most of the letter; the question would be which parts to leave out.    

 Dear Charles,

You once dropped a glove to catch my heart. You caught it: I gave you everything a young girl could give, all her dreams and secrets. I think this letter is my own glove, what I fear to give voice to and can only place in a letter. Read this before you see me again, and if your feelings still hold, then I will try to accept myself as Isabella, though I fear I can never be what she was for you.

Here is the truth: I am a married woman from another land. Married by contract, of course, but married nonetheless. I am the Duchess of a great estate, of a great family. Though the match was never consummated, it is only a matter of time, and I must do my duty. Should I return, I would have to be his wife, the wife of a man I’ve only met once and can scarcely recall in my head. I would have to forget everything I am and hope to be, and of course everything I’ve seen and experienced with you.

But what if I didn’t return? What if I stayed here and forgot who I was and who I married? Would you accept me? Would you hide me? Would you help me forget? Of course you could never forget, and by coming here I am breaking my vows, shaming my family and offending the gods. I would never be accepted in the world to come. But I would risk that, if only to be here with you. Even if I only lasted a year, that year would be worth an eternity of whatever followed. Because I could remember that once upon a time someone loved me and claimed me for his own. I would do this. But I can’t ask this of you.

And yet I am asking you. I don’t dare ask it to your face, so I write it here, for you to find when I am gone. I hope you will pick it up, but if not, you’ve already given me a glimpse at a beautiful life, one I will carry with me forever, whether I’m Beatrice or Isabella. I await your answer...

Beatrice shuddered at the thought of writing it all down. No, she could never do it. He would never agree.