#and stick to fic as my main source of entertainment

[bedofthistles]

The Little White Horse: Robin Minette

In continuation with my analysis of the novel, the Little White Horse, by Elizabeth Goudge, I want to cover the characters and the main themes of both the book and the movie.

Here's my thoughts and opinions one Robin De Noir, and Robin Minette, two wildly different characters

TL;DR

My enemy. 

My beloathed. 

The one I despise! 

This boy is insane, he is the definition of toxic masculinity, he’s only a child and already he sucks, and I know for a fact he will never get better because he is never punished for his actions. 

And what did he do wrong? 

Well first I would like to remind you all of my beautiful, wonderful, fantastic, baby-eyed Robin De Noir. I have no idea how we got Robin De Noir out of Robin Minette, but I am forever grateful. 

For starters, Robin De Noir takes the place of Mr. Cock in LWH. Where Mr. Cock has trapped the hare, Robin De Noir has, where Maria gets chased by Mr. Cock in the book, she gets chased by Robin De Noir in the movies (and yes, technically the Coeur De Noir and all of the De Noirs are chasing after her as well), where Maria and Mr. Cock run through the forest so she can show him the White Horse, she and Robin De Noir run through the forest in search of the pearls. Additionally, he is no longer Robin Minette, Loveday Minette’s son, but the son of the Coeur De Noir, and Loveday’s brother. 

One, this change is already ten times more dynamic. Throughout the book, we are only told that the De Noirs are wicked, and it isn’t until Maria’s last minute change of heart about them that suddenly they aren’t. Those poor people are demonized in the book, and are not given any sympathy. Now I hear you saying, the movie was the same! They were evil until Maria decided she needed Robin’s help! 

I need you to go back and give Augustus Prew his due, because that boy acted his ass off. I don’t think I’ll be able to go over all of his exemplary acting choices, and I may make a separate post for that, but that will require gifs and screengrabs. Anyway! There are several scenes that show us, the audience, that Robin De Noir is just a boy who is trying his damnedest to make his father proud of him. We see this when the Coeur De Noir calls him a ‘dolt’ after the rabbit trap, and you can see his face just fall, he is devastated, not that he lost the princess, but that he disappointed his father. 

We also see this when Robin quickly decides to help Maria. The very first time I watched this, I didn’t really understand his reasoning, but once I started thinking about it (probably about the time I started writing fic and needed to get inside of his head) I realized that he is fundamentally good, just born on the wrong side of the valley. Robin chooses the Valley over his father, he chooses to help Maria despite not even fully trusting her, he is beside her until the very end because he knows she is doing the right thing, because he loves the Valley and wants to save it. So, despite what we are told about the De Noirs (as by sir Benjamin, who calls them bandits, poachers, and plunderers) we know from visual cues, Robin De Noir’s desperation to be a good son, and his choices at the end, that the De Noirs are not purely wicked. 

Robin Minette on the other hand can die on a stick. Robin and Loveday Minette are actually a part of the Merryweather family (more on that later) and are not associated with the De Noirs at all. 

So what are all of Robin M’s sins? 

Well, if you’ve heard about the bird theory, it is the simple idea that when you call out “oh look, a bird!” the response of your partner/friend/companion should be “where!” Not because they are necessarily interested in the bird (though they should be) but because you are interested in the bird. The logic being that the person will listen to whatever random, boring, stupid thing you’re saying because they are interested in you, and are not looking at you as a source of entertainment. It’s a very simple, and beautiful concept, that shows a person who is interested in you, is interested in you! 

Robin Minette is not interested in Maria. 

I say this because in the book we are told multiple times that whenever Maria asks too many questions, Robin just walks away. He does not answer, or even asks her to stop, when he is astral projecting into Maria’s dreams, he just leaves the dream and wakes up. Again, this is in conjecture with one of Goudge’s morals: female curiosity is of the Devil. 

“All my life, Robin, I'll always tell you all about everything." “And I'll tell you," said Robin. “If I didn't you'd ask me so many questions that life would not be worth living."

This is not an okay lesson to teach to children, any boy or girl should not be learning that her voice does not matter, that her questions should be squashed, and that curiosity is a bad thing. I genuinely have no idea where Goudge got this idea from, other than it is just a very old and misogynist viewpoint. It’s not even Christian, as scripture encourages followers to study, and yes that includes women. 

I don’t think it is a harsh stance to take that a character who walks away from another while they are talking, is not interested, or in love with that character. Maybe possessive, but not in love, and it's certainly not the kind of love anyone should be idolizing. 

Furthermore, like most entitled men, Robin Minette has anger issues. I don’t want to quote the entire section, but I can post it somewhere because it is absolutely insane. 

After Robin and Maria defended Paradise Hill from the De Noirs, they go back to his house. Since it was raining, they had to change out of their wet clothes. For whatever reason, Loveday Minette decides to put her old wedding dress (that she never wore because she ran away) on Maria. 

Maria loves it, and asks if it can be her wedding dress, and Loveday M says yes. 

When Maria joins Robin in the kitchen so they can have tea, Robin asks what that is. 

“It's my wedding dress. I'm trying it on to see if it fits." "Are you going to be married?" asked Robin sharply, his munching jaws suddenly still. “Of course," said Maria, reaching for the cream. “You didn't expect me to be an old maid, did you?" “Are you being married today?" demanded Robin. “Of course she isn't being married today, Robin. She isn't old enough to be married yet. But when she is married she will wear that dress." [Loveday] “When you do marry, whom will you marry?" Robin asked Maria. Maria swallowed the last of her bread and cream and honey, put her head on one side and stirred her tea thoughtfully. “I have not quite decided yet," she said demurely, “but I think I shall marry a boy I knew in London." “What?" yelled Robin. “Marry some mincing nincompoop of a Londoner with silk stockings and pomade in his hair and a face like a Cheshire cheese?" The parkin stuck in his gullet and he choked so violently that Loveday had to pat him on the back and pour him out a fresh cup of tea. When he spoke again his face was absolutely scarlet, not only with the choke but with rage and jealousy and exasperation. “You dare do such a thing!" he exploded. "You--Maria --you-- if you marry a London man I'll wring his neck!"

Now, you’ll notice three things here: 

One, the fate of all Moon Princess’ is to get in a fight with her love, and if she doesn’t humble herself, she’ll be forced to leave Moonacre. This is something Maria knows at this point. 

Two, Robin is a thirteen, fourteen year old boy displaying this much anger, possessiveness, and audacity. This is not something he is punished for, and he gets away with this behavior. 

Three, his mother is right there???? And her chief concern is: 

“Robin," said his mother, “that's not at all the way to propose. You should go down on one knee and do it in a very gentle voice."  

Ma’am your son is a maniac and you’re giving him tips on how to propose properly? 

Now, I want to swing back to my first point. To state it very plainly, this is one of the reasons as to why people stay in abusive relationships for so long. Maria knows that if she and Robin hadn’t made up right then and there, she would have to leave Moonacre. This language and ideology puts the blame on the victim’s shoulders, making the victim feel as if they have to be the one to make amends, to fix what is broken, and appease the abuser. This is the cycle of abuse that is seen time and time again, and while Goudge does not frame this as an ideal relationship we can gather that based on all that Maria has learned, it is her job to keep the peace. 

Am I calling Robin Minette an abuser? Yes, yes I am. 

Maria immediately forgives his behavior, Loveday is obviously okay with it, because she does nothing to stop him or scold him, and Goudge obviously sees this as okay male behavior. 

It's preposterous and yet this book is only eighty years old, we can obviously see people who behave this way, and we all know people who are like this. However, I think we have finally pivoted to presenting this behavior as abusive in media and art. Too often we think of abuse as just physical, but so often it is emotional, financial, and sexual, and the consequence of that mentality is people suffering abuse thinking that they aren’t because they don’t get black eyes. 

Here, I would also like the mention the BBC miniseries, Moonacre. The Miniseries is boring, it’s praised for being a more direct adaptation of the book, however they do make some major changes, especially to the plot. They add this thing about the ‘Blackheart’s’ having their water supply being cut off, all their wells are saturated with saltwater, and they blame Sir Wrolf for cutting off a pipe that would lead freshwater back into the valley. In this, we do get Loveday and Robin (still mother and son) as De Noirs. Loveday is the direct descendant of Black William, and despite teaching her son to hate the Blackhearts, he is also a De Noir. Robin Minette in this movie is boring, he doesn’t get mad at Maria for asking questions, but all he really does is show up at convenient times to save her from the Blackhearts. He’s fine, he’s not as problematic as Robin in LWH, but his character is not as compelling as Robin De Noir in TSOM.

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Full wedding dress excerpt

#IM NOT SORRY #ROBIN MINETTE SUCKS AND I HATE HIM #the secret of moonacre #the little white horse #moonacre #TLWH dissertation #robin m actually reminds me of my absuvie ex boyfriend #so thats not a positive

[cherryeol04]

Hi! I was scrolling through your blog and came across the person requesting a second ABO skz fic and 👀 I’ve got an idea 😁

1. Skz + reader meet up through different ways and form a pack

2. (Chan + Jisung + changbin) became friends after meeting eachother on the streets before a family adopted all three of them out of pity, turns out the couple owns a huge business! then some stuff happens and the couple dies in a car crash and leaves the 3 a fortune alongside their business. Chan takes up the position of a CEO despite all the hatred against Werewolfs so that way he can protect his pack.

3. (Minho + Hyunjin) Hyunjin was adopted by a couple as a source of entertainment for their daughter who didn’t treat him well. Minho meets hyunjin through hyun’s owner’s friends and they form a bond over their hatred for their owners/ minho sticks up for hyunjin when he’s getting bullied by the daughter. Later Hyunjin’s family decides to kick him out and minho finds him/ decides to run away with hyunjin. They meet 3Racha while looking for job opportunities.

4. (Seungmin + jeongin) seungmin and jeongin actually led a pretty normal life before applying to Bang corp. where they meet 3Racha and are later assimilated into the pack with the other two. Jeongin and seungmin were roommates since college.

5. (Felix + reader) Felix and reader met at an orphanage where they formed a bond and became each other’s pack member. They always stayed close to eachother and hated being apart. A rich business man comes to adopt them for a sinister reason under the guise of wanting children of his own. He raises them from the ages of 7 (reader) and 8 (Felix) to 19(reader) and 20(Felix). Turns out this business man wanted to “mate” with the reader and Felix but to do so, he had to send Felix away with his assistant so he could do so. Halfway into their errands, the assistant tells Felix the business man’s plan out of guilt and felix sprints home in worry. He makes it there before the business man can do anything to the reader and pummels him to the ground. Reader stays stunned on the bed out of fear but quickly jumps up to protect felix from a scissor the business man grabbed. He stabs it into reader’s thigh before Felix manages to kill him. Felix picks reader up piggyback style and makes a run for it. They find a place to rest in a Forrest but reader’s injury is getting worse. Both Felix and her are roughed up and too tired to move. Chan finds them while going on a run at night and tries to approach them but Felix wraps his arms around reader to protect her. Eventually Chan convinces Felix to come with him to his house. They get better and meet the other members!

6. They learn to love eachother!

I- 😳

I am stunned. That is a lovely plot love! Oh my god. The main plot points are so well thought out of how everyone comes to be together. Are you…are you sure I can have this idea to write? Because I would love to try and tackle this!!! Of course all credits will go to you for this wonderful idea!!! I could never claim that as my own but I would love to write it! 🩵🩵🩵

This would definitely be a new miniseries~

#cherry.ask #ask cherry #hydroyaksha ask #stray kids #skz #fanfic #a new series in the making? #I’m still stunned at this idea. it’s absolutely amazing. #your brain is amazing and I love it! #I would be so honored to write this story

[captainkirkk]

I’ve had one of my works kinda plagiarized but honestly I mostly found it really funny because I didn’t notice for like way too long

So I’m reading this fic right and I’m enjoying it but a few things stick out as familiar, a couple plot beats that I coulda *sworn* I had seen somewhere before. But also there’s enough stuff that’s totally unfamiliar that I was like ‘maybe I’ve read smth else this person I’ve done and I’m picking up on the style’

And it isn’t until the very very end of the fic where it ends in a *really* strange place— like, a side battle that was tangential at best to the main storyline— and in a really odd and specific way that I was like ‘hmm actually hey don’t I have a fic vaguely like this? Maybe’ so I go back and sure enough I Have written a fic like that. I’ve written a fic *very* like that. I’ve written a fic *very* like that that just so happens to be A, older and B, unfinished, with the last chapter being that minor side battle…….

Alright, so it’s not 1-1, and they’ve got enough differences that you *could* say it’s just coincidence, unless you happen to compare the fics side by side. You know that very lazy thing that people sometimes do for essays or some such where they copy-paste a sentence, but then switch the wording up a bit? Or there are several scenes in theirs that need context from mine to work.

I haven’t reported it or anything mostly because I find it incredibly funny. How bold this author is! ‘I’ve had this idea for a few years’ you sure have! And then, in the comments, upon being asked if it’s alright to translate it to russian— ‘of course! Just link back to the original fic ^^’ yes we wouldn’t want any stealing here would we oh plagiarism would be just awful! Every time I need a good laugh I go dig it up again, never fails to entertain. (Ofc if they do that to anyone else i Will slam dunk them in the trash since it is kind of a shitty thing to do, but god. The entertainment value is off the charts. I wonder if I ever add more to my own fic if a mysterious second chapter that they’ve been stewing on since 2019 will pop up)

I've had this happen to me. Quite a lot. I often don't say anything or report them, because it's not copy-and-pasted, like you said, it's a clear rewrite. I don't get it - writing your own ideas are wayyy more fun and gratifying - but I was never too upset about it

I've seen it happen to other people's fics too. Personally, I think ao3 is a hotpot of ideas and people often steal each other's ideas, sometimes without realising that they've done it. It's not necessarily a bad thing (so long as you make the idea your own), but I also think it's very important to acknowledge your sources. In fact, I've pointed this out to others before and suggested that they briefly add credit in the authors notes, and they flat out refused. Which annoys me. Like you said, it always stings worse when you see someone ripping someone else off.

Authors borrow ideas all the time, I just wish people were aware and honest and upfront about it, instead of blatantly plagiarising or refusing to credit their sources of inspiration

#i never lose respect faster then when i see someone refusing to admit that the ideas were borrowed from somewhere #there's nothing wrong with borrowing ideas! (unless the author says that the idea is off limits ofc) #fandom often has communal ideas and headcanons #but when we don't acknowledge that and instead try to hide that... idk rubs me wrong #ask #anon #i've seen this happen to writers i really respect #like muffinlance #there's one fic that still makes me mad to think about

[leatherbookmarking]

mm i wonder if other people have this uhhh manner of fandoming but basically i operate on Layers, which are:

1. canon awareness/acceptance of things that Happened For Real: for example, all the deaths in cql/mdzs. i’m not arguing with them, if anyone’s asking. but, for example

2. preferences re: canon events/canon unknowns: so i’m a cql main, but i prefer some events from the novel, resulting in a, what was it? frankencanon in my head. also, while we don’t know for sure what happened with qin su and jrs, i have my preferences and i stick to them. then there are

3. character interpretations. i put them under the canon events preferences because they’re more personal and can often change along with my fandom moods; i am very spiteful and if there’s an interpretation that seems to be everywhere, i might get interested in the very opposite of it simply because of spite. this is where all the “i think this character feels this” and “i think this character would do this or that, because” go. so this level is for, say... “none of the sources/adaptations say anything about xiy/ao romance, but i think that their feelings were (something something)”. in other words: i don’t think xi/yao is canon, nor do i think their romantic relationship is a question of canon preferences; instead, this is where my personal preferences/feelings start to play a bigger role, lol. and finally

4. what i think would be neat if explored in a fic. this is the most personal and i’m incredibly picky, so such a fic would theoretically have to fit my other requirements re: canon and character interpretations, However here i’m willing to ignore logic/laws of the setting/etcetc as long as the result is personally entertaining to me -- unless it’s a personal pet peeve. so for example, a fic where jgy marries either nmj or lxc, or where some kind of 3z/un thing happens -- obviously it’s not canon at all, i don’t think it’s something that should have happened (in general i don’t think i want to operate under X should have Y because this is not my style lol) -- i understand perfectly that and why it didn’t, but it’s just fun. it’s fun. it’s a snack, it’s candy. i don’t really like liqorice or ginger, so if it contains those i probably won’t eat it, but if it’s my kinda candy then why shouldn’t i have some fun? why shouldn’t i eat a whole package in one sitting

and it’s interesting because sometimes i see people’s (or do it myself) rants about some interpretations or themes that they don’t agree with, and sometimes i start to wonder if those interpretations were really someone’s like. primary headcanon, this-should-have-happened this-is-the-ideal-outcome thing OR if they’re just eating candy. not sure if this makes sense i’ve had some beer but. hmm

#like from time to time someone remembers that there are fics where a-yao Marries In and lists off 30 reasons why He Would Never! #and i'm like bro i am just crunching. i am just crunching on my little snack like a tiny mouse #and it's Unpleasant. like chances are they aren't necessarily talking about Me Specifically but people who actually think that This Should #Have etc. but often there's this dominating flavour of If You Think That He'd Do This You Don't Understand JGY And Never Have!! #and i just. bro i am having a Little Fucking Snack. i'm not saying it should be everyone's diet breakfast lunch dinner. i am CRUNCHING #please stop accusing me of diet crimes. #shut up shrimp #of course fandoming is largely just people misinterpreting their silly little posts over and over again but. mhm

[gumnut-logic]

Their Island

Ooh, lookie, I managed to write an IRRelief fic myself. The fact that I started it without that in mind is irrelevant. The fact that I found myself typing out one of the prompt words part way through is :D That and it is mostly fluff which is the main requirement. So IRRelief fic for the prompt ‘power drill’...which is one of mine, I know, but it just happened, honest.

Spoilers & Warnings: I have again written this in my Kermadec AU, however the deviations are minor and it can be read without reading We’ll Be Home For Christmas. There are Tracy boys ages in this as it is technically pre-IR. We all have our own ideas on the boys ages. I’ve run with the age scheme I worked out for Parents as it makes enough sense for me to live with...so technically this could be considered part of that fic as well. So, we have younger!Tracys, pre-IR, Kermadec AU (but only a little bit) and lots of fluff. 2949 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

It was a tropical island with the foliage to match. Ferns, palm trees, warm air, the distant sound of ocean with a breeze that came with it.

Virgil found himself up high, sitting on a fat patch of moss in a protected nook far above the construction busily happening below.

From here he could see the footprint of the villa, the hole where the pool was going to go, his father directing operations like the commander he always was.

He had to admit, it was amazing.

Seeing the plans was one thing, seeing it being carved out of the volcanic rock was another.

In the distance sat the chiselled-out runway, another of Tracy Industries’ cargo planes coming into land. No doubt it was stock full of luxury fittings. Fancy doorknobs, Scott’s king-sized bed and other frivolities. But Virgil knew that under the disguise of rich eccentricities there were more important things.

The Island was riddled with secrets, most of which had been actioned long before the villa.

But now the house was the final piece. The topping on the cake. And it was amazing to watch it come together.

A scuff of boots on gravel and Virgil jumped.

“Relax, Virgil.” A gentle hand on his shoulder and his younger brother pulled up a chunk of moss beside him. John’s hair always lit up in the sun, almost a warning as to what that sun could do to that pale skin.

There must have been something on Virgil’s face, because John held up a hand. “I have sunscreen.”

“Sure you do, but is it on your face?”

The glare from his twenty-year-old brother tipped the scales into affirmative.

“Just checking.”

The glare turned into a frown. “What are you doing all the way up here?” A twist to his lips filled with put upon sarcasm. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

Well, no, but then Virgil wasn’t used to thinking of that yet. His skin tended to brown with what little sun he picked up in Colorado. John, on the other hand, had been wearing the stuff since the day after he was born.

Virgil wasn’t going to admit that though. “I have protection.”

John snorted. “You’ll learn. This is the tropics, Virgil. Southern hemisphere, just that touch closer to that healing wound in the ozone layer.”

“I’m aware of the meteorological and geographical differences, John. I don’t need a space degree for that.”

His brother just shrugged. “It’s on you, big brother.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just because John was right didn’t mean he had to be all haughty about it.

“You started it, remember?” Turquoise eyed him along with an amused smirk.

Virgil shrugged it off and turned back to staring down at the construction below.

There was silence except for the sounds of nail guns and power tools bouncing off volcanic rock.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Virgil’s voice was quiet. “Yes, it is.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

Almost level with them, a huge bird that just had to be an albatross, wheeled past.

“Wow.” The word was out of his mouth without thought.

“There is a lot of wildlife out here.” John’s voice was matter of fact, lacking the feeling welling inside of Virgil. The wind tousled red hair and the artist inside suddenly had the urge to paint it. In fact, that was the source of it all, Virgil realised. He was inspired. To paint.

Everything.

“Have you spoken to Mel Fisher?”

“Huh?” The bird swooped back out over the caldera and Virgil’s eyes tracked it.

“The director of the Raoul scientific expedition. She should have some data on the species native to the island.”

“Oh, yeah, Gordon has been liaising with her.” It was a welcome distraction from the pool. Virgil had been both supportive and worried about Gordon’s obsession with the Olympics. Combined with his school studies and a gruelling training regime, these few weeks of family leave was exactly what was needed.

Of course, tropical island meant sea water that could replace the pool for that time and his little brother had been in the caldera every morning. Their father had spoken to the local authorities...aka Mel Fisher, newly appointed director of the Kermadec expedition on Raoul Island a few hundred kilometres south...about what wildlife existed in the region that could kill or injure an over enthusiastic Tracy fish. The list had been considerable.

Gordon had immediately parroted off what he knew about every single one of those lifeforms enough to glaze over his father’s eyes. The Tracy fish had then been referred to the Director.

The speech Mel had given him was long.

Three other Tracy brothers - John was the one escapee having been on the other side of the planet at the time - were dragged into it and lectured on the hazards of living in a wildlife dominated area.

The biggest danger was apparently death enacted by the Director should they impact the area in any way.

Even their father had taken a step back at the passion in the woman’s speech. Young, blonde and ready to kick a billionaire’s butt, if necessary.

She and Gordon had hit it off immediately.

A distracted smirk at John. It could be entertaining to see the spaceman encounter the eco-passionate Mel. “You guys need to meet.”

Far down below, his father yelled something at one of the workers. He stormed across the construction site and by the amount of gesturing, Virgil reckoned the man had committed at least a level three offence. Probably a safety deviation. Virgil was glad he wasn’t down there to hear the lecture.

“Have you spoken to Scott?”

It startled him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. His head was in the clouds and he obviously needed grounding. “Uh, yeah. He is okay as he can be.”

His big brother was suffering from an abrupt end to a career he thought would be his life. Honourable discharge was one thing, but after what his brother had given the Air Force, the strain behind those closeted eyes...

It was enough to sprout a permanent dislike of the military deep in Virgil’s soul.

“He is managing.” A breath. “This should help.”

The silence returned, both men lost in their thoughts.

“What are you two doing up here?”

It was inevitable really. Virgil looked up as his fish brother approached, his eyes curious. Gordon’s hair appeared permanently wet and sticking up in all directions. He had his latest loud shirt on, but it wasn’t buttoned up. Little more than flip flops protected his feet from the volcanic rock beneath them.

“I could ask you the same thing. Do I need to lecture you on appropriate footwear again?”

Gordon slumped. “God, Virg, when are you gonna loosen up?”

“When my brothers learn to look after themselves.”

“If you expect me to wear flannel and steel-tipped boots in this tropical climate, you are dreaming, bro. Not all of us want to smell like you.”

“What?!”

“You do the ‘working class man’ thing just a little too much, big bro. Have you noticed the humidity? We’re gonna have to invest in a deodorant factory if you keep wearing that outfit.”

Of course, John had to throw his dice into play. “Tracy Industries already has a personal hygiene department.”

Virgil turned his glare to his traitorous next younger brother.

“What? We do! We produce some very good quality products.”

“Next supply run, we’ll need to stock up for Virg.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

He didn’t stink, did he? A sniff of his armpit would be too obvious and would just inspire more smart-ass remarks from his brothers. And yes, that was a plural. He could trust John about as far as he could throw him...though admittedly that was quite a distance nowadays, but still…

Gordon derailed that train of thought by dumping himself down beside Virgil. He smelt like seawater.

“So, we spying on Dad, or what?” Gordon pointedly stared down at their father who was still giving that one worker the riot act.

“No. Just came up here for the view.” It was the truth. Ocean for miles in the distance, Mateo and its birds, jagged rock, crystal clear water in the caldera, their future being built beneath his feet.

Gordon didn’t immediately answer and Virgil looked in his direction. He found a small smile on his little brother’s face as he stared down at the turquoise depths below them. It suddenly struck him, that of all of them, this move was going to be the best for Gordon. Surrounded by sea life and the very ocean he adored; his fish-loving brother would be in his element.

Once he landed himself that Olympic medal, finished high school and grew up.

Virgil blinked.

‘Grow up’ and ‘Gordon’ were interesting when combined.

He loved his little brother, but he was a handful. Without thinking, Virgil reached out a hand and squeezed Gordon’s shoulder. That prompted a quizzical look in his direction, but Virgil just smiled a little before letting go and returning to his gaze far down below.

“Gordy! Where are you?” The high-pitched voice of the youngest Tracy bounced freely about the rocks.

Gordon rolled his eyes and whispered. “Keep it quiet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

“He’s looking for someone to play that stupid space game with him.”

That earned Gordon a clap around the ear.

“Hey, I played it with him all day yesterday!”

“You could have told me, Gordon.” John was frowning.

“That’s why I came looking for you! I figured if you beat him several times, I wouldn’t have to worry about it tomorrow.”

Virgil clapped him up the ear again.

“Ow! Quit it, Virg. I don’t see you volunteering.”

“No, I’m too busy with that stopwatch timing your ass.”

Gordon blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“What are you guys doing up here?” Blond, blue-eyed and nine years old, little Alan bounced into the grotto and stared at the three of them before looking around. “Wow, this is a cool spot. You can see everything!”

The kid glared at Gordon for a second before pushing himself in between John and Virgil.

“Hey, sprout. What you been doing?”

“Looking for you guys. Gordon won’t play Star Hero with me.” Those blue eyes shot daggers at the next eldest brother.

“Maybe spending some time outside would be a good idea.”

“Aw, Virg. I’m nearly at the next level!”

Virgil reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders drawing him to his side. “But there is so much to see out here, Alan.”

“We’re gonna be here forever. I can see it then.”

A frown. “Allie, you okay?”

“I just wanna play Star Hero.” That was definitely a whine.

“Alan, if you drop the attitude, I’ll consider playing it with you tonight.” John’s voice was cool and clearly not tolerating his little brother’s tactics.

Alan lit up, eyes widening. “You will?! Be on my team?”

John arched an eyebrow. “As long as you don’t give me a silly name.”

“He called me Drockus Doofhead yesterday.” Gordon growled from Virgil’s other side.

“That’s because you are a doofhead. You don’t know the difference between a supernova and a nebula.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Prove it!”

“Hey, hey!” It had been quiet. It had been inspirational. Now... He shoved a finger in Gordon’s direction. “You, he’s nine. Give him a break.” Another finger in Alan’s face. “You. Respect others’ skills. Everyone is different. Consider how much Gordy does know that you don’t, how much he can help you and how much you can help him.”

The pout didn’t fully disappear, but Alan muttered something that could be considered an acknowledgement.

Virgil squeezed his shoulders, but didn’t say anything further. The breeze picked up a little and played with his hair. “Do you like the Island?” The question came out without thought and it stopped him in his tracks, suddenly wondering what his little brothers’ responses might be.

“Are you kidding? There are dolphins, Virg! I was swimming with dolphins this morning! This place is fantastic!”

Yeah, that was the response he expected from his fourteen-year-old fish.

“What about you, Allie?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Allie?”

“I’m gonna miss my friends.”

“You can still see your friends.”

“How?”

“Hololink.”

“Not the same.”

“We can fly in and out as much as you like.”

“Until you’re too busy.”

Silence fell over the grotto, returning it to its natural soundscape of distant waves, birds and the wind.

“I will never be too busy for you, Alan.” The deep voice of his eldest brother broke into the grotto and Virgil’s heart lurched. He looked up to find Scott staring down at their little group. He was still pale, the gash at his temple still pink with healing.

The walking stick in his hand was being leant on heavily.

“What the hell are you doing all the way up here?” Virgil shot to his feet and hurried over, grabbing his big brother’s arm almost terrified he would fall on his face.

“Can it, Virgil. I’m fine.”

Virgil ignored him. “Sit down.” His three other brothers shuffled over to make room and the recovering pilot rolled his eyes before lowering himself awkwardly down onto the moss carpet.

“I should be asking you that question. Is this a meeting I missed the memo for?”

“No. I just came up here for some quiet.”

Scott snorted. “Really?”

“Well, I didn’t expect a family convergence.”

“Can’t escape us, Virg.” Gordon was grinning.

“Wasn’t trying to, Gordo.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“What?”

“Well, why do you think we’re all up here? You’ve been disappearing every afternoon for days. We had to ask Brains to ping your locator.”

“What?!”

A hand landed on his arm and he turned away from Gordon to find Scott staring at him. “Maybe you should answer your own question, Virgil. Do you like the Island?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

So, he closed it again.

It wasn’t just a question of his liking the Island. The eldest three knew far more than the youngest two. Exactly why they were moving to this isolated chunk of rock.

Scott squeezed his arm. “Johnny is in a star man’s paradise with his observatory, and you know my opinion.” He certainly did. Scott was itching to get back into the sky with that rocket plane. “But I don’t recall hearing your thoughts lately.”

“You know my answer. I agreed.”

Eyes as blue as the sky above them interrogated him. “But what about now that we are here?”

“I agreed.” This was not something he wanted to talk about in front of Gordon and Alan. Hell, Gordon’s amber eyes were as sharp as anything. “This place is beautiful.” It was. As if to emphasise the statement, the albatross reappeared from behind them. Its massive wings were hardly moving to keep it aloft. It coasted above, its eyes passing over all five brothers. “I think we can be happy here.” He hoped.

That hand squeezed his arm again and the grotto fell into a thought-filled silence.

The albatross caught a thermal and rose far above the Island.

Virgil watched it grow smaller and smaller.

Scott’s hand did not leave his arm.

Alan clambered around Gordon and curled up next to Scott. Just as Virgil had done earlier, Scott automatically reached out an arm and pulled him close.

Gordon threw a nasty glare at his little brother, stood up, stomped around Alan and Scott and pointedly dumped himself on the other side of Virgil. There may have been an exchange of raspberries between the two youngest, but Virgil tuned them out to protect his sanity.

He did not fail to notice John closing the gap left by Gordon and sidling up next to their littlest brother.

He ignored the sputtering of the fourteen-year-old he grabbed and drew close to his side in a sudden need for closeness. His other arm snaked around behind Scott, snagged John’s collar and gave a yank. The astronaut let out a yelp and nearly fell on Alan. Virgil’s fist caught in the back of his shirt and he managed to sandwich all his brothers together.

“Virgil!” His name was protested vehemently, but he had to smile when none of his brothers pulled away.

“Love you guys.”

Various sputterings of affirmation had him grinning outright. Gordon was literally squirming.

“Love you, too, Virgil.” Alan’s high-pitched voice was refreshingly honest.

“Thanks, squirt.” It was whispered.

Scott’s hand moved from his arm to wrap around Virgil’s back. A tired forehead dropped gently onto his shoulder.

His big brother didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Virgil’s voice was rough. “Dad has called this place Tracy Island. We are the Tracys. Let’s make it ours.”

“Except the crabs.”

A blink. “What?” He stared at Gordon.

The kid was still under his arm, but was grinning up at him, mischief in every line.

“Half the crabs are on the endangered list. Mel has already laid claim to them.”

Another blink and Virgil just drew his little fish in tighter.

“Oh, god, Virg, need to breathe.”

A laugh welled up and burst out of Virgil from somewhere deep inside.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” The words were perturbed and put out, but John’s struggles were strangely in vain. Alan put an end to them by wrapping his arm around his astronaut brother and dragging him even further into the pile.

No one could resist the squirt.

They sat there together, quiet except for a few sputters from the fishy teenager.

Down below Dad was waving his arms around in front of the tiny figure of Brains.

The sun glittered off the turquoise caldera.

Virgil smiled.

They were the Tracys.

And this was their Island.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #irrelief #irrelief2020 #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #Scott Tracy #younger!Tracys #kermadec fic

[luulapants]

Hale Royal Family AU - Part 4

Based on @shey-elizabeth​‘s post:

”Me reading the Prince Harry-Meghan Markel royal family drama:

Wait… I think I read this fic already. (Starts scrolling through my AO3 history)

#random #royalty au #someone write me a steter fic #reading the news before coffee”

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

May 2018

“Not that close,” Laura fussed, leaning forward and grabbing Stiles’s shoulders to shift him away from Peter’s body. Peter started to pull his arm back, but she clicked her tongue and grabbed his wrist to keep it in place. “There. Comfortable, affectionate, but not intimate.”

“God forbid the public should suspect we have sex,” Peter drawled, shooting her a cold smile.

His niece scowled at him. “Don’t do that smile during the interview. That’s your murder smile.”

“How else am I supposed to smile under these conditions?” he snapped.

Stiles reached over with both hands and pressed them to Peter’s cheeks, pushing upwards so the corners of his mouth lifted. “Just think about how many assholes are going to be upset about this interview,” he advised, “and how I’m gonna blow you in the limo on the way home.”

“Stiles!” Laura hissed. She waved her clipboard at him, looking over her shoulder at the few crew members milling about the set. “Great, that’s going to end up in a tabloid…”

Peter laughed, not sure if it was Stiles’s absurd behavior or Laura’s upset that wrung it out of him. “Laura, come on. I know how to do an interview. Stiles knows how to do an interview.”

“And they’ve never gone badly for you before,” she shot back with acid. She sighed and straightened up, looking down at their placement on the interview couch like she was tempted to fix something else. Instead, she just shifted her clipboard in her hands. “We’ve confirmed all of the questions, so there shouldn’t be any surprises. Stick to what we talked about and try not to get cute?”

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Stiles assured her. Peter didn’t hear a blip in his heartbeat, which meant Stiles truly believed the dirty lie he had just told.

Peter rolled his eyes and waved her off, watching her retreat to the other side of the studio just as Leanne Mitchell, entertainment journalist and professional terror, stepped in. She had been the interviewer for Peter’s infamous coming out, and he suspected she was harboring a vendetta under that ridiculous pile of bleach-blond curls.

“Are we ready to roll? We’ll start with introductions,” she called as the crew members scrambled.

The first five minutes went by uneventfully. They recounted the proposal for her, which they had already done for half a dozen different news outlets. Peter noticed that Stiles had a bit of a script down for how he told it now, repeating the same phrases each time. Part of him wondered if the magic and joy of that memory grew thinner with each poised, practiced retelling.

“Now, the venue has gotten quite a bit of attention,” Leanne said. “Most people were expecting the ceremony to take place at a druidic temple, either Temple of Blodeuwedd, where most of your family has been married, or perhaps Gwyddion Temple in San Francisco. There was even speculation that you might choose a human house of worship for Stiles.”

He and Stiles had both had a good laugh over those news articles when the PR department presented them. They didn’t even specify which human religion they purported Stiles to follow, as if they were all equally nonessential and absurd.

“So why a non-religious venue?” Leanne asked. “Why the winery?”

“Well, when you own a wedding venue...” Stiles joked, and Peter squeezed his shoulder, silently reining him in before he could wander too far off-script. He couldn’t help the grin, though.

��We spend a lot of time there, and it’s a beautiful location,” Peter explained. “We like that it’s a little more secluded – a royal wedding is always going to have a lot of flash and publicity, but we want there to be a sense of…” He searched for the right word, glancing off to the side.

“Intimacy,” Stiles filled in. “We want it to feel like our wedding, not just a royal wedding.”

Peter turned and kissed the side of Stiles’s head. Laura would like that.

“Besides, Peter really loves the winery,” Stiles continued. “It’s his labor of love. It wouldn’t feel right if it wasn’t there with us.” He was quite good at these soundbites when he put his mind to it.

“It does look like a spectacular location. I think we have some photos we can run for the viewers,” Leanne said, looking toward the camera. She paused, then turned back to them.

“And will you have a druid officiating the ceremony or will you try for something more… multicultural?” she ventured, fishing for some sign that Stiles was going to muck up royal tradition with weird human shit.

“My family isn’t very religious,” Stiles explained. “My parents were both raised Eastern Orthodox, but I think I went to mass maybe five times as a kid.”

“Our pack emissary will be officiating, as he did for my sister and niece,” Peter added.

Looking unperturbed by the lack of scandal, Leanne changed the subject. “So, Peter, tell me a bit about your suit. We all know you have quite the refined fashion sense.”

Peter couldn’t glance over at Stiles, could only pray that he wasn’t making a derisive face at her words. “It’s slate gray, and we’ve found a really talented embroidery house out of Los Angeles, so it will be embroidered with navy...” He went on about the designer, the ethical manufacturing, the locally sourced artistry. All of the bits Laura had put bold and underlined on his talking points.

Leanne turned to Stiles with a sweet smile, and Peter smelled blood in the metaphorical water. “Of course, the fashion questions here are a bit different than your typical royal wedding. What will you be wearing, Stiles?”

Not ‘tell me about your suit.’ Not ‘will you be wearing the same thing?’

“Any surprises?” she added.

Peter knew it was about to go sideways before Stiles even opened his mouth, but he made no attempt to rein him in this time.

“Well, you know, I was gonna go for the white dress, but I just don’t have the hips for it,” he said. “Besides, have you seen how pale I am?” He held out an arm and pulled up his sleeve in demonstration. “They’ve got flash filters for the werewolf eyes, but nothing’s going to tame all of this pasty goodness dressed in white.” Peter bit his lip to stifle a laugh.

On the other side of the room, he could hear the clipboard in Laura’s hands creaking under the strain of her grip. She thought this was going to be over quickly, or was hoping. Peter knew better, could hear the way Stiles’s tone was ramping up as the indignation and sarcasm and pettiness churned at one another. Once he got going, he would keep going until stopped.

“Plus, there’s all that historical nonsense with white being for virgins -”

The clipboard snapped in half.

“So obviously that was out. Then I started thinking, you know, what’s the opposite of that? And then I thought, leather.” Peter’s battle against his composure was steadily losing ground, his shoulders and chest shaking in silent hysterics. “Leather pants, leather vest – no shirt, of course.” Leanne’s mouth had dropped open, and it seemed she had forgotten how to close it again.

Peter cracked and had to press the side of his fist to his mouth to stifle it. “Sweetheart,” he chastised through laughter, figuring he really should cut this off before Stiles dug himself deeper than even he wanted to go.

Stiles glanced at Peter, sheepish but not half as sheepish as he should have looked, considering. He shook his head and sighed. “I have a matching suit. It’s navy with gray embroidery.”

God, this was a disaster. Talia was going to flay him alive. Peter, for the life of him, couldn’t get his laughter under control. “Why don’t you -” he attempted, but he was still laughing as he spoke. He tried again, still laughing, but powered through. “Why don’t you ask us about catering?” he suggested.

Beside him, Stiles snorted and abruptly broke into wheezing hysterics of his own.

It was the last wedding interview Laura would ask them to do.

----

“Oh my god, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking,” Stiles laughed against Peter’s shoulder. “I thought I was going to drop that fucking candle and burn down the altar.”

They had retreated to the cottage on the east end of the vineyard, where he and Stiles would get thirty whole minutes to catch their breath between the ceremony and the reception. Cameras had followed them on the winding path through the rows of grapevines. Peter, for once, had barely noticed, Stiles’s hand warm and firm in his own, both of them tense and exuberant and giddy with relief all at once.

The second the door had closed behind them, Stiles had pressed into Peter’s space, clinging to him with hysterical little giggles.

For once, Peter didn’t find himself wondering how the optics had turned out, if anyone had made an inappropriate expression during the ceremony, if he hadn’t looked regal enough or if the personalized vows would be well-received.

“Come here,” he said, tugging Stiles over to the sitting area. He pulled back just long enough to take off his suit jacket. Someone had set out a rack with coat hangers for them. God forbid they should arrive to the reception with wrinkled fabric. They sat curled together on the couch, quietly willing their jitters away. “So how does it feel?” Peter asked.

“You mean aside from the crippling anxiety?” Stiles joked. He snuggled in and kissed the spot just below Peter’s earlobe. “Not very different. Just feels like being with you. Feels normal.”

“Yeah, but now you can’t get rid of me,” Peter reminded him with a smirk.

“I already couldn’t get rid of you.” He settled his head against Peter’s shoulder, and Peter could hear his jittery heartbeat steadying.

----

It seemed like hardly any time had passed at all before an attendant came to fetch them for the reception. The cameras trailed after them on the walk to the main hall. Peter could scarcely recognize the place under the layers of fabric and flowers and chandeliers. The decorator had really gone all out to turn his chic, modern winery into a traditional, romantic royal venue.

Peter had expected polite clapping as they entered the room, but Stiles’s contingent of guests broke into raucous hoots and hollers that at first seemed to startle the royals. Then, after a moment, he heard a few familiar voices breaking out in cheers as well – Derek, Laura and Marco, Cora. Talia couldn’t, he knew, but she grinned at him like she wanted to all the same.

The lights dimmed, leaving them with nothing but the summer sun as it streamed through the plate glass windows. The music came up.

A few months before they got together, Peter had showed up at Stiles’s apartment one night to the sound of The Four Tops crooning I’m in a Different World. Stiles had been at the stove in a pair of jeans and an apron, waving a spatula as he sung along. He turned around and grinned at Peter, still swinging his hips and dancing like an idiot.

“This is a change of pace for you,” Peter had commented. Normally, Stiles listened to club music, pop, electronica.

“My dad and I found a bunch of my mom’s old CDs when I was helping him move,” Stiles explained. He removed a pancake from the skillet, then turned the stove off. “She was obsessed with Motown. I’ve been listening to it for, like, three days straight.”

The song ended, and soft piano came on, a song Peter didn’t recognize.

“Oh man, she loved this one,” Stiles sighed. He turned and wandered toward Peter.

Then, Gladys Knight’s soft voice joined the music, singing,

“I've had my share of life's ups and downs

But fate's been kind, the downs have been few

I guess you could say that I've been lucky

Well, I guess you could say that it's all because of you”

Stiles’s arms settled over his shoulders, and Peter gripped his hips, helpless to do anything but sway with the music while Stiles sang along. It felt silly, but then Stiles looked him in the eye as he sang, “Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me.” And it didn’t feel silly at all.

The first dance song would be called out in most of the endless blog lists of ‘surprises and unforgettable moments’ from their wedding. Another that made the majority of the lists came just after dinner.

Talia, seated at Peter’s right, stood and tapped her fork against her glass. She hardly needed the noise, though. The moment she rose, every eye went immediately to her, the room falling silent within moments.

“I want, once again, to thank everyone for being here to celebrate with us today,” she said, her tone poised. “Peter, Stiles, I can’t express the joy I feel when I see the two of you together, how happy you make one another. I know it’s traditional for wedding gifts to be opened after the wedding, but I have one which doesn’t come wrapped in paper. If you don’t mind, I would like to present it to you now.”

Peter lifted his eyebrows at her and nodded. He had a pretty good idea of where this was going. There had been quite a lot of buzz over whether Talia would carve out part of the crown’s territory for Peter and Stiles or whether she would leave them without titles beyond succession to the crown. There had also been quite a lot of talk over whether two men could hold the same title.

An attendant came to Talia’s side and supplied her with a scroll of paper, tied with a blue ribbon. “Peter, Stiles, it is my honor to grant you title over a part of our family’s territory. And it seems fitting to make the announcement here, in a place you have made yourselves so much at home.”

It was Santa Rosa, then. A small city, to be sure, but notable enough in name that it would give some measure of respectability.

“By my decree, I now grant to both of you the title Duke of Sonoma County.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. Not just Santa Rosa but the whole county. While Talia was the queen of the entirety of the United States and Canada, the crown held direct rule over ten counties surrounding San Francisco Bay. By land area, Sonoma County was the largest of the ten. He looked over at Stiles and found the same stunned look on his face.

Belatedly, Peter lurched to his feet, and leaned in to take the paper and kiss his sister on the cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured.

----

Of the blogs and tabloid articles and Youtube videos recounting the surprises and touching moments, the ending of their vows made an appearance in every one.

He and Stiles stood at the altar, hands held together, wrapped in a white cloth. They had gone back and forth, exchanging the vows one by one.

Do you promise to protect me?

I do. Do you promise to protect me?”

I do.

Do you promise to be patient?

Finally, Peter said, “Do you promise to love me always, even when I get on your nerves?”

And Stiles grinned and squeezed his hands inside of the cloth. “Peter, I promise to love you always. Especially when you get on my nerves. Do you promise to love me always, even when I get on your nerves?”

“Especially then.”

----

The real surprising moment, which none of the tabloids would learn about, came at the end of the night, when half of the guests had retired to their hotels or homes. A buffet of Indian food had been brought in as a late-night snack. Stiles was sitting with some of his friends, his head resting on Kira’s shoulder as he stuffed pakora into his face with half-lidded eyes.

Peter felt as tired as Stiles looked. He had been warned that wedding night sex was essentially a myth. Talia had advised him to leave the comforter off the bed in the cottage. By the time everything was over, they would be too exhausted to even pull back the blankets.

“Peter,” said a voice to his left, and he forced himself to smile as he looked up. Archduchess Iris was his great-aunt, on his father’s side. She had been around quite a lot when he was a child, but less so since his parents passed in his twenties. He remembered her as being old back then, her face creased with wrinkles, hair gray and white. The only difference now was that she had lost the bits of gray.

“Aunt Iris,” he greeted, standing and kissing her cheek. “I’m so glad you could make it. And impressed that you’re still out partying at this hour.” Most of the older guests had made their exits already.

She smiled and sat next to him. “Well, I wanted to give you my personal congratulations before I leave,” she told him, and Peter couldn’t help but feel touched. Most of the older generation had seemed affronted or at least mildly uncomfortable since his coming out. Marrying a commoner human hadn’t helped matters. “You seem very happy.”

“I am,” he agreed. “Thank you. It means a lot, knowing my family is happy for me.”

“It’s been a difficult adjustment, for a lot of the family,” she conceded. “They worry what it means for our species, for our titles, our culture.” She patted his hand. “They’re not malicious people. They just fear change.” Iris sighed and reached into her purse, pulling out a small slip of paper. “I know that you will be able to uphold our way of life as well as anyone, Peter. You’re a good man.”

She passed him the paper, and Peter felt his heart lurch as he looked it over. Epona Surrogacy Services: surrogacy specialists for weres, kitsune, and others. He looked up at her, not sure what to say.

“You didn’t think you would get out of the baby nagging just because you’re gay, did you?” she teased.

“Honestly?” Peter breathed, looking back down at the card. “I sort of did.”

----

As Talia had predicted, they barely managed to get out of their suits after they retired to the cottage for the night. They slept until nearly noon the next day, lazy and warm in the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Stiles lie on top of him, rutting against him with two of Peter’s fingers curled inside of him. He came with a quiet moan against Peter’s lips. Once he had recovered, he sat up and rode him at an agonizingly slow pace until Peter thought he would lose his mind.

“Your first act as my husband is to torture me,” Peter whined. He tried again to grip Stiles’s hips, though Stiles had already batted his hands away twice. This time, he grabbed both of Peter’s hands and laced their fingers together.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into,” Stiles replied.

Afterward,  they opted to shower separately, if only because they had a plane to catch that afternoon. Peter was still rinsing the shampoo from his hair when Stiles came back into the bathroom and leaned against the counter.

“Surrogacy services, huh?” he called over the sound of the water.

Peter froze, then hastily finished rinsing before sticking his head out of the shower door. “My Aunt Iris gave that to me last night,” he explained. “She said we weren’t going to get out of the baby nagging simply because we’re both men.”

Stiles stared down at the card thoughtfully. “And this...” He waved the card toward Peter. “This is something you want to do?”

He hesitated. It was a big discussion, one that they had touched on in more vague terms. A conversation he thought they would start having much, much later than this. The last they had left it, they were both open to the idea, but neither of them felt that they needed children in their lives to be fulfilled. “I don’t know,” Peter admitted.

“Me neither,” Stiles agreed.

Peter reached back and turned the water off. He could use leave-in conditioner. Reaching for a towel, he suggested, “Would it be okay if we tabled this until after the honeymoon?”

Stiles’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Definitely.”

----

An attendant had left them a newspaper to read on their way to Bali. Peter glanced through it while Stiles played games on his computer.

Smiling, he nudged Stiles’s arm and turned the paper to show him the headline of the Society section:

Princes Peter and Stiles Buck Tradition with Style

#Steter #stiles stilinski #Peter Hale #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf au #royals au #hale royal family au #wedding time #part 4 of 6 #because I have no self control #rated I for I don't know how to tag rated e fics without angering the bots

[beerecordings]

How did you get people to start interacting with mbc?

hm well first of all I started it right over here

Stories like What We Have Left and The Missing Piece were posted here, where I have a pretty good writing reputation, and I was lucky enough that a lot of people read them. So I had the chance to show people that I had an idea that was not only engaging and complex, but that was very unique to me, because I write Anti’s “puppeting” in a way that was pretty new and different, at least at the time, at least in formal fics. and let’s be honest they were just good stories

so 1. have a very unique idea and earn some traction for it before the actual ask blog, especially with some fics if you can! or that’s what worked for me anyway. people need to know you can write well and have interesting ideas!

after that i needed to check if there would actually be enough interest to sustain an ask blog or at least get it off the ground. i ran an ask event right here on my blog, again garnering interest, and got a wonderfully overwhelming amount of asks lol. so 2. find people who are actually interested in your idea and use your main to show off what the ask blog would actually look like. not going to lie being a slightly more popular blog helps a lot but if you don’t have that, try to write fics before you start the ask blog and seek out traction for them!!

honestly I didn’t have to promo too much after that.

I have never put MBC in the tags once. not even when i was first promoting it. not even when i started making writing long and complex and engaging responses. i think maybe i tagged a single post with ‘writers of jack’ like a week after i posted it but TAGS ARE NOT THE KEY TO RUNNING AN ASK BLOG DO NOT TRUST THEM TO SUSTAIN IT OKAY MY DUDES PLZZZZ. i see people tagging every single ask blog post they make in the jse tag, the writers tag, every single character’s tag, and on and on, and dude i totally get the temptation and i know you really want people to interact!! but i will tell you right now that is not what does it! you have to have like a really engaging story and actually have a platform that garners interest first! obviously there’s nothing wrong with tagging your ask blog asks but i just hope you don’t rely on that as your only source of attention okay!! it will not be enough!! i do not mean to be harsh but that is facts you gotta have somewhere else to be like promoting it. i am lucky enough to have a moderately popular main with people who trust me to write well so i was able to get a lot of initial interest because of my formal fics regarding the subject and then the ask blog event which showed people what it would be like.

and then after that you 3. have a plot in mind and real opportunities for plot events and character development. this is keyyyy please don’t expect people to come up with a plot for you okay! and preferably not just one plot…. many plots, subplots, many events, many characters ahhhh as complex as you can get it! GIVE THE READERS SOMETHING TO WANT DUDE THEY ARE SO COOL THEY WILL FIGHT FOR IT AHHH YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE i love my readers so freaking much they really want to see the boys get free….. give them chances to keep working towards the goal they share with the characters!!

but what do i know lol!! I am very lucky that people stick around for MBC but let’s be aware this isn’t like a huge fandom, i get like nine notes a post, fifteen on a good day, and i would guess there are about fifteen to twenty people helping me keep it up and going!! thank you to those people i love you so much!!!!!

and it’s also just a really delicate science and it takes some luck and a lot of creativity and complexity and effort, okay? if it’s not taking off as fast as you had hoped or something please don’t be too hard on yourself, it’s really not that easy

disclaimer i am not liable if this doesn’t work for you lol but that’s what i recommend and seriously i have seen some good ask blogs struggle so be very gentle with yourself

U GOT THIS N I BELIEVE IN U and i’m very passionate about mbc lol thanks for sticking with me over there guys

[qqueenofhades]

The whole don't do what the audience expects blah blah blah is the main reason why the marvel movies done by the Russo brothers felt a little lackluster. It's also the reason why I became disappointed by the mcu. I find this way of storytelling problematic and shallow. It doesn't live up to the hype they build and doesn't withstand the test of time. A good story will drag you to it over and over again.

Ahahaha, well, having had a Long Ass Thing To Say about GOT, I guess I can say More Things about the MCU.

I had…. mixed reactions to Endgame. I also noted immediately that I had big problems with how the female characters were written, existing solely as bit-part supports to the male heroes, and how dirty they did Natasha in particular. Also, while I sympathize with not wanting the story to leak ahead of time, the spoiler paranoia for this movie was pretty beyond insane. If RDJ was the only cast member who got the full script, and the actors themselves didn’t know what was going on or who they were acting across from (aside from being told they were at a wedding with Tony’s funeral at the end, which… yeah), then just maybe the idea of having to outsmart the audience/keep them in the dark is a little out of control. I recognise that the MCU is at least as big a cultural property as GOT, but it’s still… a comic-book movie. A comic book movie that ended with a lot of aliens fighting superheroes with suits and flying horses and magic death jewels and whatever else. It’s not absolutely sacred inviolable stuff, here.

That said, while parts of Tony’s death did work for me and I didn’t think it was totally impossible, that was mostly thanks to RDJ’s acting rather than the overall writing for the movie. Why… why couldn’t he have survived? Why couldn’t he get to grow old with Pepper and officially adopt Peter and have him and Morgan be cute siblings and to actually get to rest after everything he had done? They already laid the tragedy on thick with the five years of post-apocalypse and getting to see everyone living with that and so forth. They didn’t also need to make Tony die in order to make it stick. I can see the bare-bones storytelling logic in defeating Thanos (who was a punk-ass villain to start with, but genunely terrifying in some ways, just for reflecting the sociopathic powerful white man identitype) requiring a cost/permanent death, but also… see above. Flying horses and super-suits and huge alien CGI battles. This is not remotely a “realistic” story. Nobody needs to go into a comic-book movie expecting some grimdark social commentary/homage to Realism. If anything, it has the liberty to be even more fantastic and to subvert the “People Need To Die/Suffer Horribly For Fiction To Be Realistic And Allow Sophisticated Cynical Modern People To Suspend Their Disbelief” axe that keeps getting ground.

Frankly, it seems as if all media for the past several years (thanks in no small part to the stratospheric popularity of GOT) has been competing to outdo each other in Grimdark Realism, while audiences beg, increasingly harried and Tired, to just let us have a happy ending once in a while. The thought has clearly been that happy endings are for old-fashioned sickly-sweet Disney movies and intelligent people these days want to Hurt over their fiction, and/or be battered repeatedly in the face with it. As anyone who has ever read my fics and/or yelled at me about them can attest, I am a big fan of conflict, drama, angst, and genuinely bad things happening in a story, and am often drawn to characters who are dark and flawed and have a lot of issues to work through and who mess up and make real mistakes, because all that is the messy, complex heart of a story and generates dynamic issues and compelling arcs. But the point is never to just have it happen and to leave it there and for it never to be dealt with. The point of those bad things and those messes is for it to be resolved in a way that, if not completely happy, at least makes sense and is emotionally resonant.

Basically, we are more aware than ever these days that the world is a nightmare and that horrible things happen to good people all the time. Part of the appeal of fiction is the notion that things can happen for a reason and be controlled and guided to an ultimate outcome and that a creator you trust won’t just put your favourite characters through the wringer and leave them there to make some pseudo-intellectual point about The Nihilism Of The World. That way we can experience stories and suffering and genuine high stakes and conflict and chaos, but have some undergirding rationale and to experience it as entertainment and escapism, rather than constantly be exhausted by media determined to be cleverer and Grittier than its audience. Human beings love stories and always have. But the happy ending going out of style in the last 5-10 years is… not a great development. Either it’s forced as a saccharine heteronormative nightmare that doesn’t serve the characters at all (see the Harry Potter epilogue, the Timeless Abomination) or it’s just thrown away entirely because we have to understand, as if we don’t know, that Bad Things Happen.

As a Steggy shipper, I admittedly had many feelings over Steve going back and getting to have a life with Peggy. But I could also see the point of the metas that argued the contrary and who wanted Steve to move on and face the world he had now (though I do 100% approve of Sam becoming Captain America and Steve getting to rest and passing the torch). It also did feel a little too much like See Look, No Homo with Steve/Bucky, even while they were patting themselves on the back for 5 seconds of a nameless extra talking about going on a date with a man. That is not and will never count as queer representation. So when we’re either getting exhaustingly boring and Straight ™ happy endings or none at all, that is also representative of a media that hasn’t really caught up to what audiences really want these days. Hence why, as many people have pointed out, fanfiction is so popular as entertainment right now. Fic writers love the characters and rarely write stories just to have them suffer pointlessly or not to develop the source material in any way. When you’re reading fic, you can have some confidence that the ship is going to get together and the bad things happen for a reason and the ending will not make you regret having started it or pants you over being involved at all. As long as media is trying to be Sophisticated ™ and smarter-than-thou and to pack in Plot Twists, it’s really never going to be satisfying, because honestly, there are very few creators that are both smart and empathetic enough to pull it off.

Anyway. Once again, I ramble. But yes.

#mcu #endgame spoilers #anonymous #ask

[datheetjoella]

if u r up for it Strength and AAAALLLLL those questions!!!! but if u don't want to do them all then 1 to 5!!;u; (i like.. almost always choose strength 'cause it makes me nostalgic fhsdgghj sorry about that!!)

Of course I’m up for all of the questions! ^^ Thank you for sending this! (And don’t apologise!! I’m very glad that you like Strength enough to ask me about it!)

Strength

1. What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I could summarise what sparked the idea of Strength in one sentence. However, I’m not going to tell you because it is a spoiler for a scene that has not been written yet and I’m really, really excited about that scene and therefore I don’t want to spoil it. So let’s just say I got a certain idea that sparked the concept of this fic.

2. What scene did you first put down?

The very first scene at the beginning of the fic: Makoto sleeping over at Haru’s house and Haru noticing that Makoto’s acting different from usual. I always write in chronological order so naturally that was the first scene that I wrote. However, the first scene that I imagined and crafted out in my head was the scene that I mentioned above.

3. What’s your favorite line of narration?

I am never able to answer this question. It’s simply impossible for me to pick one line that stands out, because most lines are pretty meaningless without the entire context and the other lines. Therefore, I decided to do something a little differently: I’m going to share one of my favourite lines in the wip of chapter 5. So, this chapter has not been published yet so it can still change, but it’s a tiny, tiny preview.

‘Although Makoto was usually more reserved in terms of physical contact as well, Haruka figured that he felt the same need, to have the closeness of someone he could build upon, someone to hold onto and be held by during the most difficult time of his life.’ 

4. What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Same with the last question, I find it hard to pick a fav so I’ll show you a line of dialogue from chapter 5 as well. This is kind of a spoiler, but I’m confident that not many people will read this, anyway, so it’ll be a little inside spoiler for a few. 

‘“You really love Onii-chan, don’t you?”’

5. What part was the hardest to write?

Honestly, it’s not a specific scene but more the factor of tying plot-points together, if that makes sense. When I’m in the middle of a scene I know what’s going to happen and how it’s going to continue, but I always have difficulty ending one scene and starting another in a way that flows together nicely and doesn’t feel like it’s odd. I hope I succeed in it, haha.

6. What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

I’m not sure, to be honest. To me, for some reason, Strength just has a very special place in my heart. It’s weird to say this about my own fic and I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but I think that Strength may be my “best” fic in terms of story and development. I’m sure not everyone agrees with this or likes it, but I suppose I’m kind of proud of it. I work really hard on it, even if you wouldn’t say that because I only update like twice a year. I just hope that other people like it, too. At least enough to stick around till the end, which I’m definitely going to write.

7. Where did the title come from?

I have no idea. Usually I find coming up with titles to be one of the hardest things to do, but for some reason, in this case I just knew from the start that it was supposed to be titled “Strength”. Because to me, Strength captures everything this fic is about. In order to battle with cancer, you have to be strong, physically but especially mentally. And when someone you love gets cancer, you want to be there for them and support them throughout everything. You want to be their strength - which is what Haru wants to be for Makoto. To me, “Strength” symbolises Haru’s unconditional love and support throughout these bitter times for Makoto. But I suppose it’s open to interpretation.

8. Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

Yes and no. I wouldn’t necessarily say that anyone or anything inspired the fic itself, but I’d rather say that I, as the author, was inspired by some people. Not any people I know, but I’ve done my research and watched documentary-esque tv shows about children with cancer and I suppose it sort of affected my view on the entirety of cancer. And with that, I can write this fic from my heart. So, indirectly I suppose.

9. Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Yes! I already told you but in case anyone else is reading this, I’ll say it again:

In the very first idea for Strength, everyone had cancer. Everyone. Haru gets diagnosed with cancer as a kid and is admitted to a hospital where he meets Makoto, who also has cancer. One by one other kids come in (Nagisa, Rin, eventually Rei and Ai) and the story would be about their lives at the hospital. In this version, at least one person died and that would be Nagisa - no spoilers on any other characters because that might spoil the real concept.

So I suppose you can all be glad that Strength developed into what it is now.

10. Why did you chose this pairing for this particular story?

It’s MakoHaru. Everything is MakoHaru.

11.What do you like best about this fic?

Pfft I don’t know. I suppose the emotional rollercoaster that the readers are subjected to. And the unsure ending, that is also fun.

12. What do you like least about this fic?

This fic is taking me a lot of time and therefore, my writing style changes throughout the fic. I’m not really much of a fan of chapter 1 anymore, for example. If I were to re-write it right now, it would probably be a little different not in terms of plot but in terms of style, I suppose. I don’t have time for that anyway so it’s just going to stay as it is.

13. What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I listen to all kinds of music, really. But for this fic specifically, I listen a lot to ‘Save Our Last Goodbye’ by Disturbed. This song is about the loss of a friend but that does not necessarily mean that the story will go one way or another. It just really puts me in that sad, sad mood. For the more “happy” moments, I listen to ‘I’ll Be There’ by Hollywood Undead, and although this song is also about the loss of a friend which again, doesn’t have to mean anything, it has a more upbeat melody and that perfectly symbolises the tone of this fic for me; even in the happy moments, the sadness and agony is always hidden underneath. Next to that I’m a fan of Yiruma’s piano music, which is absolutely gorgeous and is great for writing anything in general.

14. Is there anything you want the readers to learn from this fic?

Not really; the main purpose of this fic is to entertain, not to inform. Although I want to give representation for both cancer patients and their loved ones in this fic, I’m not exactly the most valid source of information. Of course, I do my very best to make things as accurate as possible, but I wouldn’t blindly believe what I state because I’m just a writer-person and not an oncologist.

15. What did you learn from this fic?

I learned a bunch of stuff about cancer, acute lymphocytic leukemia to be exact. But I also learned that writing angst is so much fun and I love leaving the readers in the dark.

Thank you so much for asking me all these things!

Ask me about one of my fics

#fic asks #i'm sorry i'm stupid #i'm sorry for the wait this took me a little while #thank you for always giving me attention i hope you liked the little spoilery things #not-her-e #long post

[illbefinealonereads]

Blog tour day! Allow me to tell you more about Husband Material by Emily Belden, as well as share an excerpt from the book.

Husband Material : A Novel Emily Belden On Sale Date: December 30, 2019 9781525805981, 1525805983 Trade Paperback $15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD Fiction / Romance / Romantic Comedy 304 pages

Told in Emily Belden's signature edgy voice, a novel about a young widow's discovery of her late husband's secret and her journey toward hope and second-chance love.

Twenty-nine-year-old Charlotte Rosen has a secret: she’s a widow. Ever since the fateful day that leveled her world, Charlotte has worked hard to move forward. Great job at a hot social media analytics company? Check. Roommate with no knowledge of her past? Check. Adorable dog? Check. All the while, she’s faithfully data-crunched her way through life, calculating the probability of risk—so she can avoid it.

Yet Charlotte’s algorithms could never have predicted that her late husband’s ashes would land squarely on her doorstep five years later. Stunned but determined, Charlotte sets out to find meaning in this sudden twist of fate, even if that includes facing her perfectly coiffed, and perfectly difficult, ex-mother-in-law—and her husband’s best friend, who seems to become a fixture at her side whether she likes it or not.

But soon a shocking secret surfaces, forcing Charlotte to answer questions she never knew to ask and to consider the possibility of forgiveness. And when a chance at new love arises, she’ll have to decide once and for all whether to follow the numbers or trust her heart.

Advance Praise for Husband Material

“Tackling thorny questions of widowhood and dating after trauma, Belden's second novel is witty, full of heart, and blindingly au courant. Packed with pop-culture references, it will appeal to fans of Sophie Kinsella, Rosie Walsh, and Plum Sykes. Belden writes twists and turns to keep readers hooked.” —Booklist

“Charming.” —Publishers Weekly

“Sensitive, thoughtful, and touching.” —Library Journal

“In this touching, witty, and timely book, Emily Belden deftly explores the complexities of human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. By turns heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny, Husband Material beautifully demonstrates that you can't reduce love to a bunch of 1s and 0s.”

—Kristin Rockaway, author of How To Hack a Heartbreak

Buy Links: Harlequin Amazon Barnes & Noble Indie Bound Kobo Google Books

Author Bio: EMILY BELDEN is a journalist, social media marketer, and storyteller. She is the author of the novel Hot Mess and Eightysixed: A Memoir about Unforgettable Men, Mistakes, and Meals. She lives in Chicago. Visit her website at www.emilybelden.com or follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @emilybelden

Genre: Romance, Chick-Lit

Rating: 4/5 stars

Review: This was a very fun read for me. Belden writes in a style that I really enjoy, it feels fresh and light. Though the book tackled some heavy subjects, none of it was felt in the writing. The plot was paced well, and the way it progressed felt natural. The idea behind the book was beautifully executed. The characters were well developed and set up in a way that kept the book dynamic and entertaining. Though the characters aren’t relatable, straying from most books in the romance genre, Husband Material didn’t need to rely on that to make the book as enjoyable as it was. All it needed was the wit that Belden incorporated in it, and that was enough for me.

Excerpt:

Well, that’s a first.

And I’m not talking about the fact that I brought a date to a wedding I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant me a plus-one. I’m talking about grabbing a wedding card that just so happened to say “Congrats, Mr. & Mr.” on my way to cele­brate the nuptials of the most iconic heterosexual couple since George and Amal. This—and a king-sized KitKat bar from the checkout lane—is what I get for rushing through the greet­ing card aisle in Target while my Uber driver waited in the loading zone with his f lashers on.

It’s Monica and Danny’s big day. She’s my coworker, whose gorgeous face is constantly lining the glossy pages of Luxe LA magazine. Not only because she’s one of the leading ladies at Forbes’s new favorite company, The Influencer Firm, but because this socialite-turned-CEO is now married to Dan­iel Jones—head coach of the LA Galaxy, Los Angeles’s pro­fessional soccer team. If you’re thinking he must look like a derivative of an American David Beckham, you’re basicallythere. Let’s just hope their sense of humor is as good as their looks when they see the card I accidentally picked out.

Before I place it on the gift table, I stuff the envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill fresh from the ATM. Side note: I think wedding registries are bullshit. Everybody wants an ice cream maker until you have one and never use it, which is why I spring for cold, hard cash instead. I grab a black Sharpie marker from the guest book table, pop the cap off, and attempt to squeeze in a nondescript s after the second “Mr.,” hoping my makeshift, hand-drawn serif font letter doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I blow on the fresh ink, then hold the pseudo Pinterest-fail an arm’s length away. That’ll do, I think to myself.

I lift a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray as if we cho­reographed the move and check the time on my Apple Watch, which arguably isn’t the most fashionable accessory when dressing for a chic summer wedding. But aside from the fact that it doesn’t quite match my strapless pale yellow cocktail dress, it serves a much greater purpose for me. It keeps my data front and center, right where I want it, not on my phone buried somewhere deep in my purse. Bonus: the band, smack-dab on the middle of my wrist, also covers a tattoo I’ve been meaning to have lasered off.

Other than telling me the time, 7:30 p.m., it also serves up my most recent Tinder notifications. I’ve gotten four new matches since this morning, which isn’t bad for a) a Saturday, since most people do their Tindering while zoning out at work or bored in bed at night; and b) a pushing-thirty New York native whose most recent relationship was the love-hate one with a stubborn last ten pounds. That’s me, by the way. Charlotte Rosen.

Though present and accounted for now, the battle of Tide pen vs. toothpaste stain went on for longer than I intended back at my apartment, causing me to arrive about half an hour late to the cocktail hour. Which means I for sure missed Monica and Dan’s ceremony in its entirety. I, of all people, know that’srude. I’m someone who is hypersensitive to people’s arrival ten­dencies (well, to all measurable tendencies, to be honest; more on that later). But I’m sort of glad I missed the I Dos, as there is still something about witnessing the exchange of vows that makes me a little squeamish. I got married five years ago and, well, I’m not married anymore—let’s put it that way.

The good news is that with time, I can feel it’s definitely getting easier to come to things like this. To believe that the couple really will stay together through it all. To believe that there is such a thing as “the one”—even if it may actually be “the other” that I’m looking for this next go-round.

Late as I may be to the wedding party, there are some perks to my delayed arrival. Namely, the line at the bar has died down enough for me to trade up this mediocre red wine for a decent gin and tonic. Another perk? Several fresh platters of bacon-wrapped dates have just descended like UFOs onto the main floor of the venue, which happens to be a barn from the 1800s. Except this is Los Angeles, and there are no barns from the 1800s. So instead, every creaky floorboard, every corroded piece of siding, and every decrepit roof shingle has been sourced from deep in the countryside of southwest Iowa to create the sense that guests are surrounded by rolling fields, fragrant orchard blossoms, and fruiting trees. The reality being that just outside the wooden walls of the coveted, three-year-long-wait-list Oak Mill Barn stands honking, gridlocked traf­fic on the 405 and an accompanying smog alert.

As I continue to wait for my impromptu wedding date, Chad, to come back from the bathroom, I robotically swipe left on the first three guys who pop up on Bumble, another dating app I’m on, then finally decide to message a guy who looks like a bright-eyed Jason Bateman (you know, pre-Ozark) and is a stockbroker, according to his profile. We end up matching and he asks me for drinks. I vaguely accept. Wel­come to dating in LA.

I’ve conducted some research that has shown that after the age of thirty, it becomes exponentially harder to find your fu­ture husband. What number constitutes exponentially? I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on narrowing in on that because generalities don’t really cut it for me. Thinking through things logically like this centers me, calms me, and resets me—no matter what life throws my way. All that’s to say, I’m officially in my last good year of dating (and my last year of not having to include a night serum in my skin care regimen), and I’m determined not to wind up with my dog, my roommate, and a few low-maintenance houseplants as my sole life partners.

“Sorry that took so long,” says Chad, returning from the men’s room twenty minutes after leaving. “Did you know the bathroom at this place is an actual outhouse? Thank god it was leg day at the gym—I had to squat over the pot. My quads are burning nice now.”

Confession. I didn’t just bring a date to the wedding, I brought a blind date.

No worries, though. Monica knows how serious I am about the path to Mr. Right and supports the fact that I go on my fair share of dates to get me there quicker. Plus, he isn’t a total stranger; she knows him—or, she met him, rather. He attended her work event last week at the LA County Museum of Art and is supposedly this cute, single real estate something or other. Of course he tried to hit on her and, unlike most beau­tiful people in Los Angeles, Monica actually copped to being in a committed relationship with Danny. (Who doesn’t like to brag they’re marrying Mr. Galaxy himself?) So she did the next best thing and gave him her single coworker’s Instagram handle and told him to slide into my DMs. It’s a bold move on her part, but I appreciate her quick thinking and commit­ment to my cause, Operation: Reclassify My Marital Status.

Since Chad first messaged me a week ago, I’ve done my homework on him. And I’m not talking about just your basic cyber stalking. I’m talking about procuring and sifting through real, bona fide data. It’s essentially a version of what I’m paid to do for a living—track down all the “influencers,” people with a lot of fans and followers on the internet, and match them to events we plan for our clients so they can post on so­cial media and boost our clients’ profiles.

Some may think my side-project software, the one that com­putes how much of a match I am with someone, is a bit…much, but I don’t see it that way at all. I’m on the hunt for a man who is a true match for me—one who won’t just up and leave in the blink of an eye. I left things up to fate once and look how that turned out. I’ll be damned if I do it that way again.

While I studied up on Chad, I conducted a hefty “image search,” yielding about a hundred photos of him that have been uploaded across a variety of social platforms over the years. In real life, I’m pleased to say he checks out. Chad is over six feet tall, tanned, and toned, with coiffed Zac Efron hair that’s on the verge of being described as “a bit extra.” From the shoul­ders up, he’s an emoji. A walking, talking emoji. But as I step back and admire him in his expertly tailored suit, he looks like a contestant on The Bachelor. In retrospect, Chad is just the right amount of good-looking to complement my physical appearance, which can be described as a made-for-TV version of an otherwise good-looking actress.

“Something to drink, sir?” one of the caterers asks Chad.

“Yes. A spicy margarita. Unless… Wait. Do you make the margarita mix yourselves? Or is it, like, that sugary store-bought crap?”

Eek. I had forgotten my discovery that Chad is a bit of a…wellness guru. I guess so is everyone in LA, but I can’t help but be taken aback when I hear that there are people who actually care about the scientific makeup of margarita mix.

“Fuck it. Too many calories either way,” Chad announces before giving the waitress a chance to answer his question. “I’ll just take a whiskey.”

“Splash of Coke?”

“God, no. So many empty calories.”

With his drink order in, Chad rolls his neck around and pops bones I never knew existed. Then, one by one, the joints in his fingers. The sound makes me a bit queasy but I’m try­ing to focus on the positive, like his beautiful hazel eyes and the fact that cherry tomatoes and mini mozzarella balls with an injection of balsamic vinegar are the latest and greatest munchie to hit the floor.

Chad turns to me with a smile, his palm connecting with the small of my back. “Should we find our seats? What table are we at?”

Good question, I think to myself. I’m at table six. Chad is…on a fold-up chair we will have to ask a caterer to squeeze between me and Monica’s great-aunt Sally? I kind of forgot to mention to him that I didn’t really get an official okay to bring him tonight.

“Table six,” I say pleasantly with a smile.

“Six is my lucky number. Well, that, and nine, if you know what I mean,” Chad says with a wink accompanied by an ac­tual thumbs-up.

The waitress comes back with his whiskey neat, and he proposes we clink our glasses in a toast to meeting up as we make our way to the table. Still not over the lingering effects of his immature, pervysixty-nine joke, I reluctantly concede to do the cheers with the perpetual high-schooler.

“So, what did you think of Monica’s event?” I say to break the ice as we take our seats at the luckily empty round table.

“Well, I don’t really know what she does for a living, but she is fine as hell. I mean, that’s why I hit on her last week atthe LACMA. Sure, I saw the ring on her finger, but couldn’t resist saying hi to a goddess like her. My god, that woman is something else.”

I nod in agreement. Partly because, yes, Monica Hoang needs her own beauty column in Marie Claire, stat. And partly because I’m too shocked by his crass demeanor to really do or say anything else. Did I say Chad reminded me of a contes­tant on The Bachelor? I think I meant he reminds me of a guy who gets sent home on night one of The Bachelor.

“She said you’re a real estate…attorney, was it?” I awk­wardly segue. “What’s your favorite neighborhood in Los Angeles?”

It sounds like I’m interviewing him for a job, which in a way, I am. But had I known the conversation was going to be like forcefully wringing out a damp rag, just hoping to squeeze out something semidecent, I would have never invited him to join me at the wedding. In fact, I likely wouldn’t have gone through with a date, of any kind, at all. Conversation skills rank high on my list of preferred qualities in a mate. Looks like he’s the exception to the rule that attorneys are good lin­guists, because my app sure as shit didn’t predict this fail.

So how does my software work, then? Well, it’s all about compatibility. My algorithm is programmed to know what I like and what I’m looking for in the long term. So to see if a guy is a match, I comb through his online profiles, enter the facts I find out about him, and generate a report that indi­cates how likely he is to be my future husband or how likely we would be to get a divorce, for example. One of the most helpful stats is how likely we are to go on a second date. I’ve determined that anyone scoring above 70 percent means that chances are good we’d go out again. And, well, a second date is the first step to marriage. You get the point. Anyone below a 70, I ignore and move on. Chad pulled a 74, which is a solidC if you’re using a high school grading system. Not stellar, but certainly passable with room for improvement.

As it’s turning out, there’s a lot of room for improvement.

“Huh? I’m not in real estate,” he says with a confused look on his face.

“Oh, Monica said you were an attorney at Laird & Hutchin­son?”

“Well, yes, that’s the name of our firm. The Laird side is real estate. But they acquired Hutchinson a couple years ago, and that’s the side of the practice I work on.”

“What kind of law is Hutchinson?”

“We’re the ‘Life’s too short, get a divorce!’ guys. You’ve probably seen a few of our company’s billboards.”

Chad slides his business card my way, and as soon as I see the logo, I picture those billboards slathered all over the bus stop benches down Laurel Canyon Drive and feel physically ill. Not only because he’s in the business of making divorce seem cheeky, but also because I’m wondering what other things I might have missed or gotten wrong about Chad.

“Wait. So have you ever been divorced?” The question pops off my tongue involuntarily. As soon as the words come out, I remember he reserves the right to ask me the same question in return and immediately regret posing it. I’m not ready to explain the demise of my first marriage.

“Me? Nah. Never married.”

Luckily, a server reappears to take our dinner order. But let it be known that if Chad had asked, I would have explained that I didn’t give up on my life partner because I was frus­trated he failed to load a dishwasher in any sort of methodical way. I didn’t just get bored and say “screw it,” chalking the whole thing up as just a starter marriage (google it, this is a thing now). In fact, if anyone abruptly left anyone, he aban­doned me out of nowhere.

“Would you like the chicken and veggies or the short rib and scalloped potatoes?” the caterer asks me.

“Short rib and potatoes,” I say, a game-time decision made entirely by my growling stomach.

At that, Chad looks at me like I rolled into the Vatican wear­ing a tube top. “You sure about that, Char? There are so many hidden carbs in potatoes,” he whispers with a hint of disgust.

First off, Char is reserved for people with a little more ten­ure in my life, thankyouverymuch. And secondly—

“Yes, I’m sure. An extra scoop of potatoes if possible,” I say, loud enough for our waitress, who jots down the special instruction.

“Chicken for me. Extra veggies,” my 74 percent match re­quests.

There it is. His wellness obsession flaring up again. I’m racking my brain for what to say next to a guy who screams “dead end” to me.

 Excerpted from Husband Materialby Emily Belden, Copyright ©2019 by Emily Belden. Published by Graydon House Books.

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