dollsome-does-tumblr asked: MARY CRAWLEY

You jerk. You know what I’m going to say! And you also know I can’t deal with this dumb show on its own merits, so I just AU everything all the time.

OTP: Mary and Lavinia Swire read a few too many New Woman novels and decide to throw off the shackles of their privileged existence and boring co-boyfriend. So much kissing, you guys. They run away to London, start up a good-old-fashioned lady marriage (surprisingly common even in the Victorian era, as Sharon Marcus will tell you), and establish a detective agency. No one gets the Spanish flu because true love. WOULD YOU WATCH THAT SHOW? I’D WATCH THAT SHOW. (I’d also watch the show where Richard Carlisle wasn’t a pantomime villain and they have blisteringly hot sex constantly.)

BrOTP: Same London-detective-agency scenario, only it’s Edith, and they snit at each other occasionally but mostly watch each other’s backs and go to disreputable parties. Evelyn Napier, their co-bff, drives them home when they’re the worse for gin. (If I have to deal with realities, then it’s Mary and Carson, obviously.)

OT3: That bandaged guy really is Patrick Crawley, which lets Matthew off from being the dumb old heir of Downton. Still disabled because ARE YOU SERIOUS, he marries Lavinia, but when he finds out that both of them are hopelessly addicted to Mary Crawley, the three of them set up a joint establishment in London (and a detective agency). Lavinia and Mary keep each other satisfied, Matthew joins in to the best of his ability because YOU DON’T NEED A DICK FOR EVERYTHING, and the jazz age whirls around them. No one dies of the Spanish flu because TRUE LOVE X3.

NOT3: I’m dying to just recount S3 — the marriage and its melodramatic ending — because it’s boring to me, but I don’t hate Matthew or anything, and they were often sweet together. So I’ll play nice and say Mary/Pamuk, because ew.