#in my mind there's no other way she could have written 11 (ha) such letters in as many hours

[givehimthemedicine]

tw for more suicide stuff -

also do you ever think about how the way Max (who struggles to express her feelings) was able to crank out very heavy, final-words letters to everyone important to her all in one night makes it seem awfully likely she had a head start on this project?

what's the likelihood that Max already had these letters at least partially mentally drafted as suicide notes that she would (most likely? hopefully?) never really write - and then ended up having to put them to paper after all, just as homicide notes instead?

the Billy letter being last is another indication, I think.

Billy is the root of her depression on multiple levels. she's been ruminating about her guilt for months, yet Billy's is the last letter we see her complete. why would she leave the most mind-consuming one for last?

because his is the only one she had to fully compose on the spot, because she hadn't already worded it in her mind, because he's the one person she wouldn't have had to leave a note for.

[valend]

Just curious about your opinion! Do you think real historical Hamilton was queer?

Short answer- yes, Hamilton was most likely some level of queer

Longer answer- it’s complicated to say what the sexuality of any historical figure was after their death, especially if they didn’t label themselves outright. What makes this question even more difficult is the fact that the definition of what is considered queer or homosexual keeps changing. For example two men in an Ancient Greek army engaging in what we today consider homosexual acts was something completely normal back then. Now I’ll be real I haven’t researched homosexuality in the 1700s at all but from what I do understand Hamilton’s relationship with Laurens mainly would definitely be considered more intimate than ‘just friends’. People back then often used flowery language when writing to one another but the way Hamilton wrote to Laurens differs from the way he wrote to his other friends.

I really like the way Chenrow puts it in his biography.

When John C. Hamilton was preparing his father’s authorized biography, he omitted a loose sheet that has survived in his papers and that describes the relationship between Hamilton and Laurens thus: “In the intercourse of these martial youths, who have been styled ‘the Knights of the Revolution,’ there was a deep fondness of friendship, which approached the tenderness of feminine attachment.” Hamilton had certainly been exposed to homosexuality as a boy, since many “sodomites” were transported to the Caribbean along with thieves, pickpockets, and others deemed undesirable. In all thirteen colonies, sodomy had been a capital offense, so if Hamilton and Laurens did become lovers—and it is impossible to say this with any certainty—they would have taken extraordinary precautions. At the very least, we cansay that Hamilton developed something like an adolescent crush on his friend. (RC. p95)

The best way to determine whether Hamilton was queer is to look at his own letters to Laurens.

“Cold in my professions, warm in ⟨my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it m⟨ight⟩be in my power, by action rather than words, ⟨to⟩ convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that ’till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. […] To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you to give an account of the lover—his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c. In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I ⟨– – – – –⟩.” -From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [April 1779]

According to this post the words omitted by John Church Hamilton say “do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I <never spared you of pictures>” which could just be friendly banter amongst friends but again we can’t really be sure

“I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful —��.” -From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [11 September 1779].

He was writing to Laurens in the same manner her wrote to his wife!!!

“I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation. My Mistress is a good girl, and already loves you because I have told her you are a clever fellow and my friend; but mind, she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise.” -From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [16 September 1780]

One of the most telling examples of Hamilton’s queerness he’s basically inviting Laurens to witness “the final consummation” between husband and wife but noting that Betsey loves Laurens in an “American” way (friendly) not in a “French” way (romantically).

Besides these very obvious examples, Hamilton often had very strong, often obsessive, attachments to other men. For example being jealous of John André and trying to prevent his execution. And you already know my thoughts on whatever psychosexual obsession he had going on with Burr, especially in 1800. I mean just look at this:

In short, I think it’s relatively fair to assume, applying modern terminology to older times, that Hamilton was queer

[snarky-wallflower]

for those who are lost at sea

Word Count: 2106

Hershey, sometimes I can barely get out of bed. Sometimes the only thing fueling me is the fact that my Satellite will save so many people like my father. That no one will ever be stranded out in the ocean, that deep blue sea that's deeper than any expanses of space to me. That no one will ever have to watch their father sink into those depths-- swallowed entirely. Watch him disappear, know that he didn't know his place in the world when he died. OR A letter Nova never sent to Hershey.

(A plaque, found at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History: 

A LETTER FROM DAME ANNA HANOVER, TO SIR JOHN HERSCHEL

September 1834

Measures 11 inches by 5 inches, 4 pages. Written using a black fountain pen (see exhibit 4), on parchment paper.  

This letter contains words from Dame Anna Hanover, seemingly never sent to her friend, Sir John Herschel, while he worked at The Cape of Good Hope. It is one of the only records we have on just why she decided to build the Satellite, a peek into the mind of a true scientific genius. It goes over her deep friendship with her scientific equal, and talks of her history previous to the Satellite’s construction.)

Dear Hershey, 

I can’t sleep. I’m writing because I hardly know what else to do about it. 

I know, I know–that’s hardly new for either of us, isn’t it? I remember when we used to take turns hauling each other off to sleep in university. Telling each other that the exams could wait, that we would fail either way if we were falling asleep in the middle of the lessons. You used to get this constipated expression as I had to tug at your coat in order to get you to rest. I’m half-convinced you still do—what I would give to have a portrait of it! It truly was a ridiculous look.

I suppose we both knew we’d never stop. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t get each other to take care of ourselves. 

I’m not with you, and I am awake. And since I cannot speak with you late into the night, distracting myself from such things, I must do the next best thing. I may not get your wry comments, or your half-laugh when I say something witty, or the way your brow furrows as you think over a problem I have proposed. All I have right now is this pen, and memories of those times. 

So, how is the Cape of Good Hope? How does your map of the stars fare? Do they invite you to those ridiculous parties there, all those stuffed shirts that hold our funding in their pockets? I don’t miss those parties. Honestly, you getting this project so far away truly has saved my soul there–

Oh. 

Oh, I don’t–I don’t know if I can continue pretending as if everything is normal. Even if only in a letter. My mind is a whirlwind, Hershey, and the only thing that even partially calms it is these words. Writing down, documenting what exactly has happened to me. 

I know exactly why I can’t sleep, and I just–

(The words become illegible here, through heavy scribbles.)

Damn it. 

I don’t plan to send this, so what should I care about here? It’s nothing but throwing my feelings into the void? I need to write this down, to say something about this before I scream aloud. 

Tonight was the anniversary of my Father’s death. 

And it was a day like any other. 

I didn’t even realise until halfway through the day. I was so caught up in checking the flywheels, making sure the bricks were not crumbling. Organising the workers, because you know I don’t rest when it comes to that. Tasks I’d completed a thousand times over, a steady routine. We’re still relatively well-staffed, so I was mostly just checking over work, encouraging the bricklayers. 

But, while I was in my place in the Township, I saw the sea from my window. 

I saw the waves swirling and rippling, and felt my heart freeze, icy seawater seeming to wave over my heart. 

I was thrown back to all those years ago. I feel I must have gone light-headed, as a thousand memories of that day burned through my mind in an instant. I don’t even remember the next couple of minutes–by the time I came back to myself, I was gasping on the chair of my room, trying to get back steady breath. 

I didn’t get much more work done after that. 

It’s been seventeen years and yet, I still feel my heart sink and sway whenever this day comes around, when I remember just how long it’s been. 

That’s why I’m writing this letter. After all, I ran out of tequila a couple of days ago, and haven't bothered to replenish it.

I miss you. I know why you’re gone, and I know that I can run this project by myself. That’s not why I need you. You’ve called me indomitable, and I know I live up to that. I don’t lie to myself, Hershey. The project is working, and every day I grow closer to seeing that new Polaris brightening the night sky. 

Instead, I miss having someone I could truly talk to. Spend hours speaking on the stars, on celestial astrophysics, on just how far we still have to go. On old memories of university, of those horrible parties we were both forced to attend, but made bearable simply by your presence. I miss being able to talk about my grief, even if I’ve never been brave enough to tell you its full extent. 

Who else is there to tell?

Because I certainly cannot speak to Charles about such things! That man hates everyone and everything in this place. I swear, every time I’m left alone with him, I grow closer to knocking him over the head with one of my heavier books. If I hear him muttering about Americans one more time—

Ugh, I’m getting off track. Perhaps I would rather focus on something else, but these feelings will consume me if I let them. So I cannot do anything but write.

I work above everyone else here. While I may be friendly, this is not the sort of thing you can tell a casual friend. My grief fuels me, just as it makes it harder to truly function some days. How do you explain that? Even with science on my side, I’ve never been able to say all of it aloud. 

Hershey, sometimes I can barely get out of bed. Sometimes the only thing fueling me is the fact that my Satellite will save so many people like my father. That no one will ever be stranded out in the ocean, that deep blue sea that's deeper than any expanses of space to me. That no one will ever have to watch their father sink into those depths-- swallowed entirely. Watch him disappear, know that he didn't know his place in the world when he died. 

God. 

I think that's the deepest blow of them all. I had to watch his eyes lose their light, his confidence replaced by fear and confusion. He had always known where to go, what to do, what next to say–but did he, really? Or is that just a child’s fantasy? A little girl’s dream, believing that her father would never falter? 

I’ve lived so much longer without him than I did with him. 

He’ll never know the woman I became. He’ll never know that I never abandoned my dream of the sciences, never fell for a man. He’ll never get the chance to truly know me, because I wasn’t even fully formed when I lost him. I was still becoming, still changing–and yet, he died only knowing a version of me that quite possibly no longer exists. Every time I think about it too long, Hershey, I swear it’s like I’m adrift again, the waves crashing over my small form. Being stabbed with blades of seawater. 

I do this all for him, and he will never know it. He will never know the woman his daughter became. I believe that he would have still loved me, still cared for me. But I’ll never know for sure, will I? 

Sometimes, I wake up and I'm back on that sea. Clinging to that driftwood like it's my only tether to the world. I was just as lost as my father, really. I was just the one who got to survive. Kicking, kicking, kicking, frantically trying to move towards a land that I wasn't quite sure existed.

I nearly gave up, Hershey. I was a child. Not even a decade past of life, having just lost–my world. My everything. I had nothing but my books, my father, and his crew - a life spent at sea, sailing the Caribbean, gone forever. Before that night, I believed that the sea was a home. That the waves would never overwhelm me, that they’d always bring me back to shore safely. 

I’ll never be that little girl again. There’s a reason I bring navigation gear everywhere, you know. …well, of course you don’t know. Sorry, Hershey. 

Every day, I wonder how I found the strength to survive it. You don't know how tight of a grip exhaustion can have on your heart, swirling around your skull, lulling you into letting go of everything you know. Until everything you have ever loved is gone in one storm. Those who are lost, never found again. 

But even as a child, I didn’t want to let myself be lost. 

I would not let Father's sacrifice be in vain. 

Not then. Not ever.

So I fought against the sea for weeks. I had my own personal battles with the waves, clinging to that driftwood like it was my Eden. I fell asleep, woke again gasping for air, fighting against tides roaring above my head. Even after so long, those memories don’t fade. I remember them as vividly as they were yesterday…even as my father’s laugh and voice fades from that same memory. Seawater tastes so bitter on your tongue, your blood racing up and down your veins as you scream into the stars, your voice going unheard for thousands of miles. Even writing this down makes me want to shudder.  

Now, it still makes little sense to me. It makes even less sense to me knowing more about the world. I should have died of hunger, of thirst, of lack of sleep. That risk should have killed me a thousand times, a child fighting against too much to bear. But I suppose even back then, the woman I would become, the indomitable Anna Hanover had started to emerge. 

That little girl survived, making it to shore. Only I remain of the Hanovers. 

My father is gone. 

But I will make his legacy live on. I will make it so that no one is never lost at sea, unsure of where they are in the world ever again. So that no children have to struggle against the sea, too tired and afraid to yet get to mourn. 

It is a vow I’ve made over and over, and one I will continue to make. 

God, it truly is late, isn’t it? I don’t know if as many of these words would have left me otherwise. My hand aches, the ink running low. I suppose I’ll have to replenish it in the morning. Add another task to the neverending pile. 

Anyways. I doubt I'll send this. 

But maybe one day I will. 

Maybe one day this letter will be meaningless, because I will have said all of this in person to you.  

But I don't–Hershey, I just don’t know. Imagine. Me, not knowing something. Not being able to talk about something! You know better than anyone just how much I can go on and on. It's heavy, this grief. It's been over fifteen years now, and I don't think the load has gotten any easier to carry. Father’s memory is the reason why my life’s work exists, after all. My grief and old love for him weigh on me almost as heavy, if not heavier than my Satellite.

Given how much I care for you, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to share my truth on these matters. If not you, then who? I may take lovers, may have friends—but you have been my dearest person for so long. You have gotten me through so much, been my friend so long, and yet the words die whenever I think of trying.

Good night, Hershey. I think I’ll try to sleep now. My eyes grow weary, and my hands shake. After all, I need to be up rather early tomorrow in order to . Sleep may be hard to come by. Perhaps it will come easier after baring my soul in this letter. 

A woman can only hope. 

I hope that wherever you are, your night has been more peaceful, more filled with stars, than mine. 

Your friend,

NOVA

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

I just finished the Button House Archives and it's SPECTACULAR. Here are some personal highlights:

I love Alison's additions and comments in lots of places. She is fighting tooth and nail to stay on those hinges, and we love to see a character with spunk!

Mick's facial reconstruction could be the most horrifying thing I have *ever* seen

Mary's bits are some of my absolute favourites. Her speaking/writing voice is just delicious

Pat was just a terrible group leader wasn't he XD the arrow was really just a matter of time. He should have gone orienteering with them first, then he might have lost the kids before they could kill him

HAH I unwittingly picked Kitty's "character quote" to use in my video edit :P I feel validated

Thomas with his painfully literal complaints about other people's poems OMG rip bestie you would have loved tumblr (I haven't listened to the audiobook yet but I swear I can hear his "counted them, did you?" through the page)

I really like the way you can glimpse parts of later documents around the edges of earlier ones (like with Pat's folder, where the layers are removed one at a time, p. 22-23, 40-41, etc)

Hang on, just gotta go put on One Night in Bangkok for Robin (wait, now I need to hear him say that out loud)

Cap's munitions requests and personally penned operations with their TERRIBLE hand drawn maps that he keeps sending to actual Southern Command; I am fascinated by your mind sir. I believe he suffers from the same affliction I had in school where a combination of the dunning-cruger effect regarding general knowledge and teachers not talking to you in person about what you write in hand-ins causes you to just sort of assume everything you do is brilliant and that then it simply disappears into an unknowable void, and therefore you feel basically free to confess to murder in writing without ever thinking of the consequences. Embarrassment and second thoughts are very much face-to-face kinds of emotions (as he. ahem. would come to find out). Like, is written communication even real? Did it ever really leave your head?

Also: his war diaries were published? 1) who chose to publish them and 2) did Havers ever come across them by any chance? (plus: love to see a fellow tiny handwriting person. Cheers!)

The hand lettering on everything is so well made!!! I know a little (heavy emphasis on 'little') about palaeography, and the writing styles are recognisably of their eras, if many of the letter forms have indeed been updated to be readable for modern audiences. Compare for example Arthur Pinhoe's writing from 1575 (p. 8-11) with this actual letter from 1547. Also this actual 1700s writing to Kitty's diary entries from 1779 (p. 70-71 etc). (These samples are in Swedish but minus åäö they're all the same letters.) The writing also follows the pattern of older script being generally more rigid and standardised, while the closer to present day we get the more individual the handwriting becomes, which is a great opportunity for additional characterisation—which has also been very well implemented I think. I'm devouring every page of this, line by line!

REST IN BRIEFS (also the sly tail of the 'y' from the Daily Mail title just visible above the only compassionate headline lmao)

The reason I cannot talk to people is that Fanny's etiquette rules on conversing take over my entire mind from the moment I see another person.

Oh Kitty, I am coming to pick you up—you can be my sister instead of Eleanor's. It was nice to read her final entry though; finally the trick backfired and she got something good out of it while Eleanor suffered. Bieetch.

FANNY. SINCERELY. YOU ARE INSANE. I already knew about the letter where she demands reimbursement for the unsunk 7/8 of the Titanic's journey that she was cheated out of, but to SIGN IT OFF WITH "Would be survisor/victim of the RMS Titanic". Unbelievable.

Pat write a legible word challenge

I have a slight suspicion Julian might have had something to do with the designs for the Boys Adventure Club badges...

The "pictures of the ghosts" will make excellent reference photos for the various rooms, I appreciate them very much (should we make a game out of copying them and filling in the ghosts? There is a lot of potential there)

Humphrey, my guy... do you need a hug? (Sorry.)

FLOOR PLANS FLOOR PLANS FLOOR PLANS THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH I WILL TREASURE THESE WITH MY LIFE

Robin's constellations are impeccable I say we officially replace the zodiac with these no more superstition only bum

Julian's final email was really well written; a single page yet it's oozing with character and story

The behind the scenes pictures at the end are heartwarming. I am slightly alarmed at my ability to pinpoint the precise scene in the specific episode many of them are from though... is it maybe time for a break?

No. Never!

[nottabear]

Diary of a Dark Consort

Summary: In an old manor you find an old crumbling journal. The entries within are written by some long gone nobleman's consort you can only assume by the delicate hand writing. The first entry starts over four centuries ago. The date is one you can remember, it was a big day for Baldurs Gate. The day a group of adventurers defeated a Nether brain and saved the city. It seems one of those adventurers kept a of record of their life after the great fight.

11 Krythorn, 1492

It is a big day for Baldur’s Gate and the entirety of Farun.  My friends and I have defeated the Netherbrain and with it stopped the Dead Three from bringing the realm to ruin. 

My hands shake with excitement as I write, my words a sloppy mess in my new journal.  I cannot fathom how I am even alive right now!  I took on beasts and monsters the mind could never imagine over the past moons.  All that remains of said monsters are guts and blood staining my boots and gloves.

I remember so little from the final fight against the brain.  I always felt Astarion watching over me the though, ensuring no harm came to me.  I played the somber tune of mortal ends as I watched him dance through bodies turning our enemies to fragments of the past. 

I wish I could remember more of the final fight.  I wanted to include the final battle in what will be my first published work; The very impossibly true adventures of Morgana Salvar I think I will title it.  The story of how a group of random adventures, survivors, took down a cult orchestrated by the dead three.  A best seller in all of Baldurs Gate I already know it.

Perhaps I can ask all the friends I made on this journey for their perspective of the final battle tomorrow.  It would be a wonderful addition to the book to have so many perspectives of the final fight in it.  I hope a few of them stay in Baldurs Gate long enough for me to see them again.  Lae’zel, Karlach, and Wyll have already left this plane.  Can you send letters to other planes?  I know I could use a spell, but they are so limited.  How do you even address a letter to the hells?  Do they have a postal service in the Astral Plane?  Shadowheart had mentioned wanting to continue to travel, explore the world outside the cloister.  I cannot wait to hear about all the places she visits.  I hope she writes.  I know Gale was eager to return to his tower in Waterdeep and Halsin will be returning to the wilds soon enough.  I do not blame Halsin for being so eager to leave the city.  I found so much beauty on this journey I had never found in the city.

Swimming in a serene lake bathed in moonlight. 

The tickle of tall grass on exposed skin. 

A lungful of fresh air. 

The taste of a freshly picked fruit.

I could go on for ages listing the beauties of nature I discovered, but not tonight. 

I must keep this entry short.  My fingers feel so tired as I hold this quill.  I must have been gripping my rapier with a death grip the entire day for the way they cramp.  All I crave is the comfort of a bed and the embrace of my love.  The Absolute has fallen and just like today, tomorrow will be a big day.  While my family survived the tavern, and home suffered a lot of damage.  Tomorrow I will go offer them aid in the repairs.  Tonight, I will sleep peacefully for the first time in many many moons. 

Life is bliss for once my journal.

>Next Entry>

Note: Hello hello! Diary of a Dark Consort is something I first posted on AO3 starting in March. Since then I have finished the story and am now working on final edits. As I finalize chapters I will post them here, on Tumblr. If you would like to read all the entries before edits you can see them here.

[shostakobitchh]

Hello! On my millionth re-read of Aim and Ignite, and would love to know how you would have wrote/envisioned Snape’s reaction to the memory Lily left for Ariel and him. When Lily says that she “loves them both”, Ariel doesn’t linger too much on those words as she knew Lily loved her dearly, having read so in the letter/seen Lily’s love and sorrow for her in the Mirror etc. I can only imagine what Snape must have felt when he heard Lily say that she loved him, even though she couldn’t truly know that he was “on his way back”... I think it’s interesting that Snape doesn’t ever think about/reflect on that moment, is it just too painful? Is it locked away forever in his mind? I absolutely adore your story and would love to hear your thoughts!

so, I love this question for two reasons.

(1) this was the very first thing I wrote for aim & ignite - the story was actually meant to end on this moment - and it is my favorite thing i’ve written thus far.

(2) I kept a lot of what Snape felt here a mystery because you’re completely right! he has never reflected on the memory, has never really thought about it. I actually don’t think I’ve ever written him ever even having a passing thought about this moment and how it’s affected him - and there’s absolutely a reason for that!

Short answer: yes, Snape finds it almost unbearable that she loved him, and he cannot mentally handle that memory, so he keeps it under lockdown. Notice that he doesn’t say a single word after they emerge from the memory - Ariel even remarks that she can’t tell if the hand on her shoulder is to comfort her, or to keep himself upright. She sees him in a very, VERY vulnerable state. I believe he’s covering his face, too - my original intention was that he was trying not to cry, actually - I know, a rare one for Snape! But it’s open to interpretation honestly.

The one thing he took away and keeps at the forefront is that Lily asked Snape to care for Ariel. She asked him to do what he should have done from the beginning, and he does, which you see when he’s strolling through Little Whinging with Ariel after the events of Book 1. He’s actually trying.

Long answer (I just typed all this out a deleted it I’m going to kill myself)

At the time, Lily had no idea what she felt for Snape. It’s my own personal headcanon that Lily always loved him, in a way, had some sort of crush but didn’t understand it until the Mudblood incident. That’s why the inciting incident of Snape saving Lily during battle drives her crazy in the flashback in Chapter 11 (I think it’s Chapter 11, anyway).

Snape, in the meantime, has always loved her - never stopped, never will. The idea that he HAD Lily - he could have had her after that night in the inn - probably could have saved her life - is crushing him. And this is ON TOP of the prophecy (and The Other Thing, but we’re not there yet).

And, despite all of his mistakes - “you’re on your way back.” Lily still believes in him. He showed her enough that night that she knows, somehow, someway, he’ll come back and do the right thing. For Snape to know she had that much faith in him - at a time when he was still a loyal Death Eater - he just can’t handle it. He can’t forgive himself for fucking up so massively.

Snape knows he could have saved Lily, but even with what happened between them it changed nothing, so he doesn’t think his love was enough. Lily, however, loved him knowing he wouldn’t come back - not for a while, anyway - but she had to try something - anything - for Ariel.

I also think finally confronting that memory will directly tie into how Snape feels about Ariel. He’s admitted he cares about her - okay, great. What’s he going to do with that? Well, right now, he’s caring in his Snape-way, but he’s not exactly doing it well. And why is that?

Because he loves Ariel and doesn’t know it yet.

And once he admits he loves Ariel, he can begin to make his way back to Lily, and what she tried to give him in the Pensive.

[ethelledraw]

So here I am, writing my version of Red and Blue. How I imagine (really short) the events of the first and second games. As usual, the traditional "English isn't my mother tongue blah blah blah". I'm not a writer at all, this is the first time I've written anything resembling fan fiction. Enjoy

Blue moves in with his grandfather in the small town of Bourg Palette when he's 4, along with his sister Daisy, after the death of their parents. He meets Red, who is the same age as him. Blue is a hyperactive boy who demands a lot of adult attention; Red is the opposite, as he doesn't speak and is very reserved. They complement each other perfectly, and Blue is Red's first friend. They share a love of pokemons and pokemon battles. At the age of 6, Blue tells Red about his dream of going on an adventure with his Pokemon, and Red immediately decides that this is what he wants to do too, and that they should go together. Around age 9, Blue's attitude changes when he learns that Red wants to become a Pokemon Master like him. This is absurd, since only one of them can become a pokemon master.

From then on, their friendship was over for Blue, giving way to a rivalry. Red never stopped thinking of Blue as his friend. At the age of 10, Red had no idea what was at stake in becoming a pokémon master. All Red knew was that he loved pokemon battles and wanted to find ever-stronger opponents to fight.

He never thought a pokémon fight would end his friendship with Blue. When Red won for the umpteenth time against Blue, he didn't feel it was anything special. He was just happy to fight Blue, because he's always loved sharing his passion with his best friend. He hadn't expected to see Blue with the saddest expression he'd ever seen. Professor Oak arrived and made things worse. Blue decomposed, ran off without looking back, and Red heard Blue say something so softly that only he could hear it, "I hate you". Red was completely lost, wondering "Did I do that? Did I make Blue so sad?". Red was warmly congratulated on becoming the new master, and that's when Red realized that this wasn't just another fight with Blue. That he'd just stolen Blue's dream without even realizing it. Without thinking about Blue's feelings.

After that, it got worse, he became the most famous person in Kanto in a matter of days. All he wanted was to go on an adventure with his best friend and live quietly away from anyone's attention, and all he managed to do was lose the only friend he ever had and his tranquility.

It was unbearable, his ears ringing constantly, the noise never stopping, so he left, as far away as possible for him. He left a letter for his mother, he felt bad leaving it, but just the idea of seeing Blue again and having to face the fact that his best friend hated him haunted him, he wanted to be left alone. For a while or maybe forever. Maybe if he was gone, Blue would take over the title like nothing had happened.

Red has disappeared. Blue is deeply saddened by the disappearance of his best friend. He can't help but wonder if Red would never have left if he'd been nicer to him. Blue was so focused on himself that he never thought to ask Red if he was all right. Blue wondered why Red had left. He didn't even leave him a letter. Red's strong, they've always squabbled since they were kids but it's never bothered them before. He wonders if at some point he'd crossed the line without realizing it. The day he last saw Red is a fog in his mind. The second he saw his pokémon on the ground and realized he'd lost, everything became a blur.

After that, Blue took some time to recover. The fact that he'd lost his dream and his best friend at the age of 11 was pretty hard to take in. But when Lance offered him the chance to become an gym leader, he didn't hesitate. He had nothing else to lose after all.

Blue met Leaf at his grandfather's laboratory. Since neither he nor Red had completed the pokedex, he decided to entrust the task to this new trainer. She took the bulbasaur that he and Red hadn't chosen at the time, and it was rather nostalgic to see that this Pokemon hadn't changed since then, while Blue felt that his life had been completely turned upside down since then. She was the same age as him (13). He gave her all the advice he could and wished her luck. Blue hadn't felt like going on adventures to fill the pokedex for a long time.

One day at his gym, Blue (almost 14) met Gold, a kid of almost 12 who had already defeated every champion in Johto.

Gold bears no resemblance to Red, but when he fights, Blue almost feels as if he's reliving one of his fights with Red. He'd missed fighting a trainer with such talent. Blue lost, but he hadn't felt so alive in a long time. The kid was annoying, but he liked him. Which turns out to be a mistake, as Gold ends up dropping in on Blue a little too often to fight and chat, but Blue never finds it in his heart to say no to him. Then one day Gold tells him about a super-powerful guy he's fought against many times before winning at Mount Silver. Blue doesn't pay much attention, as there are a lot of crazies wandering around the mountain, although finding someone as strong as Gold is impressive.

Red doesn't know how long he's been on this mountain, he comes down from time to time to buy food with the money he's collected on his adventure. But he keeps social interaction to a minimum.

One morning, while training his Pokemon as usual, he came face to face with a kid, younger than him. They fought, of course. And Red won, of course. But the kid kept coming to fight and chat with him, despite Red's lack of words. Red learns that Gold isn't just a trainer, but a pokemon master. Red always tries to beat him quickly and wave him off, but as time goes by, Gold develops new strategies and beats more and more of Red's pokemon. Eventually, Red came to enjoy these fights. It's been a long time since he's fought another trainer. It even reminds him of Blue. When he fights Gold... He thinks of Blue and doesn't appreciate it. It's his talent for fighting that has ruined his friendship with Blue. If only he'd lost... If only he could find someone who could beat him. He could find Blue and tell him "I've lost, I'm no longer the master of Kanto".

After a few weeks, Gold returned as usual. They fight as usual, but Gold is gaining ground, the battle is extremely close, the pokemons of both boys one by one falling to the ground in the course of this fierce battle. They're both so focused on the fight that nothing exists anymore! Pikachu is knocked out, Red touches his belt to send another pokemon- but... he has none left. Gold's typhlosion stands trembling in the middle of the snow-covered field, Gold's last pokémon, and it's still standing. Red lost. Gold hadn't realized that Pikachu was Red's last Pokemon either, and when he did, he let out a huge cheer! At last he's won after months of trying. Red doesn't realize it right away. It's the first time he's lost in his life, he... doesn't know how he's supposed to feel. He should be sad, that's what he tells himself, normally when you lose you're sad. But at that moment, Red never felt so free. As if someone had taken a weight off his shoulders. He's no longer the perfect undefeated trainer.

It's time for him to go home.

Blue is at his gym as he should be (even if he usually prefers to wander than work, but anyway). He's waiting patiently for the dreamy, hopeful trainers to show up so Blue can ruin their day (we're having all the fun we can).

"Blue get ready, a challenge is coming" one of the trainers in her gym informs him.

Finally, some entertainment. Blue hears the challenger arrive as he prepares his Pokeballs. He turns to his opponent to quotes his usual gym leader speech.

When Blue's eyes widened.

"...Red ?"

[shivunin]

Codex prompts, 11 or 13, for any of your Lavellans?

Thank you so much for the prompt! c: For something written about your OC in the two years between defeating Corypheus and the beginning of Trespasser: (1196 words, no warnings)

A letter of fine (if worn) parchment. It is sealed with emerald wax, a sparrow in flight pressed into the wax. 

My dearest Vernin, 

I can only hope that this missive finds you well and beyond the worst effects of that dreadful summer ague. It is a troublesome thing indeed when one cannot find prolonged rest from one’s duties, but I trust your retainer has had better luck than you at keeping out your rather formidable relatives. Good chap, Reginald, and all the more intimidating with every year that passes. You can tell him I said so—I think it would amuse him.

Now, as for myself—I must relate to you a most curious interaction I had this past week while journeying through the southern part of the empire. It is my hope that this strange incident will offer you some entertainment, as I have had difficulty thinking of anything else in the days since.

As I related when last we spoke, I have been journeying to my so-called sister in law’s family holdings in the Emerald Graves. There are many odd trinkets and curios which she had grieved most incessantly after the family was forced to flee to Val Royeaux. After weeks of hearing about it, I was happy enough to offer to retrieve them myself—empty manors being far better company than the woman in question. 

It was on the last leg of the journey, traveling through the Graves at last, when I heard the oddest sort of scratching sound off to the side of the main road. It did not sound like the many crows I’d passed that day, nor like the occasional august rams rooting about in the dirt. No, this sound rather reminded me of you, my dear, when you are most caught up in the fervor of your art. Of course, I had to step off the road and seek the source of the sound. I am far too curious a creature to do otherwise, as you well know. 

I am very glad that I did look, for on the other side of the rise I found an elven woman, hair wound about her head in an intricate helmet of braids. She was crouched before an odd sort of cairn and was taking a charcoal rubbing of the writing on the face of it. I do not know that she saw me before I spoke, but when I did she stood and reached for a staff half-fallen into the thick brush beside her. 

Well, I wished the lady (and I could see that she must somehow be a lady, for her cloak was as thick and fine as any of yours) a good morrow, asked her if I might inquire what she was about, all that sort of thing. All the while, she watched me with eyes of an uncanny green. I could swear, Vernin, that an uncanny light flickered behind them. It called to mind that most dreadful rift in the sky last year, and for a moment my usual ease with strangers nearly sputtered out entirely. 

“Thank you for asking,” she told me when I faltered, the picture of politeness. “I am making a survey of the area. There are grave markers like this all over the wood, you see, and I want to make sure they’re recorded somewhere in case some other conflict comes through and destroys them.” 

She went on to explain that she had made something of a study on the empire her people had built there, with a particular focus on the ruins scattered about the place. It is strange—I have gone to visit my brother more than once and I have never once wondered about the place beyond a passing idle curiosity. I’d intended only to see what she was about and be on my way, but I found myself offering her some of my own trail rations so I might go on listening to her talk about it. The lady accepted them graciously and offered some sort of tea in turn, a smoky-tart sort of thing I think you might have enjoyed. 

Now, I know what you are thinking, my darling Nin. “This story sounds rather like every other journey we’ve taken,” you might say, with a lovely smile tucked into the corner of your serious mouth. Ah, I suppose you might be right. It was not so very different from other meetings I have had on the road, after all. The difference here—aside from the lady’s near-encyclopedic knowledge of elven history in the region—is how our little repast ended. 

I was already shaking her hand and asking where I might find more comprehensive reading on the subject when a rather intimidating soldier woman stomped out from behind a nearby copse of trees. I suppose I might have thought the two of us in danger—her expression was grim as a funeral—except the lady turned with a smile and greeted the woman with a comfortable familiarity. We said our goodbyes then, and I might have never marked the entire incident as more than an interesting diversion from the course, if it hadn’t been for the name the soldier called her as they walked away. 

“Inquisitor,” she said. The Inquisitor.

 I am quite certain it really was her, too—her face had some otherworldly quality to it, as if she truly had been touched by the Bride herself. I have met the Inquisitor face to face, and even shaken her hand! Well, it is a great deal more than my brother has managed, no matter which strings he tries to pull in the court. I had quite the private chuckle over the entire affair, I can assure you of that! 

Of the rest of my journey, I fear I shall have to write in greater detail when I reach the next town. The light grows dim and I have already spent my last candle reading a volume on the history of the Emerald Knights.  

Do take care of yourself, my darling. I hope to pass your way again soon. 

Yours, 

Albertine D—

The signature at the bottom of the letter is faintly smudged along the surname. A postscript follows, written in slightly lighter ink:

The Inquisitor did say something you might find interesting. Well—I found it interesting, I suppose I ought to say. 

She said, “Each of these names had meaning beyond what we will ever hope to know. They are part of a story we may never find the beginning of, the ending of which will stretch far beyond our small lives. I am only a steward of the time in which they lived, and I will record all I can before I, too, am only a name etched in stone.” Or something like that—forgive me for paraphrasing.

I thought it a bit odd in the moment, if somewhat moving. Since then, I have been thinking—about your brother, dear Nin. I know you yet mourn him, and that his body has yet to be recovered from the Plains. I do not suppose that I’ve more to say here, only that—well. I thought you might want to hear those words, too. 

All my love, always—

A

[notinmyvocab]

All odd number questions!

Buckle up lads, it's a long one!

What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? -Usually whatever the default font is, though sometimes I'll use the Comic Sans trick if I'm stuck. Sometimes i'll get fancy and use a typewriter font.

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed? -the fact that I don't have one. Very cursed.

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true? -that if I talk about my current work in too much detail with someone, I lose the motivation to write it because now the idea exists outside of my head. So if I'm really passionate about a piece, I won't say much about it.

7. . What is your deepest joy about writing? -putting that guy in situations. And the milfs

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know -hell fucking yeah I do.

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve? -I don't grieve, but I am pretty ruthless.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy? -smut. Some people think I'm good at it and when I'm drunk, it comes easily but mostly I can't just write smut. Bloody imagery comes really easily though.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends? -sometimes I'll write in the margins of pages. I don't dog ear them because a lot of my books are old and doing that will rip the paper. I used to judge people who did these things but now I see it as a sign of love.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text. -oh god. Gonna do Woe Begets Misery (so @yourlocaldisneyvillain here's a little present!). Um, let's see... Isabel Noble lives in a haunted house in Los Angeles, though we won't be seeing it in this installment. She was adopted and her birth mother was clairvoyant. Her birth father was named Lawrence and was driven to madness both by the haunted house and Isabel's mother (girl power). She has had her heart broken a million times and will never learn from it. Her adoptive father, Derek Noble, has a face claim: Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. He was a good dad, but his death wreaks havoc on Isabel's mind.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going? -I started writing when I was veryyyyy little. I wrote a diary when I was six but it was fictitious, so that was the start. Lot of bumps. Finally got into playwriting.

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not? -Nope could never quit writing. My mind is too full.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture. -My thoughts are around me. I tune out everything. It's just me and a blur. And a hot drink.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story? Isabel Noble had braces and wore a retainer.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why? Gregory House. He's complex and I tend to soften him more than he is.

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry? Life. My own horniness.

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate? I do some painting, but keep it separate

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

Dear beloveds,

You are genuinely the reason I keep going.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens? Incomplete sentences. Sometimes the cadence calls for it.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you? "Get this girl some therapy... I hope she found a milf to love her."

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up? My ideas.

[seeyouafter]

SYA Extended Notes Ch. 15

Notes for "See You After" Chapter 15: Katsuki's Recent Messages: May 30-June 24

It's been a while since I've done one of these. Part of the reason is that even though some pretty big emotional beats happened (including the reason I gave up on keeping the fic canon compliant), I do want the story to speak for itself.

For the most recent chapter though, I wanted to give some additional insight on the text convos and the corresponding letters that they connect with.

(This was mainly for my own reference because I had so many notes in my draft document while writing to make sure the dates made sense so I figured I'd share them in case anyone else was interested.)

Also, scroll to the very end for thoughts on the content of Uraraka's texts.

Tues. May 30: Bakusquad visit mentioned in Ch. 4 (Katsuki's letter on 5/31)

I wrote the letter referencing their visit before I knew I was going to add texting into the fic but I think the main thing I wanted to do with this day's texts (other than introducing the format) was to have Jirou "officially" join the Bakusquad because I love her and I think her dynamic with Katsuki (and the rest of the group) is a lot of fun to see.

Sun. June 4: Most of Class 1-A returns to the work study assignments, referenced in Ch. 8 (Katsuki's letter on 6/8)

We already saw Katsuki's (and Shouto's) struggling with not being able to do anything in the aftermath, but I think the others would also have some complicated feelings about being back.

Thur. June 8: Conversation about the manga Sero lent Katsuki, which was referenced in the letters in Ch. 6-8

I didn't intend to have this be a recurring topic but it did present a good opportunity to bring up Shouto naturally in the conversation. Of course, the rest of the class is worried about him too, and are trying to reach out even though he's still not responding to them.

Sat. June 10: The Tribute to Fallen Heroes broadcast mentioned in the news article in Ch. 9 and again in Katsuki's letter on 6/16 after finding out about Edgeshot.

While canon could very well go the route of a "perfect win" for the heroes, I think it makes more sense that there would be a significant number of heroes lost, considering the fact that they lost Midnight and several others during the PLF war arc and this battle is supposed to be even higher stakes.

Also, Jirou pointing out that it's a miracle they all survived...is that a little too meta?

Tues. June 13: Updated Hero Rankings article This wasn't directly referenced in the letters, but the date of this article and text thread was the same day as Katsuki's letter in Ch. 11.

My thought is that Katsuki had already written his response to Shouto's previous letter but before he sent it, he saw the article, which prompted the additional letter to Endeavor.

Also, it might seem questionable that Endeavor is still Number One, but in my mind, all the HPSC did was remove the names of heroes who were no longer active and everyone remaining just moved up accordingly, the way they did after All Might's retirement.

Fri. June 16: This is the day Katsuki found out about Edgeshot and wrote the letter in Ch. 13.

The rest of the texts speak for themselves, but I wanted to comment on Uraraka's texts:

It might seem a little strange that she texted Katsuki and that he actually replied but in my mind, even though they're not that close compared with their other classmates, they've had a mutual respect for each other ever since the sports festival. Also, Ochako is canonically very empathetic and it would make sense to reach out to him because one of her main things has always been "who will save the heroes when they're hurting?"

If you look closely at the timestamps on the texts, she did talk to Izuku before his final text with Katsuki in this chapter, after Katsuki told her to tell Izuku to leave him alone. (I spent wayyyy too much time cross-referencing things in some of these sections)

Also, Toga being alive is not just a throwaway line. Whether or not she survives in canon, she is alive in this universe and although it won't be a main focus, it will be important. (it's not tochako though, sorry. I think it can be a cute ship but that's just not where this is going.)

[hinagamoizaf]

She moves the same way stars dance in the night Chapter 11: Trading stories

An extract : We keep our gaze ahead,the owls are louder as the moon becomes the brightest it has been tonight. The Princess edges her hand close to mine, her little finger stretched out. I curl mine around hers,mimicking the many days we made promises as children. 

“There is some comfort in knowing that in another lifetime, we'd still choose each other despite the odds,” this private thought heard by an audience of only her ears has me coloured with the hues of a rose. “And past our time together,you're trying everything you could do to secure a path for us.”

“The witchly version of me is a fighter it seems,” the Princess says with a spark in her eyes.

“I didn’t get to thank you for your time today,Lord Ishida.” “I’m simply upholding my duties,Your Highness,” I utter, even with the intimacy of this night, I insist on putting forth the titles that divide us. “Perhaps if you were to train me so well,Prince Sora would be afraid to have me as his bride,” the Princess jests. “What a cowardly prince he would be if that be the reason,” I remark, tightening our little fingers as if this is how we can stay together, just the two of us and the promises we’ve yet to make from our hearts. “You’re at fault too. For writing such a letter,” she says with a slight tremble, then her tone follows the firmness of the vast seas. The Princess rests her head against my shoulder, and this moment becomes our eternity;solidifying itself in our memory. I turn my head slightly, daring for my parted lips to brush against the crown of the Princess’s head. “You're a princess to the world,but you'll always be the queen of my heart,” I whisper to Hikari.

“You're not being fair…my Lord,” I watch as her skin colours itself with the same hues of that rose.”But I wasn’t being fair either when I said you’re my lord.” “I pray to a higher being and follow your brother’s commands,” I breathe in the scent of her hair as the Princess tilts her head slightly as we lock eyes, “But you’re the only one I’ll bow to.” “My Lord,these nights and seconds spent together have pieces of us written all over it. Right now,a part of me lives in your heart as you do in mine,” the Princess says with grace. “But even during the days and hours we spend apart, I have told the stars to shower you with the love I cannot give in person.”

“Do we have any more news on my brother’s coronation?” she shifts the conversation into something else. “I know just as much as you do, Your Highness,” I answer. “It’s drawing so close.” The owls abruptly shriek and another flurry of winged creatures passes us. Hikari gasps. Her little finger uncurls itself from mine, the texture of the hollow log beneath us is replaced by a stone chair; and my heart sinks knowing this is another Hikari that an older Yamato has loved.

“Can’t you read a room?” I exhale deeply with the utmost frustration.

The witchly Hikari glides to a corner of the ill-lit room, gesturing to a pot of a warm beverage. I declined her hospitality during this vicious visit.

“Could you imagine if you were on that throne,the eldest son destined to rule,” she proposes this alternate lifetime. “And the status of your families have swapped,the house of Yagami nobles were indebted to the royal Ishidas. Would you change the rules, and take Hikari as your queen?”

I don’t answer her, because this hypothetical had never once crossed my mind,and fathoming it now would be lunacy.

“Well isn’t that the thing about new humans? You faithfully follow the rules of your long,gone elders who couldn’t care less about you,” the witchly Hikari continues. “Why,I studied witchcraft with my lost brother. The art of the devil as old wives called it.”

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 9 December 1832

7 ½

11 25

Damp soft morning F52° at 7 ¾ - breakfast with my father at 8 50 came to my room at 9 ¾ - ruled the last page of letter index and filled it up from 16th ultimo today inclusive – from 10 ¼ to 11 40 wrote 3 pp. and ends to Mademoiselle de Noé – kind chitchat letter – Lady S- de R- had told me of the all being at Lady Dysarts’ at Ham – always regretted I had not written more immediately on my return home ‘but the fact was, I had so perpetually the idea of being back in Paris, that I waited to tell you the time till so long had clasped, I was ashamed – yet I really did write from Hastings, about a year ago, when I again, tho’ as much in vain as ever (for cholera and friends prevented) hoped to see you in the course of a few days’ – sure if she would have written had she received this letter unless as was possible I had omitted to say that anything directed to me here (Shibden hall near Halifax, Yorkshire) would always fine me sooner or later – ‘were I really and absolutely at home, I should hope to find some means of getting you over the distance of two hundred miles, but I myself, heaving been so long detained by one thing or other, am impatient to be off, and may perhaps see you before you leave England – at any rate, I trust this is little likely to be your last visit to our island, and that you will be my guest somewhere or other, in no long time to come’ -.......... ‘I think of being in Paris again, at least for a short while, by and by’ – ask if they have still their house in the r. de l’université – the lease was to expire last Xmas – the weather more like April than December etc. etc. my kind regards – my aunt’s compliments – ‘it will give me real pleasure to have a good account of you – Believe me always very truly and sincerely yours A. Lister’ – began with saying Lady S- de R- told me of their being in England and that I could not help congratulating them – ‘I neither do nor shall forget all the kind attention I have received from your family nor have I thought so little of the pleasant drives you and I used to have, as you probably imagine’ – went down to my aunt at 11 55 – read the prayers and sermon 21 Mr. Knight in 50 minutes – then staid talking to my aunt till near 2 when Letter 3 pages and one end and one line or 2 of the other from M- Lawton - mentioning the unexpected death of their housekeeper poor Routledge on Thursday night - M-  had been much harassed - asks me for an inscription for a headstone - mentions a man that has lived 2 years with the Kinnersleys  a native of Lawton ‘a remarkably handsome fine-looking young man’ and from her account likely enough to suit me - ‘understands horses and carriages but not driving - would much like to go abroad, has a good character, and as far as words go, promises very fair’..... ‘and I believe would be most glad to do anything in the way of making himself useful’ - from 2 to 3 wrote 3 pages and ends to M- in answer to all the above - sorry for their loss of so valuable a servant – give the following

Sacred to the memory of

aged --- years

who died the 6th of December 1832,

at Lawton hall in this parish

in the place capacity of housekeeper to

Mr. and Mrs. Lawton  

who erect this stone, in token of

their respect, and obligation for

her long and faithful services.

she did her duty in that state of life,

unto which it pleased God to call her.

 Think from her account the young man might suit me - ‘I do not mind his knowing nothing about driving - got, as he will be much more footman than anything else, I shall be satisfied if he will take a good care of the carriage (always clean it himself abroad unless I hereafter determine differently) and do anything in the world I tell him, never minding whether it is his place or not’ - must take things as they come - must be thoroughly respectable, and good tempered, and to whom Mr Kinnersley will give such a character as will make me trust the man implicitly’ - if M- herself applies to Mr K- and seems particularly anxious on my account, perhaps she will get a true character - dread such a narrow escape as I had of Bado - why did he leave the K-s? only hope he is not a vulgar looking servant - shall not want him till January ‘tell me what you think about wages - I am always satisfied with all you do for me - tho’ I would rather not give too high wages at 1st till I know whether he deserves them’ - a little scholarship necessary - must have some enterprise, or ‘will soon be tired of the continent long before I shall have, or, at least, am likely to have any inducement to return - If I could, I should be off post haste to my friend at Rome - mention the De Noes being at Lady Dysart’s (Ham close to Richmond park) and having just finished a letter to Mademoiselle de N- ‘Do pray let me hear from you in a day or two - I do not mind a long letter, only let me see your handwriting - you have kept up none of the good, old-fashioned regularity for ages - God bless you, Mary! I am always very entirely and especially yours AL’ – wrote the whole of this page till 3 25 – out at 3 55 walked up and down in my walk and came in at 5 ½ - dinner at 6 – at 6 ½ sent off my letters to M- ‘Lawton hall, Lawton, Cheshire’ and to ‘Mademoiselle mademoiselle de Noé at the countess of Dysarts’ Ham Hall near Richmond Surrey’ Read from page 128 to 157 volume 1 (Miss Walker’s) Plutarch’s lives - and of Lycurgus and beginning of Numa – then asleep an hour on the sofa – went into the other room at 9 ¼ - read over the courier – came to my room at 10 40 at which hour F53 ½° fine, soft day -

[madam-wakefield]

Open when... Chapter 12

AO3 Link FF Link

Summary:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 When a few years into their relationship Bernie is asked to go back to the army and deploy Serena isn’t sure how she’s going to get through the nine months without her girlfriend. What she doesn’t expect is for it to be her girlfriend who has the perfect set of surprises to get her through both the best and the worst days. Canon divergent - Elinor lives (well actually the accident never happens), Raf lives, and Cameron isn’t a total ass! The staff of AAU also probably didn’t all work on there at the same time in canon but do in this! The fic is already fully written with the first few chapters having already been Beta’d. 27 chapters including the epilogue. Hoping to post every Monday and Friday!

Open when you want to reminisce…

Serena has spent the day putting up Christmas decorations. She loves Christmas and always has, even as a little girl from which she has fond memories of a house decorated beautifully and the excitement she always used to feel as the big day drew closer.

Elinor had come round to join her and Jason to decorate the Christmas tree, a real one, of course. They’d shared lunch together after that, and she loves the way that Elinor’s and Jason’s relationship has developed since she took Jason in, originally worrying that it would never happen. 

She’d have thought Elinor would have wanted to go home then, but she’d asked if they could watch Elf, her favourite Christmas film and when Jason had said it was one he enjoyed too, Serena couldn’t say no. She couldn’t help but think as the three of them sat on the sofa that there was just one thing missing however:  Bernie. This is their third Christmas together but they are spending it physically apart. She had pushed the thought from her mind, had known Bernie would want her to enjoy this time and not spend it worrying about her.

It’s only now, that Elinor has gone home and Jason has gone up to bed that she’s had time to finish the last few bits of the decorating, adorning the photo frames with silver tinsel. She’s doing okay, until she gets to the one of her and Bernie, taken at the first Holby Christmas party they had attended as a couple, Bernie in a simple navy suit, with that shirt Serena loves on her so much, Serena herself in a deep red floor-length dress. The happiness in both their eyes is strong enough to have been captured in the picture.

And suddenly she misses Bernie more than she has in weeks, and she just needs to be able to remember more happy memories. She goes to her room and extracts the box of envelopes from her closet. She’d brought it home in case she wanted to open any during her week off. She hadn’t wanted to take the time off, but she’s got holiday time to use up and Hansen had insisted.

She finds the envelope she wants and goes back downstairs, of course, pouring herself a glass of wine. She considers turning the main living room light on but then decides she’ll read the letter using the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, her sometimes dodgy eyesight be damned.  

“Serena, open when you need to reminisce…” and right now it’s exactly what she does need.

My Dearest Serena,

You feel like a little reminisce and this is my way to help you. We’ve had so many wonderful unforgettable moments together and I just want to remind you of some of them, to bring a little smile to your face. I wish I could write them all but if I did I’d be here forever.

I’ve picked a variety of special memories for us, a few of them are from before we even started dating. From the moment we first laid eyes on each other to our last date night before I deployed, I tried to pick memories that we both find special, that we both still talk about frequently.

The first has to be the day we met, you getting mad at your car and telling me I didn’t look like a mechanic. Laughing over my crazy love for cigarettes and your need for a nice glass of Shiraz, we should have known then how well we’d slot together.

I can’t write you a letter about reminiscing and forget to mention a certain ‘plumber by trade’ patient who caused us to have a fun little arm wrestle. I thought in the weeks just before that that I’d messed up with you for good, and well at that point the laughs I got to have with you that day were very much needed.

The next memory has grown to have so much more meaning now than either of us could have ever known when you first said the word: “Equals.” Called into Hansen’s office after lying to you again, even if it was to protect you, I thought I was a goner, and then you told Hansen we were equals. It was one of the first times I’d ever felt truly valued in the civilian world. And how that word has come to evolve, now as girlfriends, partners, lovers, equal in every sense of the word, except for nominal rank of course.

I guess the next memory would have to be the trauma bay, the way you believed in me despite everything. The surgeries we’ve performed together, the people we’ve saved because of it. And now here you are running it for me with Raf! Remember I want my spot back once I’m home.

The next memory comes with more mixed emotions. Our first kiss, there in the theatre of AAU, having just performed lifesaving surgery on our friend and colleague. Even to this day I couldn’t tell you what made me do it, other than that I wanted to. But despite what came for a time after, I wouldn’t change that decision for the world. I kissed you that day and it was like the world righted itself. I know it isn’t what you had planned for your life either, but I think I can speak for you when I say, I guess that kiss really did change our lives.

I’m not going to save your blushes during this little reminisce so I’m afraid I must bring up the girl from Stepney. Talking of Stepney we still never have made it there, I think we should put it in as a date, maybe for four years after the conversation happened?

What can I go on to from there to say other than  an Italian with an extensive wine list? Sitting in that restaurant with you for the first time never could I imagine what was going to unfold the next day or over the coming months. Me running off to Ukraine because I didn’t know how to face my own feelings. At times we were both idiots, but it turned out for the best in the end, and we’ve had many a pleasant date night there since, though not enough for you to have made it through that extensive wine list yet.

You have to know what the next memory is, your delightful nephew playing cupid, and where would we be without him? Neither of us were brave enough to say what we needed to do without him. And I will be forever grateful that he locked us in that office on the day we now call our anniversary. Even just thinking about that kiss, the way it felt to be back in your arms after so long makes me feel tingly all over. It might not have been the most delicate kiss or the average way to get together, but it is so perfectly us!

For one of our first proper dates, we decided to go ice skating seeing as it was December and the open-air ice rink had been erected for Christmas. I very ungracefully smashed into the back of you almost landing us both up in hospital. Instead, I brought you hot chocolate to apologise and vowed I’d never step foot on ice again.

Then it was our holiday together to Italy. I’ll never forget the way your eyes lit up when you first laid eyes on Venice, or that special kiss we shared in the gondola. The special time we had to just be us and learn all about each other. And the sex was pretty incredible too!

It wasn’t long after that you gave me the keys to your house, told me that you didn’t want to have to be without me most nights with the knowledge that I was in my tiny little flat when your house was more than big enough. The idea terrified me as much as it excited me. But for the first time, I managed to voice my worries to you instead of running, I’d gotten good at running by then. I’ll never forget how proud you were as you looked at me as I voiced my concerns to you. I guess that’s when things really changed for us, isn’t it? I learned I didn’t need to run, that you didn’t expect or need me to be perfect, you just needed me to be myself. Two weeks later I did my back in moving boxes, though I guess it was worth it for the amazing massage I got.

It wasn’t until we’d been together a year that Elinor finally agreed to meet me properly. I was so nervous, but you kissed me and reminded me that you loved me and that I didn’t need to be anything I wasn’t. That the fact you loved me should be good enough for Elinor. It was awkward but we made it through, and I hope over time my relationship with Elinor will keep improving, and maybe one day Charlotte will be willing to meet you too.

Then there was that day when we went to the beach together. We had a fabulous day, we played in the arcades, ate fish and chips and far too much ice cream. I even managed to convince you to have a paddle in the sea. Then you told me you couldn’t stand getting sand on your feet once they were wet, so I told you I’d piggyback you over to the bench. You didn’t believe I could manage it, as if you’d forgotten I was in the army for over twenty-five years. I managed it and we fell about on the bench laughing as if we were teenagers and not two middle-aged women.

And then a few months later my call to go back to the army came, and that intense fear to shut people out welled up inside me again, but then we talked it through and for the first time in my life I was with someone who understood that being part of a relationship meant being able to let the other person have what they need and you told me you’d support me if I needed my closure.

You treated me to a final date, a week before I deployed, and you wanted to make sure we could both thoroughly enjoy ourselves. A meal at that posh restaurant which you knew I’d both love and hate at the same time. It’s a good thing I’ve been in the officer’s mess enough times to know how to behave! I’m sure you just used it as an excuse to get me drunk though, and it worked! Though I can’t say I’m complaining, and it’s a good thing neither of us had work the next day, as even if we hadn’t had hangovers, neither of us could exactly walk properly! You really do know how to show a girl a good time!

And then just like that we knew it was time for me to get ready to leave and that’s what led to this letter, and I will never be able to put into enough words just how thankful I am that you’ve let me do this. I’m not sure how far into my deployment I am but what I do know is I can’t wait to make more memories with you.

I’m going to sign this letter off without saying anything else more except that I love you and miss you and that I really can’t wait to make more memories with you.

All My Love, Bernie,

Your Big Macho Army Medic x

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

10, 11, 12 for the writers asks!

Oh man these were good ones. The second one got away from me LOL

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

To me, "haunting" means that even if you haven't read the story in years, you still think about it, and it still influences your work.

A piece that has truly haunted me for years is Love Will Tear Us Apart, a love story between a zombie and a zombie hunter told in second person, from the short story collection Zombies vs Unicorns. I read it as a teenager and to this fucking day I think about it regularly.

As for my own writing... I mean there are some bad pieces of writing I did in my earlier years that "haunt" me in that sometimes they pop into my mind and I cringe at the memory. I would say the closest thing to "haunting" in the more traditional sense for me is a couple of my poems that I've written. They were penned in a fit of trauma and fury, and I still think about them. I think they're some of the rawest and most honest things I've ever written. I don't know if they're good, exactly. I hope they are. But I think they say something real.

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I mean you're asking the person who orphaned 100 of her old fanfics because she was sick of looking at them when she logged onto Ao3 so...

(and yes. I do grieve.)

I believe that "kill your darlings," like most writing advice, is something you should be aware of but not follow to the letter. I think that as writers we can definitely get over-indulgent, or be unaware of when we're being self-indulgent, and so we need to listen when others (editors, beta readers, etc) point those moments out. For example I have a thing for sticking women in pretty dresses for stupid plot reasons because I'm gay, and I had to cut that shit out because it was just way too indulgent. Yes, we all love pretty women in pretty dresses, Mads, you need to stop shoehorning it into your stories.

My "darling graveyard" is more the overall plots that I've had to bury. A thing I've actually done several times now is taken two separate plots and combined them, which made the story and characters richer and got me out of a major block I was having with both plots when they were separate. But there are a few plots I've had to take out back and put down like Old Yeller, and they reside in a neatly-kept graveyard lined with flowers.

Mayhaps someday I'll resurrect one or two, now that I'm older and wiser. I might be able to make something out of them that I couldn't before. But most of them were really just... a fun premise and characters, but no real plot, or at least none I could really put together. Sometimes I have rescued the characters from the crappy plot and placed them in a new story - characters tend to live on in my head rotating through stories until I find the right one for them.

I'm not really one to weep over killing a darling if it's, say, a scene that's not working. I've murdered quite a few of those in my fanfics as I think I've mentioned in previous ask games. I don't mourn those. They weren't working, I axed them, I did what needed to be done. No fuss no muss.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules.

My wishes would be to be able to write my fanfiction and original novels full time and thrive financially, to un-orphan my fanfics and anonymize them instead, and to actually come up with a good plot for the dragonfucker series since right now it's still just worldbuilding and nothing else.

[simpforhoon]

just you. (p.js) *ೃ༄

pairing: soft dom! jay × female reader

genre: smut, fluff, soulmate au! kind of angsty it has a happy ending I swear (praise, making out, protected sex, oral (f-receiving)).

summary: in a world where everyone gets the name of their soulmate tattooed on their wrists when they turn 18, finding out your best friend is your soulmate was not how you planned your 18th birthday to go. now, what’s so bad about that you might ask? you see, jay despises the thought of soulmates. but maybe he doesn’t despise them so much when it comes to you.

please note, this work is purely that of fiction. and not meant to represent what the enhypen members are like in real life.

A/N: guys no why am I so soft,, anyway I’ve been wanting to write this for a while now, so I hope you enjoy!! and I'm reposting this now, as this didnt get a lot of notes on my old account cause of all the reporting and stuff!

word count: 3.4k

warnings: mentions of heartbreak, crying, mentions of food.

1 week ago

you bit your nails as you paced up and down your room, a nervous habit you’d picked up in your junior year of high school whilst dealing with the tremendous stress and pressure school put on you. well lucky for you, you had graduated now and your 18th birthday was just around the corner. specifically, exactly a week from now.

your best friend jay sat on your bed staring at you with amusement written all over his face as he quietly observed you, before moving up to stop you and pull your hands away from your face. “you’re going to wear yourself out” he mumbled softly, pulling you to sit next to him and rubbing your shoulder in a comforting manner.

“I know I know, I’m just nervous, what if they’re all the way on the other side of the world? or even worse, what if they’re someone I know??” the panicked expression on your face was seemingly too much for jay to handle as before you knew it, he had almost rolled off your bed, laughing his ass off at you.

you see, your “dearest” best friend jay never believed in soulmates. he himself never actually got a name on his wrist, a sign that his soulmate had not reached the age to get theirs. to say he was ecstatic would be an understatement as he was at a party that very night, hooking up with a random girl before going over to your house the next morning with a massive hangover and a sullen expression.

it hurt you to see him that way, hooking up with random people, praying that he wouldnt run into his soulmate. and it hurt even more when you thought of how his soulmate was probably so excited to meet him even if they didn’t know him yet.

if only you knew where you would be a week later, wishing it was you who never met him.

present day

the time on your phone read 11:57, and jay had shown up to your house at exactly 11:30, punctual as always, giving up his usual saturday night parties to spend the night before your special day with you instead. he held your hand in his, one thumb running up and down the expanse of your knuckles soothingly, the only thing grounding you in the tense moments before what was basically the biggest moment of your life. your eyes never met his once, only flickering from the clock to your wrist every few seconds, almost as if it would appear before time if you stared long enough.

12:00 a.m.

it was almost as if everything stopped in that moment as the words appeared on your skin. the crickets stopped chirping, that one car alarm outsode your house stopped beeping and both you and Jay stopped breathing, even if it was just for a few seconds. one by one, letter by letter, black ink slowly trailed up the soft skin on your clean wrist, marking your skin for the rest of eternity. you watched with bated breath as tbe letters curved their way into your skin, into your soul.

“P-A-R-K” looks like your soulmate would have the same last name as your best friend. “J-O-N-” that was when the realisation of what was about to happen dawned upon you. “no, no, no, no” was all you could think. “this wasn’t supposed to happen”

meeting jay’s eyes for a split second, you could see the shock on his face, the same shock you knew was written all over your face at that very moment. yanking your hand out of his warmer one, you stared at the 2 words displayed on your wrist. “park jongseong” you whispered as a one lone tear ran down your cheek, falling to you chin before disappearing into the soft material of your sweater.

this prompted jay to push up his own sleeve, the words that seem to have appeared on his wrist confirmed what you both already knew by that point. jay park, your best friend since you were 5, your rock, your everything, was your soulmate. if the situation were anything but this, you would have been jumping for joy, ecstatic that your soulmate was the man you’d grown up with your whole life. but unfortunately, that was not the case.

“_______” he whispered, voice hoarse as he held your hand in his again. gripping it tightly this time so you wouldn’t be able to let go this time. not that you wanted to anyway. “jay” you whispered back, attempting to smile at him, despite the tears that were threatening to overflow at any moment. “I-I need time to think” he said, so softly, his eyes full of nothing but remorse. “I understand jay, take your time, don’t rush okay?” you replied, squeezing his hand in reassurance. he wistfully smiled at you one last time as he pushed himself off your bed and walked out of your bedroom, closing the door with a small ‘click’, leaving you alone in the darkness of your room, mind racing and wondering what were you were going to do with this newfound information.

you fell asleep after much tossing and turning, your mind full of nothing but jay and his name that was now tattooed into the inside of your wrist. you were woken up by the bright smile of your parents, you mother holding a plate of pancakes and wishing you a happy birthday. the sight alone was enough to make you burst into tears as you wrapped your arms around her, seeking her familiar scent and comfort after the rough night you had. your parents seemed shocked, but did not press you to open up, wrapping their arms around you as they attempted to comfort you.

your mom was no foolish woman, as she seems to have caught on to what was bothering you on your special day. “its about your soulmate isn’t it?” she asked as she placed a glass of your favourite chocolate smoothie in front of you, wiping her hands on her apron. you looked up at her, disbelief written all over your face as she chuckled at you. “how did you know?” you asked as she smiled slyly at you. “I have my ways, and besides, I’m your mother” she replied with a wink. you groaned, dramatically resting your head on the counter as she laughed and gave in. “I saw jay walk out of your room last night with tears streaming down his face, and considering you woke up crying too, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what went down there”.

“you should talk it out with him sweetie, he’s not just your soulmate, he’s your best friend. despite how he feels about this whole fate thing, I’m sure the both of you will be okay.” her words reassured you as you grabbed your backpack, and walked through your front door. not even 2 minutes later you heard the biggest scream and you were tackled into a hug. giggling, you wrapped your arms around the taller boy as he squeezed you tightly. “happy birthday ______!” he said as he let go of you and continued your walk to school. “thanks sunoo” you said, smiling at the younger boy who had the biggest grin on his face.

“soooooo” he began, looking at you with an expectant expression on his face. you pursed your lips, already predicting the question that was due to escape his mouth any second from now. “jay” you said, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth. “JAY?!?!!?” he said, a little too loudly, mouth agape as he processed the information. you shrugged as he linked his arm with yours, understanding that you didnt want to talk about it.

luckily, no one pressed you about your soulmate for the rest of the day, warded off by sunoo’s glare the moment they looked like they were going to ask. you sat next to jay in all your classes, the atmosphere tense and awkward between the two of you. everyone seemed to have figured our what happened by that alone, your normally boisterous voices muted and soft. you went out after school with sunoo and riki, your mood heightened by the laughs and jokes of the two bickering boys.

when you got home, the house was eerily quiet, your parents nowhere in sight, all the lights turned off save the one in your living room. and there on the sleek grey sofa sat Jay, looking down at his hands as he anxiously played around with the rings he always wore. your footsteps alerted him of your presence, as he shot up off your sofa to greet you with a crooked smile on his face, black hair sticking up in every direction.

you smiled at him, already preparing yourself for the worst, as he walked towards you. “your parents have gone out, they handed me the keys and told me to come and talk to you if I wanted, and-” he cut himself off in the middle of his sentence, taking a deep breath and holding your hand. here goes nothing he thought. “I want to try. this whole soulmate thing I mean. maybe i wouldnt be this way if it was anyone else, but it’s you, my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you.” he mumbled out the last part, but it was still clear enough for you to hear. you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face at his words, his own face breaking out into a grin at your expression. you reached up on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands went around your waist.

he buried his face in your hair, your soft vanilla scent calming his racing heart, and that was when he realised how much you really meant to him. he loved when you would always being him snacks after soccer practice, he loved when you let him lay his head on your lap and you ran your hands through his hair, he loved seeing the expressions you made when you ate his food, he loved you.

“I made something for you” he said, pulling away from your embrace, leading you to your kitchen and making you sit down on the counter. he grabbed a plate of your favourite pasta and a fork before lifting up a mouthful and holding it out to feed it to you. you smiled, wrapping your lips around the fork as the flavours exploded in your mouth. “oh my gosh, this is good, you’ve really outdone yourself.” he smiled at the complement before pressing a kiss to your cheek and muttering a little “happy birthday love”, leaving your face feeling hot and an uncontrollable smile on your face.

the rest of the evening went by in hin feeding you food and taking a few notes of it himself, lots of little cheek kisses, before the two of you settled down on the couch to watch a movie. it seemed like jay had gotten over his awkwardness as he pulled you to sit between his legs the moment the movie started. you looked back at him in shock, wondering when he got so bold before he pressed a kiss to your lips and told you to focus on the screen.

it might not have been the perfect first kiss, but it was with jay and that was enough. he played with your hair throughout the movie, and moved it aside at one point, pressing little kisses along the expanse of your neck. it was when he landed his lips on one particular spot that you let out a little noise, one you never even knew you could make that made him sit up a little straighter.

it was almost as if a switch flipped within him as he tightened his grip around your waist, one hand slipping up your hoodie to caress the skin near your waist. “I didn’t know you could make such pretty noises baby” he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “well i didn’t know i could either” you whispered back, the realisation of what was about to happen making your body feel like it was on fire.

“are you sure you want this? we don’t have to do anything you dont want to sweetheart” he said, pulling away with a kiss to your cheek. you shifted so that you were facing him, legs wrapped around his waist and you reached your hands up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sure jay, theres no one I’d rather do this with than you.” that was all the affirmation he needed, as within seconds you were being dragged to your bedroom by an overexcited jay.

he pressed you up against your room door, hands coming up to lift your thighs and wrap them around his waist, your core meeting his very obvious bulge. taking advantage of the gasp that left you, he allowed his tongue to skip into your mouth, taking control of every aspect of the kiss. pulling away, he brought you to your bed, gently letting you down onto the mattress, and reaching up to pull your hoodie off you.

“so beautiful” he whispered as he reached behind you to pull your bra off, before lifting his own arms to pull his own shirt off, leaving his body on display for you. just for you. he reached down to tug one of your nipples into his mouth, gently sucking and wrapping his tongue around the sensitive bud, his actions leaving your mouth open in a silent moan.

within minutes, both of you were left completely naked as jay continued to trail his lips down your body, pressing little kisses to your inner thigh before his mouth finally met your core, the smallest motion of his lips leaving you breathless and squirming. “stay still sweetheart, good girls don’t move around so much”. his words sent vibrations spreading throughout your body, not doing anything to help with the heat that was coursing through your veins.

his tongue delved in and out of your dripping hole, one of his hands rubbing your clit while the other held your legs open for him. “jay- i- I’m gonna-” but he was gone the moment the words fell from your mouth. and he was a sight to see. your juices mixed with his, drool and spit dripped down his chin, as he ran his tongue over his lips with a smirk on his face.

“oh so the baby wants to cum? don’t worry love, I’m going to make you feel so good”. he reached into his jacket and pulled out a condom before rolling it on and lining himself I with your entrance. he grasped your chin gently, pulling you up to look at him and planting a loving kiss on your lips. “I love you so much sweetheart, so so much” he whispered, pulling away from your lips. “I love you too jay” you said back, watching as he smiled once, before intertwining your hands and then, pushing himself into you.

nothing had ever felt as good in that moment as he gently, softly pushed himself inside. the feeling was euphoric, having your soulmate inside you in such an intimate manner. your bodies moulding together perfectly, bursts of colour lighting up the back of your eyelids as your eyes closed at the feeling of him in you. he began thrusting in and out of you slowly, not wanting to hurt you. but at your signal, he began moving faster, groans and moans escaping both your lips, finding pleasure and love in each other.

it didn’t take long for you to reach your high at all, his length hitting you in all the right places, leading you to ride out your high much faster than you expected, jay following soon after. he finished inside the condom, reaching out to pull it off and throw it away, before walking to your bathroom and grabbing a wet cloth to clean you up with.

he was greeted with the sight of your tired smile as he returned, gently cleaning you before tossing the rag and gathering you up in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “does this mean you’re mine now?” he asked, reaching down to bury his head in your hair, his hands absent-mindedly tracing shapes and figures on your bare shoulder. “it does if it means you’re mine too”. he smiled at your response, pulling the blanket over the two of you as you drifted off to sleep in the arms of the one person who would stay with you forever.

thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you drank enough water today! ♡♡♡

[tahanann]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

❝ To whoever finds these letters, I hope they reach you well ❞ ✎▫✧⭒....

Fandom: Hetalia Relationship: F/M Pairing: Alfred F. Jones (America) / (Female) Reader Chapter list: 00, 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 Also posted on: AO3, Wattpad, Quotev

Chapter 01: " Hi Babe! " ✎▫✧⭒…

It was (Y/n)'s third day in her new home, and thankfully it was a bright Sunday morning. The woman has work tomorrow, and she couldn't help but feel horrible at the thought of it. She only had two days to rest? Ugh. She learned this back in college, but honestly, it felt so much worse when people are out of college and are immediately hit with adult responsibilities. 

(Y/n) was just scrolling through her phone, sipping a warm beverage, with the tv talking in the background. Everything was peaceful until she was interrupted by a telephone ring. It was her realtor. He probably has some information about the Jones person she had called him about. 

"Hello?" (Y/n) spoke.

"Hey, so, in my records, there has been one family with the last name of Jones during the early twentieth century. The property was under a family name actually, but no one was actually using the home until the family had sold it off. After that, it's kind of hard to look for the Jones family, since they're probably living in another home. They're not really under my business line so I can't just go into the records for them," the realtor spoke.

"So there's no way to contact the family?" (Y/n) asked. The realtor gave her a simple no. The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated that there was no way to give the family their letters back. She sighed quietly to herself, mumbling a soft thank you to the man over the phone. She hung up after that. 

The young woman walked to her bedroom where the box of letters was. She supposed that there's no harm in opening the letters then. They were no names on them, other than scribbles, so she guessed that she could open them. 

(Y/n) gently pulled the lid off from the seal, damaging it just a bit. There was no other choice...the seal was in the way. The envelopes probably have no use anyway. It's the letter that has value. She picked out the letter and placed its torn casing on the bed. The letter was written in cursive, but it's nothing that (Y/n) couldn't decipher. 

Hi babe!  This is one of the first letters I'm writing back home! Yeah yeah, I actually wrote some back to Mom and Dad, but hey! Aren't you glad that you're getting one too? Anyway, how have you been? How are your hobbies going? I heard from my folks that you've picked up sewing. It's a neat skill to learn. I'm proud of you! I hope you're doing well over there. I hope you're thinking about how I'm doing. Honestly, ever since I've been deployed here, it's kind of boring. Well, Aside from me bonding with my friends and writing a ton of letters, there's nothing else we could do unless we're put into battle and things like that. There's the radio, sure, but all it's been playing are the same tunes. Always Bob Crosby and The Bob Cats. I wonder if we can actually get some variety here. Well, I guess if you start thinking about the generals' yells as a form of song, then that's some variety. I suppose I did pick up a new hobby, which is writing. I haven't written this much since college, actually. I hope in the future, I'll start writing poems to you. I'll probably learn them from Charles or something. You know how he is. He's super romantic and all. I'm a bit jealous that he could write good love letters to his beloved.  Maybe I'll start doing that too! Just stay tuned for the next one okay? My battalion hasn't been given a task yet, so, Charles, Alex, James, and I are waiting to be given something. I guess while we wait, all I can do is think about you and the songs that play on the radio. I'll even think about my ma and pa too! Don't think I don't do that already! You're just in my mind all the time, that's all.  I will write as much as I can to you. I hope you're actually getting these letters.   From your super awesome and super handsome future husband, A. F. J

(Y/n) stared at the letter in her hand. Goodness...this sounded personal. The letters she had in the box were...filled letters sent to someone special. If that was the first letter, it's got to be like that for the rest right? The woman reread the words again. Yeah...this was for Jones' girlfriend. He never wrote a name in there though and there was no name in the envelope. Just who was this guy's girl?

The woman sat there on her bed, a frown appearing on her lips. She folded the paper to its original shape and placed it back in its envelope. She reached for another letter in the box but hesitated to open it up. What if there were more personal things in these letters? Oh goodness. She was prying into someone's personal life.

Well, she already knew that she was doing that, but, honestly, it felt worse knowing that the letters are laid out like this. They were for this person's girlfriend at the time. She wasn't that...she wasn't his girlfriend at all. The desire to open them all was strong though, but (Y/n) had to do this once at a time. She had already opened a letter today, she'll just have to continue it tomorrow and read it then.

(Y/n) placed the opened letter in a drawer next to her bed. Her eyes looked back at the box again. Perhaps she should see how long it would take to read all of the letters. Gently, one by one, she counted all the letters she had at her disposal. She had excluded the letter she had read today. 

"Three-hundred-and-sixty-five," the woman told herself. That was enough to read one letter a day for a year. 

"Huh," (Y/n) sighed. Looks like she would be reading these for an entire year. She wondered how things would go. She placed the unopened letters back in their container and stashed the box under her bed. She had to be patient, or there would be no reward to this. She could last a year of just reading those letters. If she didn't know who this Private Jones was, and there was no means to contact his known living family, she might as well get to know him. 

These letters seem to be dated for World War Two. The man might just be dead now, really. 

The woman pitied the dead who had no one to remember them. Maybe Jones had someone who remembers him, but she would never know. For now, she should assume that there wasn't anyone who had him in their thoughts. (Y/n) figured that maybe, just maybe, she could be the one that remembers this poor soldier.

(Y/n) sighed as she walked away from her bedroom. Perhaps she should roam around today, maybe get to know the town a little more. Does the library have something that has this man's name on it? Perhaps she could find some sort of yearbook from the old times if they ever had those back then. Maybe even college photos that had him in there.

She wasn't desperate to find anyone who might know this man yet. There was actually a small part of her, that selfish part of her, that asked her to keep this man a secret. To keep him all to herself. That wasn't right, though, was it? It's always a question of morality with (Y/n). 

Her lips twitched to a smile as she dismissed her thoughts. She needed to stop thinking about the man right now. If she did, she might get pressured to actually do work, when she was supposed to rest today. A sigh leaves her mouth as she walks to her living room. She pressed the power button on her tv remote and watched whatever she found interesting in her favorite streaming service. 

The day would go on like this, with the woman lazying around in her own home. The house was silent for the most part, with no creeks or noises within the walls. The house wasn't haunted, as far as she knew. She knew that opening that box of letters wouldn't really bring ghosts to her home. 

They didn't exist, of course, they would never appear. 

The woman cooked dinner for herself that night. With nothing distracting her, the letters occupied her mind. 

"Jones...Jones," (Y/n) mumbled to herself, "Just...who the hell are you? Can I even find you anywhere?" The woman was hoping that she wasn't dealing with a John Doe. It would be hard to find someone like that, especially during the war. There are a lot of John Does in the war, especially those who have already lost their dog tags and have no means to identify them. 

She wishes that this man at least has a gravestone somewhere in this place. 

(Y/n) walked to her bedroom once more, her body immediately going to her bed. She peeked underneath, her eyes staring at the box. She wants to pry another one open, but ultimately decided against it. She fell on her mattress, her gaze now at the ceiling. There was nothing she could do right now. Tomorrow was her workday...maybe she should just sleep.

Her consciousness would stay with her for a few more moments until darkness surrounded her. The moon would stay active for a while until it eventually fell into its own slumber. The day brought light into the world, indicating a new day.

That new day would be (Y/n)'s workday. The woman edged out of her bed, wandering to the bathroom to get herself ready. Once changed into proper working attire, she went back to her room to get shoes. She had hidden her shoes under the bed, right beside the box of letters. As she looked for a pair to wear today, her eyes went to the box. 

Maybe she could read a letter today and see what Jones had to say. 

She put on her shoes before picking a letter from the box. The envelope was the same color as before. It either must have been made either the same week or the same month as the first letter she read. Gently she ripped the seal and pulled out the letter. 

Hi Babe, I hope you're doing well over there, wherever you may be right now. You might be at home, actually, since you're reading this letter. Anyway! I just wanted to say that finally, after a week of sitting around in a base, we're told to do something. Honestly, I hope this war isn't going to be that bad. I mean, since you know, America is here and all, I hope things are going to go well for us. I don't want to suddenly die on you, you know? We have so much planned! Did you know that earlier this morning, Charles caught me writing a letter to you today? Well, he caught me writing this letter to you, actually. I know he's a nosy bastard, but I didn't think he would actually read some of the words here. He asked me earlier if I actually had a sweetheart, since, you know, the last time he talked to me, he didn't see me with you. I guess I kept our relationship a secret huh? I must be that good!  How is your sewing going by the way? I hope it's going well. You must be very busy over there. Once I get back there in the States, we can start a family. You can maybe sew things together for the kids and I can probably provide enough to feed us all three meals! Of course, if you wanted to help too, you could! I know you're a strong woman and I don't want to limit what you can do. I think helping out in the war would give us some funds you know? Besides! I can put my college degree to good use! Once this all blows over, I can probably help you.  For now, since I'm away, I'll just be sending you letters, as much as I can! There's not enough paper to go around for everyone, so I can't really write to you all the time. Hopefully, I'll send enough letters to give you news. From your heroic future husband, A.F.J

(Y/n) couldn't help but laugh at his mannerism in the letter. He seems young, honestly, and had the innocence too, somewhere in there. He doesn't know the hardships of war just yet. There are a few things she knows about him. He spilled more info in this second letter than the first one she said. He's a young man who had a college degree somewhere. He talked about plans with his babe, and he appears to be a family man. Jones was a hopeful man, eager to meet his sweetheart again.

She smiled to herself as she placed the letter back in its home, tucking the opened envelope on top of the one she read last night. (Y/n) placed the box under her bed and went on with her day. After breakfast, the woman heads for work. Throughout the day, she thought about Jones and how she would have loved to befriend him if he were ever alive in her era. 

She can't wait to read more letters from him.