#this is a love letter to this godforsaken fandom

[sukidude]

I just went really deep into my atla tag and…. I’ve had so many good times on here with some really good people. some of them have disappeared off this website without a trace and I’ll probably never speak to them again but I’m so so glad I met them.

It’s been FOUR years since I formally started making atla and more specifically zukka content. FOUR!! from FLWOGB updates, to my Twitterverse AU, to the best atla ship poll on Twitter, to watching people live react to natla, it has been such a lovely ride.

this isn’t a goodbye or anything, I’m just so appreciative of everyone I’ve interacted with on here. Here’s to more writing and drawing and learning about other fandoms through my mutuals and to more atla!!!

love y’all :)

[reciprocityfic]

champagne problems, chapter eight

title: champagne problems fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: m summary: amy accepts fred's proposal, and laurie comes home and marries jo. but instead of it being the end of something, it's just the start of something bigger.

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

chapter one: champagne problems   chapter two: right where you left me chapter three: it’s nice to have a friend chapter four: the end is here chapter five: moments that we stole (on begged and borrowed time) chapter six: this godforsaken mess chapter seven: love slipped beyond your reaches

author's note: i so, so apologize for this long break. thank you to everyone still reading after all this time. it means more to me than you will ever know, and inspired me not to give up on this story.

cracks of light

My Dearest Amy,

I’ve been dreaming of you.  In my mind, you are beautiful and joyous.  In my mind, you are eagerly waiting for my return.  And in my mind, you love me still, despite my absence and all my mistakes.

I miss you desperately.  Although my dreams of you are pleasant, they are no substitute for being by your side.  I understand why you haven’t written back, but it still pains me to not hear from you.  I hope you are well.  I hope you are happy, as you are in my dreams.

Know that I am working every day to secure our future together.  I hope to return soon, but there are a few more things that must fall into place before I can come home to you.  Know that I think of you every moment.  And know, above everything, that I love you.

Wait for me, my love, please.

Forever yours, Laurie

She jumps slightly as someone knocks on the door to her room.  Carefully, she folds the letter in her hands and goes over to her desk, opening the top right drawer and placing it on top of all the saved letters that came before it.  She stares at the heap for a moment, runs her hand over the top of it.  She can feel the indent of the pen strokes on the delicate paper.  She imagines him alone in a hotel room, writing by candlelight, pen gripped tightly in his fist as he put words down on the page.

Her heart aches.

I miss you desperately.

She misses him desperately, as well.  And she wants to write to him more than anything.  But she’d solemnly resolved to live with as little of him as possible in his absence; after all, it was something she would have to get used to, almost certainly.  She still can’t see a future for the two of them - not one together, at least.  Although Laurie has been insistent in his letters that he’s working toward a way for them, he hasn’t erased the doubt in her mind or the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She’ll have to live without him, and there was no time like the present to practice.  Which meant no writing back.  No sketching him.  No visits to his home - not even any visits to Mr. Laurence.  She even avoided talking about him as much as she could.

“Amy?  Are you there?”

She jumps again; this time, it’s at the sound of Marmee’s voice.  She walks to the door, opens it to find her mother standing there, a sweet smile on her face that almost distracts from the slight concern in her eyes.

“There you are.  You’ve been up here a while.  Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says simply.  She’s never told her mother that she comes up and locks herself in her room for sometimes hours reading Laurie’s letters, but she suspects Marmee knows anyway.  Her mother always seemed to know everything about her.  It would be bothersome if her mother was anyone other than Marmee .

“Good,” Marmee says, her gaze relaxing.  “You have a visitor, dear.”

She freezes, and feels all the blood rush from her face.  It can’t be…

Her mother reaches out quickly and takes her hand.

“It’s not him,” she assures her.  “I would tell you if it was.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and looks down at the floor, cursing the disappointment that floods through her.  She even feels tears begin to gather behind her eyes.  She doesn’t know how her dread regarding seeing Laurie again can exist alongside how much she misses him, but the two of them do exist, creating a war inside her and constantly tugging her heart in two different directions.

“Come,” Marmee beckons, turning towards the doorway.  “It’s not good to keep company waiting.”

She follows her mother down the stairs, idly trying to figure out who would be here to visit her specifically.  It’s always a family event when Meg comes, and Marmee has already confirmed it’s not Laurie.

Could it be Fred?  For a moment, her stomach fills with dread.  But then, she remembers that his response to her letter ending their engagement and calling off their wedding had only arrived two days ago, and it had been postmarked from Berlin.  It’s impossible that he could’ve made it here by now.  And she doubts Fred ever wants to see her again; his letter, though polite, was quite curt, to say the least.

Her brow furrows; she doesn’t know that many other people.  Not anymore.  In fact, she’s utterly confused when she walks into the front room with her mother, until she lays eyes on the person in a chair next to her father, chatting pleasantly.

“Mr. Laurence,” she says, and the old man looks up from his conversation.

“Amy, my dear,” he replies, smiling fondly at her.

Her face brightens, despite everything, as Mr. Laurence stands and walks over to her.  In the time during Beth’s illness and after her passing, the man had truly become like a grandfather to her and her sisters.  She’d missed him dearly, she realizes, as a few tears begin to gather in her eyes.

Before Mr. Laurence reaches her, though, his face becomes serious, and he asks Marmee and her father to give the two of them a moment together.  Anxiety creeps up her spine as her parents leave the room.  Surely this has something to do with - 

“I have news from Laurie,” Mr. Laurence tells her, interrupting but confirming her thoughts.  Dread must show on her face, because the man quickly reaches out and takes her hand.

“It’s nothing bad, I assure you,” he says, leading her to the sofa.  As they sit, Mr. Laurence sighs.  “But Laurie said to be careful, because he didn’t know how you would react.”

The old man squeezes her hand as her stomach churns.  She turns her face away and stares at the floor, not wanting him to see her reaction to the news, whatever it may be.

“He’s coming home,” Mr. Laurence murmurs.

Her hand - still grasped in his - tightens reflexively, and she squeezes her eyes shut.  She’s silent for a few moments, waiting to speak until she’s sure her voice won’t tremble.

“When?” she finally breathes.

“His train arrives tomorrow morning.”

She doesn’t cry, surprising herself.  Instead, something quite like shock runs through her veins and stimies her emotions.  The idea that Laurie will be in Concord less than twenty-four hours from now seems almost unfeasible to her.  She’d spent so much time trying to avoid and forget him - even the concept of him.  She’d honestly wondered if she would ever see him again, despite what he wrote in his letters.  And now that he’s coming back, she isn’t sure what to feel.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Mr. Laurence asks, after long moments of quiet.

She feels numb.  Like so many different emotions are pulling on her at the same time that they’ve overloaded her brain and heart and broken her.

“Yes,” she decides, “I’m alright.  Did he - do you know what he’s been up to all this time?”

“I needed him for a week in Boston about a month ago,” he tells her.  “But other than that, I haven’t a clue.”

She nods, and then pulls her hand away from the old man’s, wrapping both of her arms around herself.  She feels strange.  Maybe stranger than she’s ever felt.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Laurence,” she says, “but I’m afraid I need to excuse myself.”

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation, and stands up as she does.  “It was nice seeing you again, dear.”

She smiles at him politely, and then starts towards the stairs.  Before she exits the room, though, she hears Mr. Laurence’s voice echo from behind her.

“I do sincerely hope everything works out for you, Amy.”

She stops, and looks over her shoulder.  The old man gazes after her, his eyes shining with sincerity.  Before she realizes what she’s doing, she walks quickly towards him and envelopes him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, then squeezes her eyelids shut again.  She can feel inklings of the pressure behind her eyes from tears, but they do not fall.

After a moment, she steps back from him.  She almost feels embarrassed, but when she looks up, Mr. Laurence is smiling down at her.  She nods at him again, and then starts back towards the stairs.

When she’s finally in her room and has closed the door behind her, she exhales loudly.  She still feels muddled and unsteady, and anxious energy starts to bubble up inside her stomach.  She paces back and forth in the small room for about a minute before pulling the chair out and sitting down at the desk.  She sighs, and then reaches into the bottom right drawer and pulls out a sketchpad and pencil.

When she was a child and needed to calm down after a quarrel with one of her sisters, she’d come up to her room to draw.  Art has always soothed her, and she hopes it will soothe her now.

She turns her head to the right to look out the window, but sees nothing that captures her interest.  She sighs in frustration, and then turns back to the blank paper in front of her.  Slowly, she picks up her pencil, tapping it against the edge of the desk twice before putting it to the page.

She writes down his name. Laurie . She drops her pencil, and traces over her small, neat penmanship, lets her fingertip linger over the letters.  Suddenly, she picks her pencil back up, writes his name three times more.

Laurie

Laurie

Laurie

She decides to write him, that it will be easier to slip a letter under the front door of the Laurence mansion this evening instead of facing him in person tomorrow.  But she gives up only a moment later; she’s never been good with words, not like Jo.  And, in any case, she can’t get her thoughts straight.  The only word that comes to mind is his name.

Laurie.

Laurie, who’d written to her unfailingly time and time again even though she hadn’t written him a single thing in response.  Laurie, who'd said goodbye to her all those months ago, promising he’d find a way for them.  Laurie, who’d had the courage to confess for the both of them.  Laurie, who’d kissed her and held her and loved her like she was the most precious thing in the world.  Laurie in the rain.  Laurie in his study that first day, drunk and sorrowful.

Laurie, who’d stayed too long at his own wedding just to dance with her.

Laurie in Europe.  Laurie, who’d proposed marriage to her.  Laurie, who’d had the habit of gazing and smiling at her for moments too long.  Laurie, who’d visited her day after day after day in France during Fred’s long absences, seemingly trying to make up for his bad behavior by spending time with her.  Laurie in her studio at Aunt March’s.  Laurie, who’d unbuttoned her apron and called her beautiful and asked that she make her last portrait one of him.  Laurie, who’d forgotten about her and embarrassed her in front of everyone she thought mattered at the time.

Laurie, who’d been there to catch her when she flung herself into his arms on that street in Paris.

Laurie during her childhood.  Laurie, who’d bitterly left Concord and Jo behind.  Laurie, who’d helped her make flower bouquets the day before Meg’s wedding.  Laurie, who’d written her weekly at Aunt March’s house while Beth was sick, updating her on her sister’s condition and the family as a whole.  Laurie, who’d run alongside her on the beach during her first trip to the ocean.  Laurie, who’d given her a key to their mailbox in the forest that had a green ribbon because he said it matched her eyes.  Laurie, who’d saved her that day at the lake, carrying her home and whispering that she would be alright into the cold air.  Laurie, who’d bandaged her hand with the utmost care.  Laurie, who’d noticed her outside his window.  Laurie, who’d looked at her curiously after she introduced herself to him that first night, her eyes shining, and smiled.

Laurie, who, even though his attention had been absorbed by Jo, had taken the time to whisper to her, “Hello.”

Laurie.

“Laurie,” she whispers into the air, and the corners of her lips turn up.

***

She’s restless the next morning.  She wakes up before the sun rises and can’t fall back to sleep; every time she closes her eyes, Laurie’s face appears behind her lids.  So she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling until she hears the rest of the house stir.

Even Marmee, Father, and Hannah can’t calm her, though.  As they sit at the table, she can’t help but glance at the front door every minute, almost as if she can hear the beginnings of the knock she’s expecting.  She’s barely picking at a piece of bread during breakfast when she registers her mother’s voice.

“Meg should be coming today, with the twins and John.”

“It is Wednesday already?” her father answers.  “The week seems to be flying by.”

“Oh!” Hannah exclaims gently.  “I promised Daisy last week that we’d bake something together the next time she visited.  I’ll have to look at what we have around.”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she says suddenly, tossing down her piece of bread and standing up abruptly.  “I’m not feeling well, and I think some fresh air might help.”

It’s not far from the truth.  She does feel unwell.  She feels like the walls are closing in on her, and her family’s conventional conversation grates at her brain and patience.

Her family knows better than to protest, and as they say their goodbyes, Marmee gives her a sympathetic, knowing, sad smile that makes her heart clench.  Before she leaves, she runs upstairs and grabs her sketchpad and pencil.

He’s been gone so long that it’s already spring again, and it’s warm enough outside today. The sun is shining, but there's still a certain chill in the air when the wind blows that harkens back to winter.  She’s forgotten her coat, but decides against going back for it.  Instead, she wraps her arms around herself tightly.

She doesn’t know where to go at first, but her feet lead her, and she follows them without question today.  She ends up on that beautiful hill where he’d proposed to Jo.  Where he’d confessed his love for her and kissed her for the first time.

She sits down on the sloping ground, her art supplies still clenched in her fist.  She brings them into her lap, puts graphite to paper.   She intends to draw the landscape in front of her, and she starts without thinking.  She’s a few minutes into her work when she realizes that, instead of trees and earth, she’s drawn the outlines of his face.

She stares down at the paper, pausing for a moment, and then goes back to work, purposefully drawing him this time.  The way he looked that day, right before he pressed his lips to hers.

And if you don’t leave now, I might kiss you .

She hadn’t left.  She’d stayed.  And he’d kissed her.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there drawing him - his windswept curls, red and pouted lips, eyes dark and purposeful - but she drops her pencil into the grass when she’s done, and flexes her cramping hand; she’d never been able to teach herself to be ambidextrous, as Jo had.  

She leans back slightly and examines her work, and can’t help but press her lips together in a sad, incredulous grin.  She’d tried so hard to forget him - she’d spent months trying to forget him - and had failed miserably, it seems.  Although she hasn’t seen him for months, she’s captured his details with near perfect precision.  She lifts her hand and runs her fingers over the pencil markings.

“I thought you’d given up on art, Raphaela.”

The sound of his voice startles her, and she nearly jumps off the ground before she registers that it’s him.  It’s Laurie.

She’d been wondering what she would do when she was in his presence again for his entire absence.  Would she scream, or cry?  Would she push him away?  Would she run to him?  Would she still love him?

As it stands, she picks up her pencil from the ground, and speaks without turning to him.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute or so,” he tells her.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t a question, so I have no obligation to comment on it,” she retorts calmly.

“Alright, Amy,” he relents.

Amy .  She closes her eyes, and lets the sound of him saying her name permeate her eardrums again.  She can hear the smile in his voice, as well.

She hears the rustling of footsteps, and then he’s sitting down next to her.  He’s close, but doesn’t touch her.  Instead, he pulls his knees up to his chest, and drapes his arms across them.

“You didn’t answer my letters, either,” he points out, after a beat of silence.  “I’ve learned to expect silence from you.  Quite a change from how it was when we were growing up.”

She’s about to defend herself, but then she sees the grin on his face, out of the corner of her eye - she still hasn’t looked at him fully, yet - and realizes he’s teasing her.

“Stop it, Theodore,” she huffs.

“Only for you, Amy Curtis March.”

She can feel his gaze on her.  He’s trying to make her smile, and she bites her bottom lip to hold it back.

Silence falls over them, and she’s overcome with subtle amazement - amazement that he’s here again, next to her, but primarily amazement that this is so easy .  There is a future full of questions ahead of her, she’s sure, but this - being with him - is still one of the easiest things she’s ever done.

His voice removes her from her thoughts, though, with an sudden rush.

“I’m no longer married.”

Her mouth falls open, and she finally turns to look at him. (He looks beautiful - tired, but absolutely lovely.  She would focus more on this if she wasn’t so confused at his statement, she’s sure.) He’s staring straight ahead, one of his knees bouncing nervously.  She gapes at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jo and I aren’t married anymore.”

“You’re -”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, because she can’t even imagine it.

“We’re divorced, yes,” he says.

“That’s impossible,” she counters immediately.

“No,” he tells her.  “It’s…difficult, but not impossible.  You have to have a certain amount of money, and know the right set of people, and be willing to give up a few things…”

“Like what?” she asks, and he sighs deeply.

“Your reputation, mostly.  Mine will take a hit, but Jo’s will fall off…quite a bit.  At least around here.  She said she’s staying in New York permanently.  Still, I was afraid she wouldn’t agree.  But then again, Jo March has never been one to care much about what other people think of her, has she?”

She can’t agree or disagree with his statement.  She’s still too busy trying to wrap her mind around what he’s told her.

Divorced.

“It’s impossible,” she murmurs quietly.

“It’s not,” he assures her again.  “Amy…”

He reaches out, puts his hand on her arm.  A warm current that stems from his palm flows through her immediately.  She stares down at his hand for a long moment.

“Divorced,” she whispers.

She covers his hand with hers tentatively.

“I’m…sorry,” she says suddenly.  “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your letters.  I read them, though.  I read them over and over again, and kept each one.  They’re in a drawer in my desk, and I read them and read them and read them -”

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he gathers her into his arms.  She grabs on to the lapels of his jacket and sobs once, nestling his face into his neck.

“I missed you so much,” she tells him.

Because she had missed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself.  She’d missed him so terribly that the thought of it almost makes her ill, even though he’s here with her now.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her hair.  “My God, Amy, how I missed you.”

He hugs her closer to him for a moment more, and then pulls back.  He reaches over to her, takes her face in his hand and tilts her chin up so he can look into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her.  “I love you, and I don’t deserve you.  Especially not now.  But I want you, and 

I want my future to be with you.  I understand if you don��t - if we’re together, your reputation will suffer as well.  So I understand if you -”

She kisses him quickly - to quiet him and his doubts that seem so silly now, mostly, but also because she’s missed kissing him so much .  When they separate, he’s smiling, and even though a few tears stream down his cheeks, he laughs.

She breaks into laughter as well, and they laugh together until they can’t breathe.  Anyone passing would think they were crazy.

But no one is passing.  No one is here, except her and him.  Amy and Laurie.

This is the way it was meant , he’d said, after he’d kissed her that first time.

Once they’ve calmed down, he reaches for her face again, and rests his forehead against hers.

“Amy. Will you marry me?”

He can barely get the question out before she gives her answer, teary and breathless.

“Yes .”

He smiles, and whispers, “Thank you,” before kissing her again, deep and slow.

She kisses him back, and feels, for the first time since she arrived back from Europe, that she’s finally come home.

[itsevanffs]

And oh, being a fanfiction writer doesn't make anyone untouchable or special, if they post in public place, using OUR favorite characters OF COURSE we're going to critique them. do you go and tell to someone who says 'i didn't actually love that book/movie/ANYTHING' 'how can you!!! but they put effort in it- DUMB. ASS. Don't hide behind the 'they might be offended' argument, we all know the only reason y'all pressed is bc you don't like anyone that's not on the same opinion with u.

Wait. So... is this like, a 'I/my friend said something shitty as 'critique' about an author's work who didn't ask for it and Evan and/or his friends said 'hey don't do that, you're being a bit shitty' and now I'm mad about that so I'm going to yell at them instead of doing introspection' type thing?

Because, trust me, you can have all the opinions you want. But when you say 'that movie sucked' to your friend after you exit the cinema, the screen writer doesn't get it blasted in their face in bright red letters. Your complaints don't magically reach the ears of the director, the actors, the camera crew, the CGI guys. Fanfiction ain't like that. You comment 'your prose is childish, you really should have done something better with that' or 'there are so many typos lol learn to spell' and it gets sent, unless these authors have comment emails/comments themselves turned off, straight into their email.

Even if you are my friend, unwarranted criticism will get you a warranted escort to the nearest exit until you shut up. People do this shit for fun, not for profit. They put it out there, for free, because they feel proud of what they have created and want to share it. AO3 is NOT a review or proofreading site - it is a godforsaken archive. Social media, tumblr is not a review or proofreading site. Posting does not mean 'I consent to be absolutely shredded by (well-meaning) nitpickers'.

If you wear your favourite shirt in public, that act does not invite people to go up and tell you it doesn't match your hair or your eye colour.

You wanna critique? Fine. Go sign up as a beta/alpha reader on a proofreading site or forum, and out your spirit there. Look for fics that have 'critiques welcome!' in the author's notes.

But cut the consumerist bullshit you've got going on here, because it doesn't suit fandom at all. This isn't about you; it's about the hearts of people braver than you who put their souls into the world and do not want to be beaten down by unwarranted comments. Consent is a simple concept, and it is absolutely baffling to me that people like you still believe not saying no means yes.

[happy-for-harkers]

Dear followers or those-who-stumbled-upon-this-blog,

Hiii :3! Welcome to my vampire thingies blog. Yes, I mean that. You will find here stuff ranging from the great work that is Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” (the novel, not the godforsaken disappointment of a movie) to whatever (respectfully) the Twilight Saga is (though not often)!

I go by either Void or Lapelle.

I use pronouns She/Her or They/Them, with no preference.

I follow people from @lapelle-du-bubblegum-vide - my main blog.

As of right now, I am the most involved in dracula/dracula daily fandom.

I do my best to reblog/queue dracula daily posts on the days they come out with the substack - however, if you notice I made a mistake please tell me, I try to keep this blog as organised as possible <3.

Most of the reblogs are queued, but I don’t tag them as such, since then I’d have to tag 90% of this blog that way. Sorry not sorry.

I’m still figuring out how to handle asks in any way, so it’s not personal by any means if I reply to yours later!

If you see your post being reblogged here with a tag that doesn't really apply to it (say, mistagging a fandom, a character, or an adaptation of some work), inform me about it, I'll appreciate it and it's no problem for me to correct that (though it may take time, so keep that in mind!).

Last, but not least, the intro post is meant to be updated, so if anything about my blog changes, it will be confirmed here sooner than later.

My tags:

The tag for (any) of my ramblings: #my tag (though I do want to change it to fit the blog’s vibes more, smh).

The tag for asks and related things: #letters from friends (yes, inspired by the lovely meme of "a letter from our dear friend Jonathan Harker", I think it fits here nicely).

Fandom-related tags:

If you want to find anything about a particular fandom, type its name, e.g., #dracula. If we're talking adaptations, these would be tagged e.g., #dracula daily, along with the first tag.

Characters are tagged e.g., #lucy westenra - this tag adheres to everything about the character, both textposts and fanart.

If you seek fanart only, that would be e.g., #lucy westenra fanart.

If you want to find particular ships, they're tagged under their names, e.g., #jonmina. I also tag particular characters under those posts too, so don't be surprised by that. If you want to find shipping fanart, it works the same as for the particular characters, so e.g., #jonmina fanart.

I also tag particular entry/letter dates for dracula, dracula daily, and re: dracula. You will find those as e.g., #16 may.

Truly additional information under the cut. I’m still figuring out how to manage this blog, so keep that in mind!

Profile picture: fanart of Lucy Westenra by @marghen

Background: none for now, lol, but I hope to find something Whitby or gothic related.

Dividers on this post: https://www.tumblr.com/fawndollie/733309938802294784/hi-hi-do-yew-hav-any-black-and-red-pixelz-or

[random-dragon-exe]

4.

Ooh yay, I love you and this ask game!

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw:

Hmm, the ones that come immediately to my mind are from two different fandoms that are close to my heart: The Owl House and Wreck it Ralph.

Those characters are Raine Whispers (ToH) and King Candy/Turbo (WiR).

These two are my favorite characters from each yet I can't for the life of me, draw them for some godforsaken reason.

When I do draw them, they're pretty off.

My problems with each character:

Raine:

Has an angled face structure

Plays and instrument that's hard to draw (I want to draw them playing it okay)

Their glasses style

King Candy/Turbo:

There's like 3 versions of him, which do I draw? (They're all good designs)

The details like the lace collar on him is kinda hard for me (from some reason)

The stripes and basically everything on the cybug form (like seriously look it up how TF do people draw that thing so good?)

The stripes of red, the helmet and the letter T on the helmet are my weakness on the Turbo design.

Like literally, I envy people who can draw these two real good (in a good way).

I'm doing my best to practice and who knows, I'll get better. (I'm trying to my best to stay optimistic here, lol).

But of course, thanks Noodles for the ask, sorry I kinda rambled there I love these fandoms and the two characters.

Based off this ask game:

[we-are-all-of-legend-now]

Fictober Day 21: Just In Case This Doesn't Work

Prompt number: Prompt #14

Fandom: American Dragon Jake Long

Pairings/Characters: Jake/Rose

Rating: T

Warnings: character death; discussions of suicide; grief

You can read under the cut or click here to read it on fanfiction

Dear Jake,

I hope you never see this letter. I can tell from the way you talk that you have zero doubts about this plan and our future and if everything goes the way it’s supposed to, I never want you to know how much doubt and fear that I have right now. Your unwavering faith in us is just one of the many things I love about you.

                Just in case you’re wrong, just in case this doesn’t work, I want you to have this letter from me, telling you that it’s okay. I know what you’re going to say “Rose, nothing will ever be okay again!” and it might feel like that now. My wish for you is that you have a beautiful life that you truly love. If something happens to me tomorrow, please don’t think you failed and please don’t think I blame you.

                “But, Rose –“

                No.

                I can’t go over every ‘what if’ but I know my heart and my soul and every word I am about to write will always be true.

                I love you and I know you love me. I know you did everything to protect me and save me and even if you made a mistake, it wasn’t because you gave up. I know you’d never give up on me which is why, if I am dead and you are not, I am asking you to give me up. I’m not asking you to forget me because I know you couldn’t – the same way I could never forget you – but I’m asking you to let me go. Please, don’t wallow. Please, laugh again because I love the sound of your laugh. Keep me in your heart and move on, knowing how much I want you to have all of those things that we never can.

                I really believe I will see you in the next life and I expect you to have all sorts of wonderful stories from all the decades I had to miss.

                I love you.

                I will always love you.

                Rose.

(-.-)

                The letter was waiting for him when he arrived home from the funeral. Jake stood and stared at the familiar loops of her handwriting, struck dumb all over again by the fact that Roe was never going to write anything again. Rose was never going to do anything ever again.

                Because Rose was dead.

                Jake adjusted his hold on her urn to pick up the letter and then fled to his room before his friends and family could catch him crying and try to comfort him. Again. Jake didn’t want to be comforted. Jake wanted to hurt. Jake needed to hurt.

                The pain of Rose’s last scream was still echoing in his ears and Jake needed to feel that kind of pain if he ever hoped to have another ounce of peace in this lifetime.

                Jake sat on his bedroom floor and put Rose’s ashes on the floor next to him. He opened her letter, hoping that the contents would be enough to kill him. Death would be a blessing to Jake now. As Jake read, he felt the grief and the love give way to something much stronger: rage.

                “Why?” Jake shouted at Rose’s urn, his hands shaking so badly he worried he was going to hear the letter in half. “why would you do this to me?”

                Rose didn’t answer, because Rose was dead.

                “You can’t make me live without you! I won’t. I need you!”

                But her very last wish was for him to live and how could he possibly let her down on her very last wish? He couldn’t and she knew it and she had probably done this on purpose so he didn’t run off with her body and jump off the nearest bridge.

                “I love you,” Jake said, “and I’ll do it. I’ll leave every godforsaken year this Earth wants to give me and I’ll do it without you. But, just so you know: I hate you for it.”

                And Rose stayed silent, because she was dead.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

@jilyawards thanks so much for all your hard work which you do FOR FREE to celebrate our love of Jily.

For some godforsaken reason, every year these have been run - going back to when @petalsthefish (at her own detriment as she didn’t allow herself to win because she was running it, despite her fics being so popular st that time etc) and Eva and others took over - some eejits have thought it ok to be small minded and mean to the person(s) running it.

As a fandom elder (I’ve been here too long and give precisely zero fucks what anyone thinks 😬🤣), and in the spirit of my username and iconic character can I just say -

*meant to be heard in Maggie Smith’s voice*

Minerva McGonagall: HOW UNBECOMING THIS IS KIND OF BEHAVIOUR IS, AND HOW APPALLED LILY AND JAMES WOULD BE - ARE - WITH IT!

Lily: 100% Minnie, couldn’t agree more - by all means don’t participate if you don’t like the format, or the fact that there are winners (you knew this though, it’s literally what this is, every year?!). But don’t go all passive aggressive anon-ing the people running these awards! That’s embarrassing and bullying behaviour and you do know I hate bullies, right? What age are you? Twelve?

James: Yeah, no, she’s not joking - she really does hate bullies. And this isn’t the sort of thing that Lily or Sirius and I would do. If we were unhappy with something we would either tell the people running it straight up, no bullshit, no hiding behind anon, or - much more likely - set up our own awards, run them exactly as we want to, and let the others run theirs in peace!

Sirius: But we do know someone who would go all snooty and passive aggressive, don’t we?

Minerva McGonagall: Mr Black, please do not finish-

Sirius: The guy who- oh. We were just talking about you, Snape

Snape:

Minerva McGonagall: I do in fact, in this particular case, agree with you, Mr Black

Sirius: *smirks* I know, I’m always right, Minnie. You know, maybe these people are in the wrong fandom? They could waltz into the appropriate fandom by just removing the J and swapping in two letters, an S and a P, specifically, and Bob’s your uncle?

Peter: Godric’s Gonads! *stares at camera with anxious eyes*

Minerva McGonagall: THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH, SIRIUS BLACK! NOT ANOTHER WORD, OR I SHALL BE FORCED TO TURN YOU INTO A -

Sirius: I’m being perfectly Sirius, Minnie, I-

SWOOSH!

James: Padfoot, I don’t disagree with you. But I think you need to, er, apologise to Minnie if you want to be back to yourself by dinner time?

Sirius:

Since one of the admins is going on a hiatus are the awards officially called of?

No, the awards are not called off and will not be called off no matter how much abuse anyone tries to pile on us as a team or on Ray in particular.

[isakyaqi]

oh no babe not you motivating me to watch skam again kshjghkhsd

anon i actually started watching skam with my teen brother but stopped at s3 ep2 😔 come rewatch so we can continue our marathon watching 🥺

[ailendolin]

Whump Wednesday - 25 - BBC Ghosts

Title: The Letter [AO3]

Fandom: BBC Ghosts

Characters: Humphrey, Sophie

Prompt: “I wouldn’t admit this normally, but I think I really need a hug." For Humphrey - Prompt by the wonderful @thespacebetweenmoments can be found here.

Warnings: off-screen minor character death related to childbirth; unhappy marriage and everything that entails.

A/N: I hope you enjoy your prompt fic, dear! As you can see, I went with Humphrey and Sophie for you prompt. I also had to change the way it was phrased a little to make it fit the dialogue better - I hope you don't mind!

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

The Letter

The letter lay on the table, just in front of the blue vase with the carefully arranged white and yellow daffodils. Its seal, dark red and achingly familiar, was broken. Many things were, nowadays.

Too many.

A hand reached out and turned the letter around so the fateful words, written only a few days ago, were facing the old mahogany wood instead of the ceiling. It trembled. Hiding the words wouldn’t change the letter’s message or undo the tragedy that had befallen his family so many miles away – Humphrey knew that. But it made it easier to pretend, just for a little while, that the world was still as it had been an hour ago – not perfect, but whole.

A tear dripped onto the table.

Humphrey sniffed and wiped his cheek dry before more could follow. Crying would not help. It never had. He’d cried the day he’d gotten betrothed, the evening he’d been forced to consummate his marriage, and every night after when the terrible loneliness of this too big house closed in on him on all fronts and it had never changed a single thing. He’d still been forced to marry Sophie and live a life he hadn’t asked for. His wishes and wants meant nothing, never had and never would. His family didn’t care if he was unhappy being shackled to these godforsaken acres. What mattered to them was his obedience and so far, Humphrey had always been a good little boy and demurely agreed to every decision made on his behalf.

He wished he’d found the courage to rebel, just once. Perhaps his life wouldn’t be so miserable, then. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d smiled – and not just the shadow of the thing but a real smile that made the eyes sparkle and crinkle in the corners and had the ability to light up a whole room. But then again, there hadn’t been much to smile about since he became the lord of the household, and on days like this it felt there never would be again.

Humphrey’s eyes drifted back to the letter.

Oh Margery.

He had to press a hand against his mouth to stifle the grief welling up from deep within.

For the longest time, Margery had been the only person he’d had in his corner. Their family had forced her into an arranged marriage too but unlike him, his sister had managed to find love there, or at least something that came very close to it. Her husband was a kind man – always courteous, always gentle, and most importantly always ready to offer her the world. Humphrey had been very happy for his sister when she had written to him, years ago, that she might grow to love this adventurous boy with the mischievous sapphire eyes, but he couldn’t help but envy her too, just a little. He’d been married to Sophie for five years by the time Margery had married Edward – or Ned, as she’d soon started to refer to him in her letters – but no matter what Humphrey had done, no matter what he had tried to get to know Sophie, he’d never managed to bridge that gulf between them.

In a way, he and Sophie were two ghosts, stuck forever in a situation out of their control and mourning what had never been; or like two ships sailing the same ocean yet always passing each other by; two birds who greeted the same sun every morning but hours apart.

He’d given up hope long ago that would ever change.

On most days, Margery’s letters were the only thing that brought Humphrey comfort. She wrote to him weekly, sometimes even daily, and he anxiously awaited the arrival of every new and neatly written down account of what she, Ned and her children had been up to, if only to escape the monotony of his own life.

Until today. Today, he wished he hadn’t received a letter.

The moment he saw his name and address Humphrey had known something was wrong. Instead of his sister’s neat and cursive penmanship, the letters staring up at him had been bold and shaky. Even though his brother-in-law had rarely written to him personally, Humphrey still recognised Ned’s hand at once. He’d felt his heart in his throat when he broke the seal. He knew Margery was with child again – “This’ll be the last one or so god help me,” she’d written in her last letter – but that didn’t necessarily mean the unthinkable must have happened. That’s what he tried to tell himself, at least. Perhaps Margery had just taken ill or the baby wasn’t adjusting well to the wet nurse; Margery’s oldest son had been fussy like that, giving them all quite a scare when he refused to drink at first.

But in his heart, Humphrey had known the truth long before he gathered up the courage to unfold the letter: he would never hear his sister’s laugh again, never see her smile at him so lovingly as she was want to do or receive another letter that made him wish for a life like hers. A life that had now been brutally cut short.

She had been only thirty-four.

Tears began to sting his eyes again and this time Humphrey didn’t try to stop them. He let the grief roll over him, let it burn him from the inside out until there was nothing left but smouldering ashes. His shoulders shook with the force of waves crashing against high cliffs and the walls around him echoed with a heartache that couldn’t be put into words and would never end – not tomorrow, not in a year, not in a million lifetimes.

On the other side of the room, the door quietly opened. Humphrey forced himself to lift his head and his breathing hitched when he saw Sophie standing there, holding a candle in one of her thin, pale hands. He hadn’t realised how dark it had gotten, how late. It must be nearly time for dinner.

Sophie regarded him silently for a moment – she was always so awfully quiet even though she had such a lovely voice, especially when she sang. Her eyes fell to the letter on the table and her brows furrowed in something Humphrey would be tempted to call concern if he didn’t know better. She crossed the room and reached for the parchment only to hesitate at the last second.

“Go on,” Humphrey said hoarsely, nodding to the letter. “Read it.”

He didn’t think she would be able to understand its meaning but she must have picked up enough English over the years to get some of it because her eyes widened in shock halfway down the page and flicked back up to his face.

“Oh Humphrey,” she said softly. “Je suis désolé.”

Humphrey had no idea what that meant but there was something about her tone that made his eyes well up again, made him wish he didn’t feel so alone in her company. He wrapped his arms around himself before he whispered, “I know you can’t understand me. And that’s fine. I don’t think I would say this if you could but – I could really use a hug right now.”

His shoulders began to shake once more and he bowed his head, trying to hide his tears. Sophie already thought so little of him – she didn’t need to see him crying openly like a child on top of everything. Expecting her to leave now that she knew what was going on, Humphrey waited for the tell-tale sound of footsteps but to his surprise it never came. Instead, he felt the slightest pressure on his right shoulder. For one brief moment in time, Sophie rested her hand there and everything became still and quiet. What little hold Humphrey still had on his emotions at that point dissolved when she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and whispered those soft words from before again. “Je suis désolé.”

He broke down, then, utterly, completely, and Sophie stayed by his side until the worst had passed – a beautiful pale rock in a storm, steadfast and untouchable. Humphrey didn’t think he’d ever felt as close to her as he had in that lowest of moments and it took everything in him not to reach for her and beg her to stay when she gave his shoulder a final squeeze and let go. She walked away from him without looking back and it was only when the door had fallen shut behind her with a soft click that Humphrey managed to raise his head. He drew in a shaky breath and wiped his eyes on his sleeves, doing his best to pull himself together.

His gaze fell to the letter again, its tragic contents laid bare for the whole world to see. With the warmth of Sophie’s touch still lingering on his shoulder, Humphrey found the sight a little easier to bear.

[mad-madam-m]

"Have you ever had an OTP?" *stares into the camera for 5 million years* Argh um U unless someone else sent that to you, in which case N

Bahaha, right? “Have you ever had an OTP” like my friend. My pal. I have several hundred works on AO3 dedicate to this concept. The short answer is yes; the long answer will discover Tumblr’s text limit.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites. 

*sighs*

On the one hand, I feel like I should go with some characters people might not realize I’m into. On the other hand, I’m insanely tempted to go with the “Oh look M has a type“ contingents.

Since I’m pretty sure everybody knows who I would pick for “dark-haired bearded dude who is amazing at his chosen profession and an absolute goddamn dumbass with romantic relationships” and “angsty blond whose life gets fucked over by an extremely powerful older man,” let’s go with type three: “snarky ball of chaos with a fairly flexible definition of the phrase ‘moral code’”!

Or, to shorten it a bit: tricksters. :-D

First up:

Stiles Stilinski, Teen Wolf

Stiles “I define lying as ‘reclining your body in a horizontal position’” Stilinski is half the reason I joined this godforsaken website in the first place.

His very first scene in the entire series is him showing up at Scott’s house to ask Scott to go look for a dead body. When Scott’s front door is locked, Stiles’s response is to scale the house and break in through a window. His method of dealing with kanima!Jackson is to chain him up in a stolen police van. When Scott expresses concern that making a copy of the card to the evidence locker is worse than stealing it, Stiles stares at him blankly for a moment before answering “It’s smarter.”

Stiles is funny, outstandingly loyal, and the only character who voluntarily dives into the supernatural world with both feet despite being a wholly breakable human. He fast became my favorite character in the entire series.

Next up:

Puck, Gargoyles

I feel like I should’ve suspected that I would absolutely adore Puck, but I did not (or at least, I did not think I would love him this much). So, well, here we are.

Puck is the trickster, and he’s also the only one on this list who isn’t on the side of the heroes. Watching him fuck with Demona’s requests in The Mirror is hilarious, as she doesn’t bother making her requests specific enough and there are loopholes large enough for him to leap through. “Did you say ‘that human’ or ‘that human’? Oh, never mind, I’ll figure it out.” The result is a night of absolute chaos across Manhattan and it’s one of my favorite episodes, and I’ve probably rewatched it 7 or 8 times at this point.

I really, really can’t wait to see more of him.

And finally:

Toph Bei Fong, Avatar: The Last Airbender

I...love Toph with all my heart. Along with Uncle Iroh, she’s my favorite character in this series. I’m so glad this gif existed in the search because this scene was immediately where my mind went upon thinking of a third trickster character. “Let’s break some rules!” *destroys a wall for the hell of it*

Toph has always been underestimated and she has had to become very crafty because of it. She sneaks away to fight in an underground rockbending competition and she’s the undisputed champion. She lies to Team Avatar about running away from home. She’s gleeful about playing the Melon Lord. There’s an entire episode devoted to her running scams on a town. She milks people’s assumptions about her for all they’re worth. She is just. So much fun.

Send me a letter for a fandom ask!

[reciprocityfic]

champagne problems, chapter six

title: champagne problems fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: m summary: amy accepts fred's proposal, and laurie comes home and marries jo. but instead of it being the end of something, it's just the start of something bigger.

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

chapter one: champagne problems chapter two: right where you left me chapter three: it’s nice to have a friend chapter four: the end is here chapter five: moments that we stole (on begged and borrowed time)

this godforsaken mess

She leaves the Laurence residence not long after that.  He helps her bundle up again for the short walk to Orchard House, and sends her off with a long kiss to her cheek.  His lips are so soft and loving against her skin that it makes her want to cry.  Again, she feels the urge to stay with him, to just love him, the world around them forgotten.

But level-headed, clear-eyed, guilt-ridden Amy wins out - at least this time - and she leaves.  She does look back once as she walks down the front steps, sees him standing in the doorway watching her, infinite sadness and infinite longing in his eyes. She forces herself to turn away, and she doesn’t realize that a few tears have fallen from her eyes until the winter wind blows against the dampness on her face and stings her skin.

When she reaches the road, she stops, makes an attempt at taking a steadying breath and takes off one of her gloves, wiping at her eyes with chapped hands.  She takes another deep breath, but her chest still shakes as she exhales, and she decides trying to collect herself is a fruitless endeavor - she’ll just have to try to sneak past her family and close herself in her room until she can calm down.

Her family.  What will they think of her, she wonders, when the curtain is finally pulled back and this whole façade comes tumbling down.  She quickly pushes the thought away, because she can’t stomach the probable, obvious answer.  Still, it echoes in the back of her skull.

They’ll hate you.  They’ll hate you for what you’ve done.

No, she thinks.  Marmee is too good to hate, and so are Meg and her father.  Jo, though…

Jo will hate her.  Jo will hate her.

She shakes her head, trying physically to clear her mind, somehow.  She gazes off into the distance, thinks more of her family.  Of her sisters.  Of Meg, who will be somehow understanding through her worry and disappointment.  Of Jo, who will burn with wild, intense vitriol.  Jo, who wouldn’t even look at her as she tried to apologize for burning her book, whose tearful yet sneering voice rang out into the night.

She doesn’t deserve my forgiveness! And I will hate her, I will hate her forever!

And she’d sworn - she’d sworn. Never again.

Finally, she thinks of Beth.  Of Beth, who would love. Simply love, without condition.  She’s been thinking of Beth even more than usual lately, missing her so palpably that sometimes the pain of it causes her to stop and suck in a quick, deep breath through pursed lips.

And her feet move all of the sudden, start to walk before she’s even consciously aware of where she’s going.  The distance between her and Orchard House and the Laurence residence grows and grows, until the two homes are mere specks on the horizon behind her.  A little more than a mile down the road, her path veers into a grove of trees that clears and opens up into the town’s graveyard.

She stops in front of Beth’s headstone, lowering herself ungracefully to the ground and not caring as the wet snow begins to soak through her coat and skirts.  She reaches out and brushes snow from the cold stone, traces her fingers over the letters engraved on its surface.

ELIZABETH MARCH

“Hello, dear Beth,” she whispers.

She doesn’t speak right away, instead focusing on the flood of memories that fill her mind.  Memories of her sister.  Of her kindness, graciousness, of her long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair and soft voice.  Of her fingertips, calloused from all her time playing music, guiding Amy’s over the keys of the piano.  Of the way she would shyly hide behind her, even though she was the older of the two, when someone new would come to visit.  Of her gentle smiles as they played, her quiet excitement on birthdays and Christmases.

And again, of creeping over to her in the middle of the night, the single candle illuminating their room almost burned to nothing, and whispering in her ear.  She can still feel the heat of embarrassment flush her skin as Beth giggled, and the way her quick, nervous heartbeat had slowed slightly when her sister squeezed her hand in comfort.

And she promised she’d never tell.

“I don’t know what to do,” she murmurs into the air.  To Beth.  She, again, tries to steady herself with a breath, but it turns into a sob as she exhales.  Her eyes blur with tears.

“I don’t know what to do, and I just - I miss you.  I miss you.”

Her hand still rests against the headstone, and her fingers curl around the edges in desperation.

“I miss you so much, Beth.”

She lets herself cry - there’s no one around to see her anyways.  She leans forward, pressing her forehead against the stone, the roughness of the rock scraping her skin.

“What do I do?” she asks.  “Beth, what do I do?”

And tears continue to fall from her eyes.

* * *

By the time she returns to Orchard house, it’s the middle of the day, and glimpses of afternoon sun are trying to peek through gray clouds.  She opens the front door, and hears the laughter of her parents.  She hopes the sound will drown out her footsteps and the creak of the door, but as she tries to escape up the stairs, she hears her name.

“Amy! You’re home!”

She turns to find Marmee walking towards her, a smile on her face that quickly falls when she sees the state of her clothes.  She’s still wet from sitting in the snow.

“My goodness, what happened to you?!”

“I…fell,” she lies stupidly.

Marmee stares at her incredulously, but shakes her head after a moment, and reaches out her hand.

“Come, sit in front of the fire.  You must be freezing!”

She hasn’t really thought about it, but now that her mother has said, she realizes that she is cold, and that her teeth are chattering as she shivers.

But she can’t go into the front room and face her family.  Not now.  Not yet.

“I want to get out of these clothes first,” she tells Marmee.

“I’ll help, then,” Marmee says, and the tone of her voice lets her know that her mother won’t be stopped.  The woman has already started up the stairs, so she doesn’t protest.

Marmee closes the door behind them as they enter her room.  She removes her gloves and unbuttons her coat as her mother removes her hat.

“You were gone quite a long time.  Breakfast with Laurie must have gone well.  How is he?  I’m surprised he didn’t come back with you.”

“Oh, yes,” she answers, wringing her hands together nervously.  “It was fine, and Laurie is fine.  I left a while ago, though.  I…took a walk.”

“You and Laurie?” Marmee asks, as she helps her shrug off her coat.  Once they’ve hung it up, her mother starts on the buttons on the back of her dress.

“I went myself, actually,” she says, and Marmee is quiet, waiting for her to explain.  “I went to see Beth.”

Her mother’s hands stop their work on the ties of her skirts.

“Oh, Amy,” her mother breathes.  “Here - let’s finish getting you out of these wet things, and then we’ll talk.”

After she’s undressed and put on some dry underclothes, Marmee sits down on the bed, patting the empty space between her as she beckons Amy to join her.  She sits slowly.  She feels odd, all of a sudden.  Like something is bubbling up inside her and pushing her slightly off-kilter.

Marmee wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“You miss your sister?”

She nods her head stiffly, still feeling strange.  Feeling like she’s on the peak of something tall, and about to fall off.  Or maybe she’s deciding whether to jump off or not.

“I wanted to talk to her,” she murmurs, barely.  “About…about Laurie.”

Her mother doesn’t speak right away, and she can feel Marmee pull back slightly as she turns to look at her.

“Laurie?” she questions.  “What did you want to -”

“I’m in love with Laurie,” she tells her mother softly.

She’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything - of her Marmee’s sharp inhale and arm that is suddenly stiff around her shoulders. She hears the whooshing of air as she breathes, the creaks of the house as it settles in the cold.  She hears another laugh from Hannah and her father drift up the stairs and past the closed door.

“And Laurie is in love with you?”

Marmee’s question surprises her, and she looks up at her mother with wide eyes.  Her mother’s stare is soft but knowing, and she’s reminded of the time that the woman almost caught her and Laurie in the attic.

“You knew,” she whispers incredulously.  “All this time, you knew.”

“I suspected, but didn’t know anything with certainty,” Marmee tells her.  “The two of you aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

She feels her blood rush from her head at that, and a chill runs up her spine.

“Does Father know?” she asks quickly.  “Meg?  Hannah?  Does - does Jo…”

She trails off as her stomach drops.  She feels like she’s going to faint.

“They don’t know,” her mother answers.  “Or if they do, they haven’t said anything to me.”

She nods, relief flooding through her.  She looks up at the ceiling and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, but Marmee's questions start again.

“Have you told each other how you feel?  You need to tell me what’s gone on.”

“Yes, we’ve told each other.  And…and we’ve kissed,” she says sheepishly, and she begins to fidget as shame fills her.  Her mother’s arm around her shoulders doesn’t relent, though.

“Just once?” Marmee asks.

She doesn’t answer immediately, and her mother squeezes her arm.

“More than once,” she breathes.

Marmee clears her throat, and takes a sharp breath.

“Has there been anything more than kissing?”

“No,” she answers immediately, but she can’t help but think of earlier that morning, of his hot mouth against her, his body between her legs, how much she wanted him.

Marmee rises suddenly, and she drops her head into her hands.  She waits for her mother to scold her, but when she doesn’t, she scrambles to apologize.

“Marmee, I know it’s wrong - it’s despicable - and I’m so, so sor-”

“You received a letter from Fred this morning,” her mother says, interrupting her.  She raises her head and watches as Marmee picks up a letter from the table near the window in the room and then comes to sit next to her again.  She pushes the letter into her hands.

“Read what we he has to say, and then write to him that you’re coming to him,” Marmee instructs.  “It doesn’t matter where he is - Europe or America.  You want to go be with him and begin planning for your wedding immediately.”

She looks at her mother desperately, her fingers tightening around the envelope in her hands.  Marmee smiles back sadly, lifting her hand and running it down her daughter’s face.

“It’s sudden, and I’ll miss you terribly.  We all will. But,” she says, exhaling quickly and closing her eyes briefly.  When she opens them again, they shine with tears.  “It’s what must be done.  Although we can’t change what has already happened, we can stop it from happening again.”

She stares at her mother, the wisest person she’s ever known.

“Alright,” she whispers.

“Alright,” Marmee repeats, and then wraps her in her arms, hugging her tightly against her chest.  “Alright,” she breathes again, into Amy’s hair.

It feels wrong.  It feels so terribly, awfully wrong, just as everything has since she ran from Laurie in the garden after his proposal, and so often she tries to pinch herself and hopes she’ll wake up from this horrible nightmare.  That she’ll be able to rush back to him, tell him that yes, she’ll marry him, of course she will, yes, yes, yes.

But she never wakes up, and she knows this isn’t a dream.  And now, this is the only path forward.

It feels wrong, but it has to be right.  It has to be.

She hugs her mother back, burying her face into the fabric of Marmee’s dress.

“I’m so sorry, Marmee.”

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly.  “We will fix this, and everything will be alright.”

She isn’t sure she believes her mother, but she doesn’t tell her that. Instead, she hugs her more closely, and closes her eyes.

* * *

The next morning, she’s just finished telling her father and Hannah of her new plans when there’s a knock on the door - three times, loud and succinct.

There’s only one person who knocks like that, and before any of them can make it to the door, it opens, and there she is.

Jo.

Confusion overtakes her at the same time her stomach drops. She glances at Marmee out of the corner of her eye, who gives her a tight-lipped smile before focusing back on her sister.

It’s Amy who speaks first, though.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back from New York for at least four more days.”

“Well, hello to you as well, dear sister,” Jo answers, frowning slightly before pulling Amy into a hug.  “You’re not glad to see me, then?”

It’s not that I’m not glad to see you, she wants to say. I just can’t stand the guilt that eats away at me when I do.

Instead, she tries to hold back a grimace as she embraces Jo.

“I’m always glad to see you, Jo,” she murmurs in a low voice, squeezing her sister more tightly for a moment before stepping away from her and staring at her feet as Jo goes to Marmee.

“Amy.”

Her head snaps up, sees him standing there in front of her.  He’s wearing a dark gray suit.  She recognizes it immediately as the same one he wore the day she first saw him in Paris and jumped from her carriage without a second thought, throwing herself into his arms.

It’s Laurie, she’d told Aunt March, as if that was enough of an explanation.

I know, the old woman had said, like she’d somehow understood.

It’s Laurie.  It’s always been Laurie.

“Laurie,” she whispers, her heart twisting.

She can’t read the expression on his face, namely because there isn’t much of an expression there.  Other than the small, almost regretful smile he gives her that is there one second and gone the next, his face is blank.  He maneuvers around her, careful not to touch her as he follows his wife further into the house. 

“My business in New York finished up early, so I decided to come home and surprise Teddy and the rest of you,” Jo continues as she lets go of Marmee and comes to stand in front of the fireplace, looking at Father and Hannah.  Neither of them have moved, despite Jo’s arrival; her father sits with a pensive frown on his face, while Hannah simply gazes at Amy, her eyes beginning to shine with tears.

Jo slowly frowns as she picks up on the mood of her family, which is decidedly more reminiscent of a funeral than of a celebration.

“What’s going on?  Is everything alright?” she asks, something like panic seeping into her voice.  “Is everyone okay?  Where’s Meg and John?  Daisy and Demi?”

“Everything’s quite alright,” Marmee says suddenly, stepping forward and wrapping her arm around Jo’s shoulders.  “More than alright, actually.  Amy just shared some wonderful news with us.  Right, dear?”

The enthusiasm in Marmee’s voice is clearly forced, but no one points this out.  A beat of silence settles over them.  It isn’t until her mother clears her throat that Amy realizes she’s meant to speak.

“Oh, yes!” Amy says, inserting the same false excitement Marmee used into her voice. “Very wonderful news.”

She falls silent again.  She can feel everyone’s eyes on her, and before she can find words, another voice rings out.

“Well, tell it, then,” Laurie prompts.

His voice is like ice.  Like somehow, he knows what she has to say.  What she’s decided.

“Amy,” Jo urges her, after another moment of silence.  She can hear in Jo’s voice that her sister is still unsettled and on high alert.

“I’m going to Fred,” she finally murmurs.

“What? Speak up,” Jo demands.  “I can hardly hear you.”

She wrings her hands together, and clears her throat.

“I’m going to Fred,” she repeats more loudly.  “We’re…we’re going to get married.”

Silence falls over them all again, and it’s so quiet that they could hear anything - the drop of a pin. The squeak of a mouse.  Her ears begin to ring slightly.  Again,she feels everyone’s gazes permeate her being.

She can sense his eyes the most, though.  Laurie’s gaze, boring into the back of her skull.

Jo is the first to find her words.

“Fred is here?  In Massachusetts?”

“Oh, uh,” she hesitates, glancing at Marmee, who tries to give her daughter an encouraging glance.  “Not exactly.  He’s still in Europe - London, to be exact.  I’m going to him.”

“You’re going to Europe?”

Amy looks up at Jo, who stares at her incredulously, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, Jo,” she answers.

“I thought Fred was coming back soon.”

“He was, but -”

“But what?” Jo interrupts.

“But things got hectic and now he needs to stay!” she says, her voice raising now at her sister.  At Jo, who always found a way to criticize everything she did.  “And I should go be with him!  What am I doing here, Jo, really?  You’re married and in New York constantly, Meg has John, Daisy, and Demi.  And here I am, doing nothing and with nobody!”

“You don’t have nobody.  You have us,” Jo counters, motioning to the other people in the room.

“Things need to change,” she says, ignoring Jo.  “I’m ready to start the rest of my life.  I’m tired of waiting.”

Jo gapes at her for a moment, and then narrows her eyes.

“Ready to start a life with a man who doesn’t love you?”

Amy’s mouth falls open.

“Jo!” Marmee scolds.

“What?” Jo scoffs.  “It’s true.  He won’t even come home and marry her, for goodness’ sake!  And, besides - she doesn’t love him, either.”

“That’s not true,” Amy says, almost growling the words at her sister.  Jo’s right, of course, but she’s offended and angered Amy now, to the point that Amy would argue with her about anything.

“It is true.  I know it.”

What do you know about love? she wants to ask her sister.  You, who’s stuck in a marriage with a man who doesn’t love you and who you don’t love.  You, who ruined everything when you decided to reconsider Laurie’s offer.  You, who created this whole godforsaken mess.  You, you, you!

She bites her tongue, barely, and crosses her arms over her chest.

“It doesn’t matter what you think you know, Josephine.  I’m doing this, with or without your blessing or permission.”

“No, you’re not.”

The sound of Laurie’s voice jolts her.  Everyone falls silent, and she turns slowly to face him.  He’s at the edge of the room, a stern, pensive look on his face.  But he’s looking over her head, staring at nothing.

“Excuse me?” she murmurs.

“You’re not doing this,” he says, finally turning his eyes towards her.  His gaze is resolute.  Like he’s decided something.

“What I do is not up to you,” she tells him, her anger flaring up at him now, too.

He must know why she’s leaving.  That it’s what is best for the both of them.  That it’s the only solution to their mess of a situation.

“You’re right,” he says quietly.  “What you do, or don’t do, is not up to me.  But I also won’t force you into a decision you’re unhappy with.  If you go to Fred, then you’ll go to him for the right reasons.  Not because you feel like it’s your only option.”

Suddenly, his intentions hit her like a sound punch to the stomach.  Her eyes darken, and her voice drops.

“Laurie,” she whispers carefully.

“What are you talking about, Teddy?” Jo asks, confusion in her voice.

He gazes at her for a moment more, before turning his attention to his wife.

“Laurie, what are you doing?  Don’t do this,” she tells him desperately, trying to grab onto his sleeve as he walks past her and towards her sister.  But he pulls his arm from her grasp.

“Jo, I need -”

“Laurie, you can’t do this,” she begs desperately, panic setting in.  Her hand shakes as she reaches up and takes hold of the back of his suit jacket, trying to pull him away from Jo.  “No good can come of this! Laurie, please don’t do this.”

He turns to her suddenly, peers down at her with eyes that are decidedly weary.

“Aren’t you tired, Amy?” he asks her.  “I am.  I’m so tired of everything.  And I won’t…I won’t do this anymore.  I can’t.  I’m too tired.”

“What’s going on?” she hears Jo ask, but she’s too focused on Laurie to offer a response.

“Laurie,” she begs once more, tears welling in her eyes.

“What you do is not up to me,” he says, “but what I do is not up to you, either.  Your sister - everyone here - they deserve the truth.  My wife deserves the truth.”

“The truth about what?” Jo asks, the breathless worry from earlier settling back into her voice.  “Teddy, what is going on?”

He stares at her for a moment more as a tear falls from the corner of her eye.  He reaches out, wipes it away with the pad of his thumb against her skin, and then drops his trembling hand.  He turns towards her sister.

She hears his next statement as an echo from some faraway place.  It almost feels like she’s a girl again, and she’s just fallen through that frozen lake.  Her ears are full of water and she can’t catch her breath.  She doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

 “Jo.”

She’s so scared.

“Jo.  I have to tell you something.”

[themaskedwriter]

To Bucky With Love

Clues

Despite considering Marvel one of my main fandoms, my url was based on a certain show about two brothers hunting supernatural creatures for a long time.

My first language is not English and I’ve only been writing on here for a bit over two years.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Finding yourself travelling back to all the places your relationship with Bucky went through big changes, you send letters to the one you love, reminiscing in everything you went through together.

Warnings: Guns, injuries, a bit of blood and cursing. Cursive is the letter, the rest is the flashback.This is also the first part of a new series which will be continued on my account :)

Word Count: 2772

Dear Bucky, it’s been about a week since I left home. My first destination had to be the place where we met for the first time…well, the place where we were forced to spend time together. I remember the mission like it just happened yesterday, the way our eyes met during the fight, the way your body shielded mine and the way I dragged you through the streets of Jujuy. I hate you so much back then, I hated the fact that you single-handedly ruined my mission just to prove yourself. God, how much I wanted to kill you back then…

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Barnes. What the hell are you doing here?” you snapped at the brunette man that stood across from you, a dangerous twinkle in his eyes as his face was illuminated by the computer screens that covered the wall next to you.

“I’m doing my job, doll, just as you should be doing,” he replied, raising his brows in challenge.

As you were about to open your mouth to reply to the agent in front of you, you heard a low moan coming from your right, seeing the man on the ground reach for his gun. Without hesitation both Bucky and you raised your guns, your bullets hitting the centre of his head before he slumped backwards, finally out cold.

Huffing you strapped your gun back into its holster, “What even is your mission? What could possibly be more important than blowing this base into pieces?”

“I’m looking for a man. Drug-dealer, high risk. Has been killing everyone that got in his way for the last 20 years. Eduardo Lòpez, ever heard of him?”

You quickly nodded your head as your eyes scanned the room before settling on the man in front of you, “You are aware of the fact that he’s not in Argentina right now, yes?”

Bucky’s expression wavered, his lips pursing as he reached up to scratch his jaw, his eyes flickering away from you.

“I can’t believe it. You’re manipulating my entire mission, risking my life while you’re at it just for a single person that’s not even in this goddamn country! Low blow, Barnes, low blow. If you have a problem with me, you better say it now before I accidentally shot you and leave you in this facility before I blow it up,” you jabbed your finger into his firm chest, your anger rising with every passing second, the smug smile that returned onto Bucky’s face only aggravating you even more.

Before Bucky got to send another comeback into your direction the door to the monitoring room flew open, revealing several agents with their guns pointed at you.

“Lower your weapons and raise your hands, now,” the broad-shouldered man in front yelled at you in Spanish.

Raising your hands you slowly reached for your gun, pulling out of its holster and getting ready to place it on the floor in front of you. Glancing over to Bucky you met his eyes, nodding your head ever so slightly before quickly aiming your gun at the men, shooting two of them before kicking a chair in their direction to throw them off guard. Dropping beneath one of the many tables you crawled towards the door, hoping the guards would run towards you, which, luckily, they did, allowing you to shot them from close distance before you hurried through the door, Bucky leaning against the wall opposite of it, his hand pressed against his side, blood seeping through the space between his fingers. Once you were through the metal door you quickly kicked it shut, lifting the chair you had previously kicked in the direction of it against the door, locking the remaining guards inside and hopefully giving you at least some time to get out of the hallway and into a safer part of the facility.

“You okay?” you panted, pressing your hands to your knees as you leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

“Could be better,” Bucky huffed before removing his hand from the bullet wound on his side, taking a look at it just to press his hand back against it.

Looking left and right you made sure no one was entering the hallway you were in as you took a few steps towards the agent that had successfully ruined your mission, “We need to get you to a doctor. Come, I know a way out of here.”

“Well…that didn’t go as smoothly as I planned,” you tried to chuckle but all that came out were raspy breaths and your squeaky voice as you pressed yourself against the white wall of the hallway, bullet firing against the wall opposite of you, coming from where you were just standing a few seconds ago.

“Oh, you don’t say?” Bucky glanced at you from the other side of the stream of bullets flying your way.

You tried to fire your gun at the approaching guards but all you managed to do was hit the walls and floor, not having any sight on your targets.

“Do you have one of those explosives left?”

Patting down your body you soon found the device, pulling it out you held it up for Bucky to see, “Yeah, but I was planning to save this for getting us out of here.”

“To get out of here we need to survive first, doll, this might be our only way,” he yelled as the sounds of guns grew louder, the guards getting closer and closer to you by the second.

“Ugh, fine,” you groaned as you got ready to toss the explosive in the hallway to your right.

“Ready?”

You waited for Bucky to nod before you threw the little device as far as you could without properly aiming, hoping and praying to every divine force that it wouldn’t miss its mark. Crossing your fingers you began counting in your head.

One.

Two.

Three.

BOOM.

The red emergency light immediately went off, the alarm loud and shrill in your ears as you risked a glance into the hallway you threw the explosive into only to be greeted by the sight of bloodied and hurt guards laying scattered on the floor, rubble and debris covering most of the floor, leading to the gaping hole in the wall.

“Let’s go.”

Before you could react Bucky took your hand into his, dragging you towards your way outside of this hellhole, climbing over the guards and rubble in your way until you finally felt the warm breeze from outside brush against your dusty face.

“Finally,” you mumbled to yourself as your feet hit the green grass outside of the facility, casting a glance upwards to wait for Bucky to drop down beside you.

As soon as you heard the low thud of his feet colliding with the ground you began moving, eager to get out of this godforsaken place and away from the agent that ruined your mission. Just as you wanted to tell him to hurry up you felt his body colliding with yours, “Watch out!”

You heard the sound of the gunshot even before your body hit the ground, Bucky falling down somewhere beside you as you reached for one of your guns, firing it in the direction of the shots while hoping your bullet wouldn’t miss.

Risking a look you saw the machine gun slip from the guards hands, his body collapsing and falling out of the whole you had crawled through just a few moments before, allowing you to stand back up, brushing the dust from your pants while keeping your gun firmly in your hand in case of another unfortunate mishap.

“Alright, Barnes. Ready to get-“

The words you wanted to say got stuck in your mouth once you saw Bucky laying on the ground beside you, blood pooling around his thigh as he clutched his hand to the wound on his side.

“No. No, no, no. Goddammit, Barnes!”

“Come on, Barnes, we gotta get moving. I’m not letting you die in the middle of the street,” you hissed as you dragged the agent with you, one of his arms slung across your shoulders while the other continued to press against the bullet wound on his side.

“Oh, but you’re willing to let me die anywhere else?” he grunted out, his feet dragging over the uneven and bumpy pavement beneath you, stumbling over a loose stone.

Speeding up your steps you silently cursed him out, “Continue talking like that and I might just leave you right here.”

“You wouldn’t, doll, try explaining that to everyone back home.”

“Oh…for fuck’s sake. Just shut up,” you groaned, completely fed up with him.

First, he decided to ruin your mission, which was going perfectly smooth until he came crashing through the door, guns blazing, causing all sorts of hell to break loose and then he had the audacity to get shot, forcing you to ditch any sort of plan you had and improvise your way out. Your mission was supposed to be easy, sneak in, get the data, plant the explosives and get back out. But no, Mister Metal Arm had to ruin it for you. And then he even dared to push you to put of harm’s way, leaving you to drag him through the abandoned streets of the outskirts of San Salvador de Jujuy, your broken phone clutched in one hand while you were desperately looking for a way to get Bucky patched up.

Every house you passed seemed abandoned, the windows barricaded and dust collecting on their sills when you finally saw a single person at the end of the road, the woman idly sweeping the dirt and dust off her entrance, the windows of her house open and inviting. Letting out a sigh in relief at the sight of her you sped up your steps, Bucky barely being able to keep up with you but that didn’t matter to you in that moment, desperate to get off the street and take care of his wounds.

“Excuse me, señora? Please, we need help,” you asked in Spanish, not wanting to force her to adjust to a foreigner.

The woman looked up at you, her eyes widening at the sight of two beaten up agents at her doorsteps, before she quickly opened the door for you, ushering you inside as she locked the door and closed the curtains.

“Gracías.”

Dropping Bucky on the floor you took off your heavy gear, kneeling down beside him to take a look at the damage in front of you. Carefully you ripped off Bucky’s shirt, your hands hovering over the bullet wound before you collected yourself, your training reminding you of what to do in a situation like this.

“Could we get-“

Before you could finish your question she kneeled down beside you with a wet towel in her hands, holding it for you to take. Throwing a quick smile in her direction you took it out of her hands and began wiping away the blood that coated Bucky’s skin. Just as you wanted to ask for a needle and a threat the woman in front of you offered to you just what you needed. With shaking hands you tried to stitch up the wound on his side but as the adrenaline slowly wore off you couldn’t help but feel the effect of the past few hours get to you. A hand on your shoulder ripped you out of your thoughts, the woman whose place you crashed gently pushing you aside and taking the utensils from your hands, getting to work on Bucky’s injury, the man grunting slightly as the needle pierced through his skin.

“I-We’re sorry for barging in on you…”

“Maria, my name’s Maria. And you’re more than welcome here, child,” she said while quickly finishing the stitches.

Hours later you were both sitting on Maria’s couch, Bucky more slouched against the back to go easy on his treated wounds, both of you eating Empanadas while you explained your situation to her. You were left in a country you weren’t familiar with, no backup on their way to get you out of the small town and no way of contacting them since your communication devices got destroyed in the fight. Fortunately for you, Maria was familiar with injured people crashing at her place, whether it was kids that scraped their knees or adults with serious problems, she was the one everyone consulted first; that was until people started to move away due to the treat of Eduardo Lòpez and his gang as well as the Hydra base close by.

“You need to rest before you’re going anywhere on your own,” Maria scolded you both as you bought up the topic of getting back home, her eyes lingering especially on Bucky who was trying to stay awake, not showing in how much pain he was in.

“Do you have a phone I could borrow, so I can contact a friend to pick us up?” you asked, worried about your fellow agent, even if you never worked with him before, him basically behind a stranger to you, you still cared about him. He saved your life after all, and he seemed nice enough, the fact that he wasn’t bad to look at was only another nice extra.

“Sure, follow me.”

Maria led you into her kitchen, handing you her phone before grabbing a glass of water and some painkillers to give to Bucky before heading back into the living room, leaving you alone in her kitchen.

You dialled the number you knew like the back of your hand, tapping your foot as you waited for the person on the other end to pick up the phone.

“Romanov.”

“Oh, thank god, Nat. We’re stranded in Jujuy in Argentina and I can’t make contact with anyone else since my phone got hit. Can you get us out of here?”

“Wait, wait, who’s ‘us’? I thought you went on a solo mission,” your close friend and mentor asked at the other end of the line.

Sighing you ran a hand over your face, “Bucky Barnes. He…kinda ruined my mission and got shot in the process. We found shelter at the place of a local but we don’t wanna bother her too much.”

You could hear some papers being moved around, the clicking of a keyboard and Natasha speaking to someone through the phone before she picked it back up, “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Do you have your coordinates? I’ll try to get to you as soon as possible.”


“Thank you, Nat,” you sighed in relief, happy someone would get you back home soon.

“No problem. Oh, and (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“Do me a favour and punch Barnes for me. Also, tell him to get his shit together, he’ll know what that means,” Natasha chuckled slightly before saying her goodbye, prompting you to hang up the phone and give it back to Maria who was leaning against the doorframe to her living room.

“You are more than welcome to stay until your friend picks you up,” she smiled at you.

After heading back to the living room you let yourself fall onto the sofa next to Bucky, softly punching his arm.

“Hey! What’s that for?”

You shrugged as you leaned back against the back of the couch, tugging your feet underneath you, “From Natasha. She also told me to tell you to, and I’m quoting her here, ‘get your shit together’. Apparently, you’ll know what that means.”

I didn’t thank you enough for what you did back then because even though you ultimately ruined my mission you also saved my life, and made it less miserable by stepping into it. For all I know, it was Nat who just set it up but even if it was all her planning, I’m happy things went the way they did. You were willing to sacrifice your life for me without even knowing me and for that, I will be grateful until the day I die.

I’m gonna stay with Maria these next few days, her arms have welcomed me once again. She was beyond sad to hear that you wouldn’t be making it but she gave me some Empanadas for me to take back home.

Home. I won’t be home for some time.

Anyways, I’m gonna write you another letter from my next destination, the city we had our first date in. Oh, I still remember how nervous I was. But that’s for the next letter.

I love you and I can’t wait to see you again, (Y/N)

[signoraviolettavalery]

Roswell Creators Week: AU

When it comes to AUs, Roswell has an embarrassment of riches considering how small the fandom is. While the first season of the show itself was a pretty run of the mill mystery story, fan fic writers got wildly creative, and it’s been a pleasure to discover so many different worlds! I’ve been counting down until AU day so I could recommend a long, long list of amazing fics: 

To Trust Love - @laughsalot3412

(AU where Alex Manes goes on an undercover rescue mission in Caulfield Prison and forms a bond with one of the prisoners in the process.) 

Or, alternatively, Alex gets read into Project Sheppard and immediately decides to commit treason and rescue the aliens, because he actually has a functioning moral compass. And, of course, he and Michael connect. I love this fic because the other has such a deep, nuanced understanding of how abused kids adults behave - how they react to kindness, and to intimacy, and misinterpret others’ intentions, and carry around a whole host of guilt and issues. It’s just so painfully realistic, while at the same time being beautiful and tender and soft. 

i'm waiting for it, that green light (i want it)  - @lacecat

The drawer springs open, and he gazes upon a twisted piece of material. Michael picks it up, and the material morphs in his hands, taking on a sheen like nothing else on this planet.

Symbols and letters flash across the surface, but he doesn’t bother reading it now - that will come later, when they’re far away from the soon-to-be-empty bank vault.

There’s a low click, and Michael goes still on reflex. “Baby,” he says then, “Is that you?”

“Don’t call me baby,” Alex Manes orders, stepping into the vault. “Hands where I can see them, Guerin.”

An Ocean’s 11/heist/enemies-to-lovers AU that I”m absolutely adoring. None of the Pod Squad are adopted, and instead, they run away when they’re 16 and start stealing spaceship pieces (and, of course, money and gems to cover up what they’re actually taking). And Alex is the one tasked with finding and catching the aliens. Little does he know, though, that he’s been sleeping with one of them for months...

An absolutely beautiful AU where you can explore how things might have been (what would’ve happened if none of the pod sqaud got adopted?) while Michael and Alex still, no matter the circumstances, form a cosmic connection. And it’s got all the sci-fi-y, Air Force/secret facilities/alien dissection elements you wish the show would have. 

Kiss and Control - @winged-fool

Winged-fool is this fandom’s absolute master of darkfic. She’s also written God Called Out Sick Today, which I recommend as well, but this one’s probably my favorite:  

AU where instead of Antarians crashing on Earth, humans escape a dying Earth and are taken in by a war-mongering Antar.

This has everything: space royalty, Antarian general Michael, badass Alex, kinky sex, possessiveness, unorthodox declarations of affection, and, of course, handprints. Alex rises through the ranks and becomes one of the most respected and lethal soldiers in the Antarian military, led by Michael - and, naturally, remarkable as he is, he catches Michael’s eye. Cue two lethal, powerful, badass, murderous men being absolutely smitten with each other. Winged’ fics are always my happy place, because they might be darkfics, but in their own way, they’re sweet, fluffy, and just outright happy. 

What Once was Lost, is Now Found - ChelseasDeadSmile

“I drank wine when the Titanic was sinking, and beer when an amateur filmmaker tricked me into bed. Both times, I had sex before running the fuck away” he tells her with brutal honesty in his voice which seems to cause her to question if he was actually telling her the truth about all he’s been through.

“And now?” she asks trying to pull more out of him and, pleasantly for her, he feels like being honest tonight.

“The curly-haired man at the pool table behind me is looking more and more like a good idea.”

A Hello Again-inspired Malex AU. Alex is immortal. One day, in the 21st century, in a Roswell, a certain curly-haired cowboy catches his eye. 

I’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice -  vlamito 

It starts some time after he finds the glass shard hidden in the wall – which, of course, he only realizes in hindsight.

It’s not until the night after Caufield, sitting in Michael’s trailer waiting for him to come back so he can make sure he’s alright after what happened in that godforsaken place, that he’s actually able to put all the clues together.

This fic has everything: soulmates, reincarnation, and the multiverse. Touching the spaceship piece makes Michael and Alex see dozens and dozens of alternate realities, in each of which they’ve met and loved each other, one way or another. Which in turn helps them realize something about themselves and their relationship in this particular universe...

Michael Guerin, Space Pirate - @planetsam

A Martian AU that yours truly can brag about having inspired, and let me tell you, it does not disappoint. Michael Guerin makes a perfect Mark Watney, snark and swearing included. 

Darken up my Heaven, Brighten up my Hell - @audreyblanche

So remember when Tyler Blackburn starred as a demon on Charmed and we all lost it? Yeah, so this brilliant fic is based on that. Michael summons a demon because he needs a date to his ex’s wedding. His ex being Noah, and Audrey brilliantly predicted him being a dick weeks before 1x11. He gets slightly more than he bargained for. Anything with that premise could be dark and angsty, but instead, this is light and happy and humorous and absolutely lovely. 

bitch, I’m a monster - @seeaddywrite

Vampire AU! When Alex loses his leg in Iraq, he almost dies - but is saved when he’s turned into a vampire. 

Just like everything seeaddywrite writes, this is beautiful, poignant, heartbreaking, angsty, and, above all, nuanced. As a vampire, Alex believes himself to be a monster; he knows that he has to keep his distance from Michael to keep him safe (what’s new?) A plan that is rather derailed when Michael and Alex wake up alone in the desert, stranded and helpless, courtesy of Jesse mains. And, okay, I love vampire fics; I love the trust and intimacy involved in one partner feeding on the other, and I love the way seeaddy writes Alex, with all of his complicated issues. 

Don’t stay the night - @gra-sonas

Alex has a rule for one night stands: they never stay the night.

Listen, I have a lot of opinions about traumatized characters who never let anyone sleep over/see them while they’re vulnerable/see them naked/any variation on this. And this is just...*chef’s kiss*, and also resonates for me personally for a variety of reasons. It’s just so soft and sweet; Alex is the kind of guy who never lets his guard down, except that with Michael, he does. And Michael, of course, streamrolls right past all of Alex’s defense. Oh, and then there’s the Taylor Swift references, which are a way straight to my heart. 

What Might Have Been - Some-Mad-Lunge

Alex leaves Roswell the day after his and Michael’s almost kiss. He comes back for his high school reunion and realizes some things never change, like the way a certain curly haired boy makes him feel.

Holy shit, you guys. Holy shit. I didn’t think giving Malex Max and Liz’s story (basically - they have an almost kiss and don’t see each other for ten years) would work so well, but it does. Alex becomes famous writing music about his lost love, the one that got away. Little does he know that Michael listens to his music and knows it’s about him. 

I just love everything about this. The Taylor Swift namedropping! Alex getting to be famous and successful doing what he wanted to do! Alex literally writing songs about their “Cosmic Love”! Making out under the bleachers! Alex discovering Michael’s cowboy swagger and sexiness after ten years! Just...everything. 

[arasei]

Dear Sorachi,

I’ve already written a letter on ao3 but it’s only appropriate that I write another one here on tumblr, considering this godforsaken website was the thing that got me into Gintama the first place. 

Three years ago, I was struggling w/ studying for high school exams and was scrolling through tumblr for a break, when a video popped up on my dashboard. You remember the hard-boiled arc? It was a clip of what I only knew as a group of random people screaming as they ran against this escalator-turned hall with spikes chasing them from the back. Looking back now, I should not have been crying with laughter over a white perm-head and a pair of glasses carrying a makeshift family above their heads while they ran to escape certain death, but I knew instantly that this was an anime I needed in my life.

It’s made me laugh, it’s made me cry, it’s taught me not to trust perm-heads at first glance. It inspired me to draw, it inspired me to write, it led me to meet amazing people within the fandom who I now cannot see life without.

It’d be easy to say Gintama changed my life, but I think that would be wrong. Because Sorachi, you changed my life. You made this terribly amazing cast, you came up with all the laugh-until-you-drop episodes, you crafted intricately beautiful, heart breaking story lines - and you told me I wasn’t alone.

I’m beyond sad that Gintama is over, but it’s not gone. The Yorozuya will break through worlds and panels to wipe away my tears right? So I won’t say goodbye. I’ll say see you later.

Thanks, Gorilla-Sensei.

Sending you all the bananas in the world,

Love, Arasei

[drsilverfish]

DrSilverfish Meta Masterpost S8

Hellatus historical meta masterpost housekeeping! 

I was new to Tumblr in S8 and finding my feet (stylistically as much as anything) as well as live-watching SPN for the first time (usually by shitty overseas live-stream) so, a lot of the early stuff is shippy rambling rather than decent meta. 

I was also much more hopeful that the Destiel subtext might be canon fore-shadowing back in “Season Gr8″ (as we dubbed it at the time).  

Some of this is worth reading, particularly I’d say, from about No 21) “Dean, Nazis and the Closet” onwards, i.e. from commentary on 8x13 Everybody Hates Hitler to the end of the season.

It’s really interesting looking back. There was a lot of disappointment in the Destiel fandom here on Tumblr after 8x17 and the crypt scene in Goodbye Stranger, where it felt as if an “I love you” from Dean to Castiel was, somehow, missing.  This was later (to a reasonable fact-checked standard) confirmed to have indeed been a removed line (by Jensen, who didn’t think it was right for Dean):

http://fandomdebunker.tumblr.com/post/64507789422/the-rumor-that-jensen-confirmed-the-i-love-you 

Looking back, I think he was probably right, but it felt disappointing then, at a time when the queer subtext seemed to be lapping at the shores of breaking waves into main-text. 

For Destiel fans, and queer subtext followers, there was, nevertheless, a lot to love about S8: the “purity” of Purgatory and Dean’s search for his angel; Benny’s “thirst” for Dean; Charlie introducing Dean to LARP-ing; Aaron Bass as Dean’s “gay thing”; Naomi forcing Castiel to kill innumerable Dean-clones in Heaven (evidence that Heaven saw Cas’ feelings for Dean as, in particular, transgressive); and another lovely Cas-centric episode from Edlund, The Great Escapist  (8x21), when Cas cleverly hid from the angels by zapping between multiple Biggersons diners, trapping his angelic pursuers in “quantuum superposition” (lol). 

From Dean’s hallucinations of Cas, and his self-memory-wipe of the fact Cas deliberately let go of his hand at the portal exit from Purgatory, to their tender exchange about Cas’ suicidal ideation in 8x08 Hunter Heroici, to the romantic subtext of Metatron’s angel-fall spell ingredients (see meta below) S8 was (despite poor Cas’ torture by Heaven and his deep depression) a season of reconciliation for Dean and Cas, after the previous season’s (S7) upheavals: Cas’ apparent lake-death; the long separation; Dean’s rage and grief; Emmanuel’s mind-wipe; Cas’ “mental break” (Cas taking on Sam’s cage-match scars as atonement); and the whole Leviathan fall-out from the Godstiel arc. 

S8 remains, despite its disappointments, one of my favourite seasons.    

Season 8

1) Is Supernatural “Queer-Baiting” or is it Erotically Homosocial?

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35297767675/is-supernatural-queer-baiting-or-is-it 

2) Mulder and Scully vs Cas and Dean - Love, Narrative, and Being ‘”Out”

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35370673077/mulder-and-scully-vs-cas-and-dean-love

3) What if Sam had a Plan on that Bridge?

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35474455496/what-if-sam-had-a-plan-on-that-bridge

4)  Dean’s Daddy Issues  (8x05 Blood Brother and 8x06 Southern Comfort)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35701230407/deans-daddy-issues 

5)  The Course of True Love Never did Run Smooth  (8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin) 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35756472429/the-course-of-true-love-never-did-run-smooth 

6) So Castiel is a “God-Forsaken Thing” that Dean “Cares About”? (8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35835317081/so-castiel-is-a-godforsaken-thing-that-dean

7) “I Wasn’t Weak, I Was Stronger than You - I Pulled Away”: Castiel Getting it Wrong (8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/35842147281/i-wasnt-weak-i-was-stronger-than-you-i-pulled

8) More Than a Boner - The Bathroom Scene Revisited (8x07)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36022592701/more-than-a-boner-the-bathroom-scene

9) Why Sam Didn’t Look for Dean: Some Speculation

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36098761529/why-sam-didnt-look-for-dean-some-speculation 

10) Dean/ Cas: A Fine Romance. How Should that Slow On-Screen Build-Up Continue?

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36172853047/dean-cas-a-fine-romance-how-should-that-slow

11) Dean/Cas, a Fine Romance... How Should THAT Kiss Unfold On-Screen?

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36249617858/dean-cas-a-fine-romance-how-should-that-kiss

12) 8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin - Dean’s Forgiveness of Castiel

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36384800654/picture-credit-to 

13) The Textual Threads of Dean Winchester’s Beautiful, Ambivalent, Sexuality

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36540877041/the-textual-threads-of-dean-winchesters 

14) 8x08 Hunter Heroici - What if Dean and Cas were Damon and Elena?

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/36884331511/what-if-dean-and-cas-were-damon-and-elena)

15) Dean and Cas: The Sky is Going to Rain Crimson for Those Two

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/37361902553/dean-and-cas-the-sky-is-going-to-rain-crimson-for

16) In Which S4 Illuminates S8 (Mini-Meta)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/40124370749/in-which-season-4-illuminates-season-8-mini-meta

17) 8x10 Torn and Frayed - The Choice of Sam and Dean  

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/40735606424/the-choice-of-sam-and-dean-spoilers-for-8x10 

18) 8x10 Torn and Frayed - Let’s Take a Moment for Sam

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/40781379927/lets-take-a-moment-for-sam-spoilers-for-8x10 

19) 8x11 LARP and the Real Girl - Charlie’s Relationship With Dean

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/41381955006/charlies-relationship-with-dean-spoilers-for 

20) A Friend for Sam - Musings on Character Development

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/42219949786/a-friend-for-sam-musings-on-character 

21) 8x13 Everybody Hates Hitler - Dean, Nazis and the Closet

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/42574075453/dean-nazis-and-the-closet-further-thoughts-on 

22) 8x13 Everybody Hates Hitler - The Golem as a Parallel Device

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/42745942537/the-golem-as-a-parallel-device-supernatural-8x13 

23) Dean’s Sexuality and Audience Interpretation

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/42790117441/deans-sexuality-and-audience-interpretation

24) The Sexual Politics of Audience Desire  (Supernatural and Fan-Fiction)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/42867211604/the-sexual-politics-of-audience-desire

25) 8x13 Everybody Hates Hitler - More Discussion on Dean, Nazis and the Closet (and some additional discussion on the closet in this episode with @mekbuda and @lookatthefreaking hipsters [now both deactivated])

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/42990052635/destiels-delight-dean-nazis-and-the-closet 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/48276862638/aaron-bass-schr%C3%B6dingers-gay 

26) Dean as Nurturer: Mini Character Meta

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/43032313116/dean-as-nurturer-mini-character-meta

27)   Pick-Ups and Hook-Ups: Aaron, Ellie, Benny - Dean’s Supernatural Sexy-Times Meta (8x14 Trial and Error)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/43156477155/pick-ups-and-hook-ups-aaron-ellie-benny-deans

28) Commentary on Dean and “Mytharc”

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/43184426552/a-discussion-re-emergent-complexity-laura-prudom 

29) I Touch Myself: Musical Narrative Voice and Polysemy (8x14 Trial and Error)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/43252438290/i-touch-myself-musical-narrative-voice-and

30) “I’m Just Curious as to Which One You Consider Yourself, Mostly?” Dean Thinks it Through with Portia  (8x15 Man’s Best Friend With Benefits)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/43855179447/im-just-curious-as-to-which-one-you-consider 

31) Mytharc vs Heart-Arc: Dean as Medieval Romantic Hero

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/44110505167/mytharc-vs-heart-arc-dean-as-medieval 

and with additional commentary:

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/64143278936/get-the-saltenjoy-the-show-mytharc-vs

32) 8x17 Goodbye Stranger Dialogue Review

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/45888461261/supernatural-8x17-dialogue-review-spoilers 

33) Personal Queer Reflections on Shipping Dean and Cas, post 8x17 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/45935841020/personal-queer-reflections-on-shipping-dean-and 

34) Bisexuality, Power Inequalities and the Difficulties of Representation - Destiel in 8x17 Goodbye Stranger

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/46012398416/bisexuality-power-inequalities-and-the 

35) “I’d Rather Have You, Cursed or Not”: Subtext, Mon Amour

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/46543190453/id-rather-have-you-cursed-or-not-subtext-mon 

36) Swing Low, Sweet Chariot - To Hell and Back - Taxi Driver, Cab Fare and Charon’s Boat  (18x19 Taxi Driver)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/47145558835/swing-low-sweet-chariot-to-hell-and-back-taxi 

37) Four Times Sam Was Challenged on not Searching for Dean

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/47233826179/four-times-sam-was-challenged-on-not-searching-for 

38) Killing Kitsune to Caressing Castiel: Dean’s Journey from his own Side of Monster 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/48219811386/killing-kitsune-to-caressing-castiel-deans

39) Pac-Man Fever Calls Back Yellow Fever (8x20)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/48827322213/pac-man-fever-calls-back-yellow-fever-overcoming

40) Edlund’s Love Letter to Fan-Fiction in The Great Escapist (8x21) 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/49413040878/edlunds-love-letter-to-fan-fiction-8x21

41) “Why Do People Always Think We’re Gay?” (8x21)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/49415068274/why-do-people-always-think-were-gay-8x21

42) Sam’s Mistaken Quest for “Purity” (8x21)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/49468662684/flipse-it-doesnt-matter-anymore-because 

43) In Purgatory, The Heart is Purified for Heaven

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/49963611742/in-purgatory-the-heart-is-purified-for-heaven

44) “Of the Blessings Set Before You: Make Your Choice and Be Content” (8x23 Sacrifice)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/50567052832/of-the-blessings-set-before-you-make-your-choice

45) Metatron’s Spell: The Ingredients (8x23)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/50579065447/metatrons-spell-the-ingredients-spn-8x23-the

46) Naomi is a Bitch, Abaddon is a Whore - Can We Not? (8x23)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/50599390401/naomi-is-a-bitch-abbadon-is-a-whore-can-we

47) Queer Angel Love in Metatron’s Spell (A Few Further Thoughts on 8x23)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/50604693898/gay-angel-love-in-metatrons-spell-a-few-further

48) The Bar Scene in 8x23 - Detailed Analysis of LGBTQ “Lib” and “Lol” Moments

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/50661253249/the-bar-scene-in-8x23-spoilers-detailed

49) Supernatural Soap: Does Adding a Gay Writer Matter? (Berens Joins the Show)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/58286938085/supernatural-soap-does-adding-a-gay-writer

50) The Gospel of Mary Winchester Still Needs to Be Written

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/60227577254/image-credit-fanpop-mary-winchester-burned-on 

51) Actual Crypt Scene vs Gag Reel Crypt Scene (8x17): That Which is Disavowed

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/60477660660/weird-little-angel-x-this-is-a-nice 

[starrdew]

1, 4, 10, 15, 23 ! 💖💖💖

What was your first impression of the roleplay community on Tumblr? And what’s your impression of it now?

i thought they were a horny bunch and I still think that kdsjsd I joined during the glee/disney/supernatural era. the number of pregnant edits i found when i went through the searches… there was a blog that did NOTHING BUT. it was demonic times, luvmy impression now is that tumblr’s rp community isn’t rly a community? jkdssd i just don’t see the solidarity but roleplay is so diverse and vast. the only thing we all have in common is the love for collaborative writing. i can say that things have gotten less… overtly cynical. i rmr the time where rpcs would openly critique you on bullshit criterias and rpt/a/whatever letter would just take up space to be annoying. i’m not saying rpcs are less annoying now but i don’t see the same type of mess anymore. 

How many roleplay blogs do you have?

i’ve kept all of my blogs up since the beginning of time lol i’m gonna say an embarrassing amount. but only one mumu indie blog!

Are there any fandom(s) you avoid roleplaying in?

would say i avoid the crime/mafia fandoms/genre the most only because that’s not where my creativity really thrives. OH. and harry potter marauders era rps. i…. if there is one thing that has been a constant since the day i stepped into this godforsaken place, it’s the fact that hp rps have ALWAYS been around. more power to those who love that but i personally can’t get too into it.

What’s your impression on blogs who are selective/private?

YEAH SELECTIVE RIGHTS!!! like realistically there are just a bunch of people i don’t wanna talk to or don’t get along with. “but Thanh aren’t u just judging ppl before u get to know them?” if i read thru their rules page and look at their muses, i can get a vibe. we can both be friends with ppl who won’t drain us of our mental/emotional bandwidth. ppl who know exactly what they want out of their rp experiences are living their best lives

What’s the one thing you dislike about the roleplaying community on Tumblr?

the fucking…. inaccessibility of it all. like yeah yeah racism, misogyny, transphobia are all things that plague me in the middle of the night. but the fact that someone won’t just… LET PEOPLE READ or NAVIGATE your blog?? the or the fifty in a row. having a legible font will cost you 0.00!! then there are the small container themes with the HIDDEN links SCATTERED around the page while there are bouncing orbs around the pages. all of that ON TOP of low contrast color schemes.why don’t you just spit in my face and say that you hate people with dyslexia, eyesight issues, and other conditions? i shouldn’t have to go digging for the map on the back of the declaration of independence to just get to a certain page. i don’t know who needs to hear this but if you indulge in the inaccessible trends for the aesthetic…you have a shit aesthetic.