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a rose by any other name (still has the same thorns)

By chasm_side

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 3,959 words

Summary: When the Terror Titans threatened to destroy the Teen Titans, Robin had brought his team together by finally revealing his secret identity. But now that the dust has settled, the team realizes that they hadn't quite heard him correctly. Or, a silly alternate ending to Mark Waid's World's Finest: Teen Titans, with bonus Dick/Roy.

My thoughts: Dick and his friends is something so good and real. People need to remember that Dick has friends more. And he’s so stupidly noble I love him ur honor.

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Peter, fifteen and fresh out of a bloody and brutal war, sneaking out of Cair Paravel in the middle of the night and going to the river, sticking his head into ice-cold water to shock himself out of a nightmare riddled sleep. Narnia won, but at what cost?

Peter, lying in Susan's bed with his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her skirts, dried tear tracks on his face and Susan singing quietly in an effort to comfort him. Her fingers pick apart the strands of his hair and he falls asleep only to wake up an hour later with screams on his lips.

Peter, wrapping his arms around an Edmund who has returned from war and murmuring frantic thanks to the Gods for keeping him alive. He presses kisses on Edmund's forehead, cheeks, nose and eyelids, and considers the idea of never letting any of his siblings out of his sight ever again.

Peter, sitting on the High King's throne at the age of thirteen and wondering if he is worthy of this, if he deserves this, if he is capable of this. He is thirteen and barely knows anything about anything and he is High King who should know everything about everything is he worthy is he deserving is he capable he does not know—

Peter, in Lucy's room sitting on the floor with his back pressed to her bed, allowing her to braid flowers into his hair as he stares at the wall. The Victory Parade is in a few hours, but they lost many soldiers and people and Peter has lost sleep and sanity and good friends. Narnia has won but Peter has lost.

Peter, carrying a candle to the Castle Library at two in the morning and pulling out a book about children's fables. He cannot sleep, might as well distract himself. The candle dies down and the sun comes up, and Peter drags himself back to his quarters to get ready.

Peter, who locks himself in his chambers and does not come out for days and days, who refuses food and drink and buries himself under his blankets and stares out the window with blank eyes and slack eyebrows, who does not speak and does not cry and pushes his face into his pillow and screams for the nightmares to go away please I'll do better I just want to sleep please stop please—

Peter, who wants peace and contentment, but cannot help but go to war. Peter, who is quiet and introspective but needs to be loud and abrasive because he is High King. Peter, who wishes he could put down the sword that he wields as easily as he breathes.

Peter, who desires peace, but becomes a God of War

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Little Women

By Louisa May Alcott

Hook: Generations of readers young and old, male and female, have fallen in love with the March sisters of Louisa May Alcott’s most popular and enduring novel, Little Women. Here are talented tomboy and author-to-be Jo, tragically frail Beth, beautiful Meg, and romantic, spoiled Amy, united in their devotion to each other and their struggles to survive in New England during the Civil War. It is no secret that Alcott based Little Women on her own early life. While her father, the freethinking reformer and abolitionist Bronson Alcott, hobnobbed with such eminent male authors as Emerson, Thoreau, and Hawthorne, Louisa supported herself and her sisters with "woman’s work,” including sewing, doing laundry, and acting as a domestic servant. But she soon discovered she could make more money writing. Little Women brought her lasting fame and fortune, and far from being the "girl’s book” her publisher requested, it explores such timeless themes as love and death, war and peace, the conflict between personal ambition and family responsibilities, and the clash of cultures between Europe and America.

My thoughts: I have such fond memories of this book. I know the movie's fairly popular, but I did quite enjoy the book in my youth, and the sequel Little Men, though I admit to have never read Jo's Boys.

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Remembering the Ashes Before They Burn

By indianathethird

On Archive of Our Own (account required)

Status: Complete; 32,133 words

Summary: A few months passed of living in Beacon Hills and his bullet wound had healed nicely, his stitches removed with no trouble. All that was left was a fresh red scar – a reminder. Slowly but surely, he became accustomed to ‘the simple life’. After a while, he even got used to being called ‘Stiles’ again, but he always thought of himself as Thomas. He changed a lot after what happened, and he didn’t think he would ever go back to being the goofball Stiles he used to be. or where thomas is stiles. featuring gay people, trauma, a few werewolves, and found family.

My thoughts: Honestly a pretty well done TMR x TW fic. It's not overwrought, and I appreciate that.

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those bright blue eyes can only meet mine across a room filled with people that are less important than you

By Biromantic_Nerd @biromantic-nerd

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 3,231 words

Summary: Michael ignored him to stare at the loud incredulity and the quieter awe on Lucas' face. If it was true, they both clearly were thinking, if it was true then they were the only two who would ever understand each other. The only ones who could. Because Lucas was right: meeting Dean wouldn't be enough to understand, you had to have been there. (Or: the one where in a college creative writing class, Michael discovers he has something in common with his classmate Lucas Barr)

My thoughts: Love the idea of these kids remembering their experiences and holding Dean up to an ideal in a sense. They're so funny and cute. Also Michael thinking Sam was Dean's bf the entire time like for real and Lucas being the one to finally correct him lmao. Also fuck that teacher.

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Battle for the Crown

(A Battle for the Crown Medieval Royalty AU, something that absolutely no one but me wanted to read.)

For @dickgraysonweek Day 1: Prince of Gotham | Time Travel | 5+1 Things

Summary

Richard Grayson was never supposed to be King. That had been the agreement, when Bruce took a Romani boy from a travelling circus in as his ward. He would not—could not—be Bruce's heir.

But now that Bruce is dead and Dick is left scrambling to protect his family from the whims of Gotham's Court, Dick might just have to make history.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne

Warnings: Racism, antisemitism, hatred targeted towards Romani people, assimilation, semi-forced conversion, depiction of religion (specifically Christianity, Judaism, and folk religions) in both positive and negative lights, referenced character death, minor violence. Uh...sorry. This turned into a bit of a cultural commentary.

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Sun of the Fire Nation

By AshDuet

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; 27,139 words

Summary: On the day of Sozin's comet, Zuko emerges from a prison beneath the Fire Nation's palace, determined to take his place on the Fire Nation's throne and help his country to heal. This is the story of how he got there, and of the events that transpire on that first, fatal day after the world is changed forever. A "Zuko never met the Gaang" AU where Zuko's quest for the avatar went sideways a year before Aang emerged from the ice, and Zuko underwent all his character development while living as an earth kingdom vigilante and being held in various prisons.

My thoughts: Azula and Zuko's relationship is really interesting in this fic! It's a really good take on the Zuko never joined the Gaang trope, I think.

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A Way with Words

By winterkill @thebrimmingheart

On Archive of Our Own (account required)

Status: Complete; 48,129 words

Summary: Cursed with obedience as a child in Cersei's place, Jaime grows up following his twin's every order, helping secure her place on the Iron Throne. After the loss of his swordhand, Cersei deems Jaime useless and sends him to the farthest, most remote place she can think of, the island of Tarth, to wed the Evenstar's only daughter. Brienne isn't sure what to make of her future husband's strange behavior.

My thoughts: An Ella Enchanted AU is wild, but it?? fits?? I would love to know more backstory to this verse. Like what does literally every other kingdom think of this?? Do any of them buy the he was cursed story or do they call bullshit or what? Are they just content the former Queen's general and brother wants to hide away on an island?

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Every adult had to consider modes of transportation. A lot of people thought, “I’ll buy a subway pass” and considered the topic closed. But Kim Dokja’s family owned a car. This was one of the first things they bought after invading Kim Dokja’s life via fourth-dimensional breaking-and-entering.

Kim Dokja learns how to drive.

...

Tadahhhh I present to you my piece for Serenity Zine.

I very much did not mean to post this -- I wanted to wait until the weekend proper, actually -- but, frazzled through two hours of trying to figure out image hosting and formatting, I clicked "Post" instead of "Save as Draft". After that, what was I going to do, huh? Delete it and go through the entire image formatting thing again?

Anyway yeah here you go.

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It's Nice to Have Company Sometimes

By DJClawson @djclawson

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 2,258 words

Summary: Luke asks Matt to make room in his life.

My thoughts: Just a sort of character study re Matt and Danny. I think they can have a really interesting dynamic between the two of them.

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Chin Up, Chekov

By Incoming Grapefruit

On Fanfiction.net

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 5,522 words

Summary: Chekov is the youngest ensign in Starfleet history. And sometimes, the crew treat him accordingly. Struggling to boost his self-esteem, will a late night conversation with the captain help bring him to the realisation that he's not as alone as he thinks?

My thoughts: Honestly just a really cute fic. Imposter syndrome is so real.

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just something that's been rattling around in my brain:

In a world where Fiyero never makes it to Shiz, he arrives at the Emerald City as a brainless prince roped into being the political boyfriend of Glinda the Good, Oz’s most darling public figure. At first, he thinks this is a pretty good gig, but there’s a level of mystery surrounding Glinda that gets darker and darker the more he learns. 

Like the fact that the Animals of Oz’s underground railroad keep trying to talk to her. 

Like the fact that the Wicked Witch of the West appears to be following her. 

Like the fact that she doesn’t remember anything from before four months ago, except a single name.

Elphie. 

(drabble below)

“Wait!” Fiyero cries, arm outstretched as though he can keep the witch from leaving. “Please,” he whispers. Desperate. Begging. “C-can you tell me why?”

Elphaba’s eyes narrow, her lips thin. “You don’t know?”

Fiyero shakes his head. 

Elphaba’s gaze skirts over him, appraising. “What do you think happened?” she asks, taking Fiyero aback. He swallows hard, collecting his thoughts. 

“I think they…I think they did something to her,” he confesses. His voice is barely more than a whisper, his palms clammy with sweat as his skin prickles with fear of being caught saying something so treasonous. But-

He’s had his suspicions for months now. 

Elphaba turns properly toward him, nodding sharply. “But do you know why?” she pushes. 

“I--” Fiyero breaks off, mind whirling. Why? Why would the Gale Force, the Wizard, whoever- why would they want Glinda to have amnesia? 

“No. I don’t.”

Elphaba tilts her head, gaze calculating. “Do you know who Madame Morrible is?” she asks, throwing Fiyero a little.

“The Press Secretary? I- yeah, I do. She’s close with Glinda, why?”

Something furious and wild flares in Elphaba’s emerald eyes, so much so Fiyero has to resist the urge to step back or reach for his hip. “You’re saying she had something to do with it,” he says. It’s not a question, but Elphaba nods anyway. 

“You catch on quick.”

Fiyero gulps. “She- she’s unsettling,” he responds. “Glinda spends a lot of time with her, but she’s rattled after. Won’t talk to me. Her meetings with Morrible or the Wizard are the only times I’m not allowed in the room.”

That, more than anything, had been the biggest red flag. But Elphaba still hasn’t answered his question. 

“What did Morrible do? Why is Glinda like this?”

Elphaba stares, silence stretching until Fiyero shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. Only then does she speak. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?”

A breeze stirs, swirling around the edges of Elphaba’s black cloak. Her chin tilts up, the wide brim of her hat casting sharp shadows over her face. “She’s like this because of me.” 

Fiyero feels the air get sucked out of him. “You?”

Elphaba nods, but this time it is rigid, stiff. Mechanic. She looks at him like she’s waiting for him to put the pieces together. 

“Because I wouldn’t conform.”

Fiyero’s head is spinning. He’s got all these pieces and he knows they fit together somehow if he just thinks. He’s never been known for his brain, but right now it’s working overtime. Morrible. The Wizard. The Wicked Witch. Glinda the Good. 

What? What is it? What is he missing? 

The answer comes slamming into him with the force of a bullet train. Or- maybe just a bullet. It pierces through his heart, ripping at the vulnerable core of him. “She’s a hostage,” he breathes, soft and horrified. 

Elphaba’s smile is the saddest he’s ever seen. “She’s leverage,” the witch explains. “Because Morrible knows I would never let her get hurt.”

Fiyero curls his fingers into fists, throat tight. “Because you love her,” he chokes out. “Don’t you?”

Elphaba’s shoulders slump, something almost like grief ghosting across her face. “You do, too,” she says instead of answering. “I can tell.”

Fiyero stammers, shaking his head. “I-it’s not like that,” he protests immediately. “It’s just a job.”

But Elphaba’s eyes are all too knowing. “No it’s not,” she states calmly. “Glinda is…she’s sunshine. She’s warm and she’s beautiful and she brightens your day. She’s so easy to love.”

The way she says it, soft and fond, tears at Fiyero’s chest, making his heart clench as he takes in her worn appearance. “It’s- it’s not like that,” he says again. Because it isn’t. Fiyero cares for Glinda, more than he probably should, but after just a few minutes of talking to her, he knows, intimately-

He doesn’t love her like Elphaba does.

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don't like your girlfriend

By vintango

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 2,405 words

Summary: Annabeth and Leo have a frank conversation.

My thoughts: I have zero feelings towards Calypso, but this is anti-Caleo and I totally get why. I feel like part of any dislike Annabeth would hold against Calypso would also be because she cursed (her? Percy?) with the inability to find each other through the arai in Tartarus but this is about creepy age gaps and power imbalances.

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Toad Words

            Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.

            It used to be a problem.

            There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up with parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.

            So I got frogs. It happens.

            “You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”

            I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.

            Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.

            Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.

I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening.  I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.

            Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.

            Toads are masters of it.

            I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.

            When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.

            I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.

            I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.

            But I can make more.

            I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.

            Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.  

            It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.

            I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)

            The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.

            My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.

            I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.

Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…

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Rubies, Diamonds, Fire & Blades

By VixenRose1996 @sweetvixen1996

On Fanfiction.net & Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 15,814 words; 1st part of There is Always Something About the First One series

Summary: After witnessing an indiscretion on Jean's part, Scott is so hurt that he runs off and seeks comfort in the company of an old lover. This leaves Jean, who has been feeling unstable since the events on Liberty Island, to deal with her own guilt, anger, and jealousy. Loyalties are torn, children must be allowed to grow up. No one is happy and all must confront what they want.

My thoughts: I read this fic a bit ago, and I thought about it again and was like I have to find it, but I couldn't remember how I found it in the first place so I spent some time scouring FF.net for it and recalled why I think of FF.net as a last resort bc its impossible to find shit there. But I was like I really want to reread it and rec it bc I really liked it. And then I found it on AO3! I feel like this fic and minisinoo's Mickey Blue Eyes & Body Memory kind of speak in conversation with each other except this one has Scemma vibes and MBE/BM is Jott endgame (plus the whole they fix Scott's disability bit makes me uncomfortable with that particular minisinoo fic). I feel like this is more cohesive in its writing/voice even if we never get a really satisfying ending especially re: everything going on with Jean. But that's life too ig.

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Ten Minutes From Home: Lebanon Coda

By disabled_dean @disabled-dean

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; 70,910 words

Summary: What does John see when he looks at Cas? Cas doesn’t look like a monster. But neither does Dean. John stands, slow. He holds out a hand. Calloused like Dean’s hands are calloused. Scarred the same way that Dean’s hands are scarred. There’s the smell of him in the air too. Earthy and dark, slightly sour around the edges. The room feels suddenly choked with it. Claustrophobic. Cas probably smells like the fabric softener they buy in bulk at Costco, but so does Dean so he can’t tell. John says, toneless, “I hear you’ve been driving my car.” . . . The closer you are to what you want—Dean's twenty-nine year old mother, his undefined relationship with Cas and their small family. Some kind of impossible reconciliation with John Winchester. Michael, out of his head, without destroying the world. His father's approval. To see the Grand Canyon. —The more vulnerable you are.

My thoughts: Love the ways we can define Dean and John’s relationship. It’s juicy. And then Mary is just… she’s going through it. She’s getting through it also is the thing and it’s hard. Has anyone told her about the Cupid thing? It’s fucked. They’re all pretty fucked. But it’s okay. They’re gonna be okay.

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The full thing for anyone who wants it!