#epistolary fic

[loveinhawkins]

A series of notes passed during private study periods in Hawkins High School Library, circa January—May, 1985.

A page from a notebook, shoddily torn.

—Hey. Is this seat taken?

—Nah, it’s just empty for no reason.

—Ha ha.

—Admiring your dedication here, Harrington, but I’m pretty sure the librarian isn’t actually a dragon. You can talk.

—Nope. If I start talking, I won’t stop. Gotta do homework now or I never will.

—Ooh. Didn’t know I was so distracting.

—Don’t flatter yourself, Munson.

-

Written in another notebook, underneath a paragraph of red ink that ends ‘See me after class, Eddie Munson.’

—Here, use this if you need to. No way I’m going back to that damn class.

—Dude, don’t you need it to graduate?

—What’s it to you?

—Nothing, jeez. You’re gonna rip a hole in the paper if you keep leaning that hard.

—Well, maybe that’s the kinda mood I’m in.

—For what it’s worth, O’Donnell hates everyone. It’s nothing personal.

—No.

—?

—She really hates me. Like, really. Truly. I’m fucking self-aware, Harrington, I know when I’m being annoying, but I’m quiet as a goddamn mouse in her class.

—I’m sorry. That sucks.

—Yeah. I was really trying, you know?

—I get you. Can you, like, appeal when she fails you or…?

—Do you really think I’d still be here if that worked?

—Fair. Okay but what if you had… I don’t know, character testimonials, or something.

—Why, Harrington, are you offering?

—If you want.

—My uncle tried something like that last year. Was on the phone for hours. No dice.

—Shit.

—Appreciate the thought, though.

—Hey. I’ve got candy. Want some?

—You’re a brave, brave man. What kind?

—Reese’s.

—Okay. Thanks.

—No problem.

—HARRINGTON! LIBRARIAN, THREE O’CLOCK!

—Jesus Christ! I thought you said she wasn’t a dragon.

—Fine. Correction: she’s not always a dragon.

[ao3commentoftheday]

I love epistolary fanfic - or even fic that just uses letters as a major plot point somehow.

Give me a Regency AU with characters passing secret love notes to each other. Give me a modern day fic with emails going back and forth. Give me a fic that starts off with an email, then goes to DMs, then phone calls, then meeting in person.

Give me characters who have distinct writing styles and choices. Give me characters who aren't comfortable writing at all but it's the only thing that they've got and god damn it, they have something that needs to be said!

Give me someone finding an old bundle of letters and reading about a long lost friendship from generations before. Give me a misplaced address and someone reading a letter that they think is for them - but it isn't! - and it still ends up changing their life.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

OK I need to know about this:

Lord Voldemort, accidental relationship counsellor

But also 👉👈 thus, friends absent speak is one of my top 3 comfort fics and I actually plan to re-read it once I get this chapter posted today so I'd love any bit of that 🖤

Ahh, thank you for asking, Evaleon! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

So, the idea behind "Lord Voldemort, accidental relationship counsellor" is that he keeps overhearing Death Eater gossip from Harry and Nagini, who catch a lot of secrets when they skulk around unseen (Nagini hiding in shadows, Harry creeping under his invisibility cloak). Vee keeps absently dropping wisdom to his Death Eaters about their problems that he seems to pull from the ether (completely freaking out his minions and enforcing the idea of his omniscience).

Halfway through the doc file, it turns into "Harry Potter, accidental relationship counsellor," where Harry uses the secrets he overhears from his skulking or talking with Vee/Nagini to give the worst advice possible that keeps working out for the best, to his frustration.

In either incarnation, it would end with one of them unwittingly "counselling" Draco about his crush on Harry. Vee would figure it out and start threatening Draco away from his man; Harry would remain oblivious, and chaos would likely ensue.

---

As for thus, friends absent speak, I did not realize it's been more than a year since I last updated it... @_@ I'm sorry for the delay, and thank you for liking it so much!!

I have pretty much the rest of the fic outlined and partly written, but I kept getting distracted by other fics. So, here's a snippet from a couple chapters down the line:

Once again, revelation struck Harry as he stared up at his bed’s canopy. Fuck. He’d known he was starting to like Voldemort as they continued to converse – as the Dark Lord acted more reasonable than Harry would’ve ever expected. The man’s sense of humour, dryer and sharper than bay leaves, made Harry laugh more often than anything else these days. That was… fine. The more they liked each other – and that increase in regard did seem to go both ways, Harry wasn’t in this alone – the more likely it was they could reach some sort of compromise. If he could prevent all-out war, if he could shift Voldemort’s ambitions away from violence and pureblood ideology – maybe he wouldn’t need to kill the Dark Lord. But this, Harry thought as he half-smothered himself under a pillow, was mental. He couldn’t be so stupid as to have a crush on Voldemort.

Gonna set myself a goal to post at least one chapter for this fic in March!

[batrogers]

Summary:

Malon writes her husband with some unexpected news, and a few probing questions about how her loving husband who most certainly can't get pregnant on his own managed it. She has her suspicions.

Rated M, for sexual content. Epistolary fic, Crack premise although played straight. Written to be funny as Hell, no jealousy.

Poly Malon/Time, implied Lullaby/Time and trans Time & Lullaby.

(Epistolary fic means "written in document format", aka Malon's letter to Time.)

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

all those letters unsent and that garden ungrown by @startagainbuttercup // startagainbuttercup

Teen & Up | 1.4K | Hawk/Tim | letters unsent | Canon Divergence Dear Tim, I know I promised I won't write, but I believe what I really promised is not to send you letters, and this one I'm not going to send, so it is not a violation of my promise. Skippy, I miss you more than I thought I could. It's your birthday and I can't help but think about you the whole day, you consume my every thought and I can't stop wondering what would it be like if you were here.

Or, the letters Hawk never sent.

Written in response to an anonymous prompt in the Promise You WILL Write collection.

Have an idea for a fic you'd like to see written? Or perhaps want to take one of the already submitted prompts to use as inspiration for your next fic? Take a prompt/leave a prompt here!

Be sure to show the author some love and appreciation with kudos and comments!

✨ Likes are lovely, but please reblog to share this content with your mutuals! 😁

[millenni-em-tauk]

“Dearest Olruggio…You caught me crying today.”

Moment from my friend @marimocaptain ’s latest Witch Hat Atelier fic, “Letters at the End of Our Story.” I must insist you read it!!! With tissues on hand!!!!! ❤️‍🩹

[spikybanana]

Dear Mr. Lupin,

I am Harry, Sirius's godson and son of his best friend James. So... sorry on the behalf of my family for Saturday. It was unfortunate the way we walked in on you, and as for the werewolf thing, there probably could have been better ways for Sirius to find out. Sirius is still mad at my dad for blowing up, by the way, though he's quite beaten up about it himself. For the record, I don't think you're a bad person just because you were on the wrong side of the war. I mean, what do we know about your life, right? But the way you tried to hide it wasn't great. Though, sorry, I don't mean to tell you what to do.

But. Why am I writing to you? I probably should let you and my godfather get over it between yourselves, but after careful consideration of... your mutual attachment with each other, I've reached the conclusion that I don't want it to end like this. I think there's something about you two that's worth fighting for. Therefore, I've decided to help you. I'll help you win over my dad and his friends.

(Please don't ever tell my dad about this, besides for the obvious reasons. I'm usually the first to laugh about how invested he is in my godfather's love life.)

I've included in the package a list of my dad's favourite food and sports teams (don't ask me why or what to do with it. I don't know, be creative), and some of my mum's favourite books (you should start with making friends with her. I think she'll like you). Marlene's probably the toughest to crack (she lost a lot of family in the war) but if you can get her to talk to you about muggle music she'd love you in no time, and Dorcas probably already half likes you just for the werewolf thing (sorry). I'm not giving you anything for Sirius, cause you should probably work that out yourself. But obviously I'll help if you're really stuck.

So yeah. If you have any questions, let me know. Looking forward to working with you.

Best,

Harry

@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: attachment

[purpleandgreen13]

I'm completely devastated by the continued amazingness of the peeps over on Grapefruit Sky. I am writing a Stardew Valley/Selkie folk tale over on AO3 ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/49552153/chapters/125061994 ) and the first chapter is song lyrics, which the INCREDIBLE @robynewren put to music for me!

Listen to it here: https://www.tiktok.com/@becsnar/video/7287584339280350496

I have been listening to it all day and it's completely perfect and wonderful, as is Robyn herself

[randomcastle87]

REC: HP - RarePair (Harry/Percy)

Harry Potter and the Really Round-About Way of Finding a Horcrux by floweringjudas (manipulant)

Written Pre-DH / Written in 2006 for the Harry Potter Slash Not Smut Ficathon

Info: ~25.000 words / Teen & Up (mentions sex + fade to black)

Tags: Era: Hogwarts (7th Y), Coming Out/Discovering the Gay, Family Dynamics/Bonding, Friendship, Epistolary Fic, Getting Together

Note: Slight age gap, but nothing underage. When Harry was a 1st Y, Percy was a 5th Y. So there is a 4 year age gap, this fic is set in the summer Harry turns 17, i.e. comes of age, which means Percy will turn 21 that summer. He has been working for the MoM for 3 years.

Sum.: One should know better than to involve oneself in Weasley Family Skirmishes, even as a messenger. It always ends badly. …Or really well, depending on your perspective.

REC: I really liked this fic. Both Harry and Percy felt very IC, and still their developing relationship felt very believable. Also the author writes a wonderful Percy, I really connected with and felt for him throughout the fic. Her Harry figuring out he was gay was also spot on in my opinion and he is also still very much a moody teen who at times is a real little shit. Mad-Eye Moody makes a delightfully funny appearance. Also Arthur trying really hard to be a father figure for Harry was a brilliant scene, beautiful and so awkward. The author beautifully weaves canon into the fic, she doesn't just ignore the Weasly family dynamics that was set in the books and put Percy at odds with his family, but she manages to show both sides. The way the author wrote the story was brilliantly, I have a soft spot for stories told, through letters - in this instance it is a combo of letter writing and a narrative story.

If you want to give this ship a go to see if it works for you, I think this is a good fic to begin with. It stays close to canon, but with a slight shift that makes Harry/Percy not only possible, but also believable.

[fourth-quartet]

motif: j'me tire (pt. 1)

Gaon,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Perhaps it is easier to write my feelings down rather than speak them aloud. Perhaps I hope this never reaches you in any shape or form.

This is my confession.

The concept of confession is never one that has sat right with me. For a singular person to claim not to judge me as I bare my heart, only to know that their opinion of me will change with every word left my mouth… There is a part of me that knows deep down that nothing will ever change that. That I rely so heavily, so deeply, on knowing how people see me, that I will never bare my face to see the world as myself. All will remain filtered through that which is Kang Yohan.

I’ve had this dream since well before my brother and sister-in-law passed away of floating out at sea. It is warm, not unwelcome, and comfortable, but I grew more and more tired with each passing moment until keeping my head above water is all I am able to do. No amount of screaming or praying or trying to wake up will free me from the sea. It is only I and self-hatred and guilt eating away at me as I am desperate for something, anything, to rescue me from this space of alone and lonely and empty. Empty, is what it is. It is a world in which there is nothing but me.

I still feel it these days. That alone, lonely feeling — for they are different. To be alone is what I am, what I always am. With Elijah in New York now, knowing you are in Seoul, and here I am in Zurich, I am alone. But that loneliness, that horrific suffocating, never-ending silence. That deep-set feeling in your bones of knowing that there is not a thing you could do to free yourself from this pain.

The last time I felt like this, I sought ways to free myself from this loneliness. I found K and my team. But I found respite in a way you likely will not expect.

There is much you don’t know about me, Kim Gaon.

Warming Cha Kyunghee’s bed was far from the worst decision I made in those initial years after Isaac died.

I worry in this moment you’ll think less of me for the decisions I made in the past. But you must understand, I was not even thirty, the only parent of a child when I had never intended on having children, the only survivor of a family that wanted nothing more than for me not to exist.

I sought comfort in the only places I could find it. And Cha Kyunghee welcomed me without a second thought. My fondest memory of my thirties, is of Cha Kyunghee just sitting in silence with me.

How pathetic I must sound.

But my life became nothing but static. Nightmares of fire and endless sea and the regret of waking up every morning, to spend my day at work where I followed laws that only hurt the people I so wished to help, back to a house that haunted me, to a child who told me to my face that she wished that I had died and that her parents had survived, only to return to those nightmares again.

It was only spite that didn’t drive me to an end.

Spite and fear.

Did an afterlife exist? Would I see Isaac again? Would Isaac be angry with me? Would he support all of my feelings of regret, hatred, and guilt? Would he echo that which Elijah said? That he wished I had died, that he had survived?

I am a coward, Gaon-ah.

I have lived only in the hopes of never confronting my brother. I have lived only in the hopes of never seeing that disappointment.

I sought comfort in the arms of a married woman that I hated deeply. I felt nothing more passionately than my hatred for her, even as I spent long nights with her. As she ran her fingers through my hair, as she traced my scars with her fingernails until I shivered. I would never have allowed her to know that I often returned to the house and cried. I wrapped my arms around myself and pretended they were her, that they were Isaac, that they were anybody who might care about me.

I don’t remember K’s name.

It’s such a little thing, minute, a detail barely anyone might think about.

But he worked for me for eight years. He was my driver, as close to a friend as I could have. He threw away the world for me.

And I don’t remember his name.

He is just a passing thought sometimes. I forget he existed at other times. He spent so long as my shadow that I forget he was a real human being. His pain was only important to me in that it allowed me to use him to my own end. All it took was a reminder of his pain and I could ask him to do anything with the promise of eventual revenge.

And I could not deliver on even that.

I don’t believe I’m worthy of love. I don’t believe I’m capable of love. I’ve long since passed cynical and pessimistic; I think I’m well past nihilism as well.

You’re better off without me.

But, again, I am a coward. And so, cowardly, I will continue to live.

Yours,

Yohan

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 ao3

A series of notes passed during private study periods in Hawkins High School Library, circa January—May, 1985.

A sheet of paper hastily ripped from its notebook, folded over with a crease down the middle.

—Harrington, did you just turn down that girl?

—What are you talking about?

—Hey, you can’t blame a guy for being nosy. You were the one deciding to TALK in a SACRED LIBRARY.

—If you heard us, why are you asking?

—Okay, sound doesn’t travel that far.

—Why don’t YOU tell me what happened considering you know everything?

—Wow. Touchy.

—Fuck off.

—Sorry. Thought we were just joking around. Didn’t mean to be a dick.

—It’s fine.

—You sure?

—I wasn’t ‘turning her down.’ She’s on the Yearbook Committee. Asking for photos.

—Too many pin-ups to choose from?

—Baby photos.

—What’s the problem? Did you come out the womb holding hairspray?

—No.

—Table it or ditch it?

—?

—It’s something my uncle says. If he asks me about stuff I don’t wanna talk about, I can either table it for later or ditch it completely. But if something keeps coming up and I keep saying to ditch it, then it automatically becomes a table it for later.

—That’s smart.

—Yup.

—Table it.

—Okay.

—? Why do you keep scoring out stuff?

—Sorry sorry. I can only think of baby photos now.

—Not against them in general. Feel free to talk about yourself, Munson.

—Uh-huh. I could hear the sarcasm in how you wrote that.

—Ha. No, really. I don’t mind.

—Well, lucky for you, talking about myself is my favorite subject.

—Lucky me.

—I thought I’d lost literally all of my baby photos. When I lived with my dad, the house got flooded and all of them were hit. Water damage. I had to get my books spread out on a radiator so the pages would dry, and that kinda worked for some of them. Photos were goners, though.

—That’s awful.

—Hold your horses, cowboy. But then when I moved to my uncle’s—we’re at the trailer park in Forest Hills—I saw he had all these photos stacked on a bookcase, and I thought they were all really old, like from when he was a kid and stuff, and some of them were, but he had whole entire ALBUMS of me. Way more than my dad ever had.

—That’s cool.

—You’re so verbose, Harrington.

—I meant it. It’s just. I was just thinking.

—About?

—That’s not why I—I HAVE baby photos, that’s not the problem.

—Don’t sweat it, dude, you don’t need to tell me.

—It’s just. Rebecca, that’s who was talking to me, she kept going on about how everyone else has already sent in a baby photo or, you know, a photo from when they were a kid, and she was excited about it, it’s a whole new thing they’re doing for this year. They’re gonna do a special layout, old photos next to current ones, you know what I mean?

—Afraid I’ve never been privy to the wondrous goings-on of the Yearbook Committee.

—She said it’ll look weird if I’m the only one not doing it. But it’s—I don’t know. I know I could just pick any damn photo and send it in, it’d get the whole Committee off my back. But I think I’d feel weird at the thought of the whole year getting to see—god, this doesn’t even make sense, like I don’t mind them seeing at a photo of me NOW, but I don’t. I don’t like looking at old photos, I never have. I don’t know why. Guess I just don’t like looking back.

—Fuck what everyone else is doing. They’re YOUR photos. Forget the precious ‘layout.’

—Yeah, that’s sorta what I told her, minus the ‘fuck.’

—If it’ll shut them all up, you could send in one of mine. See who actually notices.

—No way.

—Yeah, I was just being stupid.

—No. Those are YOUR photos. Save them for your own Yearbook. Sounds like your uncle could fill the whole thing with pictures.

—Wouldn’t put it past him.

—Shit, is that the time? The bell’s gonna ring in five minutes. I’ve done NOTHING.

—The horror!

—I’m blaming you.

—Honored to be considered a distraction, Harrington.

-

A scrap of paper, hastily dropped into the pencil case of an unknowing Eddie Munson as the bell rang.

—Thanks.

[judeeatstherude]

drarry text fic...

chapter 3! hope you like it as much as i love writing it!!

[maxinemaxmayfield]

i send you things i wouldn’t say

It starts with a text to a wrong number. That's not where it ends.

[youarestellarverse]

[image description: a purple banner that has the words “work in progress” on it. end of description]

I think maybe I need another sideblog for this, lol. It's turning into a monster.

Epistolary/fake reddit post take 3: Ruby/"Pearl", in her own words.

Originally posted here by u/princess_and_the_pearl on r/relationshipgoals:

Princess And The Sweatpants

(or, Prince Charming Magically Transforms a Sick Day into a Spa Retreat)

Bear with me. Brain fog is a hell of a drug. 

I (26NB) was diagnosed with fibromyalgia two years ago after about six months of symptoms, which was astonishingly fast for anyone and downright miraculous considering that at the time, I still thought I was a cis man, and I presented very much that way. There are people who don't believe that's even possible. Several doctors have questioned my diagnosis, asking suspiciously isn't that only in women? 

Strangely, when I'm wearing a dress, they don't do that. 

Anyway, I have fibromyalgia, which means I constantly feel like I did that time in high school after I played a football game while actively suffering from acute appendicitis (it burst within forty seconds of me getting on the field, because duh, and I almost died— thanks, Dad, for making me play when I had a fever of 104 and I was telling you I felt like someone was spearing me through the back— but that's another story.) 

Feverish, sore everywhere, sick to my stomach, like my skin is bruised. The worst part is the fatigue. I get so tired during flares that I can sleep 14 hours a day and wake up exhausted. The only other time I've felt like this was when I was sixteen and fighting off sepsis. 

I bring up football mostly because I look like a football player. I was a heavyweight before I got my diagnosis (though I've dropped a lot; my MIL keeps "just happening to be in the neighborhood"— two hours away, mind— with baked goods and stuff). I'm close enough to 6'6 to round up to it if I wanted. I have been told I have the rugged, thoughtful face of a stern, ancient Roman politician. I wear shoes so big that half the time they don't even make them in men's sizes. 

And most of the time, that's fine! I'm okay with it when, as my (genuinely) Dear Husband/Prince Charming (27M) puts it, my "gend-o-meter" is pointed towards guy, which is still more often than not. 

But it gets to me otherwise, which Charming knows. He also has this very eerie ability to tell where that meter is pointed without asking me. He says it's something about my posture, but he's not sure exactly what. All I know is he's never wrong, and he always knows the best time to pop his head around the corner, smile his sweet smile, say "Hey, babe, guess what?" and then burst into a corny pop song. 

[Relevant comment from PC himself:

girl you got my heart racing in your skin-tight jeans~ ����😍😚💙💙]

Last week (midsummer for posterity), I was having a hell of a time with a rash of thunderstorms. Everything hurt so badly I could barely think straight. It was like every injury I'd ever had was fresh again, and being a football player, I've gotten banged up a lot. I had five migraines over the span of eight days. I lost a scary amount of weight because I could barely keep anything down. 

Eventually my BFFs (we'll call them BFFa, 26F, and, BFF1, 25M, because I don't want to rank them against each other) came out and stayed over the weekend. They made an enormous batch of corn chowder, which was so good it overrode my nausea and lack of appetite and was all I could manage for about 3 days straight. (It's really excellent chowder.)

I'm glad they were here, because I've never had gender dysphoria come on in the middle of a flare before, and I freaked Charming out pretty good when I got halfway through my food and suddenly had enough energy to burst into tears. BFFa is very calming and good at talking people through things, and she helped me articulate while making sure my husband didn't panic. BFF1 isn't as comfortable with emotional displays, but he makes a damn good rice pudding and it's really hard to stay upset when the house smells so nice. 

DH, anxiety managed, was able to throw himself into planning mode. He started by calling our mastiff (5F) and having her lay with me while he drew a bath (she's allowed on the bed after a specific command; she was already trained as a service dog when we inherited her, which was incredibly lucky for me because I realized I needed one about a month later). 

He's helped me take care of myself before. I quit football because of an injury that destroyed my mobility, and for about three months I was completely reliant on him for almost everything. He helped me stand up to pee. I can't ever pay him back for what he's done for me, but he says the same thing, so we must be even in his mind. 

He's always been sweet about it, but he really went all out this time: he lit dozens of beeswax candles,  put rose oil and floated petals in the bathwater, set up the shower stall with my chair and a rose-vanilla shower bomb, and hooked up my iPod to the bathroom speakers so he could shuffle through my playlist of all the love songs he's ever sung me. 

Then he got me out of my depressed college student chic (the aforementioned sweatpants and my alma mater's t-shirt), helped me into a silk robe that didn't hurt my skin, and supported my weight as we walked. 

He got me settled in the shower chair, then stripped and joined me. I didn't have to lift a finger, which was good, because I couldn't without my shoulder seizing up. (He took care of that, too. He's the only person willing to massage me hard enough that I can actually feel it. Everyone else gets too worried about hurting me. Ha.) 

After I was clean, he brought out a razor. That man shaved my legs for me, and I have a lot of leg, so that's no small feat. 

I'm honestly not sure if I was crying. I think I must have been, because he kept kissing my knees and ankles every time he finished a pass. He sang along with the playlist, too. When you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while. I got sunshine on a cloudy day. I don't know why you're being shy. I think you're pretty without any makeup on. 

...yeah, in retrospect, I was definitely crying. 

I felt so much better it didn't matter. He washed my hair, then helped me into the bath and knelt beside the tub and rubbed my neck while I soaked and let the water support my joints. 

Let me tell you: if you've got a partner suffering from chronic pain, this is one of the best ways you can make them feel pampered and loved. 100/10; do recommend.

And that wasn't even the end of it. 

While we were in the bathroom, BFFa was going through my wardrobe. Charming helped me back into the robe, and when I got back to our room she'd changed out the sheets and set out my softest, most comfortable cotton maxi dress. 

It's very pretty. I made it out of fabric my husband's best man (28M) whipped up for me with fiber from his partner's cashmere goats. He used blue potato peels for dye, which gives it a beautiful muted color that transitions from blue to pink via clever use of anthocyanin reactions.

He also dyed some cashmere yarn to match it, which I found out when my baby SIL (minor) gave me a gorgeous crocheted shawl for Christmas last year. It was laid out beside the dress, which was perfect, because one of my symptoms is that I can't regulate my body temperature very well; having it available to take off and put on as-needed was great.

It felt wonderful on my skin. They got me settled in bed again, our dog in her own bed on the floor (still tall enough for me to scratch her ears 💜). Then they facetimed Prince Charming's gf (29F, she's also married to my drag mother), and she walked him through putting on my makeup and styling my hair into a pixie. 

I honestly never thought it possible that I could feel cute and pretty with short hair. That's part of why I was upset. When my head hurts like that, wearing a wig is asking to end up in the hospital with an intractable migraine, and my face is so angular that without long hair to soften it, the image can be really jarring. 

(That was how I figured out I was nonbinary, actually. I was rehearsing a drag routine and I just felt Wrong and I couldn't figure out why, until my girlfriend (26F) suggested I try practicing in my wig and I saw myself in the mirror and suddenly it clicked.) 

Somehow, he pulled it off. It might partly have been the flower hair clip that BFF1 made me with a soldering iron and some copper wire. Most of it was my face. I had no idea DH knew how to contour, but I looked...soft. Feminine. I felt like a queen. 

Not that he's ever failed to make me feel like one before, but this time, he really outdid himself. I looked how I felt. That's not an easy feat for me in this context. He pulled it off flawlessly. 

It was also just fun, and after such high pain levels I needed fun almost more than I needed validation. 

NOTES: good fucking lord tumblr what have you done with your post editor it took me literally almost half an hour to get it all indented why is there a "character limit" on indentations now

BFF1 and BFFa are of course Piper and Leo, Prince Charming is Percy, Percy's girlfriend is Silena (married to Charlie ofc), Ruby's girlfriend is Annabeth, Percy's best man is Grover; if you read the other posts in this genre, you possibly get the idea. I know, I know, it's getting convoluted.

PING LIST: @perseusjackson-jasongrace @elaborateruses @starlightshadowsworld (lmk if you want me to stop pinging you in Ruby stuff, I'm sort of assuming lol.)

As always, let me know if you want in on (or off of) the ping list!

[renee-ruby-j]

The Ruby Saga, part 3: OOP brings the drama llamas a promised snack.

Summary: "Since I'm me, DW always has at least one very loud voice around to tell her 'no, this is a hot pile of garbage', but I admitted my lack of impartiality before I even started this story for a reason. Ex is many things, but she's not cagey or dishonest or afraid to call it like she sees it. She cuts straight to the heart of the issue, and sometimes you need that.

Especially if you're like DW, and you've spent your whole existence carving away every unique part of yourself so you'll fit in someone else's cage and now you can't quite believe anyone thinks you're too beautiful not to be free.

I guess it was a smart choice regardless, since Ex is the one who came up with our revenge plot a few days after our chat."

Word count: Just under 5800

Read here!

[celestemagnoliathewriter]

Dear Aunt Petunia 👀

This started as a crack idea that I may actually write as a short story. It would be an entirely epistolary fic in which Harry writes his Aunt, not expecting any answers, and things go from there. This is the first entry:

3 September 1991

Dear Aunt Petunia,

Hi. It’s Harry. I’ve been sorted into Gryffindor house, same as my mum. Not that you care, but thought you should know.

You can tell Uncle Vernon that I found someone as pleasant as he is at Hogwarts. He’s called Professor Severus Snape and he teaches potions. Uncle Vernon is just as pleasant to me as Professor Snape is. 

I’m not going back to Privet Drive for the Christmas holidays.

Harry.