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And then AR couldn't write derpy first times, so she wrote derpy "and everyone sat on the couch and was happy" fic instead.
( this is so useless, I don't even )
( this is so useless, I don't even )
Because sometimes I don't want to go to bed, I want to rewrite canon scenes for the Woolfverse. This is so stupidly overwrought, but whatever, I do what I want.
( thar be deathtalks )
( thar be deathtalks )
Some other time, when Amelia's a little older, makeovers. Until now, general cutes.
( in which ar realizes how long it's been since she's listened to three year olds talk, nnngh )
( in which ar realizes how long it's been since she's listened to three year olds talk, nnngh )
"...a crop is so comfortable I don't think I shall ever have a mane again."
and
"[Laurie] won't [run away] unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of studying. I often think I should like to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may advertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for India."
and
"The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, more becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure."
becomes a terrible triple drabble written at 3am.
( and it's repetitive, too, oh, *ar* )
and
"[Laurie] won't [run away] unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of studying. I often think I should like to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may advertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for India."
and
"The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, more becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure."
becomes a terrible triple drabble written at 3am.
( and it's repetitive, too, oh, *ar* )
"Amy Laurence Settles the Question" would be a marvelous title here, mostly because it'd be a clever reference (or "clever," at least) to Meg's engagement, uh.
( blah blah blah )
( blah blah blah )
Written in a very specific way for a very specific purpose, namely, in fitting with the style of writing that accompanies such announcements (when they're even made) in books like Little Women; for that reason, it probably comes off incredibly soppy, but, uh. I'm not precisely displeased with that; James/Beth is pretty much the most soppycutes ship in the world.
( finish later, nnnngh )
( finish later, nnnngh )
"I'm afraid I cannot be of much help in planning a wedding," he told her as they walked arm in arm over the cobblestones of Acorn Road. The afternoon was bright and clear, the sunshine warm on Beth's hair, foretelling, in the way that late spring days do, the heat of the summer to come. It was tempered, however, with the knowledge that tomorrow would bring farewells, for six months at the least, to the man now apologizing for his steadily approaching absence. "I would be nearly useless even if I could remain here with you until the wedding. I have little familiarity with flowers and dresses and--" He gestured so vaguely that an eavesdropper might wonder at the fact that he had ever seen a wedding before in his life, let alone ever considered having one himsel. "--and the like."
She smiled, reassuringly as she could, and lay her free hand upon his arm. "I am the last girl in my family to wed; even if you and I are at a loss, they will not be." They walked several paces before Beth spoke again, steeling herself for the possibility that his answer to her next question might be yes, no matter how much she doubted it. "But--you will not be disappointed if it is not a very large wedding, will you?"
James glanced down at her; she met his gaze only to find him looking upon her with great affection and not the least bit disappointment. "I have absolutely no preference, so long as you are quite happy with it."
"I'm glad." She leaned into him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.
She smiled, reassuringly as she could, and lay her free hand upon his arm. "I am the last girl in my family to wed; even if you and I are at a loss, they will not be." They walked several paces before Beth spoke again, steeling herself for the possibility that his answer to her next question might be yes, no matter how much she doubted it. "But--you will not be disappointed if it is not a very large wedding, will you?"
James glanced down at her; she met his gaze only to find him looking upon her with great affection and not the least bit disappointment. "I have absolutely no preference, so long as you are quite happy with it."
"I'm glad." She leaned into him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.
A modern AU set in the Woolfverse, writing about what has become my new favourite crossover otp: James Norrington/Beth March.
( Christmas at the Laurence house )
( Christmas at the Laurence house )
Once the shock of waking up to find a small boy lying next to him had worn off, Tharkay was somewhat amused to discover that the care and keeping of a seven year old Will Laurence was not so very different from what he was used to.
...
Finish that later.
-
"She is a far better musician than I am, and a better performer," Beth said, her eyes dropping to the program in her hands and taking in none of the words printed there.
Jo scoffed. "Hardly. Our Beth is quite talented."
"Do you play as well?" he asked, looking across Beth to Jo.
"Oh, I haven't the brains for music," Jo said cheerfully. "I love to listen, though."
"I am in similar straits," said Norrington, affecting a small smile of his own. At that moment, the lights began to dim, and Beth sat slightly forward in her chair, eager to hear the music of an old school chum.
...
I dunno, I assume Norrington isn't particularly musically inclined? I hope that's not off. XD
-
Dear James, began the letter. I hope Christmas finds you well and content. If you are not precisely warm, perhaps the enclosed mittens shall be of use for you. I hope they are large enough; I could not think of a way to ask the measurement of your hands without giving away the surprise.
It continued on with stories of Thanksgiving and the coming plans for Christmas (including examples of the Plumfield students' inexpertly concealed plans for gifts to each other, each a unique amusement), and ended with more warm wishes. Folding the sheets of notepaper into thirds, she tucked them carefully into the left mitten and packed them into a small box, labeled Capt James Norrington in her careful hand.
"Is that for Captain Norrington?" inquired Marmee when Beth descended to the ground floor to set the package on the table nearest the door, that she or someone else might remember to take it to the post office the next morning.
Beth nodded. "I'm sending him the mittens I've been working on; I only finished them this afternoon."
"What, the patterned ones?" asked Jo, who had come to call upon their mother that Friday afternoon. "He'll have to like those, they looked terribly complicated to make."
"They were not so difficult," Beth answered, glancing at the cardboard box concealing them from view. "And he has mentioned how his fingers grow stiff sometimes."
"Didn't they involve six different colours of yarn?" asked Jo. "I'd have ended up with every skein tangled up somehow; no one can knit quite as you can, Bethy."
"It is a thoughtful gift," Marmee said, in agreement with Beth, though her gaze went to Jo first, and Beth found the expression she wore while looking at her elder daughter quite unreadable. "I am sure he will appreciate them on cold nights."
-
Turns out the trick to these is, apparently, listening to the PotC soundtracks. Nnnnngh. I don't feel sleepy, but I should probably go to bed.
(Also, I had these mittens in mind. Hardxcore.)
...
Finish that later.
-
"She is a far better musician than I am, and a better performer," Beth said, her eyes dropping to the program in her hands and taking in none of the words printed there.
Jo scoffed. "Hardly. Our Beth is quite talented."
"Do you play as well?" he asked, looking across Beth to Jo.
"Oh, I haven't the brains for music," Jo said cheerfully. "I love to listen, though."
"I am in similar straits," said Norrington, affecting a small smile of his own. At that moment, the lights began to dim, and Beth sat slightly forward in her chair, eager to hear the music of an old school chum.
...
I dunno, I assume Norrington isn't particularly musically inclined? I hope that's not off. XD
-
Dear James, began the letter. I hope Christmas finds you well and content. If you are not precisely warm, perhaps the enclosed mittens shall be of use for you. I hope they are large enough; I could not think of a way to ask the measurement of your hands without giving away the surprise.
It continued on with stories of Thanksgiving and the coming plans for Christmas (including examples of the Plumfield students' inexpertly concealed plans for gifts to each other, each a unique amusement), and ended with more warm wishes. Folding the sheets of notepaper into thirds, she tucked them carefully into the left mitten and packed them into a small box, labeled Capt James Norrington in her careful hand.
"Is that for Captain Norrington?" inquired Marmee when Beth descended to the ground floor to set the package on the table nearest the door, that she or someone else might remember to take it to the post office the next morning.
Beth nodded. "I'm sending him the mittens I've been working on; I only finished them this afternoon."
"What, the patterned ones?" asked Jo, who had come to call upon their mother that Friday afternoon. "He'll have to like those, they looked terribly complicated to make."
"They were not so difficult," Beth answered, glancing at the cardboard box concealing them from view. "And he has mentioned how his fingers grow stiff sometimes."
"Didn't they involve six different colours of yarn?" asked Jo. "I'd have ended up with every skein tangled up somehow; no one can knit quite as you can, Bethy."
"It is a thoughtful gift," Marmee said, in agreement with Beth, though her gaze went to Jo first, and Beth found the expression she wore while looking at her elder daughter quite unreadable. "I am sure he will appreciate them on cold nights."
-
Turns out the trick to these is, apparently, listening to the PotC soundtracks. Nnnnngh. I don't feel sleepy, but I should probably go to bed.
(Also, I had these mittens in mind. Hardxcore.)
