#don’t mind me already writing christmas fics even though it’s still only october

[neondiamond]

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[fanfic-scribbles]

Supernatural Fic Masterlist

I have sorted this masterlist by main character/reader pairings, with a small section at the very bottom for stories that do not involve a reader insert. Any series/one shot sections are further segmented, and stories under “Poly/Other” will have the pairings noted in with the rest of the story info. Everything is alphabetical (although series with more than one part are listed chronologically). A slash [/] means romance while an ampersand [&] means friendship.

I used a cut so as not to clog anyone’s page should it pop up in the tags. I write 99% reader inserts and primarily have a lot of Castiel and Gabriel, with the odd Sam, Dean, Chuck, and a handful of friendship fics. I hope you find something you enjoy <3

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Castiel/Reader

Series

“Revelations and Resolutions (Masterlist)” (Formerly Titled “October Challenge 2017") – Romance – Castiel/Reader – Slight angst/mostly fluff

Summary: Thirty-one days is enough time to tell someone you’ve fallen in love with them, right?

Wherein you decide to use the month of October to try to tell Castiel you’re in love with him, Sam, Dean and Gabriel try to help (?) from the sidelines, and Castiel is mostly just confused.

A Reader/Cas focused project that started out as a series of semi-connected prompts and turned into a story driven by said prompts.

“Already Yours (Masterlist)” (aka October Challenge 2018) – Romance – established Castiel/Reader – Also slight angst/mostly fluff

Sequel to “Revelations and Resolutions” mentioned above.

Summary: You and Castiel don’t have a traditional relationship, but you’ve been happily together for a year now. Which begs the question– how do a human and an angel celebrate their one-year anniversary? You’re still not sure, but one thing is certain: it’s time to over-think things.

One-Shots

“Amends” – Romance – Words: 1186

Summary: Castiel made a mistake and you’re more than happy to give him the silent treatment. Until he comes up with a way to make it up to you.

“Awfully Fond of You” – Romance – Words: 2039

Summary: Oh rubber duckie, you’re the one…capable of confusing an angel to frustration. Castiel just wants to know what rubber ducks are for. Cue shenanigans until you can set the angel straight.

“Cas Café” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 2970 Follow-up to “Cat’s Cradle” below

Summary: Cas is good at running himself into the ground. Your solution to fix that is better than either of you know.

“Cat’s Cradle” – Romance (pre-relationship); Fluff – Words: 1252

Summary: A Cas fluff drabble about stopping to smell the roses. Or stopping to pet a cat. And no, that’s not a euphemism.

“Closer Still” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 606

Summary: A drabble about wanting more. And kissing.

“Conditioning” – Romance – Words: 768

Summary: It’s fairly easy to train an angel to accept a quick kiss. That he learns how to give them is an unexpected bonus.

“Enclosed” – Romance – Words: 810

Summary: Cas keeps you calm when you need it most.

“Gray” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 410

Summary: You’re bored in a graveyard on a very ‘meh’ day. Cas comes by and makes it a little better.

“Headache” – Romance – Words: 1097

Summary: You have a headache and Castiel learns to help you heal– the human way.

“How the Mighty Fall” – Romance – Words: 3139

Summary: Castiel doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he’s fallen in love and given himself to you. He finds that he does not mind this at all.

“Mistletoe” – Romance – Words: 2298

Summary: Castiel wants to get caught under the mistletoe with you. More than once. A lot more than once.

“No Longer Pining” – Romance; Fluff; Christmas fic – Words: 802

Summary: A bad encounter with a Djinn leads some truths to light.

“Secret Admirer(s)” – Romance – Words: 1902

Summary: Castiel decides to try and use Valentine’s Day to help him express how he feels for you. Dean, Sam, and Jack help. It goes…well?

“Sharing is Caring” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 1160

Summary: You and Castiel share a bed…and a little more.

“Substitution” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 1005

Summary: You thought you could stop fantasizing if reality got in the way of what you wanted. Thankfully, Castiel is both patient and opportunistic.

“Through the Bramble” – Romance – Words: 2352

Summary: You’ll do what it takes to get your angel back. Even if it means living through a fairytale.

“Waking Up” – Romance; Hurt/Comfort; Fluff – Words: 798

Summary: You’re feeling upset. Cas doesn’t want you to be alone.

“Warning Signs” – Romance(-ish) – Words: 1500

Summary: Castiel doesn’t admit to fear and neither do you. Until you meet each other.

“Watch Your Back (And I Will Too)” – Romance – Words: 1469

Summary: You and Cas watch out for each other, on more than just the battlefield.

“Win-Win” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 2639

Summary: You and Cas need to learn how to be a couple, so you decide to turn it into a game.

“Wishlist” – Romance; Fluff; Christmas fic – Words: 978

Summary: You are way in for the holiday season…maybe a bit too enthusiastically for the Winchesters’ liking. Cas comes to visit and ends up helping in more than one way.

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Chuck/Reader

“Call Me By Name” – Romance; Fluff; Christmas fic – Words: 894

Summary: You want attention but Chuck’s busy writing. He won’t respond to his new name, so you decide to pull out some classics.

“Dust” – Romance; Comfort – Words: 409

Summary: You’re having a rough time, and Chuck is comforting.

“Ladybug” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 1050

Summary: You come home, weighed down by a long day. Chuck knows how to make you light again.

“O Christmas Tree” – Romance; Fluff; Christmas fic – Words: 2432

Summary: Christmas can be an emotional season. In the case of you and Chuck, that ends up being a good thing.

“Sincerely Yours” – Romance – Words: 6265

Summary: The apocalypse is over and you try to go home to Chuck to heal, only to find that he’s gone too. You take comfort in writing letters to your dead lover, even though he’ll never read them. Or so you think.

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Gabriel/Reader

“13 Kisses (And One To Grow On)” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 4242

Summary: While browsing mindlessly one day, you stumble across a list of the most underrated places to be kissed. Gabriel decides to test them out. For science.

“A Healing Touch” – Romance; Fluff – Female Reader – Words: 1349

Summary: Gabriel doesn’t need a nurse and, in fact, makes an excellent one. You’re just too stubborn to appreciate it.

“A Little Pickle” – Romance; Dialogue – Words: 386

Summary: Gabriel needs to look before he leaps. He’ll be hearing about this one for a while.  

“Acrophobia” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 563

Summary: You don’t like heights and Gabriel has wings. You make it work.

“And When You Sleep, Dream of Me” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 1534

Summary: Sleeping isn’t new to Gabriel. However these nightmares are. He doesn’t like to make a habit of asking for help, though, so he decides to go on in the time-honored tradition of human coping mechanisms and just pretend it isn’t happening. However your solution may be better. For the both of you.

“Bright Side” – Friendship; Hurt/Comfort; Fluff – Words: 2423

Summary: Gabriel is feeling a bit down. You notice and try to help.

“Cursed Communication” – Romance; Humor; Fluff – Words:1622

Summary: You’re going to assassinate an archangel for his assertion over your anatomical authority.

“Decked” – Romance; Christmas Fic – Words: 842

Summary: The holidays hold complicated feelings, especially for an archangel. You soothe him however you can.

“(Don’t) Play It Again” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 2512

Summary: Everyone has that one song that they just can’t stand for whatever reason, regardless of how good, bad, or innocuous it actually is. For you, hearing that song is like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on your head.

Gabriel, of course, takes this as a challenge.

“Expressions of Affection” – Romance – Words: 1966

Summary: You have a resting bitch face and are used to it chasing people off. Gabriel deals with it in his own way.

“Home Away From Home” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 1784

Summary: You’re not sure who is stealing your clothes but you would like it to stop. Please and thank you.

“Incommunicado” – Romance – Words: 2573

Summary:  Some of the best things in life are often left unsaid, and the others just need to find the right medium of communication. Gabriel can’t find his words, you can’t find the right ones, but, somehow, you both stumble towards understanding anyways.

“Lead Me to the River” – Romance – Words: 1159

Summary: Gabriel stops by during a hunt and a ghost forces your feelings to light.

“One Lump Or Two” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 1888

Summary: You find out Gabriel is your soulmate. You have…issues with this.

“Soft” – Friendship or Romance (ambiguous); Fluff – Words: 596

Summary: Gabriel takes care of you. Just don’t tell anyone.

“Starting Over” – Romance – Words: 2509

Summary: Gabriel’s plan for revenge develops a new sense of urgency when you get caught up in it.

“Tie a Yellow Ribbon For Me” – Romance – Words: 2459

Summary: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Even death can’t keep him From finding his way back to you.

“Waking Up In Vegas” – Romance – Words: 4174

Summary: You’re off with Gabriel on what’s supposed to be a little vacation, but it takes a turn for the worst when you’re forced to face your own desires and insecurities in order to make it back to him.

“Where You’ve Been” – Romance – Words: 2611

Summary: Lucifer killed Gabriel and you find yourself going through the motions. Until the motions become that much easier to ride. You never thought you’d want to strangle your guardian angel but Gabriel is talented like that.

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Misc Poly Romances & Other Characters

Balthazar/Reader “Imprints” – Romance; Fluff; Christmas fic – Words: 999

Summary: You and Balthazar make a pit stop on a long drive to have some fun in the snow. Well, you do. Balthazar needs some convincing. Luckily, he has you.

Dean & Reader

“In Our [Supernatural] Time” – Friendship; Humor – Words: 585

Summary: Dean is a great hunting partner to have but sometimes his timing leaves much to be desired. Luckily you’re full of great ideas on how to pass the time.

Dean/Reader

“Have Your Cake and Eat It Too” – Romance – Words: 1615

Summary: Dean and you visit a cake shop while on a hunt and pose as a couple, as usual. Only, at least one of you is tired of pretending.

“Hold Fast” – Romance – Words: 843

Summary: You thought you’d take your feelings for Dean Winchester to the grave. Well…‘almost’ counts; right?

“Something To Gain” – Romance; Christmas fic – Words: 1451

Summary: Dean and you share a drink on a cold December night and discover that playing it safe is not playing at all.

Dean/Castiel/Reader “Chill” – Romance; Fluff – Words: 975

Summary: Reader is starting to feel the burn of the hunting life. Luckily Dean and Cas are always on their side.

“Pick Me Up” – Romance(-ish) – Words: 1579

Summary: You set out to give Castiel an experience and he and Dean end up turning that back on you. Terrible, awful pick-up lines– who knew they worked so well?

(An excerpt/link to the PWP part 2 can be found here)

Dean/Gabriel/Reader “We All Fall Down” – Romance – Words: 3695

Summary: Once is an accident. Twice is a mistake. More than that is…worrisome. But you brush it off as harmless. Dean and Gabriel are excellent, occasional bed partners and nothing more. Nothing. More.

Or so you like to tell yourself.

Sam/Reader 

“Between the Lines” –  Romance; Hurt/Comfort – Words: 1254

Summary: Sam’s been down lately and you can guess why, so you try to cheer him up without directly pointing out a subject he seems loathe to talk about. Freaking Winchesters.

“Minted” –  Romance; Fluff; Christmas fic – Words: 688

Summary: Sam doesn’t get the appeal of candy canes until you explain it. ‘Explain’ being a fairly loose term, in this case. Luckily, kissing is a language of love, and you both have quite a bit to say.

Sam/Gabriel/Reader

“Whole” – Romance – Words: 1390

Summary: Gabriel’s trying to help Jack out with his powers. It doesn’t go as intended. Or so he says.

Team Free Will & Reader “Taking Care” – Friendship – Dean & Sam & Reader – Words: 2452

Summary: Dean and Sam think they know best, but so do you. No matter how dumb you all are about it, though, you’re lucky to have each other. 

“The World In Solemn Stillness Lay” – Friendship; Fluff; Christmas fic – Dean, Sam, Castiel, Jack, Gabriel, & Reader – Words: 975

Summary: You’re upset that you won’t make it to Christmas, but at least you saved your friends. Your friends, however, aren’t letting you go without a fight.

“To Want” – Friendship; Hurt/Comfort – Dean, Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, & Reader (& Chuck) – Words: 1573

Summary: The apocalypse has ended and you feel like a fifth wheel. You figure it’s time to move on.

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Non-Reader-Inserts

“The Light. The Way.” – Romance – Gabriel/Sam Winchester – Words: 548

Summary: Sometimes, Gabriel forgets how to breathe. Sam helps, whether he knows it or not.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Sparks of Life Opera Edition

I am still not over Singing a New Tune so I am going to recap for you the experience of writing that fic because there were many interesting moments over the course of those three days. Lemme start from the beginning.

- So I’m writing a fic that mostly focuses on sexual stuff but it is also mainly happening in an opera so my first order of business is to figure out what that opera is. Both the building itself and the show they’ll be watching. Because that is of utmost importance.

- I have already mentioned that SoL is located in New York so I looked up New York operas. I do not vibe with research most of the time but I vibe even less with having to come up with names for any kind of thing so research was definitely the choice here.

- I somehow get results about operas that are in the other end of the USA. That was not great. I get to the Metropolitan Opera House at last (which I might have known existed if I cared about opera in any way, shape or form) which is great! I am so close to starting the fic! Just need to figure out what opera they’re watching. Because I need that for reasons.

- I end up downloading a PDF with the seatings inside the Met Opera so that I can figure out where the hell they will be seating. But I leave that for later. I look through the actual plays that they’re having while absolutely failing with the navigation of their site. I find a show that catches my eye. It’s called The Magic Flute. I have zero idea what it’s about so I read the Wikipedia summary just to be aware. It mentions that a character has a moment when he’s singing about his search for a wife and I think “Perfect! Foreshadowing!” (since this is set pretty early on in Griffin and Valtor’s relationship).

- I decide to look up the opera and see if I can find a part of it on youtube to figure out how it will sound. I am pretty sold on it already because of the summary I read and also because it implies there is magic as a subject in it which would call back to canon. Still, I look it up. I find a full version of it on the internet with English subtitles... It is 2 hours and 35 minutes:

- “Wow, okay... that’s a bit much. But hey, it has got subtitles in English. Maybe I’d actually watch that... once I’m done with the fic. I’m just gonna listen to a little bit while I finish my research, though, so I can have an idea of what it sounds like.”

- Now it’s time to open the engagement fic - Enough to Be Yours - because I don’t remember what year they got engaged in and I need that to reverse engineer the year in which this fic is taking place so that I can make sure that The Magic Flute was being performed back then. I don’t have an year stated in the engagement fic, though. I have a date - 9th October which is Friday and that means the year is 2015. Great! So I need to figure out if they were performing The Magic Flute back in 2010. Great.

- That takes a shit ton of time and nerves as it turns out. I spent over 4 hours just researching the logistics for this fic and a lot of that was unnecessary but I’m getting ahead of myself.

- I cannot find out whether they were performing the Magic Flute in 2010. I get results of it being broadcast in English (for the first time, I believe) in 2012 but that is way too late for this fic to be happening. Also, they are speaking of a broadcast which just doesn’t work for me. So I am having a hard time over here.

- I find a list of the new titles in 2011 but nothing mentions The Magic Flute as far as I can see.

- I am now considering switching to another opera. I see an opera that is based on events from The Song of the Nibelungs (I cannot be assed to go back and check what the actual title was). That catches my eye because I have read a book that was titled The Ring of the Nibelungs, I believe, and I kinda remember stuff from it... which is what makes me hesitate because that was a big tragedy.

- Meanwhile, I have stumbled upon a trailer for The Magic Flute:

MY GOD IS THAT BEAUTIFUL! THOSE PROPS ARE FUCKING GORGEOUS! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN THAT YOU GET TO GO AND SEE THAT LIVE? THAT IS NUTS! (Also, when I mentioned paper birds (I think they are) in the fic, I meant the ones shown in 0:13, not the big one in the beginning but HOLY SHIT, DID YOU SEE THAT THING????? HOW IS THAT REAL?!?!?!?! IT IS SO FUCKING AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I CAN’T. I AM DYING. THIS IS JUST TOO BEAUTIFUL.)

- I somehow happen upon an old archive of the opera (idk how I did that but I bookmarked it in case I’ll need it again) that has information about plays going back as far as the year 1900. This is nuts! I am in too deep but I can’t pull myself away. I’ve gotten this far, I will see it through.

- I search for keyword “flute” and I get results. Some of them are pretty old but I finally find what I need. Performances of the Magic Flute in 2010! Bingo!

-  ...Oh, wait, they’re all around Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Hmm... when will it be okay for them to go? I mean, Valtor has been established to have zero free time around that time of the year and I can’t see them going on the 24th or the 31st... Oh, those are matinees. Definitely no! I need them to go in the evening. And some of these are broadcasts which doesn’t work for me either.

- I looked up earlier years as well. I considered another opera again. I decided to switch up the timeline a little. It makes sense if it’s in 2009. I think they had spring performances of The Magic Flute then. Or was it 2008? Anyway, I finally settle on an early April date in 2009 (I think). Now that that’s settled, let’s go back to the seats.

- First I need to figure out what floor (let’s say) of the opera they’re on. I was thinking of the last one first (family circle) but the boxes (I figure those seats will be safest for their activities) look like this:

which isn’t vibing with me because they would be in the front row and it seems more visible. So I relocate to the previous floor (balcony) that looks like this:

That works a little better although there’s the danger of having more people in their box. But they’re sitting in box 14, seats 5 (Griffin) and 6 (Valtor) (where the arrow is pointing) and there’s only one man in seat 4 in front of them. So that is the best I can do.

- Wow, all that’s finally figured out. I decide to do all the rest of the research up front in order to be able to just write after that and not stop for another 4 hours. More on those other things later BUT I get to the part where I need to pick a vibrator and... well, I done fucked up.

- First thing that comes up for a remote controlled vibrator is Lush, of course. And I am immediately sold because it has a sound activated setting which Valtor will definitely love to utilize while in the opera.

BUT

Lush 2 (which is the first one to have the sound activated setting, I believe) came out in 2018. Even if we accept that Lush also has it, that came out in 2015. My fic is set in 2009. Searching for 2009 vibrators literally went no where so in the end I decided that the SoL verse is actually set in a parallel universe where time is a little warped so the Lush 2 is out in 2009. Plus, that way there isn’t going to be a pandemic in future installments. Overall, that works. Except that I needn’t have been so thorough with my opera research beforehand. Oh, well. It’s finally time to start writing.

- How do you write? How do you start a fic? One word in front of the other? Oh, okay, never mind. Lipstick is a girl’s best friend. Let’s start from there. And a kiss that leads to the discussion of lipstick... Damn, I forgot to spend one more hour on researching what kind of lipstick Griffin would have worn. Shame! You don’t get that detail now. I believe I didn’t even mention a shade.

- Oh, wait. Need for his breath to taste like something. Hmm, let’s see. Tonic water? Yeah, that sounds about right. Never mind that he should have probably drunk it right before getting out of the car to kiss her if it was still lingering on his breath. I mean, that’s not impossible. Just improbable.

- He’s also wearing cologne, right? Gotta research that too. How else would I get this:

and zero idea what it actually smells like despite the description. Also, did not check if that was a thing in 2009 but the story now exists in a vacuum so who cares.

- Apparently, Griffin doesn’t own any golden bracelets even though she does have a golden necklace? Or she could have a golden bracelet, just not one she likes for the current situation? Anyway, I wanted to mention Ediltrude as well because the twins always go together and that was the best I came up with. (That said, I didn’t need to put the mentions of them one sentence apart.)

- My god, I used a semicolon! That feels illegal. I sure hope I used that bitch correctly.

- Okay, I absolutely love all the banter and just flow in the car. Idk how I did that since it’s such a constricted space but I am really proud of it. However, the logistics were sometimes hard to logic my way through. I mean, Valtor doesn’t get to look at her a lot and I had to employ a red traffic light to give him the chance to do so.

- I hit a wall about three paragraphs later. Things started going in a weird direction. I was considering even deleting the last two lines but then I managed to get back on track thanks to having figured out how they met and I decided to write a little bit about that without spoiling it (that will be a fic of its own some day). Suffice it to say it was a meet-very-ugly. But it bailed me out. Also, they got over it so it’s all good.

- And now... that paragraph. You know which one I’m talking about. It stands out with the locations I’ve given. That paragraph required 30 minutes of looking at Google Earth to figure it out and I still nearly got it wrong. At that point it occurred to me that they’ll need a place to park. I mean, idk how parking is in NYC but it’s probably not the way it is in Bulgaria especially on small neighborhood streets where it’s just... park wherever (even in front of a garage if you’re brazen enough and don’t fear having your tires slashed). So first, I was going to have them coming down Tenth Avenue and passing by the backside of the Opera which is not ideal for me because I needed Griffin to figure out they’re going to the opera so that they can have the following dialogue. But there is the New York Public Library of the Performing Arts right next door so I figure Griffin will recognize the area if it’s next to a library. And I have them almost at the garage but... that’s not looking right. This garage is on 65th Street and mine is on 62nd... I have been looking at the wrong garage for the past hour. Now that I have caught that mistake, things get easier. They just drive right past the facade of the opera, take a right turn and then enter the garage. Easy peasy. For whoever’s actually paying attention to the map.

- They’re in the garage now and I have to write another kiss. Shoot! I do not vibe with writing kisses. Writing sex scenes is much easier. But I’ll try my best because this is a little bit necessary if we’re dealing with an insertion of a vibrator in a public bathroom one minute from now. (Again, logistics!) I actually went back to add in a little discomfort during the kiss (but not too much because they’re consumed with each other anyway and probably missed something) just to make it more realistic. They can’t be comfortable in the car. Also, you have got to love how I never even thought of what make the car is. But I did stop to research the tinting of the car windows.

- Now this is extremely funny but I would have had zero idea that there are different laws about how tinted your car windows can be in the USA if I hadn’t read a very extensive critique of Fifty Shades (whichever part it was that had that info). So I look up the VLT for New York and it says 70%. Great! Then it won’t be that visible through the windows what they’re doing inside. Oh, wait! VLT means Visible Light Transmission aka 70% of the light should be passing through the window. Aka it is only tinted on 30%. This much:

That’s practically nothing. You can see everything through it. Welp, then someone’s gonna see, I guess.

- Can’t believe I didn’t stop to look up clutches either. (Lmao, I was calling it a purse instead of a clutch at first even though I definitely meant a clutch. And then I remembered that clutch existed as a word. Who would’ve thought?) It’s baffling trying to figure out why my brain was prioritizing some details over others and I just genuinely have no idea what was going on.

- Griffin is blushing a lot in this. Can you tell I have no idea how else to convey Valtor giving her feelings through body language?

- I first envisioned the box being opened by the hair pin by turning it like a key. Only later did I realize that that wouldn’t be possible because the pin has two parts (whatever they’re called) and that would make turning it impossible unless all of the base fits into one hole in the lid of the box. So I had to adapt my vision to using the extensions at the ends of the hair pin like a hook that pulls the lid up once it’s clicked free. I have zero idea how that would be done but I’m sure it can be done. So yeah, anyway, the pin looks like this but with attachments at the ends to open the box:

- I might have gone a little overboard with Griffin’s reaction to having the vibrator inside her. I might have made her a bit too embarrassed but I still think that she simply wouldn’t appreciate someone knowing about what she considers a private experience (despite the very public setting).

- And I am being overly specific again with the seats but I worked for that information so you’re getting it against your will!

- Speaking of, that man in their box was pretty ignored throughout the fic. But then again Griffin wasn’t overflowing with lucidity. She is sure to have missed... A Lot, actually.

- My apologies (once again) to @her-majesty-wears-jeans​ for not letting Griffin punch Valtor in the face for the terrible pun he was about to make but I thought that that would ruin the mood so I had to skip it.

- I might have imagined things a little differently but then consent factored in and I had to change things up so that Griffin is clearly on board with everything. I hope it came through that way at least. She is on board even if she is very, very frustrated. She would never throw the bet just because it’s difficult for her. Though, I’m taking note for future fics of maybe being a little bit more explicit about the enjoyment of all parties involved. I just couldn’t really think of a way to convey it better back then and I am coming up with several ideas now and I will try to keep them in mind for future fics.

- I keep going back and forth on just how far into their relationship this is. Sometimes it feels like it’s not enough time for them to get this familiar with each other and sometimes it feels like too much for them to still be skirting their feelings for each other like that. Will update when I make up my mind about how long exactly it has been.

- In retrospect, probably should have picked up an opera that people would be less likely to bring their children to (as brought to my attention by @her-majesty-wears-jeans​). I apologize for this. Did not consider it at all.

- A wild tangent about Griffin’s sexual experiences before Valtor popped up (for the second time now). This is giving me thoughts and I am not even sure if I’ll manage to get them all out in the bachelorette party fic. Oh, no, I am getting ideas again.

- God, I had to mention those paper birds because I adore them. Also, needed to do a time skip somehow (sure hope they don’t show up at the very end or the very beginning).

- So there are some things about the whole thing with the suit jacket that if you squint, you’ll miss the very far-fetched and convoluted ways in which I could make them make sense but again, it isn’t impossible to make them operate according to logic so good enough.

- And now for the dress:

I thought it would be reasonable for Griffin to own something like that. It doesn’t look overly expensive or dramatic.

- I swear that most of the 2% angst was an accident. Griffin was supposed to say the “You paid how much for tickets exactly just so you could fool around?” line but the following few paragraphs sprang on me out of nowhere. That was where I left it off the first day I was working on it and I wasn’t sure how to continue it. Then the angst happened.

- I do not believe the retaliation part was planned but would it really be a Griffin x Valtor story if something like that hadn’t happened? XD

- “reverberated”, “multitudinous” and “unobtainable” are probably not words that Griffin’s muddled mind would go to in that precise moment but everything else I came up with for them just did not sound right.

- I completely forgot the word for neckline and was so mad at myself for that but, luckily, I managed to remember it before posting the fic. I believe the original read “he slipped a finger under the fabric of her dress, running it over the top of her breast” which is not incorrect but just not precise enough for my liking.

- Sure hope the shortened version of the opera did not cut out the ending musical sequence. But that seems unlikely.

- The idea was running overly long in my head by having them going back to the penthouse so that I could have the scene where he picked her up so I decided to move things around and have him carry her bridal style on their way from the opera to the car. It’s not like she didn’t earn it.

- Pretty sure I had planned something a little different for the last several lines of dialogue but I couldn’t remember what so we get this. Which isn’t a disadvantage. I mean, Griffin is already thinking of marrying him. XD (That’s probably a bit of a stretch at the current status of their relationship but then again, she was thinking of a wedding, not necessarily of their wedding even though I’m clearly a little romance gargoyle that meant exactly that.)

- Originally, Valtor was supposed to floor the brakes while they were out in the NYC traffic but then I decided that doing it while still in the garage with only one car behind them and both vehicles driving at a very slow speed was a lot safer so I switched to that. It also saved me writing more words which was appreciated. I thought this fic would be a bit shorter.

- I was at a loss for how many orgasms Griffin should want from him but then the commitment line happened and that was all avoided.

[nbrook29]

💞 my sobbe fic recs part 2 💞

I did the first part in October but since then we have been blessed with so many good fics that I needed to do another one! We are currently experiencing a sobbe drought so these fics are helping us to get through it basically ✌🏻

Part One

✔ if there’s a fic on this list that you decided to give a shot and loved it, please remember about leaving a comment under it to let the author know that

Let’s go!

1k - 5k

let me be your man (let me hold your hand) by thekardemomme (@wlwharrys) | T

Summary: “what if i hold your hands?” robbe asks, voice gentle and soft, all teasing completely gone. sander turns to look at him, and robbe just gives him an encouraging smile. “will that make you feel more comfortable?”at first, sander wants to say no. he’s an adult, he should totally be able to drop in without needing to hold his boyfriend’s hands. but then he looks down the length of the ramp again, and he ends up nodding.

Sander learning how to skateboard. Basically, A FIC WE ALL NEEDED and this writer provided amazingly.

you just own it by noobishere | G

Summary: He bites his lip as he unhooks the jacket, feeling like he's five years old again, snooping around his mother's closet and trying on her heels.(a.k.a the one where robbe wears sander's clothes)

You know, with this writer it’s like, you see who wrote it and you just know it’s gonna be good. And it may be the most trivial idea but they always turn it into something fun. Oh and the pencil line is living in my mind rent free 🤣

paper rings by thekardemomme (@wlwharrys) | T

Summary: When Sander’s nose twitches, causing him to make this soft little whimpering sound, Robbe can’t help himself. He leans forward enough to kiss Sander’s forehead again, and then he dots one on each cheek, and then finally on his nose.“I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers.

Angsty flugg with such a cute ending, where are my tissues at 🥺🤧

It’s My Turn by isaksliveterna (@to-enter-polaris) | T

Summary: Just little Sander moments through Robbe's eyes as he makes the anniversary video.

Remember Even’s video to Isak? This is sobbe’s version and it’s oh so cute 🥰

5k - 10k

All You’ve Got to Do Is Win by berrevy | T

Summary: “Careful, now.”“Or what?” Robbe walks off, over to his side of the net, voice raising as he goes. “You may as well just draw a picture of you winning cos that’s the only way it’s gonna happen.”It's Sander's turn to splutter. "Jesus...who are you and what have you done with Robbe? Where did this little savage come from?"(or, how that tennis match might've played out)

Oh my god, for me this is perfection ❤ This author can truly capture the real essence of sobbe. And to think I completely missed that fic the last time!

dreaming of you by ivy_seas | E

Summary: Snow, gift giving, wrapping presents, watching movies in bed (+ other activities in bed), celebrating Christmas together.

Sobbe preparing for Christmas together, just the perfect amount of fluff I needed 🤗

you’re my stars... and everything in between by aurorawinds (@robbesdriesen) | M

Summary: A Star-Crossed Lovers, Romeo & Juliet inspired, AU where Robbe and Sander are the sons of Antwerp’s two most rivaling families of tech companies, head over heels in love with one another as they find it more and more difficult each day to hide their relationship from their families. To hide their love.

Are you kidding me. Romeo and Juliet sobbe AU?! I was so into it from the very beginning, THEY ARE SO CUTE OH MY GOD and the angst oh yes

Taking pictures of you as the light came through by allforyoumylove | M

Summary: Robbe photographs Sander in bed. Things take a steamy turn.

It’s not easy to write the perfect amount of fluff as I tend to not like the overly fluffy stories. Somehow this writer always hits the mark and delivers just what I love.

You say you want your freedom by ayellowcurtain (@ayellowcurtain) | G

Summary: Sander is going away for two weeks to do some college stuff with his teacher. He doesn't tell Robbe right away, but he needs time.

This was really interesting and quite different from the usual approach I would say. I think there are very few fics with sobbe “fighting” and I love me a little angst sometimes so this was just *chef’s kiss* 😍 Also, I liked how *spoiler* the ending isn’t just Sander’s bff suddenly liking Robbe but that they rather work around it.

time may change me but I can’t trace time by abittersweetsong (@honeyandsinn) | T

Summary: “You’re my best friend and I love you.”It’s a simple admission and it settles gently in Robbe’s soul Or Robbe and Sander find each other in every universe, but in this one they're best friends first

This is WIP and as a rule I don’t include WIPs in those recs but I’m gonna make an exception because I absolutely loved it and I need this writer to come back and post more 🥺 I’m in love with their writing style and how they make me care about these characters so much ❤

10k - 20k

sander driesen versus mistletoe by dottori | T

Summary: it’s not a fair match. (or, sobbe go on a christmas date, and sander really wants a kiss under the mistletoe.)

This is a very fluffy fluff so proceed with caution 😂 I liked the Christmas vibe here a lot.

hop in the corolla by noobishere | E

Summary: “Oh dear,” Robbe’s mother cuts in. “You haven’t even started your trip and you’re already at each other’s throats.”Sander takes immense pleasure in the way Robbe’s eyes widen in panic, and before Robbe can even warn him with his glares, Sander is already saying, all too gleefully.“We’re always at each other’s throats.”(a.k.a sobbe's summer road trip)

“I found it. It's official. I found the best sobbe fic.” This is the comment I left and I’m still standing by it. It has so many small gems, it’s just UGH. So goooooood 🤩🤩🤩

my hand around the base of you holy neck by allforyoumylove | E

Summary: “All Robbe knew was that Sander was rubbing his hand up and down his back, nails scraping his skin gently, that he smelled like safety, sweet and warm, and that there was nowhere he would rather be than in his arms.”(aka the one where Robbe and Sander are “just” friends with benefits, but the amount of times they call each other ‘baby’ and the way they can’t fucking stop kissing begs to differ.)

Friends to lovers AU. One of my favorite tropes. It’s smutty and fluffy at the same time which, you know, perfection.

Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) by berrevy | M

Summary: Robbe bites down on his lip, shaking his head. “You make a habit of luring boys into your lair?”“Only the pretty ones. Don’t worry, schatje, there’s nothing to be afraid of. And if there is,” Sander shrugs, taking a few more steps backwards, “I’ll protect you.”(aka the boys go on their own private Halloween adventure)

So basically, it was Halloween and wtFOCK so DID NOT deliver and we were all pissed off but then this writer came in and gave us what we deserved. Thanks to this fic I discovered this writer’s other story that is one of my sobbe favorites. Oh the symbolism in this fic. I’m just a big fan of this writer’s style in general 🥰

20k+

this rough magic by aholynight (@aholynight) | M

Summary: Though he’s a sixth-prefect and the newest member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, Muggleborn Robbe can still hardly believe that he’s made of magic. Sander is the seventh-year Gryffindor beater whose wild behavior and delinquent reputation precedes him. Though Robbe desperately wants to believe in the angel-faced boy he sees in front of him—and ignore the rumors of Sander’s devilish behavior—he’s not sure his heart can afford the risk. But when Sander and Robbe are left in a nearly-empty Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday, avoiding Sander might no longer be an option.

I don’t know how I could have missed this one in my last fic rec. Sobbe in Hogwarts. During Christmas. I mean, I’m sold from the start but on top of that this also has a captivating story and made me go 🥺

[vxlkyrie]

through my lens

pairing: spencer reid x reader

genre: fluff (god so much fluff), friends to lovers!au

warning: mentions of alcohol, cursing

word count: 4.8k

summary: spencer comes up with the best birthday gift a girl could ask for – along with the best confession

a/n: hey y’all, it’s been a hot minute. i apologize for going m.i.a. for a bit and only reblogging fics and gifsets. i’ve been trying to give myself a little break from writing after finishing my classes for the semester, and then i found myself having writer’s block. but now i’ve found the motivation to write again! i’ve gotten into criminal minds during this quarantine, and became whipped for reid. so why not start writing for him? hopefully i can write more for him. and with that said, i hope you guys enjoy this fluff-filled oneshot!

everyone in the bau had their hobbies. spencer loves to read, penelope knits, hotch golfs on weekends – just to name a few. 

when you weren’t creating profiles and catching unsubs, you were roaming around d.c. taking photos of literally everything. a rose bush, your lunch at the cafe down the street from your apartment, the beautiful cotton candy sunset. you were seen always taking a picture, whether it was with a dslr, a polaroid, or simply your phone. you also took pictures of the bau team whenever you all decide to hang out. 

a night at the club? pictures of emily, jj, and penelope drunk off their asses while grinding on each other. 

dinner after successfully closing a case? pictures of derek and spencer having a mini food fight and hotch trying to stop them. 

christmas sleepover at rossi’s mansion? pictures of rossi cooking and the ladies making cookies. 

jj’s wedding? pictures of the blushing bride and groom and everyone slow dancing with each other (until derek pulled your camera out of your hand and forced you to dance with everyone). 

let’s just say you have a wall filled with polaroids of your second family.

photography has been a passion of yours for the longest time. although, when you first started in the bau, you felt like a burden you stated taking pictures of the team in their happiest moments. but over the years, everyone assured you that it was fine and even encouraged you to continue, which made your heart flutter. 

but what made your heart flutter even more is when a certain doctor asks you for tips on how to get into photography.

“hey y/n!” a male voice greeted you while you were working on paperwork. you snapped your head up to see spencer giving you a small smile as he leaned on your desk.

you became close with the doctor shortly after you joined the unit. probably because you two were around the same age, but also probably because of the similar interests you two had. 

he would come over to your apartment frequently for movie nights and whenever he just wanted to unwind after a case and didn’t feel like going back to his place. 

the first time he slept over, you had to apologize for the lack of literature books on your shelves that were filled with scrapbooks instead. he told you it was no problem and found himself getting lost in one of your scrapbooks.

“no way! is that y/n in high school?” he practically squealed.

“what?!” your eyes widened as you ran towards spencer and attempted to get the embarrassing scrapbook out of his hand, only for him to lift it high into the air and out of your reach.

“why didn’t you tell me you wore glasses? you looked so cute!” he laughed as he looked up at the scrapbook that he held above his head.

“i looked horrible! give it back!” you whined.

“only if you can reach it.” he smirked.

“fuck you. you just had to be 6′1.” you pouted as the doctor continued to go through the rest of your scrapbooks (he especially enjoyed going through the scrapbook that was filled with pictures of the team).

and even though you complained the entire time he went through your collection, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach as your feelings for spencer grew.

“what’s up, doc?” you beamed back.

“nothing much. i just wanted to ask you something.” he said as he fumbled with his hands.

“yeah, what is it?” you asked politely.

“i-i want to learn more about photography, and i was hoping you could help me?” he answered softly as a tint of pink spread across his cheeks

god help me, he’s so cute.

“yeah of course!” you chuckled. spencer’s eyes lit up with joy as he smiled wider. “what do you need help with?”

“well, the basics, and what kind of camera to use. although, i’ve heard digital cameras have been getting more expensive these days. maybe it’s because more people are getting into photography. i’ve seen a lot of websites that garcia showed me where people are starting photography businesses and i- i’m rambling again, aren’t i?” spencer scratched the back of his neck. 

you weren’t one to cut spencer off while he’s talking. mostly because he looked so attractive while doing it, and it still baffles you how that’s possible.

“it’s fine spence,” you softly smile at him, which caused his heart to speed up a little. “and honestly, using your phone is a great start into learning basic photography.”

“really?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“yeah, give me your phone,” you asked, holding out your hand. he pulled it out and handed it to you. “i know you’re like a technophobe, but this little guy is pretty useful, especially when it comes to photography.” you explained as you opened the camera app, showing him the different features on it. “now here’s a grid. ever heard of rule of thirds?”

spencer shooked his head, which surprised you.

“oh really? well basically...” you started to speak.

spencer started zoning out. he already knew what the rule was, but he just wanted an excuse to stare at you.

the resident genius has been in love with you ever since you joined the unit. and his feelings grew even more after finding out you both have a love for halloween and science fiction. but of course, he never acted on it. the poor boy was already shy enough, and after being rejected several times, he especially doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with you.

oh y/n, if only you knew...

“so overall, it’s a great way to line up your photos,” you finished explaining, turning your head to see spencer spacing out. “you okay spencer?” you waved a hand over his face.

“w-what? oh yeah, i’m fine. rule of thirds is my best friend when taking pictures. got it.” he blinked, making you chuckle.

“hey pretty boy, we’re being summoned by garcia.” a deep voice said as a hand slapped over spencer’s shoulder.

“hi derek!” you smiled.

“hey sugar,” he winked. “come on reid, let’s go.” derek turned to spencer. spencer nodded at the older man and started to walk.

“thanks again y/n!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“of course! if you need anything, just let me know!” you yelled back as you continued working on your paperwork.

“anything?” derek whispered, teasing spencer as they made their way to penelope’s office.

“stop. she was just teaching me some stuff about photography.”

“you are such a sucker for her. just tell her you like her already. we all know you both are in love with each other.” derek rolled his eyes.

“she’s not in love with me.”

“you have an iq of 187 and for what? you don’t have to be a genius to know that she feels the same way.” derek said as he opened the door.

-

“ah my lovelies are here!” penelope said as she hugged derek and spencer.

“what’s up baby girl?” the formal asked.

“i’ve already told emily, jj, hotch, and rossi this, but i am planning a surprise birthday party for y/n at rossi’s place!” she clapped joyfully.

“isn’t her birthday like a month away?” spencer raised an eyebrow.

“i don’t even think she remembers that her birthday’s coming up soon.” derek added.

“which makes this even easier,” penelope smiled. “the week of her birthday, we will be going over to rossi’s house after work and we will help decorate. the night of the party, spencer, you will be driving her to rossi’s. just say that we’re all meeting up to go to a club or something.” she quickly said.

“i guess that’s possible.” the younger boy slowly nodded.

“are you sure she isn’t gonna be suspicious that reid’s willing to go to a club?” derek asked.

“hey!”

“he’s a genius, he’ll come up with some excuse,” penelope said. “okay great. let’s go team! now get out please.”

spencer slowly walked down the hall that lead back to the bullpen.

what am i gonna get her this year? i already got her the whole star wars saga collection. this gift has to be more sentimental. 

he bit his lip in deep thought.

then suddenly, a light bulb flickered on above his head.

that’s it!

-

a month passes by quickly when you're working on cases mostly every day. 

there were a few times where you would have the day off or at least the night off after a long day at work. you spent those times with the bau, whether it was having a night in with the girls, checking out the costume stores with spencer (who cares if it’s nowhere near october?), or even a spontaneous night out at the karaoke bar.

the rest of the team have managed to sneak around during the week of your birthday, gathering party decorations and gifts, making sure everything is set up correctly before the big day.

spencer worked very hard on his gift for you, adding the finishing touches as he stored it in a closet that was filled with the rest of the team’s gifts.

set up for y/n’s birthday party – check.

and in a blink of an eye, it was your birthday and the night of party. the team was flying back from a case that took several days, and you want nothing more than to knock out on your bed.

“the night is still young! let’s all go out!” emily exclaimed as you all gathered your belongings in the bullpen. derek nodded his head in agreement, catching on to emily’s little scheme.

“hell yeah, i’m in!” jj responded. “how about you, y/n?”

“i don’t know guys, i’m pretty tired.” you yawned.

“come on y/n, you have to come with us.” emily pouted.

“what’s happening?” penelope walked in.

“we’re gonna hit the clubs, you in?”

“definitely. spence, you coming?” penelope looked at him as if she had telepathically sent him a message. spencer widened his eyes.

“u-uh, yeah. i’m in.” he gave a small smile.

“look y/n, even reid’s coming! you love clubbing with us. it’s gonna be a great time!” jj said as she held your arms. you sighed.

“fine. i’ll meet you guys in like two hours, okay?”

the ladies cheered in victory.

“perfect! let’s pregame at rossi’s and then we’ll all go together.” emily said.

“great! spencer, do you mind driving me to my apartment?” you said as you turned towards him. he shook his head in response and you both headed towards the parking lot.

get y/n to come over to rossi’s – check.

-

after you got ready, spencer drove to rossi’s mansion as you sang to throwbacks.

he changed into a simple black dress shirt and jeans (and of course, his converse) while you wore a black off-the-shoulder mini dress and heels. your makeup was flawless as well as your curled hair.

spencer couldn’t help but think you looked beautiful in this moment, and can’t wait for the surprise he and the team had in store for you.

soon, you two were parked in rossi’s huge driveway.

“she’s here!” spencer texted penelope as soon as he put the car in park. he ran over to your side of the car and opened the door for you.

“what a gentleman! thank you, kind sir.” you smiled and reach out for spencer’s hand as he helped you out of your seat. you two walked to the front door to see rossi standing with a huge grin on his face.

“hey rossi!” you greeted while hugging him. he grabbed your hand and opened the door and slowly let you in, with spencer trailing not too far behind. “where is everyone?” you asked as he led you to the dark living room.

“surprise!” many voices shouted. your eyes widened as the lights turned on, only to see your closest friends and everyone from the bau and their families smiling at you. even the kids were there.

there were balloons that floated onto the ceiling. foil curtains that filled up rossi’s wall (he wasn’t a big fan of it, but he was willing to hang it up because it was all for you). tables filled with drinks, food, and gifts. and don’t forget the banner that hung across the threshold leading to the backyard that read ‘happy birthday y/n!’

you felt yourself tearing up.

“oh my god!” you patted around your eye area. “i love you all, but goddamnit you almost made me ruin my mascara!” you yelled jokingly, earning laughs from everyone (even hotch).

“happy birthday!” rossi said as he hugged you and kissed your cheeks. everyone gathered around you to hug you, take pictures with you, and say their happy birthday’s.

“happy birthday, sugar.” derek hugged you.

“i honestly forgot that it was today.” you laughed as he joined you.

even spencer gave you a bear hug and a kiss on the forehead, which made your face heat up.

“happy birthday y/n.” he smiled at you.

you were in euphoria as the party went on. you were dancing with your best friends and the bau ladies (and derek) as music blasted throughout the backyard. everyone was occupied, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves, even spencer, who was having a beer while conversing with hotch.

“so when are you gonna tell y/n you like her?” he asked spencer who was looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. spencer turned his head towards his boss.

“soon.” he smiled, sounding very determined.

“as much as i love seeing you guys dance your asses off, it’s time for the birthday girl to blow out her candles.” rossi announced.

everyone gathered around the table as you walked towards the table, seeing a beautifully decorated cake with lit candles placed in front of you. they all sang happy birthday (with hotch recording everything), making you smile from ear to ear while trying not to tear up again. soon, you blew out your candles, followed by cheers. rossi helped cut the cake and distributed it to everyone.

“as soon as everyone gets their slice, please go to the living room so y/n can open her gifts!” he shouted. everyone obeyed and started to walked back inside. spencer’s eyes widened.

shit. 

“you okay, kid?” derek asked, approaching spencer.

“uh, yeah?” he answered, clearing his throat as an attempt to try to hide his panicked expression.

“what’s got you nervous?”

“i-i didn’t know she was gonna open her gifts in front of everyone.” spencer practically whispered.

“why? what’d you get her?” derek smirked.

“i guess you’ll see.” spencer sighed.

-

everyone sat in the living room, facing you as you opened your gifts. every time you opened one, your heart melts even more.

when you opened rossi’s gift, you thought you were gonna pass out.

“rossi, i cannot take this!” you exclaimed as you held a box that contained a new camera. “this must’ve costed you a fortune!” you tried to give rossi the box, but he simply shook his head.

“you’re like a daughter to me, y/n. of course i had to spoil my child!” he said as everyone laughed around him.

“i can assure you buying that camera certainly did not put a dent in his bank account.” emily quipped. you thanked rossi with a hug and continued to open more gifts in your seat between spencer and emily.

you were curious when you lifted a slightly heavy bag from hotch. you gasped as soon as you looked inside to see a brand new laptop sitting inside.

“hotch, you shouldn’t have!”

“i know you recently broke your laptop, so i figured why not save you the trouble of getting one. you also deserve it after being such a great addition to the team.” he said, giving you a small smile as you hugged him.

emily bought you a ton of polaroid film and sd cards, as well as a bottle of wine – the key to a girl’s heart.

“these are exactly what i needed, thank you babe.” you kissed her cheek.

jj and will bought you a vinyl player along with a few vinyls from your favorite artists. they also added a few drawings of you that henry made that had ‘auntie y/n’ written on all of them.

“i am definitely putting these on my fridge.” you said as you lightly ruffled the little guy’s hair.

derek got you a pair of headphones (from the same brand as his) so you didn’t have to borrow his during the plane ride home.

“now we can both listen to our own music with our own headphones.” he teased, hugging you as you chuckled.

penelope’s gift had you screaming. you opened the box and moved the tissue paper to see a whole lingerie set laid out. spencer’s eyes widened as derek whistled, while hotch and rossi where trying not to laugh their asses off. jj immediately placed her hands over henry’s eyes.

“how did you get my size right?!”

“i have my ways.” she winked at you.

you had one more gift to open – spencer’s gift.

“you don’t have to open mine.” spencer whispered to you. you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“why not? i opened everyone’s.”

“it’s not as good as everyone else’s.”

“spence, it doesn’t matter how expensive a gift is. you could literally give me a fake plant and i will love it until the day that i die.” you smiled at him, causing his face to slightly heat up.

“well, prepare to be disappointed because i definitely did not get you a fake plant.” he said. you scoffed.

“come on spence, how bad could it be?” you said as you pulled out an object from the gift bag. you curiously looked at it.

is it a book?

“what is it?” you asked spencer.

“well, o-open it.” spencer shyly said.

you turn the cover to see a collage of pictures. it was a small scrapbook. you examined the pictures only to realize they were picture of you. you started blushing as you flipped through the pages and recalled where several of the pictures have been taken. you didn’t even realize spencer was taking pictures of you half of the time.

-

you were having a sleepover with the girls, drinking and crying over captain america. you heard a knock on the door.

“must be the pizza guy, i’ll get it!” you stood up. you opened the door to see spencer standing there.

“hey y/n! ready to watch the new season of doctor who?” he clenched his messenger bag in excitement as he entered your apartment, shocked to see his coworkers sitting on the couch while the tv played.

“that was tonight? oh spencer, i’m so sorry. i completely forgot.” you said, feeling guilty.

“oh, that’s fine. we can always watch doctor who another time.” he reassured.

“how about you join us spencer?” penelope chirped in.

“i don’t want to intrude on your sleepover.” spencer shook his hands in front of him.

“yeah, come join us! you’re already here, and i think you left some of your pajamas somewhere.” you raised your eyebrows at him with a pleading smile on your face.

how could he resist when you’re looking at him like that?

“fine.” he gave in as the girls cheered.

as soon as he knew it, he was listening in on the gossip as the girls did each other’s nails. you laughed as you smeared a green substance on your face.

“what’s that on your face y/n?” spencer asked, earning a few giggles from emily and jj.

“it’s a facial, spence. it’s good for your skin. you want to try it?” you asked as you held out the container towards him. he nodded. “you want me to put it on for you?” he nodded again.

spencer tried his hardest not to blush while your fingers brushed against his face. he could smell the faint scent of mint from the facial along with the lavender from your shampoo.

“okay, and we’re done. wait for half an hour and then wash it off.” you said as you both took a seat on your couch.

once you started paying attention to the movie, spencer stole glances in your direction, watching you react to the movie. he couldn’t help but pull out his phone and snapped a picture of you (thank god his phone was on silent).

he smiled to himself one more time before putting his focus back onto the movie.

-

“spencer, what are we doing here? it’s july!” you said as you two entered the costume shop.

“it’s never too early to plan your halloween costume, y/n.” he laughed as you looked at the masks that hung from the wall. he busied himself, browsing through different costumes.

should i be frankenstein? maybe i should go for steampunk this year?

“check this out spence!” your muffled voice caught his attention. he looked to see you dancing around while wearing one of the masks. 

spencer laughed at you while you continued to dance in the middle of the aisle. he took out his phone and took a photo of you, not caring that your arms turned out blurry while you were flailing your arms around.

“that was fun,” you took off the masks. “anyways, what kind of costume are you going for this year?” you asked as your ran your fingers through your hair, trying to fix it.

spencer was too busy looking at you.

“spencer?” you said with confusion. “spence?”

he slightly shook his head.

fuck, she caught me staring.

“what? oh, i don’t know yet. how about you?” he asked back.

“hmmm, i’m not sure either. i might just play it safe and be a devil or something.” you said as you tried on headbands that had plastic horns glued onto them. you looked at the section next to the devil costumes and saw a bunch of angel costumes. you took one of the halos and placed it on spencer’s head, practically jumping to get it on him. “maybe you should be an angel this year.”

“you think so? why?” he asked, suddenly feeling shy.

“well, maybe cuz you are one?” you grinned.

spencer’s heart raced for hours afterwards.

-

“happy birthday to you! happy birthday to you! happy birthday dear emily! happy birthday to you!” the whole team sang as they raised their glasses to the girl of the hour. you couldn’t help but take pictures of everyone as they downed their drinks and hugged emily.

after the team found out it was the brunette’s birthday, you all collectively decided to spend the rest of the evening renting out a room at the karaoke bar to celebrate.

“thank you guys! i fucking love all of you!” emily yelled. you could tell she was tipsy. “now someone put something on, i want to get drunk and sing until my vocal chords explode!”

“well, actually, your vocal chords-” spencer started.

“shh, not right now spence. someone give me a microphone.” emily bit back. you patted your hand on spencer’s back.

after a few rounds of singing from everyone, you decided to do a number with the rest of the girls. you were in the zone, belting out notes you never thought you could do. but with a little bit of liquid courage, you channeled your inner whitney houston as you all sang ‘i wanna dance with somebody.’

hotch was recording (as always) as rossi and derek cheered you all on.

“let’s go baby girl!”

spencer was clapping along, watching you have the time of your life. he had the biggest smile on his face as he took pictures of you singing. he knew that he had it bad for you once you started dancing. but when he didn’t see coming was when you placed your hand on his and pulled him up to his feet.

“dance with me spencer!” you giggled as you whipped your head side to side. you definitely had too much to drink.

“come on pretty boy!” derek hollered. spencer started to pick up the rhythm and moved with you and the girls. the rest of the guys soon joined in and started dancing.

at times like this, spencer is grateful that he chose not to stay in.

-

as you flipped through the rest of the pages, you felt a few tears started to form in your eyes. you skimmed through the rest of the pictures. 

some of them were pictures of you sleeping. on the jet, on the couch in your pajamas during a movie marathon, on rossi’s bed in one of the guest rooms after having one too many glasses of wine.

some of them had spencer in it. once you taught him what selfies were, he took one with you every time the team flew out of state, or even if you two were just getting coffee before work.

there were some where you weren’t even paying attention and spencer was closer to the camera and made it look like he was squeezing your small head.

and there were even a few where you had your hand close to the camera. they were pictures of you when spencer would catch you off-guard. they weren’t the best pictures, but it felt right for him to print them out.

“spence, what are you doing?” you asked as you tried to push his phone away from your face.

“i’m just taking a picture of you!” he giggled.

“why? i look ugly!” you whined.

“no you don’t!” he blurted out as you playfully shoved his phone towards him as he continued taking pictures of you.

“sometimes, i really do hate you.” you joked, ignoring the fact that he said he doesn’t think you’re ugly.

you laughed at the pictures as your heart picked up its pace. aww’s were coming from everyone, making spencer blush an even deeper pink. you got to last page of the scrapbook. instead of seeing a page full of pictures, you saw a familiar handwriting that filled the page.

is this a letter?

“what does it say?” one of your friends asked.

you looked at spencer for permission to read it out loud. he hesitantly nodded. by the looks of it, everyone already knew why he made you a scrapbook, might as well go all the way.

you took a deep breath and started reading.

for the part-time photographer, full-time badass profiler:

dear y/n,

you have been a light in everyone’s life, especially mine. you brought happiness to a team during their darkest times, and you have always been there for me during mine. 

to the girl who is always seen taking pictures of everyone around her, you deserve to be photographed. 

through your lenses, i am one of the many people that fill up your scrapbooks and walls, but through my lens, you are the most beautiful person my camera has ever captured (and even then, these pictures don’t do you justice).

you are the kindest, brightest, and most breathtaking person i’ve ever met, and i am so lucky to have fallen in love with you.

happy birthday!

love, spencer.

you didn’t even notice the small pool of tears that sat over the letter. thank god the pages were protected. even penelope, emily, and jj were crying.

“oh, spencer.” you sighed as you pulled him in for a bone-crushing hug. he immediately hugged you back, placing his face in the crook of your neck. you pulled away to look at him.

“did you like it?” he whispered as he wiped away the stray tears on your face.

you smiled at him and leaned towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. he smiled as he kissed you back. loud cheers and applauds can be heard from around the room, but the only things you can hear are yours and spencer’s beating hearts.

“my man!” derek yelled. everyone pulled out their phones to capture this sweet moment.

you both pulled away from each other, not being able to wipe the stupid smiles off your faces.

“i’m guessing you liked it.” spencer quipped, making you laugh.

“i love it. and i love you too.” you grinned. 

spencer pulled you in for another kiss, until you hear several clicks. you turned to see everyone with their phones pointed at you two. you hid your face in his neck in embarrassment, spencer laughing as he held you.

“this is definitely going in the scrapbook.” he chuckled.

[emsylcatac]

Oh man, really appreciating the extra French cultural insight on ML, so thank you for all of your elucidating! Have you made any posts covering common school events/milestones, and/or how teens tend to celebrate holidays in Paris? I know exams are different and that proms aren't really a thing, and the show has given us some insight into field trips (not too different), but do you know of anything else fandom tends to miss?

Heya!! :D

Thanks for your feedback & you’re very welcome!!

I haven’t done any post regarding school events or holidays yet, so let’s do that now!

School events/milestones:

First just a quick explanation of the French scholar system:

Maternelle (= Kindergarten): 3 years, from 3-4yo to 5-6yo – Petite section · Moyenne section · Grande section

Primaire (= Primary school): 5 years, from 6-7yo to 10-11yo – CP · CE1 · CE2 · CM1 · CM2

Collège (= Secondary school | Junior high school): 4 years, from 11-12yo to 14-15yo – 6ème (said sixième) · 5ème (cinquième) · 4ème (quatrième) · 3ème (troisième) – school start around 8:30am and ends around 4:30pm, with 1h lunch-break and 15min break in the morning & afternoon. – except on Wednesday ends around 11:30 or 12:30.

Lycée (= High school): 3 years, from 15-16yo to 17-18yo – 2nd (said seconde) · 1ère (première) · Tale (terminale) – Same about breaks & lunch breaks & start of school, but usually ends around 5:30pm. – except on Wednesday ends around 11:30 or 12:30 (or if you’re unlucky like I was the school organises exams on Wednesday afternoon from 2 to 4h straight but most schools have free Wednesdays afternoon)

Currently, Marinette & Adrien are in their finale year of ‘collège’ so in ‘3ème’ (called ‘troisème’).

So about major end-of the year exams:

End of 3ème (around the end of June usually): ‘Brevet’ – it’s a national exam and every student in the whole France have the same examination questions. They have to revise courses they had during the whole year and can be pretty much interrogated on anything they’ve learned. One exam per subject. Writing exam subjects are: French, Mathematics (main ones), History/Geography, Sciences (with Physics/Chemistry and/or Earth&Life Sciences and/or Technology). Added to that, they have an oral exam. It’s about Art History or a project they’ve conducted throughout the year (alone or in groups, however they get an individual score) Side note: this one is pretty ‘easy’ to have and you really need to want to fail to actually fail. It also takes into account the general score you have during the year and allows you to have a few points in advance. For instance, I was a good student and my general score was high enough for me to have enough points to already have the ‘brevet’ before even taking up the exam. It’s usually the case if your general score is equal or above 16/20 I think)

End of Terminale (around mid-June): ‘Baccalauréat’ – it’s again a national exam but much more important. You can’t pursue your studies if you haven’t passed it and will need to repeat the Terminale year. Subjects vary depending the course students chose when they entered their “1ère” year (it’s kind of a lot to explain everything there especially because the system have completely changed this year and teachers & parents are complaining about it, so I’m going to quickly talk about the ‘old’ system where basically you chose between scientific course, economic & social course or arts course; there’s others but those were the main ones). Again, you need to revise everything you’ve learned throughout the year and can be interrogated on anything. There’s writing exams as well as oral exams and practical exams (for sciences).Side note: Contrary to the ‘brevet’ this one is harder to get. I’m not saying it’s super hard, but students with school difficulties can fail even if they worked for it. Only the score you get at this exam is taken into account, not the general score you got during the year so you can’t “have” your Baccalauréat before taking up the exam.

End of 1ère: some exams of the “Baccalauréat” occur in the 1ère year but not a lot as well as a group project.

Proms, holidays & others undercut to avoid long post:

Regarding school proms, we indeed don’t have them as much as people in Canada or the US. It mostly depends of your school: some will organise them at the end of 3ème or Terminale because it’s the end of a ‘cycle’ sort of, but they’re mostly just events with food brought by everyone and music. You rarely have to find a partner to go to a prom with you, except maybe if the school you’re in has decided on that. Some schools don’t organise any.

Other special event that can be organised in your school (and again it depends how strict the director is and all) is carnival. We all come with disguises for the day. My ‘lycée’ was pretty strict about it but we managed to allow it during my finale year and organise a concert during lunch-time. We had to be recognisable though so no full-mask or full-makeup. But the previous years it was forbidden. We didn’t have any carnivals during collège. It again also depends on your school’s policy.

________________

Holidays

We have 4 in-between holidays and one summer holidays:

“Vacances de la Toussaint” (vacances meaning holidays): 2 weeks around end of October & Beginning of November, including the 1st of November. Usually, people tend to stay at home or visit family members that are living far from their home. Some might travel a bit as well but it’s not often. So some teens will visit their friend, maybe celebrate Halloween but Halloween isn’t that big of a thing here and it’s disappearing more and more.

“Vacances de Noël” (= Christmas holidays): 2 weeks including Christmas day and New Year. Mostly spent in family, some might go skiing but it’s rare and there’s less chance to have enough snow for that in the mountains.

“Vacances de Février” (February holidays): 2 weeks in February, sometimes a bit in March; dates change every year because all of the French regions don’t have the same dates for these holidays so teenagers will be in holidays 1st, 2nd or 3rd depending the year & region. Lots of people who can afford it will go skiing in the mountains one week; it’s pretty expensive so not everyone do that but still a lot.

“Vacances de Pâques / vacances de printemps” (Easter holidays / Spring holidays): Again 2 weeks, with dates changing like in February. Mostly around April, sometimes end of March. People tend to stay home or go a bit in the South of France if they can afford it or have enough time where the weather is warmer, some will visit family members, etc.

“Grandes vacances” (= big holidays or as you would say, Summer holidays): Lasts 2 months in July & August. School ends either end of June or beginning of July depending the grade you’re in and the end of the year exams you have, and will start again at the beginning of September. Some teens would go on family holidays somewhere (mostly to the sea or the mountains or abroad), some in summer camps, some would stay at home, some all of those.

Anyway, in all those holidays teens can meet-up and hang-out with their friends, do sleepovers, etc.

________________

School trips

School trips always have a cultural & educational purpose and will depend on the subject they’re being made for. You can visit museums, special cultural or historical places, etc. Most of the time you leave for the day by bus.

In some cases you can do a 3 to 5 days (or more depending your school) trip to another European country like England or Spain or Germany, maybe Italy. Those are opportunities to learn more about the other country’s culture (I know that when we did those trips we stayed in hosting families) learn and speak a bit the language, and learn history of the country depending on the outings of the day.

________________

Anything else fandom tends to miss?

Ok so it could take a lot of time and everything isn’t coming to my mind but one of the main thing I tend to see in fics is “Americanisation” of the French school system if that makes sense. Which is logical because it’s kind of hard to understand how everything works in another country without living in it.

For instance lots of people in fics write things like “they share maths classes together but not French, so Adrien takes Marinette to her class before going to his” and not really: you stay the whole year with the same classmates and share all your courses with them. Only exceptions are if you took some particular options (like someone took Latin and the other took ancient Greek or nothing), or depending the 2nd language you chose to learn (German or Spanish usually but some schools offer more choices). Or if you’re in a practical course, then you class might be split in half but with Marinette & Adrien’s class, they’re already not numerous so I’d say the whole class would share them together.

There’s a lot of other things but they’re not coming to my mind right now or are too long to detail there (for instance what I said above about scientific/economic&social/arts courses), but I’ll make sure to share them if I think about it :)

Thanks for the ask, I hope I answered what you were looking for!! ♥

[melodious-madrigals]

we should just kiss (like real people do)

hi @misha-winchester, i am your wondertrev secret santa! i hope you had a lovely christmas season/whatever holidays you may celebrate, and i hope you have a very happy new year.

Pairing: Diana Prince/Steve Trevor Words: 8′609 Rating: T (swearing) AO3 tags: Modern Setting/No Powers, co-workers, Fake Dating, ‘and there was only one bed’, Hallmark-movie-esque midsunderstandings, Happy Ending Summary: Etta just invited Steve’s significant other along on their group holiday vacation. The only problem? He made said significant other up to get out of a series of set-ups six months ago, and forgot to set the record straight. Enter Diana, his newest co-worker and real-life crush, who doesn’t have any holiday plans and is somehow offering to help him out.

i have been derelict for too long, but no more! i’m so sorry that it took me so long, and i hope you enjoy this trope-packed fic, because i couldn’t decide on just one, and then it sort of ballooned!

Read it on [AO3] or below the cut.

***

“Shit.” Steve’s head thunks against his desk.

“Problem?”

He looks up to find Diana Prince, the newest legal consultant at their NGO standing in his office door. She’s intimidating and smart and beautiful and possibly also the kindest person he’s ever met, and even though they’re friendly, she’s the last person to whom he wants to admit what’s wrong. But she’s also looking at him with such genuine concern that he spills his guts anyways.

“The last time my friend Etta tried to set me up with someone, I told her I was already dating someone, and now she wants me to bring them on our annual holiday trip to one of our friend’s cabin.” Steve kneads the space between his eyebrows, trying to get rid of the tension headache that’s starting to form.

Diana tilts her head, confused. “That’s kind of her.”

“I’m not actually dating anyone,” Steve clarifies. “I just said it to get her off my back. And now I have to either say I lied—which will not go over well for obvious reasons—or say that I broke up with the person and get all sorts of ‘holiday pity’.”

Diana leans elegantly against his doorframe. “People go their separate ways all the time, no? Besides, maybe it’s a bit soon for a weekend away with friends.”

Steve winces. “It’s possible that I told her this almost six months ago and never corrected the record.”

“Ah,” says Diana, taking the liberty of moving into his office and sitting down across from him. “So it’s rather a large deception then.”

“I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand? It was just so nice to not have my friends nagging me about my dating life. They’re well intentioned but a little too insistent sometimes.”

“Okay, so telling them is out of the question,” Diana says, very seriously. And—uh-oh, she’s going into problem-solving mode. He’s absolutely mortified that his very capable and very attractive co-worker is taking time to talk with him about this when she’s a literal international human rights lawyer and university lecturer with plenty of other things to be doing. “Hmm. Isn’t that what Craigslist is for?”

“Ha,” says Steve. “I’m never going to be able to get someone to come with me over Christmas on such short notice.”

“Not everyone has plans on Christmas,” Diana argues.

“Yeah, I get that; I’m not even Christian,” says Steve. “But a lot of people still go home because it’s a long holiday.”

“I’m not Christian either and I don’t have any family here in the States. We exist,” Diana jokes.

“Want to be my fake date, then?” The words leave Steve’s mouth before his brain can catch up and tell him what a massively stupid idea that would be, to fake date his real crush, for lack of a better word.

“Yes, alright: if you can’t find someone on Craigslist, I’ll do it,” says Diana, and then before Steve can process: “Anyways, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. I just dropped by to give you a hard copy of my revisions. She hands him the legal brief, shoots him a quick smile, and saunters out of his office, apparently unaware of the dazed state she’s left him in.

I’ll do it? Is she serious? For a second, Steve’s mind runs away from him before he shuts it down. She was just being polite; he’s certain of it. There’s no way she wants to give up her days off to go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with people she doesn’t even know.

Steve reluctantly writes up a quick wanted ad on Craigslist and hits post before he can overthink it. He can definitely do a fake date for the holidays, right? That’s something normal people do.

**

Three days later, he’s gotten a dozen responses to the Craigslist ad, but most of them are variants of either “is this some weird sex thing?” or “can you please post this story on reddit’s r/relationships with an update on how it went because i’m 2000 miles away but very invested in this”. None of them are a real live person that he can take on the trip to meet his friends.

His brain has also been playing Diana’s I’ll do it on repeat pretty much constantly, so on Tuesday evening, after most people have already gone home for the night, he steals himself and wanders down to Diana’s office. If she’s in, he’ll ask. If she’s gone, it’s a sign, and he won’t bring it up.

She’s still there, illuminated only by the glow of her computer and a small desk lamp—the overhead light is turned off and her coat is on, like maybe she was in the process of leaving and then went back to her desk to dash off one email that turned into several.

He taps on the doorframe.

“Steve!” she says, smiling when she sees him. “What a pleasant surprise! Have a seat, I’m just finishing something up. It’ll only be a moment.”  

He smiles nervously and takes one of the chairs opposite her desk, patiently silent as she taps away at her computer.

Three minutes later, she folds her laptop closed and turns the weight of her attention to him.

“Thank you for being patient. What can I do for you?”

“I just—were you serious?”

“Hmm?”

“The other day—were you serious about being my fake date if I couldn’t find someone on Craigslist?”

“I—yes, I was.”

“Wait, really?”  

She shrugs elegantly. “I have no holiday plans.”

“You’re sure.”

She tosses him an amused expression. “I am. It’ll be nice to meet some new people.”

“Right. Well. Can I, uh, buy you dinner or something while we go over the details?”

Diana considers him for a moment. “How does Thai takeout at my place sound?”

“Like a fantastic idea.”

**

On Friday, Steve is extremely antsy. He’s taken a half day, and he and Diana are driving up to Charlie’s cabin after her lecture lets out.

She’s in a good mood when he picks her up, and the ensuing discussion crosses a half a dozen different topics. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had a boring conversation, and they’re more than halfway there before Steve remembers that he wanted to run through the basics of their fake-dating mandate again.

“I’ve never really been much for PDA,” he says, “so they won’t be surprised if we’re not particularly demonstrative. A little hand-holding and casual touching here and there and we’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” replies Diana, amused rather than annoyed. “You mentioned this the other day.”

“Did I? I guess I’m just nervous.” He’s already feeling a little guilty about lying to his friends (again), and he’s suddenly wondering if he’s capable of pulling it off.

“They asked me to invite you—er, my significant other—to a dinner in October. I don’t think it’ll come up, but—”

“I spent a week of October in Europe, and have plenty of university functions to attend,” Diana reassures him. “Saying I was busy that night probably isn’t even a lie, and besides, that was months ago. Take a breath; this will be okay.”

“I’m just rethinking this,” huffs Steve.

“You’re welcome to tell them I’m just a friend that needed a place to stay for the holidays,” Diana offers calmly.

“No. No, I’m committed to the lie now.”

“Okay. Then let’s do this. I’m here for you, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Steve, glancing over at her in the passenger seat before turning his attention back to the road. “Thanks.”

**

They’re the last ones to arrive to the cabin, because everyone else was able to take the full day off, so they walk into a full house.

“Oh, it’s so lovely to finally meet you!” exclaims Etta, pulling Diana into a hug before they’ve barely gotten in the door.

“You must be Etta,” Diana says, once she’s been let go. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey, Etta,” Steve says, pulling her in for his own hug.

“Everyone else is in the living room.”

They make their way down the hall, towards the sound of all the voices.

“Steve!” yells Sameer from across the room when they round the corner. A cheer goes up—it’s possible that some of them have already had a glass or two of wine—and Steve pulls Diana forward to introduce her.

“Everyone, this is Diana. Diana, this is Napi, Charlie, Etta’s wife Adrienne, Sameer, and Sameer’s fiancée Noor.”

“It’s so lovely to meet all of you,” says Diana, moving forward to shake hands and give hugs, along with Steve.

“You’ll want to drop off your luggage in your room, I’m sure,” Etta declares forcefully, shooing them back out of the room once they’re done with the greetings.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” acquiesces Steve.

“Well, dinner will be done shortly, and I’m sure you’re hungry. Best get settled in before you go into a food coma.”

“Stop making sense,” he snarks, but they all know he’s joking.

“Second door on the left!” calls Etta after him, as they traipse up the stairs. There’s a niggling in his brain about this room, because he’s been in it once and it’s—

“Shit,” says Steve under his breath upon entering the room, because it’s one of the rooms with a single queen bed instead of two twins.

“Is there something wrong with the room?” asks Diana, a step behind him. “I’m sure we can fix it, whatever it is.”

“No, it’s just—I didn’t even think about this,” says Steve, gesturing at the bed. “Usually when I come, I’m in a different room with Charlie or Napi.”

Diana surveys the space in front of them. “You mean the bed?” Her nose wrinkles. “Are you really that uncomfortable sharing?”

“I—no, of course I’m not. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Well then, that’s settled. I am not uncomfortable. Which side do you prefer?”

Of course it’s not a big deal. Right. He’s making too much out of this because he might—possibly—have feelings. But for Diana, it’s just two adults sharing a bed, which is perfectly natural. But now she’s looking at him expectantly, which makes him realize—“Uh, left, I guess.”

The way she smiles, he gets the distinct impression that his answer has pleased her, that he’s chosen correctly, if such a thing is possible. (He thinks, stupidly, that he would do quite a lot to chase that smile.)

Meanwhile, Diana drops her duffel on the right side of the bed.

“Do you mind if I change quickly before dinner?”

“Yeah, no, of course. I’ll just be downstairs.”

Steve heads back downstairs and pauses in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

He can definitely share a bed with Diana. They’re adults. It’s not strange, and it’s not romantic. It’s just two people sharing a sleeping space because there are not enough beds.

He reenters the living room to find Charlie and Sameer in the middle of an argument about who’s the better cross-country skier while Noor, Adrienne, and Etta chat over a cup of tea and Napi watches over several pots in the kitchen.

“The answer, of course, is neither of you. Noor is the best skier here.”

Charlie squawks indignantly, and Sameer laughs. “That she is.”

“Can someone set the table?” asks Napi. “Dinner is about to be ready.”

Steve, as the closest one to the kitchen, pulls out the plates and silverware and starts setting up the table, while the others slowly drift towards the dining area.

And then there’s a gentle pressure on his elbow. “Can I help with anything?” asks Diana, softly, and when he turns, he feels the air knocked out of him.

Diana is all comfort, in simple black leggings and a chunky winter sweater instead of her usual pristine business wear, but she’s all the more beautiful for the casualness. Her face, too, is wiped clean of standard makeup and her hair is down, and he realizes that she has freckles. They’re faint, just the slightest smattering over her nose and cheeks, but Steve is close enough to see them, and for a second he wants to touch them, trace them into constellations.

Then he realizes he’s staring and jumps a little, moving to rearrange the plate in front of him.  

“You could, uh, fold the napkins, I guess? There isn’t really a whole lot to do.”

They work in tandem as the rest of the crew files in, loud and boisterous as they dish out their meals.

“So, Diana,” says Etta, once everyone is settled in their seats, “tell us all about yourself! Steve’s been so tight-lipped about you that I was starting to think you didn’t exist.”

Steve almost chokes on his wine, but Diana doesn’t so much as flinch, simply smiling at Etta and saying, “Well, I’m not sure what you’d like to know, but I’m originally from one of the Grecian islands and I completed my studies in the UK. Right now, I’m splitting my time between the US and the Netherlands.”

“Oh, what part of the Netherlands?” asks Noor. “Sameer and I both lived there, at different points!”

“Just the Hague, I’m afraid,” says Diana ruefully, because it’s not known for its charms.

“Diana’s on a prosecutorial team at the International Criminal Court,” Steve clarifies, which prompts a number of impressed looks all around the table.

“We’re in between cases right now,” Diana says, “and we’re only just starting to file some pre-trial motions for the next thing on our docket, so I took a position as a guest lecturer here in the States. A friend of mine convinced me to take the consulting position at the ARGUS Foundation since it’s not full-time.” When Diana pauses, she notices a number of raised eyebrows around the table. “I think the expression in English is ‘I wear a lot of hats’,” she jokes.

“She’s a wonder,” interjects Steve easily, and he doesn’t even have to work at the soft look that he gives her. (He’ll interrogate the fact that it’s just how he looks at her later, when he’s alone and can have a nice little panic about it.)

“I just like to have purpose,” says Diana, and then Noor asks her about her last case, and the conversation takes on a life of its own.

Diana, as he suspected, gets on well with his friends, fitting in as though she’s known them years instead of hours, and they migrate into the living room after dinner, talking and laughing into the late hours of the evening.

“They are all lovely,” Diana tells him the moment the door to their room has closed behind them.

“They’re okay,” says Steve, but his face is pulled up in a smile, and Diana just laughs. He’s spent all evening getting to look at her whenever he wants, and even though they’re alone, even though there’s no need for his eyes to keep finding her, he doesn’t want to pull them away.

“They’re all so interesting!” Diana exclaims. “Sameer and I talked about linguistics for a full half an hour, and Etta and Adrienne’s stories are incredible!”

That makes him laugh. “Yeah, Etta’s something else.”

They talk a little more as they get ready for bed, and finally there’s nothing more to do but turn out the light and get under the covers. Steve’s tired enough that he thinks he has a decent shot at falling asleep, but he feels a little awkward as they both shift carefully on their respective sides.

“Hey,” he whispers into the deepness of the silky black night. “Thank you again for being here.”

“It is my pleasure.”

He listens to Diana’s breathing quickly even out, and though it takes him a little longer, he too falls asleep without too much trouble, despite her nearness.

**

To his great relief, or maybe to his great disappointment, they wake up in almost the exact same positions that they fell asleep in, on completely opposite sides of the bed.

“Good morning,” says Diana softly, hair slightly mussed and eyes still a little heavy with sleep, and frankly Steve’s not sure how he’s going to make it through the rest of the trip, because he likes her so much and also doesn’t want to impose his feelings.

“Good morning. I hope you’re ready for another insane day.”

“Once I’ve had some coffee, absolutely.”

“Well then,” says Steve, “let’s get you some coffee.”

Coffee is followed by breakfast, which is chaotic because everyone is up at slightly different times and traditionally, they fend for themselves for breakfast which means in practice that half a dozen people end up doing things in the kitchen at the same time.

The rest of the day is no calmer, as they all pack themselves up and spill outside for a snowy hike that lasts most of the afternoon. Diana, Etta, and Napi establish themselves as the fastest hikers early on, and they sort of naturally split into two groups. The whole group meets back up at one of the lookout points, where the faster group has lingered to let the rest catch up.

Steve uses the viewpoint to check in with Diana. “You doing okay?”

When she turns to him, her cheeks are rosy with exertion, her breath is coming out in silvery puffs in the cold air, and her eyes are dancing. “Excellent, you?”

“Really good.” They take in the snowy view in front of them. “Hey, I didn’t mean to leave you on your own,” Steve says, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

Diana snorts. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I was the one that walked ahead of you. If I’d been bothered, I wouldn’t have split off with Napi and Etta.”

“Right, of course.” He feels a bit stupid; she’s never struck him as the type to do something she really didn’t want to.

“We should probably walk back together though. For appearances.” She winks at him, and before he can respond, Noor is at his elbow.

“Can I take a picture for you two?”

“That would be great,” says Diana, handing Noor her phone as she slips her arm around his waist.

Pictures are snapped, and then they’re headed back down the trail. Steve ends up so engrossed in his conversation with Diana that the rest of the group fades away, and on the last straightway after they’ve descended, Diana reaches out and casually links their hands. Even through their gloves, it’s a giddy feeling.

**

That night after dinner, Steve steps outside for a moment of respite from the noisiness of the cabin. He breathes deeply, and stares at the patch of sky not covered in clouds, picking out a familiar constellation.

“Diana’s wonderful.”

Steve looks up from where he was leaning against the balcony railing to find that Etta has joined him outside.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” Steve agrees.

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable introducing us earlier,” says Etta so sincerely that Steve feels a squirming guilt welling up. “But if this was the pace you needed to go to be sure of your relationship, to make it solid and lasting, I’m glad you took the space to do so.”

“Right,” Steve echoes.

“Seriously, Steve,” says Etta, touching his arm, so that he’s almost forced to look at her. “You and Diana are so well-suited, and she’s good for you—I’ve never seen you like this.”

“What’s this?”

Etta contemplates him a moment. “You’re happy,” she says simply, and Steve rolls his eyes, because if Etta thinks just being in a relationship equates to—“but it’s not just that. You’re…still. Calm. You’ve usually got this frenetic, discontented energy, and with Diana it’s quieted.”  

It makes Steve pause, but before he can say anything—refute her or maybe, heaven forbid, agree with her—Diana herself is bursting onto the balcony.

“There you are!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around him from the back, and fuck, maybe it is his instinct to relax in the split second before he remembers that this is all an act. “Charlie says we’re roasting marshmallows over the fire, and I’m told that you have the technique perfected,” she says, with all the exuberant glee of a child.

Steve pointedly ignores the knowing, indulgent look on Etta’s face as he turns in Diana’s arms to face her, a small but unquashable smile on his face. “That’s a classic holiday tradition for us—I was wondering when Charlie was going to break them out. Have you ever had a s’more?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to it!”

“Well, then we can’t let Sameer or Etta roast yours; they always burn them.”

“It’s meant to be eaten with a little char,” says Etta.

“Absolutely not!” Steve doesn’t have time to say any more, because Diana has laced her hand in his and his gently tugging him toward the interior.

“Right. This is an American classic and you’re gonna love it.”

After making her the perfect marshmallow—gold and toasty, and soft all the way through without being burned—the rest of the night is spent roasting increasingly silly things over the coals and drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate and eggnog that are optionally spiked, utterly warm and cozy.

“Tell me something about yourself,” requests Diana, when they’re tucked into bed later, still on their own sides but far closer together than they were the night before.

“Like what?”

“Something—well, not something secret, if you don’t want to. But something that most people probably don’t know.”

Steve considers her for a moment, shifting so that he’s facing her, the moon providing just enough light that he can see the contours of her face. “I wanted to be a pilot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to be a fighter pilot.”

Diana grins. “I can see that. What stopped you?”

“I decided I wouldn’t really be helping people, and helping people is what I wanted to do. What about you?”  

“What did I want to be?”

“No, just—anything.”

“Hmm,” says Diana. “My favorite childhood memories are those of my aunt, Antiope.”

“Was she the cool aunt who spoiled you rotten?”

“She was the aunt that got me up at six in the morning every day to train.”

“Wow, that’s neat, I guess,” Steve deadpans, and Diana laughs in the darkness, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him, so that they’re almost nose to nose.

“She was also more indulgent than my mother, yes.”

“I think we have very different definitions of indulgent,” says Steve.

“Perhaps,” says Diana, and despite how late it is, they spend another hour or two trading secrets in the darkness before falling asleep. Steve learns, among other things, that she loves cherries more than any other fruit, that she’d rather take the metro than a cab any day of the week, that she played the harp for a while and misses playing music but not playing the instrument itself. When they finally drift off to sleep, it’s still facing each other, fingers inches apart.

**

Steve wakes up feeling incredibly comfortable and very cozy. It’s only when he stretches a little that he realizes that the warm weight against his chest is not his blanket, but Diana. During the night, they must have migrated into each other, because now that his brain is coming back online, Steve realizes that not only is Diana tucked into his chest, but their legs are twined together. His shifting causes her to stir a little, but only to nuzzle against him a little before settling.

This is fine; he’s not freaking out. Not about how they’re accidentally pressed together, or about how much he likes her, or about what any of this means. Not about lines blurring and becoming harder to make out, not about lying to his friends. He’s fine.

Taking a breath, he weighs his options. He can wait for Diana to wake up and pretend he’s still asleep, and let her figure out how to react, or he can try to extricate himself now. Although it might wake her up, and then it would be doubly awkward, and—

And he’s waited too long in deciding, because Diana stretches a little sleepily and then blinks her eyes open, looking up at him.

“Good morning,” she says, apparently unbothered by their position. It’s making him spiral in confusion, and want, because it would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her, but neither has she directly expressed interest in him romantically, so he’s not about to actually do it.

“Did you sleep well?” asks Diana, gently untangling herself and sitting up.

Now that Steve thinks about it, he realizes that he’s slept better than he has in ages.

“Yeah,” he affirms a little hoarsely. “You?”

“Very well.” He’s considering saying something else—anything else, maybe apologizing for how closely they slept or, alternatively, telling her he adores her—when she continues, “How do you think everyone would feel about quiche?”

“Quiche?”

“One of the few reliable things I can cook,” says Diana, “but I have a good recipe, and I’m quite certain we have everything I’d need.”

Steve blinks. “I think it’d go over well.”

“Perfect!” Diana slips out of bed, sliding across the room with more of her infectious energy as she gathers her clothing for the day.

By the time Steve gets downstairs post-shower, Diana’s got the crust rolled out and blind-baking and has a number of veggies sautéing.

“Oh, good, you’re here! Can you pass me the mushrooms?” she asks, and he obliges, then takes it upon himself to crumble the cheese for her.

“Do you cook a lot?” he asks, and then curses himself, glancing around to make sure they’re alone and that nobody heard what was clearly a question that he, by all rights, should know the answer to. Blessedly, the only other person up is Napi, and he’s out on the porch.

“Not if I can help it,” says Diana. “You?”

“I enjoy it,” says Steve.

“Enjoy what?” asks Sameer, who’s just come down the stairs.

“Passing me ingredients when I tell him to,” teases Diana, successfully covering up what may have been a slip-up, because Sameer just rolls his eyes.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“More like adorable,” says Etta, who has apparently also been summoned by the smell of brewing coffee. “By the way—how did you two start dating? I’ve been meaning to ask since I never heard the story from this one”—she gestures at Steve—“and I’m sure it’s equally adorable.”

Steve can’t believe they’ve come this far without being asked, and that they didn’t do a better job of anticipating this question. He’s about to bumble his way through a response, but Diana, who is now pouring the egg mixture into the pan, has it covered.

“It’s sweet to me because it is ours, but I think you’ll otherwise find it quite boring. My third day of work, I came to his office by accident, looking for another colleague, and we traded a couple of jokes. Two days later, a bunch of people from the office went out for drinks after work, and I ran into Steve again. We spent a lot of the evening chatting, and when we left for the evening, he walked me to my train, and as we were waiting on the platform, he asked me out. He was kind and funny and handsome; there was no reason not to say yes.”

For a moment, Steve feels like he’s been hit by a train, because that’s actually how they met. They did spend an evening chatting, and he did wait on the platform with her. The only bit that didn’t happen was the asking out, and now he wonders what might have happened if he had. Then he reminds himself that it’s all an act, and she’s supposed to be acting like she likes him. He’s getting reality confused with the little mirage they’ve created.

“—it is sweet though,” Etta is saying when he snaps back to attention, unsure of just how much he’s missed.

“Yes, Steve is very thoughtful,” says Diana fondly.

He doesn’t really get a chance to ask her about it, because soon everyone is crowded around the table for breakfast, and that quickly turns into a card game, where they get separated by a few seats. It all somehow blends into lunch, as people swap in and out, Sameer and Noor doing the cooking, this meal, with Adrienne flitting in and out to help as she puts up a few extra lights for tonight’s Christmas eve celebration. He tries not to think about it too much, because Diana looks like she’s having a good time, and he is too, and eventually he gets swept up in the game, focusing on counting trump and keeping track of tricks and arguing genially with Charlie about who may or may not be cheating.

**

“Steve.” Diana pulls him aside after lunch, tugging him into their room.

“What’s up?” She looks entirely too serious, and it worries him. Is this about their story? Is something wrong?

“First kisses are always a bit awkward,” she says bluntly.

It’s so out of the blue that Steve’s brain doesn’t even short-circuit. He just blinks. “Yeah, usually.”

“Well, I just saw Adrienne putting mistletoe up. Your friends are wonderful people, but if we don’t get caught under it naturally, they’ll make sure we do.”

She’s got his friends pegged; that’s absolutely how they operate.

“They’ll recognize something is off if we’ve never kissed. I think we need to practice.”

Now Steve’s brain short-circuits.

“Practice.”

“It’s the only way to make sure it’s not during an ambush.” Her eyes are wide and she’s very close, so close that one of them could erase the distance without even taking a step, but she’s paused, waiting.

Waiting to see if it’s okay, if she has his consent.

His thoughts flick back, inexplicably, to this morning. (Was it really just this morning that they woke up tangled together? It seems a week ago already.) Knowing what it’s like to kiss her will probably explode his brain, but not knowing is worse. He nods, just a fraction, words caught in his throat, and then she’s closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

Fireworks are for dramatic novels, but the world still shifts on its axis. It’s soft and slow, exploratory, but the pressure is somehow just right, and it consumes him. It’s everything he never let himself imagine it would be, and more. When she eventually pulls away—seconds, minutes, hours later, he’s not sure—he chases her lips for a moment before remembering himself, marshalling his reaction and pulling away in equal measure.

“Right, so. No mistletoe first kiss,” he manages, because seriously, what the fuck, he’s never had a first kiss feel that natural, that right.

“Mission accomplished,” says Diana faintly. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” Steve echoes, and he thinks he sees Diana’s gaze flick back to his lips, dark and heavy, but then there’s the pounding of feet on the stairs and shouts outside their room.

“Steve! Diana! Are you in for another round of cards before we start the movie marathon?”

Diana startles, and takes three steps back, smoothing down her hair, her shirt, before opening the door to find Adrienne there, looking at them expectantly.

“Yes, of course,” says Diana.

“Oh,” smirks Adrienne, giving them a once over. “I can come back.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll come down now; I want to get a cup of tea before we start up again. Steve?”

“I—yeah, a cup of tea would be great. Black tea—”

“—with a dash of honey, I know,” she says fondly, as if this is old news and not something she’s clearly picked up in the last day and a half.

“Thanks.”

When he collects himself and comes downstairs a few minutes later, he spots Diana across the room, head thrown back in laughter as she chats with Napi over the kettle.

She fits, he thinks. He’s seen her in professional settings, being diplomatic even when she doesn’t want to be, but here, she’s relaxed, and from everything she’s said, she likes his friends as much as they like her. Isn’t it sort of everyone’s dream that the person they like gets along with their friends?      

He takes another second to try to untangle his thoughts before he gets ushered back into the fold and has to pretend that everything is uncomplicated.

**

Christmas day dawns bright and cold, and sees, for the second day in a row, Diana snuggled into Steve. Despite another meandering conversation in the dark—in which he absolutely chickened out of asking her about the backstory she created for them, or the kiss—and starting the night on different sides of the bed, they seem to have rolled together in their sleep, and if he didn’t wake up with an absolutely parched throat, Steve would’ve probably gone right back to sleep, enjoying the warmth. Instead, he extricates himself gently, and by the time he gets back to the room a few minutes later, Diana is up and dressed, dashing any plans he might’ve been entertaining for a bit of a lie-in.

As with most things on their holiday trips, the day is centered around food. There’s a huge brunch, and then a little foray outside—nothing like the hike the day before yesterday, just a little walk that turns into a snow angel contest—and then it’s back inside to start cooking Christmas dinner. It’s Etta and Charlie taking point, because, as Steve explains to Diana, the group rule for any and all holidays is that those who observe do the traditional cooking, and everybody else takes care of the clean-up.

At one point in the afternoon, a trivia game gets pulled out, and in a classic showdown of boys (Steve, Sameer, Napi) vs. girls (Diana, Noor, Adrienne), the ladies trounce them thoroughly. There’re plenty of mimosas and someone starts a Christmas playlist, and honestly, Steve can’t think of a better Christmas in a long, long time.

They don’t really exchange ‘real’ gifts, but they do have a long-standing tradition of an intense game of White Elephant, which happens after dinner.

No less than 4 items (a succulent in a corgi-shaped pot, a coffee mug with some gratuitously dirty language on it, a pair of wool socks with Munch’s The Scream emblazoned on them, and an umbrella patterned with cartoon gentleman amongst the raindrops so that it’s always raining men) get stolen so many times that they hit the limit. (Diana walks away the proud owner of the socks, thanks to a strategic steal by Steve, which sets her up to steal them for the last time.)

The mood is so light that Steve has almost forgotten that this isn’t quite real, that he’s lying to his friends and sort of lying to Diana, too. That comes crashing down when they bump into each other coming back into the living room.

See, Steve and Diana had managed to casually avoid the newly strung up mistletoe all of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas day—at least together, that is; at one point Steve finds himself under the mistletoe with Sameer, and they both dramatically grip each other for a theatre kiss—by sheer luck, but their luck runs out after White Elephant. Steve has gone into the kitchen to deposit an empty tray of food, and Diana is on her way back from the bathroom, and they collide in the doorframe.

Instinctively, Steve puts a hand out, touching the small of her back lightly to anchor himself and steady her. It’s just a casual touch, but he lingers a second too long.

“Oooh, look! Steve and Diana are under the mistletoe!” sings Adrienne, pointing from across the room.

Steve glances up automatically, as though maybe Adrienne might be wrong, even though he knows damn well that there’s mistletoe hanging there.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” chants Etta, clearly a little tipsy, and the rest of his asshole friends join in the chant.

Steve’s eyes flick to Diana’s, and she raises an eyebrow, inclines her head almost imperceptibly. It’s permission, so he leans in and gives her a quick kiss, their lips barely touching. He’s not sure he can handle more in front of his friends right now, not with all of the emotions pooling in his stomach.

“Boo!” yells Charlie. “You and Sameer had a better kiss than that!”

There’s general clamoring of assent, and Diana reaches out and cups a hand to his cheek, to a great whoop from someone in their little peanut gallery. “If you are uncomfortable, we do not have to do this,” Diana murmurs, low and close enough that only he can hear it.

The real problem is that Steve wants little more than to kiss her again, but he feels guilty about it.

“It’s okay.”

She searches his eyes for a moment, and then closes the rest of the distance, kissing him properly. He sinks into it, and relishes in the little gasp he elicits when he deepens the kiss just a little. It’s the catcalling that splits them apart, and he’s sure he looks a little shell-shocked.

“That’s a kiss!” hollers Adrienne.

To his surprise, Diana doesn’t immediately move away from him, but stays tucked into his side, blushing a little.

“You’re all just a little too invested in our love life,” she admonishes lightly, but the point is missed as Etta launches into a bit of a ramble about how Steve introduced her to Adrienne by accident and how she’s been looking to return the favor, but that she’s glad Diana is here.

Steve watches Diana go a bit pink again, and wants to pull her aside, try to clear some things up, but then there’s another round of mulled wine, and they settle in for one last Christmas movie before the day ends.

Diana goes to bed before Steve does, while he stays back to have another round with Charlie, and by the time he realizes that he wanted to talk to her alone, she’s fast asleep.

**

The morning of the twenty-sixth is chaotic from the start; Diana’s up and out of bed before Steve wakes up, and then everyone is scrambling to pack up before they all drive back to the city. This time, Diana and Steve have got Sameer and Noor with them, because they came with Napi, who’s leaving directly to visit some extended family, and Etta and Adrienne don’t have enough room because they’re Charlie’s ride. It’s a pleasant ride, and Noor, Sameer, and Diana spend a solid half hour swapping in and out of Arabic to tease Steve, who does speak three languages himself, but doesn’t count darija as one of them.

They drop Noor and Sameer off with promises of seeing them at Etta’s party on New Year’s Eve, at the very latest, and suddenly they’re alone again.

“Thank you again for doing this,” says Steve. “You were the best fake date I could’ve asked for.”

“It was my pleasure,” says Diana. “I had a really good time, and a fun holiday.”

“And you really don’t mind putting in an appearance at the New Year’s Eve party?”

“Not at all. I’m actually looking forward to it.”

“Good; I think everyone is looking forward to having you there.”

They’re quiet as they pull up to Diana’s building.

Before Diana can move to get out of the car, Steve takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, anything.” Her wide eyes are trained on him, and he almost loses his nerve.

But it’s now or never; he has to know if this is just him or if she feels something too. “If I had asked you out, that night on the platform, would you have said yes?” It feels like the safest version of the question he wants to ask.

Diana doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

It knocks the wind out of him and is simultaneously one of the best things he’s ever heard, because maybe that means there’s still time to make a proper go of it.

“Do you—”

He’s cut off by Diana leaning forward and kissing him sweetly, and he instinctively pulls her a little closer, deepens the kiss without consciously thinking about it.

“Sorry, I interrupted you,” says Diana, biting back a smile when they eventually pull apart, breathless. It makes Steve laugh, and he can’t fight the grin that’s also building. There’s no one around to fool, no one around even to prepare for; this is just them.

“Do you want to come to mine for dinner tonight?” Steve asks, bubbling with a profound sort of happiness. “For a real date this time?”

“I would love that,” says Diana, grinning. “No tricks, no fake backstories. Just us.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Just give me a couple of hours to shower and change and answer a couple of emails?” Diana says.

“How does seven sound? I’ll cook.”

“I can’t wait.”

He watches her go, almost floating from how giddy he feels. As he drives home, he mentally goes over what he’ll need to get for the meal he wants to make. Truly, it was the best fake date ever; he might, he thinks, even consider posting the story of it to the r/relationships thread like one of the Craigslist messages asked, because it’s so wonderfully peculiar.

**

“Right on time!” says Steve with a grin when Diana knocks on his door that evening for their date.

His smile falls when he notices her face, tired and serious, despite how light it had been only hours ago.

“Steve, I have to go,” she says without preamble.

“What?”

“I’m flying back to the Netherlands tonight.” What? That can’t be right; she’s not due back for several months, and even that’s only a trip. Steve’s brain lags a second and then realizes she’s still talking, dark eyes all apologies. “—straight to the airport from here, actually. I just came by to say goodbye. It seemed like the sort of thing that should be done in person.”

“But what—”

“You know who Patrick Morgan is, yes?”

Of course he knows who Patrick Morgan is; he’s a war criminal who was only caught and extradited recently. It made waves when jurisdiction was given over to the ICC, at least among the relevant international communities.

“The war criminal?” he asks, just to confirm.

Diana nods. “That’s the one. Look, I’m not really meant to be talking about my cases, but I’m on the prosecutorial team and his lawyers are good. They’re trying to file a pre-trial motion that would—well, let’s just say it would be bad if the judge ruled in their favor. We’re scrambling and I’m needed back at the office, in person.”

“Shit.” There’s nothing else to say, really. She’s the one who can make sure Patrick Morgan doesn’t hurt anyone else, and that’s that.

“It’s awful timing,” whispers Diana, and there’s true regret in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. You’re doing what has to be done.”

“I wish it didn’t,” says Diana. “I wanted to—I don’t know, go on a proper date and go to your friends’ New Year’s party with you, and this has just—it’s mucked it all up, hasn’t it?”

“An understatement,” says Steve, laughing wetly. Maybe—

“I have to call the ARGUS Foundation from the car, get everything squared away in regards to my commitments there. Gods, this is such a nightmare.” Diana’s pacing now, and Steve can see all their possibilities slipping away, now that she’s returning to the Netherlands. It’s not the most important thing, this casualty of what could have been, but it still breaks a little piece of Steve’s heart all the same.

“I wish we had more time,” says Steve, a little bittersweet, because there’s not much else to say. Diana sends him a sad smile and nods.

“I really have to go. I might even miss my flight as it is.”

“Right, of course.”

She looks at him hesitantly for a moment, like she’s going to say something more, and then pulls him into a hug. As she pulls back, she kisses him softly. It feels like goodbye more than any words could.

Then her phone rings, and she looks at him apologetically one more time, a quick, “I’m sorry,” before taking her leave and answering it. He hears her frustrated Dutch echoing down the hall as she walks away.

After she leaves, he feels a little aimless, and a little numb. It doesn’t quite sink in that Diana is gone, but he does think, absently, that something bad was bound to happen, because nothing catastrophic happened over the holidays—no real fights, no disastrous weather; it all went too smoothly.

**

The next few days are a slog: he’s back in the office, technically, but everything has slowed down substantially in between the holidays, just enough to not really keep him occupied.

It scares him a little how much he misses Diana. They were sort-of friends before the fake-dating charade, more friendly-coworkers than anything, but he got used to her being a part of his daily life absurdly quickly and is having a hard time adjusting back. They could have been something spectacular, he knows, if circumstances hadn’t made it impossible.

She texts him when she lands, and he’s glad to know she’s made it safely, but it ignites a fresh wave of ache such that he’s almost glad she doesn’t answer his text back, or text again. He ends up ignoring his phone, mostly, trying to distract himself from thinking about what wasn’t meant to be. (It’s bad luck with fate: if they’d had more time, if they were something real, he might consider moving, but it’s too soon, too early, even if he thinks he might already love her.)

On New Year’s Eve, he spends most of the day cooking, Netflix on in the background, whiling away time before the party Etta and Adrienne are throwing.

“Where’s Diana?” asks Etta, when she opens the door and finds Steve there, alone, carrying three tiers of Tupperware and a bottle of champagne, because of course she does. All his friends adore Diana too.

“She had to fly back to the Netherlands for a case,” says Steve morosely, unable to say anymore because he might choke up, and crying is fine but not during a New Year’s Eve party.

“Oh, what a shame she’ll miss New Year’s! When is she coming back?”

The fresh, stricken look on Steve’s face tells Etta everything she needs to know. “Oh, luv, I’m so sorry. I know long distance isn’t easy.”

It’s the perfect excuse presenting itself, really. In a month, Steve can say that the distance was too much, and Etta will understand, and that will be that. He’ll be out of this lie, too, with no one the wiser that it started as a fake thing. But right now, Steve is still mourning the fact that it never got to be anything real in the first place.

“It is what it is,” says Steve, trying for a smile.

“Well,” says Etta, also going for something resembling cheery. “We’ve got plenty of alcohol and a place for you to crash tonight, if you want it.”

“Thanks, Etta.”

He whiles away the night nursing a glass of wine and floating amongst friends and acquaintances, trying to enjoy the merriment. Etta, bless her, must spread the word that Diana had to leave for work, because only Noor asks after her, right after he gets inside. After that, he doesn’t have to answer any further questions, and instead focuses on the laughter and brightness radiating from his friends.

At a few minutes to midnight, he slips off to a quiet corner, not quite ready to face the rowdy, kissing couples.

Somewhere behind him, the apartment door slams, and there’s something of a commotion, but he doesn’t bother to investigate until—

“Did I make it in time?” asks a breathless voice.

Steve turns, and there, standing in front of him, a vision in a bright red coat, is Diana.

“But how—?” She’s meant to be in Europe, but she’s very much not. She’s here.

She’s here.

“We finished a little early and I got the first flight out. I took a cab from the airport to get here as fast as I could.”

“You hate cabs,” says Steve helplessly, fixating on something that’s very much not the point because it’s one of the many strange things they talked about, and because it’s somehow easier to focus on than any other part of it.  

“I wanted to be here.” Her eyes are twinkling, and Steve can’t quite believe she’s here, on New Year’s Eve, and—shit.

“But what about the case?”

“We got the motion thrown out,” she exclaims, delight lacing her words. “We’re proceeding as scheduled. I’ll have to go back for a bit starting in May, but—”

That phrasing catches Steve’s attention. “Wait, you’re not moving back to the Netherlands permanently?”

“What?” asks Diana, looking genuinely perplexed. “No! It was just a business trip, inconveniently timed. I was never moving back. Did you think—”  

“I thought—” says Steve, at the exact same time.  

There’s a look of recognition on Diana’s face, as if she’s doing the maths, going back over the conversations they had once more in her head. She bites her lip, shakes her head. Laughs.

“We are both a bit stupid, I think,” she says. “I was never going to be gone more than a week or two, but I suppose I didn’t make that clear enough. I thought it was just bad timing, since we were starting something, but you—”

Steve shakes his head, incredulous. “I thought I might never see you again, but you’re really here.”

Diana reaches out and ever so softly touches his cheek. “Yes. So, did I miss the countdown?”

Steve stops fighting the smile that’s building. “Nope. And you know, they say whatever you’re doing at midnight you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.”

“Do they? You’d best choose wisely, then.”

“I’ve got an idea.” The countdown hasn’t started yet, but he leans in slowly anyways, because he figures they’ve wasted enough time. She meets his lips eagerly, and in the background, Steve can hear Etta’s whoop of excitement, but really, the only thing that matters is Diana, and the feel of her lips underneath his.

It’s just as earth-shaking as it was the first few times, but they break apart momentarily as the countdown actually begins from the other room. When midnight hits, they kiss again, a little shorter this time, their smiles too wide to make it a proper kiss.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” whispers Diana, forehead pressed to his.

“Happy New Year,” he echoes. An endless plurality of shifting possibilities stretch before them, elastic and hopeful, and very real once more. From the other room, the chords of a piano start, a telltale sign that Charlie has started his traditional rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

“You know, eventually people are going to realize our anniversary isn’t in July.”

That elicits another giddy laugh, because somehow, he’s gotten lucky enough that this is his reality. “Yeah, but that’s a pretty good problem to have, all things considered. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“No,” says Diana thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t either.”

***

[siriusly-addicted-to-writing]

BOO!

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: [Y/N], George and Fred want to plan the perfect Halloween prank, but during all the planing, the twins decide to prank [Y/N].

Warning(s): “dead” George, unedited, angst, not my best work (read my other George fic for some quality writing haha)

masterlist

——————

A/N: This is for October 26 - ‘Spooky Pranks’ for ‘A Very Harry Potter Halloween’ writing challenge by @eleven-times-lively and @masterofthedarkness (please note that this isn’t my best work. I don’t feel that great about releasing this because I know I can do better. While writing this, it didn’t have my full attention. I was, and still currently am stressing about school and my... guy situation. I do apologize, and please forgive me). Also, I haven’t had any time to write and I’ve been very uninspired. It’s very sad, but I’ll try and get my inspiration and time back! Anyway, I do hope you enjoy, even if this isn’t my best work!

——————

Spooky season was among the students of Hogwarts. It didn’t help that Fred and George were wanting to cause some mischief on this already prank worth holiday.

Last year, the stunt they pulled was unlike any other. Pumpkins smashed everywhere, house elves dressed up as little ghosts, and even Dumbledore was in on it! It was quite a show, and people couldn’t wait to see what they came up with this year.

[Y/N], for one, was super excited because she’d be in on it this year. ‘One of the perks of dating a Weasley twin,’ she would joke. George was just as excited that [Y/N] would be joining the fun this year.

[Y/N] and George’s relationship started fast. They actually started talking after the great prank of Halloween. George met her for the first time as she was dodging a floating pumpkin. 

She was a sharp girl with a not so sharp aim. She nearly took George’s head off by mistake. She was aiming for a jack-o-lantern but narrowly missed George’s head. [Y/N] was so embarrassed, she apologized over and over again. 

George thought she was adorable and couldn’t get her smile off his mind. So days later he had to go and see her again. And again, and again.

Their relationship started fast and it was the best thing that happened to both of them.

For [Y/N], it helped her loosen up a bit. She was always studying and never let loose. They often said that Hermione and her were the same person, attitude wise. George changed all of that.

Now she can be just as crazy as George and Fred, but still buckle down and get her school work done.

Now, since meeting [Y/N], George and Fred’s grades have sky rocketed. Even though Mrs. Weasley hasn’t met [Y/N] yet, she already loves her.

So this years prank was doing to be incredible. [Y/N] was going to see to it.

-------------

“Fred! Have you seen George anywhere?” [Y/N] asks. Fred shakes his head to the side without looking up.

“Really? I’ve been looking for him everywhere!” Fred just shrugs his shoulders.

“Oh, well, do you know where Harry is?” Fred gestured with his head that Harry was up in his dormitory.

“Well, thank you, Fred. You’ve been very helpful.” Fred nods his head and continues tinkering with whatever new object he’s making. [Y/N] rolls her eyes at the twin before making her way upstairs.

[Y/N] was looking for George to finalize plans for next week. The big halloween prank was upon them, and she had a brilliant idea. One that would blow the socks off everyone.

Fred looks up and watches [Y/N] make her way up the stairs to Harry’s dormitory.

“Phase one, complete,” he mumbles to himself. His eyes follow her until she reaches the door.

She was in for a treat.

——————

“Harry?” [Y/N] says as she knocks on the door. After standing there for a few seconds, she knocks again. When no one answers, she sighs and opens the door.

Maybe they couldn’t hear her.

When she opens the door, the room is pitch black.

“Harry?” [Y/N] says, taking a step forward. Suddenly, the door behind her slams shut. She jumps in the air and spins back around.

“Haha, very funny guys.” She rolls her eyes and walks over to the door. She places her hand on the doorknob but jumps back. The knob shocked her.

Shocked her.

“What the...” she mumbles as she reaches forward again. She can feel the electrical pulse radiating off the doorknob. But she reaches at it again and turns it. Nothing happens but her hand starts burning.

[Y/N] rips her hand off the doorknob.

“What the actual heck?” She glares at the doorknob and measures her options.

Option one: she could knock on the door and scream for help.

Option two: she could try and magic her way out.

Option three: she can look around for anything to help her get out.

Option four: she can accept her fate and wither away in the darkness.

Well, [Y/N] was not about to do option four, so option two will have to do.

“What spell would allow me to get out without breaking anything?” she asks herself. From her knowledge, these doors will not break if she tries to bust them down. They can’t break. 

“Alohomora,” she whispers. Unfortunately, nothing seems to happen. Of course, she tries out a number of over spells, but nothing was working. “Why me?”

Option two didn’t work, so on to option three. 

The room is dark and the only source of light was the light coming from the window.

“The window! Of course!” she says as she runs over to the window. The window was sealed shut and looked like it hadn’t been opened in ages. It probably hadn’t been opened in ages.

[Y/N] tries to open the window but it won’t budge. 

BOOM!

[Y/N] spins around. “What was that?” She stares in the dark room, slowly backing up. When she hits the window she gasps and jumps back. 

“I’m being silly. I know this is only a prank. The twins are messing with me,” she laughs. There was no way that this was real. This was all a set up!

Yeah! 

A set up.

All she had to do now was figure out how to get out the window and summon her broom and she was-

BOOM!

[Y/N] spun around again. Was that just a figment of her imagination or did that chest just move? 

BOOM!

Nope, not a figment of her imagination. That chest jumped. 

It. Moved.

“Nope, not today.” [Y/N] says, moving back towards the door. Yes, the exact door that will not open.

BOOM!

The chest jumped completely in the air, and broke open. [Y/N] screams and closes her eyes. 

“[Y/N],” a faint voice whispers. 

“George?” [Y/N] asks, peeling her eyes open. She looks at the place the voice came and let out another scream. 

George, her George, looks about dead on the floor. 

“George!” she screams, rushing over to him. She falls to the floor beside him and grabs his hand. 

“[Y/N], I have to tell you something.” His voice barely comes out.

“Yes? What is it George?” she asks, grabbing his hand. Tears are violently rolling down her face. She can’t think straight. Her George is dying. 

Dying.

“I don’t love you. I never have,” he says, and takes some ragged breaths.

“No... no,” she stands up and backs up. She pulls out her wand and points it at George.

“Riddikulus,” she whispers. The George that was in front of her disappears. Once he said he didn’t love her, she knew he was faking. She knew that George loved her. She knew. She got the boggart into another chest and locked it in there.

Option one was the only one she hasn’t tried, that she was willing to try. So, she went and banged on the door. 

It took about five minutes until Hermione opened the door.

“[Y/N]? What are you doing in here?” she asks.

“I was locked in, so I wouldn’t recommend going in there.” [Y/N] says, pushing past her to find the twins.

Those twins that almost scared her to death.

“BOO!” they shout when she rounds the corner. The both had sheets over their heads and were dressed as ghosts.

“You two are unbelievable. How could you do that to me?” she nearly shouts.

“What do you mean? Locking you in the dormitory? We were only preparing,” one of the ghosts say.

“Yeah, and you thought leaving a boggart in there was a swell idea?” Tears threaten to fall down her face. George rips off his sheet and embraces her in a tight hug. 

“The boggart got out? We were going to use it for the Halloween prank! I never meant for it to get out,” he whispers, rubbing her back.

[Y/N] closes her eyes and embraces George tight.

“It’s okay, George. I know you didn’t mean it.” 

“We had another prank we were going to pull on you, but we won’t. You still look shaken up,” Fred says.

“Fred, you might want to move that boggart. It’s in Ron’s chest.”

“On it. Thanks for the heads up, [Y/N].”

“All we wanted was to pull a spooky prank on you,” George says. 

“Next year. Now let me tell you about my plans for Halloween.” 

George and [Y/N] walk over to a couch and sit down. George listens thoroughly to her plan and loves very detail. This was going to be the best prank yet.

------------

Sorry, this was so bad, but I can’t get into the mindset of Halloween and writing in general.

I was actually listening to Christmas music writing this, haha!

[paradiselostbythedashboardlight]

Quarantine, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Wrote 430,943 Words of Prose in a Year

As we are coming up terrifyingly fast on a full year of quarantine with no end to the pandemic yet in sight for most people, I’ve been taking some time to reflect on the last year of my existence in a state that most people now refer to as quarantine. Since March of 2020, I, like most other sane people in my country, have stopped traveling, going to stores, seeing all but a limited group of other humans, and begun having recurring nightmares about being in crowds without a piece of cloth over my nose and mouth.

Suffice to say, it has been a bit stressful.

The other thing that I have done since COVID-19 began rapidly spreading across the globe last year is write over 430,943 words of fiction. 

The number seems insane to me still. That is (approximately) one Gone With The Wind, one entire Lord of the Rings series, or the first four Harry Potter books. That is still sadly not yet War and Peace (but who knows… the pandemic isn’t over yet).

So now that I am looking back, I find myself with one question: how did this happen? Why did I do this? What does this mean about my life this year?

Since apparently I answer best by writing a lot, let’s begin at the beginning. Let me tell you a story. I’ll keep it short, I swear.

Part 1: Blast From the Past

In March of 2020, I was still in the midst of an academic semester. There was a long academic document to write and a class to teach. However, as quarantine abruptly robbed me of most of my usual commitments, I was suddenly thrust into the position of having more time on my hands than I knew what to do with. Consequently, I decided to break out the Nintendo Switch I’d gotten for Christmas and revive a childhood interest in video games.

And boy did I. I played the games I owned for all they were worth. I played them during the evenings when I had no social engagements to attend. I played them during the Zoom meetings I was already struggling to pay attention to. By the end of March, I had finished one game, and it had set the wheels turning in my brain.

Here’s a fact about me: I don’t usually tend to write or read a lot of fanfiction about things that I consider really really good. Basically, fanfiction for me has always been an impulse born from incompletion or imperfection. I see no need to add to a perfect story (although I happily consume and create fanart). But for something enjoyable and yet slightly unsatisfying? That’s fanfic territory, bud.

So by April, I had developed a sort of epic fanfiction for this video game I was playing. It was one of those magnum opus kind of ideas, a grand retelling of the story with a huge sprawling plot and Themes (™). 

At first, it was merely a thought experiment that lived only in my head, a sort of entertainment to ponder in the hours before falling asleep. What changed? Well, a friend of mine decided to also write a fanfiction on the same video game and she kindly consented to let me read it.

Suddenly, I was ravenously hungry to read and to write and to share and to consume. I wrote a hundred thousand words of this fanfic in April and into early May, sending each chapter to my friend and being spurred onward by her kind comments. 

The fic became a gargantuan endeavor full of strange little challenges I set for myself. It was a canon-divergence, requiring plotting, worldbuilding, a darker and grimer tone. For some reason, I decided to write each chapter from a different character’s perspective, making the final product into a series of essentially short story character studies which together formed a plot.

By the end of May, the story was published for the world to see. It was well-received, although not particularly popular by fandom standards. And that was the end. I had gotten out my pandemic crazies, the semester was over and now I could move on. I had made my peace with the source material, plumbing all of the little details that I wanted to examine and creating a narrative that I found satisfying.

It was over.

Part 2: Summer Lovin?

Except that it wasn’t.

Confession: as I had been posting my giant fanfiction, I had also begun to explore the fan community itself, mostly curious to see some nice art and gather a bit of demographic info about what was popular within the community. As a result, I found a fanfic recommendations page. Among the recommendations was one author who kept popping up and i finally decided to give the fic a read.

Woah. It was good. Like, really good. Like, professional quality writing and themes that seemed designed to appeal to me. I devoured everything that the creator had posted in a week and then subscribed to eagerly wait for more.

As June rolled around, I realized that I had a problem on my hands. My great big gen masterpiece was finished, but this author had gotten me hooked on something else, something with a nefarious reputation online: shipping.

The term du jour for this seems to be “brain worms” so let’s just say that reading other fanworks had given me some brain worms. Inspired this time not just by the source material of the game, but now the fan community itself, my mind began to develop another idea.

I wrote the fic, about 11k, in a single afternoon of frantic writing. When I finished it, I knew it was one of my strongest pieces. It had just come together, a combination of all the thought that I’d been brewing up and a stylistic execution that just worked with the story I wanted to tell.

I posted it on a new account. Shipping seemed vaguely shameful to me still and my mom reads the other account.

To my surprise, the fic blew up. It got so much more attention than my long fic ever had. Even more significantly, a fan artist actually drew a gorgeous comic of the pivotal scene, completely out of the blue! I was essentially thunderstruck. Honestly, it was probably the first time in my life that I’d ever received so much positive reinforcement from a piece of writing.

While I’d written short stories for undergrad workshops, they’d never been particularly good and I’d never gotten particularly great feedback on them. I’d applied and been rejected by more MFAs and literary magazines than I could count. I’d pretty much resigned myself to writing for an audience of me and me alone (which I don’t mean to sound tragic about, writing for you is great and fun!)

But receiving so much support and praise and feeling like I’d made other people happy or sad or moved? There’s nothing better.

This makes my decision to write another fic for the ship sound vaguely cynical, the action of a person driven by an addiction to praise. I mean, no lie, aren’t we all a little addicted to approval?

But my next fic was another long one, an 80k passion project modern AU that I dreamed up while spending a slow summer alone with my books and only able to leave the house for long rambling walks in the woods. The premise was essentially about characters attending a five year college reunion, something that I myself had missed due to COVID in May of the same year. The fic quickly became a way for me to process thoughts on a lot of topics in my life ranging from relationships to politics to mental health to classical literature.

This fic was also received with far more attention than I was used to and, as a result, I finally joined the notorious Twitter dot com where I found people talking about my fic unprompted, eager to follow me and like my every random thought.

I can’t say that this process was not without its ups and downs. Fandom has changed, in many ways for the better, since my last engagement with it during the 2013 Supernatural days on Tumblr. While fan friendships are often idealized or demonized, they are pretty much like any other human friendship (okay, maybe a little bit more horny on main). There is potential for amazing connection as well as pettiness. But in a year where many people suddenly had no social spaces that were safe anymore, I’m glad that I found a new line of communication with the world.  

So I kept writing fics for the ship, producing a lot of work that I am genuinely proud of and making connections with other people who enjoyed it enough to leave a comment.

To conclude this section, I was in fandom again. While I had not seriously engaged with a fan community since around 2014, I was back with a vengeance. And I had discovered an important truth about what unlocked my ability to write more than I ever had before: community support.

Not simply the kudos and the views. It was the comments. The discourse. The discussion. To add and contribute my thoughts and ideas to a greater network of thoughts and ideas that fed off of one another.

Often I had seen people complain about there not being enough fanworks for particular media or characters. Now I knew the secret. The comments and the community created the works. If I commented on other people’s fics, the more likely they were to write more. I made a resolution I have tried to keep, to comment on any story that I legitimately enjoyed reading, even if I had no particularly intelligent thing to say about it.

Part 3: A Novel Idea

By late October, I had produced a considering oeuvre for my ship of choice and was enjoying slowing my pace as I planned a few future projects.

Remember, though, how I mentioned not having engaged with fandom for the past 5 years? Well, that didn’t mean I hadn’t been writing.

For the past 4 years, I have won NaNoWriMo and completed 4 novels of over 100k each in length. These projects have been massively fun and improved my confidence with executing stories at the scope that I desire.

And so in November 2020, I settled down to write another novel. November is always a sort of terrible time write a novel if you work in academia, but this year, I had more time than usual. I set out to write a comedy fantasy novel, something mostly lighthearted and full of hijinks in order to pretend away some of the quarantine blues (which by this point were well established in my psyche).

This year in particular, I was reminded that writing a novel is… harder than fanfic. That seems like a very obvious point, but I’d written novels before. Suddenly, though, I was realizing how much a novel requires you to set up the world and the characters, while fanfic can be pretty much all payoff all the time.

While the fanfic flowed in wild creative bursts of energy, the novel required diligence of another sort. I wrote 2,000 words every day for two months. It was a grind. Sometimes, it was a slog. 

And sometimes it just wasn't good. The thing about writing your own novels is that the first draft is way more likely to be not good. You’re balancing a lot and it’s easy to let a few balls that you have in the air drop for a chapter or two, with no recourse but to go back and edit later.

I finished the novel by writing a final speedrun of 6k on new years eve, ending my 2020 with another project under my belt. No one has read it. Not even I have reread it.

I’m still glad that I wrote it. I’ll write another one next year. No one will read that one either.

Sometimes, we write for ourselves and no external validation is necessary.

Part 4: Where are they now?

January of 2021 is somehow now behind me, which is terrifying. I’m still writing. Mostly fanfic, although occasionally I go doodle around with some original ideas that are more conceptual sketches for the next novel.

As for the fanfic, I think I still have a few more good ideas left in me, but  I will probably leave it behind before the year is out. That feels a little bittersweet, a sort of temporary burst of fun and friendship that I wonder if I’ll ever experience again.

Coming to the end of this reflection, I suppose I should make a summative statement about what it all means.

In the end, it might not mean a lot. There are some small takeaways. 

It turns out that encouragement makes you write more! Who knew? Also, more free time makes you write more! Wow!!!!

The point that I think this reflection exercise has shown me, the point that I think matters more than any other, is that writing is a way to process my thoughts. Even if it is through the lens of ridiculous video game fanfic or novels about sad wizards, my writing is my way to make sense of my own mind. 

And sharing that is special. If you share it with online strangers, with your family on Christmas Eve, with your close friend who has become even closer and dearer to you since she let you read her work, or just with your mom (the one personal legally required to read your damn novel if you want to share it). To share writing is to give someone a little peek at your beliefs about the world.

And right now? When we’re still isolated and bored and scared and in desperate need of distraction? Binge some TV, play Nintendo, read a book. Take in other people’s thoughts.

But put down your own somewhere as well. It’s a conversation.

And for once, it’s a conversation that doesn’t have to take place on fucking Zoom.

[ilkkawhat]

2020 fic year in review

tagged by @nade2308​ (thanks!) 

I’m gonna be a chain breaker and not tag anybody (honestly doesn’t feel right with the way that I end this little reflection) but if you want to do this, go ahead and say I tagged you

Total number of completed stories: 

97. 

Total word count: 

Going off of ao3′s word count statistics, around 341,848 words although a good amount was brought over from last year from ongoing/finished WIPs like Agony and Hollow Heart, so I’m sure it’s a lot less though I do have some unpublished words I’ve written this year. (Honestly...seems less than I would have liked.)

Fandoms written in: 

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation and MacGyver (2016)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

It just feels like less and not enough.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?

Specimen Stokes. Agony is a close second, but I’ve struggled so much with that fic this year while Specimen Stokes, for the most part, hasn’t been deprecated on in my self hatred (only maybe like. twice) and it’s just been really fun to build and explore. (I gush about this fic a lot in this post lmao get ready)

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Shrinking Nick in Specimen Stokes, something I’ve only done in secret fic and honestly it was the funnest thing I’ve done in fic this year and I was shocked at the reception I got for it (I was fearful more people would stop reading lmao and I still am but idc. I’m having fun with that fic)

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

Finishing Agony to start Augury (which is gonna be a leap into a topic that I’ve always been nervous fully exploring in fic but I’m excited about it for the angst/trauma.) Maybe finish some more WIPs, work on fic prompt anon’s prompts that I’ve neglected (I’m so sorry and I hope if you’re still out there, that you are enjoying what I do write) and maybe start working on some more bigger WIPs I have planned.

And also...maybe working on the issues I talk about in the “under-appreciated” portion...

Most popular story of the year?

Laughter Lines seems to have the highest stats of all, still currently unfinished. I’m honestly more proud that Agony is in second place lmao (though that carried from last year)

Most fun story to write: 

To absolutely nobody’s surprise, Specimen Stokes. Almost too much fun.

Most unintentionally telling story:

Probably Agony, Finder’s Fee, There is Just One Thing I Need, It’s Not Like Christmas At All, Catharsis, All of those bathtub fics I wrote this year...all of these fics have words spoken by and said to me, or general thoughts/feelings that I tried to idk. in a cathartic way, get out in fic but...didn’t always help.

Biggest disappointment: 

Not finishing Agony. And almost deleting it like. Ten times this year. (and wasn’t it this year I deleted like three other fics? so those too) Actually almost deleted all of my fics at least twice and I’m disappointed that even crossed my mind to do...and that it still does. 

Biggest surprise: 

Specimen Stokes. I legit had only intended to write it as an impromptu response to an ask, which technically didn’t ask me for a fic but I did it anyway and then kept running with it and haven’t stopped yet.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

(I’m moving this one to the bottom cause it gets a little ranty and whiny and so if you don’t wanna read it, you don’t have to press read more but if you do. I’m sorry...but that’s really what I’m feeling)

This is gonna sound terrible and absolutely ungrateful and probably make people like me even less than they already do but lmao...none of my fic has felt all that appreciated lately. And it’s not even about quantitative statistical counts of kudos and hits and all that shit, it’s the quality of feedback I recieve these days. just the general feeling that I’m not writing as good as I did before, that people have become disinterested in my stuff or fallen off of the multi-chaps that I haven’t been updating as frequently, or just being disinterested in my content. I’m not being specifically told what people do like about my writing, I don’t feel the same (or much of any with a few exceptions) encouragement and support as I did before, the silence has just been kind of making me feel the opposite--I’m sure earlier this year I probably didn’t feel this way but in this last half, I’ve felt so alone in all of my writing and so...I’m just not feeling good about it at all right now, even when I do manage to spit some random stuff out like I did over the weekend...that felt good...until it fell flat.

And again I know it’s terrible and selfish and ungrateful--esp given that yeah, I’m still getting kudos. I’m still getting hits, etc so I do have the sense that people are still reading I guess. Not as many comments and when they come (you know who you are if you’ve left a comment in recent works) I cherish them with all my heart but then it still just hurts or feels obligated? So I don’t always even believe them? could be tied to all the other mental issues I’m having right now and maybe one day I’ll just. stop caring enough to not feel this way anymore. And maybe idk I just get illusions that people care about my stuff and that’s just really not the case. It’s not. Sometimes I wish I never published fic to begin with tbh. Especially if I’m feeling this way about it all.

And trust me, I wish I didn’t. But I probably deserve it for being such a brat. Fandom’s supposed to be fun and it’s just...not for me as much anymore. I don’t even feel like I’m part of any sort of community anymore, I’m just alone in this corner I’ve carved out that’s still spewing content that nobody seems to want or care about. And I know that I’m not really making it fun, and I’m not feeling as included either with this bad attitude and it also probably has to do with how I deleted in october, but...it all just. hurts. and I don’t know what to do to make it better.

[scrunchyharry]

RIP WIP: if you see this post, respond with a snippet of a fic you (sadly) won’t be completing.

So, this inspired me to go through my google drive and unearth this fic that I’ll most likely never finish. I haven’t touched it since March 2014, so, you know. I might as well have not written it myself.

meet this 1950s, Oxbridge, shy librarian worker meets bad boy AU that almost was. the title of this google doc was “kill your darlings - library sexcapades”, so you can see where my mind was. I was in library school, I’d just gone to see Kill Your Darlings in theatres, it was so predictable, really. reading through it earlier, I realize that I used many of the underlying ideas I had for this fic in fondre ton absence, which I first started only two months after I abandoned this one (and I only posted it in 2019, I know.)

I abandoned it because, if I remember correctly, it was only my second ever historical AU (the first one wasn’t in this fandom, it’s a glee fic, if you bully me enough I can provide a link) and I really, really struggled with it, not only with keeping it free of anachronisms, but also relevant to 1950s British culture rather than American culture, which I am more familiar with as a Canadian. I vividly remember panicking when I couldn’t figure out if Brits went bowling in the 1950s, or even now???? we had different problems in ye olde days before the pandemic, hm?

now, of course, I’ve come to love the pain of researching historical AUs, it’s literally the only thing I’ll write, but 6 years ago was a different story. also, I’m not in grad school anymore, so I have more free time. this helped a lot with fleshing out my fics, this whole “no longer being in university” thing (that I say while being 5 years out of university and now only posting a single fic per year).

anyway. enough from me. here’s the fic. it’s 6500 words long and stops abruptly.

Lying awake in his bed, Harry listened to the steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windowpane, the yellow streetlamp outside his dormitory room’s window casting distorted shadows on the floorboards as it filtered through the water running down the glass and the sheer curtains. On the other side of the room, Niall was fast asleep, his breathing regular and slightly wheezing from the cold he’d caught playing football out in the rain the day before. Every six or seven inhale, he’d snore loudly, rousing Harry from the half-sleep he had managed to slip into. Staring at the ceiling, Harry was trying to tell the shadows of the bare tree branches from the cracks in the off-white plaster. The room smelled dank like the rest of the building, the wood creaking and beads of water oozing from the walls from the rain that had been plaguing them for close to a week.

Harry turned on his side, wincing as his joints ached in the cold, humid air of the room, Niall’s congested nose asking for the window to be left ajar, which only let more humidity in. His bedsheets were moist and stuck to his skin in a way that made him feel queasy and promised to rob him of sleep for the entire night.

From somewhere down the hall came a peal of laughter, the sound piercing through the still night air and drifting to Harry’s ears. The sound was almost comforting, breaking through the oppressing bubble of his insomnia to remind him that he was not stranded, or alone. There were other people alive, other people asleep in the rooms next and above and below his, and the sun would rise even if it was behind grey clouds, and not being able to sleep was not the end of the world, no matter how it felt as he lay in his bed, restless and exhausted. 

He reached for his alarm clock, the bells quietly chiming as he moved it, and he frowned when he saw that it was half past three. He had to be up in four hours, hours which he knew he wouldn’t sleep. With a final sigh and a resentful glance at the sprawled shape of Niall, Harry rolled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown, a plaid atrocity his sister had given him as a joke two Christmases past. 

The hallway was quiet as he made his way down to the creaking staircase, holding on to the railings as he went down so his slippers didn’t skid on the polished wood. He nodded at the night guardian reading a library copy of A Christmas Carol, his feet up on the desk by the double, windowed entrance doors.

“I’ve still got two more days to read this, haven’t I?” the man asked, lowering the book to squint at Harry in the dimness of the hallway.

“Three, sir,” Harry replied, hands deep in the pockets of his robe and shoulders slumped forward as a shiver ran through him. He could smell the fireplace burning from the common room and yearned to reach it soon. 

“Greg, give Harold a break, will you? He’s not working right now,” Zayn said, appearing out of the dark hallway and stopping by Harry’s side. “It’s already tedious enough to watch you read a Christmas novel in November, don’t make it worse on us by bothering poor Harry here about his job in the middle of the night.”

With a wink to Harry, Zayn dropped a pack of cigarettes on the guardian’s desk before walking past him again, back where he had come from, a quick nod inviting Harry along. He followed and closed thankful eyes as he crossed the common room’s threshold and was met by a wall of warm, dry air.

“Liam’s nicked logs from the hall across campus,” Zayn explained as he slouched in an armchair by the fire.

“Bless him,” Harry said, sitting opposite Zayn, close to the hearth. He extended his feet and let the flames warm them, feeling as if every crackle eased his weariness from the past few days.

September had been a neverending blur of mixers and social events to try and make friends as quickly as possible before it was too late and you were relegated to the ranks of social outcast. By the time October rolled by, Harry had managed to be late in all of his classes and had found himself locked in the library even when he did not have to work, his entire universe reduced to the dusty smell of books and ushed voices whispering about classnotes and midterms. On most nights he had to stay up well into the early hours, the grey light of dusk filtering through his foggy mind like through dirty glass as he tried to read three novels at once. Now that midterms were over, he had hoped he might be able to sleep while he counted down the days until finals, but he had managed to well and truly mess up his sleep rhythm. 

“No offence, mate, but you look like shit,” Zayn commented after a while, startling Harry out of his most-welcomed doze. 

Rubbing his eyes, Harry let out a small laugh. “Can’t sleep.”

“I know a guy--”

“No, thanks,” Harry cut him, not unkindly. 

Zayn always knew a guy, who knew a guy, whose brother could get you whatever you needed. He himself took nothing, keeping a record as straight as his ridiculously white teeth; scholarship kid, they said. Harry knew better than that, because he was one himself and had never seen Zayn at any of the disastrous mixers the financial aid office tried to organize. Besides, scholarship students were expected to work on campus, which Zayn did not do. He always seemed to be drifting from place to place, black hair carefully styled so that a swirl appeared to carelessly fall on his forehead and jacket nonchalantly hanging off his shoulder like something out of a magazine, without a care in the world. Harry figured it was the sort of attitude you had to adopt when you had a name like Zayn Malik. Not that Harry gave a damn about any of that, but, to put it mildly, it was not because people were quick to point a finger at Germany for what they had let happen that they were willing to face their own ignorance. In short: people whispered, and all of this despite the thick Northern accent that surprised the wits out of Harry the first time he heard it come out of Zayn’s mouth.

“It’s not healthy, though, is it? You should go see a nurse or something about it, you can die from sleep deprivation.”

Blinking slowly, Harry stared at his oldest friend on campus silently for a moment. “I hope you never make it into medical school, you’re going to be a shit doctor. ‘You can die from sleep deprivation,’ you tell the insomniac at four in the morning.” With a long sigh, Harry shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Zayn laughed. “Don’t worry, mate, I’ve heard worse. Have you met Louis?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Zayn. “Yes,” he replied despite knowing that this was a rhetorical question. “I know Louis.”

He shifted in his seat. Mentions of Louis had the pesky side-effect of making Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the curls as he yawned. He watched as Zayn light a cigarette and shook his head when offered one, instead pulling his legs up on the chair and curling up in it, arms wrapped around his knees. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m still up at this hour?” Zayn asked after discarding his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

Tearing his eyes from the fireplace, Harry blinked slowly at him. “Do you want to tell me?”

Flashing him a wicked grin, Zayn winked. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “I should have seen this one coming.”

“But you didn’t and that’s why we love you, Harold.” Zayn stretched and got up, picking his jacket off the back of the armchair and shrugging it on. “With this, I’m off to bed.” With a pat to Harry’s head, he headed out of the room.

“Goodnight!” Harry called after him before turning back to the fire, resting his chin on his knees with a sigh.

Harry considered following after Zayn for a moment, but the thought of his cold room made him wince. Instead, he carefully placed more wood into the hearth and pulled the armchair closer. He wrapped his dressing gown tighter around himself and then closed his eyes, turning his face to the warmth with a smile as his thoughts drifted through his memories.

The first time he had seen Louis did not technically count as the first time he had met him. His first glimpse of him had been a fleeting one: a knock at the door of his room and the flash of a crooked grin before a sharp voice called Niall out and the door slammed shut. It had been a whirlwind of sights and sounds, there and gone in a matter of seconds, and promptly discarded as one of Niall’s many boisterous friends.

The first time he met Louis, on the other hand, had made a much stronger impression. Harry had been working the counter at the library, alternating between reading a novel he kept hidden under the desk and staring off into space, eyes on the specks of dust as they drifted through the sunbeams pouring in from the tall windows. It had started with a gust of autumn wind sweeping into the room as someone threw opened the heavy oaken doors, causing the occupants of the library to look around in disgruntled curiosity. Harry himself had found himself craning his neck to try and see who was the utter idiot who was entering a library like it was a barn.

Louis had come running at top speed, muddy wingtips squeaking and skidding on the linoleum and his opened jacket flying behind him. He braced himself on a table as he took a sharp turn to the left and headed towards the counter, vaulting it and crouching down before Harry could stop him. He had stared down at him silently, blinking slowly, until the boy had pulled him down by the front of his shirt so he would kneel next to him.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had said lamely, feeling ashamed of the yelp he had let out as he looked at the red-faced, breathless boy still holding his shirt in his fist.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” the boy had said, letting go of his shirt to extend his hand for Harry to shake.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had repeated, ignoring his hand. “And I’m Harry.”

“I know,” Louis had replied, smirking. “So, I may or may not have dressed the statue outside the principal’s office in a dress. And I may or may not be currently running away from the school security.” He had paused to look up at Harry with big, pleading eyes. “My life depends on you, Harry. Please, hide me.”

“You--what? Why would you do that?”

Louis had squinted at him, an amused smile playing on his lips. “For fun?”

“Well, you can’t stay here, we--”

Louis had shut him up with a hand over his mouth. “Please, Harold. I’ll owe you one.”

“No, I mean, there’s--” Harry had mumbled against his hand, eyes darting to the top of the heads of the guardians he could see coming closer to the counter.

“Harry Styles, I am begging you, please let me hide here.”

Prying Louis’ hand away, Harry had rolled his eyes. “Shut up and listen to me, there are two guards coming over here right now, you need to run.” He wouldn’t be able to tell what took him, but had he found himself adding, in a quick whisper, “I’ll distract them. Go.”

Louis had grabbed Harry’s face to plant a loud, wet kiss on his cheek before repeating in a rush that he owed Harry his life and running back the way he had come.

A month had gone by since their meeting and Harry still winced with embarrassment when he thought back to it. He had looked like a proper fool in front of Louis, who, it turned out, was friends with all of his friends. He always turned up, no matter what they were doing or where they were going, teasing and joking and mocking, always constantly there in Harry’s peripheral vision. He was a third year, the rumour was that he had the lowest average in the history of the university (which made no sense, considering he still managed to pass his classes; besides, Harry had checked in old yearbooks during a quiet afternoon in the library and had found that a certain Lionel Hearst allegedly had the lowest average back in 1931--chances were that each year had their own Lionel Hearst, and the class of 1954 had elected Louis Tomlinson as theirs), and he was quite possibly the most annoying person Harry had ever met.

And there was another problem, a massive one that was threatening to destroy Harry’s sanity: he was gorgeous. Not your inoffensive “I can recognize that, objectively, Humphrey Bogart and James Dean are attractive males”, which Harry could very easily and comfortably live with. No, Louis was the kind of gorgeous that had poisoned Harry’s mind until it was all his twisted mind could conjure whenever he had what a psychology textbook he found in Liam’s room had called ‘nocturnal emissions’. 

When combined, Louis’ irritating personality and Harry’s inability to get him out of his head were a dangerous mix. One that he never missed an opportunity to use, because on a misguided evening, Harry had made the mistake to go out with Niall and had tragically confessed, over his fourth pint, that he was having unbecoming thoughts about Louis. The news had obviously rapidly travelled all the way to Louis’ ears and now it seemed he had made it his mission to make sure Harry never lived his shameful infatuation down.

Not to mention that, well, he was a boy infatuated with another boy. The same psychology textbook had told him that what he was had a name, and that it was diagnosable, and thus curable, but Liam had walked back in before Harry could read exactly what they meant by ‘aversion therapy’. He hadn’t dared ask Liam, not while Louis was sprawled on his bed, smoking with slow drags and slower exhales, winking at Harry whenever their eyes met. 

Louis had asked what Harry was reading and he had mumbled something about insomnia (which had been his first goal, mind you) and a wicked grin had appeared on Louis’ face.

“You were reading about paraphilias, weren’t you, you naughty boy? Which one was your favourite? I’m quite fond of homosexuality myself.”

Zayn had thrown a wrinkled jacket at Louis at that, saving Harry the embarrassment of having to reply by saying through a laugh: “The shit that comes out of your mouth is astounding.”

“It’s not shit! What’s it classified under, again? Payne, help me out.”

Reciting dully, as if he was used to the question - and Harry suspected he was - Liam had rolled his eyes. “Sexual deviations are under personality disorders of the sociopathic subtype.”

“Thanks, mate. I didn’t understand half the words in there, but I like the ring of ‘sociopathic’, don’t you? It makes it sound so dangerous, so ‘I will kill you in your sleep and then shag your corpse’.”

“Someone’s won the roommate lottery,” Niall had said, earning himself a slap upside the head from Liam. 

This particular exchange, and more specifically the image of Louis talking about sexual deviations while lying on a bed like some sort of caricature of a French painting, was running through Harry’s sleep deprived mind as he hurried to his morning class under the cold drizzle that had replaced the rain. He had managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, but had woken up when the fire was out and the room had turned frigid. Going back to his room, he had collapsed on his bed, only to hear his alarm clock ringing what felt like three minutes later. And now, as he hurried up to the fourth floor on the slippery stairs, he realized with a groan he had forgotten to do the assigned readings for the class.

He took his usual seat near the centre of the lecture hall, unpacking his notebook and fiddling with his pen to keep his mind busy and, more importantly, awake. A three hour lecture on Shakespeare was the last thing he needed at the moment, his eyes unable to focus on the board for more than a handful of seconds before they closed heavily, his entire body jerking back as he drifted to sleep and started to fall forward.

The door opened loudly and Harry didn’t have to look to know who had just entered. He always banged doors opened, making his entrance known as if his presence itself wasn’t enough to get him noticed.

“Harold!” Louis’ voice echoed around the half-empty hall, off the wood-panelled walls and the high, off-white ceiling. He was holding a notebook in his hand, the poor thing in tatters like most of what Louis owned. The usual swirl of hair was falling on his forehead, disheveled in a way that felt more genuine than Zayn’s calculated styling, with the sides ruffled and looking mostly unkempt.

Harry waved at him, shifting in his seat as he watched Louis climb the steps up to where he was sitting and make his way to the empty chair next to Harry. He rubbed his eye and braced himself for the tornado of Louis’ personality.

“Hi, Louis,” he said once Louis was settled. “How are you?”

“I’m brilliant. My day’s always off to such a good start when I get to see you first thing in the morning.” He patted Harry’s knee, a smirk on his lips. Harry swallowed around his dry throat. “You, on the other hand, look terrible.”

“Insomnia,” Harry replied with a shrug, stifling a yawn with his hand. “Nothing new.”

“Yeah, I see that, the bags under your eyes are terrifying.” 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then forgot to close it as Louis reached up and stroked a thumb under Harry’s eye, lightly touching the paper thin skin. He could wax lyrical about how soft Louis’ skin turned out to be, or how unexpected the touch was, but neither of those things would be right. The fact of the matter was that being touched, stroked, petted or any other synonym describing fond, affectionate physical contact were common when Louis was concerned. That did not mean that Harry was used to it, and he found himself freezing under Louis’ careful finger, his words dying in his throat. 

“It looks like you’ve got shiners,” Louis said, voice quiet and soft. “You have to take better care of yourself, Haz, or else someone will have to do it for you.”

Louis’ fingers were still lightly brushing his cheek, close to his ear, as his thumb moved back and forth, barely touching his skin, and Harry absolutely could not let out any sound resembling modern languages. Instead, he nodded, remembered to close his mouth, and cleared his throat to try and speak. All of his efforts were ruined when Louis patted his cheek and moved back, slipping lower in his seat and winking at Harry when their knees bumped.

Harry blinked to realize that the hall had filled while Louis was busy making him forget English. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his glasses and slipped them on, not missing the pleased noise Louis let out next to him. He glanced at him, frowning.

“Love the glasses, Harold.”

“Me too. They help me see.”

Harry did not particularly consider himself a religious man. He went to church when it mattered and tried not to do unto others what he would not want done unto him, but for the most part, he never really had God at the back of his mind whenever he did something. And yet, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered what he had done to anger God. His eyes widened and he felt a blush blooming on his cheeks, his skin burning with the shame and embarrassment of his reply. They help me see, way to state the obvious, Styles. Louis was obviously flirting and the only thing he could come up with was bloody “they help me see.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter, pushing his knee against Harry’s. “Good for you, mate. You wouldn’t want to strain those pretty eyes of yours.”

The professor walking in and setting up his papers behind the lectern saved Harry from having to answer. Harry kept his eyes trained on the front of the class for the first hour of the lecture, pointedly ignoring Louis’ constant shifting and squirming around in his seat. Liam often asked if he had ants in his pants, which usually prompted Louis to let out a vulgar joke about what he did have in his pants. It was better if Harry ignored him, then. He was already struggling to keep up with the deadpan droning of their professor, he didn’t need to think about the way Louis’ thigh brushed against his every time he moved. 

The lightbulb closest to the door kept flickering, the rhythm varying from every other second to one every two or three minutes, and Harry found himself captivated by it. The ventilation buzzed in the background, a low metallic rumble pushing moist air into the suffocating hall. A strand of hair had escaped from his comb-over, falling into his eyes and curling from the humidity. He blew on it, watching it rise and fall and repeating the motion over and over again, until Louis elbowed him.

Harry turned to him, bracing himself for a witty remark that would turn him into a blubbering mess, but instead he was met with Louis’ profile, face set and serious as he had his hand raised in the air. Squinting, Harry turned to their professor in time to see him calling on Louis, who lifted his eyebrows, once, before an amused smile curled up his lips.

“Sir, there is something that has been bothering me since I read through the assigned pages last night. See, I can’t quite figure out what Shakespeare meant when he had Aufidius say: ‘Let me twine mine arms about that body, where against my grained ash an hundred times hath broke and scarr’d the moon with splinters,’ and then later when he adds: ‘but that I see thee here, thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart than when I first my wedded mistress saw bestride my threshold.’”

Louis glanced up from the copy of Coriolanus opened in front of him, several lines underlined in blue ink, to give Harry a wink before looking back down and continuing.

“And when he writes: ‘thou hast beat me out twelve several times, and I have nightly since dreamt of encounters ‘twixt thyself and me; we have been down together in my sleep, unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, and waked half dead with nothing,’ what I don’t understand, sir, is that it sounds to me like Aufidius is courting Marcius, doesn’t it? All this talk of,” Louis glanced down again, “nightly dreams of what sounds to me like some sort of wrestling? All of this leads me to think that there is a certain passion to Marcius and Aufidius’ relationship that you haven’t talked about, yet.”

Louis sat back in his seat, the line of his shoulders disagreeing with the look of candid innocence he had schooled his face into. The entire hall seemed to be waiting with baited breath for their professor’s response, the poor man looking terrified and offended and minuscule in his bulky tweed jacket. His lip quivered, making his grey, toothbrush moustache dance, and he narrowed his eyes at Louis.

“Ignoring Mr Tomlinson’s depraved mind, let’s have a short break. Class will resume in ten minutes.”

Chatter rose around them and Louis shook his head, a look of annoyed resignation on his face.

“I knew he’d do that. I bloody knew it. They’re always too stuck up to address the blatant homoeroticism of the material they assign us.”

Homoeroticism. The word rang in Harry’s ears, filling up his skull and flushing out everything else, leaving him with images of--with images of things he’d rather not put a name on. Of Louis’ lips as they curled into his trademark smirk, of Louis’ spread thighs as he lay on one of their beds, reading out loud from whichever book he had found on the bedside table, of Louis’ eyes and the way they had to always seek Harry’s, but also of older memories. Memories of swimming in a lake with his older cousin as a child and watching the drops of water running down his chest and shimmer in the sun. Locker room memories, a seemingly endless number of them, all strung one after the other in his mind like a neverending series of discomfort and shame as he caught glimpses of changing bodies. Memories of feeling wrong and twisted, an abomination that would bring shame to his family if he said anything.

There was a word for all this, a simple word which Louis uttered like it didn’t carry the weight of the world with it. A word which didn’t sound as ominous as the others did. That word wouldn’t be in Liam’s textbook. That word evoked ideas of art in Harry’s mind, not of therapy.

“Harold? Are you all right? I’ve lost you, here, haven’t I? Wake up, Styles, you’re not in your bed. I understand that it can be confusing for you right now because we all know you see me in your dreams, but--”

“That word you used,” Harry said, cutting him. He cleared his throat and decided it was better to ignore how accurate Louis’ teasing was.

“Which one? You’ll notice I speak quite a lot, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that.”

Lowering his voice, Harry leaned in. “Homoeroticism.”

“What about it?”

“It was the first time I heard it. I didn’t know it existed.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about.” Louis patted his thigh with a pout. “But don’t worry, I can teach you. I owe you one, remember?”

Harry let out a strangled noise and looked away so he would not have to see Louis’ smirk.

Harry spent the rest of the lecture in a haze, his mind preoccupied with what he tried so hard to ignore during the first half: Louis’ elbow brushing against his on the armrest, their knees bumping when he moved, the sound of his breathing, regular and deep, the way he tapped his pen against his notebook, the muscles in his forearm shifting as he took notes. By the time his torture was over, he realized with horror that he had not listened to a single word of the entire second half of the lecture and he bit his lip. 

“And they say I’m the worst student this school has ever seen,” Louis commented after seeing the blank page that Harry failed to hide.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” Harry explained as he packed his bag hastily and followed Louis to leave the lecture hall.

“You can borrow my notes, don’t worry.” Once out of the hall, Louis turned to walk backwards, eyes on Harry. “Why, though? Why was Harold Styles, scholarship student, not paying attention in class? Thinking about boys, maybe?”

Without thinking about it, Harry lurched forward to put his hand over Louis’ mouth. “Shut up,” he hissed.

Unfazed, Louis lowered Harry’s hand with his, his expression softening. “So, you were? This is an interesting turn of events.” Looking up at Harry, he frowned. “Oh, you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” At the sight of Louis raising his eyebrow in disbelief, Harry licked his lips. “I’m terrified.” He glanced around, feeling like all eyes were on the pair of them as they stood in the middle of the hallway and blocked the traffic.

Louis nodded and took Harry’s elbow, dragging him along and out of the building. Outside, pale rays of sunlight were peeking through the clouds and the air felt light for the first time in days. Harry tried to avoid the puddles covering the cobblestones while Louis kept pulling him along, mindful of keeping his socks dry even as an outrageously flirtatious man he barely knew was taking him somewhere unknown.

“Do you have work today?” Louis asked over his shoulder as they crossed the campus towards their dormitory.

“No. Where are we going?”

“My dorm.”

Harry stopped abruptly, causing Louis to stumble forward before he caught himself and turned. “Why?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to molest you.” Letting go of Harry’s arm, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I just thought you’d prefer to talk about your innermost secrets in private. Assuming you want to talk about it?”

Harry looked down at Louis for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Louis held his gaze, eyes wide and earnest, almost begging for Harry’s trust. Gnawing at his lip, Harry breathed in sharply and nodded, making the jump, stepping off the edge of the metaphorical cliff and choosing to trust Louis.

A small smile appeared on Louis’ lips, more subdued than what Harry was used to see, and it warmed up the bottom of his stomach in a way that was not unpleasant.

“Very well. Let us be on our way, then.” 

A sense of dread descended upon Harry as they neared Louis’ room. His nerves were setting in, sparking up, exploding in bright flashes of what felt a lot like terror at the prospect of the conversation he was about to have and of its ramifications. Thinking it was one thing, admitting that he was thinking it was another, but voicing it was in the realm of impossibilities. The door shut behind them with a quiet click and then they were alone, shielded. Louis sat backwards on his desk chair and motioned for Harry to sit on his bed before he folded his arms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Harry, tell me. How long have you known?” His voice was quiet and soft, so unlike Louis’ usual loud squawks that it eased Harry’s nervousness, if only partially. 

Harry found that he could not look at Louis’ face and he let his gaze drift to the wall behind him, hung with pennants in the colours of Liam’s favourite teams. He brought a hand up to scrape his teeth against the knuckle of a finger, a nervous habit he’d been trying to get rid off for years. He could feel Louis’ steady gaze on him and he swallowed thickly, breathing out.

“I don’t know.” He forced his eyes back on Louis, briefly, to see him frowning. “How long have you known?”

“That I’m gay?” Harry winced at the word and it made Louis smirk. “Summer 1943, there was this bloke billeted at a neighbour’s house. He’d pop by to play with my sisters and I some times and I’d seen him almost every day for months, but that one particular day, he helped my mother with gardening and took off his shirt because of the heat. It changed my life.” He chuckled and scratched his cheek. “I was twelve. I spent the entire day in my bedroom, watching him from the window, absolutely confused about what was happening. I thought I was ill.”

“What’d you do?”

Louis shrugged. “I masturbated, obviously. That was a first. What a day.”

Heat spread on Harry’s face, bright red spots blooming on his cheeks at the words, and he muttered a scandalized ‘oh, my god’ that made Louis laugh. 

“Have you never?” Louis asked, giving Harry a curious smile. “Have you really never touched yourself?”

Putting a hand over his eyes, Harry groaned. “Of course, I have, but I don’t talk about it with everyone,” he blurted out, ashamed.

“Why not? You have to stop listening to your minister, kid. It’s perfectly normal, everyone does it.”

Harry shook his head and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He could not remember having ever been as uncomfortable as he was in that instant. His nerves were raw and he felt too hot and too cold at the same time, safe and cloistered at once in the cramped dorm room. Looking at Louis, he found him observing him with a steady expression. Harry appreciated that he was not pushing for answers despite his obvious curiosity. He didn’t feel pressured to answer, but the possibility was there, hanging in the still, humid air between them. It was his choice to seize it and, with a shaky sigh, he did.

“I’ve always had, hum, suspicions that I wasn’t normal. I can’t--” he waved his hands around, “--put words on it, or tell you about specific incidents, but I’ve been having doubts since grammar school.”

“You’re normal.” There was an unexpected fire behind Louis’ words that made Harry frown.

“You can’t be serious. You heard Liam the other day, we’re sociopaths.”

Louis rolled his eyes, digging in his pockets for a cigarette. He placed it between his lips and cracked a match to light it, eyes on Harry through the rising smoke. “Do you feel like a sociopath?”

Harry shrugged. “Not particularly.”

Blowing smoke, Louis raised his eyebrows. “There you go. You’re not. Simple as that. Admitting a bloke needs to have his hands tied above his hands to be able to come, would you say he’s a sociopath?” When Harry shook his head, Louis continued. “But that’s still a paraphilia, ergo he’s mental. We’re not perverts, we just love differently. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

Harry licked his lips and nodded, transfixed by Louis’ verve. “And they say you’re the worst student of your year.”

Louis laughed, sharp and clear, smoke coming out of his nostrils. “I’ve had a bad freshman year and the reputation, sadly, stuck with me. Of course, I’m not a scholarship kid, so I don’t compare.” He winked a Harry.

“How do you know so many things about me? We’ve rarely spoken.”

Louis laughed again, but the sound was softer, more intimate, in an odd way. “Well...” He rubbed the back of his neck, discarding the butt of his cigarette in a dirty ashtray on his bedside table. “I asked around. You helped me a lot when you befriended Zayn.”

Harry shifted on the bed to rest his back against the wall, kicking his shoes off quickly to pull his knees up against his chest. “Why?”

Louis’ eyes widened, almost comically, before he shrugged. “Curiosity. You looked interesting.”

[aboutafox]

WIP Time

I started writing “Far From Home” sometime in the summer of 2019 and I honestly didn’t expect it to take so long to finish. I probably thought I would be done by Christmas. Haha. Yeah, that one didn’t work out so well.

Since the writing process has been going on forever, I started several other WIPs in the mean time (because that makes total sense).

Anyway, I read over one of those WIPs last night and I still really like it. It has this rainy afternoon mood to me and is a much smaller beast (even though it’s still a multi-chapter fic) than FFH. I hope I can finish it, once I have the other story out of the way.

For some unfathomable reason, I decided that I wanted to write a story about the No.1 Bangel trope aka “What if there were certain consequences to IWRY?” last year. At the same time I watched the PBS documentary Vietnam and somehow this ended up making one story. The plot unravels on two timelines. One that goes forward from an inciting moment in chapter one, and one that goes backward from that moment through different flashbacks all the way back to Thanksgiving 1999. I don’t know if that would drive readers crazy. Probably. In my head it seems cool XD.

Here’s the first un-betaed chapter.

Someday

Fandom: BtVS/AtS Pairing: Buffy/Angel, Willow/Tara, Wesley/Fred Warning: None, IWRY Trope Supreme (in case you are averse to that) Wordcount: ~ 1800 (in this chapter) AN: Don’t get confused by the time frame and ages. I said the plot was a bit more tangled than just not remembering what happened on a day that wasn’t.

Chapter 1 - The First Time You Met

October 2007

It's dark outside when Buffy and Willow return to the castle. The estate is shrouded in a cloak of purple and onyx-grey. The lights in the windows glow like signal fires on the stone facade. Buffy puts her hand on the iron handle of the ancient double doors, and a slight tingle passes through her fingers. The metal warms under her grip, and with a creak and a sigh, the lock opens up, ready to give way to the building. The entrance to the castle is old; the spells not so much.

"I should be used to this by now, but home-automation-magic never ceases to amaze me," Buffy says.

"Psh." Willow waves her hand dismissively. "It's actually a really simple spell."

“Buffy raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

For some people, at least," Willow concedes.

Buffy humors her friend, although she knows the spell is incredibly complex. It took Willow, Tara and three powerful Elder-Witches of the Devon Coven two entire weeks to set it up. It isn't just a protective charm, but an enchantment that recognizes the people who live in the castle as well as their intentions. Only those considered friends are allowed to enter, and only as long as no force or coercion is involved.

Buffy holds onto the handle a moment longer, chanting her personal incantation. "Please be asleep. Please be asleep," she murmurs.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Willow teases.

"Hope dies last? It's after ten and he’s been in preschool all day. If he's still up, he'll be completely exhausted tomorrow." Buffy pushes the door open at last.

They tip-toe into the entry hall of the castle. Not that it makes a difference, but it feels like anything louder would unnecessarily jinx Buffy's luck. The foyer is only dimly lit, the few wall lamps are dousing the room in a soft and sleepy light. On the ceiling above them, small dots twinkle. A magic night sky has appeared on the vaulted arches, complete with stars and crescent moon, mimicking the firmament outside. A soft murmur resonates from somewhere upstairs, quiet footsteps pad along a far off hallway. Everyone who's scheduled for patrol or a mission tonight has already headed out, and a peaceful slumber has enfolded the building, the castle a sleeping beauty itself. 

Buffy gives Willow a hopeful smile.

Her friend raises her hands thumbs up. 

They exhale.

Then the hectic splat-splat-splat of gripper socks on worn-down sandstone tile shred the calm apart. A figure whips around a corner and crosses the entrance hall in a jubilant victory run. Blonde hair flying. Eyes wide open. A grin stretched from ear to ear, one tooth missing in the front.

"Mom! Mommy! Mom!" The shouts echo from the stone pillars and the walls and the noble lords and ladies in the baroque paintings seem to startle a little at the exuberance.

DJ jumps forward as Buffy kneels down and opens her arms. It's a practiced routine, their welcome ritual.

Willow laughs, "Told you. Nobody puts our baby in a corner."

Skinny arms encircle Buffy's neck and hold onto her tightly. Whatever she has hoped for a few minutes ago, being welcomed home like this is well worth any extra effort tomorrow. They have only been apart for two days, but now a wave of missing him and the pure joy of being together again washes over her. She kisses his forehead and nuzzles the side of his neck, and he squeals. DJ returns her affections with a big wet kiss on the cheek. He smells of minty toothpaste. The soapy scent of face wash. The clean cotton freshness of blue dinosaur PJs. And a whiff of Eau Sauvage. 

Buffy freezes as the fragrance hits her. She hasn't noted the scent in years, but the flood of images that it releases, drowns out all other thoughts in her mind.

This isn't right.

"Mommy! Are you listening?! He fought a dragon! A real dragon!"

"What? What baby? Who fought what?" Buffy tries to focus, to pull her thoughts back to the here and now.

DJ fidgets in her arms, widely gesticulating with his hands. Pulling on her jacket. Punching the air. Making roaring sounds. Telling her of dragons and a man, no not just a man, a hero, who battled monsters in a mystical land beyond the night with his ragtag gang of misfit champions. 

Buffy can’t keep up. Which one of the Watchers has told DJ such a lurid tale? He is anything but tired and bedtime slowly but surely creeps further and further away. 

"Buffy?" Dawn appears from the same hallway as DJ, her face is frozen stiff in an overextended smile that usually belongs to car salesmen and Tupperware ladies. "Hi guys," Dawn greets them again in a hushed, placating voice. "Good trip?" She continues without waiting for an answer. "So Buff, Buffy, before you freak. Let me explain. DJ and I ran into him in town this afternoon, when we were shopping. Like during the day. Oh my god. I almost had a heart attack." She moves her hand over her heart. "I don't even know how DJ found him. But he like zeroed in on him right away. It was totally crazy. And he's actually here to...well he can tell you himself. But I said he could come over and stay the night. We have so much room. I didn't think you would mind. And...I hope you don't." Dawn whispers and rattles down the sentences at the same time.

"Dawn? I didn't get a thing you said. Who did you meet? Why would I be mad?" Buffy looks from Dawn to DJ, trying hard to decide who to make sense of first.

"Err, Buffy…" Willow has taken a step closer to them, and her hand grabs Buffy's shoulder, pinching it tightly. "Really, don't freak because I kinda am."

Buffy looks towards the hallway that leads to the common rooms for a third time.

Another figure has appeared in the dark corridor. He makes no sound as he walks down the hallway in slow, measured steps. His movements fluid and lithe, a living shadow, no motion in excess. Even without seeing his face, Buffy would recognize that walk a thousand times over. Could tell him apart from a row of a hundred men.

Blood starts to rush to her head. Her chest constricts. She feels dizzy. It can't be. He's dead. He's long dead and never coming back. She accepted that fact years ago. For a moment, she thinks she will throw up right here and now, or faint, but then her slayer-senses kick in and help her get a hold of herself. She takes a slow breath and pushes all feelings down.

A small cloud that covered the moon in the magic ceiling sky moves, and a dusty ray of reflected light breaks through. 

He steps into its muted halo.

"Angel?" Buffy whispers.

DJ struggles and squirms in her embrace. "Mommy. That's too tight." She drops her arms and lets him go.

"Sorry. Buddy. Sorry." One of Buffy's hands moves up to cover her mouth, as if it was trying to hold in all the ghosts of emotions that suddenly want to escape.

"Hi," Angel says. His voice raspy as if it hasn't been used much as of late.

"You're alive." She can barely turn the thought into a phrase, fearful that he will vanish if she says the words out loud.

"Well...not entirely."

"Yeah, but you're..."

"I'm here."

She gets up from her crouch, trying to suppress the shake in her legs. Moving into a standing position takes forever. She doesn't know if someone is talking to her. If there are still other people in the entry hall or if everyone has left.

He looks exactly the same. His skin pale. His eyes deep dark pools. His cheekbones high and slightly gaunt. Everything is exactly as Buffy remembers. Except for his hair. His hair is different. It is shorter on the sides and combed somewhat over. It's a different side-part. Or maybe it's always been like that. She's so occupied aligning her mental image of Angel with the man in front of her that she forgets they were having a  conversation. 

From the corner of her eye, she sees Willow moving past her in slow motion. Willow's arms lift and move around Angel at a glacial pace. Willow hugs him and calls his name out loud. Her voice surprised and delighted. 

And with that, the world around Buffy snaps back to normal speed again.

"Angel. Wow. You are here. How are you? How long has it been? Five years?" Willow exclaims.

"More like six here?"

"I -- wow -- How are the Phantom Forces? Or what do they call them? The Ghost Brigades?"

Angel shrugs and smiles and politely answers all the questions he's asked. He's fine. It's been longer for him than for them, how much he doesn't know. Time passes differently in other dimensions. They have recently gained a major victory against the demon armies of the Old Ones. So he's on leave. Angel seems attentive, but his gazes wanders from Willow over to Buffy, and then to DJ. There's confusion in his eyes and maybe something akin to disappointment.Then something else flutters across Angel's features like the wing beat of a moth, barely detectable, but when it has come and gone, it has drained all emotion from his face. Buffy knows that look. The ramparts are raised, and all the walls are up. She remembers the expression from the times when she asked too many questions about his past. From the months after he came back from hell. From their meeting right after she came back from the dead.

Buffy herself hasn't moved. Her feet and her legs are made of lead. She can't take a step, even if she wants to. She has played this moment over a million times in her mind, but now her brain is only white noise and static.  

Another moment passes that feels like an eternity.

Then Dawn sweeps in and picks DJ up. "Alright, time for bed," she calls.

There are squealing protests and calls for more dragon stories that only subside when Dawn lets him ride piggy-back up the ornate wooden staircase.

"Good night, guys! See you tomorrow." Dawn shouts when she reaches the landing that leads to the first floor. "Angel, Buffy, and Willow can show you where the guest rooms are if you don't find them again."

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

i don’t wanna break your heart (i just want a brand new start) - ONE-SHOT

Months after things go horribly wrong with Ben, Rey plans to spend what was supposed to be her first holiday season as a married woman sick, miserable, and alone instead.

Enter Finn and Poe, completely unwilling to let their friend go through with that plan and completely willing to go behind her back to make sure it doesn’t pan out.

Also enter Ben, with a ton of apologies, homemade chicken noodle soup, and every intention of taking care of his ex-fiancée.

This December, I'll be writing a collection of one-shots for the holiday season. Gift Fic #1 is a modern AU getting-back-together for Twitter's @ft_shipper, who writes some truly beautiful tweet fics that are 11/10 worth checking out. 

Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter or Ko-fi?

“Peanut, you awake?”

Hidden under a mountain of blankets as she is, it takes Rey a while to make out Finn’s question. “Still alive,” she croaks back, and whines when he begins to tug at the covers. At least he has the decency to keep her curtains shut, so that she isn’t blinded by what little sunlight they’ve been blessed with this winter morning when he finally pulls away the last of her blankets to find her.

She can’t be a pretty sight, because Finn grimaces before a cool hand presses against her forehead. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own? It’s not too late for me to cancel, Poe can deal with his family on his own–”

It takes more effort than she’d like to bring one hand up and bat Finn’s away, every single part of her weak and sore with fever, but she’s not about to let him know that. “Finn, stop babying me and just go already. You love Christmas with the Damerons more than Poe does,” she reminds him.

“I do,” Finn shrugs, “but I love you more than Christmas. And Rey, I think if we threw you out into the snow right now you’d burn right through all of it. At least let us bring you to the hospital first, I’m sure Shara won’t mind us being late–”

Rey steels herself and uses one last burst of strength to yank the covers out of Finn’s hands and back over her head. “I’ll be fine,” she calls out through a yawn. “Now go before you make me get out of bed and kick you out of this apartment.”

She picks up on indecipherable grumbling even through the four layers that separate her from Finn, but eventually he relents with a heavy sigh and a pat on her shoulder. “Just… call me if you need me, okay? Promise me, peanut.”

His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away, maybe even underwater, as sleep drags her back under. Rey has one last fuzzy memory of giving in to Finn’s request, but she’s asleep again before he can say anything else.

A series of insistent knocks on their front door wakes her up just a few minutes later, though. It has to be Finn again, doubling back for something he’d forgotten. Probably his keys, since he’s knocking on his own door, but then how would he have locked the door in the first place?

“Oh,” Rey mutters to herself as she finally pokes her head out from underneath the covers. Thin beams of weak winter sunlight have snuck in through the cracks in her curtains, which means it’s definitely been more than a few minutes since Finn left, which means it’s definitely not Finn at the–

“Rey!”

Yeah, there’s that theory proven right. The voice calling out for her from the other side of the front door is barely audible here in her bedroom, but she can hear just well enough to know that it’s not Finn. He must’ve asked one of their other friends to stop by and check on her, but who’s still in town on Christmas Eve?

It’s a masculine voice; that much becomes clear when the call comes a second time as she slowly drags herself out of bed and across the small apartment. She’s making good progress, until he speaks again for a third time just as she’s passed the kitchen, just as she’s finally close enough to realize–

“Rey?”

The voice sounds suspiciously like… It can’t be, but there’s no way she’s wrong, no way she’s forgotten his voice this quickly, no way she’ll ever forget it. But why would he of all people be knocking on her door at – Rey squints at the novelty clock hanging above the front door – seven minutes past noon on Christmas Eve?

“Fever,” Rey reminds herself out loud, cursing her body for wreaking havoc on her senses and her heart like this. It’s probably just one of their many other guy friends, doing Finn and Poe a favor. Nodding to herself in approval of her theory, Rey finds the strength to continue her slow journey toward the front door and cautiously crack it open to see who her mystery visitor is…

… only to find that her fever-addled brain was right all along.

He’s got one hand up in the air, as if he’d been about to let loose another round of knocks, and his fourth attempt to call for her leaves him like a gentle exhale as they catch each other’s eyes.

“Rey.”

She, on the other hand, is too stunned to say anything in return. Because there, on the other side of her apartment door, stands Ben Solo – ex-fiancé and partner of five years, person who should have been her husband of two months and one week by now, man who broke her heart six months ago instead.

Seconds or minutes or hours pass – enough time for the shock to wear off and exhaustion to sweep back into her system. She clutches at the door a little tighter for support, and watches the way Ben’s eyes dart away from hers to observe the movement with a slight frown.

It’s enough to spur him into motion, apparently, because he lifts his other hand to reveal a lunch bag. “I brought soup,” he says quietly, his first words to her since the day he let her walk out of his life.

Rey thinks of asking him what the hell he’s doing here, what the fuck he thinks he’s doing waltzing back into her life like this.

She thinks of slamming the door in that stupid face she’s missed so much and ignoring his unwanted presence until he leaves her alone again.

She thinks of undoing months of so-called healing to rip open all of her wounds and resume that fight they never really settled, the one she’d chosen to walk away from instead.

But the thing is… Rey grew tired of fighting Ben Solo a long time ago. Maybe that’s why they ended up like this, why they ended at all. And that thought, more than the fever, more than anything else, drains her of what little fight she’d had in her to begin with.

So she opens the door with a sigh, and steps aside to let him back into her life.

❄ ❄ ❄

On an unusually sunny late October morning, Rey finds herself admiring the way beams of sunlight set the diamonds of her engagement ring ablaze and create little rainbows in their wake. Odd, how something she’s had for less than twelve hours can feel so much like a part of her already, so right.

A heavy arm slings itself around her middle as Ben rolls onto his side, pressing his face into her thigh. She tears her eyes away from the ring to shoot him a fond smile, running her free hand through his hair as he slowly blinks awake and peers up at her.

“Why’re you up?” Ben mumbles, warm lips brushing against her bare skin.

Rey shrugs and slides back down into bed so that he can hold her properly. “Too excited to sleep, I guess. I’ve just realized something, by the way.”

He’s fully awake now, a slow, lazy smile stretching across his face as he reaches for her left hand and draws it closer so that they can both admire the heirloom ring he’d slid onto her finger just last night, the ring he later admitted he’d been carrying around since their first anniversary three years ago. “What is it?” Ben asks softly, bringing her hand up to his lips to brush a feather-light kiss across her palm before he lets go.

“Weddings,” Rey tells him as she moves to mimic him, the both of them resting on their sides and facing each other. She tips her head back to give him a quick kiss before adding, “We’ve never talked about weddings. Do you have any idea what you want?”

Ben shrugs, but he’s still wearing that lazy smile and his eyes are bright too, lit up from within and without as more sunlight pours into their bedroom. “I want whatever you want.”

And that has to be the standard answer, the easiest answer for grooms who’d like as little involvement in planning their own wedding as possible, but somehow Rey knows that’s not why Ben is saying it. That’s never why he’s happy to go along with her plans for everything, even though he tends to have grander ideas for anniversary dates and summer vacations and dinner parties; he just really, really wants her to have everything she wants, and trusts that he’ll be happy so long as she’s happy. It’s worked out for them so far, but if a wedding is meant to set the tone for the marriage it gives birth to, then Rey doesn’t want them to do their usual thing this time around.

Her marriage to Ben will be one of the most important things in her life, Rey already knows, and she wants them to start it off the right way, as a team. “I don’t really know what I want,” she claims, a half-truth at worst; she’s entertained the odd daydream here and there in her four years with Ben, but it’s true that she hasn’t really decided on anything yet. “What about you? Did little Ben ever imagine what his big day would be like?”

She means to tease, to joke, but after a moment Ben furrows his brows in concentration and Rey suddenly finds herself eager for a real answer.

“I didn’t… I mean, I never gave much thought to the colors and the cake and all that stuff, but… I was three when my parents got married, remember?”

Of course she does; the highlight of her first visit to his parents’ place had been Leia breaking out the wedding album to show her adorable pictures of little ring-bearer Ben. There’s even a fuzzy old VHS of Ben toddling down the aisle with one hand carefully balancing a small pillow and the other clutching at his Uncle Luke for balance, tiny face scrunched in concentration as he kept his eyes on the rings he’d been tasked with.

“I don’t remember much, but I know there were a lot of people, so many people I’d never even seen before and haven’t seen since. And I just… I don’t know. That doesn’t seem right to me, that my parents – my mom – had all of these people who didn’t even really matter at their wedding, people who probably didn’t even really care about them or their happiness and were only there out of some sense of obligation. So I guess the one thing I’d want is to keep it meaningful, you know?” he asks, reaching out to tuck a few stray locks of bedhead behind Rey’s ear. “If this is about celebrating our love, then I only want to be surrounded by people who genuinely care for us and are happy for us. Something small, just close friends and family.”

A small wedding, coincidentally, happens to be the common thread running across all of her varying wedding fantasies. Rey rests her hand over the one slung around her waist, and laces their fingers together before giving Ben a small squeeze.

“That sounds perfect,” she tells him with a smile, and so it’s decided that they’ll surround themselves with love and only love on the day of their wedding.

❄ ❄ ❄

Ten minutes after she lets Ben back into her life, Rey finds herself leaning against her kitchen doorway and watching him from a safe distance as he makes himself comfortable in her kitchen and uses her stove to warm up his soup and goes through her cabinets for bowls and spoons. Well – her and Finn’s kitchen and stove and bowls and spoons, all of which Ben probably remembers from the numerous times Finn had them over for dinner throughout the course of their relationship.

A small part of her is irritated at how easily he navigates her space, but a bigger part just aches at the familiar sight of him putting together a meal for her. The soup is homemade from Leia’s secret family recipe – the one she’d made Ben teach her the first time he got sick during their relationship; the one that had become a staple in their shared household, a secret form of communication whenever one of them felt that the other was working too hard or needed more rest. She honestly can’t remember how many times they’ve made this exact soup for each other, and now she’s watching Ben heat it up and ladle it into two bowls for them while she tries to come to terms with the fact that her ex-fiancé is apparently here to play nurse and spend Christmas Eve with her.

She’s still struggling to make her peace with the idea when Ben finally turns around and sets two bowls down on the kitchen island-slash-dining table, and then looks across the room to give her a pleading look.

“Fine,” Rey huffs as she slumps into the closest bar stool and drags one bowl toward her. From the corner of her eye she can see Ben settling down and pulling his soup closer as well, but Rey doesn’t look up. It’s for the best, really, given that tears start welling in her eyes as soon as the familiar taste of the soup invokes dozens of cherished memories and reminds her of what she’s lost, of what he’s denied the both of them–

But that’s a dangerous path to tread in her mind, one that will only lead to more tears, and so Rey defaults to the mantra that’s kept her together since the day she turned her back on him: better mad than sad.

With that in mind, she decides to break their silence. “I’m surprised Snoke doesn’t have you slaving away on Christmas Eve this year,” Rey says through gritted teeth, barely suppressing the snarl that that name naturally draws from her.

Ben, to her surprise, merely shrugs and continues focusing on his soup. “I’m sure he’d like that, but I’ve made it clear that I don’t really give a fuck what he wants outside of office hours,” he says so calmly, so casually, as if this doesn’t change everything.

Rey, meanwhile, has to try really hard to keep her spoon from splashing into her soup. Her hand shakes as she takes a few careful sips to buy herself some time, blinking and processing and weighing potential replies until she finally settles on a relatively harmless one. “Good for you,” she mutters, just loud enough to be heard across the kitchen island.

For the longest time, the kitchen is filled with nothing but the too-loud sounds of her spoon accidentally scraping against the bowl a little too hard as she tries to put up an unaffected front. It’s only when Rey pushes her bowl away that she realizes Ben stopped moving a while ago, that Ben’s been watching her this whole time.

When she finally finds the strength to look up at him, he’s staring at her with the most heartbreaking look she’s ever seen on him, his eyes reminding her of pictures she’s seen of his childhood dog and its sad, pleading eyes during big holiday meals.

Still holding eye contact, Ben murmurs, “I wish I’d done it earlier.”

And Rey… god, Rey wants nothing more than for him to have done so too, for them to be able to go back in time and shake some sense into past Ben before he ruined everything and broke her heart and destroyed their future.

But she never gets what she wants, not really. The piles of unsent wedding invitations gathering dust under her bed are evidence enough. So instead of getting her hopes up, instead of giving him the power to break her all over again…

Instead of all that, Rey abruptly gets up with an ugly, painful scrape of her chair against the floor and turns her back on Ben as she makes her way out of the kitchen.

It’s oddly reminiscent of the last time she’d walked out on him, damning silence and quiet resignation and all. The thought weighs her down, stops her by the doorway.

“Yeah,” Rey sighs without turning back, “me too.”

She disappears into her room before Ben can say something in return – or worse, not say anything at all.

❄ ❄ ❄

According to Leia’s expert advice, it’s only polite to send save-the-dates six months in advance, especially since some of their friends and family will have to fly in for the wedding.

And so, a rainy April evening finds Rey and Ben and multiple versions of their potential guest list sprawled out across their living room in an attempt to finalize at least this one aspect of their wedding planning.

“Babe,” Rey speaks up with a slight frown as she comes upon a series of names that don’t ring a single bell. “Exactly how many Naberrie relatives are we expecting, and why do all of them have different last names?”

“Hmm?” Ben hums in acknowledgement, looking up from his own list of her guests. In a last-ditch attempt to trim the list down to their original idea of fifty or less, they’ve taken to scrutinizing each other’s guests to identify potential exclusions. “Wait, let me see that.”

He reaches out for the list, but Rey – sprawled out on her stomach with her legs crossed at her knees and her feet comfortably swinging in the air – decides to roll closer instead and face-plant into his lap. It feels unbearably silly, but at least it draws an increasingly rare laugh out of Ben. She doesn’t get to hear that precious sound much these days, not with Ben as overworked and tired as he is from all of those long nights and weekend meetings he keeps getting roped into.

Besides, she’s planning her wedding with the love of her life – Rey figures she’s allowed to feel silly and light and maybe even a little bit fluttery.

“Oh, those aren’t the Naberries,” Ben tells her as one hand instinctively moves to the back of her head to comb through her hair. “They’re some of our biggest clients and a few potential ones too, so Snoke figured it’d be a good idea to invite them.”

And just like that, all feelings of the silly, light, and fluttery variety vanish into thin air.

“Ben,” she groans, though it’s muffled by his tee shirt. “I thought we agreed on no work guests?”

They had, just two weeks ago when Rey first noticed their guest list had somehow ballooned from a manageable fifty-seven to a rather alarming ninety-nine. It’s why she’s crossed out a bunch of her colleagues, and has allowed Ben to mark several more for reconsideration.

He’s still running his hand through her hair, but it’s not as soothing anymore. “I know, sweetheart, but Snoke really thinks–”

Rey drags herself into an upright position so that she can look Ben in the eye when she scowls, crosses her arms, and says, “Well, if Snoke has such strong wedding guest list opinions, maybe he should save them for a wedding of his own.”

To her dismay, Ben simply laughs at the idea rather than take note of her irritation. “It’ll be okay, Rey, I promise. It’s only thirty people at most–”

“Thirty?” she echoes with horror. “Ben, we’re trying to trim this back down to fifty. Thirty is more than half of that!”

“About that,” he hedges, setting the list down to give her his full attention. “I was thinking… maybe we keep the fifty quota for friends and family, and just count these thirty separately?”

She reaches for the list Ben’s just set down, along with all of the others marked as his guests, and takes a good hard look at them only to realize… “Ben, more than half of your guests are people from work. I thought we wanted something small and intimate?”

“Small went out the window the second you agreed to let my mother invite our entire family, Rey,” he tells her wryly, snatching the papers out of her hands. “Besides, what difference does it really make? It’s still just going to be you and me up there, we’ll just need more chairs at the ceremony and more food at the reception–”

The idea of being surrounded by strangers at her own wedding reception was bad enough, but the ceremony? Ben intends to have complete strangers bear witness to the most intimate moment of their lives?

Rey can’t believe what she’s hearing, what she’s seeing. How is this the same Ben who promised her the wedding of her dreams, the same Ben who hated his parents’ wedding despite barely remembering it? How is this still her Ben, when he consistently sides with and picks Snoke over her these days?

“This isn’t even a wedding anymore,” she snaps, more harshly than she’d intended or even realized herself to be capable of. But the more she thinks of it… “It’s a fucking networking event, Ben. And I’ve been to enough of those to know that I’m not spending my wedding surrounded by strangers and alone in a corner while you and your boss make the rounds.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ben’s eyes soften, and for one beautiful, golden moment Rey thinks she’s finally gotten through to him, finally made him see sense, finally snatched him back from the jaws of that slimy old bastard. “C’mere,” he mumbles, holding his arms open. “That’s not going to happen, I swear. I won’t leave you alone like that.”

She’s just about to fall into his arms when he ruins it all. “It’s our wedding, Rey. We’ll make the rounds together.”

The world comes to a stop, and then crashes.

Rey yanks herself back and stumbles to her feet instead, ignoring Ben’s open arms and questioning look as she picks her way through the mess of papers scattered around them. “I’m going to bed,” she tosses over her shoulder as she storms out of the living room. “We can talk about this again when you get your priorities straight.”

In the morning, Ben’s already left for work by the time she wakes and she can’t tell if he spent all night working on the guest list or if he simply chose to sleep on the couch. But when she finds the updated list still cluttered with twenty of Snoke’s guests, she’s just angry enough to not care either way.

❄ ❄ ❄

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Rey can hear the sounds of Ben moving about in the kitchen, cleaning up after them and putting away the dishes. When the apartment finally falls silent, she squeezes her eyes shut and tells herself this is it, this is the moment he packs up and leaves without even a goodbye–

But then he shuffles past her slightly-ajar door, and not two minutes later she hears him turn on the TV and settle into Finn’s creaky old couch.

It looks like he’s planning to stay for a while, then – which is more than she could say of him during their last few months together, Rey grudgingly reminds herself. She’s spent too much time since that day wondering if maybe she’d overreacted, if things had still been manageable or salvageable, only to remember how awful it had been to feel alone around the one person who’d promised her she’d never be alone again. And sure, she’s lonely now too, lonelier than ever before maybe, but somehow it doesn’t hurt as bad, knowing that she’s choosing to be lonely rather than allowing herself to be forgotten and abandoned again while Ben slaves away at work.

Only… he doesn’t do that anymore, it seems.

With a cry of frustration, Rey puts an end to her thoughts going in circles by reaching for her phone for the first time since she was so rudely woken up by her unexpected ghost of Christmas past. She scoffs when she finds a flurry of texts from Finn and a handful from Poe as well, the earliest of which is timestamped just ten minutes after they were supposed to leave the apartment.

Finn: Okay, please don’t kill me but

Finn: It’s Christmas, peanut. I couldn’t let you spend it sick AND alone

Finn: Also Poe maaaybe still meets up with him sometimes and maaaybe let it slip that you aren’t feeling well and we won’t be around for a few days

Poe: IT WASN'T MY IDEA

Finn: And… I have to be honest, peanut

Finn: We all know how much you’re hurting

Finn: And Poe says he’s hurting too

Finn: Enough that the both of us thought maybe…

Poe: Okay fine maybe it was, but it’s a shared idea.

Poe: With Finn.

Poe: He needs to take AT LEAST 50% of the blame

Finn: Anyway that’s not the point

Finn: Just… please let him help? For me

Finn: I’m just worried about you, that’s all

Finn: We can talk about the rest when I get back

Finn: Love you, peanut

Rey… god, Rey doesn’t know what to feel or think or say. She knows they mean well, knows they only acted out of love and concern for her, but… a little warning would have been nice. And what were they even thinking, letting Ben ambush her like that? Oh sure, she believes he’s been hurting too, isn’t so blinded by anger or her own pain that she’d deny him his, but he was the one who ruined everything, he was the one who picked Snoke over her, who watched her walk away without even trying to stop her, who gave up after barely two weeks of trying to call and text and communicate through their friends.

Ben has known all along exactly what he needed to do to fix things, and it’s still taken him six months to do so. Even if he were to quit his job and tell Snoke to go shove his head up his ass, it would be too little, too late at this point… right?

“Don’t even think about it,” she mutters out loud, forcing herself to concentrate on the here and now instead of what could have been and what could be. The here and now is Finn’s desperate, pleading, well-intentioned texts waiting for a reply, a reply that Rey decides she’s not quite up to giving him just yet. She’s too soft-hearted to snap at him, but too hurt and betrayed to let him off the hook just yet. Besides, she doesn’t want to be held accountable for whatever she says in her feverish state.

So Rey does what any other person in need of a distraction would do: she scrolls through Instagram and likes a bunch of photos of all her friends spending the holidays with loved ones. And when that’s done, she goes through her messages and writes back to a dozen holiday wishes. And when those are handled, she taps on the Facebook app in an act of sheer boredom and desperation… and promptly regrets it.

Because the first thing she sees is Facebook’s oh-so-helpful reminder that exactly one year ago today, she’d posted a picture of her and Ben spending their first Christmas Eve together as an engaged couple.

Her phone is sent sailing across the bed, landing on her pillow with a thankfully soft thump. Rey pulls her knees up to her chest and curls into herself, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths until the moment has passed, until her tears recede, until the white-hot pain fades back into the constant, dull ache she’s grown used to.

And then, like the masochist she is, she reaches under her bed for a photo album.

❄ ❄ ❄

With only four months left before the wedding and everyone’s schedule growing increasingly packed due to a variety of work and personal commitments, the wedding party takes to having the occasional marathon planning session at Leia’s place, during which they typically knock a good chunk of planning and preparations out in one afternoon.

Their second marathon session revolves around the venue, and Leia starts by happily announcing that they’ve indeed managed to secure the Amidala Gazebo and its surroundings for October 17th. Despite the fact that the entire botanical garden itself is named and was built in honor of Ben’s grandmother, it’s popular enough that Leia had to pull some strings to make this happen. Now that it’s a done deal though, everyone is smiling and clapping and cheering in celebration – everyone except Ben.

“Ben?” Re calls quietly, hoping not to attract attention from the others. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” He makes the mistake of speaking at a normal volume, and suddenly the room falls silent as everyone turns to the two of them. “Does it have to be October 17th?” Ben asks the room at large, only to be met with blank looks.

It would make for a funny sight, especially since even Poe seems to have been shocked into silence, but Rey can’t quite pause to appreciate the moment as a familiar wave of dread begins to swell. “I mean…” she begins calmly, evenly, trying her best to give Ben the benefit of the doubt even though a part of her already knows. “Since that’s the date we told everyone to save, I’d say yes, it does?”

“It’s just,” Ben stops and darts his gaze to his left, and that’s when Rey realizes he’s had his phone right next to him all along, keeping tabs on work even on a Sunday, even as she sits right next to him trying to get his opinion on lighting options for the venue.

The wave of dread pulls Rey under, ushering in a familiar sinking sensation in her stomach that threatens to turn into nausea. “It’s just, Pryde is flying in that weekend for a meeting, and Snoke has me running point on the…” Ben trails off, finally reading the room or maybe catching sight of the stricken look Rey knows she’s wearing.

He reaches for her hand and gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, forget it. Don’t worry about it, I’ll just get everything done in the morning and then rush over. The ceremony starts at four, right?”

And the worst part is, he actually looks like he’s trying his best, actually looks like he thinks this is okay.

Rey snatches her hand back while everyone else remains deadly silent.

“Rey?” Ben asks, the smile on his face faltering.

She takes a deep breath. “Are you seriously telling me,” Rey says quietly, biting off each word with deadly precision, “that you intend to go to work on the day of our wedding?”

“It’s just a half-day, sweetheart,” he says, and someone – Finn, maybe, or Poe – sucks in a sharp breath at him doubling down on this. Neither of them turn to see who it is, though, trapped together in a brewing storm that separates them from the others. “Don’t worry, I’ll be on time, maybe even fifteen minutes early–”

So he’s planning to leave her and his family and her friends to manage his work guests while he’s off handling even more work, and then waltz in maybe fifteen minutes before their wedding, and then spend the evening networking with clients.

“I’m done,” Rey announces as she stands up, looking around to see everyone else graciously pretending to be staring at their phones or their hands or their laps. “I’m fucking done,” she decides, and walks away.

“Rey!” Ben calls after her, and promptly gives chase. “Sweetheart, calm down, we can talk about this, I know weddings are stressful but–”

She whirls around so fast she nearly knocks into him, hot on her heels. “Not the wedding,” she snaps, because how is it possible that he still can’t see what’s happening here, what he’s doing to them?

What he’s already done to them, Rey realizes with a wave of quiet resignation as everything comes crashing down on her, every cancelled date and lonely night and entire weeks away at a time when they should be closer than ever–

“Not the wedding, Ben,” she says again, softer this time, though she can’t tell if her voice is calm or just small, weak, broken at the thought that… that… “Everything. All of it. I’m just… I’m done, Ben.”

And even after everything, she takes no pleasure in seeing the hurt she’s been carrying around on the inside for months finally reflected in his eyes.

“Rey…” he whispers, taking a step back as if her words have him reeling. The way he’s looking at her… god, it’s like she’s just taken a knife to his heart.

She wavers then, just for a moment, tells herself that maybe it’s not too late, maybe now he’ll finally understand what a mess they’ve gotten themselves into and work with her to fix it–

Their moment of silence is broken not by an offer of peace, but the Imperial March. It’s coming from Ben’s phone, which she realizes now is in his pocket, which he’d found the time to pick up even in his haste to go after her, which even now he automatically reaches for before he realizes what he’s doing just in time to stop.

The ominous tune plays on, Snoke’s custom ringtone for summoning his loyal servant.

Rey would know; she was the one to set it. She sees the way Ben’s fingers twitch, the way his entire frame is tense with the need, the instinct to respond to Snoke’s call, and gives him a small, sad smile. “I’ve been telling you for months to get your priorities straight,” she reminds him gently, too tired to summon any real energy or fight within her, too sad to wrestle with what she already knows is a predetermined outcome. “Moment of truth, Ben.”

The music finally stops then… only to start again seconds later. And this time, the siren call proves too strong for Ben to overcome. “Just a minute, Rey,” he pleads, looking her in the eye even as he pulls his phone out. “It’ll be just a minute, sweetheart, I’ll tell him to call back later–”

She’s already walking away.

“Rey, wait, Rey!”

And she doesn’t turn back to see if he follows, doesn’t even need to. Because the music stops and his voice replaces it almost immediately.

“Sir, I’m sorry but now is not a good– Oh. I understand. Yes, I’ll be there right away–”

The first wave of tears hit her then, as he lets her walk away without a fight, as he picks someone else over her again and again and again.

“What the fuck, man?” she hears Finn growl even as Ben continues to placate his boss rather than her, and seconds later her best friend is the one who comes after her, who drives her away, who lets her cry on his shoulder in the botanical garden where she and Ben will no longer be getting married.

❄ ❄ ❄

“Rey, can I get you more–”

It’s her fault, really, for not shutting the door. She’d just wanted to be able to keep tabs on him, to know what he was doing and when he was leaving, and so Rey had pushed the door almost all of the way closed instead of shutting and locking it behind her like she should have.

Now it swings open under Ben’s fist, only to reveal her curled up in bed with tear-streaked cheeks as she relives the better parts of their relationship.

The album had been an engagement gift from Leia, filled with candids their friends and family had taken over the years, instances when their love had shined so brightly the people around them were compelled to capture the moment in time.

“Rey,” Ben sighs once he realizes what he’s looking at, and she’s getting so sick of hearing him say her name in that pained voice when once upon a time he only ever said her name with a smile. He rocks forward almost instinctively, stops and slows himself down to hesitantly move closer as she admits in a defeated whisper–

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben.”

He stops cold, five feet of distance between them yet so much more. “I’m sorry,” Ben says, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have– I knew coming here wouldn’t change things, I’m not here to pressure you into anything, I swear, I just… I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you to spend the holidays alone–”

“You left me alone a long time ago,” Rey points out – not accusatorily, not angrily, simply… a statement of fact, gentled by her resignation and acceptance and old hurt. He still flinches though, as if after all these months it’s somehow news to him that he broke his promise.

“All the times I had to show up to our friends’ places on my own because Snoke called you in,” she points out, because he deserves to know what he did wrong, because he needs to know what he did wrong if they’re– Rey stops there, doesn’t let her silly hopes get ahead of herself. “All the nights our bed was too big and too cold without you while you worked late. All the days I spent alone in the home we were supposed to share. Ben, you promised–”

She hadn’t planned on breaking down like this, hadn’t expected those memories to still hold so much power over her long after they’d done their damage. But her voice breaks, and her vision blurs, and a single sob rips past her lips as Ben closes the distance between them to pull her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, if I could do it all again, if I could change everything so that I never hurt you–”

Rey shakes her head, long past the stage of if and maybe, long past dwelling in circles and hypotheticals and daydreams. There’s no going back, she sees that now, but maybe, just maybe… there could be a way forward.

“I just…” She wipes away her tears and takes a deep breath, looks him in the eye when she asks, “I just want to know why, Ben. Why did you choose work over me? Why wasn’t I enough?”

And he knows, he knows exactly what it means for her to have to ask that, exactly what it means for him to have made her feel that way, because in the blink of an eye Ben is crying too. “Rey, no. You’re… you’ve always been enough, sweetheart. Always. Fuck, you’re more than enough, you’re too good for me, always have been. I’m just this huge fucking disaster of a human being with nothing to offer you, but I thought maybe… maybe if I made something of myself, maybe if I worked hard enough so I could give you everything… then maybe, maybe I would finally be good enough for you.”

Rey doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream at the fact that they’ve wasted all this time, gone through all this hurt, just because… god, they really are perfect for each other, aren’t they, the two lonely, broken kids forever thinking they aren’t worthy of each other, forever worrying that they’re not enough?

“Ben,” she says and laughs and cries, “Ben, you idiot.”

He freezes. “What?”

“You idiot,” Rey says again, and can’t hide the odd mix of despair and affection in her voice this time. “You’ve always been enough for me. You filled my life with love, you gave me a home, you promised me a future and a family. Ben, you already gave me everything I ever wanted.”

Ben stares at her for the longest moment, blinking at her like she’s just told him the earth is flat. “You… but I… that would mean…”

“You were enough,” she tells him with a nod. “That was enough, Ben.”

She watches as he closes his eyes, as realization gives way to regret gives way to grief gives way to…

When Ben opens his eyes, there’s the slightest spark of hope in them. “Rey, do you think maybe… I mean, would you… Could it be enough again? Just us?” he asks haltingly, hesitantly.

After months of waking up in tears in this very bed, chasing after dreams so cruelly ripped away, it takes Rey a moment to realize that they’ve actually found their way to this point. A moment’s pause, though, is all it takes for Ben’s eyes to grow dull again as he lets her go and stands to leave. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I don’t deserve a second chance, I know–”

Rey panics and reaches for his hand, yanks him back to her with what little strength she can muster from her heavy limbs. “I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” she tells him again, and watches as the fog in his eyes finally lifts. “I can’t be apart from you anymore. And that doesn’t mean I’ve completely forgiven you, doesn’t mean I’m not still sad and hurt and mad, but… but…”

But she’d rather be sad and hurt and mad with him than on her own, rather cry into his shoulder than her pillow, rather fix what they broke together than forge a new path alone.

And somehow, Ben sees that. “Rey,” he says, clutching both her hands as he drops down to his knees. “Sweetheart, I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But you deserve absolutely everything in life, and if you let me I’ll spend the rest of our lives giving you anything you want.”

His plea reminds her so much of his proposal, of his promise to give her everything in the world. But she’d never wanted everything, had she?

Rey hadn’t known the difference then but she knows better now, knows what they need to move forward. “All I want,” she tells Ben carefully, pointedly, “is you and us and our life together. That’s all I want, Ben. Nothing else.”

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” Ben promises her, all earnest eyes and sincere words, “and nothing else.”

It’s a good enough restart, Rey supposes, to a story that was never supposed to end anyway. “Good,” she says with a grin, and watches as a smile lights up his face. “Now get up here,” she commands with a tug at his hands, “because everything hurts too much for me to get down to you.”

The smile falls off Ben’s face immediately. “Wait, shit, I should’ve asked– are you on cold meds? Is this all for real, or should we talk again later, or–”

“Still an idiot,” Rey mutters with a smile as she leans down to silence him with a kiss.

“Your idiot, though,” Ben whispers between kisses, and all feels right with the world again.

. . .

Just a little past sunrise on December 27th, Finn and Poe cautiously tiptoe into their darkened apartment in the hopes of avoiding Rey’s wrath. Judging from the lack of communication they’ve had with both Rey and Ben in the past few days, their plan might not have worked out as well as they’d hoped.

Finn can only hope Rey will forgive them for their meddling before the year is up.

As terrified of his best friend as he is, he still makes a dutiful stop by her room to make sure that her fever really has broken as Ben had claimed in his single Christmas Day text to Poe. He cautiously twists her doorknob, slowly eases the creaky door open, and blinks a few times to make sure that his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Poe whispers into his ear as he sneaks up on him, and Finn can only smile in response as a sleeping Rey shifts in Ben’s arms, the two of them still dozing with slight smiles on their faces as the winter sunlight bounces off a familiar ring on Rey’s finger.

[upstartpoodle]

Evens for the WIP meme ask? Thank you! ❤️

Hi, thanks for the ask! Since the number of WIPs I have are well into double figures, I’ll probably just choose a bunch of random ones for these out of the ones I’ve got on my computer.

2. Post a line from your WIP without context.

Once they had returned home, he had wanted nothing more than to head up to his room and hide, but his uncle’s iron grip on his upper arm pulling him into the drawing room had thwarted that wish. He hadn’t dared fight against the man. Uncle Cary had made it quite clear upon his arrival back from school that he expected to be obeyed in all matters, and George knew his future was far too uncertain to risk provoking his only remaining family member with displays of defiance. 

4. Describe the setting of your WIP.

Hmm, I think I’ll go for my JS&MN AU for this one, an extract of which I have posted here. So this is basically an AU set in the universe of the novel Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell--for anyone who might be unfamiliar with it, it’s a book (and a pretty decent TV adaptation) set in a regency England where magic was once frequently practised but has declined after the Raven King, a medieval magician who conquered the north of England with a fairy army, left his kingdom behind to return to Faerie. The fic is set in Poldark��s s1 timeline, so about fifteen/twenty years before the events of JS&MN canon, featuring Dwight, Ross and Francis as magicians, George as a fairy nobleman from a neighbouring Faerie kingdom, and Elizabeth as a magician’s wife whom George ends up taking an interest in.

6. Search for the word “dream” in your WIP. If you find it, paste the line and explain the context.

I haven’t been able to find it in any of the extracts I have on my computer, but I’m sure it’s probably there somewhere in one of my notebooks. Unfortunately the majority of those are in a box over three hundred miles away so I can’t really check through them ha.

8. What is your biggest challenge?

Actually getting anything finished. Honestly, it depends on the individual fic but for a long time it’s been writer’s block. My undergrad dissertation took a lot out of me and I wasn’t really in the mood for writing for a long time afterwards. S5 airing gave me a bit of a kick up the arse writing-wise though, so I’d say my biggest challenge at the moment is trying to figure out where everything goes in my super long post s5 AU where George gets shot by Hanson. At the moment I’ve just got loads and loads of random bits with only a vague idea of what order they go in and how they join up to each other, and it’s getting to be so long I just keep putting off planning it out properly. Also finishing that last chapter of The Cornish Way damn I can’t even remember when I last updated that I feel so guilty about it ha.

10. How would you describe your WIP’s narrative style?

Well, as I’ve already mentioned I have a whooole bunch of WIPs, but I always write in 3rd person (1st person grates on me, both reading and writing, for some reason--I don’t know why). I’ve got several multi-chap fics in the works, some short, some long. Most of my shorter multi-chap fics tend to alternate between Elizabeth’s POV and George’s, but my long post s5 AU will feature the majority of the characters’ POVs at some point, depending on when they’re needed, though since the fic is George-centric, his perspective is the main one. When it comes to my one-shots, they’re usually either from George or Elizabeth’s perspectives, sometimes both if it’s a particularly long one. I tend to lean towards using Elizabeth’s POV for one-shots for some reason, but there’s a fair few from George’s as well, and a couple of angsty ones told entirely from Valentine’s perspective.

12. Which character do you have the least in common with?

Since my post s5 AU includes Merceron, Hanson and Dr Penrose, I’m glad to say that I haven’t the slightest thing in common with any of those three. But if we’re talking about a main character, I’d say probably Ross. The only thing I have in common with him is a tendency to get fed up at parties ha.

14. Have you chosen birthdays for any of your characters? If so, when are they?

Not really--tbh, I’m not sure how many of them, if any, were given birthdays by WG. I tend to headcanon George’s birthday as being in October, but that’s about it.

16. What would your characters be for Hallowe’en?

Well, I’ve got a couple of WIPs set in the modern era which this could work for, but since one of them is a modern witchcraft AU (in which Elizabeth, Caroline, Demelza, Morwenna and Verity live together in Truro as a secret coven of witches, Francis is a melancholy ghost who haunts the building and they’ve never been able to exorcise, and George, their landlord’s nephew, is their baffled neighbour who only puts up with their weird shenanigans because he has a soft spot for Elizabeth), I guess that’s appropriately Hallowe’en-y ha. For that AU, I reckon Elizabeth would probably dress up as something kind of classy, like as an Ancient Greek lady or a medieval queen, something like that. Caroline would dress up as a witch, I reckon, for the sake of irony (Horace, of course, would have a complementary costume :P). Verity, I think, would make a cute angel, and one of those wood nymph/woodland fairy costumes would probably suit Demelza. Morwenna might dress up as a Hogwarts student or something like that, and Francis insists that since he is an actual, literal ghost, there’s no need for him to dress up. George, on the other hand, absolutely does not do Hallowe’en, but they still manage to drag him down from the flat upstairs, put a pair of little Devil horns on him and make him watch scary films with them. Which he hates every minute of. Absolutely. Totally.

18. What’s easier, dialogue or description?

It depends, but I generally find description easier than dialogue. When I have dialogue-heavy scenes to write, I generally write them out in my notebooks basically in script form so I can figure out where the scene is going and once that’s out of the way, I find it much easier to add all the description in around it rather than having to constantly stop to figure out what the characters are meant to be saying to each other.

20. Post a brief excerpt.

So there’s a whole load to choose from, but I’ve decided to go with this one, which is from a ghost Elizabeth AU I’ve been working on ever since the end of s4 and have been really struggling to get on with because there’s so much bloody angst in it ha :--

The days leading up to Christmas dragged slowly on, and with each long hour that passed, George found himself regretting his decision to allow their initial plans for the festivities to go ahead with ever increasing certainty. The Blameys were neither unkind nor insensitive—quite the opposite in fact; their presence seemed to restore some faint but much needed cheer to Geoffrey Charles, and the company of another boy near his own age had restored Valentine to a fraction of his usual liveliness—but he, who had never been a friend to Verity, and was not well acquainted with her husband or stepchildren, felt the constant pressure of their scrutiny, alongside the horrible awareness of his own inadequacy as their host, whenever he found himself in their company. Verity, in particular, had taken to sending him at frequent intervals, whenever she saw him decline a meal, or else stumbled across him staring up at Elizabeth’s portrait hanging above the mantelpiece in the drawing room, what he had come to refer to in his mind as Looks. Verity had always been a kind and well-meaning soul, but there was a distinct pitying quality to those Looks which he had come to both resent and despise. He could have far more easily borne it if she had scorned his conduct. Her pity, however, wounded what little care he could summon for his pride in the wake of Elizabeth’s loss—he had no need to be reminded of the wretched creature he was fast becoming every time he met her gaze.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the morning of Christmas Eve came. It had snowed once again during the night, and upon seeing the unblemished blanket of white through the window upon waking, Valentine and young master Andrew had rushed outside, accompanied by the Blameys Senior and Junior and Geoffrey Charles, in order to enjoy it. As the young Esther, whom it had not taken George long to discover was somewhat reticent in nature, had elected to break her fast in her room, that, unfortunately, left he and Verity alone together at the dining table, save for little Ursula, who was playing quietly and contentedly with her own feet in her cradle beside his chair. At barely a few weeks old, however, she was not quite an accomplished enough conversationalist to distract Verity from engaging with him. With a barely audible sigh, George reached for a slice of toast despite his lack of appetite in a vague hope of fending off another Look which he was sure was on the verge of rearing its unwelcome head above the horizon.

“I am glad to see that the boys have regained a little of their usual cheer,” she spoke up suddenly, causing George to pause halfway towards taking a bite out of his unwanted toast; a glance her way confirmed that, despite his best efforts, he was being treated to what could only be described as a Look. “It is a terrible thing to lose one’s parent, no matter one’s age, and certainly not a burden one should face so early in life.”

WIP Ask Game

[shadowofthelamp]

Fandom Trades: Tips and Tricks

I’ve been running a secret santa for five years now, and a few people expressed interest in a sort of ‘guide’. It does take some elbow grease to get things up and running, but it’s very rewarding and gets easier as you go. Click the ‘read more’ for some stuff I’ve picked up over the years! It’s a bit general to try and cover anything, but if you have any questions, you can ask! (And if you’ve run one yourself, feel free to add on!)

FAQ: Something that’s a really good idea to have. Here’s the most important stuff on it that would probably be applicable to most trades:

-Basic summary of what the trade will be- some could be fic-only or art-only, or even specific-ship-only. Mine’s general to ‘all sonic sfw content’, but setting guidelines so people know what they’re getting into is a good idea so you won’t have to answer the same question over and over.

-Deadlines. Make them clear. Mine’s easy (Christmas Eve) but depending on what size the gift is expected to be, the time frame can be adjusted. 

-Related, set up rules for if people need to drop out. It happens, so be prepared. (This is why I ask now if people are alright giving a second gift.)

-Any particular rules for your trade- is it sfw or is nsfw acceptable? (In that case, set age limits.) Are there ships that will or won’t be allowed? Is there a punishment for violating the rules or turning things in late, like not being allowed to participate in the trade again?

PROMOTION:

A promo image is a good idea! I’ve been using the same one for a few years that was put together by a friend no longer on tumblr, but images catch people’s eyes faster than a text dump. Make something that’s easy to understand but gets the point across, and the text below should have enough information without overwhelming the casual scroller. 

Space paragraphs often to make it less intimidating. Include links to the FAQ, the sample entry, and the submit box right in the post, as well as a way to contact you- you want things to be as easy as possible for anyone interested. Here’s my promo post.

You also want to start promotion early- I start posting and reblogging my promo a full month before the entry deadline, to give as many people the chance to see it as possible. Any earlier, and they might not care- (who wants to see a Christmas trade post in October when you’re hyped for Halloween?) and any later and you might not get as many participants as you could have. A month-ish is a good time frame. (I also have a tag for the promo post, so people can blacklist it if they aren’t interested and don’t want to see it 15 times.)

SAMPLE ENTRIES:

Also something that’s good to have. Having a template for what you want entries to look like will make sorting easier for you. Here’s mine. It’s a good idea to scout around for other trades to find out what would work for you.

MAKING ASSIGNMENTS:

Next, setting up how to arrange who gets assigned to who. I personally use google spreadsheets. These are the categories I use, feel free to steal them: Username, medium (art, writing, amvs, ect), whether they’ll work with fan characters, what they’d like to receive, what they won’t do (one year I even added ‘if there’s anyone you won’t work with’ so if it’s a fandom with drama, that one might be good), who they’re gifting to, who they’re receiving from, if they’ve submitted their piece yet, if their piece is in the queue, and if they’re alright with doing backup.

I also had a category for if they’ve confirmed they’re still in once assignments were sent out. (Boy, was that one nerve-wracking during the whole tumblr purge debacle of last year- I didn’t know if anybody had just quit tumblr mid-month.)

You will run into people who only want two or three things nobody else wrote on their sheet. If you can’t find even one match, then just put them with someone who had a wide variety on theirs, or who doesn’t have anything on their ‘won’t do’ list. Trying to match with multiple likes is a better bet, though, so encouraging longer lists of what people want makes things easier for you in the long run!

I personally just went in a line- I picked one person, found who they would give a gift to, and then found who THAT person would give a gift to. Rinse and repeat down the list, and it’ll end with everyone paired. I ended up making a closed loop and then sorting the last 8 or so, which was fine. An easy way to check that you didn’t double-classify anyone is control-f and searching names. If their name pops up 3 times, you did it right.

SENDING OUT ASSIGNMENTS:

Just copy-pasting the part of the entry that includes the person’s name and their likes makes this way easier for you over trying to type them out individually. Ask for confirmation that people got their assignments so you don’t have to worry if they missed it.

HOW TO KEEP THINGS ORGANIZED:

My system is this: I’ve mentioned it before, but I utilize a combination of my spreadsheet and the queue function. Let’s say Sally’s making a gift for Jake, Jake’s making a gift for Taylor, and Taylor’s making a gift for Sally. Sally submits her piece of art for Jake. I mark that off on the sheet, so when Taylor submits the gift for Sally, that gift will go in the queue to be posted whenever the deadline is up because she turned hers in already.

This keeps people motivated to complete their parts of the trade, since they won’t get their gifts until they do. If someone drops out, tell the person making the gift for them- if you’re lucky, they can rework what they have for the person that the drop-out was supposed to make something for, but if not, bring in someone who didn’t mind making a second gift. Person making the gift for the dropout can choose if they want to continue making it or not- if it’s mostly done and not a fan-character, they can just post it on their own blog unrelated to the trade. 

It’s also a good idea to have a ‘hub’ where things are posted. If it’s a fic trade, ao3 has a function specifically for this, but I’ve found having things submitted directly to you makes it a million times easier to keep track of who’s finished their pieces, as well as keeping things ‘secret’ until the big day. (People have gotten confused or excited and posted early before.)

If people want to post elsewhere after it’s posted on the main hub, set your own rules- I say it’s fine as long as it links back to the blog and links the giftee, particularly if it involves fancharacters. You make your own judgement.  

BE PATIENT:

This is one that’s very important. Some people don’t check the FAQ, and some people are going to be new, asking questions that you swear you’ve answered before or thought would be obvious. They generally just want to know, so take a deep breath. They don’t know they’re the fifth person to ask that question. Answer politely, or steer them towards the FAQ. (Running the same event year after year, you run into this a lot- they’re just new, be nice!)

Don’t start an event that you expect to have plenty of people participating if you aren’t prepared to hear the same questions a couple of times. Things might get a little annoying- take a step back for a few minutes, cool off, but try to remain professional. You signed up for this. For me, it’s always worth it to see how happy people are about their gifts, but know yourself and your limits- running a themed week where people post art at their own pace is less hassle, so you could try that if you don’t feel up to organizing a full trade! 

If you can have a friend to bounce things off of, that can help too, but don’t use them as just a dumping ground. Tumblr allows multiple ‘mods’ on a blogs, so splitting work can make things easier, particularly if it’s your first run doing something like this. I had a friend who helped me the first few years before leaving tumblr. Be sure you trust the person, though! They’ll be able to edit posts and delete submissions, so if any drama happens, beware. (This never happened to me, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.)

TAGGING:

Add tags to the submission box. I don’t know why this took me four years to think of, but it saved me a lot of time last year. If it’s a trade that covers an entire fandom and dozens of ships, you can add the shipping tags as they come in, but adding the ten or so most popular character tags helps a lot. If it’s going to involve potentially triggering content, common trigger tags are a good idea too. (A Halloween trade might need this, for example, or one that involves nsfw content.)

PEOPLE TURNING THINGS IN LAST MINUTE:

It’s going to happen. I think one year I was panicking on the 23rd because I only had half the gifts, and all but one had been turned in by the time I went to bed on the 24th. People procrastinate- if you get in most of the gifts ahead of time, you can thank your lucky stars. Try not to stress over it, but feel free to post reminders in the week before/days leading up to the deadline. My family travels around the holidays a lot, and I managed to get everything queued up properly through airport and hotel wifi more than one year, so you’ll be just fine if you try and stay calm.

OTHER/GENERAL:

It’s absolutely worth it, in my opinion- I’ve been doing this for years for a reason. My favorite thing is knowing I’ve done something that made others happy. Going through all the excited responses Christmas morning is equal or above getting presents from my family, because I know it’s on some level because of me facilitating the trade in the first place. I hear over and over this is something people look forward to, and it genuinely warms my heart. 

It might take a few years to get established, but if you find a niche (there was a blog called sonic secret santa, but it hadn’t been updated in years) you might be surprised how fast you can gather people! I like seeing people show up year after year, it’s how I know I’m doing something right.

It is definitely work, and there is stress involved, (especially if people drop out or don’t send in their gifts on time) but the benefits outweigh the negatives, I say. People are generally understanding if there’s a problem, as long as you make it known you’re working on it.

You have to commit to the responsibility if you do this- people who are making gifts are putting their trust in you that you’ll keep things organized and they’ll get something for the gift they’re giving. You can’t guarantee everything will run exactly as planned, but you can be as transparent as possible when you hit a bump- ‘I’m sorry, but your person said they’ll be late because they were having internet problems/personal life issues and is doing their best’ is going to get a lot better of a response than radio silence. Be sympathetic, but be firm on the rules if need be.

I hope this helped a bit, and thanks for reading!

[mia-cooper]

2018: Fanfic Year in Review (Part 1)

Listing my favourite fic I've posted each month this year. (You’ll note there are only 9 fics on this list, for reasons I’ll explain below.)

Coming soon: another post where I'll pick my favourite fics posted by other writers in each month of the year, which will (hopefully) help other writers feel good and (also hopefully) give readers something new to enjoy, or remind them to revisit a favourite. (This one will be hard because of all the quality fic that’s been posted this year, but I’ll do my best!)

All I ask from you is if there’s a fic you enjoy/ed on either list, mine or someone else’s, please give it a kudos or comment, especially if you haven’t done so already. ♥

My 2018 Fic Review Roundup

January – Queen of Swords (T)

ST:DSC, ST:MU | Mirror Burnham x Mirror Lorca, Mirror Georgiou x Mirror Lorca

Okay, so I didn’t have a whole lot of choice for this month because this was the only fic I wrote. Nonetheless, I don’t hate it. I’m grateful to Discovery for exciting my spleen over the Mirror Universe status of Gabriel Lorca (about which I am still, and will forever be, bitter) as it was the only thing that inspired me to write about anything during my post-Christmas mental wasteland.

It’s about Mirror Michael Burnham’s competitive, twisted affair with Mirror Lorca, but it’s really more about the toxic relationship between Burnham and her foster mother, Emperor Georgiou. It’s about escaping abuse and trying to find a new, better way, but not having the tools to do so. It’s about being caught between loyalties and being unable to choose. And there are some heavy Macbeth references in there, but I see Michael more in the role of Hamlet, though her fate at the end of the story is ambiguous.

February – Open Hand (M)

ST:VOY | Janeway x Chakotay

This was another dry month for the muse, so again, I had only one choice for Fic of the Month, and it was one I’d never planned on writing. @writtenndust commented in a discord chat about the role played by Janeway’s and Chakotay’s hands in a number of episodes throughout the show (these are the things we shippers analyse in crazy detail), and I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about hand-clasping being the most contact we saw in canon between these two and how many opportunities were missed, and then I climbed inside Janeway’s head as she was debriefed post-homecoming and she got very introspective about it.

I really like this fic. I like its melancholy feel, Janeway’s self-understanding and her calm acceptance that sometimes you don’t get the fairytale ending. And I like that we do get the fairytale after all.

March – Warmth and Colour (T)

ST:TNG | Guinan x Lwaxana Troi

Once again, the only fic I published all month (are we sensing a pattern here?) This one was for @gluecookie for the Trek Rarepair Swap, and I don’t mind admitting that it took forever to get into. I absolutely love both of these characters but I’d never thought about shipping them before, and I couldn’t word for some reason, and the more I tried to find the right angle the more twisted up I got. In the end, though I’d wanted to give my recipient something meatier, I ended up with a pretty light story full of banter and a couple of slightly more serious personal revelations.

The most amazing thing about this story? My recipient not only loved it, they gifted me back with fanart they drew themselves. This is the most wonderful thing that can happen to a fanfic writer! (Incidentally, I’ve been lucky enough to have been gifted a soundtrack for The Bitter End by @cheile and a moodboard for Laced and Bound by @supernovacoffee and I couldn’t be happier about it.) And I’m actually planning a sequel to Warmth and Colour, hopefully sometime early in 2019.

April – Displaced (T)

ST:TNG, ST:DSC, ST:MU | Lorca x Garrett

What do you know, I have two fics and two drabbles to choose from this month!

This is one of the weirder fics I’ve written. It not only involves an impossible pairing (Rachel Garrett is from a different century to Gabriel Lorca), it’s set on an alternate plane of existence: both of them are dead, and they meet in some kind of limbo or spiritual waiting room. Each of them has one last chance to connect with another human being, but then each gets to make the choice between life and death.

This story is also an attempt to explain what happened to Prime Lorca, and it’s not a happy ending; there’s a sequel, In the Wrong Light, that’s a whole lot darker than this fic.

May – Abandoned (M)

ST:VOY | Janeway x Torres

Wow, May was a great month for writing – I bashed out 10 fics in 3 fandoms at a total of over 25,000 words! This was mainly thanks to the inspiring prompt memes on tumblr – a kiss + a ship and six sexy words – and consequently, most of these works veered on the nsfw side. (I have a stack more prompts to write to in 2019, as well.)

As for a favourite? I’m going to have to go with Abandoned. It’s set during Year of Hell, one of my all-time favourite Voyager episodes, and it’s hurt/comfort and angst, and it’s about love that’s unspoken and complicated but no less real for it. And I like B’Elanna being the strong one for the captain, because in canon we only really get to see Janeway being strong for her.

June – To Those Who Wait (M)

ST:VOY | Sekaya x Phoebe Janeway

This is actually a work in progress – I’ve planned another three chapters – and it fits into a larger universe of loosely-connected stories that @jhelenoftrek and I have been blathering about for over a year now and we are definitely going to get started on the series that brings them all together in 2019, aren’t we Helen?

Anyway, I’m fond of this story. It was a birthday present for Helen in which I tried to combine a number of her favourite things because she’s one of my favourite people, and it’s the only Sekaya x Phoebe Janeway story on AO3, which is kind of cool. And Phoebe is sexy and angry and mouthy, and Sekaya is gorgeous and lonely and rebellious, and Mark is weird and self-aware and ridiculously in love with Kathryn, who’s damaged and brave and brittle, and Chakotay is confident and sarcastic and big-brotherly and has no idea of the tragedy that’s in store for him and his sister.

And J/C pass like ships in the night long before they meet in canon, and their siblings have a passionate, tempestuous one-night-stand which (spoiler alert) isn’t going to fit the one-night-stand category in the end.

July – Trigger (E)

ST:VOY | Janeway x Chakotay

Another fic prompted by tumblr memes, and one I’d been wanting to write for quite a while. It’s not my only Equinox-inspired fic (another of my favourite episodes) and probably won’t be my last. I wanted to explore Janeway’s loss of control in this one – her anger and bitterness and rage, and the way she takes them out on the people she loves – and I wanted more of Chakotay supporting her publicly but in private, not backing down one whit.

And I wanted really hot sex. Hopefully I achieved that.

(August and September are fic-free because I was posting The Epic. I’ll come back to that one.)

October – Nothing Like a Dame (T)

ST:VOY | Paris x Torres

Ah, fictober, how I loved you. For those who don’t already know, I decided to embark on fictober at approximately 8pm on September 30, despite having a thousand other things I should have been committing to. Just to make it trickier, I also decided I would write a missing-scene ficlet to every single daily prompt, and I’d keep it canon-consistent and in order of episode airing. As you can imagine, this was quite a challenge, and resulted in me producing almost 29,000 words in a single month.

Of these 31 ficlets, I think this one is my favourite. The two protagonists aren’t even really main characters on the show – they’re mindwiped alter egos in a World War II holodeck program – but they’re still relatable both to the show’s characters and to the world today. What ‘Brigitte’ experiences as a collaborateur horizontale is the kind of thing women go through in every war, and what ‘Bobby’ learns from her is a lesson a lot of men in power today could stand to learn.

It’s also given me an idea for a Killing Game-based fic series, so stay tuned for that, sometime in 2027, probably.

(November is fic-free because I hate the only fic I posted that month so much I deleted it from AO3)

December – Desperate Measures (E)

ST:VOY | Janeway x Chakotay, Janeway x other male, Chakotay x Seven, Kim x Seven

I mean, I had to include The Epic. And strictly speaking I’ve been writing it for well over a year, but it counts. At over 70,000 words so far – my longest fic to date – it absobloodylutely counts.

This is an Endgame-fixing post-DQ action adventure featuring angst, romance, conspiracy, drama and smut. Perfect for the holiday season, right? (And no promises, but I’ll do my level best to finish it before the end of January!)

______

Coming soon: My favourite fics by other people for every month of 2018

Happy reading (and reviewing)!