#favourite fics of the year

[buckbuckbarnesstuff]

since the 2024 is ending, what are your favorite fics from this year? 🤗 (also the ones you've wrote too)

You're so lovely for asking me this, thank you so much!! ❤

These are some of my favorite fics I've read this year and still think about on occasion:

Treacherous by @scrumptious-delusion

A Night of Frights & Delights + Lines Crossed + The Biker's Tulip + Boulevard Confessions by @elixirfromthestars

Blurred Lines by @ellemj

Cold libraries create warmer hearts + second part by @elvenrin

A dish served cold + Me & the Devil + Smog & Spirits by @artficlly

Time after time + About that night (the bugs and the dirt) by @intrepidacious

Unsolved by @shurisneakers

Requiem + Of all the ways to die by @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane

◇◇◇◇

And as for my own I think it has to be Two with College!Athlete Bucky in a corn maze au. It’s actually the one fic where I immediately started writing after the idea popped up in my head and I managed to write it all in one sitting. I also enjoyed how my most recent fic turned out. Whumpcember (day 12). I've never written about something like this and it was actually really fun!

[valtsv]

are we still doing this because i have a late submission

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2024:

BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah - E, 21 chapters, Words: 195,969 - “In my humble opinion there’s only three things that men should be and that is bloody, slutty, and pathetic.” And, on a good day, Draco Malfoy can be all three. When war heroine Hermione Granger and Azkaban-tattooed war criminal Draco Malfoy are forced to wed as part of Shacklebolt’s controversial Reconciliation Act, they openly fight the match and each other—their public brawls breathlessly reported by the press. Secretly, a deeply traumatized Draco delights in Hermione’s attention and pines for a real marriage with her—even as her forced proximity to the Black family magic irritates the cursed scar Bellatrix left on her arm, reminding her why she can never truly trust or forgive him. Then Hermione discovers that Draco’s blood will soothe the scar . . . and Draco is willing to trade his blood for her body. (With post-war blood purity politics, black market potioneers, Pansy Parkinson’s career advice, the Malfoys blackmailing Hermione’s Wizengamot opposition, BDE Neville Longbottom hunting Death Eaters, a slutty Theo Nott serving as Draco’s right-hand man, and Crookshanks loose in Malfoy Manor.)

The Gallows by gillianeliza - E, 23 chapters, Words: 47,332 - Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts the Ministry of Magic has one more wizard to bring to trial: Draco Malfoy. However, it's not a trial they're after, it's a spectacle to celebrate the end of the Death Eater regime with the execution of their final prisoner. When Hermione realizes their plan, she halts the trial and invokes The Gallows Law — an ancient law that pardons any pureblood male without an heir if a witch will marry him. What Hermione isn't ready for is the reality of bonding a broken, shell of a wizard and her new life as she moves into Malfoy Manor as the new Lady Malfoy.

Meet Me In Dreamland by sinflower81 - E, 39 chapters, Words: 229,631 - If there’s one thing Hermione Granger is good at, it’s using magic to fix her problems. And this time, her problem is sex. Luckily, she has the perfect solution: a locket enchanted with the Patented Daydream Charm. Whenever she opens it, she’ll find herself in Dreamland, where she can live out all her filthiest fantasies risk-free. The magic is a bit tricky, though. For some reason, Malfoy keeps showing up there with her. Thank goodness it’s only an illusion—if that was really him, she would never live it down. Meanwhile, Draco is determined to figure out who the fuck is cursing him to suffer through highly realistic, erotic hallucinations of his secret childhood crush. When he finds the culprit, there will be hell to pay.

The Missing Sister by singularritae - M, 75 chapters, Words: 652,727 - The owl appeared late at night and left just as suddenly, he recognised the handwriting immediately and ripped open the envelope. She is yours. If something happens to us, I want you to hide her. Name her Hermione, for she will have my last libation before I sleep and be the messenger of dreamers. Moony and Mary know. Three words. Three words that forever changed the course of the war.

A Gallows Marriage by MilaBelle - E, 31 chapters, Words: 162,244 - “Glee was the last thing she felt staring into the empty eyes that should have been a bright grey. His face had always looked pointed and sharp, but now that gave way to gauntness. His hair, which he had been so particular about in school, hung long and limp. It reminded her of how his father had looked in his mugshot. How he had wanted to be just like his father growing up. And now he was, maybe more than ever. A ghost.” After doing more than her fair share in saving the Wizarding World and bearing the scars of what it cost, Hermione Granger thinks she has earned herself a little respite. But when a charismatic albeit chaotic Theodore Nott convinces her to use an old law to save a dear friend who is about to meet the Dementor’s Kiss, she simply cannot stand by and watch. Follow Hermione as she navigates a world that still believes in blood status, a marriage to save the life of an old enemy and the hurt that comes with surviving.

an ever-fixed mark by ninepiecesofcrait - E, 28 chapters, Words: 208,118 - It was a comedy of errors how Hermione Granger ended up engaged to Draco Malfoy, really. A series of unfortunate events. // Malfoy looked at his bloodied hand and the ring on the cobblestone floor, and sighed. “Well, Granger.” Grey eyes finally raised to look at her. “Now look what you’ve done.” // [while working to break a curse in malfoy’s cellar, hermione accidentally touches an enchanted betrothal heirloom from the noble house of black. things rapidly fall apart from there.]

The Best Mistake by Chels_Writes_a_Fic - E, 26 chapters, Words: 127,444 - Hermione Granger does not make mistakes, at least not often. After making the biggest, dumbest, most horrible mistake of her life, Hermione must deal with the repercussions while keeping her relationship with her Auror partner, Draco Malfoy, strictly professional. He, of course, has other plans. Amidst a resurgence in Death Eater activity, the likes of which Britain hasn’t seen since the First Wizarding War, Hermione will come to realize that the mistake she’s made with Draco might not be so bad at all. It just might be the best mistake.

disparate by Stars_in_motion - E, 4 chapters, Words: 40,708 - au where omegas who go neglected by their alpha for a long time often go into breakthrough heats when being around a different, compatible alpha who displays one (1) caretaking trait around them "You– you brought me supper?" Malfoy eyed her warily. "Don't look so stricken. Do you think I haven't noticed you've been starving yourself for days? You were at your desk when I arrived this morning and haven't moved since." He opened the box of fruit and plucked out a single grape with his sinfully long fingers. Still seated in her desk chair, Malfoy loomed over her entirely so she couldn't look anywhere else. Sometimes it was easier to forget how large he really was. "Now eat."

Mind the Bump by Soap1 - E, 28 chapters, Words: 84,050 - Hermione Granger and her colleague (and, though she sometimes hates to admit it, her friend) Theo Nott, are busy at the Research Institute for the Alchemical Sciences, working together on an innovative, though secretive, project that more than one person might like to get their hands on. She doesn't have much time for dating, and certainly isn't ready to think about starting a family. But after an exciting, though unexpected, one-night stand, she finds herself pregnant. With Draco Malfoy's baby. As her research continues, as her pregnancy progresses, will she be able to make room for Draco in her life?

Détraquée by Hystaracal - M, 108 chapters, Words: 728,097 - "All her growth was the conveying of a corpse of hope." (From 'The Rainbow', D.H. Lawrence) This is a story about coming into one's own, a meditation on the twilight of girlhood and the violence of crash-landing into womanhood. Follow Hermione as she navigates through the quagmire: Saving the world, getting top grades, falling in love, lust, and a whole lot of trouble, and comes out of it hopefully (at least) partially sane.

[lazylittledragon]

gang i am cooking the AU of all time in my brain right now but devastatingly i have work tomorrow

[a-pigeons-soliloquy]

been reading non-hannibal fanfic for the first time in like 2 years and have come to the tragic realisation that the hannibal fandom has ruined me when it comes to fic quality

like my standards are so ridiculously high now. the bar is on the moon

you've all ruined me. RUINED ME I SAY

[itsriotmotherfuckers]

Whenever I get comments on my fics I’m just like “oh you like my writing? You enjoyed this enough to tell me? How do you feel about a fall wedding? Or spring or summer or winter I’m not picky, whenever you want. I will literally take a bullet for you”

[merlinoutofcontext]

your casual reminder from your local merlin veteran to download copies of your fav merlin fics especially if they're older ones so that if they disappear with the passage of time you will still always have them.

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[kmesons]

zane julien you will always be special to me

[comediantragedy]

do you ever find that fanfiction that’s so good that it fundamentally changes your view on that character/relationship forever and you still think about it years later even when you’re not in the fandom anymore

[lesbians4armand]

i am a firm third person perspective fic writer, and i believe that first person works better in original fiction that fanfic, but the perspective that im always torn over is second person, because it’s either really bad or really good. i strongly dislike reader fics where its “you do x” and its like. i would not do that. but writing second person in the context of “you” being an existing character can be so good. so good

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most Favourited (Completed) Fics on FFNET of 2024:

Manhattan by KindaCrazy02 - T, 19 chapters, Words: 48,912 - What Draco absolutely does not account for in his schedule is crashing– literally– into Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger, who has been all but considered to be a missing person for the last eight months.

Footsteps in the Snow by cleotheo - T, 19 chapters, Words: 48,912 - When Hermione Granger finds herself with a stalker, she is worried about the safety of her young daughter. Things take a sinister turn when all the evidence suggests that her stalker is someone close to home. Is someone she trusts really her tormentor, and if so why are they doing it?

Last Christmas by cleotheo - T, 8 chapters, Words: 20,876 - When Ron, Lavender and Ginny get a chance to spend Christmas at the launch event of a fancy new hotel, there are festive surprises and shock reunions in store for the trio. Reunion style Christmas story.

Private Party by cleotheo - M, one-shot - At the end of year party she organised the Head Girl, Hermione Granger, is hurt to overhear her fellow students giving her fellow head all the praise for the party as they consider her dull and boring. With the help of the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy, Hermione decides to be spontaneous and prove to everyone, herself included, that she is not the dull bookworm they all thought. One Shot.

She Whom He Harbors by EllieEckert - M, 42 chapters, Words: 352,676 - Hermione, on a Ministry mission with Harry & Ginny, is attacked by a mysterious creature in a cave on lands of an unknown owner. The effects are immediate and profound - she is dissociated, her soul and body cleaved. Research indicates the cure requires pleasure - but the only person available to give it to her is a reluctant and ragey Draco Malfoy, who has been trapped too.

25,000 Out of 10 by Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon - M, 6 chapters, Words: 15,419 - If you're rating wizards with a friend, don't let Slytherins overhear you.

Hermione Granger and the House of Snakes by Eldyra - T, 6 chapters, Words: 15,949 - Hermione comes to Hogwarts and is sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. Part 1 of the "House of Snakes" series, which will eventually have seven parts. Later parts will be considerably longer and as of 4th year, there will be Dramione. Rating is for later parts of the series as I want to keep it consistent.

Snippets by KindaCrazy02 - M, 38 chapters, Words: 95,051 - It starts slowly, little snippets here and there– an image of a garden, her hands adorned with unfamiliar mittens while snow falls around her, the cupboard in her kitchen where she keeps her mugs but with a few new ones added.

Christmas Kisses by LittleSixx - M, 4 chapters, Words: 23,307 - MP Hermione Granger's friends are spending Christmas at Malfoy Manor because Blaise Zabini plans to propose to his boyfriend, Dean Thomas. Turns out everyone in attendance is conspiring to couple her up with the only other uncoupled guest ... Who happens to be the host.

Sit Beside Me by Emara88 - M, 15 chapters, Words: 91,663 - The war has ended, and Draco is forced to make a choice. Either return to Hogwarts and join the lost students completing their Eighth Year NEWTs or join the other Death Eaters in Azkaban. It's a no brainer, as long as he puts his head down and keeps to himself. So why can't he stop obsessing over a certain know-it-all witch whose mere presence keeps distracting him?

(Note: This will be the last time I make a Year Wrap-Up for FFNET. Over the years, more and more readers and authors have been leaving the site to go over to AO3 due to FFNET's policies about smut and other graphic content. As such there are just fewer and fewer fics being posted on the site. Have no fear though, I will still post fics from the site periodically, just no more wrap-ups.)

[rahabs]

endless moodboards for my favourite fics: Liquid Smooth by EpiKatt

"It's not your problem, Doc, you don't have to mix up in this," Wyatt said, sounding apologetic. Even expecting it, Doc couldn't help the flare of betrayal and anger. He'd do anything for Wyatt. Riding into a gunfight while half dead was nothing on the lengths he'd go for that irritating man. And for Wyatt to pretend like he didn't know that, yeah, that stoked Doc's ire nice and high. Slowly, Doc took halting steps toward Wyatt while he stared at the man unflinchingly. "That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me," he said, hurt plain in his voice, barely hidden behind the forced calm he pulled forth.

[witchspeka]

It's always "Shou and Ritsu need to blow stuff up with their minds for mental health reasons" or Ritsu and Teru or even Shou and Teru!

But what about Mob? When does he get to blow stuff up with his mind for funsies? For shits and giggles? He didn't go through all of those meltdowns and character development for nothing, let him go ham on a junkyard car or something smh

I believe in Mob's narrative given right to fuck shit up sometimes

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

Hello!!

7 for the Spotify prompt pretty please??

Now you're taller than you've ever been There's a mark on the wall, you see I'm sure that someone will draw a new one And cover it before they leave House Song by Searows

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Her finger trails down the wall, tracing each notch, each January 30th etched into the wood. She remembers standing as tall as she could, her socks slipping on the hardwood as she’d call for her dad to mark her new height. Her finger catches on the most recent one, almost a full foot shorter than she is now. She closes her eyes, the image vivid: her last year at home before Hogwarts, always away during her birthdays after that.

A soft knock at the doorframe pulls her from the memory. She turns to see James standing there, a large cardboard box balanced in his arms.

“That’s the last of the kitchen,” he says, his voice quiet, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She nods and turns back toward the wall, her hand falling back to her side. “Everything’s finished, then.”

The box shifts with a faint clatter of dishes as he sets it down on the floor. His footsteps are light as he comes to stand beside her.

“Thanks for coming,” she says, her voice steadier than she feels. “And tell your dad thanks for the help with the Portkey. I—”

“Don’t mention it,” he interrupts, shaking his head.

“It would have taken ages for me to do this all by myself. I…I really appreciate it.”

She senses rather than sees him nod beside her. “Anytime, Evans.” His voice is warm, familiar, and when he takes another step closer to the wall, she notices his gaze lingering on the notches. “That you?”

A small smile breaks through her sombre expression as she watches him trace the path her fingers just left. “Yeah. My dad used to measure me first thing in the morning on my birthday each year.”

“1970,” he reads aloud, pointing to the highest mark.

“Yeah.” Her chuckle is soft, wistful. “We got a bit behind.” She takes a breath, her voice quieter. “Suppose it’ll all be painted over soon anyway.”

She tries not to dwell on the implications of that. Another thing taken from her, one of the last pieces of proof that her parents were living and breathing only a short time ago.

“Petunia’s meeting the new owners this weekend?” he asks after a moment.

She nods. “Vernon’s grabbing the last of the boxes tomorrow. Tuney said it was…” She swallows hard, her voice tightening. “She said it would be easier, for us not to all be here at the same time. Not in the way of each other.”

James looks at her, and though she keeps her eyes on the wall, she can feel his gaze, searching for something. He’s too good at finding the cracks, at gently pressing on the parts of her she’s gotten used to keeping hidden.

“Come here,” he says abruptly, turning to face her.

“What?”

He steps closer, gently guiding her by the shoulders until her back is flush against the wall. His movements are careful, deliberate, and she realises almost immediately what he intends to do.

“James,” she sighs, exasperated, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself.

“Just hang on a minute,” he says, already reaching for his wand.

As he leans in, she becomes acutely aware of him—of the warmth radiating from his chest, the way his arm brushes hers, and the scent of him, earthy and clean, with a faint trace of something sweet. It’s utterly distracting, and she has to remind herself to breathe.

The wand slides lightly along her scalp, and then she hears the faint scratch of it against the wall above her head. His brow furrows in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out slightly as he works, and she can’t help but watch him—really watch him.

She doesn’t usually let herself look at him like this, but today is different. Asking him to come with her had been a bold move, and she still isn’t entirely sure what made her do it. Mary or Hestia would’ve made more sense. Even Remus.

But it was James she’d wanted here. James who made her feel… well. She still isn’t sure. Safe, maybe. At peace.

“There,” he says, stepping back and pocketing his wand, his grin widening as he gestures toward the wall.

She turns to look, her breath hitching.

“Your turn,” she says softly, her voice steady but quiet.

“It’s your room, Evans,” he protests, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Just stand still,” she interrupts, gently pushing him toward the wall. Her hand rests briefly on his chest, and he lets out a sigh of quiet defeat, stepping back until his shoulders meet the surface.

He watches her as she stands on her tiptoes, her wand poised in her hand. Her other hand finds his shoulder for balance.

Lily stretches upward, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration as her wand scratches into the wall above him. When she steps back onto her heels, she smiles up at the mark with quiet satisfaction, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a beat longer than perhaps strictly necessary.

James turns to look, and when he sees the mark, a grin spreads across his face.

1977

He chuckles and throws an arm around her shoulder, tugging her into his side.

“The new owners are going to be so confused,” he says, his tone laced with fond amusement. His gaze flickers between their marks on the wall—the notches tracing her childhood, the singular, deliberate line she’s made for him. “What freak accident happened to the girl with the yellow bedroom in 1977 that made her shoot up like a beanstalk?”

[ethereance]

Au where Lance is a florist and one day Allura comes in slams a 20 dollar/gac bill on the counter and angrily asks how to say "fuck you" in flower

Ooooo, a classic. Allurance flower shop au let’s gooooo

***

When Lance was younger, he dreamed of reaching towards the stars.

But then the stars came to him.

Aliens—their existence was a mystery no longer. Area 51 couldn’t build a facility big enough to contain the ships that suddenly made it onto the scene, one so remarkably like every alien invasion film ever that everyone was prepared for the worst. They sat and awaited the end.

It never came.

And suddenly Lance was looking up no longer. All the adventure was on his doorstep, in the streets of Plaht city, a hot pot for human and alien life alike, all so intermingled it’s like it was always so, the days of Lance’s childhood a distant memory. There’s something in this community here, something that’s kept him tied, feet planted in soil. It’s the greatness of it all, in a universe so large, so vast, much more so than he ever imagined.

He’d feel small, out there. Here, he has his family, and a taste of the unreachable.

(“I’m sorry you didn’t get into the garrison,” Veronica had said, the rejection letter in her hand. Now the stars are closer than ever, technology capable, the call to flight had swept up his entire generation. Overwhelmed in numbers, he hadn’t made the cut.

Veronica ruffled his hair. It eased the pain, somewhat. “They don’t know what they’re missing out on,” she’d said.

Lance sniffled. “Maybe.”)

So, maybe he didn’t get into pilot school. Maybe he didn’t go to the stars himself because Earth kept ahold of his shoes and tugged. Maybe he’s still here, in the same place because a dream died in his heart.

And he’s fine with that, really. The sting has left him. And he’s not trying to convince himself otherwise. Not with the vastness of the universe, and the knowledge that, wherever he’d go, he’d miss home.

Lance is at peace with continuing the family business. With staying here, with them. For them.

Mostly.

More so now than when he was younger.

The Serrano’s floristry shop ‘Florrano’s’ has been in the family a fair few generations, long enough that the shop has become a bit of an heirloom itself. Even after the chaos the arrival of their interstellar friends caused, the shop has stood strong, ever resilient. Even if it were to have fallen, it would have been built again. Family roots are like that.

Lance likes to think that he’s taken to the business quite well, in fact, well enough that he’s known as the flower tailor around these parts, a name that, though he may have given to himself, is one he’s sure that others are calling him. He’s certain—it’s cool. Like him. Lance makes the best arrangements on the block. And he’s competing with that olkari run shop, so you know he’s good.

He’s the flower tailor, after all.

Any occasion, he has the flowers. Weddings, funerals, apologies—

***

“Excuse me, tell me, how would you go about saying ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Lance blinks. “… Huh?”

It’s been a steady day, really. A few customers in to browse, a bulk purchase for in upcoming event, and someone looking for the most expensive bouquet to salvage his relationship—not that Lance has much faith in flowers being able to save that. The guy seemed like a grade A jerk. No, an A+++.

But other than that, steady.

And then in comes this hurricane of white hair making a beeline for the till, slamming down ten, no, twenty GAC onto the counter, and suddenly grade A+++ jerk guy is already fading from Lance’s mind.

“Did I not say it right?” says the woman, frowning, her head tilted in askance. She’s got this accent—English perhaps, a slight lilt to her words that makes him think he’s speaking with someone who’d outstretch their pinky when sipping a cup of tea, regal, refined. Or perhaps there’s some sort of space equivalent, because one look at her ears tells him he’s speaking to an altean, and a gorgeous one at that. He allows dreamy bubbles to float across his vision for the bliss of about one second before he remembers that a) she’s talking to him and b) he probably hadn’t hallucinated the vein that had popped on her forehead. This woman had not shown that GAC any mercy, slamming it down like that.

“The human language has so many curses,” she continues. “Hmmm… I want this.” Lance almost chokes on his own spit when she pulls out a middle finger on him. “In flower.”

“Yeah, I heard you loud and clear the first time, lady,” says Lance, his hands raised in defence. He motions to her. “You can put that thing away.”

Her cheeks darken, an embarrassed flush as she lowers her hand, now rigid at her side. “Oh, right. Sorry. I’m… a little out of sorts.”

Lance goes for an easy, relaxed smile. The kind he uses when he turns up the charm—ladies totally dig it. “Hey no worries, I can forgive a pretty face like yours.”

Well, they usually dig it, deep enough to tunnel in. This woman just gives him and his Lance ™ wink this unimpressed look as his insides wither and die. Oh to have that tunnel—he’d love for a getaway right now. “Hmm.”

Lance clears throat, resolving to pretend that just straight up never happened. He can play this off, he can play this off. “You know, people don’t usually say that in flower. Usually in words, just to keep things from getting confusing.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. But Lotor just doesn’t want to get the message.”

She’s a talker, it seems. Lance may be getting his dose of drama today. “Lotor?” he pries.

“He’s my ex.”

“Ooof. Rough breakup?”

“Putting it mildly,” she says, and he can see it in her eyes—the emotionally wringing flashback she’s thrown through, all amounting to one singular wince. “So, do you have any flowers that could help?”

“Ahaha, now that’s where you’re in luck,” says Lance, slipping past her from around the counter. He starts pulling up several flowers from around the shop, talking as he goes. “You’d want a bouquet with orange lilies in for sure, maybe some geraniums… and some yellow carnations. Anyone well versed in flower would know a hatred bouquet when they saw one.”

Lance stops, meeting her eyes. He’s listed off the flower equivalent of an all out verbal assault, no remorse, completely soul crushing stuff. If he were the recipient, him and his self esteem would never recover, but—

“But something tells me you need a little more than subtle. Something that speaks to him in a language he can’t ignore, so he knows your lovely rose has thorns.”

She considers this. “Then what do you propose?”

“Lotor—that’s a galran name, right?” Lance thinks that’s what they’re called, the fuzzy purple ones. Lotor’s got something distinctly galran about it. He swears he’s hard the name somewhere before.

“Well, derived from both altean and galran history, but yes.”

“Thought so.” Lance puts down his collection of flowers onto the counter, and dives into the ‘staff only’ room, back where they keep and grow some of their more exotic plants. Veronica’s job at the garrison had got them in contact with one of their most reliable suppliers, Colleen Holt. And the amount of alien plants she’s come across—man. Supplied from anyone else, Lance would assume she was trying to get them killed with carnivorous foliage. But no, alien plants are just weird and wonderful like that. He picks up an incredibly velvety looking plant, its petals a deep rouge seeping into black, jagged edges making the petals themselves look like they’re laced with thorns, though they’re as soft as they come. A few snips, and Lance has enough for a bouquet, should the woman want them. He exits back out to the till, waving the flowers upon return.

“See, this here is—”

“Grunarvexus,” the woman finishes for him, her eyes widening in recognition.

“Yep! That’s the one. Others call it the galran catastrophe plant. They see it as a bad omen—always growing in places of calamity.” He grins, sharp, smug. “It would be pretty hard to ignore a bouquet with these in.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t consider it before. Please, I’d like you to add some grunarvexus to those orange lilies, and the other two.” She looks at her cash, still where she had slammed it down earlier. “Would this be enough to cover it?”

“More than enough, but for you? I can offer a discount.” Not that his parents would be pleased, but you know. Cute girl. “I’d say on the house, but a guy’s gotta put food on the table somehow.”

Sharp eyes—he feels the sting of her skepticism. “What’s with the charitable mood?”

Lance shrugs. Says it how it is. “This ex of yours does not sound worth your money.”

Seriously. For a guy to fumble this girl as bad as he did? Not even worth a cent. Or GAC in this case.

“I suppose you’re right.” Her lip twitches into a light smile, amusement a gift like sunrise on her face, positively radiant. She glances at his name tag. “Thank you… Lance.”

The way she says his name, something in Lance’s heart stutters, caught on the ghost of an r that reshapes his name to her design—something so spectacular in a nickname that isn’t really a nickname at all.

“No problem,” he says, sounding a little faint. With her attention on him arranging the bouquet, tying it up with a nice, black ribbon, he hopes the rising heat to his face goes unnoticed. “Just doing my job, Princess.”

“Princess? How did—” She cuts herself off, looking down at her shirt, its bright pink declaration that she’s a ‘princess’ inspiration for the endearment. “Oh. I forgot I put this one on. I’m Allura. Just Allura. And certainly not a princess.”

“I don’t know,” he draws out. “You seem like one to me.”

“I assure you I’m not!”

“Well then,” Lance says, putting her bouquet through the till. “Here’s your change ‘just Allura’.”

“Thank you,” Allura says, taking the change and the flowers along with it. Her eyes trail the shop, admiration soft, tender, every plant truly a marvel under her eyes, and Lance’s chest swells with pride, cosy and warm in its golden glory. Maybe this isn’t his original dream, but he’s proud of his work, proud of what his family has built here. “You have a wonderful shop—I’m glad Romelle told me about this place.”

Romelle—he knows that name. A regular, one who often stops by with her brother—Bandana? Banana, no, Bandor, he thinks—and, like Allura here, an altean too. She’s chatty, friendly, and even brought him in some of her freshly baked blomfruit pie when he let slip about his breakup with Jenny. He’s still gotta get her recipe for that, and ask her what a blomfruit even is.

“Oh, um, thanks! You know Romelle?”

“She’s a friend.” Allura gives him a strange look. “One who may have had ulterior motives in brining me here.”

“… Huh?”

“No matter,” she says, already heading towards the door. “Take care, Lance.”

“You too,” he says, caught in a daze. He shakes himself to, brings back some of his ol’ Lancey Lance confidence. “Oh, and Allura? If the flowers don’t work and he’s still bothering you, we could always turn this flower shop au into a fake dating one. You know where to find me.”

Allura looks back at him, apparently just to make a show off rolling her eyes before she leaves. “I’ll consider it.”

(And like a star—she comes to him, brilliant, blinding, beautiful.

He may not be a pilot, but in this moment, his heart learns to soar.)