#hollow win for Halloween I’m hilarious I know

[rainofcolours]

Getting a little bit more comfortable with the medium a month later, so more work angst 🏆 (Sep, 2024)

[billsfangearring]

[Rec List] The Wolfstar Yearbook: 2008

I’m back with reviews of my five favorite fics from 2008! In my opinion, these are the best, most memorable Wolfstar fics completed that year.

Fics Reviewed:

Cooler than Frogs by @penknife​

Fingerholds by centaurea_m

a flame in two cupped hands by @such-heights​

He That Believeth In Me by lls_mutant

The Shoebox Project by @jaidajones​ and @sashayed​

Reviews below. You can find my other Wolfstar rec lists here and an AO3 collection with all of the fics I’ve reviewed in this series here.

Context: The inaugural R/S Games were held in 2008! The fest was inspired by the Snarry Games (2006-2009): “Why should Snarry have all the fun? PuppyShippers can win games, too! So here is our chance to go for the proverbial gold and have a little canine fun along the way.” (Before we coalesced around “Wolfstar” as the ship name, Remus/Sirius was variously known as “PuppyShipping,” the “H.M.S. Wolfstar,” “The One True Way,” and “Moonfoot.”) Two fics in this list are from the Games—one each from Team MWPP and Team Post-Hogwarts.

Disclaimers: 

My selections are based on what I have read and my subjective taste. YMMV.

I have done my best to flag potential triggers. Please let me know if I missed something.

I went by the earliest posting dates I could find on any site but provided AO3 links when possible for convenience.

I did not consider non-magical/modern AUs for this post, though I do enjoy them.

Cooler than Frogs by Penknife

Note(s): AO3 account required.

Rating: Teen

Length: 4,071 words

Era: Hogwarts

POV: Sirius

Summary: Seven secrets Sirius Black has learned about Remus Lupin.

My Review: An adorably confused Sirius narrates “Cooler than Frogs,” a hilarious look at his evolving relationship with Remus told through seven snapshots from their Hogwarts years. I laughed out loud multiple times at Sirius’s weirdly self-assured yet completely oblivious thoughts as he discovers Remus’s secrets one by one. Sirius’s awkward miscommunication with Lily and resulting panic is a highlight, as is the boys’ absurd potions mishap during a failed prank and Remus’s inspired method of getting out of watching quidditch practices. I loved Remus in this fic—he can be such a conniving, knowing little liar, but he also gradually lets Sirius in as they grow older and the tenor of their relationship begins to shift.

Vibe: Endearing bewilderment with a happy ending.

Illustrative Quote: Sirius found this desire to talk to girls on Remus's part somewhat alarming; apparently this eventually led to wanting to have sex with girls, which Sirius felt could only be a disruptive influence. 

Fingerholds by centaurea_m 

Rating: Mature

Length: 25,984 words

Era: Multiple

POV: Remus

Summary: 21-year-old Moony goes to university and, remembering the days of maneating sofas and Ziggy Stardust and falling off the world with Sirius, wrestles with the mighty questions of how to roll one’s own cigarettes, what it means to be lost, and whether This House Believes In Magic. 7-part fic that jumps between 1981-85 and 1978-81. Cambridge and London. The Waiting-for, and the Next.

My Review: I’m usually a very fast reader, but the vivid and sensory prose in “Fingerholds” made me slow down and savor every line. centaurea_m’s writing style makes heavy use of metaphor while retaining an airy quality that echoes Remus’s emotional detachment as he faces the hollow expanse of his life after Halloween 1981. Try as he might, he can't bury his past, and the fic organically slides back and forth between Remus's present and his memories. Remus and Sirius's relationship in the First War is a lively, reckless coming together followed by an unusually natural and substantiated dissolution as distrust mounts between the two; my breath caught in the final moment of fracture. The restrained but detailed prose makes what appears to be a rather straightforward First War/"lost years" story into something tender and bruising and unspeakably tragic, with one of the best final chapters I've read in a while.

Vibe: Melancholy resilience with a painful ending.

Illustrative Quote: Remus looked down, unbelieving, and snatched his arm away in a lightning-quick movement that felt like it took days, took all the time that had built up between them and distilled it into the poison that only a lover could administer, weeping out in tendrils beneath the skin.

a flame in two cupped hands by such_heights

Rating: Teen

Length: 3,117 words

Era: First War

POV: Sirius

Summary: Sirius didn't crouch down to tuck the coat under Remus's shoulders, didn't press a soft kiss to Remus's forehead the way he wanted.

My Review: “A flame in two cupped hands” is peak comedy in the helplessly pining Sirius genre. It’s also a very physical fic—not in the sense of being NSFW, because it isn’t, but in its focus on body language and how badly Sirius wants to reach out and touch Remus. Remember Darcy’s hand flex in “Pride and Prejudice” (2005)? I feel like this Sirius would relate to Darcy and feel that ache in his hands from not being able to touch Remus in the way he wants. I also giggled the whole way through at Sirius’s ridiculous thought processes and the "least platonic hug imaginable” that he shares with Remus. They’re just two teenage idiots who are giddily in like with each other and not really sure what to do about it, and it’s all very flustered and youthful and heartwarming. 

Vibe: Awkward crushes with a happy ending.

Illustrative Quote: Sirius felt himself going a little dreamy, and kicked his own shin under the table, hard.

He That Believeth In Me by lls_mutant 

Rating: Teen

Content Warning(s): Implied/referenced canonical major character death

Length: 41,753 words

Era: Multiple

POV: Sirius

Summary: Voldemort's reign shattered homes, families, and dreams. Sirius Black was no exception: once, he'd wanted to be a priest. 

My Review: “He That Believeth In Me” is a thought-provoking, mature story that tackles a deeply personal and often taboo topic with respect and without preaching. It is, incredibly, a canon-compliant character study of Sirius as a devout Catholic that ties his faith journey into every significant moment in his life. Sirius’s rebellion against his family is reflected in his constant questioning of God and the Church, and his Catholicism and commitment to pursuing the priesthood are deeply shaken by the realities of war and his discovery of his own homosexuality. Remus, on the other hand, is a bitter atheist, but he quietly wrestles with religion in his own way in the background of Sirius's struggle. Remus comes to serve almost as an allegory for God as the story explores the themes of forgiveness and redemption, which for me are the heart of this pairing. As a lapsed Catholic, I found a lot to relate to in this story, but you don’t need to be anywhere in particular on the religious spectrum to derive meaning from it.

Vibe: Conflicted devotion with a painful ending.

Illustrative Quote: “I'm not your consolation for the life you wanted, and I'm not your salvation from what you've done.”

The Shoebox Project by Lady Jaida and Rave (dorkorific)

Note(s): This fic also prominently features James/Lily. The Shoebox Project LiveJournal page was hacked in 2008; the site that I linked in the title has PDFs of each chapter. I also found a site that has EPUB and MOBI files, but I can't vouch for it as safe to use like the Lomara site. Complete compilations of the long-running effort to collectively podfic and vidfic “The Shoebox Project” can be found on AO3. There's some debate among SBP fans about whether this fic was complete before the hacking incident, but the authors say it is so that's what I'm going with.

Rating: Unrated (I'd call it mature)

Content Warning(s): Recreational drug use, kissing without consent, references to indecent exposure

Length: 231,325 words

Era: Multiple

POV: Multiple

Summary: N/A

My Review: This is the fic that launched a thousand shippers. “The Shoebox Project” was the most-recced Wolfstar fic back in the day, and I can’t overstate how much influence this fic had on fanon characterizations of the Marauders generation. Written from 2004 to 2008, this fic is very much of that era of whimsical, prank-filled Marauders fics and it contains a few jokes of the type that probably would not be told now. It's told in a multimedia format that blends traditional prose with notes passed in class, journal entries, letters, and lovingly drawn "photographs," which makes it feel very real and immersive. It's chaotic and careening with youthful exuberance, though the encroaching war heralds a tonal shift to something more uncertain and grasping in the final third. The relationship between the bookish, self-conscious Remus and the impulsive, immature Sirius is a true slow burn as they hesitantly come to terms with the idea of wanting another boy in the 1970s, and Lady Jaida and dorkorific beautifully capture the subtle shifts in all of the characters' relationships as they grow up.

Vibe: Comical coming of age with an ambiguous ending.

Illustrative Quote: Remus thinks, I will never be able to touch anyone like that. Remus thinks, I want to.

[kiruuuuu]

Blitz/Spectre oneshot in which she and Blitz get a little closer. (Rating T, fluff, ~2.5k words) - written for @ruaniamh​! Thank you again for commissioning me and I’m glad you’re happy with this piece ♥♥ You can find out all about Quinn “Spectre” Roach here! My commission info is over here :) 

.

In a – as Spectre finds – deliciously ironic twist of fate, Blitz fails to react to her approaching due to the blinding light of the afternoon sun.

She’s crouched behind the low wall marking the beginning of the bridge’s balustrade and waiting for her next victim: Mira’s heavy boots gave her away earlier and allowed the Canadian to catch her off-guard, and even Smoke’s lighter steps proved insufficient as Spectre swiftly climbed a tree when she caught a glimpse of him nearing her position. She’s keen on racking up a few more ‘kills’, her competitive spirit awakened by Bandit’s boisterous claims of ending up as the winner and nurtured by the crisp October air.

Ultimately, it’s a child’s game they’re playing, a more advanced tag – they were all given a piece of fabric and told to tuck it into their trousers’ waistbands on their backs, a little like a bright red tail now trailing after them and marking them as potential targets. If someone manages to snatch it from someone else for safekeeping, that someone is out and has to return to base and whoever has collected the most pieces at the end wins. Simple enough, though Sledge claimed it’d serve to test their senses and spatial awareness, challenge their manoeuvring skills and showcase how well they work on their own for once. Spectre, however, suspects that the mild temperature and unimpeded sunshine played a not insignificant role in this decision to allow Rainbow to roam the fields outside of the base freely.

In any case, she’s not complaining, instead she relishes the fresh air and warming rays on her skin, has always liked this mixture as it keeps her focused and cheerful whereas the sweltering summer sun often leaves her content yet tired. Proof of this are the four stripes of cloth in her pocket, courtesy of a lot of stalking around and observing carefully. Some of the others declined the opportunity to swarm out in order to find a suitable starting spot away from everyone else, and instead tackled each other head on right outside the gate like children playing football for the very first time, all clumped up and shouting. Spectre managed to grab Maestro’s fabric before he even joined the fray and was already halfway over the hill before he noticed her demonic cackling was directed at him.

Right now, she’s listening to the gurgling of the small stream next to her and to footfalls probably wishing they were quieter. A quick peek lets her catch a glance of fair hair, golden in this light, sharp cheekbones, a compact silhouette – she doesn’t need more than a fraction of a second to be sure of who it is. She’d recognise him by the sound of his laugh, the adorable cow lick on the back of his head, the unusually shaped birth mark on his wrist.

Don’t turn around, she instructs him silently and almost kicks herself for doing so. They might be impressively in tune for most of the time, but they haven’t figured out telepathy yet. Slowly, she creeps around the solid stone railing, follows him as he steps down the river bank, probably to check for anyone below the bridge. Anticipation is making her giddy, she’s looking forward to the dumb expression on his face when he’ll realise what’s happened, and so she makes a mistake, produces a noise, causes him to turn around. But the sun saves her.

In the moment of confusion, the second he blinks and squints, she shoots up and reaches around him to get a hold of her prize, yet the sudden movement makes her lose her footing and crash into the solid body; now they’re both flailing (and was that a squeak from Blitz?), an arm wraps around her waist to regain balance where she has none to give – and the next thing she knows is the horizon tilting and ice cold water enveloping both of them.

.

“Of all the things I wanted to achieve today, a bath in the river was not among them”, Blitz chides jokingly as soon as he’s emerged from the dressing room wearing his spare clothes and a grin which tells Spectre that he doesn’t mind. His hair is sticking up in all twenty cardinal directions simultaneously and she ponders whether to comment on it, eventually deciding against it. She doesn’t want to seem like she’s paying too much attention to his appearance.

“Not like you couldn’t use one”, she shoots back good-naturedly while they make their way towards a well-deserved lunch break.

“What, are you referring to the information retrieval again?”

“You call it intelligence gathering, I call it dumpster diving. Now which of these is a euphemism, hm? Didn’t you have to wade through sewage in Sevilla too?”

“I’ll have you know that both of those missions ended up successful and not everyone can be as limber as you. You probably would’ve climbed along the walls like a spider instead of stepping into that muck.”

Their playful back-and-forth is as familiar as it is comfortable, one of the constants in Spectre’s everyday life she looks forward to the most. Both of them enjoy poking fun at anything and everything, including themselves and each other – which is one of the reasons why they became fast friends. A sunny disposition in their job isn’t that common, usually it entails a much darker, morbid kind of humour. “I definitely wouldn’t have used an entire can of Lynx to get rid of the smell at least. That’s one way to keep the ladies off of you.”

As soon as the comment has left her mouth, she once again feels the impulse to kick herself. Because while Blitz laughs, it sounds oddly hollow to her ears. She shouldn’t have gone there, she knows he’s been wanting someone by his side for a while. She knows he even has someone in mind, overheard Jäger mention it to someone else. Felt strangely betrayed that Blitz would entrust him with this detail and not her, felt a stab of jealousy because who does Blitz call in the early morning after a bad dream? Whom does he send drunk texts which are as illegible as they are hilarious? Not Jäger, that’s for sure. She knows he doesn’t message anyone else, he never does so when they’re out together. She would like to see herself as his best friend but after that she’s had her doubts. If he kept this from her, what else did he keep?

Going down this path is futile and depressing, so she does her best to snap out of it but it takes a few minutes until her smile stops hurting.

A hiss is what finally distracts her mid-chew: “You are a fucking cat, young lady!”

Both she and Blitz snort at Mira’s accusation. “Did she sneak up on you too?”, he asks, amused.

“Please tell me who eliminated you so I can thank them for avenging my honour. You gave me the worst fright I’ve had in a while.”

While Spectre just grins proudly, the German opposite her replies: “More on accident, but we got each other.”

Mira lifts a brow and suddenly, it’s imperative Spectre doesn’t blush so she doesn’t give herself away. All the jokes and questioning glances whenever they playfight or feed each other unhealthy food to create the most disgusting combination are more than enough already. Still. It sounds nice: we got each other. “Is that why you’re looking like a drowned rat?”

“Watch out or you might hit someone in the face with all that charm you’re throwing around”, Spectre grins. Her mauve hair is still damp and probably hanging down sadly, so Mira might not actually be far from the truth – but she finds that she doesn’t mind, no, not at all. She can still feel Blitz’ loose embrace, hears his laughter bubbling up as they dragged themselves out of the stream, shaking the water off like a pair of dogs.

The Spaniard leaves them to their meals, still mock-grumbling, but gets replaced by Jäger immediately. “Can I interrupt you guys for a moment?”, he asks and Spectre idly wonders whether there’ll ever be anything he’d interrupt.

“I don’t know, can you?”, she replies and fights down a giggle when she realises Blitz just uttered exactly the same thing. They exchange a glance and a grin when he lightly kicks her under the table.

For a moment, she’s worried Jäger is going to hurt himself with how dramatically his eyes roll skywards. “Bunch of nerds”, he mutters. “All I wanted to know is whether you’re ready for tomorrow.”

“Of course! Tomorrow is a very special day.”

Blitz’ answer comes so fast that Spectre’s heart skips a beat. Did he – did he remember? She let it slip before, more than half a year ago, didn’t think he paid it any heed, didn’t think he’d care enough. He’s awful with remembering dates, only remembers Sledge’s birthday because it’s the same as his own, and his friends usually remind him of everyone else’s. But could he have -

“Yeah, I know how much you love Halloween.” Jäger earns a nod from Blitz and oh, that’s right. Of course that’s what he means. “You’re coming to Julien’s party too, right, Quinn?”

“Yes”, she replies curtly and contributes no more to the chatter about the Germans’ plans. She’s not hungry anymore.

.

The next afternoon, Spectre is in a rotten mood and hates herself for it. She adores Halloween, even decided to go all out this year and whip up a full-fledged zombie costume, ordered liquid latex for fake injuries, white contact lenses to max out the creepy and went so far as to buy blood capsules. Her plan was to dramatically announce her insatiable hunger for human flesh at some point during the party, and then gurgle crimson – Rook made the mistake of letting everyone know there’d be prizes for the best costumes and she’s determined to make it to the top three.

Well, was determined.

It’s silly and she knows it, yet this changes nothing. She received the usual greetings and best wishes from her family and friends, had Buck and Frost congratulate her inconspicuously, the two shoving candies and other important Canadian foodstuffs they know she misses into her pockets, and it’s how her birthday normally goes. She refuses to make a big deal of it, keeps it secret so people rather worry about enjoying Halloween than to procure impersonal gifts or, even worse, sing for her, and still -

Part of her had hoped she’d be important enough for Blitz to remember, yet she hasn’t even seen him all day. And the fact that this is what brings her down makes her feel even sillier.

No, she’s going to have a good time regardless. It’s not the end of the world. She’s going to freak everyone out by groaning and reaching out when they walk past, she’s going to unsettlingly stare at people and it’s going to be glorious. Rook hates zombies and she’ll have a whale of a time chasing him around his apartment.

Just as she’s made this decision, her doorbell rings unexpectedly.

For some reason, Blitz is holding a mug with the logo of a local wildlife resort in his hand, looking sheepish and apologetic at the same time. “There’s still time before we have to leave for the party, right?” He sounds out of breath, cheeks as red as his ears from the cold and looks adorable.

“Sure, more than an hour. I’m just starting to get ready.” Frowning, Spectre peers into the mug. “Did you bring… compressed dirt? You’re missing a few tentacles for your Davy Jones costume, I’m afraid.”

Blitz just laughs and enters the place where they’ve spent countless hours together, her kicking his ass at her favourite video games, them attempting to bake together, coming down after intense training or when they’ve just returned after a mission. He prefers visiting her, he’s said as much, thinks her flat is more inviting and homely and she secretly agrees. He toes off his shoes, hangs up his jacket and rummages in his pockets for a few more objects before herding her into the living room, taking his usual spot on the couch next to her.

Nothing gets clearer even as he sets the cup on the low coffee table and places an unassuming envelope next to it.

“What are you doing?”

The genuine confusion in her voice seems to amuse him for some reason. “You’re an idiot, Quinn. Did you think I’d forget? Happy birthday.” And with this, he conjures up a small candle and pushes it into the soft mass inside the ceramic. This is when it clicks.

“Is this – a mug cake?” She can’t believe it.

Blitz shrugs with an embarrassed smile. “I’ve destroyed your kitchen often enough that you know how bad I am at baking. This is all I could -”

A hug cuts him off and he seems happy to reciprocate it instead of talking. His strong arms pull her closer, squeeze her reassuringly and her heart sings. She can only imagine how long he must’ve agonised over what to gift her – because she also knows how bad he is at choosing presents. “Thank you”, she whispers and means so much more, but for now it should suffice. Another squeeze. She could get used to this.

And then the quiet, serene atmosphere vanishes as soon as she opens the envelope. Blitz watches her bounce and flail and cheer for a solid minute before he points out: “There are two tickets. I figured you might not want to go alone.”

“Two tickets to fucking Gamescom?”, Spectre squeaks ecstatically.

“And the flights, and a hotel room.” He seems extremely pleased with how excitedly his gift is being accepted – and this is the best thing Spectre could’ve hoped for, it’s the largest video game convention in the entire world. She’ll get to try out upcoming titles herself, collect all the swag, stroll around among like-minded people and this is amazing. “You can take whoever you like.”

In her exhilaration she misses his tone of voice but doesn’t miss his surprised expression when she punches him in the arm. “You hoser, of course you’re coming with me.”

“Really? I – I mean, I can probably be useful since it’s in Germany, so -”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to go with me even if it was in France, or Canada, or wherever.”

And now she notices his blush still hasn’t disappeared despite his breathing long having calmed down. …maybe the cold wasn’t really its cause. Maybe, just maybe -

“I’d love to go with you”, he says and oh, he’s not really that interested in gaming normally, and he said a hotel room, and maybe, just maybe, he told Jäger instead of her because…

It clicks. And suddenly, she knows with vicious clarity that this is going to be the best birthday of her life. “Elias”, she murmurs and waits until he finally gathers the courage to meet her fond, helpless, hopeful gaze, “do you like me?”

And the bright red colouring Blitz’ face only deepens.

Seems like she won’t be using the blood capsules today after all, not when she’s pretty sure her mouth will be occupied otherwise for the majority of the party.

And only mere minutes later, she starts considering ditching her zombie costume entirely because there’s no doubt they’re going to be late anyway. Now they really, finally, eventually got each other.