#like I do some little ficlets on here but I’d love to write a full fled fic again

[morganbritton132]

Just remembered this one time when I was working a night shift job, I got off work at 7a, went home and churned out the saddest fic I’ve ever written about Billy Hargrove accidentally causing Steve to die. I posted and then just went to bed.

Got the idea. Wrote the idea. Posted it. Took like an hour. I’ve never experienced anything like that before or since.

[starlitangels]

That’s Mine

Another Guy/Honey ficlet for the girl who can’t seem to write a full fic for these two to save her life

—

I glanced up from my laptop upon hearing the apartment door open. “I’m home!” Guy called at the same time I heard the thumping of him literally kicking his shoes off at the door.

“Welcome back,” I said flatly, going back to my report.

I could hear him groan with the several popping noises that came with him cracking his back. “I’m gonna shower,” he announced as the front door shut.

“Careful. Kayla left a makeup bomb in the bathroom,” I warned.

“How does she even do that? Like we should not be finding powdered foundation in the bathtub of all places. A little falling off the palette or brush into the sink is one thing but like the bathtub?” He appeared in the doorway of my room and leaned against the frame on one shoulder. “I don’t get it. I’ve worn some makeup in my day but I’ve never been that messy with it.”

I grunted and shrugged.

Guy sighed dramatically. “Not in the mood to talk, honey?”

I shot him a withering glare. “Go get in the shower before I punt your ass into the bathroom and bar the door. I’m trying to work.”

He smirked lasciviously. “If you bar a door that locks from the inside and swings inward, you’d have to be in the bathroom with me.”

I raised a brow. “I’d figure it out. Go away.”

He winked with a click of his cheek and pushed off the doorframe, vanishing down the hall.

I went back to my paper.

Apparently I got really sucked into it because I didn’t even process that I heard the shower start and stop a few minutes later. Hell, I barely even processed Guy singing showtunes while he was in it.

I vaguely heard the bathroom door creak open on that ungodly loud hinge I still needed to oil (the landlords had promised to do it months ago and never had and I was getting sick of it), while Guy continued his one-man-show of Phantom of the Opera. But I ignored all of it. Guy’s singing was a constant in the apartment and I’d just learned to tune it out.

When the essay was done, I submitted it and finally stood up, wincing as my knees popped.

With a heavy sigh, I left my room.

Guy spun around in the kitchen almost instantly. In his favorite hot pink “Kiss the Cook” apron that had been a gag gift from his siblings that he’d actually loved. “There’s my favorite person!”

I grunted. Then froze. “Hang on a second here,” I said, folding my arms. “Hm. Black T-shirt way too long and wide in the arms, logo for a band you don’t listen to poking out from under the top of the apron. Coincidentally matching the one that went missing from my things after a load of laundry a few weeks ago…” As I spoke, I undid the neck loop of the apron and let the top fall away from his torso.

He chuckled nervously, ears and neck turning blotchy and red. “Heh-heh… uh…”

“Guy Erikson, that’s my shirt,” I snapped.

“Whaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Obviously this is mine. See how it just fits me perfectly—ow, ow! Okay okay you don’t have to pinch I get it I get it—damn!” He pouted as I let go of his shoulder. “Can’t I just borrow it for the rest of tonight though? It’s so soft. It’s not my fault that you have the comfiest shirts on the planet!”

“Give it back. Now.”

He sighed dramatically and stripped it off, hurling it at me with all the grace and power of a newly-hatched bird. “Fiiine. You loveless, joyless buzzkill.”

“Thieving parasite,” I retorted, taking the shirt back to my room and chucking it into my hamper.

“Just for that, I’m not including you in my dinner plans.” He whipped the apron back up over his torso and started fixing the neck loop.

“I never asked you to. And I’m going out tonight anyway.”

His head snapped up to look at me. “What?! With who?”

I raised a brow. “Does it matter?”

Guy spluttered. “Oh. Well. I, uh—no, obviously. It’s just—you know what? Never mind.” He turned back to the stove and went back to preparing his pasta.

I snorted. “It’s my stupid reading group for my upper level class. There’s gonna be like five people there. It’s not a date. Don’t wait up for me, honey,” I said sarcastically before ducking back into my bedroom and slamming the door.

I picked the band shirt out of the hamper and held it up to my nose. Curious.

It definitely smelled like Guy.

A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I folded the shirt and set it on my desk. “You know what? I’ll wash it later,” I muttered to myself.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl @darlin-collins

[sollucets]

I warned you, should you open fic requests I’d be coming straight for your inbox with AkkAyan. I’m obsessed with on our way up/the sky full of stars and I wondered if you’d be willing to write something of it we didn’t get to see like their cooking date from chapter 4 or dinner at Akk’s house from chapter 3

tiis do you know i love you dearly

context from my fic on our way up:

The thing is, he and Akk had spent last night doing crimes against the culinary arts (jointly trying to make stir-fried basil pork in the tiny dorm room kitchen in a small disaster that ended in takeout) + The disaster at his dorm had been almost entirely Akk’s fault, and he’ll die on that hill.

so! as requested i took this briefly referenced incident and proceeded to project my personal (lack of) cooking skills on akk for about 1k(?? these things happen) of fluff. this ficlet brought to you by my best friend thaicookbooktv (and my milestone event. i guess)

💜

"Can I trust you with that?"

Akk glances up from the two eggs he's just started frying to glare at his boyfriend. There's a smug look on Aye's face as he leans against a counter on the other side of the cramped dorm kitchen (and thus within potential grabbing reach) and uses a little bowl to crush up some garlic and peppers (making grabbing probably a bad idea). "I know how to make eggs, Ayan."

"If you say so," Aye tells him, singsong. "I've never once seen you cook."

"That doesn't mean anything." Returning his gaze to the pan, Akk startles to see them more cooked than they should be and hurriedly, awkwardly gets them flipped before Aye gets to pretend it's evidence.

If it'd been anyone else, Akk might have admitted to the truth, which is that he does (sort of) know how to make eggs, and he can grill meat if he's invited to barbecue, but much more is beyond him. He thinks he could be good at it, with time, but he’d never learned to cook much at home, and at school he’d had so much to do that it had always been faster and easier and cheaper to have cafeteria leftovers or something instant. 

But it isn’t anyone else, it’s Aye, and when he’d asked all earnest if they could cook together when he visited, Akk had gritted his teeth and then spent most of last night and the part of the bus ride over that he had decent data on looking up recipes. 

So it’s particularly infuriating that Aye seems to have figured him out right away anyway. Akk scowls down at his eggs. 

“All set over here,” Aye says, then snorts audibly. “What’s that look for? Did the egg insult your parents or something?” 

“Shut up.”

Aye brings his bowl over to Akk’s side of the kitchen and sets it next to the other ingredients on the counter to the right of the stove. He’d only been banished over there in the first place for being distracting; Akk probably should’ve known he’d manage it anyway. 

A moment later, there’s a light breeze against the back of his neck, and Akk jerks against the tickle, barely suppressing a yelp. He’s not actually holding the pan, just his spatula, so the worst that happens to the eggs is them getting slightly jostled, but he aims a blind elbow in the direction of Aye anyway, making contact with his ribs. “Jackass.” 

“Violent authoritarian,” Aye responds, cheerful if slightly strained. “Those look good."

Once the eggs are safely off the heat, Aye hands him a larger pan, shuffling some things around on the little counter once there’s enough space. “Turn the heat up a little higher and put a little oil in there, okay?” 

Akk glances over for the bottle of vegetable oil and grabs it. His recipe-searching had turned up the idea, but Aye isn’t using one, and Akk does not know how much ‘a little’ is. He sighs, sends a sideways look at Aye where he’s putting the egg pan in the sink, and tentatively pours some oil in. 

“More than that.”

Frowning, Akk does as told. When he checks Aye’s reaction, he finds his boyfriend leaning on his hip against the counter and holding the bowl of vegetables again. 

“Were you nervous about this?” Aye asks, tone a too-familiar combination of fond and condescending.

“Why would I be,” says Akk, too quickly. Always too quickly. That’s something Aye’s pointed out before, he should know better. 

“‘Cause you wanted to impress me? I understand.” 

Akk rolls his eyes, keeping his attention on the oil where it’s heating up. “You’re extra annoying today. Is it a special occasion?” 

“Of course it is,” says Aye, tone gone painfully sincere. “My boyfriend came to see me.”

When Akk reacts far too late to keep a smile off his face, Aye pokes his cheek. “I’m happy, too,” he coos. “Now scoot, please. This next part has to happen kind of fast.”

Akk shuffles out of the way, letting Aye move in front and pour his little bowl into the pan, and sends a baleful look at Aye’s back. He’s looking far too cool in this situation; it has to be fixed. 

Decided, Akk moves until he’s right behind his boyfriend, then hooks his chin over his shoulder, looping both arms around his waist, and glances down at the pan. With the bowl poured out, something looks a little suspicious in the garlic-to-chili pepper ratio. “Aye,” Akk says, trying to make sure his breath hits the skin of Aye’s neck over his t-shirt, “Did you put enough spice in?” 

Annoyingly, Aye takes this without much in the way of reaction, only leaning back into Akk’s hold, and doesn’t even flinch. He reaches out for the bowl of meat and says, amused, “The neck is your weakness, not mine, Bigfoot.”

“That’s not an answer."

“Hey, who's the one of us that actually knows how to make it?” 

“I could figure it out,” Akk says mutinously, dropping his face all the way to Aye’s shoulder in defeat and speaking into his skin. It’s not his fault Aye is apparently some kind of cooking expert who’s never needed a recipe in his life. 

Aye laughs, just audible over the suddenly-loud sizzling sound of what Akk assumes is him adding something else to the meat. “I’m sure you could, baby, you’re smart. You just haven’t had much practice.”

“I help at home,” Akk retorts, offended. 

“I know, I know.” Aye’s shoulder moves, presumably stirring, as he continues, “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll cook for you, so long as you always do the dishes.” 

Squeezing Aye’s waist just that bit too hard in retribution, Akk scoffs. “As if. I’ll practice more. I’m not doing your dishes for the rest of our lives.”

The sizzling gets a little louder, and Aye doesn’t respond. Akk blinks, lifts his head, and sees Aye frozen over the stove, one hand out on a bottle of soy sauce and the other not moving a spatula at all. “What?” 

“You said—” Aye starts, sounding awed. “You said ‘the rest of our lives’.”

“Oh.” Akk swallows on the impulse to deny it and just— lets it sit. Hides his face in Aye’s shoulder again and leaves it there, feels his ears heating up. What can he say? They’ve made the joke before, about their pins and wedding rings. It’s stupid, they’re teenagers, they’ve gone too fast, and he meant it, or it wouldn’t’ve slipped out.

Gratifyingly, Aye seems just as unable to speak for a moment. Eventually, he stutters, “I— that— sounds good to me,” and then, “I love you,” and then, “Oh, shit, the pork.” 

[herbalinz-of-yesteryear]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag dear and talented @aftergloom ! Tagging @jawanaka @andordean @poetikat @stardustbee @storm89 @ro-the-bard-writer @wholelottatiffy @grinningnexu @botherbother-blog @eloquentmoon and/or anyone who’s interested.

1. How many works do you have on A03?

Twelve.

2. What's your total A03 word count?

153,256, discounting a fic translation. 😬

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Witcher (books & game), Cybperunk 2077, Star Wars

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

By kudo ratios i think it’s: the stars are not there, Await the Dawn, The Path of Aloneness, Seeking Resonance, Half Moon, Full Circle, something like that I don’t want to calculate everything 😂

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! To show my appreciation to the commenter, make friends, gush over blorbos. When commenter comments on many chapters I tend to reply in conclusion-ish to one or few of them, because I don’t want to flood threads with my own comment, perhaps out of an ingrained false sense of modesty?

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

…I’m not sure 😂 All of fics are angsty fics, but with a sense of emotional catharsis at the end so I’d hope none? I recall some comments pointed out certain level of heartwrenchingness at Regis/Queen of the Night ficlet, and a little bit with Takemura’s ficlet. I think Blood of Emerald might be the angstiest ending when it’s done (no getting around it there hehe)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Seeking Resonance! But even then readers also pointed out sad sentiments 😆 It’s a fluffy ending imo

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet :)

9. Do you write smut?

Yes! Not very adept but I’m learning.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Sort of. One Witcher x Cyberpunk 2077 long before the game was out.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes and not sure 100% which one (i have no memory); think it’s the Regis Professor AU fic?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but would like to.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hard question. I’m a multishipper. Maybe Geralt x Yen? Cerys x Ciri x Tankred? Judy x V?

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Aside from one abandoned sequel to my first fic, I don’t think there will be unfinished WIP. I’m just slow at em.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Psychology. Environmental storytelling. Some level of symbolism and metafiction employment. For fanfiction, maybe my close observation and portrayal of canon characters, i dunno; I do go a little lotho-minor-maul method before I can write anyone.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh boi. I’m still quite a novice, so basically everything aside from the few strengths. Especially with structure. Also dialogue. Also visualization of scenes (strange yes, but I am unable to see scenes most of the time, about short of aphantasia). I have great difficulty in writing long works.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If there’s a purpose, whether for worldbuilding inside fiction or cultural reasons in real life. But sometimes it can be the bad kind of jarring. I remember personally opt to not use latin directly for star wars fic, for example (even tho translation sounds stoopid).

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Witcher! My Once and Future.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Seeking Resonance I suppose. It’s soft and brought soft feelings to others on bad days. I loved that.

A bit cheating here since I haven’t finished, but I think really it will be Blood of Emerald. It’s basically original fic given the amount of worldbuilding and characters I have to do on my own, and the story is from a legend the length about 2 pages in canon ending with everybody dying (sad, angsty, violent deaths). Rare character, obscure material. I’m writing a full-length fic literally for myself and maybe 2 other people in the entire fandom. It gives me ulcers and insomnia. “odi et amo, nescio” 😂 Jks aside, I think for me there’s the allure like that of Matters of Britain retelling. The ending is set in stone, no one ever gets to know the whole truth. And it’s not even about the “how we got here.” A blink of light long gone by the time it reaches the eye. But for some reason it must be told.

I like Await the Dawn, too. And the stars are not there. Discovering the fun and love for OC first time here huehuehue

Somewhat relevant ramble: reflecting on what aftergloom mentioned in her experience, Q.11 (stolen lines and fics)—my writing is usually detached from my life, and I made a point to myself and closed ones irl that I would be extremely cautious in using real life material in my fiction. But there is a bit of that “grain of truth” in the stars are not there. My childhood crush had an unusual dream about me and I kept the sentiments while writing Maul (it is hard not to write a bit of myself in this character; The Wrath did a good job evoking some memories…). I found it to be a valuable exploration in my approach to writing. I think I would feel ambivalent to stolen lines, as it is hard to keep track of where “originality” begins and ends, but it would be quite an interesting experience indeed if bits of real-life event is written by someone else. ==

[unhumanrights]

I wish I was just a bit better at sketching. I’d love to bust out some simple fanart in less than a day (notice how I am emphasizing “simple” here, knowing full well that art can also take time depending on the complexity and the artist, etc.). Being a writer is such a slow process. Takes forever to make something to show the world.

Actually, no, I’m not going to think like that today.

I COULD do fanart if I wanted to. I know my drawing skill is not as high as I wish, but I wouldn’t be making something to hang in a museum. I could just draw goofy little Lower Decks cartoon figures (more cartoon than they are normally, I mean).

And, AND, if I want to write something small, like just one scene from a prompt or otherwise, I could do that too. Heck, I could just brainstorm my own little prompt and post THAT, too. I haven’t done prompts in ages. I don’t only have to write multi-chapter full stories. I can do the writing equivalent of a sketch (I guess that would be a drabble or ficlet, though those still imply some small form of plot to me).

I’m not telling myself what I can’t do today.

[genevievemd]

Versace

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Format: Fic and Edits Word Count: 564 Rating: T Category: fluff Trope(s): and one of them uses social media, and they were at a gala/fundraiser

Summary: Ethan and Gen attend a charity gala for their boss’s foundation, and Ethan is overwhelmed by his wife’s dress. 

Warnings: mentions/alludes to sexual activity

A/N: LJ’s Oscars dress needed to be put in the E and G world. It was just too stunning and I knew Dr Husband would lose his mind. So enjoy some edits and a little ficlet. 

For @catchinglikekerosene ( @utterlyinevitable​) who requested a fic or edits of Ethan reacting to the dress. You got both, babe. 

She smiles to herself in the bathroom mirror, adding one last coat of mascara to blend her her real and fake eyelashes. Making sure she looks her absolute best before attending the party. 

The Blooms are holding yet another charity gala for Caroline’s foundation, only this time it’s in a beach side venue in Newport, Rhode Island, instead of Boston. Which meant Gen and Ethan got to get away for the weekend. 

It also meant she needed to find a dress for the occasion, one that would make her feel like royalty. 

“Are you ready? We’re going to be late and I’d like to be there on time, so we can be the first to leave.” Ethan’s voice rings out from the bedroom, dripping with annoyance. 

“So dramatic.” Gen places her mascara on the counter, her smile turning devious as she emerges from the ensuite. Knowing the delicious torture she’s about to bestow on her unsuspecting husband. 

“You know how much I –” He freezes mid sentence, fingers that are trying to clasp his watch unmoving, eyes landing on her small frame draped in pink lace. His heated gaze slowly dragging up from the thigh sigh slit in the dress and landing on her exposed chest. 

“My eyes are up here, Ramsey.” 

“G…” Ethan takes a slow deep breath, dropping the watch onto the bed. 

“You like it?” 

“I hate it. Take it off. Or better yet,” He reaches her in two quick strides, large hands grasping her waist. “Let me take it off. Right now.” 

“Loosen that grip, old man. This dress is expense and you’re going to rip the lace.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“You can’t buy me a new one.” She can’t help but laugh as his eyes fall to her neckline once more. “I don’t own it. I rented it.” 

“You rented it?” 

“Yes. You think I can afford Versace? It’s from Rent The Runway.” 

“And that means I can’t tear if off you?” 

“Precisely.” Gen leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Come on, grab your watch. We can go now.” 

“You’re really going to subject me to this torture all night?” 

“Yes.” She steps out of his embrace, grabbing her clutch from the bedside table. 

“You know, you dyed your hair and became a completely different person. You never tortured me this much as a blonde.” 

“Keep that attitude up, and I’ll really torture you, Chief.” 

He groans as they walk to the door, the hand at the small of her back flexing as he struggles to maintain his composure.

They stumble into their hotel room, Genevieve full of giggles as she reaches for the light switch. Ethan’s lips firmly planted on her neck, his hands gliding up her sides with practiced ease. 

“Alone at last.” He mumbles against her skin, walking them towards the bed. 

“And what are you going to do with me, Chief?”

“Everything.” One of his hands grips her neck while the other rises up the hem of her dress. 

“Careful, Chief, we can’t have you ripping this very expense dress.” 

“So let me take it off.” His voice is rough, eyes dark with desire. 

“I have a better idea.” With a smirk, Gen pushes her husband onto the bed before stepping away and pulling on her hidden zipper.

“Gen, for the love of god.” 

“Shh, just enjoy it, babe.” 

A/N: In other life, I’d write the smut for you, but we’re not in that life. So you have to use your imagination. 

(Tagging Separately) 

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 50: Anonymous

(Can you all believe that I've been doing this for 50 days?! Thank you all SO MUCH for your love and support on these little ficlets. This has been such a great journey and I am so thankful for all of you!)

Halfway through Draco's eighth year at Hogwarts he started receiving anonymous notes.

He'd assumed, when the first scrap of parchment had arrived via an ordinary, school barn owl, that it was something threatening and he had cast multiple spells to ensure that it wasn't something that was going to hurt him. When the spells turned up nothing ominous, Draco looked around to see if anyone was watching him, then he carefully opened the note.

I really admire the way you're working to build yourself a different life. You're really brave. XO

He looked around to see if anyone had been watching for him to open it, but no one seemed to notice. Frowning he rolled up the little slip of parchment and tucked it away in his bag. Surely, it was a mistake.

---------

But the next morning at breakfast he received another.

I saw the way you fixed Neville's cauldron on his desk during potions so that it didn't fall off and spill. Have you always done things like that? -XO

His brow furrowed, it must be one of the other eighth years. He looked around but no one seemed to be paying him any attention. Carefully he folded up the scrap of paper and tucked it away in his bag, wondering what this was about.

(Read more below the cut)

He received another note that evening:

I like the way your face lights up when you figure something out, like it did today in Ancient Runes. It was almost enough to make me interested in the subject... Almost. -XO

And then he got another the following morning:

This is probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever said, but you're adorable in the mornings before you've had your coffee. All grumpy and sleepy. You need more over-sized jumpers. -XO

And again the following evening:

I can't with the way you were so gentle with that first year about how toxic pureblood culture is. You were so kind to him but so willing to stand for the truth. You're a good person, Draco. -XO

And they started arriving everyday like clockwork:

I like that little mole on your neck just below your ear. -XO

You're a bloody brilliant flyer, so graceful. -XO

Smith is an arsehole. No, he's worse. At least an arsehole has a purpose. I know that it gets to you, what people say, but you're better than that. You're more than what they say about you. -XO

It's unfair that anyone should have a neck that looks like yours. How's a bloke supposed to get anything done when your neck is *right there* begging to be kissed. Sigh. -XO

I'd like to kiss you. Your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids, your wrists and fingertips. Anywhere, really, I'm not particularly fussy. -XO

What are you going to do when we graduate? Will you leave and never look back or will you miss any of this? I realized the other day that I won't be able to see you all of the time any more when we graduate. I'll miss that. -XO

And so on, until the little box that Draco had begun putting them in was nearly bursting. They made him smile (or blush in some cases) and he pulled them out to read sometimes at night when he was having a hard time falling asleep or when he just needed to see himself through someone else's eyes.

He couldn't quite figure out who the secret notes were coming from but in his weakest moments, he let himself imagine that they were from Potter.

Potter, who shot up six inches the summer after the war, whose shoulders had filled out, who didn't look at Draco with eyes full of hate and vitriol anymore. He imagined what it would be like for Potter to like him, too.

It was silly and fanciful, there was too much bad blood and bad history between them, but it didn't stop him from day dreaming.

It was an accident when he discovered who his mystery man was. He'd been in a bit of a hurry, it was lunch time and he was late, he and Potter were coming from opposite directions, hurrying around the corner, and they ended up slamming into one another. Books, and quills, and parchment scattered as they tried to steady themselves.

"Draco!" he said, sounding surprised, "Err, Malfoy, I mean." He reached out a hand to help Draco off the floor before he started collecting his things and helping Draco to pick up his as well.

"Oh, here," Draco said, as he reached for a leather bound notebook that was lying open. He froze when he saw the writing on the page; he knew that handwriting. Looking a little more closely, he read the words:

I know it's silly, but would you ever consider going out with me sometime. I know there are a million reasons not to but I want to. What about you?

"You're the one writing me letters?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Potter rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later." He looked a bit crestfallen but he seemed willing enough to admit it.

"But," Draco started before breaking off to shake his head, "Why?"

Potter's brow furrowed, "I've written you dozens of letters about the why."

"But you-"

"I'm just a person," he interrupted. "I'm just a bloke who's really sick of people treating him differently."

Draco blinked, then gave him a little smirk, "I was going to say that I didn't know you were gay."

"Oh," Potter said, running his fingers through his tangled mane of curls, "Bi, actually."

"You," Draco started, clearing his throat and wishing that he could control the blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks, "You said something about kissing me. Anywhere I'd like."

Harry blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face, his left dimple appearing, "I did," he murmured softly.

"Would you maybe like to start here?" Draco asked, tapping his forefinger against his lips.

Harry's fingers curved around the side of his neck, his thumb brushing over his jaw, "I'd like that very much," he murmured as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Draco's.

And the euphoria he felt was like flying, and catching the game-winning snitch, and getting a good grade, and everything good he could think of all at once. He sank into the kiss, his fingers grasping the front of Harry's robes as he tugged him a bit closer.

Harry's glasses were a little crooked when he pulled back, a smile firmly in place on his face, "So, what do you say?" he asked. "Would you like to go out with me sometime?"

"Name the time and the place and I'll be there." And Draco thought that having a not-so-secret-admirer might be even better than having an anonymous one.

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

I just wanted to add a little note to say that you're more than welcome to send me prompts, and even if there are more than 100, I'll keep writing them. :)

Day 49: Truth | Day 51: Parents

[wild-aloof-rebel]

for nye i normally do a little self-promo post to reflect on the year and what i’ve written. in last year’s post, i hoped that i would write fewer words this year (because i would be able to, you know, actually leave my house and do things), and i’m happy to say that i did indeed accomplish that goal, both on the writing things and the doing things fronts. but i’ve still written a respectable 50k+ words (some of those incoming in the last chapter of smoke and dirt, which i’m counting toward this year’s total), plus i managed to get something published, too.

thanks as always to everyone who has read and kudos’d and commented and bookmarked and rec’d my fics this year. and to @patrickredactedbrewer for keeping me going when i’m busy getting in my own way.

now let’s talk about some fics...

*

a road that will never lead to rome

the first of four fics i wrote for the s7 fest, this one is an expansion of a ficlet i’d written previously. i love some good, old fashioned, homemade romance, and this one has it in spades.

*

all i need is to see your face

i decided to tackle a twylexis story for my second s7 fic. it was a nice change of pace to write about a slightly different dynamic, and i really enjoyed getting to explore alexis having a rare moment of self-doubt.

*

betta than all the rest

another s7 fic, this one is based a bit on real life. when i was married, every time we travelled with/visited my husband’s family—who are generally lovely people—there would come a point where little irritations would suddenly tip over the edge into them driving me absolutely crazy. i enjoyed stressing david out a bit here by giving him that journey with the brewers.

*

locks like the raven

i love nye and all the different ways people celebrate. first footing is not a tradition i’ve ever participated in, but it’s an obvious fit for david certainly, and it was especially fun coming up with the list of all the things he’d carry with him for my last s7 fic.

*

in a green field in the sun

the first of two expansions of the baseballverse, i channeled all my excitement for the return of a full baseball season and the start of spring training into this sweet moment for david and patrick. it was so nice to return to this universe after spending so much time writing the original fic. i just love these baseball boys a ton.

*

just called to say

this was my first chance to write from patrick’s pov within the baseballverse, which was a good challenge after writing all 65k words before it from david’s pov. there’s lots of feelings packed into this little 5+1, and i got to cross several things off of my baseballverse headcanons list with it. (there are tons more on that list, and maybe someday i will finally finish the fourth fic in this series and you’ll get to read some more of them.)

*

smoke and dirt

last but not least, the biggest chunk of words i’ve written this year has come from this when harry met sally au, all of which have been written in the past two months. i’ve been thinking about this story for ages, and i’m glad i’ve finally managed to write it. i’m sad that i didn’t get it done in time for nye like i wanted, but when 2021 decides to throw one last disaster your direction, you gotta be flexible. we’ll just kick 2022 off with the finale of this one instead.

[dickwheelie]

a jonmartin ficlet for @tmafantasyweek, not for any particular prompt, just an idea that struck my fancy.

this was inspired very loosely by @gras-art’s lovely drawings of martin with stars. it’s not the kind of thing I usually write but I had a lot of fun with it so I hope y’all enjoy :)

______________

There was once a man whose job it was to hang the stars in the night sky. If you asked him, he would tell you that he didn’t believe himself to be very good at it, but it was all that he knew.

There was once another man whose job it was to map the constellations. Though it was a simple enough task, for the constellations never changed, the man prided himself on his impeccable work.

One night, the mapmaker awoke to find that the constellations were different from the night before. Irritated and confused, he stomped up to the moon and demanded to speak to the one in charge of the stars.

The starhanger was called, and soon he emerged timidly from his tiny workshop to confront the bristling mapmaker.

“What is the meaning of this?” the mapmaker said, gesturing up at the night sky, where the stars had once been so nicely aligned into neat little columns and rows, but were now scattered, seemingly at random, across the sky. “It’s a mess!”

“Well,” said the starhanger, gathering his courage, “I had thought perhaps it was time for a change. The stars have always been placed just so. But last night, I thought it might be nice to hang them differently.” He looked sidelong at the mapmaker. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I don’t like it!” said the mapmaker. “You can’t just go around changing the constellations whenever you like. It’s chaos, and in my line of work, chaos is precisely what we are trying to avoid.”

“But doesn’t it get a bit dull, sometimes?” pressed the starhanger. “Mapping the same constellations every night? Look,” he said, pointing at the northwestern part of the sky, “last night I hung those stars in the shape of a dog. Have you ever had the chance to map a dog before?”

The mapmaker was silent. At length, he said, “Well . . . I suppose not . . .”

“It would be a challenge,” said the starhanger.

“I do like a challenge,” said the mapmaker. “The maps are always the same, night after night. It does wear at the skin a bit.”

“Well, that settles it,” said the starhanger, happily retreating back into his workshop. “I’ll keep changing the constellations, and you’ll get to make a brand new map every night.”

Before the mapmaker could say another word, the starhanger had swung the door of his workshop shut, and he was left alone under the suddenly unfamiliar tableau of the night sky.

The following night, the mapmaker awoke to find that once again, the night sky had changed. The dog the starhanger had pointed out was gone, and in its place was a teapot, surrounded by teacups and saucers. Despite himself, the mapmaker found himself eagerly laying out a brand new scroll and setting to work.

By the time the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the mapmaker had completed his map, and for the first time in a long, long while, went to bed utterly satisfied.

The following few nights were just the same. Every night, the starhanger would hang the stars in unexpected places, and make pictures when the fancy struck him. The teapot became a sailboat, which became a book, which became a cow. The mapmaker found himself waking up each night eagerly anticipating what new thing the starhanger had made, and setting about mapping it with gusto.

One night, the starhanger hung the stars in the shape of a cat. The following morning he was surprised by a knocking at his workshop door. When he peeked out, the mapmaker stood before him, in a much more enthused manner than last time, and said to him, “Cats are my favorite animals.”

“Are they?”

“Yes! I just wanted to thank you for making one. It was wonderful to map.”

The starhanger blinked owlishly at him. “You . . . came up to the moon just to tell me that?”

“Yes,” said the mapmaker, suddenly very self-conscious. “And to tell you . . . you were right. Making a new map every night, it’s been invigorating. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed my job so much.”

“Oh,” said the starhanger, smiling shyly, “well, that’s very good to hear.”

“You won’t stop, will you?” said the mapmaker anxiously.

The starhanger bit back a wide smile. “No, I won’t.”

And indeed he did not. The starhanger, up until then, had been hesitantly experimenting, but now he decided to roll up his sleeves and give the mapmaker a real challenge.

The following night the mapmaker awoke and immediately dove for his workstation when he saw that the sky was patterned with stars in the shape of a massive spiderweb. From horizon to horizon, there was hardly a gap between the threads, and the mapmaker had to work tirelessly to map them all. At the end of the night he collapsed in his chair, utterly exhausted and happier than he had been in years.

The following few nights, the starhanger left off a bit, hanging less intricate but no less beautiful designs. One night the sky was full of swirls and eddies, as one would find in the ocean or perhaps the clouds on a windy day. Another time the starhanger gifted the mapmaker with more cats, slinking and winding their way across the sky.

Indeed, it had grown to be much like gift-giving. The starhanger was no longer thinking of his own satisfaction when he hung the stars, and similarly the mapmaker was no longer thinking of his impeccable record when he mapped them. Instead, they were both thinking of the other.

Then one night, for the first time, the mapmaker was surprised by something new in the night sky: words, spelled out in neat script. The first message, for there would be others, was brief and self-explanatory: Hello MM!

“Hello, Starhanger,” the mapmaker murmured back, as he rolled out a new scroll.

The messages quickly grew more elaborate as the starhanger grew used to writing with the stars.

Lovely night we’re having!

How was your morning?

I’m getting much better at drawing cats, look:

It’s cold on the moon. I hope it isn’t too cold where you are, MM.

Though everyone on earth puzzled over these messages, the mapmaker of course knew they were meant for him. He mapped the messages carefully and reverently, and spent all night imagining how he would reply to them.

One night, the sky read, I’d love to see one of your maps sometime.

The mapmaker wasted no time in taking a trip up to the moon, and showing the starhanger some of the maps he was most proud of.

“This is the one with all the cats,” said the mapmaker. “I really enjoyed making that one.”

“It’s lovely,” said the starhanger, and he meant it. “They all are.”

“You can keep them, if you want,” said the mapmaker.

“All of them?”

“You’ll appreciate them more than I do, I’m sure,” said the mapmaker. He glanced downwards. “And you’ve given me such beautiful things to look at every night. It only makes sense that you should keep the maps I make of them.”

“Oh,” said the starhanger, “thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” said the mapmaker. “The past few months have been the happiest I’ve ever spent.”

“Really?” said the starhanger, warmth blooming in his chest. “Mine, too.”

The following night the sky blazed with hundreds of stars, clustered together to form the shape of a heart. The mapmaker hung that night’s map on the wall of his studio, and traced it with his finger often.

It was around that time that the mapmaker decided to do something utterly unorthodox and possibly terribly foolish, which would likely end in disaster: he decided to make his own map. A map not of the night sky, or of the stars therein, but from the mapmaker’s own imagination. A map without a guide. It was ludicrous, the mapmaker thought, but it was the only way he could think to show the starhanger what he wished to show him.

It took many weeks, as the mapmaker used his few spare hours of nighttime to work on his own map, careful not to let his official work drop in quality. It was not easy for him to map stars that were not really there, and many times he considered giving up, but then he reminded himself how beautiful the starhanger’s constellations were, and how hard he worked on them.

“If he can do that every night,” the mapmaker chided himself, “you can do this just this once.”

Finally, more than a month after he had begun his task, the mapmaker sat back and stared at the map he had invented, and found that he was satisfied. Eagerly, impatiently, he made his way back up to the moon, and knocked at the starhanger’s workshop door.

The starhanger’s face was like a star all on its own with how brightly he greeted him. “What brings you up here, unannounced?” he asked.

The mapmaker, who was holding the map behind his back, unrolled it with a flair and presented it to the starhanger. “This is for you,” he said.

The starhanger took it carefully. It was a map of the stars, yes, but not based on anything the starhanger had made. It was something new, with imaginary stars scrawled across an imaginary sky.

“I made it for you,” said the mapmaker, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I didn’t know how else to explain.”

The stars on the map formed the shape of a heart, to match the one the starhanger had made for the mapmaker (though this one was a bit more wobbly). Inside the heart, the starhanger could make out many different constellations he had gifted the mapmaker, the dog and the cat and the sailboat, among others. And in the very center of the heart, in wobbly, uncertain script, the stars spelled out, Thank you, Starhanger.

A tear formed at the corner of the starhanger’s eye. “Oh, Mapmaker,” he said, and could think of no more words.

“Do you like it?” the mapmaker asked, wringing his hands.

“Of course I like it,” the starhanger laughed, wiping at his eye. “I love it. It’s your best work, by far, I think.”

“Oh,” said the mapmaker, visibly relaxing. “Well, that’s good then.” And he pulled the starhanger into a hug.

The following night, the mapmaker awoke, looked up at the night sky, laughed, and blushed all the way to his ears. Up in the sky was a single, simple message, of only three words, and though the mapmaker had no trouble mapping it out, he lingered on the constellation long after dawn.

[trenchcoatimpala]

Hey guys! It’s been a hot second since I wrote something, so I’m here with a little ficlet. I am still writing something bigger (4k words currently and still going) so that is coming. But in the meantime, enjoy this little one-shot filled with established relationship Destiel and Dean in a hospital. 

wc: 1.2k

Also on archive

Dean found himself drifting off to the sweet litany of beeping monitors. The sound was like a lullaby in his head, the slow beep beep beep beep nothing more than a whisper, telling him to sleep. It rocked him on gentle waves and coaxed him closer to unconsciousness, although, a Dean that wasn’t pumped full of pain medication would understand that the beeping had nothing to do with his drooping eyelids and everything to do with said pain medication. 

Sleep was welcome to his aching body. He knew it was bad, it had to be if he was in the hospital and not some rundown motel, but his mind was foggy enough not to worry about just how bad. 

He came and went from consciousness, only waking when a nurse came to check on him or the drugs wore off and the pain started to creep in. His head hurt like a motherfucker and there was a throbbing ache in his leg and ribs that caused his breath to stutter every time he inhaled. 

“How are we doing?” a nurse asked, she was blond, petite, and was exactly Dean’s type, but unfortunately, being bedridden and out of it meant that he couldn’t exactly turn the charm on easily. Not to mention, he was already taken, he had no reason to flirt.

“‘M’kay,” Dean slurred in response.

The nurse checked his eyes, changed his bandages, and the whole time Dean let his attention fall in and out of focus. The nurse was wearing some kind of flowery perfume that made Dean want to sneeze, but somehow he managed to keep his bodily fluids to himself. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you out of here in no time,” the nurse said as she gave him a pat on the cheek, checked over the monitors one more time, and then left the room. 

“Who’s worried,” Dean mumbled to her retreating back as he let himself flop back against the pillows, smiling as the morphine she’d given him reached his system. 

The next time someone came into his room, he was pleased to see that it was Sam, with Cas in tow. 

“Hey Dean,” Sam said as he sat down in the chair by his bed. 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean replied with a smile.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked. 

Dean shifted his gaze to Cas and couldn’t help but let his smile grow. “Peachy.” 

“Do you remember what happened?” Cas asked as he sat down in the chair on the other side of Dean’s bed. 

“‘S a little fuzzy,” Dean admitted, still only having eyes for Cas. 

“That ghoul threw you good,” Sam said. 

“Straight through the window,” Cas chimed in. “You hit your head pretty bad on the concrete.” 

“But not before the ghoul kicked out your leg,” Sam added. 

Dean groaned. “No wonder I feel like I was just run over by a stampede.” 

“We’re working on your discharge papers,” Sam said as he clapped a hand down on Dean’s shoulder, Dean winced at the impact. “Sorry.” 

Dean waved him off with a grunt. “When do you think I’ll be out of here?” 

“They’ll probably want to keep you overnight to monitor you,” Cas replied. 

“Awesome,” Dean mumbled. 

“I’ll go see if I can negotiate a change to that plan,” Sam said as he stood up. 

Once Sam was gone, Dean grinned lazily at Cas. “Hi.” 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied warmly. 

Dean reached up a hand and gently ran his fingers over Cas’s face. Stubble scratched at the pads of his fingers but Dean liked the pull of it. He took in the bags under Cas’s eyes and the scab forming on his left cheek, but in searching Cas’s blue gaze he found concern there.

“You look worried.”

Cas huffed a broken laugh. “Of course I’m worried, you’re hurt.” 

“‘S nothin’, ‘ve had worse.” 

“You haven’t had a concussion to this severity before, I know that much,” Cas said as he reached out and took Dean’s hand in his own. 

Dean liked the feeling of Cas’s warm palm fitted into his, and he said as much, leaving Cas to laugh in amusement. Dean felt a dopy grin spread across his face and he let himself get lost in those blue eyes again. 

“I love you,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself. 

Cas squeezed his hand. “I love you too.” 

Dean drew his lips into a pout. “What, no kiss?” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m not kissing you while you’re this drugged up.” 

Dean’s pout grew. “Why not?” 

“Because it would be inappropriate,” Cas replied. Dean crossed his arms like a petulant child, of course that proved difficult due to his broken ribs, but he tried anyway. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Cas warned. 

“It’s not like I’m not aware of my actions,” Dean argued. 

Cas sighed. “Dean, we’re in a hospital, I’d much rather kiss you once we’re back in our bed, preferably after you’ve brushed your teeth and taken a shower.”

Dean uncrossed his arms and nodded slowly. “Okay, that’s fair.” 

Cas did kiss the back of Dean’s hand to make up for it and Dean let his fingers thread with Cas’s. 

“I wish I could heal you,” Cas said softly. “I hate that I can’t.” 

Dean squeezed Cas’s hand and put on his best reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Besides, if you healed me I wouldn’t get you doting on me like this.” 

Cas frowned but there was a small twinkle in his eyes. “Still, I hate seeing you in pain.” 

“‘M not in pain.” 

“You might change that sentiment once the drugs wear off.” 

Dean didn’t have enough energy to respond so he let his eyes close and when Sam returned to the room, he found them like that, Dean dozing off and Cas sitting resolutely by his side. 

“Dean’ll be good to go in a few hours,” Sam announced as he plopped into his previously vacated chair, tearing Dean from his almost-slumber.

“Super,” Dean yawned as he cracked open an eye to look at his brother. 

Dean spent the rest of his hospital stay eating pudding and watching crap TV and when he was finally wheeled out of the building and helped into the backseat of Baby, he let out a sigh of relief. 

“I hate hospitals,” Dean grumbled as he leaned into Cas’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Cas replied as he ran a hand through Dean’s hair. 

The car ride was silent after that, and when they got back to the bunker Dean was practically carried down the stairs and into his room. Cas helped Dean clean up and then he collapsed onto their bed and Cas joined him. 

“You owe me a kiss,” Dean said as he looked over at his husband. 

Cas smiled and scooched closer to Dean, placing a hand on his cheek and drawing him in. Their lips met in a soft kiss, but Dean deepened it the first chance he got and Cas grinned into his mouth. 

When they pulled apart, Dean felt like he was floating. “That was worth the wait,” he said. 

“I’m glad,” Cas replied as their hands tangled together under the sheets. “Now try to get some rest.” 

“Okay, Mom,” Dean grumbled. 

“I certainly hope you don’t see me as an equivalent to your mother,” Cas said, slightly affronted, but teasing. 

Dean shoved gently at him, which caused his ribs to twinge painfully, but he ignored it. “No way in Hell.” 

“Good.” 

“Love you,” Dean said over a yawn as he squeezed Cas’s hand. 

“Love you, too.” 

Dean fell asleep with a smile on his face, despite the throbbing pain of his injured limbs. Cas was the only medicine he needed. 

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[ameliterature]

Writer's Block Cont. (AnderPerry ficlet)

Continuation of Writer's Block

It was a breezy evening downtown and Todd hasn't been at the Coffee Shop since he'd kissed Neil. For obvious reasons, this made the coffee shop barista extremely worried.

"Why the long face?" Charlie asked. He propped himself by the counter beside his brooding friend. Charlie was one of Neil's best friends and the actual manager/owner of the coffee shop (this way he could play his saxophone every Friday night without any objections).

"Todd... He hasn't been here in three days, Charlie, and he's almost always here." Neil buried his face more onto the linoleum counter.

"Oh Todd, ah yes, your big time author-crush-person." Charlie recalls Neil always gushing about him during his break time. He always insisted making all of Todd's orders too. "I mean, today could just be another busy day for him. I'm sure he doesn't necessarily have a reason not to go here." He chuckled.

Neil fell silent.

"... Neiiiilll? What did you do?" Charlie glares at his direction. "Why do you think Todd Anderson wouldn't go here for three days straight?"

Neil fiddled with his thumbs. "I-- I may have... maybe- uh... k-kissed him last weekend."

"YOU WHAT?!" Charlie blurted out, alarming some of the customers and their other barista, Meeks. Unlike Charlie, Meeks was already aware of this situation but he didn't exactly want to stop making his latte art at the moment.

"SHHHH, pipe it down, Charlie- I... Okay, so the other day uh..." Neil huffed before pulling Charlie into the back office to talk more privately-- naturally leaving Meeks in charge.

"Details, Perry, I. NEED. DETAILS." Charlie shook Neil by his shoulders.

"Okay, okay! I'm getting to it-" Neil rattled Charlie off of him. "So- The other day when I was closing up shop for you, Todd was the only one left and- well, long story short- He needed kissing experience for his book and I gave it to him and now I think it was a mistake and he is most likely avoiding me." Neil buried his face into his hands this time. He whined as Charlie comforts him with a pat on his slouched back.

"Neil- Come on! I'm sure he's just shy and all. Hey maybe you gave him the wrong phone number- remember that time when you sent me the wrong one-"

"OH MY GOD-- THAT'S IT-" Neil face-palmed.

"What?"

"I FORGOT TO GIVE HIM MY NUMBER--" Neil sounded both relieved and hysterical. "Of course he wouldn't just come back here- He couldn't just... talk to me in person after what I did- and- and..." Neil sunk to the floor.

Charlie looked down at his distraught friend. "Who am I kidding, Charlie... I ruined it... The one time I got to meet my favorite author and I blew it by kissing him."

"You sure that's blowing it? I'd say it was the best thing you could possibly get from any famous-person-interaction." Charlie smiled, trying to pick up Neil from the ground.

"Just let me die in peace." Neil says to the cold floor. "That kiss might've been the first and last time I ever got to know Todd Anderson in person and I didn't even ask about his other books. He probably thinks I'm just a floozy."

Just as Charlie was about to complain about Neil's focus on Todd's writing than Todd's kiss, someone knocks on the door.

Meeks opens the door to see Neil lifting his head from the floor with tears in his eyes while Charlie is grabbing his arm.

"Uh.. Neil, there's a guy looking for you. He said his name's Todd Ander-"

Neil instantly perks up and immediately bolts to the counter.

When Neil arrives by the cash register, he sees the same dark-blonde author he kissed mere days ago. Todd had eye bags yet his expression was one of breathless excitement. Still beautiful to Neil's eyes.

"T-Todd..." Neil greeted him.

"Neil... When... When do you get off work?" Todd asked fervently yet it was polite to Neil's eyes. "I... I need to talk to you about something."

Just as Neil was about to say 'Around 10pm' Charlie appears from behind him.

"Thank you for your work, Mr. Perry! I see you're done with your shift for the day! I'll see you tomorrow!" Charlie beamed, making quick eye contact with both Neil and Todd. Neil picked up on what Charlie implied and immediately took off his apron.

After a short while, Todd guided Neil to his car parked right outside the coffee shop. "D-Do you mind going with me to my apartment?"

It was a non-question for Neil. As much as he wanted to scream from the rooftops and YAWP in excitement, he kept his composure and followed Todd. "Sure, I'd love to."

The drive to Todd's apartment was silent and short. Todd lived incredibly close to the coffee shop and this fact made Neil grow even more fanboy-y. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

He wanted to respect Todd's privacy so he purposefully didn't take note of the floor number or the apartment number before he entered Todd's home. (In turn, he kept his eyes on Todd the whole time).

As they entered the apartment, Neil could only stare at how neat Todd's living space was. It wasn't exactly neat as it was mostly barren. The most "decoration" you could find was Todd's various bookshelves. A good portion of the area was his own books while the rest were a plethora of Classics and collections of multiple pieces of literature. Todd was a well-read author after all.

"D-did you want anything to drink? Unfortunately the coffee I have here isn't as good as the ones you make so-"

"Wait, Todd... I'm- I'm sorry for what I did... If I made you feel uncomfortable. I- I was worried the past few days-"

"Huh, What- You're sorry?" Todd, bewildered by Neil's apology, let out a chuckle. "Neil, if anything, you helped me, remember?"

Neil looked at him with an intrigued look.

Just then, Todd took Neil's hand and led him to his office. Unlike his perfectly neat living room and kitchen area, Todd's office was a chaotic room full of papers and notebooks. In the back part facing away from the windows was a desk with a computer, multiple stacks of papers (and paper balls), and emptied out paper cups marked on the inside with coffee stains.

"Our little uh- field research actually got me out of my writer's block and I've been writing my book like crazy for the past three days." Todd confessed. "I'm basically almost done with it."

"Wait- Three days?" Neil wheezed. He didn't think Todd could get even more impressive than he already was. "My kiss got you to finish your newest book in three days?!"

"Well... yeah-" Todd scratched the back of his head in humility. "Can't say I've ever done that before. It'll need a shitload of editing and proof reading perhaps, but it's mostly done. Thanks to you."

Neil didn't know how to respond to Todd's words. Neil's favorite author, the person he's been following for several years now, was inspired by his kiss, and finished an entire book in THREE DAYS.

"Todd- I... F-from my kiss?"

"Yes. Well of course it was also the caffeine, but yeah mostly your kiss. I just wanted to personally thank you for getting me through one of my toughest works yet." Todd sat by his desk, pulling up some of the papers he already printed.

Neil walked up to his side, staring at the tentative manuscript- one Todd's editor has yet to even see. (Cameron was not gonna have an easy time).

"Did you want to read it?" Todd asked, instantly making Neil swoon.

"Todd, you're gonna kill me- OF COURSE I'D LOVE TO READ IT-" Neil gushed, looking at both the papers and a blushing Todd.

Neil held the loosely bound papers in his hands, then back at Todd who looked incredibly proud of himself and yet still very reserved.

Neil couldn't tell if he was looking at Todd as an author anymore by how close he was this time. Their arms were brushing against each other, the sound and smell of papers filled the room, Todd was so close.

Neil carefully places the manuscript down by the table. "Before I read it... do you mind if... If I asked you something?"

Todd blinked a couple of times before nodding. "S-sure."

"Do... Do you think it's weird that I... kissed you? I know I said I was helping you for research but... I think a part of me did it because I really liked you. And I'm not sure if it's because I really admire you for your work or if I think you were as beautiful that night as you are now."

Todd looked at him, flustered and speechless. "Y-you sure do know exactly what you want to say..."

"Yeah- I'm sorry."

"And I'm envious of that." Todd responded. Not that Neil needed another reason to gush, but Todd being envious of him is another strike for Neil's humility.

"Usually, when I write my books-- the surrealist ones, they're usually the ones so weird and detached from reality, I usually didn't need to put myself into the protagonists' shoes. But with this book, a book where it's a journey of romance and discovery, I didn't think I'd ever find the right words to describe how the character felt, let alone myself."

"So my kiss gave you existential clarity?" Neil chuckled softly.

"For a short while, yes. I'm all out of it, currently. It's been a draining past few days." Todd leaned back by his office chair.

Neil smirked at him with allurement. "I mean, I'm here. I wouldn't mind giving you a refresher."

Todd raised his eyes at him, blushing even more. "I-"

"I'm just kidding- relax. I'll only kiss you when you want me to. If you ever need anymore field research, that is. I wouldn't mind being your primary source."

Todd bit his lip, gazing upon Neil as he sat over his desk nonchalantly.

"W-what if... say, I wanted a kiss for other reasons?" Todd's voice was like a mumble.

"Excuse me?" Neil felt like he was playing the most intense game of chess with their interaction.

"Like, what if- I thought you looked really handsome right now and I wanted to kiss you, is that a good enough reason to ask for a kiss?"

Neil was enthralled by this interaction. Was it Todd being forward? Or was it his lack of sleep making him this way.

"I... Yes... That's a great reason, actually."

"So... to answer your question earlier: I didn't think it's weird that you kissed me because, right now, another kiss wouldn't seem to bad. And this time, I won't need it for a book."

Todd stood up to meet Neil at eye level, catching him by surprise.

"You're still gonna have to credit me for that book- do you know about royalties-" Neil joked before Todd planted a kiss on him.

Their second kiss was full of small bits of laughter before it turned into something more. It was no longer about Todd's lack of experience or motivation to write, nor was it Neil's admiration as a fan anymore. It was in their second kiss they realized the person they were kissing would be someone to rid them of their woes and inspire them for the rest of their lives.

Aside from that, Todd's career as an author had a new component to it, the skill to garner inspiration in the form of kisses from Neil Perry.

[im-immortal]

2021 Writing Wrap-Up

Here we are, at the end of another year, and of course I started more WIPs than I finished. But what else is new. I’m proud to say I didn’t experience any real bouts of writer’s block, although I did have a pretty big life-changing event right in the middle of the year that halted the process for a few long months. But I came back with more inspiration and motivation than ever before, and everything has worked out for the better, so I’m choosing to be grateful. I finished one WIP, started and finished another, and kept up with my longest and most popular WIP! Also, not only did I turn 30 this year, but I got fucking engaged ?!? So that’s pretty awesome. Anyway, I’m very proud of the couple of things I finished this year, and just as proud of the progress I made on some WIPs. And who knows, maybe 2022 will be the year I finally finish at least one of my longer WIPs? Here’s to hoping.

A list of all the works I posted/updated this year:

lost in the sauce: 47k+ words; 10/10 chapters Ideally, this fic would’ve been finished last year, but I managed to finish it before the first month of the year was over, so that’s an accomplishment in my eyes! Also, I immediately moved on to the next part of the series, which I feel turned out even better than this one. I still can’t believe how much positive feedback I received!

In Toto Corde: 6,823 words; one-shot This wasn’t a new fic, but it was a rewrite of one of my favorite fics that I wrote years ago. I’m very proud of it, even though it’s not popular at all. And I love the plot so much that by the time I finished the rewrite, I already had ideas for a sequel, which I’m heavily into and working on steadily. It will definitely be much longer, but I’m hoping to post it sometime next year.

thirsty: 219k+ words; 46/46 chapters My most popular fic... possibly ever. And damn, am I proud of it. This was so much fun to write, and I really dove head-first into the universe. It’s also probably the most smut I’ve ever written in such a short amount of time. I still can’t believe I managed to start and finish it in the same year. I’m already working on the next part in the series, with way too many damn ideas for future parts. 

Let us always find each other: the mermaid & the man / the bandit & the criminal / gamers I’ve been writing these little AU ficlets for a while and posting them exclusively to tumblr, but this year, I decided to officially post them as a collection. The mermaid AU was inspired by the time I spent in San Diego during the spring, and I was downright itching to write it by the time I got home from spending days on the beach and in the rainy/humid weather. Then the criminals AU, which was just for fun, and the gamers one was even more fun, an idea that had been sitting in my head for some time and that I miiiiight turn into a full-fledged story one day. I had way too much fun coming up with the mechanics of the MMORPG!

what we gotta do: 20,282 words; one-shot I don’t know where exactly this idea came from, but when I searched for “fuck or die” fics in the tag, I found a shockingly low amount, so I decided to take it upon myself to change that. It’s probably one of the most depraved things I’ve ever written, but I’m honestly very proud of how it turned out, and even more proud of the feedback I received on it. And of course, as I am prone to do, I already started a sequel because I had so many damn ideas floating around in my head before I’d even finished it. So hopefully I can finish the sequel and post it sometime next year!

Don’t Make Me Haunt You: 433k+ words, 89/? chapters And of course, my current baby! Easily the most popular fic I’ve ever written. Also the most fun! I didn’t get a chance to update quite as much as I would’ve liked to this year, but that seems to be changing as I get back into a routine with it and head towards the climax and final resolution. For the last 2 years, I’ve been saying, “this will be finished by the end of the year.” LOL I clearly overestimate myself. So I won’t make any bold statements like that this year, I’ll just cross my fingers and hope for the best and keep on writing.

To everyone who’s read my fics, shown some love, or just helped bounce ideas around with me... thank you endlessly! Happy New Year and I’m very excited to see what 2022 brings for us :)

[petri808]

hiii i am absolutely obsessed with ur drabbles could u please do nalu #4 and #39 pls🥺

“Walk out that door and we’re through” + “Please come home, I miss you”

This was tough cause the questions could trigger a story similar to this one I also did for these prompt asks round. But I think I can make it different enough, albeit angst hell 😅 here we go! It’s a little rushed but longer then I expected for a ficlet lol

“Lucy,” Natsu knocked at the office door, “it’s time to go.”

“Where?” She answered without looking up.

“Levy’s birthday party.”

“Oh!” Lucy sat up in her desk chair and turned her body to face her husband. “Right! I forgot. Um, shucks, but I’m on a writing high right now and I can’t stop— tell her I’ll make it up to her, will ya?”

She always says that… Natsu sighed, “yeah, sure…”

Levy Redfox was Lucy’s childhood best friend and while the woman was also his friend, it just didn’t sit well with Natsu that she’d choose writing over the woman. But this had been an ongoing issue lately... Don’t get him wrong, he fully supported his wife’s career as an author, especially now that it’s really starting to take off. The issue was it had consumed her at the expense of everyone around her.

He knocked on their friends door, answered by Levy herself.

“Natsu!” Levy hugged the man excitedly, but when she noticed he was alone, frowned a tad. “Again, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Levy,” Natsu’s shoulders slumped. “Lucy’s in a,” he made quotation marks in the air, “‘writing high,’ and said she’ll make it up to you.”

“Well, I’m glad you came,” the woman smiled despite the sadness hiding behind her eyes.

All of their closest friends were in attendance and spent the evening talking, eating, and playing a few fun birthday games. It distracted him to some extent, but as the night wore down and the other guests had all left, Natsu, his best friend Gray Fullbuster, Levy, and her husband Gajeel sat around in the living room talking about the elephant in the room. Lucy.

“I’ve tried talking to her,” Levy said quietly, “but, I try not to make it sound too harsh.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need to do babe,” Gajeel chimed in. “Be blunt.”

“Yeah, I’m like you,” Natsu agreed with Levy. “It’s not easy to bring it up cause she’s oblivious about it.”

“But it’s hurting your marriage man!” Gray looked at Natsu. “And your friendship,” he switched to Levy. “I’m with Gajeel. If you aren’t honest with her, it’s not gonna get better.”

“Think I don’t know that?!” Natsu spat back. “Think I enjoy being the only one in that house in pain?! I don’t, but—” his voice cracked, “I’m worried I’ll push her away if I say something.”

“She’s already pushing you away dude. Do you still love her?”

“Of course, I do,” Natsu sighed. “I love her more than anything, but apparently it’s not enough… we haven’t even… you know, I can’t remember the last time.”

“Wow… Then you really gotta tell her. All of it,” Gray coaxed.

Levy who’d sat quietly through the back and forth, chimed in quietly. “Gray’s right. You should tell her, when you go home, just tell her how you’re feeling. And whatever happens, happens. We can just hope for the best.”

“You know you’ll be the first to hear from her if I do,” Natsu pointed out.

“I know. But… it’s time I come clean too.”

Natsu slumped back onto the couch and let out a depressed exhale. “And you,” he looked to Gray. “You know if it goes wrong I’ll be showing up at your door.”

“My couch has your name on it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

That had to be the longest drive home Natsu had ever taken, even though it was really just 10 minutes. He was a physical person by nature and never been very good at expressing his feelings in words. Words were his wife’s domain. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but his biggest fear was saying things wrong. With his hand on the doorknob, Natsu took one last breath and opened the door to her office. He knew before entering, Lucy was still working by the clacks of the keyboard and interrupting would immediately cause friction. But he couldn’t wait anymore.

“I’m home,” Natsu called out… with no response. He sighed and spoke more sternly. “Lucy. I’m home.”

“Oh, welcome home,” she finally responded. “How was the party?”

He knew it was an empty question, because she never even looked up or stopped typing and it meant she wasn’t really listening. “Lucy… we need to talk.”

“I’m kinda busy Natsu.”

“I know, but you’re always busy Lucy. That’s part of the problem.” The moment the last word came out, Natsu knew instantly he’d picked the wrong one. Crap.

Lucy stopped typing, turned off the screen and shut the laptop. “Problem?” She turned the chair around with her eyes narrowed in a focused glare. “What do you mean, problem?”

“Lucy,” he ran a hand down his face, “I don’t want to fight, but we need to talk— there’s a lot we need to talk about.”

“Like what?” She crossed her arms. “What is so important that you need to mess with my job?”

There it was.

“I’m not trying to do that,” he sighed. “You know how proud I am of your career. But, it feels as if you’re choosing your career over everything else in your life. Me, your friends, we’re all just being pushed aside—”

“Are you kidding me?!” Lucy shot out of her chair shaking in anger. “I am not doing any of that! I’m not pushing anyone away! Y-You’re the one who’s acting selfish trying to tell me I’m not giving you enough attention! And don’t you bring Levy into this! If this was bothering her she’d tell me!”

“It does bother her! But she’s afraid of getting,” he gestured with his hands up and down at Lucy, “this reaction! Is it selfish to want to spend some time with my own wife?!” Natsu growled. “We never spend time together anymore! You’re just always hunched over that damn computer!”

“I’m doing my job!” Lucy shrieked. “I have deadlines to meet! This story ain’t gonna write itself! Research ain’t gonna materialize on its own! It’s a lot of work!”

“Lucy,” Natsu pinched his brows together, trying hard to stop from snapping further as well as to control the tears building in his eyes. “I love you, more than anything in this world, but I don’t know what happened to the woman I’d married. The old Lucy wouldn’t abandon her loved ones like this.”

“You’re just mad because I’m successful now.”

“That’s bullshit! And you know it! No job is worth losing the people you care about, and if you can’t understand that, then, I don’t know what else to say!”

“Then I guess there isn’t anything more to say,” she spat back.

“I guess not.” Natsu answered softly, turned and left the room.

He’d already assumed confronting Lucy about her precious career would not end well, and he was right. Staying would only cause more trouble. So, he quietly packed a suitcase to go to Gray’s house, making sure to bring anything he’d need because he had no idea how long he’d stay there. He’d said his peace; it really was all in Lucy’s hands now.

Back in her office, Lucy dropped back down into her chair as the full weight of what just transpired hit her like a ton of bricks. She cradled her face in her hands as the anger that had fueled her response suddenly mixed with sadness. Tears flowed free. Did that really just happen?! She could hear Natsu moving around in the bedroom, the opening of drawers, the closet, the zipping sound of the suitcase, each and every step driving a knife deeper and deeper. How dare he tell her to stop writing! This was her dream! Her livelihood! Why couldn’t he just support her instead of acting like a child who wasn’t getting attention!

When she heard Natsu walking towards the front door area, Lucy raced out of the room to confront him one last time.

“Walk out that door and we’re through!” She screamed. “Do you hear me? We’re through!”

Natsu ignored her words knowing it was the anger talking… hoping it was just the emotions fueling her rage. “I’ll be at Gray’s,” he simply responded with a hint of sadness in his tone. “You should really think long and hard about this Lucy, because if not, you’ll lose a lot more than you realize.” And with that, he closed the front door behind him.

Lucy crumpled to the ground and wailed— raged, banging the floor with her fists as the sobbing overtook her. She truly could not understand what brought this on. Hadn’t she been a good wife?! Faithful! Hard working! What more did he want?! All she was doing was trying to make it in the cut-throat world of publishing. Does he not understand how hard it is to make it in that world?! She pulled her phone from her pocket and started to dial Levy’s phone number. But just as she got to the last two numbers, she stopped. It was already 1 am, and it would be rude to wake her friend up. Lucy sniffled and hung her head in shame before dragging herself back towards the bedroom. She’ll just call in the morning.

When Levy answered the phone, Lucy was slightly taken aback by the response. Not a hello, just a, ‘I wondered when you’d call.’ Evidently the woman was expecting it, but she was too tired to let it add to her problems. She hadn’t slept much after Natsu left— no surprise. She was still angry, but also confused, sad, and just mentally drained of life. Her friend agreed to come over in a bit, so Lucy dragged herself into the shower hoping it would make her feel better.

“Wow, you don’t look good,” Levy remarked at her friend.

“Hi to you too,” Lucy mumbled as she moved to the side to let her friend in. “Who would after a fight?”

Once settled on the couch, Levy went straight to the point before Lucy could even begin. “I already know what this is about. I know Natsu’s side, so start with yours.”

“Wow— okay, well—” Lucy pulled her legs up and tucked them underneath her body in a protective mode. “He tried to tell me to stop writing and I thought that was bullshit,” she said bluntly.

Levy’s brow raised. “Is that exactly what he said? To stop writing?”

“W-Well no, but that what he implied!”

“What did he say exactly?”

Lucy looked away, a scowl growing on her face and to hide the renewed moisture in her eyes. “He said I’m pushing everyone away.”

“And you don’t agree?”

“No! I’m not choosing my career over everyone! It’s ridiculous to even imply that I would!”

“Lu, do you still love your husband?”

“Of course, I love him!”

“Are you sure he knows you still love him?”

“I—” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and sunk further into the couch mumbling. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

“I can tell you, he doesn’t. Lu, you’ve pushed all of us away.”

“So, you’re taking his side?!”

“No. I’m giving you reality. You’ve been wrapped up in your fictional world so much that you’ve forgotten this one and the real people in it.”

“I—” Lucy turned away to hide the tears slowly starting to trickle down her face. “I never meant to…”

“I know…” Levy placed a hand on her friends leg. “Lu, we all know. He knows, but he’s hurting and it’s in your power to fix this.”

“But how?! I can’t just stop writing. I have deadlines and— you know, its a lot of work to put a story together.”

“You have to find a balance. Right?” Levy coaxed. “You have to take breaks. You have to relax sometimes. Natsu’s not asking you to stop, and he knows there will be times you really can’t stop. But it can’t be all the time, and right now it’s all the time.”

“I know…”

“Girl when was the last time you…” Levy wiggled her brows and grinned. “You know.”

Lucy blushed. “Too long.”

“Well?!” Levy laughed. “Are you finally getting our point?”

“Yeah,” Lucy sighed. “I got tunneled vision.”

Levy leaned in, adding pressured from the hand on Lucy’s leg and a softening in her voice. “And it put your marriage in jeopardy. But it’s not too late to fix it.”

The tears exploded from Lucy. “I told him… when he left, I-I told him don’t come back.” She buried her face in her hands as the sobbing took control. “I-I was screaming at him… so angry, I just lost it and—”

Levy pulled Lucy into a hug. “Shhh,” she held tight. “I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it. Shh, it’s okay. Sometimes we say things we don’t mean when we’re mad. But you can still get him back, I’m certain of it.”

“H-how?!” Lucy sobbed into Levy’s shoulder. “He’s gotta be so mad at me!”

“Hun, Natsu’s more sad then mad. He needs to feel like you still love him.” Levy pulled away and cupped Lucy’s cheeks, staring, searching the woman’s eyes. “Can you tell him you love him?”

“I can tell him I love him,” Lucy sniffled.

“Then go tell him that!” She hugged her friend. “You’ll be okay Lu, you two are meant to last.”

“Thanks, Levy.”

“He’s at Gray’s right? Want me to drive you?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Levy smiled. “Now clean up a bit, I’ll wait in the car.”

The whole ride over to Gray’s house was the most nerve wracking experience in Lucy’s life. As she sat there huddled in Levy’s passenger seat, all the ways she could ever apologize tried to funnel through her head. She was a writer, and yet for the first time in a long time, all the words dried up or mashed together like a broken verse. Levy did her best to keep Lucy calm, reminding her that it’s all about being honest— just let your heart do the talking for once and not her head.

“You got this,” Levy patted Lucy’s shoulder before she exited the vehicle.

Lucy sure hoped she did. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Seconds ticked by and with each chime, all the weight and worry crept closer to sending her over. He was mad. Too mad. He probably won’t answer…

Finally someone did. “You came?” Natsu’s voice was soft and low, his eyes still bloodshot and worn.

“I came,” Lucy hung her head in shame. “I’m sorry— F-For everything, Natsu please come home, I miss you. I love you more than my job, and I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“You always say that Lucy…”

Ouch. Straight through her heart. The tears broke free again as her knees weakened, causing her to fall against him. Natsu caught her, and she clung to him, gripped to his shirt. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please come home! I love you! Natsu please come home! I can change! I promise I’ll change!”

That’s when she felt his hold truly tighten around her body and his head come to rest against her own. Lucy sobbed harder from the acceptance, pouring her heart in her words. “I love you… I love you so much, I’m so sorry….”

Natsu cradled her head and closed his eyes, voice soft with an upbeat to its tone. “Now there’s the woman I married.”

He held Lucy tightly until her sobbing slowed, eventually pulling away just enough to wipe the tear trails away. “Shall we go home now?”

Lucy nodded. “Please….”

[musette22]

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p 

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.” 

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”  

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is. 

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

For the prompts and because now I need it: Willex + Kangaroo 💕

- sunsetsandcurves

Okay! So, I know your official prompt was Willex, but I decided to do Reggie Outsider POV cause I don’t write him enough, and then it... got away from me... And I accidentally wrote Julie/Luke/Reggie again (and apparently I’m only capable of writing in Reggie’s POV if he’s pining...) but I also wrote he/they Willie on purpose this time! Anyway, hopefully you like this, but if it’s not satisfactory just drop another ask in my box and I’ll write a part two that actually has more Alex and Willie in it.

Also I kind of inadvertently referenced your last Willex flower ficlet in this lol. Anyway, enjoy :)

--

“Hey, Hotdog. Kangaroo.”

Reggie’s head snaps up from where he’s been peering suspiciously at a wagon of precariously-stacked apples, trying to see if he can knock them over with his mind (so far, he’s been unsuccessful). Across the aisle, Willie has just plucked a bundle of radishes (bushel of radishes? Reggie’s not well-versed in the collective nouns of vegetables) off a table and hands them to Alex, trailing obediently along behind them. Alex rolls his eyes, stuffs the radishes in his fanny pack, and leaves a couple dollars on the table. 

They’re all at a Farmers’ Market by Julie’s school. She had to go to do research for an Economics project, and she graciously let her ghosts boys (and Willie) tag along. They’re having one of their “visibility to lifers is hard” days, so (as Willie has continuously reminded them) they could probably steal whatever produce they want and get away with it. But Julie gave them each a stern talk and twenty dollars at the entrance, so Alex has put it upon himself to pay for everything Willie tries to convince him to smuggle away in his fanny pack.

Alex and Willie move on to a station selling flowers, and Reggie abandons his apple staring contest to bound along behind them. He hopes Willie will say again what Reggie thinks he just said, because Reggie might have just imagined it but he doesn’t know how to ask.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long. Willie plucks a pretty purple flower out of a pile and tucks it behind Alex’s ear (Alex wrinkles his nose out of instinct, but it’s not like he still has hayfever as a ghost). Then, Willie grabs a handful of seed packets, stuffs them in Alex’s hands, and says, “Kangaroo.”

Reggie’s mouth drops open. So they did say it! He scans his surroundings, craning his neck to see all the way to the entrance of the Farmers’ Market, but there’s no sign of an Australian marsupial anywhere. Not that Reggie had really been expecting to see one in the middle of Los Angeles, California, but why else would Willie be talking about them unless he’d seen one?

Reggie spins in a full circle until he catches sight of Luke and Julie over by the baked goods. He spares one last glance back at Alex and Willie (who seem to be bickering over the ethics of stealing flower petals out of the trash now) and then poofs across the market, appearing next to Luke and Julie by a stand selling bread and cookies.

“Hey, Reg,” Luke says without looking up. He’s got a chocolate chip cookie in one hand and a frosted sugar cookie in the other, and he’s looking back and forth between them like they’re the players of an extremely entertaining tennis match.

Reggie shoots Julie a questioning look. She rolls her eyes fondly and explains, “I told him he can only have one cookie. He’s been trying to decide for the last twenty minutes.”

“I’m narrowing it down,” Luke insists.

Julie laughs, and the sound sends a burst of fluttery happiness through Reggie’s chest. He grins, and almost forgets what he came over here to say in the first place, until Julie says, “Anyway. What have you been getting yourself up to, Reggie?”

He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Not too much. Bought some kiwis. Had an altercation with an apple cart. Mostly just third-wheeled Alex and Willie.”

He tries not to sound too bitter about it, but he’s not sure it works. He loves his friends, so much, and of course he wants them to be happy, but he can’t deny he feels a little left out sometimes, when they all pair off for date night, or hold hands on the sidewalk, and Reggie’s just… there.

(Part of him wants to find someone for himself, so that they can be three couples instead of two. Another, much more repressed, part of him wants there to still only be two couples, just… one of them has three people in it. He doesn’t know if that’s something he’s allowed to want, though, or even something that’s okay to think about, so he tries not to, and he doesn’t say a word about it to anyone, especially not Luke or Julie.)

“Aw, Reg,” Julie says, drawing him back to the present. She puts a hand on his arm, and Reggie beams, hoping he’s not blushing too visibly. “Well, I don’t know if third-wheeling us is any better, but you’re welcome to hang out!”

Reggie deflates. Right. Still third-wheeling. Because they’re still LukeAndJulie. And Reggie’s just there.

He pastes on a grin and deftly changes the subject. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you guys—you haven’t seen a kangaroo around here anywhere, have you?”

Luke finally looks up from his cookies to give Reggie one of his patented Hey, Reg, you’re a dumbass looks (they used to be insulting, but considering Reggie’s been on the receiving end of them since literally 1978, he’s used to them by now).

Julie, ever the angel, just settles for a politely confused frown and repeats, “Kangaroo?”

“Yeah,” Reggie says. “Willie kept saying stuff to Alex about a kangaroo, but I didn’t know if they meant, like, a real kangaroo or a stuffed one or something, but I didn’t see either, so I figured I’d ask you guys.”

Luke frowns thoughtfully. “Are you sure it’s not a gay thing? Maybe it’s a gay thing.”

Julie whacks him with her purse. “It is not a—who are you?” While Luke rubs his arm with a pout, she asks Reggie, “What was the context for this?”

“There wasn’t any!” Reggie insists. “He just kept handing Alex stuff to put in his fanny pack and saying, ‘Kangaroo.’”

Julie pulls her phone out of her back pocket, muttering, “Hold up. Maybe…” She types for a second, Luke attempting to slip both cookies in her purse while she’s distracted (she swats his hand away without looking up), and then exclaims, “Here we go!” and holds her phone out for Reggie to see. “In some countries, that belt bag Alex wears is referred to as a kangaroo! Cause it’s a pouch, I guess.”

“Definitely a better name than fanny pack,” Luke muses, guiding Julie by the wrist to turn the phone around for him. They bend their heads together, giggling over whatever article Julie found, and Reggie’s enthusiasm fades into a hardened pit in his stomach.

He mutters an awkward goodbye and poofs back across the market, not bothering to wait for Luke and Julie to notice.

An hour later, Reggie returns to the bakery stand and buys the last chocolate chip cookie (since Luke eventually chose the frosted one). When he catches up with his friends at the exit, he sidles up between Alex and Willie, holds the cookie out, and says, “Hey, Alex! Can you please put this in your…” He pauses dramatically and winks at Willie. “Kangaroo?”

“Oh, my god,” Alex sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eyyy!” Willie cheers, giving Reggie an enthusiastic fist bump. “I knew it’d catch on!”

Reggie grins. He’s okay being the third wheel on good days like this. He just loves his friends so much.

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @nickalicious @reggiescrookedteeth @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @spidergirl0325 @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @cest-la-vie-de-la-lee @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @sunsetsandcurves 

[bellafragolina]

I hope you’re having a beautiful night/day Renee! I just wanted to stop by and say that I absolutely adore your works!!♥️ I love how tender characters are in your ficlets and the spicy one make me want to faint! I did have a question and no need to answer if you don’t want to or don’t have the energy! Umm, how do you feel when there are fic-ideas similar to yours?

I’ve been so scared to share ideas because I’m worried other will put them down. There are much more popular fics out there and that’s great, they’re so cool and I love them! Realistically I know that stories will be similar and it can’t be avoided, but I’m still frozen because I’ve seen how things can go south. And I wonder to myself “if there is a similar thing do I give credit to more popular fic if these ideas were my own and still seem similar?” What is good writer’s etiquette? 🥺 I just wish I could share too and wish I could talk to others about my silly little ideas. There’s this big fear holding me back, and somehow it’s gotten a bit lonely coming up with ideas for world building and characters that made me happy.

Thank you for reading! Im sorry if this seems sad I don’t want to bring the energy down sorry sorry I hope you have a day full of sunshine ☀️ and a night full of starlight 🌟! Thank you again!, please keep up the beautiful writing! -sillylily

Hey there darling!! Thank you for the sweet compliments! Don’t worry about a thing, I understand what you’re asking and I have my view on the matter here:

As a fic writer, I do not mind in the slightest about repeat request scenarios that have already been featured by other blogs or writers. Each author is different, and their take on a prompt can vary wildly, even on the most specific of prompts! Characterization, plot points, all sorts of things can be different, so if you want to send in something someone else has already written or talk about your spin on something someone else wrote, I have no qualms with it!

I know some authors are annoyed by repeat requests across blogs, but I don’t really understand why? I’ve never seen any harm in it, and I have seen so many prompts on other blogs that I would love to write myself, given the chance to! And I’d love to see other author’s take on some of the prompts I’ve received, like the angsty ones from way back!

So to make a long story short, please send in whatever you like! You can reference where you got the idea from if you want, I’ve had that before! Otherwise, I see no problem with it! Send away! I’m excited to hear your thoughts and ideas on things!

~Renee