#no matter how many times i edited/reworked them i felt like they were hot fucking garbage

[queenofbaws]

there are already roughly a million posts like this already circulating, but man. just. sometimes you really do have to step away from something you're working on and come back to it later.

creative buds, please. please. no one is worse at taking my advice than i am, believe me, but seriously, if you've been feeling down or frustrated or stumped with something you've been working on lately, take this as your sign to maybe take a little break. a week, a month, whatever. you've been looking at it too long, you've read it too many times, you've erased that same line so many times you've lost count - you need to come back to it with a rested brain and fresh eyes.

however rough it feels to you now, i promise, promise, promise that it'll feel so much better after a little distance. <3

[brynwrites]

Let’s Talk about Querying!

(And why I stopped querying my novel.)

As some of you know, I was querying Iron From Fire on and off from March through May, and I recently decided to quit, despite it being overall a good story written in what one editor described as ‘on par’ for the genre.

And I think it’s important to talk about the process I went through, because my ill preparation hurt my mental health a lot, and you all deserve to know how to avoid the same fate.

First, this is the general process of querying, in case anyone is unfamiliar:

You finish the manuscript. And I mean finish it. Beta rounds, line edits, formatting, the whole nine yards.

You write the query letter. This includes a blurb meant to draw the agent in, a paragraph with stats and the names of a couple contemporary books that resemble yours, and a short bio about your previous book-related experience.

You send the query letter to a bunch of agents. A positive request rate right now is somewhere around 6 or 7%, which means if you have a stellar manuscript then 7% of the agents you query will want to read more of it to see if they’re willing to represent you.

You receive a mixture of rejections and requests, with a lot of silence in between. Most rejections are form rejections so you have no idea why they didn’t like your manuscript. Some requests turn into delayed form rejections. Everything hurts.

You either get an agent who signs you or you decide to quit. If you have a book you think will sell and are having positive responses from agents, the general rule of thumb is to keep querying until you’ve sent a letter to every agent you’d be interested in working with. This can mean anywhere from 30 to 130 agents.

Putting the rest under the cut.

Keep reading for:

Why I quit.

The things I learned from querying.

What I would have done differently if I’d known better.

[While this has some rather personal mental health things, please feel free to reblog it so other writers can learn from my experience!]

Why I quit querying.

This is going to get personal for a hot second so bare with me.

I was querying the first novel in an adult fantasy trilogy I had worked on for over seven years. All the work from the first five years had been trashed three years before, and the rough draft I built the final manuscript on was rewritten three times after, so the actual story itself was only a couple years old, but I had the emotional attachment of seven years of love and heartache.

This being a trilogy, I had already written the second book and poured a lot of energy into the third book’s brainstorming by the time I fully finished the first manuscript. So not only was there over seven years of emotional attachment, but nearly 300k words of fairly decent story written in the series.

I hit a bunch of road blocks right when I first began querying: 

My story, while it had all the things a query needs like stakes and conflict, was very hard to break down to a 200 word blurb.

The blurb I did end up with, no matter how I wrote it, sounded like a rather traditional fantasy plot, despite the story itself going places I’ve yet to read about in any other book.

I could not find contemporaries (books published recently which have elements similar to mine) to save my life, to the point where I was scrambling to read new books in hopes something would appear.

Most agents ask for the first five or ten pages, and I have fifteen pages of status quo before I got to the real plot, so that meant most agents would never even see the story I had outlined in my blurb.

On top of all that, I had a book which went a little over the word count most agents seek for a debut novel in its genre and it wasn’t even a standalone.

Those things compiled were a mess, and they should have clued me in that this wasn’t a book that would be worth the effort of selling as a debut. But this wasn’t what did me in. These things alone I might have been overcome by sheer determination. So why did I quit, then?

I stopped querying my manuscript because I realized I wasn’t just querying a manuscript, I was querying my baby.

I had put all seven years and many rewrites and an entire sequel I loved more than life on the line for this sale, and it fucked me over like a moon-sized meteor fucks over a planet.

My mental health, which I’d finally gotten under control after almost a decade of chronic depression and anxiety, plummeted back to levels it hadn’t reached in years. I hated everything I wrote. I cried over my writing. I cried over things that had nothing to do with writing. I became very negative and angry with my friends. Everyone else’s success felt like my personal failure. I began tipping into the realm of suicidal idealization.

That was what finally broke me; the knowledge that I’d been happy with my life, exactly as it was before I started querying, and now I suddenly didn’t find it worth living despite the query process being the only thing I’d added.

I adored and despised my manuscript in equal parts. I’d thought the mounds of critique I’d gotten for it in the past would make it easier for me to handle the rejections because I’d handled them all before from beta readers, and that the time between writing it and querying it would provide distance. It didn��t. 

It turned this manuscript into the single part of my life I’d poured the most love and attention and frustration into, more then college degrees and individual relationships and work; even more than the book I’d already indie published. And setting that out for agents to reject at their whims was not healthy for me.

Once I looked that in the face, I realized something else as well: I didn’t want this book to be my debut.

The story was publishable, yes, but it had a funky structure I had reworked countless times just to make bearable, and the second book was the real gem of the series.

The writing was adequate, but it was also kind of bland compared to the style it’d developed since I’d written it. I preferred the style I was currently writing in and I wanted to sell that instead.

I really, really didn’t want to edit this book again for an agent or an editor. I’d poured so much energy into it already and I was sick: sick with love, sick with hate. Every edit I had made through the querying process had been wrapped in a mixture of forced disinterest and panicky dependence, and that was not the way I wanted to feel when I edited my debut for traditional publishing.

And this is not to say that Iron From Fire and its trilogy will never sell, or that no one would want to read it if it did. I’m shelving it, not throwing it out. But sometimes we have to admit to ourselves that it’s not the right time, and let a project go for a while, especially when its the one project we don’t want to let go.

Things I’ve Learned.

I’m prefacing this with the note that there are exceptions to every rule. None of these things will stop you from getting an agent or selling a manuscript, it’ll just make it harder to do so. And querying is hard enough without stacking the cards against yourself.

These are a mixture of experience and things I’ve seen agents talk about at length.

1. Word count is important. 

It’s common knowledge that there are word count guidelines, but when most of the books on your shelf vary (sometimes drastically) from those guidelines, do they really matter? The fucking do. Agents will see too high word count and assume straight off that you don’t know how to create a streamline story and have wandering plot threads or useless scenes, and they’ll see a too low word count and assume you didn’t explore your world building and character development properly.

It you want to increase your chances of selling a manuscript, write it within the suggested word count guidelines.

2. Make your manuscript a solid, wonderful standalone.

You’ll hear ‘standalone with series potential’ thrown around a lot. This means you should have a first book which ends in a place that readers can feel satisfied permanently walking away from, but which doesn’t tie up so many threads that another story can’t come after it.

Less brought up but equally important is this: if you do have series potential, the rest of your series can’t be the better part of it. You aren’t selling a series, you’re selling a first book, so that first book must be able to stand for itself and say that it’s fantastic and more than worth reading on its own. It’s can’t be a gateway to a better book. It must already be the best book you can write.

3. If you have potential sequels, don’t write them yet.

From a writer’s perspective this is bad because it puts more of your soul into the series, and when it comes time to offer that part of your soul up to agents and editors, you want it to be as small as possible. Having six months of work rejected hurts. Having six years of work rejected kills. Be kind to yourself.

This is also bad from an agent’s perspective! Agents are looking for career oriented writers (even if that career is part time), who will write other books, with other plots and other characters, so if they sell your first book and its sales are mediocre they know they’ll have another chance with you on a different project. If you seem to be stuck in one world or series, that hinders their ability to market you as a writer.

3. Your first five pages are everything.

Five to ten pages is all most agents will ever see of your book. This is a lot less than many readers will read before putting a book down. Even if you’ve structured your opening to attract readers, it may not be fit enough to attract agents.

The first 2500 words of your manuscript should:

Display a clear narrative voice.

Introduce the world building and setting you described in your query with little to no exposition.

Introduce the main character’s personality and goals as described in your query with no exposition.

Show the main character doing the things you said they do in your query.

Show the inciting event you described in your query.

Show or at least hint at how the conflicts you described in your query will come to pass.

This is not always something you can edit into your manuscript at the last minute, so structuring your project this way up front is very helpful. If you can’t hit all these points with your story no matter how you rework it, you might want to consider querying a different project instead.

4. Young Adult is a harder sell.

The market is drenched in YA manuscripts. This doesn’t mean no one should write them, but if you don’t have a good reason why the story works best a YA (ie, it has themes targeted toward teenagers) then it might be worthwhile to adjust it to be MG and or adult (but not New Adult! NA is also a hard sell, because there are few editors actually buying it.)

5. The market matters.

On that note, it’s incredibly important to know what’s going on in the publishing market before you query. 

What types of books are selling? 

Is your manuscript a good twist on ideas, themes, or tones present in popular books from the last few years?

Does your manuscript align with what agents are asking for in their manuscript wishlists?

Is your writing style on par with the books what made decent sales in the last few years in your genre and target audience?

When you condense your story down to a few sentences, do you have a pitch that’s both unique and references popular contemporary stories?

In order to sell a book through traditional publishing, you have to first find an agent who falls in love with the book and has an immediate idea of how to sell it, and then have them find an editor who also falls in love with it and knows they and their marketing team can market it well.

Good writing makes a good book, but it’s the marketing which sells the book. If you don’t have a way to market your book in the current market, it’s not likely anyone else will.

What I would have done differently.

The top three things I would have changed if I had known what I know now.

1. Wrote the query letter earlier.

Writing the query letter as I wrote the manuscript would’ve helped me reformat the structure of the story up front. It would also have eliminated the desperate rewrites I did to both the query and the manuscript in an attempt to produce something concise enough to actually sell.

2. Followed agents well in advance.

There are tons of agents on twitter who routinely post tips, talk about what they want to see in future books, and boost resent publishing deals. Keeping tabs on them is incredibly helpful when it comes to figuring out where your manuscript fits in the current market and whether/how you should be querying it. 

3. Let my baby go in favor of a new, shorter standalone.

A standalone within the word count guidelines might have persuaded undecided agents to take a chance on reading more, but the important thing here is that I should not have tried to query the work I’d put my soul into. 

My mental health is more important than making my baby a best seller, firstly because there’s more to my life than just writing, and secondly because there are other great books left in my soul, and without stable mental health, I won’t be able to write and query them.

So, what am I doing now?

I’m writing a book with a strong contemporary I know agents are interested in, but with enough of a spin that it’ll feel fresh.

I’ve structured the story so that the opening engulfs the reader with the conflicts and world building that’ll be important throughout the whole story and the inciting event happens immediately. 

I wrote the blurb after only having written 20k words on the rough draft, and the blurb both contains all the necessary plot threads I need to describe the compelling heart of the story and reads as a unique and engaging manuscript.

I’m writing a standalone novel with series potential that fits perfectly within the genre’s word count guidelines.

I’m writing something that’s fresh for me and I’m madly in love with, but not dependent on. It’s a puppy I want to lather with attention, not a disappointing spouse I’ve been married to for eight years and now half loath but also can’t live without.

Annnd that is all the things I have to say! If you learned something here maybe support me by buying my fun, cheap indie book? It has sirens and a soft freckly pirate and lots of diversity, and comes in both ebook and paperback. Click here for links and things.

[lavender-lotion]

Happy Holidays, Sweetheart | 5,014k

Find the rest here! Read on AO3 here!

December 2017 - Holiday Cheers/Holiday Fails

Stiles is absolutely not going to have his first kiss with Peter be under a sprig of mistletoe, surrounded by his pack. It’s too public for them. Instead he kisses Peter later, when their alone. And many times after that.

Stiles is having fun. He’s having a great time. Seeing everyone, seeing his pack, feels amazing after the four months he’s been away at college. He didn’t get the chance to come home for thanksgiving, not with how busy he was, so seeing everyone now was amazing. What was even more amazing was that Erica and Isaac had talked Derek into decorating the loft.

Everything smelled like pine and peppermint and Stiles hadn’t stopped smiling since he arrived. The loft was warm, the central lighting turned off and instead the large christmas tree and strung fairy lights were softly illuminating the space. Candles were lit and only adding to the soft admostopher, Christmas music playing from a channel on TV.

Stiles hadn’t felt this happy during the holidays in years.

Which was probably why something had to happen

“I’m not doing it.” Stiles stated, folding his arms over his chest.

He was standing in the middle of the loft, underneath the archway that separated the main room from the kitchen and Peter was standing not a foot beside him. Stiles hadn’t been paying attention, too caught up in the conversation he was having with Erica to make sure there was no one else passing by when he was and - well.

He’s not entirely sure how neither he nor Peter noticed, but they had passed under the archway at the same time and before either of them had time to react Erica was hollering at them, the rest of the pack cheering with enthusiasm. It was the first time a non-couple had gotten caught under the sprig and they were all excited.

Stiles, well Stiles probably would have been excited too. But not him and Peter, not for them. Now, Stiles wasn’t oblivious to the relationship they had. They were friends, yes, but they had been dancing on the line of becoming something more since before he went away for college and they had never really - backed away from that line. Sure, they didn’t see each other, but it didn’t mean they talked any less.

Peter was one of the most important people in his life, easily his best friend. And truly, Sites had long since come to the understanding that they were going to end up together. It was the inevitable end to the game they had been playing and it didn’t bother Stiles one bit. Because of that he wasn’t going to share their first kiss in front of their entire pack, because of something as silly as mistletoe.

Peter meant too much to him for that.

“I’m not doing this.” Stiles said again, sighing and walking away when the pack doesn’t stop their cheering right away.

He just needed to be away for a moment, needed to clear his mind. Of course he had wanted to kiss Peter, god how could he not, but not like that - not with an audience. Their first kiss should be there’s, he just wished he had gotten a chance to explain any of that to Peter. He had seen the man’s face when he first turned away, had watched as Peter’s whole face fell as Stiles turned away. He would just have to call Peter later, Stiles decided, walking across the parking lot to his jeep.

“Stiles!” Peter called and Stiles turned, watching the man jog up to him, “Are - are you okay?”

“Yeah - yeah I’m sorry for walking out on you like that,” Stiles looked down, embarrassed.

“No, no it’s alright. I’m sorry if I read into things. I just thought you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of us kissing, but if I go something wrong th-”

“Wait, you meant for us to get caught under the mistletoe together?” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck in a uncharismatic show of nerves.

“I - well yes.” the wolf admitted and Stiles smiled slow.

He nodded to himself, taking a slow step forward and cupping Peter’s face in both of his hands. Stiles was taller than him now, and it was so strange to be looking down, even if it were hardly an inch of difference. Still he leaned down, gently pressing their lips together, letting his hands trail backward to tangle into the wolf’s hair, tipping Peter’s head back and sliding their lips together.

He felt Peter smile against his lips and Stiles breathed deep when the man pulled bottom lip between his teeth, biting and tugging before pulling back with a final kiss. Stiles chased, resting their foreheads together and only realizing Peter’s arms were around his waist, hands settled on the small of his back when Peter hugged him a bit tighter.

“About time,” the man mumbled and Stiles laughed, pressing another kiss to Peter’s lips.

And later, when they returned to the loft the made sure to kiss under the mistletoe, giving the pack a show until the began to groan in complaint.

“This is absolutely horrible,” Peter said, not for the first time mind you, and Stiles just hummed in response.

He was still trying to finish up an assignment, typing away furiously and hardly even half listening to his boyfriend complain. Of course he was thankful that Peter was there with him, not only to celebrate the holidays but to celebrate their one year anniversary. But Stiles was busy.

He would never again take a rushed course over the winter holidays. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to graduate early, this was awful. It was more awful because Peter was here with him, laying across his single dorm bed, tight v-neck and tighter jeans and Stiles just wanted to climb into bed with him.

But he had to get this done first. He couldn’t fall behind just because Peter was visiting. He hadn’t gone home for a reason, and as much as he knew it would have sucked to not see anyone for so long, he needed to stay atop his courses. He had a plan for his education set out and he wanted to accomplish that.

And then Peter had shown up. He had shown up with two large duffle bags and all but forced himself into the room, setting himself against Stiles’ headboard and flicking through his phone. The man had known that Stiles was busy, had actually known that Stiles wasn’t planning on coming back to Beacon Hills for the holidays - had known long before Stiles had worked up the nerve to tell anyone else.

So Peter had shown up and had remained quiet for most of the day. Stiles had appreciated that. It had been so long since they got to share space. Stiles’ school wasn’t too far and Peter had many a time made the trip up to visit, but weekends here and there just weren’t the same as the summer they had spent constantly in each others’ space.

“I’m almost done,” Stiles said, though he didn’t turn around when he heard Peter get off the bed.

It wasn’t like there was anywhere the man could go - they were in a dorm, after all. So Stiles ignored the sounds Peter was making and finished up the last few paragraphs of his essay. It was slow going, with how tired he was and how long he had been typing, but he was determined to finish and Peter being there was providing excellent inspiration.

He finally, finally finished what he was writing, quickly skimming through the text to edit. The reason it took him so long in the first place was how carefully he wrote, going in and rewriting and reworking sentences until he was happy. It was a far cry from his high school days when he just wrote and wrote and hardly edited after.

Now he took his time, careful with his wording and planning out ahead of time. It was more efficient - at least for him - and ensured that his work was produced at a far better quality. So the editing he had to do didn’t take long. He knew he probably should have held off, waited until the next day when he was more awake but he was tired and his boyfriend was laying in his bed and he just wanted to be done with this assignment.

He closed his laptop with a cheer, smile wide on his face as he spun around in his chair to face - oh. His mouth dropped open at the sight in front of him. Peter was still laying on his bed, though he was now shirtless and in a pair of worn, low hanging sweats. There were pillows - far more than Sitles owned - piled around him and several blankets piled along the end of the bed.

Peter was watching him with a small, soft smile - one Stiles knew only he would ever get to see - and Peter opened his arms and motioned Stiles over. He went, taking a moment to slip off his jeans and flannel, plucking up the shirt Peter had been wearing and slipping it on. Stiles may be taller but Peter was still broader so the shirt fit loose around his neck and shoulders, all but hanging off his shoulder by the ridiculous v. Still, it was soft and smelled like Peter and he reveled in his boyfriend scent being on his skin.

He crawled into the bed, pulling with him the blankets and settled himself with his back to Peter’s chest, wrapping blankets and blankets around them until he was in a comfortable cocoon of warmth. He sighed when Peter pressed a kiss to the back of his head, scooting down a little so he could rest the back of his head in the centre of Peter’s chest, settling between Peter’s spread legs.

“I brought hot chocolate,” Peter said, pressing a thermos into Stiles’ waiting hands.

“Dear god I fucking love you,” Stiles moaned after taking the first sip. He had no idea how much hot chocolate mix Peter must have used, but it tasted like a goddamn chocolate bar, creamy and far too sweet.

“I - really?” Peter was now laying tense behind him, obviously shocked by the casual declaration but Stiles only smiled.

“Of course you dumbass. I was just waiting until I saw you to tell you.” Stiles rolled his eyes, settling himself firmed against Peter’s chest and bringing one of the wolf’s arms around him when Peter still sat frozen.

“Oh. Well, I love you too darling.” Peter said, arms tightening and holding Stiles impossibly closer.

Stiles smiled, taking another sip of his ridiculously chocolatey hot chocolate. Sure he wasn’t getting to see his pack, or his dad, but he had Peter here wrapped around him and that maybe made up for it.

“You don’t have to go through all this trouble, you know.” Peter says it quietly though Stiles picks it up nonetheless.

He wants to tell Peter that yes, he does. He does have to. It’s their first Christmas living together and of course he was going to get a get a tree and decorate it and also decorate the whole apartment and bake cookies and - and there’s a lot he just needed to do. But Stiles isn’t really sure how to explain it.

He knows he didn’t have to do it all alone, didn’t have to wait for the one weekend that he knew Peter was going to be out of town. But - but it felt safer, that way. More comfortable. He just wasn’t sure how to phrase that in a way that made any sense to someone else. Decorating was always something he did. Even those first few years after his mom - well, the first few years she wasn’t there to do. It was always him who did.

His father could hardly leave the bottle long enough to work and he certainly wasn’t going to pull himself out of his drunken stumbling to decorate a tree. So at twelve Stiles bought a fair sized fake tree and set it up with great difficulty, before rifling through the attic and bringing down boxes and boxed and decorations.

And then he had slaved away, had tried his hardest to get the house looking like his mother used to, to make it feel just a little bit like she4 wasn’t gone. But - but then his father had came home, and had drank and then, and then -

Well, then Stiles had to redecorate the next night. And the next. But eventually his father stopped tearing everything down in a drunken rage, instead he would curl up into his arm chair, looking smaller than Stiles ever thought he father could look. He never let the man help, though, hadn’t trusted him enough after that first week. Actually he had never let anyone help. Because this was his, his and his mother’s and he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin that for him.

So he had waited until Peter left before even going shopping. Had spent the whole day at the mall and then the whole night setting everything up. Really, it sort of looked like Christmas had vomited in their apartment but, but Stiles loved it, always had and always would, too. Something about the holiday made him feel closer with his mom. She always got so excited around this time of year, loved the colours and the smells and Stiles learned to love it too.

“I - I had to?” Stiles phrased it like a question and tried to ignore that his voice cracked. There was just too much there for him to explain. Maybe - maybe one day, maybe he’d be able to find the words, be able to explain to Peter what it all meant but right now he felt too bare, to exposed.

“Next year, next year we’ll do it together.” Peter said it as a statement, not questioning the length of their relationship nor the fact that Peter was actually going to help. It made Stiles felt more comfortable though, that he wasn’t being given the option of the man’s assistance. Stiles knew he would just shrug it off anyway.

“I love you,” Stiles said, leaning into Peter’s hold when was pulled into a hug, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder as he breathed deep. He wasn’t close to panic but the memories still stung and he didn’t want to ruin their evening.

So he closed his eyes, let himself get lost for a moment in the feel of his boyfriend but he stood and offered Peter a goofy smile.

“I bought so many candy canes!”

“Peter! Peeeeeeter!” Stiles shouted, all but running through their apartment looking for his boyfriend. He was excited, was so excited! Of course, he always has a little extra energy around the holidays. They’ve always meant so much to him but it’s been even better this year. Peter kept his promise from the year before and had helped Stiles decorate. It was better this year when they didn’t need to go out and buy everything anew, instead having the decorations Stiles had bought the previous year and only adding a few things here and there.

They had everything set up in the first weekend of November, and now mid-December Stiles was once again excited. He had spent the day shopping with Lydia, a welcome escape from work. He was getting more and more stressed by self imposed due dates. He had work projects and personal projects but did not have the time to get it all done. It was leaving him cranky and irritable and when Peter suggested he take a break, he had.

Catching up with Lydia would always be something that made him happy. Of course he had loved the girl once, and he still did, if only in a far different way. She was his best friend, had been for years and would be for years come. Seeing her had helped to get him out of the mental block he had been in and he had a few ideas for the projects he was currently working on.

Though, that wasn’t why he was excited. Rather -

“I got us matching Christmas sweaters!” Stiles exclaimed, rushing into the apartment in a whirlwind of limbs. He plopped bags on the kitchen island before rifling through looking for - ah!

He pulled the two sweaters out, smiling at them before turning to show Peter, watching the man with wide excited eyes. He couldn’t wait to wear them, to take pictures in them! They were going to make the best Christmas cards ever!

“Darling, I love you but those are hideous,” Peter said after a long moment. He scrunched his nose and curled back his lip in an obvious show of disgust and Stiles laughed loud.

“I know! Aren’t they amazing!” Stiles cheered, darting forward to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek before he pulled off the hoodie he was currently wearing, shoving the new sweater over his head and modeling it for Peter.

“Oh, you meant for them to be awful?” Peter asked and he sounded just as confused as he looked, head titled to the side and both of his brows furrowed in question

“Dude, duh! We’re going to take awesome pictures and send them to everyone!” Stiles informed him, nodding decisively. It was going to be amazing.

“And why are we going to do this, exactly?” Peter asked, though he had finally made his way to the shopping bags, pulling out his matching sweater and staring at it with a sneer.

“Babe, it’s like, a thing. Ugly Christmas sweaters? We gotta do it!”

“As long as I get to take you out of it afterwards, darling boy.” Peter leered and Stiles laughed, throwing arms around Peter’s neck and dragging him closer for a slow, long kiss.

“You can always undress me, Peter.”

Stiles was tired and cold. Mostly just cold. It was nearly Christmas Eve, late into December and there was a thin dusting of snow everywhere. The weather was dropping and didn’t seem like it was going to be stopping anytime soon. The walk home had been far too long and Stiles had to wonder why he didn’t just drive.

It had been nice that morning, the sun high and the sky and Stiles had forgone his heavier coat. Now, with the sun long set and the light artificial, he was far too cold. He just wanted to wrap himself up in his bed and pull Peter ontop of himself so he could properly soak up his boyfriend’s warmth.

Instead he walked into the apartment to the smell of chicken, warm and spicy and he smiled to himself. Learning how good of a cook Peter was had definitely been a highlight of the early days of their relationship. The man knew what he was doing in the kitchen, was excellent at putting food together in a way Stiles just could never manage. It wasn’t that he was a bad good cook, he could cook basics well - had to for a time - but anything complicated and he was lost.

He took off his winter wear, leaving his boots on the plastic mat to dry and hanging his coat, cupping his hands over his mouth and blowing out hot air - trying to warm his fingers and his nose. He found Peter easily, the man was humming to the radio and piling food onto plates. He made a beeline to his boyfriend, shoving his nose into Peter’s neck and tucking his hands under the man’s shirt, wedging them between his armpits.

Stiles sighed, the wolf’s supernatural warmth seeping through his body all but immediately.

“Cold out there?” Peter asked and he continued to move his arms, though Stiles didn’t mind. He was warm now and that’s all that mattered to him at the moment. Peter chuckled when all he did  was whine in response, still cold.

“Alright, I need to move sweetheart,” Peter said softly and Stiles opened his eyes at last, looking down at the nicely laid out plates in Peter’s hands.

Stiles hummed but moved back, making a questioning noise when Peter walked into their little dining room. Stiles followed and - his breath caught and he raised a hand to cover his mouth. The room looked lovely, table cloth laid out, candles light and glasses already filled with wine. There was a pie on the table already, a bunch of roses in the vase standing proud.

“I can’t believe you did all this, for me?” Stiles says, looking at the dining room with wide eyes.

“Of course sweetheart, did you forgot it was our anniversary?” Peter asked and fuck, because Stiles did. His eyes widened when he realized he hadn’t even gotten Peter flowers.

“I am a terrible boyfriend,” he muttered, walking forward and pulling Peter into a long kiss, “I’m so sorry.”

“It is quite alright love,” Peter assured him, pulling out a chair for Stiels before sitting himself.

Peter looked nervous during diner and that - well that just made Stiles nervous. Peter had always been a confident man, secure in himself and the things he wanted, never one to shy from going after he wanted. More than that he knew he was attractive and wasn’t ashamed of it. Peter was secure in himself, had always been.

So this, this was strange. He had no idea what was making his boyfriend avoid eye contact but it made something heavy settle in Stiles’ stomach. He wasn’t insecure enough to think that Peter was breaking up with him - not after so long together and no seeing how much work Peter had gone through to put their dinner together.

But Stiles was nervous all the less. Well, he had been, until Peter stood, clearing his throat loudly. He seemed to nod to himself, standing still for a moment before he rounded the table to stand next to Stiles, taking a deep breath before lowering himself onto one knee. He stared up at Stiles, face open and vulnerable.

“I love you,” Peter began and Stiles was already nodding, eyes burning with wetness even as Peter pulled the little black box from his back pocket, “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I haven’t been able to imagine my life without you in for a long time, and i never want to have to imagine it. So, Mieczysław Stilinski, will you marry me?”

“God, yes, yes of course!” Stiles voice cracked and he let out a laugh that was far more of a sob when Peter slipped the ring onto his finger. He slid out of his chair, pulling Peter close and holding him tight.

“I love you, I love you.” He repeated again and again into the man’s skin, Peter holding him just as tight.

The clearing of the preserve was gorgeous. It was on the colder side but there had yet to be any snow. Stiles felt fine in his suit and at least he cold explain away his crying as his eyes being cold. There were rows and rows of wooden chairs, decorated with soft white flowers and fairy lights were hung around the clearing. Hanging lanterns helped to brighten the space and there was soft music being played.

His dad was right there, his Babcia and a few other far off families members sitting in the front row. Scott and Lydia were lined up behind him, Derek and Cora and Malia behind Peter. The rest of their pack -  and even if they lived hours away and only saw them on holidays they were still pack - were sat in the front row as well, other members of the town, old and new friends alike, sat in the rows and rows behind.

Everything was gorgeous. Peter was gorgeous. The man stood in front of him, hands wrapped together and he was smiling, the soft smile he only ever shared when they were alone, when it was just the two of them. Stiles could hardly pay attention to anything else and he felt liem his heart was going to keep growing until it could no longer fit inside his chest.

He smiled wide, staring up at Peter and god, once again struck by how much he loved the man in front of him. It would never stop surprising him that Peter loved him just as much back and when Stiles made his vows he made sure to vow to himself to never forget, never take for granted.

“I do,” Stiles said and he couldn’t pretend that his tears were anything other than the joy he was feeling, his heart soaring high in his chest.

“I do,” Peter leaned in, slotting their lips together and Stiles - Stiles had never been happier.

“Okay, so I’m thinking we can put the tree I tha-at corner?” Stiles said, stretching out the ‘a’. He wasn’t entirely sure what would look best, after all decorating had always been Peter’s thing. Well, it was Peter’s thing until it came to Christmas, then it was all Stiles.

“If you want to, dear.” Peter said, long since learning his lessons about interfering with decorating.

“We’re going to need more stuff.” Stiles sighed, looking around their living room. It was far larger than their apartment and there was more room. He was actually pretty sure that the tree was going to be too small for the space.

As much as Stiles didn’t want to, he was fairly certain a shopping trip would be involved. Yes, that would do it. He looked around their home, their home and couldn’t help but smile. They had come so far, fuck were married and had a goddamn house that sometimes Stiles felt like he was dreaming.

He wasn’t, since Peter was wrapping himself around his back and holding him close, softly humming into his ear, “We can get whatever you like. You know I don’t mind letting you take over for the holidays.”

“I know,” Stiles said, chewing on his bottom lip. “I just want it to be perfect.”

“It always is,” Peter reassured and Stiles sighed at the damp kiss pressed to his neck, resting a little more of his weight against Peter as he continued to make a list in his head.

They were going to need a lot of stuff.

And a bigger tree.

“Stiles, don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing.” Peter scolds, scolds, as if Stiles is some sort of trouble making child and doesn’t even turn around.

That asshole.

Stiles pops the large dollop of dough into his mouth anyway.

“You know, when I asked you for help this was really not what I meant.” Peter says, continuing to hand mix a second bowl of cookie dough - probably because Stiles stole the first one and began cooing over it while cradling it to is chest. It was very good cookie dough, after all.

“I mean, we’ve been together for seven years, babe. I’d have thought you’d know what you were getting yourself into at this point,” Stiles mumbles, trying his best to look innocent as he continued to scoop out cookie dough.

“Honestly, darling, it’s never too late to hope for change.”

“Hey!” Stiles complains, frowning at the man in front of him. Peter still hasn’t turned around, is just calmly mixing together cookie dough, “I don’t even see why we have to bake it anyway.”

“And I don’t see why it is such a big deal that we are?” Stiles grumbles something unpleasant about Peter at that. It’s not that he’s actually annoyed, at least not after having this argument for years. The heat had left their words long ago and now it was more a familiar teasing.

“Stiles, we are adults. You, are an adult. Don’t you think it’s time to stop eating the dough and actually baking the cookies?”

“I really don’t see how eating cookie dough has anything to do with with my level of adult-y-ness, but okay.” Stiles grumbles, hoping off the island and moving towards the stove - shoving an extra large bite of dough into his mouth first - and beginning to plop balls onto the covered pan. He thinks for a moment that he should maybe wash his hands first - but, he’s most likely going to be eating all of them plus, germs would probably die in the oven, right? Stiles shrugs, probably right, and continues to create little cookie balls.

“Thank you darling,” Peter says, voice faux-sweet and he plasters himself to Stiles’ back, settling the second bowl of cookie dough next to the first on the counter, “Is this really so hard?”

“Yes. It is incredibly taxing. It is so much work. I regret every decision I’ve made in my life to get to this point.” Stiles sighs dramatically, swooning against Peter’s chest and raising a hand to fan his forehead.

“Every decision?” Peter asks, the metal of his ring cool where his hands have slipped up Stiles’ shirt, laying wide palms over the slight pudge of his belly. He leans back into it - like he always does - soaking up the heat that Peter offers, and he smiles softly as Peter begins to kiss up the side of his neck.

“Not everything,” he says softly, continuing with his task. He’s never really gotten over the easy intimacy they share. For so long, he never thought he would  have a relationship like the ones his parents had. It was just something he had thought for himself, that he would get to have that sort of devotion with someone else.

But he did, he had Peter, his husband and he smiled down as he slipping his shirt up, tangling their left hands together and staring at the rings nestled nicely against one another. It still surprised him, sometimes. They’d been married for two years and Stiles still got surprised, a happy grin taking over his face when he thought about Peter, or when he mentioned him, or introduced him.

“Happy Holidays sweetheart,” Peter says into his skin, and Stiles leans back further, resting more of his weight against Peter.

He plops another bite of dough into his mouth, laughing loud when Peter nips at his skin.

“I love you too,”