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matcha-kathrin · 2 years ago

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STRANGERS - Chapter 4

Summary: Promises are the hardest to make, and the easiest to break. You knew that, but maybe a part of you believes your stranger will show up.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

Notes/Warnings: Bittersweet. Not heart wrenching but DAMN. I was in an interesting state when I wrote this lmao. I feel the need to be honest with you guys and come clean: this will be the final part of the series for the time being. To me this is the perfect way to end things, Strangers has made it’s way into my heart and it’s there to stay! Stay tuned for future fics and oneshots, and my asks are always open so feel free to flood me with requests or questions and I’ll be glad to answer!

Word Count: 3.3k

Please read Part One, Part Two and Part Three before proceeding.

~*~

STRANGERS – CHAPTER 4

It’s physically impossible to be happy every day. That was something you were understanding more and more as time went by. You had thought that once you had reached a certain stability in life the waves of depression that came crashing down on you would subside, becoming somewhat of a gentle tide. Unfortunately, the sadness never leaves, it’s a part of life, without the deep rooted feelings of melancholy you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the beautiful, positive things in life.

Yet you hoped, you hoped that one day you would be at peace. Even now as you were getting ready to leave for what was supposed to be a very exciting night for you the feeling inside you couldn’t help but settle in the pit of your stomach. You wondered if it was because of your nervousness or excitement. All in all, you were looking forward to the evening ahead of you. You were excited to see how the film turned out and how you looked on screen. You’d never get over seeing your face on a big wide screen in a theatre projected in front of a hall full of people.

It was like staring into the face of someone you didn’t know, someone who looked awfully familiar, someone who looked like you, but was a stranger nonetheless. Because the person on the screen was not you, it was a part of you, a small piece of a bigger picture. A small fragment that for the span of a film’s duration had gained individuality. It was the uncanniest thing you had ever experienced.

You sat on your bed, staring at the window that gave onto your small fire escape, you watched as the sun had slowly receded behind the tall buildings of your street. Soon you would have to leave, take a cab or walk the five miles it took from your place to get to the downtown theatre. You didn’t mind walking, even if that meant spending quite a bit of time in the cold chilly air with nothing but your dress and your favorite jacket.

Ah yes, your dress.

In all fairness it wasn’t fully dry, you could feel the slight dampness of it at the hems, but overall, it was wearable. You’d be lying, or worse cheating, if you said otherwise. After straightening it out with your old iron which you never even took out it felt better already, and after you had slipped it on and stared into your mirror, the only light shining the one from your bed, you frowned.

You felt, as you had the day before, stupid.

Not because you felt ridiculous, or because you didn’t think you looked good in it, but for some reason you felt slightly childish in dressing up so elegantly for a small film screening. Like it was something important.

“It sounds important.” His voice whispered in your mind, and you smiled. You knew what he would say if he saw you frown at yourself, he would tell you how you had every right to dress up for something you deemed important. Even if you were the only one who thought so. And was it so bad? Trying to look your best for people you didn’t even know? A few minutes ago you thought exactly that, but even just imagining how he would react seeing you wear the dress you bet on, made you change your mind quicker than ever.

You wondered if you were more excited for your film screening, or finally knowing the name of your dear stranger. You pushed the thought aside as you turned around to check that every fold, and every thread, of your dress was in place. It fit you like a glove, the soft fabric complimenting your natural features in a way no other dress really could. It had been your mother’s dress, that’s why it meant so much to you, as soon as she had grown out of it she placed it in a pretty box along with your things when you were moving out of your home. Unbeknownst to you it would become your prized possession. And you treasured it dearly, only wearing it in the pivotal moments of your life.

Letting out a shaky breath you realized you had no more reason to stay idle in your room, staring blankly at your reflection. Even when you locked eyes with yourself you felt the same uncanny feeling, as if you didn’t quite recognize yourself. Like there were parts you still had to meet, still had to know. Maybe someday you would.

You shrugged on your jacket, feeling a slightly bit better that the air wasn’t prickling your bare skin anymore, and you slipped on your shoes. Even the pair of shoes were elegant, a pair you never really wore, but you didn’t have much of a choice now. Taking your bag and keys, checking that you had your phone and, god forbid, your cigarettes you looked at yourself in the mirror once more.

You were ready, at least you hoped.

And with that you left your apartment, double checking the lock and click clacking your way onto the ever dark, ever damp streets. You enjoyed the way you made heads turn, for some reason you were more aware of it when you had this particular dress on, like you were searching for something in the eyes of the strangers who passed you by. Even though you had done it a thousand times before, something felt different. You weren’t satiated by the quick glances or looks people were giving you, oh no, these strangers had no power over you anymore.

Only one stranger did.

You wondered if he would really show, you had lived long enough that you had experienced disappointment before. The little voice in your head preparing you for the worst. He was kind, he listened to you, he was there when you least expected him to be. But he owed you nothing, and for all you knew he might’ve forgotten about the whole thing already. Even if he had promised, but promises were very easily broken.

Maybe the little voice in your head was just trying to protect you, the rational, impartial voice trying to lower your expectations as much as it could. Which, on certain accounts, was also quite sad. It was like you wouldn’t allow yourself to get too excited. You never did, always fearing it could backfire.

So, as your pace quickened you tried to concentrate on what you could actually look forward to. You had met some amazing people while working on the film, talented young students that reminded you a lot of how you were when you were in their shoes. And you were excited for them, excited that they got chosen for a late evening screening at a film festival that could mean the opportunity of a lifetime. You hoped for them. Hoped they would get the gratification that they deserved. And before you knew it your feet were drawing near to the entrance of the theatre, your mind buzzing and your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

You could see people filing in, and a few familiar faces smiled when they noticed you approach, greeting you and complimenting you on your appearance. To your relief you weren’t the only one who had dressed up for the evening, making you feel less out of place than you expected. As your colleagues exchanged niceties you couldn’t help when your eyes scanned around you for a glimpse of your stranger. But even when you had sat down in the theatre in between your director and co-star, the light of the hall darkened signaling the start of the film, you hadn’t seen him anywhere.

You should’ve expected as much.

And soon you forgot all about him, the images on the screen in front of you transporting you to a place far away. You loved that about movies. How you could forget who you were for the span of a few hours and live something completely different. Though you had to admit, it was a bit hard to immerse yourself in something you had acted in, seeing yourself on the screen broke the fragile illusion, making you remember on and off that all you were doing was watching a movie. Nonetheless, you loved it. And to your relief the people around you seemed to love it as well. And for a moment, a split moment, hope reignited in your heart.

You didn’t want to, but the feeling had formed without you knowing, the voice in your head switching sides, whispering the possibility that your stranger might be there, watching your final scene as you were doing.

And suddenly it all became too much. Your heart pacing at the idea of it. If he was there, what was he thinking, had he enjoyed it as much as you did? As soon as the credits rolled in and the lights came back on you were brought back to the present moment in full force, and as your audience applauded and you shared smiles with the people sitting next to you, you excused yourself.

You didn’t want to be rude, but you needed fresh air, and you didn’t think you would last during the creator to creator panel that was going to start very soon. So in the midst of the applause and ruckus you took your small bag and got your jacket, assuring your colleagues you would catch them later.

But you weren’t so sure you would.

The empty red carpeted corridor was all blurry as you quickly made your way through it, your hands bracing the glass door as you pushed it open almost desperately. When the brisk air hit your flushed face you sighed, smiling. The buildup of your emotions subsiding. You didn’t know why you were feeling so overwhelmed, but you didn’t blame yourself for it. You just waited for it to fizzle out as you stepped to the side of the theatre’s entrance, rummaging in your small bag for your cigarettes.

And once you plucked one out and placed it in between your lips you felt a calm wash over you. And finally, your mind was quiet.

“Need a light?”

Jumping slightly your head snapped to source of the voice, and when your eyes focused on the person who snuck up on you, they softened.

And there he was, your stranger, making quite an entrance as he always did. You couldn’t help the absolute star struck expression that happened upon your face when you took in the sight of him. He had dressed up, and he looked like a completely different person.

It looked like he was glowing, and as he approached you to light your cigarette you couldn’t contain the way your eyes followed his every movement. Dropping down only for a moment to look at where the flame met your smoke.

“Much obliged,” you reenacted your first encounter with a small laugh, still eyeing him incredulously “What are you wearing?”

“Oh this?” he asked, looking down at himself and matching your amusement “There was a possibility that the star of tonight’s film would show in a beautiful dress, I had to come prepared.”

You hummed in response, not being able to wipe the cheeky grin that had settled on your face. And he just rubbed the back of his neck nervously as you looked at him from head to toe.

“So? Any thoughts on tonight’s performance?” You lulled, bringing him back from his bashfulness.

“Well, having had no expectations whatsoever I have to say I was pleasantly surprised.” He mused, your eyebrows rising dramatically.

“Really? And what about the final scene?”

He hesitated. And so did you, not expecting your question to make him falter in his playfulness. But he seemed to really think about it, and somehow you got nervous all over again. You didn’t really want a serious answer, heck your question wasn’t even all that serious. But now too much time had passed to take it back.

“It was…sad.”

“Yes?” You quickly spoke, furrowing your brows “That was the point.”

“No, I mean- It was supposed to be the moment in which you realized that everything was okay, that everything was going to be okay despite all the hardships you faced. But somehow instead of being proud of yourself you just seemed so- so sad.”

You looked to your feet as you took a quick puff of your smoke, nodding a bit as you listened.

“True,” You spoke after a moment “then again, she was alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sure, its empowering to know you have the strength and resilience to keep going all by yourself, to not need anything from anyone and still be able to make it through. But isn’t that all kind of sad? Isn’t it sad that she had to go through all of that by herself?” You spoke softly, your gaze wandering to an uncertain point in front of you, and for a moment you stood there. Then you shook your head lightly and looked back at him, finding his eyes already on you.

“I feel like it was reassuring, but at the same time she came to the realization that she was all alone. That she had been all alone the whole time. Even when she met the one person who didn’t make her feel like it was her against the world, ultimately he left too.”

“Do you think he’d come back for her?” He asked, so quickly it almost took you aback. And you smiled, looking up into the night sky in thought.

“Who knows? I guess we’ll never find out.” You lulled, looking at your stranger with curiosity. He didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, he just looked back solemnly. It was like seeing a whole new side of him, how he could get so invested in a film made you all warm inside. Because you were just like him.

And suddenly you noticed something you hadn’t before. How had you not seen it before? With an exaggerated gasp you held a hand to your mouth “This is the first time I’ve seen you without those godforsaken sunglasses!”

For a moment it looked like he was expecting something else, a small stupor in his eyes, he was a bit surprised at how quickly you switched the topics of conversation. But then he smiled, doing a ridiculous spin on himself.

“And? Was it everything you hoped it’d be?” He flaunted, making you chuckle at his boldness. Two could play that game.

You quickly threw your cigarette in the trash next to you, not caring that you hadn’t smoked it at all, and stepped closer to him. You tentatively placed your hands on his face, and for a moment his smiled faltered. He gazed into your eyes as you took in his features, your thumbs brushing on his eyebrows and settling on his cheeks. Holding him there for a moment as you studied him. Every line, every crease, every aspect of his face entranced you. And as your eyes wandered down his nose to his lips, scurrying over his chin and back at his eyes you noticed he hadn’t stopped staring at you.

How could he, when you held him so gently? As you were taking a mental note of each one of his features, he was permanently burning your face in his memories. The curve of your nose, how your lips looked unbearably soft, he wondered how they tasted, if he only dared to close the space between you.

But his thoughts were interrupted when you let out a light huff of laughter. “Well you certainly clean up nicely, though I have to say I kind of miss the laundromat look.”

His hands reached up and rested on your arms, and just when you were thinking of letting him go, as if he had known you wouldn’t keep him there for much longer. The proximity settled in, your face feeling hotter by the second. Where had your boldness run off to?

“I don’t know, I’d have to say this is my favorite look of yours so far.” He spoke softly, so unbearably soft you almost trembled at the low reverb of it. Not even a day had passed, and you realized just how much you missed the sound of it.

“Yeah, I-” you swallowed “I lost a bet you see.”

“Oh? What were you betting for?”

As soon as his gaze left your eyes and dropped to your lips all reason cleared from your mind. It was the moment in between words and a glance where you had a very important decision to make. And without thinking twice, you placed your lips on him. Your hands bringing his face slightly down to meet yours, but you didn’t need to do much, for he was already moving on his own.

And as you stood on the tips of your toes, his arms sliding down your sides to steady your unbalanced position, you felt all the sounds around you drown out. The street fading to black as you both fluttered your eyes shut, no space or time existing in the moment you were having. It was like every fiber of your body was concentrating on the feeling of his lips on yours. Moving gently as he kissed you. It was full of desire, of hunger, but also restraint. As if he was worried that if he did too much, you would slip from his grasp. And suddenly all the soft gazes, all the secretive glances, the close proximities, every moment you had spent together came to its culmination.

And you couldn’t even believe it was happening.

You had never gotten so lost in a kiss before. You had lived many kisses; sad and sweet, rushed and chaotic, but never one quite like this one. No matter how much he pulled you against him it wasn’t close enough, no matter how much your hands brushed his hair you couldn’t ease the burn that coursed through his body.

You had never felt so…alive.

And as you parted from him, your bodies flush against each other, you let out a shaky breath as you watched him open his eyes in a daze. A cheeky grin forming on his face. And for a moment you wanted to kiss him again. Again, and again. But a bet was a bet, and you were a person of your word.

So, in a warm whisper, you told him your name. And it was like he had almost forgotten all about it, but as soon as your name left your lips he dipped once more, kissing you and making you forget all about the first one. It was a much shorter kiss, but it was filled with gratitude, and when he parted he tasted out your name for himself, as if he needed to say it out loud to mark it on his tongue.

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?” You quipped, using his own words against him as you so often did, and he chuckled.

“Even better.” He whispered, pulling you closer so he could kiss you once more. You both knew that when you would stop he would finally tell you his name, and you would not be strangers anymore.

And maybe you never were, maybe you were meant to meet him outside of the bar that night. Maybe you were meant to leave your lighter at home so he could offer you his. Or maybe it was all just a blissful coincidence, one that you would never forget. As you smiled in between kisses, in between glances and breaths, you couldn’t care less what you were.

Because even if there was no going back from this point on, he would always be your sweet, dear stranger.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #x reader #fluff #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #matcha kathrin #matcha kathrin writing #writing #reader insert #x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #narcos #javier pena x reader

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charliespringsleftconverse · 11 months ago

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Kiss Me Again

Word Count: 8,645 | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Writer’s Notes: I was going to have a friend proof this for me but they were busy so I did some multiple self-revisions in the past few days in hopes that I caught as many grammar errors as possible. Apologies if I missed any! Anyway! This is a college AU ACOTAR Feysand fic. The concept was idiots in love. As in, they’ve baaaasically been doing couply stuff but they were too blind to see or acknowledge that they’d been in love and acting as a couple for a while. <3

I don’t typically write AU fics, so this is a first for me! That being said, it was so much fun to write. It’s actually the longest one-shot I’ve written! A HUGE Happy Holidays to @thegloweringcastle <3 I hope you enjoy it and finally find out who got left at the supermarket! 😂

Thank you to @acotargiftexchange for putting this event together once again! I LOVE participating in this every year! <3

Squinting at the scribbles below, my eyes attempted to decipher the notes I’d borrowed. I had been able to make out the date thanks to the simple fact that it hadn’t been written in cursive like the rest of the details. It was a lost art form for me just like any other calligraphy-related configuration. I would have written down my own notes for the humanities course I was taking, in plain print, had my younger sister not lost the key to her dorm room. With her roommate out of town for the week, there wasn’t much Elain could have done outside of calling her Resident Assistant, which, to her dismay, also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. So, rather than having to face Grayson more than she needed to, she’d called me.

Lucky for Elain, I kept a spare. All of my sisters and I did, actually. Nesta, Elain, and I all had a key to each other’s place. It had been especially helpful when we all lived on campus last year. We could just walk into each other’s rooms at any time. Like when I needed help with my homework for Calculus with Analytic Geometry and borrowed Nesta’s notes from her sophomore year. Or when Nesta needed to borrow my curling iron for a date. And, of course, how could I forget the night that Elain and her then-boyfriend broke up. She had refused to leave her room for two days. I had never been so grateful to have access to a spare key. Nesta and I had been so worried having not heard from her for more than a day. We spent that entire weekend taking turns bringing her food from her favorite places across town in hopes that they’d brighten her spirits. Thai food from Adriata’s Palace, Italian Cuisine from Neve’s Garden, and Mexican from Rita’s Margaritas. I had never seen my sister so devastated in her life. Although to be fair, Elain had never dated a boy before Grayson.

I turned the notebook a bit to the side in hopes that the lighting from the new angle would bless me with a hint as to what words hid behind Mor’s beautiful script. Mother above. Shaking my head, I bit my lip. I should have listened to my mother when she said that learning cursive would be an invaluable skill. She was certainly right in thinking that it was a dying skill. It was dead on me for sure. Hell, the only people I knew who still wrote in cursive were sorority recruitment leads when they made their colorful, extravagant banners with fancy lettering and doctors. Which would make sense at the moment given who I had borrowed these notes from. Zeta Tau Alpha’s latest Chapter President. My mother was certainly wagging her finger at me from wherever she was.

I sighed.

“You look more concentrated than my morning orange juice,” said Rhysand, sitting across the table. His violet eyes studying me, his brows raised in concern. We’d—he’d been studying for the past thirty minutes, meanwhile, I’d just been heavy-breathing and decoding what looked like a cipher like a treasure hunter in search of the coordinates to an ancient Greek secret temple. But unlike an archeologist, my work proved unfruitful.

“I’m trying to decipher Mor’s handwriting,” I said. Leaning back on the chair, I let out another loud sigh. “It’s beautiful. But I can’t read cursive for shit.”

Rhys and I had known each other since freshman year. More specifically, ever since I accidentally dropped a shoe on him from the fourth floor of the residence halls. I had originally been aiming for my roommate Viviane to catch, who to this day still wanted to room with me. She hadn’t wanted to come up again to retrieve the missing shoe and I didn’t want to go downstairs in a towel as I’d just come out of the shower and was still undressed.

The natural decision was to just fling the sneaker out the window of our dorm room, obviously. What we didn’t account for was my terrible aim and Viviane’s lack of hand-eye coordination. Not only did Rhys get bumped in the head by a single white platform Vans but he also got pushed into a bush by Viviane. She had been so busy looking up, that she forgot to look forward and completely missed the 6-foot man inches from her. It had been a miracle Viviane herself hadn’t impaled the shrubbery along with him. I’ll never forget the mortified look Viviane and I mirrored, eyes wide and hands over mouth. All I could think was, he’s concussed. I concussed a man.

Personally, if someone had smacked me on the head, I would have at least yelled at them. Maybe even called them a prick. Rhys, however, was a different breed of man. He had certainly groaned on impact but as soon as he realized he had backflipped into a small hedge and held a women’s size 8 shoe on his lap, he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. This man—this stranger—had the audacity to laugh given the circumstances. I suppose I should have realized from that moment that nothing could truly take him by surprise or upend his day. A trait I admired. One I hoped seeped into my bones by osmosis or whatever symbiotic science allows personal characteristics to flow from one person to another.

I apologized profusely to this man. In a towel from my window. In my pajamas after I ran downstairs. In his residence hall, after Viviane helped me put together an apology basket when we discovered he lived across from her boyfriend Kallias. Even then, this 6-foot-something of a man thought it was funny. Every. Single. Time. To which I convinced myself, I’d more than concussed him. I convinced myself I’d done serious damage for a man to laugh at that level of pain. Although, I suppose that if two people showed up in their dinosaur onesies at 9 pm on a Thursday evening with a basket for me, I’d also laugh. But still.

It wasn’t until that very week that I realized Rhys and I shared similar classes. We were both in English Composition, Principles of Chemistry, and Introduction to Sociology. Which, quite honestly, are more than enough courses for you to figure out if you have the same schedule as another student. What can I say, I’m oblivious—an ongoing theme in my life.

Another thing I’ll never forget, the smug look on Rhys’s face when we were paired together in English Composition for a research paper on the portrayal of minorities in the media. I’d wanted to find the nearest cliff and jump off it but destiny had other plans. No, fate looked me straight in the eye and said, “Hold my drink, bestie” because two years later, here we are. Best friends.

Rhysand snatched the paper out of my hands. “The Gate of Athena Archegetis was dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena.”

My hand rushed to jot down what he said. The table vibrated from the ferocity with which I scribbled on my notebook. What I couldn’t crack in thirty minutes took Rhys all of two seconds to read out. Why our professor for that course didn’t allow laptops or tablets for note taking, I’ll never understand. I was just grateful I had something legible transcribed now.

“You can read that? It might as well have been written entirely in Latin,” I said.

“I’ve had practice reading my cousin's handwriting for years. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t, at this point.” Rhysand chuckled. Passing the page, he eyed the notes, likely reviewing the contents from the course he’d taken himself the semester before.

“I, unfortunately, was blessed with my father’s handwriting.” I tugged at the sleeves of my V-neck indigo cardigan and shyly pointed at my hideous penmanship. It might as well have been written by a third-grader. It was practically childlike. There wasn’t much fixing that could be done at this point in my life when it came to my writing unless I signed up for a calligraphy course. And even then, life had no guarantees.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. An art major who couldn’t read or write a visual art form. Who could paint true-to-life full-body portraits, vivid illustrations of natural landscapes, and dramatic high-colored oil paintings but couldn’t read or write in cursive. I dropped my shoulders, frustrated with myself, and propped my legs up on the tufted dining chair pulling them against my chest with my arms wrapped around.

Rhys’s eyes were back on me. He had a way of reading me like a billboard sign, and I could tell he was trying to figure out what was going on through my mind, what today’s bold neon letters were. I was never sure how he did it but he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Which either meant my face was easy to read and I had the worst poker face of all time or…he just knew me.

“The ‘A’ in cursive is not a sharp letter. It’s more rounded and looks the exact same in both upper and lowercase. Similar to the way you’d write it in print,” he said.

There were several traits I admired about Rhys outside of his keen observations and nonchalant perspective on life. Like his level of empathy. I knew what his academic grades looked like but boy did I also want to know what his emotional quotient score was. Whatever it was, that score was certainly high. He never made anyone feel like their shortfalls were a hindrance. Nor would he want to. That wasn’t his style. Rather than point out my flaws and make me feel embarrassed, he read the notes aloud.

“The Greek language served as a lingua franca,” he continued.

“That last phrase was actual Latin,” he added. Rhys flipped through the pages of Mor’s notes. I could have asked him for his own from last semester since he’d been able to sign up on time. I, on the other hand, had been wait-listed. Hence why I was taking the course in the spring. It was one of the few classes we all needed to graduate as it was one of the general requirements for all offered degrees. I probably should have asked him for his notes since I could his penmanship but I’d been too caught up with Elain yesterday to even consider asking.

“Here’s another one, in vino veritas,” said Mor, raising two bottles of wine toward us. “In wine there is truth.”

“Amen,” said Cassian, lifting a third bottle.

“I thought you two went out grocery shopping,” said Rhysand. Laying the notes on the table, he crossed his arms eyeing the two figures by the door. The corner of Rhys’s mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at his cousin and roommate.

“We did. We brought back the essentials,” said Mor. Smiling back at her cousin, she winked at him before closing the door to the apartment with a kick of her red platform heels.

“Hmm,” Rhys hummed.

Bringing his eyes back to me, Rhysand continued reading off the notes while the other two flocked into the kitchen. I bit the inside of my lip as I followed along the soothing sound of his voice. His warm tone always calmed me when we studied together. Which was why I was his favorite audience member when he needed to practice his presentations. I’d listen attentively, the first time. I’d even provide feedback, the second time. But I’d almost always fall asleep to the sound of his enchanting mellifluous voice any other time after that.

“It’s wine night, Rhys. You know the rules,” said Mor from the other room. Every Friday was wine night, the one day of the week our friend group could get together with no interruptions or excuses. No one had an evening class on Fridays or a night shift so things worked out this semester. Most of the extracurriculars each of us participated in typically held events over the weekend so we’d truly lucked out with everyone’s schedules this time. It wasn’t something we were likely to have again so we were taking advantage of every Friday we had before some of us graduated.

Though, that was one of the rules. No talks about graduation. The point of wine night was to live in the moment and enjoy however many Fridays we had left as the “Inner Circle.” It was a silly name Cassian spewed one night after downing 3 bottles of wine, and it kind of stuck. We didn’t exactly call our group that but we did change our group chat name accordingly.

“You too, Feyre.” Mor’s voice echoed.

Another rule. No homework. That rule was more of a precaution so none of us would accidentally email professors the wrong file while inebriated. To be fair, I was only taking notes but we all tried to abide by the no homework rule as best as we could.

“Give me a few minutes, and I’m all yours,” I said.

“You’re telling me you’ve had all day to write those and you still haven’t?” asked Mor, her voice trailing from deeper in the apartment as she stepped from room to room. She had her apartment across town but, like me, she practically lived here too.

“Yeah, well…there have been some delays,” I said, fidgeting with my pencil. My face began to feel warm as blood rushed into my cheeks. Biting my lip, I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to let Mor know that I hadn’t been able to write her notes because I couldn’t read her notes. Not that she would make fun of me for it but I knew that if I confessed the truth she’d barge me with questions. And I simply did not feel like answering any of that in front of everyone else. All I wanted was for something to distract her from prying right now. Just about anything would do. A pigeon flying in through the window. The fan in the living room mysteriously falling onto the table. A fire alarm. A knock on the door. Anything would do. Please.

“Weren’t there three of you when you left?” asked Rhysand.

I felt my body relax, and my shoulders dropped. I hadn’t realized the muscles down my back had tightened and tensed so firmly until my body loosened and eased back into the chair. My eyes lifted, meeting Rhysand’s whose amethyst orbs were right on me. He winked. The man knew I’d been on the brink of jumping out a window and needed assistance to divert the tall blonde in the kitchen and I loved him for it.

“Azriel!” said Cassian and Mor in unison. The sound of shoes running filled the kitchen accompanied by that of drawers shutting in a hurry, and the jingle of keys. The pair dashed around the apartment like parents who’d just forgotten their child at the supermarket, which was exactly what had happened. Somewhat.

A knock sounded at the door.

The four of us froze and exchanged glances. The only thought I had in my mind was of Azriel, hoping he hadn’t walked all the way back here. Mor took slow steady steps towards the entrance and when she reached the doorknob, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together. Ever so delicately, she turned the knob and pulled the door towards her.

"Today was not my best day. I dare say it didn't even make the top five," said Azriel. He had one hand reaching the top of the doorframe, leaning slightly. His handsome face held no clear emotion but his eyes. His cold eyes stared down at Mor, making her smaller than she was. Oh, he is pissed.

“You left something at the grocery store,” said Nesta, pushing past the brooding body. Her heels clicked as she waltzed into the room wearing a black satin sleeveless dress that hugged her in all the right places from her chest to her hips. The slit on the right side exposed her up to her mid-thigh with every step. Cassian’s eyes immediately caught the movement as they slid up her body, stopping once they met her eyes.

“I would never have left you, Nes,” said Cassian. He took a step toward her, almost challenging her gaze. She held it, eyed him up and down sizing him up, and spun to face the rest of the room. With her back to him, she placed a hand on her hip, blatantly ignoring the door-framed-sized man behind her.

Cassian stepped closer and slid his hands around her body, holding her closer. Nesta didn’t fight him. If I had blinked, I might have missed the slight shift of her body against him, leaning against his chest even closer. It was beyond anyone’s pay grade to understand where they stood in their relationship if it was even that. They’d been on and off for so long that their situationship was like the weather, something that had to be measured in every room.

“I despise you,” said Nesta, with a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Cassian.

“Are you headed out tonight, Nesta?” I asked.

“I only came to deliver the lost puppy,” said Nesta, taking a step forward and away from the figure wrapped around her. Cassian’s jaw ticked as she untangled herself from his embrace. “I’m headed out with the girls.”

Gwyn and Emerie, I thought. That’s who she almost always referred to. They’d been her closest friends since freshman year and they’d been inseparable from the moment they met. It was surprising that they hadn’t come up with her since they all lived together.

“Gwyn’s downstairs waiting for me, and Emerie is already in the car,” she said.

There it was.

“You should take better care of pretty things,” said Nesta, walking towards the door. Elegantly spinning, her eyes met Cassian’s from beneath the doorframe. Her fingers slipped up her thigh to her waist sensually, her eyes never breaking contact as she spoke. “Someone else might steal them.”

She closed the door on her way out, leaving the rest of us too stunned to speak.

“I’m gonna marry that woman,” said Cassian.

“Wine, anyone?” said Mor.

——

"I almost fist-fought you last night when you took the blanket," I said. Tugging on the dark blue throw-over, I pulled it over myself enough to cover my legs entirely as I sat criss crossed on the couch. The star-filled spread was dark and fluffy like Amren’s black Bombay cat. With three glasses of wine in me, if I closed my eyes and traced my hand down the blanket, I could almost picture Ruby on my lap. She was soft and cud—

A pull on the blanket brought my thoughts back.

“You snore. Loudly," said Rhys.

"I do not snore, you liar." I scoffed, tugging back on the blanket.

We’d both fallen asleep on his bed last night after an intense studying session. Although our schedules were no longer as identical as they’d been during freshman year, we still shared one or two courses every so often. Like this semester, we had Solar System Astronomy together. We’d stayed up late on the balcony of his apartment looking up at the constellations seeing how many we could name and then placing their locations on a star map.

With 88 constellations in the sky, as recognized by the International Astronomical Union, we’d been able to spot at least seven. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, and—my face was beginning to feel very warm.

"How did the blanket end up on the floor? No wonder I was freezing," said Rhys. He was leaning against the backrest of the couch, one hand on the armrest holding his glass of wine. Rhysand’s dark lilac eyes sparked with mischief. He was baiting me and I was definitely too inebriated to ignore his comments.

“How could you be freezing? You’re a freaking furnace!” I exclaimed.

“Then why’d you steal the blanket? I’m basically primed for cuddles.” Rhys’s other hand reached around me and tugged me towards him. I laughed against his chest, and let my body lean into him.

“Mother above, you two bicker like a married couple,” said Mor. She was leaning against the doorway leading to the balcony. With the door open, the cool breeze blew in, brushing her long golden hair past her shoulder. Her eyes darted between where Rhys and I sat on the couch and then shifted to something behind us. I was too focused on the elegant way she held her glass to glance away from her posture.

“It’s not bickering if I’m right.” I slapped Rhys against his chest playfully. His chest vibrated with a chuckle.

“Az, play that one song from the other night,” said Amren. With her wine glass inches from her lips in one hand, she pointed at Azriel with her other. There was a lot you learned about a person while under the influence. In Amren’s case, during the day, she was a short-tempered finance major student who ate boys and numbers for breakfast. There was no doubt that she’d be valedictorian of the College of Business Administration. She studied hard, but she also played hard.

“Thisssisss my jaaaaammm.” Amren’s words slurred. She raised one of her hands as if meaning to touch the ceiling lamp like a fly attracted to a zapper light. Swaying to the rhythm, Amren praised the white light above.

“Oh, she is gone,” said Mor, taking a sip of her wine.

All eyes were on Amren now as she led an interpretive dance to the beat of Dance the Night by Dua Lipa. Her choreography involved a lot of hands swaying in the air. While her claps to the music were slightly off-beat, she was giving it her all. She was the choreographer—the lead dancer. She was Barbie at the giant blow art party and the rest of us were just Ken.

“Here’s another piece of Latin for you, Feyre. Nemo saltat sobrius,” said Mor, nodding at Dance and Flex Barbie™.

“What?” I asked. Clumsily leaning forward, I propped one hand on Rhy’s thigh as I leaned closer to Mor in hopes I could read her lips over the music. I felt a hand steady me from behind.

“Nobody dances sober,” said Azriel.

“Unless you’re Azriel, then you don’t dance. At all,” said Cassian. The couch bounced as he threw his body on the empty spot on the other side of me. He smiled at Azriel, threw his hand over the sofa's backrest, and leaned back.

“I’ve definitely seen him dance,” said Rhys.

“No way. In his room?” Cassian chuckled.

I took this as an opportunity to make myself more comfortable, while they were distracted. Shifting my body, I leaned further into Rhys, the shape of his own welcoming me back to my spot. A soft giggle escaped my lips as Cassian grabbed my feet and placed them on his lap. Somehow my body had slid down Rhys’s and I was fully lying across the sofa on top of the boys. I was comfortable. So comfortable, I could fall asleep.

“At a party, actually,” said Rhys, his eyes glanced at Azriel while a small smile edged on his face.

“With a girl?” Cassian’s voice sounded surprised.

“With a girl.” Rhys nodded.

“No fucking way,” said Cassian. He couldn’t help but smile at Az, his mouth gaped.

I understood Cassian’s reaction, Azriel didn’t dance let alone run or jog for anything. He was an enigma; an unsolvable riddle. The man was calm, cool, and collected at all times. Always unfazed by things that would distress the common Joe. It was slightly unnerving. If someone spilled wine on the carpet, Azriel wouldn’t panic at the thought of a huge red stain on the rug. He’d walk into the kitchen, no questions asked, and come back with a dry cloth, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide, and blot the patch until it made you doubt if anything had actually been spilled. Whereas Mor and I would have stared at the ink-stained rug and exchanged wide-eyed looks before quietly agreeing that the room could do better without a rug.

Azriel shrugged completely unbothered.

“With wh-

“I don’t kiss and tell,” said Azriel. Cold eyes stared back, silently telling Cassian to back off without any need for words.

“You’re just jealous he didn’t kiss you,” said Rhysand. He was trying to diffuse any rising tension. I could feel the sound of his voice vibrating across his chest. At some point, I’d given him my glass of wine or he’d taken it from me very smoothly. It would have been a disaster if I’d spilled it over the three of us on the sofa. I would have felt especially bad about it considering it was new. Their last one had moved on to a better place after Cassian put a hole in it from jumping on it during a karaoke session two months ago.

“Hell yeah, I am!” Cassian exclaimed.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin on his lips. "Are we about to kiss right now?"

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Rhysand.

“Come here, you,” said Cassian. Throwing my legs off him, he jumped across the room embracing Azriel. The room filled with laughter at the show the two of them were putting on. Even through the loud ruckus, the short-tempered finance major was far too deep into her slumber to awaken. At some point, Amren had tucked herself into the armchair by the window and nodded off. She looked cozy and peaceful with her head lying on the armrest. We’d learned long ago that it was best to leave her alone when she dozed off. A lesson learned the hard way.

Through the open doors leading to the balcony, the sky was briefly illuminated with a bright light followed by a faint sound of thunder. I glanced at the digital clock beneath the TV sitting on the television stand. It was late and I needed to get home. There was still a buzzing feeling that tingled across my body from the earlier drinks but I didn’t live far. It was ten minutes max walking. Plus, if I left now, I could avoid the rain.

Sitting up, I scanned the room looking for my shoes. “I should get going,” I said.

“Let me call you a ride,” said Mor, already taking out her phone.

“Mor, I live within walking distance,” I said, gathering my shoes.

Azriel jumped in, “I barely drank. All I had was a sip earlier. I could give you a ri-

He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes glanced toward the other side of the room at the sound of boots hitting the hardwood and the sofa shuffling. I didn’t think too much about it, not that I could in my current state. I was more focused on figuring out where I’d placed the key to my apartment.

“Do you want us to walk with you?” asked Mor.

Holding on to the wall, I hooked two fingers into one of my white platform Nike and pushed my foot into the shoe. Was it counterintuitive to own sneakers with shoelaces if I never had any intention of tying them? I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as I did the same with my other shoe. It was unclear to me if I genuinely found the thought funny or if it was the alcohol coursing through me. Before I could respond to Mor’s question, I felt the close warmth of a tall figure standing near me.

“I’ll walk her,” said the familiar voice.

“Rhys-

“That wasn’t an offer, darling. That was me making a statement,” he said.

I sighed, looking up at him. It was late, and I didn’t feel like arguing knowing that it would delay my departure before the oncoming storm. Having someone walk you home wasn’t the end of the world. It was an act of the purest love. That someone cared about your well-being enough to ensure you’d made it home safely. That’s what I loved about my friends. The genuine love we all had for each other.

Sliding my baby blue nylon backpack over my shoulder, I double-checked I’d gathered everything. I went through my mental checklist. Phone, wallet, keys. Patting my pockets, I ensured I had them. I made sure to hug everyone goodbye before heading out. Well, everyone except Amren, who was ever so sweetly tucked in the armchair with a blanket twice her size. Likely one of Cassian’s massive blankets.

When I turned, Rhysand was already by the door holding it open for me. Slipping his hand over my shoulder, he grabbed my powder blue bag and placed it over his. With the motion, my white plush bear keychain swung against the two baby penguin pins on the cerulean fabric. My backpack had a very soft aesthetic that stood out when held by Rhys who was dressed in dark tones from head to toe. It didn’t fit his aesthetic. At all. I was about to object that I could carry my own bag but his voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t put the top lock on the door, I’ll be right back.”

As we headed out, the sky flashed again. The air felt cool against my skin and smelled like dew. It was a calming, fresh scent. It reminded me of potted flowers and succulents like the ones I had by the window in my room. The ones I always forgot to water but always survived, courtesy of one Elain Archeron. She knew I couldn’t keep anything alive, plant or fish, so she’d made sure to get me greenery that required minimal attention, which reminded me that I hadn’t watered them in a week. If it started pouring by the time I got home, I could stick them out the window and have them be watered au naturale.

I jumped at the sound of thunder and instinctively grabbed Rhys’s hand. His fingers wrapping around mine were warm and rough whereas mine were cold and soft. He squeezed my hand and held on to mine as we continued walking. “It caught me off guard.”

“Mmhm,” he said.

The wind picked up slightly as we headed down the illuminated path amongst the trees and apartment complex gardens that stretched across an open space. Rain was certainly on its way, it was just a matter of when. We likely had a couple of minutes before the downpour began. Thunder sounded all around us, and one, two droplets landed on my cheek. Damn. Other than being way off in my calculations, I’d also forgotten to borrow an umbrella before we left. There was no avoiding that we were going to be caught in this.

“I’m glad I grabbed this before we left,” said Rhys, opening an umbrella large enough to cover us both. At what point he’d grabbed the umbrella was beyond me. I stepped closer to him as he fumbled opening it. He gave it a slight jiggle with one hand that became more aggressive by the second as he attempted to push the sliding metal piece with his fingers. After about a minute, the section loosened up allowing for more movement. The issue now lay with the broken stretchers that were meant to hold the fabric.

“Who the hell leaves a broken umbrella in the umbrella stand?” said Rhys.

“Someone who forgot to throw it out?”

“That’s why trashcans exist,” he sighed. Rhys let go of my hand and continued fumbling with the umbrella trying to see if the pieces would lock into place. Thunder sounded above us and more drops of water began falling slowly picking up.

“If we pick up the pace, we can make it before it really hits,” said Rhys. His eyes surveyed mine and I could tell he was both disappointed and worried that he’d let me down somehow. But unless he was secretly in cahoots with Mother Nature, there was no way any of this could be his fault or something for him to blame himself for.

“I’m sorry about the weather,” said Rhys. The way he rubbed his neck and his brows drew together, I couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on his face for something out of his reach.

I shook my head and smiled up at him. “What are you sorry about? A broken umbrella that you had no idea was broken? The sky? Rhysand, unless you secretly own a weather machine, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Forget the umbrella.”

“In fact,” I continued, “I think this is an opportunity.”

I took my bag and the umbrella from his hands, chucked the latter in the nearest bin, and placed my bag on the ground.

“An opportunity?”

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but I’d always wanted to dance in the rain like in movies and musicals. I felt bold and giddy at the idea of doing so now. All I could focus on was this tune from the third High School Musical installment. “Take my hand, take a breath.”

Standing in front of him, I stretched out my hand and offered it to Rhys. He looked puzzled but accepted my offer. “Pull me close, and take one step.”

“A song with instructions? I can follow that,” he said. A small smile formed on his lips.

“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” I continued.

His violet eyes twinkled beneath the moonlight and it almost looked like stars danced across his eyes as they softened, placing his other hand on my waist. He knew exactly what song I was referencing. After all, I’d made him watch it enough times with me. “And let the music be your guide.”

I nodded, cuing him to step with me. With his eyes wholly fixed on me, we slowly stepped into time, our shoes gently tapping against the pavement.

“Won't you promise me,” Rhys chimed.

Pulling me closer against his chest, Rhysand guided me across the makeshift dance floor—the walkway between the trees—with a step here and a half turn there. We were dancing through the gardens illuminated by the night sky and lamp posts down the pathway as we waltzed further in.

“Now won't you promise me, that you'll never forget.”

“We'll keep dancing,” added Rhys.

“To keep dancing.” A smile curved across my lips.

“Wherever we go next.” Our voices intertwined as we spun together, my hands held on to him tighter as the rain picked up. Swaying through the path of greenery, the scenery around us dissolved. It was just Rhys and I.

Thunder crashed above, and the true downpour began.

“It's like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you,” we continued. I couldn’t help but smile brightly up at him as rain trailed down his face. The buzzing feeling from earlier that had coursed through my body now turned into a tingly feeling that reached from where Rhys was holding my hand—my fingers—to my chest. No, my body wasn’t buzzing, it was humming. We might have been dancing but I was floating in his embrace. I couldn’t look away from him.

With every lyric, raindrops painted our clothes a shade darker. My indigo cardigan was now inked navy as we swayed to the invisible music. My feet splashed against puddles, drenching my white shoes in rainwater. They’d likely be gray by the time I got home but that didn’t matter. As our feet shuffled across the pathway, the sky reflected itself over the water on the trail creating an illusion of stars beneath our feet. We were dancing among the stars.

We sang the rest of the song, never messing up the lyrics or missing a beat. We might have been recreating a moment by singing a song from one of my favorite films but this waltz was entirely made up by us. Rhys’s hand still grasping mine, spun me around as we brought the sound of the music in our chests to a slow end. His eyes were still on mine as we held our soaking bodies close. Was he always this beautiful?

I couldn’t help but marvel at his handsomeness and let an intrusive thought get the better of me as I ran my fingers across his cheek. He leaned into my warm touch, eyes softening. His eyes glanced from mine down to my lips. Please, I pleaded. I could feel my heart racing and my chest tightening at the thought of his lips on mine. Rhysand cleared his throat as his hands gently let go of mine, breaking the spell.

Taking a step back, he scanned me from head to toe and chuckled. “I bet we look like drowned rats to anyone looking out their windows.”

I shook my head, holding back a smile.

“I feel like one too,” I said. Looking down at my jeans, there was not a dry spot on them.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Had we just had a moment? I must have hallucinated it in the dark lighting. There was no way that Rhysand had looked like he’d wanted to kiss me two seconds ago. I wasn’t ignorant, I’d known Rhysand was objectively attractive. He had a strong jawline and he was fit from working out every week with Cassian and Azriel. He had nice cheekbones, luscious lashes, soft lips, and intelligent eyes. He was delightful to look at. He was…

Who was I kidding, he was handsome beyond compare. I just had never seen him in that way until now. Mother above, I was oblivious as they came. And I wished I could have blamed the alcohol for all of it—the way I was feeling, the thoughts I was having—but the truth was, I’d burned it out of my system with that dance.

‘We should get going,” said Rhys.

He grabbed my bag off the ground and we walked the rest of the way in awkward silence. I kept glancing sideways at him every so often. I’d definitely hallucinated that moment we’d had for a split second. The rest of the way to my place, I spent it looking at the ground contemplating while Rhysand stared at the stars as if searching for a cosmic answer.

By the time we made it to my place, we were full-on drenched. I was sure my hair looked like a wet mop attached to my head. I patted my pockets in search of the key and found it in the left back pocket of my jeans. They jingled in my hands as I fumbled looking for the right one.

“I hope you’re not planning to walk back in this. At least let me offer you a towel.” I glanced sideways as I turned the key.

He didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He’d stayed quiet and simply nodded as I led him in. With Viviane at her boyfriend’s for the weekend, there was no one home. All the lights were off as we walked in. I flipped the light switches as we stepped through the place in search of something dry. In the hallway closet, I found some towels for us. Meanwhile, I could hear Rhys in the kitchen opening and closing the cabinets.

As I turned the corner, I could see him pulling out two teabags from a box before his head turned in my direction. "I'll put the kettle on."

"So sweet of you, you're an angel," I said.

On top of being handsome, he was very thoughtful. Was I really falling for my best friend? I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on him as he turned on the stove and prepared tea for us. I bit my lower lip and turned towards the dryer that was hidden behind a sliding door. Neither of us was shivering or in any danger of getting frostbite, but a warm towel would certainly go well with tea. After a few minutes, the machine beeped just as the kettle began hissing. I pulled both towels out of the dryer and practically moaned at the warm touch against my skin.

“Would you like a dry towel?” I offered.

“You don’t want my wet handkerchief to dry your wet face?” He glanced sideways at me as he poured water into each cup with a smirk painted across his face.

I giggled and walked further into the kitchen. As soon as he placed the kettle back on the stove, I threw a towel over my shoulder and placed the other one on his head as he turned around to face me. I ran the towel over his head, drying his hair before sliding it over his shoulders and wrapping it around his body.

I looked up at him. “My hair is soaked, Rhys.”

The clothes we were wearing could have easily squeezed out two gallons of water. I could have probably fed my succulents with the amount of liquids soaked into our outfits. If I could have thrown myself in the dryer too, I would have knocked out two birds with one stone.

Standing in front of me, wrapped around in my towel, he looked adorable. Rhys’s eyes met mine and I could have sworn time stopped. All I could do was stare up at him. Oh gosh, was I staring? I blinked rapidly and dropped my gaze.

“You still look beautiful,” he said.

I felt my heart stop and my breath hitch. My hands stilled on his body still holding on to the light blue towel. Did he mean it in a friendly way? I glanced back up. His eyes peered down at me searching for something in mine. My lips parted as if to speak but I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I closed my mouth and swallowed.

“Feyre.”

The way he said my name made my heart skip. He took a step, closing the gap between us. My name sounded low like a prayer on his lips. If he was praying, then I wanted to bless him but I needed a sign. I wanted a clear sign that he wasn’t just whispering my name in an empty apartment for no reason.

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” I half whispered.

His eyes glanced from my eyes to my mouth and back in a triangle manner. A small smile painted itself across his lips like a prayer answered. “You caught that.”

It wasn’t a question, he was making a statement.

“I wanted to be sure your head was clear when I kissed you,” said Rhysand.

“Rhys?”

“Yes?”

A pause.

“My head’s clear now,” I said.

Rhysand's head slowly leaned forward, stopping inches from my face, giving me time to take a step back if I wanted to back out. I didn’t. I wanted—needed, to know what his lips felt like on mine. If they were truly as soft as they looked. His fingers titled my chin up and kissed me. Gods, his kiss was more than soft, it was life-changing. His lips were gentle against mine, so sweet and delicately slow like he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment and now that he had it, now that the moment had arrived he wanted to savor it. If I’d been floating earlier when I danced with him beneath the rain, then I was soaring above the clouds and beyond the moon now.

His hands cupped my face as mine slid into his hair, pulling him closer by the neck. Neither one of us parted to take a breath. I could tell this wasn’t just any kiss, this was the kiss. The one that would change our lives—my life—forever. The kiss I’d compare any other to. I could feel his chest against mine as our legs brushed against each other. Rhysand's hands slowly slid down my shoulders and arms and made their way down and around my waist. We pulled each other closer, our bodies seeking contact where they could as we continued wrapping ourselves against each other. We were two colliding stars, bursting with sparks and ever-changing hues.

After what felt like forever, I pulled back slightly, eyes closed. Blood had rushed into my cheeks, and there was no doubt that the heat against my flushed face had painted them rosy. I could feel his head leaning against mine, both of us breathless. Mother above, I truly was oblivious to everything. That definitely wasn’t a friend kiss. That was an I-want-to-be-more-than-friends kiss.

Rhysand’s hand came up against my face tucking strands of semi-wet hair behind my ear. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time or trying to memorize every freckle on my face. A beat passed and he broke the silence. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”

My heart skipped at those words—at his confession. My mouth gaped. There were no words. I wasn’t sure what to say. All I could focus on was the rising and beating in my chest as I focused on taking the next breath. Had this really just happened? Had we truly just kissed? Did he just say that he—

“I’m hoping you didn’t just kiss me to then break my heart, Feyre, darling.” He cupped my face as he spoke the last two words.

“I never knew you liked me,” I said, stumbling on the words.

“Now you do. And correction, I said I love you.” The corners of Rhysand’s mouth turned up. I couldn’t help the way my eyes widened in disbelief. He’d said the words again.

“You love me?”

Rhys chuckled as he shook his head. He lifted my head with a hand beneath my chin as if inspecting me. “Did you hit yourself with the dryer door? Do I need to kiss you again? Or maybe hold your hand as we walk through a storm? Or dance in the rain while quoting your favorite movie?”

He loved me. He loved me, and he not only meant it with the words he’d spoken, but Rhys had demonstrated and proved time and time again that he truly meant it, body and soul. A man who could talk the talk and walk the walk. Dare I say, he was a man after my own heart.

“If you let me, I promise I’ll spend every day making sure you never doubt how worthy of love you are,” said Rhys. The back of his hand caressed my cheek.

“I’ll do anything with you, Rhys. As long as it’s you,” I said.

His lips met mine again, this time with more passion and intensity. Wrapping my hands around his neck once more, I felt the towel slide off his shoulders and plop to the ground. Rhys's hands traveled around my hips, to the back of my thighs before he lifted me into his arms. Instinctually, I wrapped my legs around him and deepened our kiss. I wanted him closer. I wanted his body against mine without the barriers of our wet clothes.

As if he’d read my thoughts, I could feel us moving down the hallway to my room. Every kiss turned deeper than the last and I knew I couldn’t deny myself the truth. I was completely and utterly in love with him. And I was a fool for not noticing before that maybe I had loved him longer than my body knew. Longer than I truly knew. He was my safe space, my person, my best friend. He was everything I could want in a man. He was everything. Rhys was everything.

Gently laying me against my bed, he pulled back slightly to look down at me. His eyes were like lilac-blue stars glistening against the moonlight as he marveled at me. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that this was real. I placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb. His lips smiled against my warm touch.

“I can’t stop smiling when I look at you,” said Rhys.

He gazed at me like a painter setting eyes on their muse. Like he’d been seeking inspiration his entire life and now he’d found it. Rhys shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen?”

The question wasn’t for me to answer, it was rhetorical. He was speaking his thoughts aloud as if waiting for a cosmic answer to shine through the window. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Feyre.

“When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep, even in my dreams I can never stop thinking of you. When you’re not with me, it feels like something is missing. And, gosh, I hate poetry, but when I think of you…I can’t help but imagine that this is what the greats write about. This feeling. It’s like poets are reciting their writings in my head.”

I could feel the corners of my eyes becoming damp. I could spend the rest of this night in his arms simply admiring him. His honest eyes were full of more unspoken words of love. I could feel the wetness of my clothes seeping into the blanket below but I didn’t care. I thumbed his lips, his Apollo’s arched bow, memorizing this moment. I could feel my shaky voice escaping me as I spoke.

“All these years, I thought we were just friends, and I was okay with that…but now I realize that maybe I’ve felt like this for a while about you. That I’ve loved you without knowing that this is what it was.”

“You love me?” A smile spread across his lips.

“Did you hit yourself with the door coming in? Or do I need to kiss you again?” I mimicked his earlier question.

He gently rubbed his nose against mine, his lips inches from my own.

“Kiss me again,” he whispered.

I moaned against his lips this time. I wanted him to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me, to say my name. I wanted everything and more. We tugged against wet clothes, which were much harder to take off thanks to their added weight. They stuck to our bodies and made it difficult to slide out of them. But we didn’t care. We kissed and laughed our way out of the heavy wet clothing until we were skin to skin. Until we were finally warm in each other's embrace. And for the first time in a while, I prayed.

Rhys.

I prayed the rest of the night as his body melded against mine, pulling prayer after prayer from my lips. His name, the only one I wanted to whisper against the moonlight shining through my window. It was only our names echoing from the other’s lips against soft I love yous with every touch and shift against hips. We were dancing like stars in the night sky, and holding on to each other as if we’d collided into one. Our whispers and sighs grew more uneven. He was my gravity, my center, and I was his. With Rhys’s eyes on mine and a final waltz around the universe, I felt my world burst like a nuclear fission. Like a star reaching its last evolutionary stage.

Rhys kissed me again, softer this time, and wrapped me in his arms as we lay beneath the comfort of warm blankets, tangled in each other. Pulling me against his chest, he whispered. "Did you know that rainy day cuddles are two times more effective than sunny day cuddles?"

“Don’t you have to tell Cas to lock the door for you,” I said.

“That can wait,” said Rhys, kissing the top of my head.

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unpredictable-probabilities · 7 months ago

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20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @dandywonderous

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

19. I'm fairly new to fanfics, I only started reading and writing them in 2020.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

356,543

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm currently writing for The Sandman, but most of my works and my WIPs are for Twisted Wonderland, and I had written one chapter of a fic for Love Never Dies.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Granting Favors (Twisted Wonderland) 2. The Two Princes (Twisted Wonderland) 3. A Way In (Twisted Wonderland) 4. Tomorrows Over Centuries (The Sandman) 5. Post-Gala Celebration (Twisted Wonderland)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I love interacting with my readers in the comments section~ Sometimes it takes me days to respond sdkjfkdslfj but I do respond! And I'm trying to make a habit of replying sooner.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, I always write happy endings, but currently The Repertoire Continues (Love Never Dies) and A Dragon's Soft Spot (Twisted Wonderland) have angsty endings, but only because so far I've only written their first chapters 😅

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

Probably Tomorrows Over Centuries (The Sandman). Mostly because almost the entire fic is the characters just having a fun time. (Also it's Explicit because of the third chapter, just a heads-up in case you wanna check it out.)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

So far no. I'm actually low-key scared of getting some, haha.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yup. All smut I write have a lot of Feelings, even if there's no plot to the fic. It's always romantic smut. It's just fun to write.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

So far no. Though I really wanna write a The Sandman and Good Omens crossover someday. The idea itself is a bit daunting for me, haha, but I've read a fic with that crossover, and I genuinely wanna attempt it myself.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, that would be super cool, though.

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

Yes, I've co-written a few fics with @patchyegg87~

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling (The Sandman) Azul Ashengrotto/Jamil Viper (Twisted Wonderland) is a close second!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would like to believe that I can finish all of my WIPs, haha. But the one that would probably take the longest to finish is The Repertoire Continues (Love Never Dies), which I realize is ironic given the title alskjdfsldf. I rarely see any other content from the fandom so my brainworms for it don't get activated. I would still like to finish it someday, though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and emotions. Character voice is one of my favorite things to write, discovering how different characters would have various reactions to the same situation. I've often had to modify outlines because I'd realize that the original flow of the scenes didn't make sense anymore because the characters' reactions wouldn't lead them to that outcome. And bringing emotions out of characters is fun too, especially the stoic and tsundere characters. It's why I like writing Hurt/Comfort, haha.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing descriptions for places, outfits, and food 😣 Especially places. I have a hard time imagining what a place might look like. That's usually what I ask @patchyegg87 for help with when we co-write fics. And she has recently taught me how to use Pinterest as a reference when writing descriptions for stuff, and I'd been practicing that. I really wanna get better at writing visual descriptions, it's always so cool when I read a fic that has such vivid imagery.

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

I have no problem with it. The very first fic I'd written, A Rival in Scarlet (Twisted Wonderland), has some French sentences in it that were translated into English when the POV switched to the French speaker's. Fanfics are for having fun, and sometimes part of that is incorporating another language you know or are trying to learn~

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Twisted Wonderland

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ooh, I don't know, that's a hard one. Granting Favors (Twisted Wonderland) would always have a special place in my heart because it's my first multi-chapter fic and I honed much of my writing skills in that one. "I Do": The Long-Term Deal (Twisted Wonderland) is also very fun to write and that's the fic where I really learned to write character voice well because it's post-canon and the characters have aged a few years, and it was fun to figure out how they had changed in that time while retaining their core personalities. And of course Tomorrows Over Centuries (The Sandman). I'd read a lot of Dreamling fics before writing that one, and I was so happy to finish a Dreamling fic of my own. I love them, Your Honor.

Tagging:

@patchyegg87

@signiorbenedickofpadua

@cerealmonster15

@hardly-an-escape

@beatnikfreakiswriting

@takohebi

and anyone else who wants to do this!

#tag game #fanfic writing #fanfics #20 questions for fic writers

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frownyalfred · 11 months ago

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ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

Created by @floydsin. I stole it from @lurkinglurkerwholurks

How many words have you written this year? 327,224 words! Dang!

How many works did you publish this year? At least 20, probably more.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? borderline. That plot was complicated for me and it took a LOT out of me to write it.

What work of yours has the most hits? borderline.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? a sky of honey. I was surprised at how many people liked the previous fic and wanted to see more! I didn't expect that.

Favorite title you used? savestate. it's a bad pun that made me laugh.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? I owe Kate Bush for most of my fic titles, lbr.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year? Superbat <3 my beloved

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? Lex & Bruce in a sky of honey was actually a surprise fave. Lex's dialogue and bickering with Bruce is so much fun.

What work was the quickest to write? Ironically, the first few chapters of borderline.

What work took you the longest to write? bloodletting takes a while to update because of the mando'a translations. Probably 3-4x longer than a normal chapter update.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? Just one or two so far.

What’s your longest work of the year? a sky of honey, clocking in at 95,618 words.

What’s your shortest work of the year? do it again.

What WIP are you taking into next year with you? too many...

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? not beta read...so real, bestie.

Your favorite character to write this year? Probably Thomas Wayne, surprisingly. He's so funny to me.

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? Bruce.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Clark/Slade

Which work of yours have you reread the most? borderline since I needed to remember where I was going while writing it, and then probably bloodletting.

How many kudos in total did you get this year? 39,650

Which work has the most comments? borderline. though I had to delete a LOT of threads there so it's probably even higher.

Did you do any collaborative works this year? I bother @januariat every few days to discuss a sky of honey, so yes.

Did you write any gifts this year? Several for @audreycritter and @lurkinglurkerwholurks

Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes -- several from @audreycritter and @lurkinglurkerwholurks as well as a few from folks writing about borderline and a few of my shitposts. Thank you friends <3

What’s your most common category? Gen, somehow?

What do you listen to while writing? My increasingly complex spotify playlists. Depends on the type of writing.

Favorite work you wrote this year? I actually really liked nocturn and synchronicity.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? It's so hard to decide. Probably one of the mando'a jokes I made in Jason's dialogue.

Biggest surprise while writing this year? People do still tell you to kill yourself over fanfiction online! Bizarre.

#ao3 #ao3 wrapped #ao3 year in review #writing #writers #fic #fanfic #myfic #theresurrectionist #I'm not gonna tag anyone but feel free to do this if you want!

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pandora2023 · 1 year ago

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I wrote something small instead of working on the Gravity chapter but suddenly felt the inspiration.

Enjoy

Miss me

This would be the first time that her husband would leave her in charge of Driftmark, the anxiety she felt was not little, she should not, she told herself, she was raised to carry on her shoulders not the weight of this island but of the seven kingdoms, something that would no longer happen, she remembered bitterly, fear then ran through her differently, it was not that she feared not being able to manage the affairs of her husband's house -now his house too- she knew well of her capacity, what she feared then was how people perceived her now that she was no longer the heir to the iron throne, would she still have the respect of this one? Would she still be listened to as she was before? She was still a Targaryen, and she was still a princess, the only thing perhaps they let her keep after robbing her of everything else.

"I promise to return as soon as possible my love."

The words of her husband who was descending the curved stairs behind her made her react but her gaze was still on the driftwood throne.

"I do not reproach your leaving because I know it is your duty, but it does not mean that your absence will be to my liking husband."

Her husband's footsteps could be heard closer and closer, his scent even already beginning to flood her space, that indisputable scent of the sea accompanying him like his trademark.

"I'm not gone yet."

He whispered in her ear from behind making her skin bristle with the slight rose of his fleshy lips over such a sensitive spot.

"And I'm already starting to miss you."

A sentiment they both shared.

"I assure you won't have time for that Rhaenys, the townsfolk and passing sailors have a favorite pastime of bringing their troubles however small to this hall."

His hands left his wife's waist and his feet carried him to the pair of steps that led to the platform where the driftwood throne stood. He then offered his princess his hand.

"You might want to practice first."

His smile had been one of the reasons she had fallen so madly in love with him, and it hadn't lost a bit of the charm he put on her. She took his hand and climbed up to the platform, even on different levels, he was still higher than she was, another of the many things she loved about him.

"Is it that my lord husband does not trust me to do a good job in his absence?"

The tone of his voice and the closeness of his lips was already proposing a game they both enjoyed, but even if her words were masked by this one, she knew that was a real fear, if he didn't trust who would?

"I trust you my princess more than I trust myself, I even fear that upon my return people will be disappointed to know that I will be the one to take care of their affairs again and not you with all the intelligence and wisdom I know you possess."

The sincere way his words were recited let no trace of doubt escape, he believed in her, it was all she needed most at that moment and he gave it to her without even asking for it, he was always like that.

"Fear not Corlys, people will always love their lord and need him, though not as much as I do my husband."

Her thighs now already touched the antique wooden seat, Corlys full smile graced her face and she could only admire the man more, then with a slight nod of her head, she gracefully sat down on the throne. Her husband took a few steps back to admire her, then knelt down.

"My princess, my lady of Driftmark, I have come here to ask a favor, if you would grant it, I would be the luckiest man in all of Westeros and Essos, your grace."

Her husband's solemn tone had made her shudder but had also managed to wring from her a faint laugh, which she tried to hide without success.

" Arise good man, if what you ask of me is in my power then I must grant it, for I can see that you possess a noble heart, speak my lord."

The figure of Corlys even with the layers of cloth covering his body, was one worthy of painters and sculptors, she knew better than anyone that beneath the fine fabrics hid his muscles sculpted by the work of a sailor.

"What I ask then my lady is that you dream with me the nights that in our bed only the ghost of my being accompanies you, that you pray for me to our gods that I return safely to your arms and that you fill the ears of our little children with the words of love that I will not be able to tell them but that you know I feel."

She only smiled, an expression of love and devotion. No words were needed.

"You look perfect."

His gaze steady upon her, admiration, her, that woman who could claim his as much as he belonged to her.

"I think My Lord there is only one problem."

His gaze lowered to her feet, hovering in the air. She had seen her husband sitting on the throne and it was obvious that it was made to fit him, but she even being a tall woman could not compete with her husband's build let alone the inches short of touching the floor if she wanted to sit properly.

"Looks like princess we'll have to find a solution."

His cayuse hands helped his wife to her feet, grasping her possessively by the waist, sinking his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling her perfume.

"When? You're leaving in the morning and…"

The sentence stuck in her throat as soon her husband's lips smothered her words with a kiss they had both guarded, as sweet as honey.

"First grant me another request, let me hold you under my caresses and kisses one more time before I depart."

She opened her eyes slowly at the feeling of emptiness that was felt, her skin already used to the warmth of his body and his arms around her made a feeling of abandonment grow in her, in the few years they had been married she had not known an empty bed, even when he had gone with her late father to Tarth she had not been entirely alone, for then her little girl was growing in her womb, now she was on her own in their bed, with the memory of his kisses still fresh on her skin, and that ache between her legs witness of their love making.

Already at night they had said goodbye in their own way, not that in front of their men they minded showing affection, although they knew it was something uncommon, but it was something that the people of the island had become accustomed to, or failing that they had become accustomed to their names and manners being the subject of gossip. His love was not something she wished to hide, she did not care if people thought it was improper.

"May the Gods go with you husband."

Her thumb outlined his lips before she joined them with hers

"I love you Rhaenys."

Their foreheads rested on each other.

"I love you Corlys."

Corlys then deposited a tender kiss on the crown of his head. She feared that if she kissed him again then she would not be able to let him go, so they only parted and she watched him move away, first towards his ship, the Sea Snake, and then towards the horizon.

She walked back towards the castle, she remembered then the little problem that had arisen from her practice game, maybe she could ask for a chair, something that would better accommodate her body, but then they wouldn't take her seriously she thought, would she ask for help getting up and down like her daughter did so she could join her at the table, no, that would be humiliating, just like leaving her feet dangling as she handed down punishments and enforced her house rules.

But then when the doors to the hall of nine at the foot of the throne was a footrest, the piece of wood was carved with some of the same patterns that her husband's ships had, it was impossible to believe that she could ever love him more than she had yesterday, or the night before or even this morning however, it was possible, because she did.

She sat down on the driftwood throne and rested one of her feet on the small piece of furniture. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon, lady of Driftmark.

#corlys velaryon #eve best #house of the dragon #my fic #rhaenys x corlys #rhaenys velaryon

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presidenthades · 1 year ago

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I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 3!

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

Joff might be a precocious witchy 6 year old, but like any 6yo, she thinks farts are hilarious. Sorry, Gerardys. (Also, notice how Joff dissembles/changes the topic when she doesn’t want to directly answer a question.)

Should Joff be mixing bleach and ammonia together? Nooooo. (And if you’re reading this, please don’t do this at home.)

As mentioned in the Chapter 2 commentary, Jace freaks out about her ruined slippers because they were a gift from Aegon, and now she can’t easily get presents from her not-boyfriend anymore. 🥺

I might write a lengthier scene of the girls’ rebellion re: Daemon and Rhaenyra’s marriage in another installment of the series. Here, I tried to make each girl’s reaction indicative of their overall personalities/mannerisms: Jace tries to be diplomatic, Luce goes for the drama, Baela out-cusses Daemon, Rhaena lets her emotions show through the cracks, and Joff is silently disapproving.

IMO, in the show, Rhaenys takes Baela as a ward because she sees Baela as her eldest true grandchild and the rightful heir to Driftmark. (I’ve also seen fanon in some fics that Daemon and Rhaenyra send Baela as a conciliatory gesture after they elope.) Here, Jace is Rhaenys’s eldest grandchild AND slated for the Iron Throne (and Rhaenys’s secret favorite), so Rhaenys would prefer to take Jace and ensure that a future queen of her blood is properly trained and educated.

Confession: in a VERY early draft of this fic, Baela and Rhaena had much smaller roles. I was going to send them both to Driftmark so I could focus on Daemon getting to know Rhaenyra’s daughters. But I’m very happy I went with the blended family aspect in the end.

Lucera has dyslexia, AKA “an affliction of letters.” I enjoy the trope in a lot of Aemond/OC fics that they bond over a shared love of reading, but I wanted to do a twist. Luce likes stories and learning, but she has trouble working through the books on her own, which means Aemond reads aloud to her a lot. 🥰 Now that she’s at Dragonstone though, she has no Aemond to read aloud to her (and she’s mad at him anyway).

I reallyyyyy wanted to write a scene where Luce explains her “marriage = whoring” argument to Alicent, but it never fit into this fic. Maybe one day. But I think Luce has this thought (marriage is about money and copulating) in the back of her mind when she deals with all her suitors later.

I was fascinated by the range of commenters’ reactions to Daemon’s argument about not letting the girls marry the Targtowers. Some people 100% agreed with him and others thought Daemon was being stupid. Which is the kind to reaction I was hoping to get, so yay! I wrote this fic with the intention of conveying that Daemon THINKS he’s right about a lot of things, but he’s not omniscient so take it with a grain of salt.

I wanted the boys’ handwriting and writing styles to reflect their personalities. Aegon is messy and unstructured, and he doesn’t always follow proper grammar/syntax rules. Aemond keeps up appearances and is finicky about grammar/syntax but adjusts his script for Luce. Daeron is still very young but tries to imitate the neatness he sees in his primers.

The gift that Aegon mentions Luce is helping with is supposed to be a song he writes for Jace. (Much more wholesome than the wedding song lol.) I was going to include it in this chapter but it seemed forced so I tabled it. He’s also pretty talented at drawing. I like the idea of Aegon being an artist/romantic at heart, but those aren’t traits appreciated in a potential king so Otto (and maybe Alicent) tries to quash those traits.

Chapter 4 commentary here

#my writing #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #meta #daemon’s handbook

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jomiddlemarch · 7 months ago

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20 questions for writers

Tagged by @asteraceae-blue who is Very Nice Indeed.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 876

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,544,499

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Brace yourselves. Mercy Street, Shadow and Bone, Foyle's War, Poldark, The Last of Us, GLOW, A Discovery of Witches, Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, Shogun, Harry Potter, Downton Abbey, Frozen, Dune, Ted Lasso, Star Wars, The Hour, Sanditon, Leap, Brooklyn 99, Far From The Madding Crowd, Beauty and the Beast, Wonder Woman, Gilmore Girls, Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The Avengers, Parks and Rec, Betsy-Tacy, Wandavision, Rogue One, The Mandalorian, Bridgerton, Community, Solo, Iron Man, Call the Midwife, Lord Peter Wimsey, Fleabag, The Little Mermaid, Emma, The Guernsey Potato Peel Pie and Literary Society, Timeless, Rebecca, The Age of Innocence, Beecham House, World on Fire, And Then There Were None. A few more but I am tired now.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

what it is to be a thin, crescent moon

A Wife--at daybreak I shall be

Point and Click

Bear with the truths I would tell you now

The subtlest fold of the heart

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do try and answer everyone, even if I just say thanks. I will delete really rude comments, which have fortunately been rare.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I wrote "Because I could not stop for Death" for Mercy Street and killed basically every character at least once, making remaining characters miserable. Except for the last chapter, where I killed the guy we all loathed.

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

This is tough because I mostly write happy endings. I think "But let thy silk twist down" counts as one, because Jed Foster is convinced that Mary is dying or has rejected him and then she surprises him by showing up and locking them into the sitting room. And in GLOW, "everything could yield him pleasure" allows Sam and Ruth to get back together over Christmas.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not very often. It's mostly been in big fandoms (Reylo, Shadow and Bone, I'm looking at you) but it hasn't been a big issue on AO3 or Tumblr. And I'm comfortable deleting and blocking.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, when I feel it's called for. I write grown-up sex scenes, so there are no wacky positions (unless someone talks about how they're going to throw out their back) and sometimes a breastfeeding mother's milk lets down or a woman struggles to have an orgasm. It's pretty vanilla though and all cishet. In the cock v. dick debate, I lean cock. I don't use other euphemisms for male genitals unless someone is quoting a poem. (I'm not sure that has happened but it totally could with me.)

No one in any of my sex scenes has had any bodyscaping and a not insignificant number of times, someone has left their socks on.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

OMG, YES. I love a crossover. Probably my Mercy Street/Sesame Street crossover has to be up there for zaniness. I did put Shadow and Bone characters in AOGG Prince Edward Island and I have also crossed over All Creatures Great and Small vets (James and Tristan) into the Grishaverse.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've been asked for permission but I don't think I gave it.

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

Yes. During the pandemic, there was the Mercy Street Murder Hotel round robin with @tortoisesshells @fericita-s @broadwaybaggins @sagiow @mercurygray and also the Cruise Ship with @sagiow and @fericita-s.

(Pro tip: it's easier if you agree on your murderer BEFORE you start writing but it was fun writing clues that were 50/50 going to be red herrings.)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Given the number of fics I've written for them, I have to say Mary Phinney/Jed Foster but it really could be smart-woman-who-is-underestimated/quippy-guy-who-gets-he's-smart-but-not-as-smart-as-she-is-and-that's-the-turn-on

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

This may make people sad, but I have a hard time seeing my way clear to an ending on "what is it to be a thin crescent moon" largely because I'd have to do some more plotting to get where I'd want to go. It's never say never but the truth is, I originally intended to stop when they got to the Little Palace, so everything after that was basically improv.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty good at capturing a character's voice and I've often been told my work is poetic, which I appreciate, as I am a poet.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Long-form plotting. I love to read it, but I get tired trying to create it and often resort to lily-padding (my own term for jumping from scene to scene.) I overuse the word just. I don't play chess well but I cannot resist writing about gambits.

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

I try to keep it minimal, since I'm only fluent in English.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Mercy Street.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

What is this, Sophie's Freaking Choice? I really like my GLOW zombie road-trip story "Music shall untune the sky" because I gave them a good ride and there was so much angst! "Hope is the thing with feathers" is a fic I wrote for myself, when I was despairing about Real Life and US politics and human rights, where I let Christopher Foyle offer the comfort I desperately wished for.

Tagging @tortoisesshells @fericita-s @sagiow @broadwaybaggins @oldshrewsburyian @orlissa @amarguerite @aloveforjaneausten and @aquitainequeen but anyone else is welcome to hold forth!

#about me #about my fic #it's all on AO3 #if you want to search #sorry no links

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agent-troi · 7 months ago

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Twenty questions for fanfic writers

I was tagged by the incomparable @baronessblixen 🫶🫶

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

104

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

396,351

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files, Star Trek, and I have one The West Wing fic

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Platonic Procreation

Security Questions

Eden

Mother Knows Best

The MSR Files

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes! I usually try to respond if someone commented about something specific, and essay length comments always deserve a reply❤️ also if someone comments saying they reread your fic bc that's the best feeling in the world

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm I only have a few that end angsty but I guess that would be my canon compliant post-IVF Rain King fic, Driftwood Lullaby

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

Probably Aqua Vitae, but I also wanna spotlight one of my earlier fics, in which Mulder gives Scully a real wedding ring for their case in Arcadia, Though the Heavens Fall

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten a couple of nitpicky comments and one actual hate comment (ironically that one was on my most popular fic!😆)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No, I know it's popular but it's just not my thing either to write or to read

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't written one yet but I have several ideas for TXF/Star Trek, TXF/SVU, TXF/Bones gathering dust in my google docs😅

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not as far as I know

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

Several! I contributed a chapter to Anahata: The Heart Chakra, Eden, The Amazing Muldeeni, and Agent Scully is Already in Love

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

MSR!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

A prequel to Purplerow by @katy-kt-katie, an AU in which Scully is an astronaut, about the time she made first contact with aliens on Mars (I really wanna finish this but life has decided to just keep throwing bricks at me and I haven't been able to concentrate enough to write in so long😭)

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm good at dialogue😅

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle so much with choosing the right word to describe something sometimes, and also finding alternative words to use when I accidentally use the same word four or five times in the same paragraph😂

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

I like reading it! I think it adds to the atmosphere of the story, but I don't think I've ever done it myself except to copy and paste the German dialogue from Triangle😅

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Lord of the Rings, I wrote a sequel featuring Aragorn and Arwen's daughter and posted it on Instagram back when I was active in the Tolkien fandom circa 2015 (posting fic on instragram probably sound super weird lmao but it was what people did, they'd post a pic corresponding to the fic and the chapter went in the captions)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I'm pretty proud of the fic I wrote last October for Mulder's birthday, Where a Million Stars Catch Fire

Tagging @katy-kt-katie @tofuttim @television-overload @cecilysass @slippinmickeys @skelavender @virtie333 and idk who else writes and hasn't been tagged so if you see this have at it lol

#tag game #fic writing #x files fanfic

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chocochipbiscuit · 1 year ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @anneapocalypse, thank you Anne! <3

And I would like to tag @replicafatale. @formlessvoidbeast, @bittylildragon, and @meikuree if you are so inclined!

Blank questions for your convenience! My answers are below the cut.

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

3. what fandoms do you write for?

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

5. do you respond to comments?

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. do you get hate on fics?

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

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

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

16. what are your writing strengths?

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

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

19. first fandom you wrote for?

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 178, over almost 10 years! Though I suspect if I actually went back to tally them, the vast majority would be skewed towards my early years, back when I’d crank out a fic or two every week for the kink meme then post with minimal editing. Ah, youth.

2. what’s your total ao3 word count? 910,453! Again, I strongly suspect they’re skewed towards the beginning.

3. what fandoms do you write for? I started out pretty intensely monofandom for Fallout, but I write a lot of Dragon Age these days. Which is ironic because I don’t consider myself ‘that’ big a Dragon Age fan, but the fandom exchanges are fun and I’m familiar enough with the setting and characters that I don’t mind picking up pinch hits or writing impulsive ‘what if’ fics.

In general, I almost exclusively write for video game fandoms. (with a few books thrown in…)

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Vashoth and The Qunari (Dragon Age, The Iron Bull/F!Qunari Inquisitor, rated E)

Belief (Fallout 4, Cait/F!Sole Survivor, rated G)

A Dream of Red (Dragon Age, Leliana/Morrigan, rated E)

And They Say Size Doesn’t Matter (Fallout 3, Fawkes/F!Lone Wanderer, rated E)

Data Collection (Fallout 4, Cait/F!Sole Survivor, rated E)

Basically: they’re all older fics, mostly smut, and mostly written while the fandoms were still new (or new-ish) and popular. The Vashoth and the Qunari was written before Inquisition even came out, and was written mostly from frenetic fandom speculation. I wouldn’t call it my best fic, just one that happened to strike while the hype machine was still active.

And They Say Size Doesn’t Matter has the questionable distinction of being the longest mutie smut fic on AO3, mostly because each chapter was written for various kink meme fills and then put somewhat in order. It makes me cringe a bit to reread it (I could do it so much better now! I could write with so much more nuance! I would have made less questionable decisions about characterization and description, or at least different questionable decisions!) but I still look back fondly on it.

5. do you respond to comments? Absolutely, though I’m rather late to respond sometimes! The only ones I don’t respond to (and usually just delete) are comments that make demands without any other attempt at interaction. (Ex: “next time write X/Y with New Kink” or “tag your trans characters” when there’s a perfectly nice author’s note at the beginning if you feel shocked or scandalized by the existence of trans characters in a fic that doesn’t focus on being trans and where the trans characters are minor or background!)

…anyways, mild aside: I consider tagging to be both warning (“please don’t read if X, Y, or Z bothers you, or at least prepare yourself”) and advertisement (“please do read if Tropes A, B, or C are appealing to you!”) rather than simple description. If I went out of my way to describe everything that might be relevant in a fic, including every single minor character who gets a single line of mention, then my tags bloat beyond what I consider useable. I try to include notes at the beginning to clarify or mention content that I don’t think needs to be warned/advertised for. Which is part of why I find it weird and borderline hostile to have specific identity tags demanded without explanation.

(And that said, I tag myself biracial bisexual….nah.)

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don’t write a lot of angst, but I do have a story that ends ‘unhappily for now’!

Schroedinger’s Pussy (The Locked Tomb, Gideon/Harrow, rated E) is a fic about yes, pussy spanking, but also denial of feelings and ends with an unresolved sex thing that Harrow refuses to talk about, and Gideon in an empty room. In my head they’ll work through it (eventually) but obviously, not in this fic!

The weirdest dark fic I’ve written was an older kink meme fill, and it’s something that I promised from the beginning would only end in pain.

Pain (Fallout: New Vegas, Vulpes Inculta/Rose of Sharon Cassidy/Boone Craig, rated E) is morally dubious not-actually-a-love-triangle fic with under negotiated BDSM and an ambiguous ending that most likely ended with Vulpes’ off-screen death at Cass and Boone’s hands. It’s a fic I still think about sometimes, not because I think it was the best, but because I feel like it shows when I was more willing to be weird and experimental around fraught topics and messy dynamics. I don’t write that sort of thing now simply because I don’t enjoy it, but I’m still glad I had the experience of experimenting.

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I love happy endings, but don’t often enjoy fluff! By which I mean: I want a happy ending to feel earned. I prefer desserts that have a little salt or bitterness to cut through the sweet and add balance. I want a fic to feel the same way.

That said: I think most of my fics have happy endings, if not always fluffy one.

That also said, I think never gonna say I’m sorry (Borderlands 3, Amara/Tyreen Calypso, rated E) fits the bill because it’s both a fix-it fic and villainous decay arc and I love that for Tyreen, the emotional journey and character growth she goes on from wanting to destroy the world to being willing to destroy herself in order to save it, and ultimately being pulled back to be told no, sometimes you gotta live even when it feels so much harder.

Fun fact: this fic has two endings, one in which Tyreen murders her brother (because just because she’s trying to be a good guy doesn’t mean she’s actually a good guy yet!) and one in which she tries the harder and messier path of not murdering him. I originally wrote the murder chapter because I didn’t think Tyreen would be at the point of being willing to forgive her own brother for attempting to kill her, but @bittylildragon made a note that essentially Troy was being punished for twink crimes, so I decided what the hey, I’ll try an alternate ending. And now I think that’s actually my favorite!

8. do you get hate on fics? Not on AO3. Some on Tumblr before I closed my inbox to anons. A couple on the old kink meme, back when it was self-destructing from the weirdly polarizing “Gay Wasteland” vs “the icky hets” arguments.

Funnily enough, I don't think I ever received a homophobic comment from a straight person! (Straight hate?). But I sure got comments accusing me of being ‘secretly het’ or a ‘proghet’ or ‘trying to trick lesbians into reading Big Dude/Smol Lady’ fic! Because fandom forbid being a bi woman who prefers to read and write fic that centers women! Even if that means that sometimes this means reading, writing, or recommending F/M fic instead of M/M!

Anyways. My AO3 bookmarks and works list are free for anyone to peruse, in case you want a statistical breakdown of my preferences for F/F >>> F/M > M/M so you can yell at me about not prioritizing M/M. /sarcasm

(And as always: I do read, write, and enjoy fics that feature nonbinary characters. I always feel weird including that as an aside, because there’s so little nonbinary rep in general that it feels weird trying to analyze anything from that, and ‘nonbinary’ is a big enough umbrella that even as someone who sometimes prefers they/them, I don’t necessary resonate with or feel represented by all nonbinary characters in fiction. Which is fine! When there’s so few examples, it feels even more fraught because no single character or person can Be All The Rep, and it feels like a weird sort of pressure to presume that they are, can be, or should be. Sometimes a character should just be allowed to exist, be interesting, and be nonbinary, without going ‘oh they’re such a good role model!’)

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? I cut my teeth on a kink meme, of course I write smut! As for what kind…whatever catches my interest, really? Which means mostly F/F, if there are dudes involved at all they’re usually Real Big Dudes. There’s usually loving attention to oral sex. Often size kink. I also like including bondage and anal sex.

I’ve been writing a lot less smut in recent years. (I’ve also been writing a lot less in general, or at least posting a lot less, for various reasons. Mostly because now that I’m no longer working graveyard shifts and am out of a time-consuming bad relationship, I have more time for non-fandom hobbies!) Partly it’s because…well, repetition. When I first started writing for kink memes, my purpose was just to write; pick a prompt, bang something out, post. It was the exhilaration of writing, of starting something new.

Now: if I’m going to write, I want to do it in a way that feels new or fresh to me, whether that means in terms of prose, emotional depth, or characterization. There’s also, admittedly, some self-consciousness: I’m no longer ‘just’ writing for prompts on a kink meme, I have the (gasp) terrible responsibility of admitting that I wrote a thing just because I like it, or think it’s interesting! It’s the tension between realizing that nah, I haven’t written anything that truly makes me blush in ages, and then the mortification of going “but who else is gonna be interested in this weird goofy playful fic where Piper sits on a birthday cake???”

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written? I’m not usually a fan of crossovers; I prefer looking at a character in their ‘home’ story and setting and how their environment shaped them. Some crossovers can be interesting if they add a new depth or layer to the existing canon (which I think is one of the reasons that Pacific Rim AUs were so popular for a while; drift-compatibility is an interesting way to explore characterization and relationships!) but I don’t often write them myself.

That said, ‘often’ doesn’t mean ‘never.’ I’ve written some AUs (unfinished Cassandra/Leliana werewolf fic, the moody cannibal mermaid AU with Aveline/Isabela) but full on crossovers are a different entity.

The closest to a crossover that I currently have is the still untitled Fallout Necromancy AU, in which I merge some of The Locked Tomb’s approach to necromancy with Fallout 4 for some incredibly unhealthy cav/necro codependencies for necromancer Hancock and cavalier Danse. It’s more true to Fallout’s canon than TLT, and still unfinished. Alas.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? I’ve had some of my fics scraped and posted to shady publishing sites (“only $5 for all the stories you want!”) and submitted takedown requests. No in-fandom stealing that I’m aware of.

12. have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Here is a Russian translation of what we don’t talk about (Mass Effect, Zaeed Massani/Karin Chakwas), which I was absolutely tickled pink to receive!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? Technically, yes. The fic has been subsequently deleted and I have abolished all ties to that person, so that might be a warning. /tongue in cheek

More seriously: I don’t think I can. I’m idiosyncratic and particular about my process, and I just don’t think I’m very good at co-writing with someone. I can take an idea and feedback and process that into my fic, sometimes very heavily, and I can work off someone else’s outline or prompt, but to the level of co-writing, assuming we’re taking equal claim and responsibility for the work? It feels profanely intimate in a way that makes me deeply uncomfortable, which unfortunately probably says more about me than anyone else!

That said: I have been fortunate enough to have truly excellent friends who have also played cheerleader and beta for me, sometimes offering me substantial notes that meant I had to fundamentally rewrite portions of a story. Does this make them co-writers? I don’t think so, but it’s definitely a more intense collaboration than I usually request, and it’s something I reserve for only a few people.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship? How dare you ask this of a multi-shipper!!!!

I don’t know that I have a real answer for this. In my head, I try to split it by fandoms (but wait! Would I consider Dragon Age Origins, Awakening, DA2, and Inquisition to all have different fandoms?), but some fandoms are only occasional urges and others are more consuming passions, so….

I’ll leave it at this: if I’ve written it, I probably ship it on some level. And not all ships are “oh I think they’re gonna live happily ever after,” some ships are “hm, that could be interesting” or “oh, they could be so bad for each other in such compelling ways,” and others are “they’re good for each other at this point in time, but maybe not beyond that,” etc etc.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? If I want to finish it, I assume I eventually will. ‘Eventually’ may take a while. Life is short, love is long, and I do love stories.

16. what are your writing strengths? *hour-long fart noise* Strengths? Idk. I always feel strange talking about my strengths to begin with, and this year has been particularly rough for that because I’ve been taking more deliberate time doing writing exercises and reading different books about writing. It makes me more critical of my own work.

But if I must: sensory immersion. Character interiority. Basically, I try my best to love a character—or at least find something I can love about them, something that evokes care and pity if not admiration—and let that shape how I write them, even if they don’t love themselves. If that makes my authorial bias a bit kinder, then so be it. I feel like the world needs a little more kindness.

17. what are your writing weaknesses? *hour-long fart noise* What about my love of obscure words? If I had a nickel for every time I tried to sneak ‘palimpsest’ into my prose and been called out by a beta, I’d have two nickels! Which isn’t that often, but weird that it happened twice! (Other amazing words I often fight over including or not: phosphenes, mordant, triptych, chiaroscuro, bellicose, gelid. I get a daily word of the day from Merriam-Webster and I don’t know if it’s actually improved my vocabulary or only made me more insufferable!)

I fully admit that sometimes I get overly compelled to write something ‘pretty’ and linguistically clever than fully in the character’s voice. I jump around with sentence fragments and don’t link my scenes; sometimes it works (choppy, disjointed prose for characters who themselves are extremely angry or disconnected from their environment in some way) and more often it doesn’t.

I have mild synesthesia and an idiosyncratic interpretation of certain stimuli, and often need to revise to ensure it makes sense to anyone else. Or if I can tweak it just enough to sound refreshing and vivid. (Example: low musical notes feel ‘blue’ to me, and often bitter. Higher notes can be sharp-sweet or acidic, but usually don’t have a color association. Yellow is rancid. This only becomes a problem when I’m sleep-deprived or highly-caffeinated, as when I once had to stop my playlist because the rapid taste/sound/smell combos were making me nauseous.)

I often want to write characters as softer, kinder, or gentler than they are in canon. Does that sand out their complexity? Yes. Is it because I want them to have a kinder, softer, or gentler future than what their story gave them? Also yes.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? OH BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS.

Okay, so! First of all, I need to foreground this: as a Chinese-American living in the US, I find it extremely off putting when I read a story and the mere choice of capitalization and italics make it clear who the author thinks their intended audience is, and who is ‘other.’ If an author bothers capitalizing or italicizing “Pad Thai,” “Sushi,” or “Shu Mai,” (as in: “I ordered some Shu Mai.”) but not, say “Pizza,” “Burrito,” or “Croissant,” there are some pretty big assumptions going on already that make me feel alienated from the text. (As always, there’s some room to play with: if the author is intentionally writing their POV character as having those particular biases, that’s one thing. When it’s a completely unexamined bias, that’s another.)

Translated text doesn’t need to be italicized or marked as other, unless again, there’s a specific reason that the POV character might see it as ‘other.’ Most people won’t interpret their home language or heart languages as ‘other.’ A dialogue tag like ‘said in Cantonese’ or ‘said in Spanish’ is sufficient, I’ll trust in the reader to pick it up!

I am a first-generation Chinese-American who can’t read the Chinese syllabary. (And what little I speak is Cantonese, not Mandarin. The loss or use of heritage languages across the diaspora is an entire topic by itself, so please understand that this is one person’s view and experience.) Some Chinese writers prefer to write with hanzi; I prefer to write Romanized versions but what goes in a fic will depend on the POV character’s relationship to the language and how intelligible (or not) it’s meant to be to the reader. I generally include context or a note if it’s meant to be clear; if it’s something that the POV character won’t understand, I often prefer to leave it as “speaks in another language” or “said something in another language.”

In general, I find most fictional languages to be intellectual masturbation (there, I said it! :P) and am less interested in those than in how real-world languages are depicted in fiction, especially when read by people who may or may not be familiar with those actual languages and the people who speak them.

19. first fandom you wrote for? While the first fandom I ever posted for was Fallout…very technically I suppose the first fandom I ever wrote for was Pokemon. Because back when I was 9 or 10, I was very invested in Misty and Jesse because they were the only two girls who got a lot of screen time in the anime, and I just really wanted them to be friends!

In hindsight…I don’t think I was consciously thinking of it as shipping terms or romantic interest, but I thought it sucked that the only two girls who really showed up couldn’t at least be friends. So I wrote a lil’ story in which they got trapped in a cave…and obviously they had to camp together…and save each other as they looked for a way out…

Scandalous!!!!

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written? I try to love every fic at least a little before I share it with the world! But this one’s my newest baby:

(love is) the suture and the wound (Dragon Age, Leliana/Morrigan, rated E)

Thank you for reading this far! Now please drink some water and get up and stretch. :P

#choco's premium original content #20 questions for fic writers #tag memes

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