Hello, fantastic four imagine friends!

Here’s the question for you all today. Would you be at all interested in a holiday-themed imagine/fic exchange? Like a Secret Santa sort of thing? I’m really looking to organize another something through this blog, and I think a holiday imagine exchange would be fun! Let me know if you’re interested?

Congratulations to our runners up, writeandshine! For imagine #3.  Read their wonderful story here!

Congratulations to our runners up, writeandshine! For imagine #3. Read their wonderful story here!

Our first place winner is thatpommeygirl for entry #14!  Read the amazing story here! Congratulations!

Our first place winner is thatpommeygirl for entry #14! Read the amazing story here! Congratulations!

Voting is CLOSED and winners will be announced tonight!

Voting Ends Tonight! Get those votes in!
Anonymous asked: so how's the anon vote going?


In Regards to Voting:

guys, i’m really trusting you here with allowing you to anon vote. Please do not stuff the ballot box with vote after vote for your entry.

Anonymous asked: When does voting end and when are winners announced? (I know you've only just published them, but I want to know how much time we have)

This Sunday at 11:59 US CST, all voting will close. The winner and runner up will be announced sometime the following day. (Monday.)

Anonymous asked: surely people can just go on anon and vote for theirs over and over?

I’m an American. We’re big believers in the abuse of the secret ballot.

Entry #20
I knew what my perfect relationship would not be—long-distance, with somebody I couldn’t talk to or a boy who used pomade, involving little physical contact—and I suppose I figured that as long as it didn’t involve any of those conditions, it would have to be perfect. 

That was one of my flawed worldviews back then, that in the absence of bad there was only room for good. Although I suppose it was good, in the beginning. We did those standard couple things present in every romantic comedy—walks on the beach, picnics in the park, holding hands at the movies. One time he even made me dinner.

But then we started to fall apart, like a montage of movie clips playing to a sad song. The fights and the silence and the distances between us as we sat right next to each other. We stopped holding hands as we walked, he never called me at two in the morning any more, and I fell out of the habit of absently braiding his hair when we watched movies. Yet we hung on. For we were stubborn, Dan and I. 

I think in some part of our respective subconscious we didn’t want to admit defeat. For me, at least, our relationship had been the culmination of a lifetime of wishing on stars and birthday candles and dandelion heads for my own perfect love story, a personal fairytale.And so on we stayed, until, miraculously, our relationship reversed more unpredictably than a teen taking a driver’s test.  

It was another night in the flat that we shared as strangers. We were watching Tangled from opposite sides of the couch, a movie that my niece had called and forced me to watch. Dan was staring at the ceiling, sighing every few minutes. 

“Would you quit?!” I finally snapped, pausing the movie. 

“Quit what? Just leave me alone, why don’t you?” he shouted, turning to face me. 


I looked into the dark of his eyes, hardened from their soft caramel to a black ice, and trailed off, thinking of what we had once been. “Look, Dan…” I struggled for the words to tell him that I needed the old Dan back, the one who would pull my legs into his lap and stroke my hair in the evenings or have tickle fights with me in the middle of the night. 

“Just…never mind. Sorry.” I stood up, defeated, and made my way to the kitchen under the pretense of getting more tea. I could hear a frustrated sigh for the lounge and turned my back. I stared down into my teacup, feeling a teardrop slide down my nose. 

It dropped down to the depths of the mug with a tiny plop as the water boiled. I gave a shaky sigh and wiped my eyes, but too late a sob escaped. 

Dan turned and I lowered my head. “Sorry.” 

“Are you crying?” He asked. 

“No, never mind, sorry.” I sat and set my mug down. There was another laden silence as we watched the lanterns fly onscreen. 

I wished again for my fairytale romance, although this time for the one I had lost. 

“Here.” His voice was soft and his eyes never met mine as he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into my hair as I shifted around into our familiar stance, disused for so many months. “Me too.” 

And that’s the thing about fairy tales. They need a villain, even though with our particular villain had been us ourselves. For one cannot appreciate a sunny sky without the clouds or the daytime without the dark.

This is entry #20.  To vote for Entry #20, please click here and simply type “#20” in the ask box to vote!

Entry #20

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