#i keep my fics accessible to the public but stuff like this makes me second-guess myself

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

 The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“��The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun. 

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #r: gender neutral #wc: 5k+

[daydreaming-nerd]

Hands (Draco Malfoy x reader)

Requested by anons: omg that hands anon *chefs kiss* if you were working in the library or his dorm and he’s writing an essay you’d def say something like “idk how you can do such sexy things with your hands, and then casually sit here for regular stuff” and he would laugh a bit turn to you and go “you talk to snape with the same mouth that sucks me dry” and it’d leave you speechless 

Okay I’m the anon that sent the hands one, but imagine it being in the great hall or library or something, and he just starts playing with the hem of your skirt, and goes farther up ☺️ the exhibition kink is here 

Okay but like dracos hands. Like imagine just playing with his hands all the time, and sometimes your mind wanders, and he starts to whispering in your ear asking what’s got you all bothered cause you’re rubbing your thighs together. And responding confidently about how it’s been too long since you too have been alone and you miss the feeling of one hand around your throat while the other is inside of you... oops went too far

Summary: I think you can read the requests and understand it pretty well lol

Warnings: dracos hands being incredibly hot, SMUT (but c’mon you knew that already) dirty talk, choking, bad grammar 

There’s a lot of things to love about Draco Malfoy. His charm, his smile, his laugh, the way her can’t stand Potter and how even though he’s cruel to others he’s always a sweetheart to me. Though at the end of the day I don’t think any of those things compare to his very best quality, his hands.

It was very late at night and we were one of the last people in the library, besides the golden trio down the way no doubt playing Nancy Drew again. I had finished my homework early but Draco was still grinding through his studying. I sat and read a book while I waited, I could tell he was getting stressed when he started drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table. 

Naturally this distracted me from my book as I could see his silver ring glistening against the candle light. Out of habit I grabbed his hand and began to play with his ring and fingers. This didn’t disturb him at all, I frequently played with his hands when I was bored or anxious. 

“I don’t know how you can do such sinful things with your hands and then sit here and study like you’re still the Slytherin golden boy,” I said fiddling with his ring. 

He let a small laugh and came up with a witty reply.

“You talk to Snape with the same mouth that sucks me dry?” he said looking up from his book. I felt my stomach do a flip and a pool of heat beginning between my legs. 

“Touché,” I said letting him go back to his work since I was speechless.

As Draco continued to do his work I couldn’t stop thinking about his remark. Something about it just got to me. I began rubbing my thighs together trying to give myself some relief in the most low key way possible.

“Whats got you all hot and bothered darling,” He said quietly.

“I was just thinking about how long it’s been since we’ve been alone,” I said leaning in till my lips brushed his ear. “I miss you putting your left hand around my throat while your right hands inside me, you know so I can feel you ring, and remember who I belong to,” I whispered in his ear. I sat back in my chair and gave him my bedroom eyes. 

“Well you’re going to have to be a good girl and behave for a little while longer while I finish this up,” He said nodding towards his book. 

I huffed and sat back in my chair with my arms crossed upset that a book was suddenly more important. I spent the next few minutes looking around at the books in our little nook we were working in. I read all the book titles to myself in a lame attempt to try and distract myself. History of Magic, Evolution of Dragons, Herbology 105.

I suddenly felt a warm hand and a cool metal land on my thigh. I looked down to see Draco’s right hand resting on my bare thigh. I looked to see if he had finally closed his book but he still sat reading as though nothing was going on. It wasn’t uncommon for Draco to tease me. I would be bold enough to say that our sex life thrived off it. 

His hand rubbed up and down my thigh, silver ring leaving goosebumps in its path. I tried to not let on that I was drenched underneath my skirt. That all became a lot harder when I felt his hand slip under my skirt and began rubbing closer to my heat, causing my breath to hitch. I looked from his hand to where he sat turning the page of that damn book he was reading. The power this man held was incredible and he knew it. 

The inevitable came and his hand slid farther up and pushed my wet panties to the side and began circling my clit. He still sat there completely unfazed as if the whole situation wasn’t even happening. 

His finger trailed lower and he shoved two lanky fingers inside me causing me to lose all composure and let out a porn star worthy moan in the middle of the library. 

His lustful eyes snapped up to mine and in that moment I knew my wait was over. He slipped his hand out of me and slid everything off the table. He lifted me onto the table and stood between my legs locking our lips together. His hands wandered to the buttons on my uniform and started ripping it off. Buttons cascaded to the ground and rolled all over the hardwood. 

“Draco we can’t do this here!” I said “Potter, Weasly and Granger are just a few rows down from us!” 

“I guess that means you’ll have to be quiet then,” He smiled. “Though knowing you, you’re probably not opposed to them hearing us.” he smirked connecting our lips again. 

His hands skimmed the backs of my arms and down to my skirt. His right hand continued pumping in and out of me like it was previously, while his left hand was gripped around my throat. He looked deep into my eyes loving seeing how fucked out I was. 

I came quickly all over his hand due to already being wound up. He slipped his fingers and admired my cream all over his two fingers. He put his index finger in his mouth and sucked it clean finishing with a ‘mmmmn’. 

“As much as I’d love to devour my little pussy right now I just can’t wait any longer,” he said.

I felt the butterflies in my stomach again.

“Open,” he said making me suck my juices off his middle finger. “Good girl. Now lay back for me” he smirked. 

I did as I was told and he unzipped his trousers freeing his erection. He pulled my hips down giving himself better access to me as he slid himself in me. 

I let out a small moan trying to keep quiet and he started thrusting into me right away. My finger nails left scratch marks in the wooden table as I desperately tried to find something to grab onto. 

Draco saw this and reached his right hand down to my neck adding pressure as he continued to thrust harder, his breath becoming more labored as he got lost in the moment. I gripped my hands around his wrist as he choked me. 

“Ah fuck y/n!” He moaned out completely lost in what he was doing.

Meanwhile tears started to prick my eyes as the pleasure was too much to take. 

“D-Draco! I’m gonna cum!” I said hoarsely. 

“wait for me!” He said with a determined look in his eye.

But it was definitely easier said then done. I felt his thrusts begin to go off pace.

“Now!” He said completely burying himself inside me as we both came hard. 

We took a second to both catch our breaths while he was still inside me. He looked up at me with a sparkle in his eye.

“Round two in my dorm?” He asked.

“Duh,” I said.

We both got up and began to get dressed. I had to tie my top like some sexy school girl since Draco had ripped all the buttons off, not that he seemed to mind. We made our way to the exit of the library, Draco’s hand protectively on my back leading me out. On our way out we could hear the golden trio converting. 

“I told you it was Draco and Y/n!” cried Ron.

“I can’t believe we just heard all that,” said Harry.

“I can’t believe they would do... THAT! In public!”Ron said in shock.

“It’s Draco and Y/n all they ever do is snog and...well... that,” said Hermione.

Draco and I just laughed and continued on our way.

(Plz comment your feedback! It helps me write better fics for you guys!)

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco fanfiction #draco fluff #draco malfoy imagine

[savrenim]

hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.

on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.

but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.

(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)

and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.

aaaah hello anon!

thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????

the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"

my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is

I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.

I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.

Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.

And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.

There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen

There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?

but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.

I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.

*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that

of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.

but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side

#my life #my writing #ifmlam

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 13 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n:guess who’s realised she never submitted this to AQ? it’s ya boi. if u haven’t been able to read this yet then here it is, and look out for the final chapter coming soon! thank u to everyone who’s ever sent this fic some love, it means the world to me!!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

6th December 2020

Vanessa’s in the wine aisle of Marks and Spencers when she sees her again.

Her hair’s been dyed- she already knew that, she’s seen pictures of it on her Insta feed- and the demure tones of the honey-brown balayage are a contrast to the blonde ombré she’d had when they’d been together, but it suits her. She’s in sweatpants and a cropped jumper, because of course she is, and Vanessa recognises the matching pink set emblazoned with the Playboy logo from Missguided adverts on bus shelters. She’s wearing some form of chunky white trainers and Vanessa isn’t proud of the fact that she feels a little flame of satisfaction light up in her gut when she sees that they’re splattered with mud, contrasting with her clean outfit and perfect makeup.

Vanessa turns back to the green bottles in front of her, staring at them for so long and with such intensity that she thinks she might rip the fabric of reality in two. She consciously blocks out her peripheral vision so that all she can see is the label of one bottle of white which she reads over and over again. A light, dry white with citrus notes and lively green fruit flavours. Grown in the spectacular setting of the sun ripened vineyards of central Spain. Goes with fish, chicken and salads.

She doesn’t, in any way, shape or form, know how to play this situation, because this is the first time she’s seen Kameron in person since they decided to call it quits. One one hand she could just keep staring at the wine bottle, attempt to blend into the shelves via osmosis and completely avoid her ex, but on the other hand…Vanessa doesn’t really know what the other hand is, because she doesn’t know what a conversation between the two of them would look like. There’s a part of her that wants to find out.

And suddenly, with a cry that Vanessa recognises as hers, the decision is made for her.

“Vanjie?”

Slowly, timidly, Vanessa turns around to meet her eyes. Soft, brown eyes that Vanessa had once looked into and seen her whole world and future.

God, it’s fucking crazy how she used to be so in love with her and now she feels completely apathetic.

“Kam! Hey,” Vanessa smiles tightly, waving awkwardly with the hand she’s not holding her shopping basket with. “How are you?”

“I’m fine! Well, actually, not amazing. I tried to make this really fancy, complex coq au vin for dinner last night but I don’t know what the hell I did wrong because it tasted like fucking ass. So I’m here getting ingredients again because Mama didn’t raise a quitter. It’ll probably still taste like garbage though, you know what I’m like,” Kameron reels off, which makes Vanessa smile in spite of herself. Kam was never the best at cooking and it was usually Vanessa who made the dinners when they were together, but there were still a couple of times when she’d tried at something and had failed spectacularly. Kameron seems to pick up on what she’d said as a little look of discomfort flashes in her eyes before she follows her sentence up with, “How’re you? God, it’s been ages.”

“It has,” Vanessa shrugged a little. So much has changed since they’ve last spoken that Vanessa isn’t really sure where to start. “I’m good. Things are pretty great, really. Obviously had a good run on the show for my first year competing, so hopefully I’ll get a partner next year too an’ win it next time.”

“I know, you did so well! I was really shocked you didn’t make the semis at least,” Kameron frowns, and the flattery does admittedly soften Vanessa up a little. Kameron’s face lights up as she adds, “God, your girl was so amazing though too! Brooke Lynn Hytes, right? She was super talented. Now I know how good a dancer she is I can’t help but feel like she’s sort of wasted as a presenter.”

“Yeah, she’s incredible,” Vanessa nods emphatically, unable to help the heat she feels spreading to her cheeks whenever she gets to talk about Brooke with somebody. Kameron’s expression changes a little as she clocks Vanessa’s blush, and a cheeky glint appears in her eye. Vanessa frowns. “Hey. Behave.”

“I didn’t say a word!” Kameron laughs, and as she trails off there’s a smile on her face that’s affectionate and helps Vanessa warm up to her ex even more. “Listen, what’re your plans? I’d honestly love to catch up. It’s been too long.”

Vanessa tilts her head in thought. The conversation isn’t going too badly, and her only plans are going round to Brooke’s later on to watch the semi-final results and have dinner (hence the reason she’s gone to M&S to get wine and not the Tesco Metro round the corner from her). So Vanessa surprises herself when she shrugs, giving Kameron a little nod. “Okay, yeah. Lemme get this wine and then we can get coffee.”

The way Kameron’s face lights up makes Vanessa think that her decision was the correct one.

They’re sat at a little table at the window of a nondescript coffee shop roughly ten minutes later, Kameron stirring the hell out of a vanilla latte that’s sat in front of her and creating a tiny whirlpool in the coffee that puts Vanessa in mind of a Pirates of the Carribean movie. Kameron’s talking about the flat she’s in just now- she bought it after she rented for a while when she moved out of Vanessa’s place- and how furniture is so expensive.

“I mean I could just go to IKEA and just furnish the entire thing for, like, two grand, but I actually want some really nice stuff, you know? Like it’s a big girl professional flat, not a uni rental,” she screws her face up as she finally takes a sip. Vanessa bristles a little opposite her- she knows Kam doesn’t mean it, but Vanessa wants to remind her that most of her furniture is from IKEA, because they’d gone and bought it all together when they first moved in. Kameron doesn’t seem affected, though, and keeps talking. “What about you? You still living out at Finsbury Park?”

Vanessa nods. “I’m still in the same flat, I never moved.”

A look of shock passes over Kameron’s face and Vanessa can read her like a book- the fact she’s still in that flat where they made so many memories together is obviously surprising. Vanessa can’t help but laugh. “Kameron, chill. You don’t roam the fuckin’ halls like a ghost, I don’t burst into tears whenever I go into a room. It’s a decent flat at a decent price, I wanted to keep it.”

“Right. Sorry. Ego check,” Kameron smiles sheepishly, and Vanessa feels bad for poking fun at her. Kameron perks up after a second, laughs a little. “I like how you said ‘halls’ plural. Like it’s a stately home and not a fucking matchbox with an intercom system.”

Vanessa’s taking a sip of her own hot chocolate and she almost chokes on it in a laugh, Kameron howling and slapping the table in response. Vanessa’s forgotten that Kam used to make her laugh, still can. She always used to see it like some sort of secret privilege she had access to, the quiet girl’s funny side rare and only popping out on special occasions. That hasn’t changed over the years.

“How’s work, anyway?” Vanessa asks her as she composes herself. Kameron shrugs easily.

“Pretty good. I did a Dua Lipa music video the other week, that should be coming out in a month or so.”

“Is she actually as bad a dancer as that video made her out to be?”

Kameron smirks. “She had a shit choreographer; she’s actually alright. Not pop girl standard, but you know. My agent’s trying to get me on the Blackpink tour next, so I should hear back from that soon.”

Vanessa’s glad that work hasn’t dried up for Kameron- the backing dancer industry is treating her well.

“Anyway,” Kameron bats her lashes, looking at Vanessa coyly from behind her glass. “Tell me more about this dance partner of yours, miss.”

Vanessa feels herself blush, a bashful laugh escaping her lips before she can stop it. It’s weird- after they first broke up Vanessa always used to think she’d love the chance to rub her ex’s face in a new relationship, but it feels ever so slightly odd now she’s actually about to talk about Brooke in front of her. “Honestly, we’re just seeing each other and keeping things casual. Y’know, while the series is still goin’. We’re not even official or public.”

“Yet,” Kameron smiles cheekily at her, and Vanessa can’t suppress the smile she returns to her.

“Okay, yet. But it’s going really well. I really like her. She’s sweet, an’ she’s caring, an’ she’s the best listener.”

“And she won’t be a fucking idiot and cheat on you.”

“No, I don’t think she will,” Vanessa shrugs, the fact that Kameron’s brought the situation up casting a small grey cloud over the conversation. It’s clunky and awkward, a puzzle piece jammed in a place it shouldn’t be. It’s been brought up now though, so Vanessa grimaces and adds, “But then I never thought you would, either.”

Kameron’s face screws up in regret, and before Vanessa knows it she’s rested a hand on top of hers and is giving her a tentative smile. “I know I said it about twenty million times when we were together but I’m honestly so sorry, Vanessa. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Kam, you gotta stop beatin’ yourself up about it,” Vanessa cuts in and says swiftly. Her own words shock her; they’ve come from virtually nowhere, and she’s amazed at the raw sympathy she’s just shown her. “You were drunk, it was a kiss. Strictly is…it’s a weird show. You saw him more hours in the day than you saw me. Kisses between partners happen all the time, it just…sucks that it happened between you two.”

Kameron nods quietly, and Vanessa puts her other hand on top of hers. “I forgive you. Give yourself a break.”

Kameron squeezes her hand, shoots her a soft smile. “Thanks, Vanjie.”

They let go of each other’s hands and each take a sip of their own drink, the silence between them somewhat symbolic like someone wiping words off a whiteboard. Vanessa watches as Kameron swallows a gulp of her coffee and grins. “Hey, do me a solid and put in a good word with Asia O’Hara for me, okay? I really want to slide into her DMs but I need some context first.”

“Your face can be the context, fuckin’ look in a mirror,” Vanessa snorts, and the two of them laugh together.

It’s nice. This huge, big, massive event she’s built up in her head for all these months is happening- she’s bumped into Kameron and she’s speaking to her. She doesn’t need to build it up anymore, or wonder about how it would play out because she’s living it, it’s playing out and she never has to see Kameron for the first time since they broke up ever again. A wall crumbles down in her mind without warning and once the dust settles she realises that she feels somewhat lighter.

Vanessa has been carrying this burden around with her for all this time without even having known it.

The pair of them eventually finish up- hug goodbye outside the coffee shop and tell each other how nice this all had been and then go their separate ways. They don’t promise to keep in touch, but Vanessa knows they’ll probably like each others’ Instagram posts or occasionally tweet each other support or that kind of thing now. Little things that remind them they’re still on good terms.

As Vanessa heads to the tube, her mind drifts to Brooke and how excited she is to see her. The week has been long and Brooke’s been busy, but true to her word she’s messaged Vanessa whenever she’s had a spare moment, updating her on her day and asking her about her own. On Tuesday she’d invited Vanessa round to her flat on Sunday night as she has a day off on Monday and they can spend the night together. She’s not just abandoned her or left her hanging, and if there’s about to be a gap between her messages she always pre-warns her. Brooke’s treating her well. Almost like a girlfriend. Exactly like a girlfriend.

Vanessa still doesn’t know what they really are. She’s so far told herself that that’s alright, but now they’re out of the competition that answer isn’t really satisfying her any more. She wants to call Brooke hers, she wants to be with her properly. As Brooke’s apartment building comes into view, Vanessa wonders if she’ll bring it up tonight.

As she buzzes Brooke’s intercom, though, Brooke’s tone throws everything into a tailspin.

“Hello?”

Vanessa frowns. Brooke sounds ever-so-slightly icy and fed up. She wonders if she’s imagined it. “Uh, hey! It’s Vanessa.”

“Hey. Come up.”

As the door buzzes open and Vanessa steps into the building, she waves away the thoughts in her head. She’s probably overthinking things, and as she steps into the elevator and lets herself be carried up to Brooke’s 12th floor apartment Vanessa tries to calm her nerves. It’s the first time she’s been to Brooke’s flat- in fact it’s the first time either of them have been at either of their flats- so she’s a little anxious. It’s another layer of the relationship they’re adding on, and the thought of things getting a little more serious makes Vanessa’s heart flutter.

So her head is thrown into a tailspin when the elevator doors open onto a landing and she’s met with three doors- two closed, and the other (Brooke’s, a little gold 111 set into the smooth grey exterior) is ever so slightly ajar. Vanessa narrows her eyes, tentatively stepping out of the lift, crossing the hall, and pushing the door open a little.

“Brooke Lynn?”

Brooke’s voice replies, still something to it that Vanessa can’t quite work out. “I’m in here.”

Frowning, Vanessa steps through the doorway and into Brooke’s flat. The whole situation is so strange that she can barely take in everything she sees; a long, narrow hallway lined with high heels that leads down to what looks like a sunken living room with a cream sofa and a floor-to-ceiling view of London. There’s a room to the right halfway down the hall, though, and it seems to be where Brooke’s voice came from, so Vanessa closes the front door and hears the click of the lock behind her as she follows it. Maybe she’s in the middle of something. Maybe she’s just busy and she wants Vanessa’s company while she finishes whatever it is she’s doing.

And then, as Vanessa turns into the room, the situation becomes immediately apparent.

Brooke’s bedroom is dark- the blinds are drawn and the only light comes from a few candles that are sitting on the tidy grey dressing-table under the window and the soft pink salt lamp that sits on the bedside table. The large bed pushed up against the wall takes up most of the room, and its sheets are white and perfectly ironed and crease-free.

They serve as a perfect backdrop to the sight that’s currently greeting Vanessa- Brooke, in a matching set of black Calvin Klein underwear, curled up against the pillows and scrolling her phone. The dark material makes Brooke’s pale skin pop, and the sight of her toned thighs and stomach forces Vanessa to squeeze her thighs together in spite of herself. Brooke looks up as she enters the room and smiles smugly, clearly happy to get the reaction Vanessa’s given her.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, her voice light and sing-song and making the entire situation worse because the fact she’s so perfectly put-together while Vanessa is slowly becoming a melting, gooey mess in front of her is, for some reason, only making her want to rip Brooke’s clothes off even more than she already does. “Come sit.”

She gently pats the space on the bed next to her and Vanessa almost knocks herself out kicking her trainers off and letting her jacket fall to the floor as she scrambles up onto the bed. She feels herself blush as Brooke gives a soft laugh (presumably in response to just how eager she is) then decides she doesn’t really care how she’s coming across as Brooke leans in and closes the gap between them, kisses her with soft Chapstick lips that Vanessa feels as if she’s addicted to. Vanessa expects the kiss to be more than it is- flames of seductive fire that make one thing lead to another all too quickly- but instead it feels as if Brooke is deliberately holding back, teasing her a little. It’s not helping Vanessa’s desperation at all, and just as she brings a hand up to rest on Brooke’s hip, Brooke breaks the kiss.

“So,” Brooke begins cryptically, as she reaches for her phone where she’d discarded it against the sheets. “I was just scrolling Instagram, you know, as you do. And, uh, I felt a little bit confused.”

Vanessa frowns in tandem with Brooke, who finally appears to reach the post she’s been looking for. Brooke’s voice keeps its light tone as she continues. “Because apparently, according to these photos…it looks like you had a cute little reunion date with your ex today?”

Vanessa’s heart drops as Brooke turns her phone to show her the long-lens photograph posted by The Sun’s Instagram account. It’s her and Kameron at the coffee shop window, taken at the exact moment that Kameron had reached out and taken her hand and Vanessa had shot her a forgiving smile and taken hers in return, probably the most affection they’ve shown each other in a whole year.

But Jesus Christ, has it been taken out of context and then some.

She’s panicking, and she can feel her mouth opening and closing rapidly as she attempts to explain herself. The one saving grace about the whole situation is that Brooke appears to be…calm? Relaxed? She’s not flown off the handle, anyway, which Vanessa wouldn’t exactly have expected, and there’s also the fact she’s in a matching underwear set so clearly can’t be that mad at her. So Vanessa finally finds her voice, tells Brooke everything- how she’d only bumped into Kameron in the shop, and how it was just a coffee and nothing more, and how she’d actually finally received closure for everything that had happened between the two of them.

As she speaks, part of Vanessa wants to bring up the fact that she and Brooke aren’t even together together, so why Brooke’s so pressed about all of this Vanessa doesn’t know.

Unless Brooke wants them to be more than what they already are. And Vanessa has fucked it.

Shit.

“It’s just all a massive misunderstandin’, honestly,” Vanessa finishes, and she’s relaxing a little more now that Brooke’s body language is warmer. “I maybe should’ve texted you but I was gonna tell you tonight anyway, I promise. I wouldn’t…I just wouldn’t mess you about like that, Brooke.”

Brooke slowly lets a bashful smile creep across her face as she nods softly. “Okay.”

And, just because she can, Vanessa pulls her in for another kiss. This time there’s a little more heat to it which makes Vanessa’s stomach flutter in anticipation, but she still feels as if Brooke’s holding back. It’s only then that Vanessa remembers how Brooke had told her she liked being in control, how much Brooke got off on hearing her beg for what she wanted the first time they’d slept together, and it all falls into place.

Oh.

Before Vanessa can say anything, Brooke’s trailing her hand from its position cupping Vanessa’s jaw down her body to rest on her waist, and Vanessa’s mouth goes ever-so-slightly dry. Brooke’s face is still close as she speaks again. “See I thought that would be the case, because I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.”

Vanessa responds by mirroring Brooke’s touches, resting her own hand against her exposed thigh and delighting as she watches something darken behind Brooke’s eyes. Her tone changes a little as she continues. “But it did get me thinking…what if you did forget how good you had it one day?”

“Won’t happen,” Vanessa shakes her head, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth as Brooke pushes up the hem of her oversized white t-shirt, rests the palm of her hand against the bare skin at her waist. Vanessa squeezes her legs together again and she watches as Brooke flicks her gaze down, suppresses a smirk badly.

“It won’t?” Brooke pouts mockingly, and Vanessa loves it. “Well, just in case…I thought I’d show you what you’d miss if you ever did think you could do better than me.”

“Fuck,” Vanessa verbalises what she’s thinking in a hiss, as Brooke tugs at the bottom of her top and removes it quickly without Vanessa having to do anything other than raise her hands above her head.

Brooke dips her down so that her head’s resting against the pillows and presses kisses to Vanessa’s jaw, neck, collarbone, right down to the lace of her bra. Vanessa’s pulse is racing and she finds herself already spreading her legs, unable to help the way she needs Brooke to touch her.

“God, you’re so needy,” Brooke tuts disapprovingly into her skin, briefly reaching her hands under Vanessa’s back in an attempt to unhook her bra. Vanessa’s stomach tenses as she lifts herself off the mattress to help her, and soon the bra that she spent entirely too long picking out this morning is thrown halfway across the room onto the dark wood of Brooke’s bedroom floor.

“Says the girl that’s trying to get my boobs out in the first two minutes of foreplay- ah!” Vanessa cuts herself off as Brooke sucks a hickey into her collarbone. If she wanted to get Vanessa to shut up she’s succeeded, and so Vanessa instead focuses her attention on trailing her nails up and down Brooke’s back, delighting in the way the other girl shivers gently at the contact.

Brooke brings her lips up to meet Vanessa’s and she licks gently into her mouth as she strokes her thumb over one of her nipples, the contact making Vanessa flinch against the bed in the best kind of way. Vanessa trails a hand up Brooke’s back and pushes her fingers into her hair, and when Brooke breaks away her stomach flips at the way it’s all messed up and imperfect. Paired with Brooke’s blown pupils and plush lips, it’s a sight that makes Vanessa buck gently into the air almost without realising.

“Jesus. It really doesn’t take much, does it?” Brooke laughs gently as she loops a finger under the waistband of her leggings, and Vanessa shakes her head and pouts self-indulgently.

“Brooke…” she begins, then trails off when she doesn’t actually realise what she wants to say. She’s very happy to let her be in charge if this is what happens as a result, and when Brooke moves to straddle her it renders her twice as speechless as she was before.

“If this is you now, I’m almost scared for how you’re going to react when you see what I’m planning on doing to you,” Brooke says softly, the fake concern to her voice sending shockwaves rippling through Vanessa’s body. Before she can respond Vanessa gasps as Brooke pulls off her leggings, leaving her in the red thong she’d agonised over and the white ankle socks she’d put entirely less thought into. Brooke is left kneeling between Vanessa’s spread legs; dark heavy-lidded eyes, mouth hanging ever-so-slightly open. When she speaks, her voice is ragged.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” she says, and maybe it’s the simplicity of it but Brooke’s words make Vanessa feel completely naked despite what she’s still wearing.

“You’re beautiful,” Vanessa breathes out in an instant reply.

Brooke pouts and trails one of her short acrylics up Vanessa’s inner thigh, ripping a whine from her. “You sure Kameron isn’t more beautiful?”

“Jesus,” Vanessa throws her head back against the pillow and lets out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t have you down as the jealous type at all.”

When she tilts her head up Brooke’s got an unimpressed eyebrow raised at her. “You’re already in trouble, this isn’t helping your case.”

Vanessa can’t resist the urge to tease her and so she sticks her tongue out in response. “Oh what, you gonna punish me? You gonna tie me to the bed an’ spank me?”

Brooke’s gaze darkens. There’s a pause as she crawls up the bed, hovers over Vanessa with her face close. Vanessa keeps her own eyes sparkling as she stays still, challenging her to see if she’ll crack even though she wants to grab her jaw and kiss her with the same intensity they’d shown each other earlier.

“Brooke Lynn’s jeal-ous,” she sing-songs right in her face, and when Brooke pulls back she’s wearing a dark expression. Vanessa brings her hands up to rest on Brooke’s waist, traces the outline of her waistband.

And when Brooke leans over to the top drawer of her bedside table, Vanessa’s eyes widen as she instantly realises what she means.

She produces a wireless pink wand vibrator, and Vanessa’s body hotwires.

“Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” Brooke murmurs, lips quirking in a smile. “You’re going to get punished for the stunt you decided to pull today.”

“Oh no, I hate orgasms! What a terrible punishment,” Vanessa smiles back at her, sarcastic and indulgent.

“Who says you’re going to be allowed to have any?” Brooke frowns.

Vanessa instantly realises her mistake.

“Wait…but-”

“Yeah. I’d suggest you better start being extra nice to me,” Brooke interrupts her, resting the wand down on the bed beside one of Vanessa’s thighs and hooking her fingers around the waistband of her underwear to tug it off. While this is happening Vanessa shuffles against the sheets in anticipation, something curling tightly in the pit of her stomach and the throbbing between her legs becoming impossible to ignore. She wants so badly to be touched, wants Brooke to feel how wet she is and for her eyes to go all wide when she realises she’s the one that’s got her this worked up, but instead of her fingers or her tongue she’s using that stupid fucking vibrator and she’s not even going to be allowed to come.

Fuck.

“Please, Brooke Lynn,” Vanessa pouts, letting a hand trail up Brooke’s thigh from where she’s positioned herself between her legs.

Brooke gives a short laugh. “You think you’re begging me now, wait until I get started.”

“Promise I’ll be good for you,” Vanessa insists, the end of her sentence almost getting cut off with a gasp as Brooke presses the wand against her. It’s not even switched on yet but it’s something that Vanessa can grind against, and she bucks her hips gently against the head.  

“If you want me to turn it on you better keep those hips still,” Brooke says quickly, and Vanessa groans in resignation, lies still like she’s been asked.

She’s rewarded with a soft hum and a gentle buzz against her slit, and she can’t help the moan of satisfaction she gives in response as Brooke holds the wand there for a few moments, letting Vanessa get used to it. After so much build-up it feels like heaven, and the feeling leaves Vanessa wondering how long she’s going to last.

Brooke starts to swipe the wand up and down against her; lazy, slow motions that leave Vanessa squirming against the mattress every time she feels the vibrations brush against her clit. It’s not helping that Vanessa can see Brooke’s own chest rising and falling increasingly quickly, her pink, flushed cheeks, her hair all unkempt from Vanessa running her fingers through it.

“This good, babe?” Brooke asks, her tone ragged and her voice hoarse. When she snaps her gaze up to meet Vanessa’s eyes her pupils are blown and black and it sends an arrow through Vanessa’s heart that instantly shatters it as if it’s a piñata full of confetti.

“Mm,” is all Vanessa can manage, along with a rapid nod against the pillow.

“Not quite hearing a yes or a no there,” Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should just turn it off-”

“No, no, no, no! It’s good, it’s good, fuck, yes, please don’t stop,” Vanessa instantly reels off as if it’s a frantic prayer. Brooke’s probably the closest thing to religion she’s experienced in months.

“You sure? You sure Kameron wouldn’t do it better?” Brooke says teasingly, wiggling the vibrator against her clit as if to make a point and sending Vanessa into the stratosphere.

“No, I promise, I promise, babe, please, please, please,” she whines. She can hear herself pleading and she hopes it’ll help Brooke come round to the idea of letting her orgasm because if Brooke ups the setting on her wand then there’s no way she’s going to be able to exercise any form of restraint.

Brooke switches back to slowly sliding the vibrator against her, and Vanessa can feel Brooke’s grip on her thigh tighten.

“Fuck, I can see how wet you are from here.”

Vanessa feels herself throb, her body responding to Brooke’s words before she can. She fists both her her hands into the sheets, can’t see her knuckles but knows they’ve gone white. “You wanna taste me so bad.”

“So much,” Brooke pouts, nodding slowly. “But…you need to lie there and take your punishment.”

“Fuck. I miss when you were too shy to talk during sex,” Vanessa huffs, grumpy, and she’s immediately stopped from saying any more as the wand buzzes that little bit more intensely against her. Brooke brings it back up to her clit, rubs it in slow, small circles that drive Vanessa wild and render her almost incapable of thought.

“Sounds like you’re the one who can’t talk during sex,” Brooke deadpans, squeezing Vanessa’s thigh to punctuate her point.

She can feel how slick the wand is against her, only illustrating how wet she is. The hum of the vibrator and the gasps Vanessa can hear herself making are heightening her senses; it’s too much and not enough all at once. Both Brooke’s teasing and the sensation of the wand vibrating against her is making Vanessa’s inevitable orgasm build inside her, and it’s only a matter of time before she hits boiling point.

“Brooke- ah!- please…don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last…”

“Oh, no way,” Brooke says darkly, and in an instant the vibrator is off and Vanessa’s back is arching off the bed in frustration as she cries out in disappointment. “You don’t get to come yet, babe, not after the sass you just gave me.”

Vanessa instantly regrets opening her stupid mouth and teasing Brooke more than anything she’s ever regretted before in her life. She whines, reaches her hips up into the air as if she’s going to generate friction from nowhere, and Brooke’s pouting in mock-sympathy. Vanessa knows she could just spring up from her position against the bed, grab Brooke’s face and kiss her and pin her down and take the control back, but there’s part of her that knows how unbelievably satisfying it’s going to be when she does get to come if she’s this worked up already.

Brooke’s watching her with heavy-lidded eyes as she traces up her leg then fans her fingers out over her inner thigh and rubs her thumb against her clit. The contact makes Vanessa’s eyes almost roll into the back of her head; the wand has heightened her sensitivity and she’s by now so slick and wet from all of Brooke’s teasing that with every little rub of her thumb Vanessa can feel the fire between her thighs become completely out of control.

“God, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this to you every fucking day since Blackpool,” Brooke bites her lip, and Vanessa bucks against her thumb helplessly. “We’d be having to rehearse but all I wanted to do was just to make you beg for it again and again, fuck.”

“Should’ve told me.”

“Mm. I almost texted you about it. One of the nights I was lying in bed fucking myself with my fingers and remembering how good yours felt…remembering how you felt like fucking heaven underneath me…I could’ve sent you so many pictures that night…”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ you need to stop talking or I’m gonna come,” Vanessa squeezes her eyes shut. Brooke’s still teasing her clit and Vanessa knows she’s deliberately applying just not quite enough pressure. She’s so on edge and it feels like the most incredible form of torture.

“You want the wand back, sweetie?”

“Please, fuck, yes,” Vanessa begs, almost wanting to sob. When Brooke’s thumb gets replaced by the vibrating head of the wand she feels lightheaded, lets out a cry that she instantly knows Brooke’s neighbours will hear but she doesn’t care. Brooke’s teasing her badly, holding the wand against her, taking it away for a second, then replacing it, and Vanessa feels so sorry for herself that she starts pleading with her.

“Keep it on me, please,” she gasps out, and when she looks up at Brooke she’s smiling at her wickedly.

“Like this?”

Brooke ups the intensity the moment she makes contact and Vanessa can practically feel herself give a little gush against the wand. Her breath is coming in shallow gasps now, and she’s only just registering the fact that Brooke’s got her hand that isn’t holding the wand down under the waistband of her own underwear, playing with herself. There’s a light sheen of sweat against her chest that’s making her glow like an angel and the way her chest is rising and falling is mirroring Vanessa’s.

Vanessa now realises why people yell out declarations of love right in the middle of their orgasm.

“Why don’t you tell me how much you like it?” Brooke murmurs. Vanessa can see her bucking against her fingers and the sight makes her press herself down against the wand, the way the vibrations roll over her clit in waves making her want to scream.

“So much…so fucking much…”

“Anyone else gonna fuck you like me?”

“No, baby, no-one else, just you, fuck, only you,” Vanessa whimpers. She looks up at Brooke and the sight of her eyes closed in ecstasy, grinding against her fingers and her nipples hard through the fabric of her bra is enough to tip Vanessa on a very gradual decline over the edge. “Fuck, can I come, please?”

“Yes, babe, you can come.”

When Vanessa feels her clit sieze up then pulse frantically against the vibrations of the wand, she shouts out into the bedroom, the pace of her fuck, fuck, fuck in sync with the waves of her orgasm flooding through her body. Brooke holds the wand against her until she’s sure she’s finished and Vanessa can only lie against the mattress, completely worn out and exhausted, as she watches Brooke take the wand and hold it between her own legs, the thin material of her underwear dark between her legs as Vanessa realises just how wet Brooke must be as well.

And even though Vanessa’s too worn out to help her out in the way she wants to, it doesn’t stop her from sliding a lazy hand up her thigh. She takes a couple of shallow breaths before pouting up at Brooke.

“Aww. Did watching me get you too worked up, baby?”

“Mm-hm,” Brooke hums in reply, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she squeezes her eyes shut. It gives her an idea.

“Not used my mouth on you yet. Bet you wish I was doin’ it now.”

“Fuck, Vanessa, keep talking.”

“You don’t get to boss me around any more, princess. Keep talking what?”

Brooke’s face contorts into a frown as she ruts against the wand, eyes still closed. “Keep talking please.”

“Good girl,” Vanessa purrs, and she almost feels as if she could go for round two as she hears the way Brooke gasps in delight at the praise. “You want me to tell you how much I want to put my tongue between your legs and taste you and watch you come apart under me?”

“Ah…”

“Maybe you don’t want that, though. Maybe you want to sit on my face instead. Ride my tongue and shut me up so I can’t talk back to you and drip all over my face all dirty while I just lie there and take it like a good girl.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Brooke hisses out. Vanessa’s surprising herself with what’s coming out of her mouth and how absolutely filthy it all is but she’s going with it because she knows Brooke’s close.

“Tell me how much you want it.”

“Fuck, want it so much.”

“You’re so close, aren’t you?”

“Vanessa…fuck, please…”

Vanessa regains enough strength to sit up and cup Brooke’s face with her hands, meeting her lips with her own and teasing her with a slow, deep kiss. Vanessa flicks her tongue inside her mouth and when she rubs it over Brooke’s she cries out against her lips, her moans almost-but-not-quite swallowed by Vanessa’s kiss as she comes.

Brooke breaks away as she falls against the mattress and Vanessa follows her, lying down beside her and gently switching the wand off. They lay there in silence, Brooke’s gasps and the buzzing in Vanessa’s ears the only things she can still focus on until Brooke reaches out a hand to curl around one of Vanessa’s. Vanessa throws a leg over Brooke, pulls her closer so that Vanessa can rest her head against her chest and feel her frantic heartbeat.

“Fuck me,” Brooke whispers breathlessly, and Vanessa lets out a chuckle.

“What, again? Thought you’d at least want a break first.”

“Shut up,” Brooke giggles. There’s a pause as she presses her lips to Vanessa’s head, mouths something Vanessa can’t hear or see. Then she mutters again, a little louder. “You’re so amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Vanessa replies childishly, though the way Brooke’s chest judders against her in a laugh Vanessa assumes she doesn’t mind. She flinches a little as Brooke’s stomach gives a loud rumble. “Oh yeah. Forgot you were meant to be making dinner.”

“Hey, I have made dinner thank you very much! It’s in the slow cooker. Cuban beef and rice if that’s okay?” Brooke asks, and Vanessa doesn’t miss the little nervous tone in her voice. It’s adorable.

“Sure it is.”

Brooke lends Vanessa some pyjamas to shove on in lieu of the outfit she’d arrived in, and Vanessa’s heart swells a little at the implication that she’s going to be staying over. She’s not sure if she’ll try and breach the subject of what they are tonight- the evening is already so perfect and Vanessa doesn’t want to ruin anything, especially not when they’re curled up on the sofa with bowls of warm food in their laps and laughing guiltily at the way Jan is sobbing because she and Jackie have become the latest ones to leave the competition after a tense dance-off with Crystal and Gigi.  

“It’ll be a close final, though. Like that’s everyone been in the bottom now,” Vanessa contemplates, tilting her head in thought from her position at the other side of the sofa. Brooke nods, then snorts again.

“God. I feel for Jan, but she just has such a memeable crying face. Like Kim K,” Brooke snorts again, as some ridiculous BBC One gameshow that seems to be based around celebrities strapped into a wheel starts in the background.

“Jan’ll be fine. She’ll recover, she’s a big girl. She’s got Jackie anyway,” Vanessa shrugs. Brooke hums in response, and then there’s a palpable silence that fills the room, almost like Brooke is about to say something. Vanessa waits.

“So today got me thinking,” Brooke finally says, reaching out and curling her fingers around Vanessa’s. Her eyes are in her lap and she’s not meeting her gaze. Vanessa is, in every sense, on the edge of her seat.

“Uh-huh?”

“When I saw those pictures of you and Kameron,” Brooke continues, the reminder making Vanessa’s heart drop. “I got so envious…and then I thought, well…what’s the only way I can make sure Vanessa’s just mine?”

Brooke finally looks at her, and every fibre of Vanessa’s being lifts in hope. “So, uh, I was wondering…if you would want to be my girlfriend.”

And when Vanessa blinks, she can see fireworks explode behind her eyes. She’s unable to help the huge, dumb smile that breaks out on her face as she blushes shyly, gives a nod.

“‘Course I would, baby.”

The smile that bursts onto Brooke’s face mirrors her own, and Vanessa can’t help but lean in and pepper Brooke’s face with kisses, wrap her arms around her in a cuddle.

“Officially yours, now,” Vanessa smiles excitedly, as she rests her head against Brooke’s chest. She can’t see Brooke’s face, but she knows she’s smiling too.

And suddenly, a little sentence appears in Vanessa’s head, three very small and simple words that she’s not thought about in a long time but just make sense in that moment. She looks up at Brooke, meets her gaze and feels her heart thump.

Maybe she can save that for another day.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #bet you look good on the dancefloor #strictly au #lesbian au #branjie #past kamjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #kameron michaels #smut

[winchester-with-wings]

Burnin’ Up

Barry Allen x Meta!Reader / Patron Benefit Fanfic!

Author’s Notes: As always, it's taking me forever to write these fics but I've made a commitment to my patrons with fic requests and I wanna keep at it! So thank you for your continued support! I wrote this is one sitting! Isn't that amazing? For me it is haha! This is for the wonderful Jasmine ( @our-marvel-universe​ )! This was inspired by the Human Torch in Fantastic Four.

Summary/Request:     "Are you out of your damn mind?"

Word Count: 1400ish

Wanna get previews, early access and make exclusive requests? Become a Patron! You can follow my Patreon for free too as some stuff becomes public after a while.

Can’t become a patron? please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi (Tips are appreciated!)

Mobile Masterlist  /  Patreon & Commissions Masterlist

————————————————–

Barry and Iris had been proven time and again that they were good team leaders. When a new recruit was brought to Team Flash, there were training wheels and you were crazy to think you would be an exception.

The limits of your power were unknown and you were itching to push yourself. Literal firepower had not been seen since Caitlin's husband Ronnie Raymond. The fireproof tech had been lock away and Cisco was still digging it all up.

How hot could you get? Temperature wise…because let's be real…Barry's speed was ironic because he used to be late all the time…and you? You never would've described your self as hot…or attractive or any other word for it. If anything, you were a hot mess. When you'd gotten your powers, you'd been exposed to a propane tank explosion. You were just grateful to survive. But burning through your clothes…that wasn't fun.

Luckily, Barry's speed required Cisco to work on friction and heat resistant material. You just wish it wasn't so tight and revealing. It was a second skin. Black and sleek like snake skin with red stitching and accents. A blank red emblem was on your chest until Cisco had finished designing it.

"It's meant to be tight," Cisco says that day while you're blushing. Barry averts his eyes; Ralph tries and fails not to stare. Caitlin is smiling and looking at your face instead, reassuring. "You can wear it under your clothes so that you don't singe your favorite shirt."

"I don't know if I can take that risk just yet. Guess I'll just stick to sweats and old t-shirts," you say, shirking on one of the spare STARS Labs shirts that Caitlin offered earlier.

"Girl, it looks good," Cisco grins, admiring his work. "Black and red looks good on you. Tomorrow we can test your limits in a hot box. Any ideas on a name?" You open your mouth. Cisco laughs. "Just kidding, I'm working on that too."

---

You step into a metal box with walls at least 6 inches thick with small holes for venting.

"Good thing I'm not claustrophobic," you snark.

"Take your time. Don't push yourself," Barry says over a speaker system. You're alone in this lab. You feel like a bug under a microscope…or maybe an ant under a magnifying glass, seconds away from bursting into flames. Yeah that sounds about right.

The fire licks at your finger tips. Your heart is starting to beat rapidly. It's like Caitlin had noted before. The fire inside reacts to your emotions and physiology. You take some deep breaths. You and Iris had been practicing meditation together and it had served you well. But this time, the fire pulses with each breath like pumping oxygen into a fire.

Every 3 seconds, the fire grows, crawling up your arms. It sparks from your fingers and from your chest until there is a thin layer of flames engulfing you.

You hear the final click as the metal box closes, securing you within.

"Slow and steady," Barry coaches you.

"Her vitals are steady," Caitlin says in the background.

As the fire around you builds, your hair goes loose and flowing. You open your eyes. It was always scary to expose your eyes but you'd discovered quickly it was safe for you to do so. You turn your head and your hair is moving and floating in waves as if you're underwater. You raise your hands to you face, observing the fire as the flames shift color and temperature.

"I can go hotter," you say, extending your fingers for a burst of energy. You could sense that the fire was hot but it didn't hurt you. It felt warm and safe, like you'd created a safe space around you where no one could get to you.

The entire box, essentially the size and shape of an elevator car, is filled with your fire. The flames extend past it, flowing through the ventilation. The air is thick and distorted by the heat. The metal looks like it's sweating. Was it melting?

The edges of your uniform start to fray.

"Cisco, I thought you said this suit could withstand the fire?" you speak up over the roar of your fire. The camera that used to be in the box is gone. Destroyed.

"It was supposed to. Y/N, you're burning up."

"I know!" you cheer yourself on.

"No! It's too hot!" Barry shouts.

"I can do more!" Reaching deep within yourself you fill the fire burst from your limbs. You're not wearing shoes and you start to feel the soles of your feet lift off the floor. There's a force from your hand propelling you upward but only slightly. Is something happening? Do you know what it is?

Before you can figure it out, you're sprayed with automated fire extinguishers. But it can't even reach your skin, the fire is protecting you.

"You need to stop," you hear Caitlin say over the speakers. You hold your breath. Hold everything in. The fire on your skin stops but the box is still aflame, red hot and melting.

Suddenly, you feel like you're in vortex and the air around you is thinning. Your hair is caught up in the wind as you realize that Barry is running around you, putting out the flames and effectively suffocating you!

You collapse into a bed of foam. The room goes dark as you lose consciousness but you hear Iris shout Barry's name, stopping him in his tracks.

--

You're in the clinic, attended to by Caitlin. Your baseline temperature is well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

"You were practically hotter than a bomb. The next hottest thing was going to be the sun. There could've been dangerous consequences," she explains to you. Your tears evaporate on your cheeks.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. We're okay and so are you. Your suit though…didn't fair as well."

"Oh, no," you say, fighting back a chuckle, looking at the pile of ash and fabric in the corner.

"Cisco has a name for you now though. Supernova." A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You like it.

"Caitlin, I think I can…" You try to sit up but Caitlin gently pushes you down. Her hands are cold and there's steam when she touches your skin.

"You need to rest."

"But Caiti--"

"She said you needed to rest," Barry says, stepping into the room as reinforcement. "Are you okay?" His arms are crossed over his chest and you wish you could sink into the mattress and hide from his disapproval.

"You nearly killed me," you say scornfully, turning your head away from him.

--

The next time you see Barry, you're standing on the roof of STAR Labs.

It's been a week and the fire within you is building like a volcano.

"I can do this."

"Y/N? Are you out of your damn mind?! What are you doing up here?"

You're in your new suit. It's not even finished, providing coverage for the modest body parts at least. It's kind of sexy. And with what you're about to do, you need that confidence.

"Barry…I think I can fly."

"What? No, you can't!"

"I can. You'll see. Sometimes you need to jump before you can run." Blue flames dance at your fingertips, dripping down your legs.

"Stop! You can't. Don't do this!"

"Trust me."

You jump.

"Nooo!!" Barry screams as you plummet off the roof. Your flames are small and imperceptible at first as the wind streams past you. You can hear the crackle of Barry's lightning as he starts running down the side of the building.

"Come on!" You urge yourself, tensing your muscles and urging the fire to burst out of you.

It finally does, just before it's too late.

It propels you up and forward, away from the building. You leave behind a trail of flames but you're able to fly a few laps around STAR Labs until you land on the south lawn, burning the grass beneath you. You don't land gracefully either. Your knees buckle and you fall over. You could create a fire angel in the grass if you wanted but you'll be too busy dealing with Barry.

"Y/N! What the hell!?" He kneels beside you and reaches out to touch you but his fingers sizzle on your skin. "Ouch. Dammit, Y/N, you're out of your mind."

"No. Not at all. But I can fly. And you're just jealous," you giggle, riding the thrill and adrenaline. Barry groans and gets to his feet, frowning.

"No. Not at all," he copies you. "But at least I'm wearing clothes." You look down and realize that your suit has burned away once more. You squeal, covering your body.

"Don't look!"

"If you won't listen to me, then I don't have to listen to you. I can take in the sights if I want."

Still the gentleman, he offers his hoodie.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You're the one who's going to explain why Cisco has to make you another suit."

"Crap," you grumble. Hopefully, the fact that you can fly will smooth that over though…

—————————

Tagging: @abbessolute @autoblocked @book-loving--anime-chick @karazoiel​ @overlyobsethed​  @therealcap​  @whoopxd​  @bookworm4ever99​ @geeksareunique​ @pottxrwolff​ @barry-writes​ @ravenhaviland​ @clockblobber​ @softdudebro​ @melaninspice11​ @parkerschurros​ @woaahkelsey​ @montytheravenclaw​ @sanya-gryff​ @smutfornerds​ @fabinapercabeth4179​ @faithtrustandpixiedust95​ @thinkwritexpress-official​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​ @percyjackson886​

#my writing #barry allen x reader #barry x reader #meta!reader #patron fanfic #patron benefits #patron fic #barry allen #the flash #flash fanfiction #grant gustin #the flash fanfic #barry allen fluff #patreon #patreon fanfic

[therainroguefanfiction]

🎃 Frightful October Act VI, #18 ~ Stranded (Izuku Midoriya)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Romance

Word Count: 4,458

Pairing: Reader x Izuku

World: Boku no Hero Academia

Author’s Note: So um, not sure what the hell happened here lmfao I’ve been writing these out on paper and then typing them on the computer to post. I start writing and just keep going until I feel I’ve found a good stopping point. This single fic was 10 pages long, front AND back. I had to cut so much stuff out and shorten it drastically, and it still ended up being okay 4k words. I don’t know what to say, man lol I hope ya’ll enjoy this!

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

“We’re having a school trip tomorrow,” Aizawa announced boredly as he passed out two sheets of stapled paper to each student. On one sheet was a series of four islands and information about each one, while the second sheet was a permission slip. “The Quad-Peak islands have been steeped in mystery for two decades. This all began when four women planned a four day trip to the islands and never returned home.”

A murmur broke out through the class.

Aizawa ignored it, returning to the front of the room. “Recently, four foreign diplomats were out fishing near the islands when the vanishes without a trace. You will be working in pairs to discover what happened to them.”

You hummed thoughtfully as your eyes scanned the paper. ‘Four islands. Four women. Four days. Four diplomats. Four is considered bad luck because it can be pronounced like the word for death. It’s completely baseless, but many people fear the number, so much so that a lot of buildings don’t even have a fourth floor. Is this mere coincidence? Maybe a setup? A test? I need to get some information from Seven about this.’

“Sensei?” Momo raised her hand. “How will our partners be chosen?”

Aizawa didn’t open his eyes as he sat behind his desk. “All Might already chose the pairings. They will be announced before we leave tomorrow.”

Izuku glanced over his shoulder at you, praying to whatever gods he could think of that you were made his partner. He had been crushing hard on you since the day you saved him from a group of thugs trying to rob him. When he came to U.A. and found out that he was in the same class as you, he felt so incredibly lucky and vowed to get closer to you, but you were a loner and he was awkward and shy.

The bell rang and you gathered your things, heading over to class 1-B. Students gave you strange looks as they left the room, but you ignored them, approaching your best friend. Seven glanced up at you, eyebrow raised.

“I got a job for you if you’re interested.”

His lips curled up as he stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Can I cover over to your place?”

“‘Course. I’m running low on funds this month so I’m glad you don’t want me to buy dinner this time,” you stepped out of the room, Seven falling in step beside you.

He scoffed. “You spent it all on soda and video games, didn’t you?”

You coughed, turning your head away from him.

With a chuckle, he bumped his shoulder against yours. Seven stood at five-feet-six-inches with blonde hair and rust-colored eyes. The thick square glasses he wore were patterned with a white tiger print.

The two of you didn’t hang out much at school, so as the two of you walked down the hallway, bantering back and forth, the rumor mill at U.A. began to churn. All it took was one person to propose the question, ‘Are they dating?’ before it started to make its rounds around the school. Just like a game of telephone, by the time it reached Izuku, it had been molded into something completely different.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

As soon as Seven stepped into your apartment, he dropped his bag and tackled the black cat sitting on the couch watching the TV. You sweatdropped as he crushed the cat to his chest, scratching behind his ears and cooing at him.

“Let go of me, you cretin!” The cat in question was your older brother, Shun, whose quirk, ‘Panther’, turned him into a black cat when it manifested. Shun snapped his golden eyes to you. “Control your friend!”

You cleared your throat. “Seven, we have work to do.”

He frowned, not releasing his grip. “What is it?”

“I need you to look up a story,” you explained about the trip and everything Aizawa had told you. You pulled out the permission slip, setting it down on the coffee table. “Can you sign this, Shun?”

Shun wiggled free from the boy’s grasp, his eyes never leaving him as he refused to put his back to the boy. He slapped his paw down onto the slip, angrily. “Why should I? You always let this cretin come here and abuse me!”

“It’s not that bad, Shun,” you commented, quickly looking away when he snapped his glare toward you. “Anyway, Seven provides really valuable information but he won’t help without a little… motivation. Isn’t it your job as my big brother to help me any way you can?”

“Don’t you play the big brother card on me, Y/N!” Shun snapped. “I am not a pet for this cretin’s vain amusement!”

While you and Shun argued back and forth, Seven took out his phone, holding it firmly in his hand. His eyes widened as lines of blue code scrolled by, giving his eyes the appearance of an LED screen. His quirk was ‘Digitizing’. As long as he touched any device connected to the internet, he could quickly search and access any information across the globe. Firewalls and traps were completely useless against him.

“Come on, it’s not like I bring him here every day.”

“Show some respect for your elders!”

“I’ll make you some pan-seared tuna for dinner.”

“Oh my god my mouth is watering just thinking about it – O-Oi, don’t try to bribe me!”

Seven closed his eyes, clearing his throat. “The articles are all real. Furthermore, there have been numerous incidents that have been kept out of the public eye. They were sealed behind some pretty heavy security. The number four was present in every single report.”

Your brow furrowed. “What is the significance of these islands and number four?”

He shrugged. “That’s for you to find out, I guess.”

You glanced at your brother and he sighed, “Hand me a pen.” Groping around your bag, you handed him one. He held it between his two paws and signed his name. “You better be careful. I won’t forgive you if you don’t come home!”

You smiled softly, kneeling down in front of him as you leaned forward on the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring you home some fresh-caught fish, okay?”

He huffed, looking away, but the twitch of his ears told you that he was excited about the idea.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

“Look, there they are!”

The four islands were just in sight across the horizon. They were arranged in a diamond shape, each island representing the four points of the diamond. The ocean spilled into an underwater cavern that was positioned in the center. Each island was huge, expanding in all directions for several miles.

A rickety wooden dock had been built in the sand of the first island. The sand expanded back until it hit the tree line where it changed to dirt. Tall trees lined the edge of the sand, towering high into the sky. The first island gently sloped up out of the water, steadily rising until the fourth island hovered high above the water.

Aizawa waited for everyone to settle. “This is not a vacation, this is a mission. Your job is to locate the diplomats and bring them back safely. This isn’t a competition.” He sent a pointed look to Bakugo who scoffed. Aizawa gave each student an earpiece before assigning them to one of the four islands.

You glanced over at your partner, Izuku. “Ready to go?”

He gave you a hesitant smile, his cheeks warming. “Let’s do it.”

You trudged through the thick sand, feeling it being kicked up as you walked – you had to pause at the tree line to dump it from your boots before continuing. The fourth island was directly across from the first so the two of you headed in a straight line, dodging low hanging branches and thick roots that jutted out from the ground.

After a twenty-minute trek through the trees, you heard feet pounding the ground. Bakugo rushed past you, sending you a grin over his shoulder. He and Hagakure had also been assigned to island four and, of course, he had to be competitive.

Your eyes widened and you yelled for him to stop, but he only moved faster. Cursing, you pushed yourself forward. “Bakugo!”

“Huh?! The fuck are you yell – ” his words were cut short when the ground beneath his feet gave way. He went tumbling over the edge toward the whirlpool in the center of the islands.

You cried his name, diving to the earth. Your hand caught his wrist, but the ground beneath you was giving away and he was too heavy for you to lift. The feeling of falling rushed over you and you used your momentum to kick him. It was just enough for him to grab the ledge, being helped up by Izuku.

Because of the height of the fall, you sank far down into the water, getting trapped in the rushing current. You tried to break free, but it was too strong and it dragged you deep underneath the islands.

Izuku’s eyes scanned the water, waiting for you to resurface. He pressed on the earpiece, but it refused to connect. “Kaa-chan, is your earpiece working?”

The blonde snapped out of his shock and pressed on the earpiece, but his wouldn’t connect either. He shook his head, cursing as he ran a hand through his hair angrily.

Izuku bit his lip, weighing his options. “Kaa-chan, go find Aizawa-sensei. I’m going after Y/N!”

“O-Oi!” But it was too late. Izuku had jumped into the swirling water below.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

A groan passed your lips, eyes fluttering open. Darkness surrounded you, your wet clothes sticking to your body like glue. Your head throbbed and your body felt like you were encased in ice. It took some effort to sit up and take in your surroundings. ‘Is this a… cave?’ your eyes fell on your partner, half of his body on the rock while the other half was dangling in the water. “Midoriya!”

His face scrunched up as you pulled his body onto land. Green eyes met yours and he sighed in relief. “You’re okay, thank goodness.”

“I am, but what about you?”

“I think so. Nothing is hurting other than my head.”

You tilted your head, curiously. “Why did you jump after me, Midoriya?”

“W-Why?” his cheeks grew warm, a welcome feeling against the coldness he felt.

You smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. When we get out of here, I’ll kiss the other cheek,” you promised, holding your hand out to him. “Let’s see if we can find a way out of this place.”

The circular cave was large, the ceiling towering above you. Half the cave was flooded with water which opened up to a bigger water source. You could try to get out that way, but it was impossible to tell how long the water went on for. If there were no air pockets, you risked drowning. There was also a strong current to consider.

“Y/N-san, over here.”

You approached the greenette, finding a thin beam of light coming from a crack in the wall. Your fingernails dug at the crack and the rock shifted. Izuku put his fingers beside your own and, together, you tugged the black rock away from the wall until it broke free, falling to the ground with a thud. You could hear the sound of water dripping in the background as the smell of moss invaded your nostrils. The path was long and dark, and you had to lean over to avoid hitting your head.

At the end of the path was another crack of light, brighter this time. The two of you pushed the rock as hard as you could and it fell backward with a thud, filling the path with firelight.

The hole opened up to a circular room with three other holes on different sides. In the center of the room was a pile of paper and magazines lit on fire, the flame dancing across the walls. Empty candy wrappers and chip bags littered the floor.

More importantly, three men were pressed against the wall, ready to strike.

You held up your hands in surrender and the man in the middle wiped sweat from his brow with a dirty handkerchief. “You’re the foreign diplomats that went missing a few days ago, right? We were sent here to find you.”

The men exchanged a look, the middle man speaking up. “My name is Beralt Smith,” his gray hair was messy, standing on end as if he had run his hands through it several times, eyes the color of aquamarine.

“I’m Y/N, and this is my partner, Izuku Midoriya. We’re students at U.A.”

“U.A.?” The man on the left repeated with wide eyes. He was short and plump, his brown hair circling a bald scalp. His eyes were black and beady. Bowing at the waist, he said, “Zachary Qi, it’s a pleasure.”

The man to the right was thin as a pole, round glasses covering mousy brown eyes. His hair was the same color, matted to his forehead with sweat. “Franklin Henry,” he spoke softly, his eyes trained on the ground.

“Wait, where is the fourth diplomat?” you questioned.

The men exchanged a sad look before Beralt spoke up, his voice reflecting the sadness in his eyes. “Benedict Kirkland was bitten by a snake shortly after our boat capsized and we arrived on the island. We did everything we could to aid him, but he succumbed to the poison. He was gone by the time the sun had risen.”

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Midoriya bowed in respect, you doing the same.

“Thank you.”

“How did you come to find yourselves in this cave?” you asked. “Maybe we can use that route to try and escape.”

Zachary pointed toward the hole on the left, facing North. “Through there is the entrance to this cave. We hid there when a sudden storm rolled across the island, but it’s been completely sealed off by debris.”

You frowned. ‘I think I’m starting to see why these islands are considered cursed land…’

“I’m sure you’ve already checked the other two paths, as well,” Midoriya murmured, thoughtfully. He was determined to come up with a plan to get everyone to safety. He refused to let these men die.

“We did, but it would be best if you checked for yourself in case we missed something.”

You and Midoriya exchanged a look before you examined each pathway, searching for any small chance to escape. To the north, the entrance was blocked by large rubble that wouldn’t move an inch.  To the east was a dead end. And to the south was a small room, barely big enough to fit a single person. Your eyes narrowed at the high ceiling, squinting in the darkness. It was faint, but you could see a light near the ceiling.

Midoriya saw it too as he stuck his head into the room. “Do you think we can reach it?”

“I don’t know, but we have to at least try.”

He nodded as the two of you switched positions. He kneeled down, motioning for you to stand on his shoulders. You did as he indicated, using the wall to steady you. He slowly stood up, gripping your ankles. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached for the light, but it was just out of reach. With a grunt, you lifted your foot, digging it into the wall as best as you could.

“Be careful.”

You climbed the rest of the way, slipping a few times on the mossy stone. Your fingers gripped the ledge and you heaved yourself up and over, fingers digging into the stone. A burst of cold, fresh air hit your face. It was a small cave entrance!

“Y/N-san?” Midoriya’s voice reached you.

You leaned your upper body over the ledge. “It’s open up here! But… how do I get you guys out?”

“Try looking around for something that can act as a rope. But don’t go too far, and be careful!”

You nodded, crouching against the low ceiling as you headed for the low light coming from the entrance. Your breath came out in puffs of air, the temperature lowering as the sun faded across the horizon.

Eyes scanning the area around you, you took notice of a tall tree, its bare branches curling out as if it were reaching for something. Near the top, a thick vine had fallen from the tree beside it, wrapping around one of the branches. You could only hope it would be long and sturdy enough to help.

Activating your quirk, ‘Infernarrow’, a flaming bow appeared in your left hand. You grasped the bowstring and pulled back, a flaming area materializing as you did so. The arrow soared through the air, easily splintering the wood as it pierced the center of the branch. It came tumbling down, loudly cracking the other branches in its way before falling to the ground with a loud thump, the vine falling around it like a snake.

You untangled it and headed back to the cave where you tied one end to a large stone behind you. Laying on your stomach, you peered over the edge again. Midoriya was still there, body shaking as he wrapped his arms tight around his body. His worried expression changed to relief when his eyes met yours.

“I found a vine. It should be thick enough to hold up.”

“I’ll go get the others!” he ducked back into the tunnel, reappearing moments later. Franklin was going first so Midoriya wrapped the vine around his waist. “Put your feet on the wall and hold tightly to the vine. Y/N-san will help by pulling you up,” he glanced up at you and you nodded. “I’ll be here to catch you if you slip,” his bright smile seemed to ease the older man’s fears, but he was still shaking like a leaf.

You sat up, heels digging into the ground as you gripped the vine tightly in your hands. You weren’t nearly as strong as All Might or Midoriya, but you were far from weak and determined not to let the men fall.

The vine pulled taut as he started to climb. He honestly wasn’t that heavy, so you were able to steadily pull him up until his shaky hand gripped the ledge. With one hand still gripping the vine, you extended the other to grab his wrist, helping him up and over.

“I might need your help with the other two,” you said softly, glancing at him as he took a breath.

He nodded, undoing the vine from his waist and throwing it over the ledge. “I-I’m not very strong, but I’ll do my best!” he kneeled beside you, gripping the vine above your hands.

Beralt was up next. As Midoriya wrapped the vine around him, he clapped his hands and took a deep breath. “Now it’s time to see if those rock climbing lessons were worth the money!”

Your body shifted forward at the sudden weight but you pushed yourself back, pulling slower than you had with the previous man. Franklin’s arms were shaking, veins looking like they wanted to burst through his pale skin.

Beralt’s fingers gripped the ledge and Franklin grabbed his arm. Through gritted teeth, the man said, “No disrespect… sir Smith, but… maybe you should… consider better… eating habits!” he gave one final tug and the man heaved himself onto the ledge, breathing heavily.

He huffed, looking embarrassed. “Zachary is the one that snuck all that junk food onto the boat,” he threw the vine over the ledge before settling on your other side, hands wrapping around the vine. “He’s also heavier than I am, so prepare yourselves!”

The third man’s weight did concern you and you briefly wondered if the three of you would be strong enough to pull him up. If you did drop him, would Midoriya be able to safely catch him? Or would the older man’s weight crush the boy without remorse? That thought worried you and you flexed your fingers before resuming your grip on the vine, eyes shining with determination.

Zachary started to climb, making the three of you lurch forward at the sudden weight. The heel of your boot slid before getting stuck in a crack in the rock. You used this to your advantage, putting most of your weight on that side.

“I… can’t -” Franklin’s arms gave out and he fell forward at the sudden lurch of the vine. Both you and Beralt lost your grip but you gripped it again, the vine sliding through your hands at an alarming speed, burning the skin. You winced in pain, your stomach turning. Zachary cried out in fear and you could picture Midoriya being crushed.

“Damn it, STOP!!” you screamed, clenching your hands as tightly as you could, pushing yourself back with your legs. The vine came to a stop and the two men quickly grabbed it, taking some of the pressure off of you. With every move, your hands screamed at you, but you ignored the tears stinging your eyes.

Finally, Zachary reached the ledge, being grabbed by the back of his shirt by Beralt. His face was red, tears staining his cheeks.

Your hands were stinging and burning simultaneously, but you held the vine tight, biting down hard on your lip to try and distract your mind. Midoriya was heavier than Franklin, but much lighter than the other two, so Beralt did most of the lifting. You were thankful because you could feel how your grip had weakened considerably. You felt so thankful when Midoriya pulled himself up onto the ledge.

Midoriya took a breath as he kneeled in the cave, suppressing a shiver. “For now, let’s try and build a fire to keep warm. We can try to find our way when the sun rises.”

“I’ll go look for some wood,” you announced, leaving the cave. Darkness covered the island, the wind nipping at your damp clothes like hungry vultures. It felt good on your hands, though, that felt like they were on fire. You didn’t want to be near Midoriya right now because you knew how much of a worrywart he was – he’d freak out about your hands and the two of you had more important things to worry about.

You weaved through the trees, returning to the branch you had broken with your quirk. The spot was hidden behind a thick trunk of wood, but you only had to lean back to see the faint outline of the cave. You kneeled on the cold grass, holding out your shaking hands. The skin was dark red and was beginning to blister. There were small beads of blood, growing bigger when you stretched the skin.

‘I should wrap them up, but then he’ll definitely notice…’ you sighed. ‘I can’t even use my quirk with my hands like this,’ you cursed, throwing your head back to prevent the tears from falling.

The crunching of leaves alerted you to Midoriya approaching and you quickly flipped your hands over, nearly wincing as the skin rubbed against your clothes. He rubbed the back of his neck, face burning. “You… did a really good job back there, Y/N-san.”

You smiled up at him. “It was a group effort. I doubt I could have done it without their help…” you subconsciously flexed your hand and hissed in pain.

Midoriya noticed. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry!” A breeze whipped around you and you shivered. “I am cold though, so let’s hurry up and get that fire going!” with a grin, you tried to pick up the branch but a wave of pain went through your hands. You tried to hide it, but Midoriya was watching you closely.

He knelt beside you, gently grabbed your wrists. His eyes widened when he saw them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. And it’s not even that bad…” you mumbled, not meeting his gaze. He ripped the fabric of his hero costume, exposing his knees. “W-Wait a minute, Mido -”

His warm smile made you pause as he ripped it into strips. “We need to cover them so they don’t get infected,” he gently wrapped it around your hand.

“Sorry for the trouble,” you sighed, looking up at the dark sky. “When sensei first mentioned this place, I found it weird that the number four kept coming up. Online, a lot of people speculated that this place is cursed and I think I’m starting to believe it.”

He hummed, beginning to wrap your other hand. “I don’t know much about curses, but I do believe we make our own luck. Even if the world is against us, I believe we can still come out on top as long as we work hard and never lose hope.”

You watched him as several emotions flickered across his face.

His eyes met yours with a fierceness you had never seen from him before. “That’s why I want to… tell you how I feel. I really like you, Y/N-san, a lot. Will you please go out with me?”

“Midoriya… no, Izuku,” you rested the back of your hand against his cheek and smiled. “I would be happy to,” he smiled so brightly it lit up the darkness. “For our first date, what do you think about an island getaway?”

He laughed as he stood up, bringing the branch with him. “I vote for a warmer first date.”

As another breeze passed through the trees, you suppressed a shiver. “Agreed…”

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

You knew that, in the fall, the sun rose in the East, so when the sun started to rise, you had your bearings. The five of you walked for hours until the sun started to set once more. With a stroke of luck, you faintly made out the light of a flashlight sweeping the trees and the sound of a familiar voice calling your name.

All Might found all of you, radioing back to Aizawa and the others that were out searching for all of you. He led the way toward the ship, the three diplomats following him closely as they geeked out about getting to meet the number one hero.

“Do you remember what I said, Izuku?” you asked, softly.

His brow furrowed in thought and you chuckled.

“We found our way out of the cave,” you kissed his left cheek. “We found the diplomats,” you kissed his right cheek. “And we’re on our way home,” your claimed his lips with your own.

Despite his burning cheeks, he pulled you closer to his body.

Maybe he was right after all. Maybe you did make your own luck.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

#frightful october #halloween #izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #midoriya izuku #bnha #anime #anime imagines #writing #creative writing #writeblr #scenario #scenarios #anime scenarios #anime scenario #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #anime fanfic #anime fanfics #reader insert #reader-insert #reader #one shot #fluff #angst #frightful october 19

[destiny-smasher]

(Music by Samantha Pena, soudncloud user spena1989) Not gonna lie, I'm at a point with All Wounds where I'm like...oof, I wasn't able to envision everything I wanted to a few years back (by a long shot) but I'm kinda...wanting to be done with it. Even though I don't want to be done with it. 😅All Wounds was created from the get-go to be a visual novel - that's why the initial demo released so early into the project's life. My original intent was to go back and forth between fic and VN. But my original intent was also to end the story during the Portland road trip (Chapter 7). And while you could certainly make a case that the story is technically stronger up until that point, and becomes less potent and more dragged out for it's post-time-skip stuff, the latter stuff was also just...a lot more fun to write. And when I look back, if I had committed to the visual novel as intended, we'd not have gotten, like, ANY of that post-time-skip stuff, which includes Other Max being as fully fleshed out as she became. She'd have been stuck being a ghost in Max's head, pretty much. At this point, though, it's been so long, the fic I made INSTEAD of working on the visual novel is SO long, interest in the project peaked back while it was being written, working on this by myself is DAMN exhausting in terms of time spent, emotion and mentality drained, etc. Whenever I go back and listen to all of the amazing music made by people in the LiS it reinspires me to keep working on All Wounds but that's had diminishing returns as my life has changed drastically this past year. I love Max and Chloe. But, tbh, I just moved to a new country and got married, and I love my wife more than Max and Chloe? ^_^;; I’m not depressed and stuck in retail hell anymore, relying on staying up late working on a LiS fan project to channel that depression. I don't wanna completely shut the door on the visual novel and there's a chance I may still try to keep pushing to at least get to that road trip and maybe fudge it a bit. After all, a LOT of work has been done to the project that isn’t apparently or accessible in the public version; and I was able to add pretty well presented versions of Chapters 3 and 4 recently. So it’s entirely possible I could at least push it a little bit further if I end up inspired to do so. Either way, regardless, I still want to try some kind of epilogue, end-cap, etc, maybe even in VN form (Jenny and I had envisioned an epilogue where the characters play DnD). Max and Chloe mean the world to me, and exploring a version of events where both endings of the original game are expanded and tied together felt very cathartic. I'd rather that exist in SOME form (fic) than none at all; I think I'd still have done things this way a second time. But All Wounds inherently was a story about processing pain and grief and trauma and figuring out how to cope with it and heal and move on. And when I was at such low points, that made sense to write and steep myself in. But now? It just kinda doesn't. More than anything, though, is the fact that it's still a fan project - one that has had a lot of its interest evaporated for multiple reasons. The game’s ending is over four years old now; a prequel AND a sequel have both come out, further fragmenting the fandom; people have moved on. And it’s easy for outsiders to not realize how emotionally exhausting and sometimes painful All Wounds was, has been, and can still be for me to work on. Even things like pieces of music or art made by people who hurt me, who I hurt, that shit isn’t easy to work with. I could be spending all of this effort and energy on something less emotionally painful that isn't complete in ANY form AND is original. It feels bad to seriously consider dropping it when I'm sure there are still SOME people out there waiting for it, but I have other stories that I really need to work on. I can't keep myself locked in this cage forever when the work is such an unreasonable mountain to surpass. What I HAVE created is a fleshed out and substantial story and a chunk of it imagined in VN format which all kind of acts as a love letter to PriceField as well as an ultimately cathartic way to leave that original game to rest, I hope. Going forward I really think I'd like for Arcadian Rhythms to function as my one sole fanfic project I do inbetween original works, with one-shots or other bits (like the Butterfly Soup fic) just being other, far less intensive ways of working out those kinds of inspiration. It would probably do me better to also not talk about what I'm working on (aside from AR I suppose) in much depth or detail until I have something finished to really show for it. 😓 So if you want to see what I’ve been able to make of the visual novel so far, you can find that here.If you want to read the prose fic version of the story, which was finished quite some time ago (and which is where I want to update with an epilogue eventually), you can find that here. My newer fandom project, Arcadian Rhythms, which actually does feature Life is Strange characters, can be checked out here. You can follow our Patreon over here - we’ve been on hiatus as we deal with immigration but that should be all sorted soon. Regardless, any major updates to projects will be getting posted there once we’re back up and running. And you can follow me on Twitter over here; or just check back on my personal Tumblr here as I’m sure any meaningful thing I complete, fanfic or otherwise, will get posted here. So to clarify, current creative plans for the future on my own time: - original fiction projects (I’ve actually started work on an original VN for ex.) - Arcadian Rhythms for fun - some kind of epilogue for All Wounds - some kind of conclusion to Runners at the Corners (Butterfly Soup)

Interest in AW severely declined after the fic was done, no one else seems interested in working on it, either, it'd be SO MUCH work still. Sunken cost fallacy is a thing and tbh that’s part of why I even pushed myself to finish the update I did a few weeks ago. I am sorry to anyone who’s been waiting all this time for it - what I managed to produce is still a multi-hour visual novel, and I am still contemplating trying to at least get it to the end of the pre-time-skip. At the very least, there is still a complete story that can be read in fic form, the project just floated up and away from a reasonable grasp for one person, mainly because I just...wrote way more than I originally intended to. When I started work on this prokect, I also didn’t expect to fall in love, struggle to make ends meet, move across an ocean, and get married. And as important as All Wounds has been to me, I did at least finish telling the story I started, and the story it became, but I’ve learned all I can from it at this point and am so tired of trying to drag it out on my own. In the same way All Wounds sees Max and Chloe needing to accept their losses and let themselves move forward despite not everything going how they wanted, I guess I have to do the same with this project. Max and Chloe start a new future together, and it’s that time in my life where I probably should start doing the same. I need to start focusing on telling my own stories with my own characters more than I have been, as well as making more space for this new future with my new wife. And to All Wounds, the most difficult project I’ve worked on to date, as someone I once knew once sang, "I know, I know I made so many promises I know I left you such a mess; Gotta let go, gotta let go, and move on Been walking in a circle for too long"

And as another musician put it,

“Come and see the light of day out in the open It’s like I’m waking from a dream, oh Many days since I have seen the end unfolded Many times that I’ve looked back on all the times that we have had”

#lis allwounds

[lxveille]

if it’s all i do: my heart beats true

hyojin x reader

word count: ~ 5090 warnings: “off-screen” death/mentions of death; physical intimacy a/n: scifi/dystopian!au. set in the same universe as invitation but definitely a standalone fic.

The air inside your living unit is warm and heady with waxy, floral and sweet scents off the candles burning. For a long time now, people have only bought candles for the aromas. No one really minded how much light they happened to give off. Except you did. 

It had been a little over two months since you’d cut all the wires into your apartment. Some might have said you’d done it in a fit of paranoia. They would have to be people with no idea the kinds of conversations that happened behind your door; people who had a fair dose more of confidence in all the technology the government provided than you did. 

Hyojin, for his part, thought the extra efforts to secure your apartment might have been a bit in vain. There’s always the microtech already implanted on you. And it’d only take one inspection for everything to get hooked back up. But if cutting off as much technology as you could in here put you more at ease, he wasn’t going to try to convince you otherwise.

He reads the different labels of the lit candles from his spot on your couch. It’s repetitive and not all that interesting -- but he feels better doing that than just watching as you finish getting ready. Still, his gaze keeps drifting back to your form stood in front of a vanity. Two candles sit on either end of the tabletop with sprawl of cosmetics and body products and jewelry between them. There’s plenty of temptation to watch the way the small flames flicker different patterns and shadows across your face. He reads rose and lilac off one of the labels illuminated on the small dining table tucked into a corner of the apartment instead. 

You lean in towards the mirror to fiddle with your hair. As you focus on trying to get it to sit just right, your contech lense clicks on, putting up translucent images of hair products that can flatten or hold in the space beside your reflection. You groan and blink the advertisements away. 

“Alright?” Hyojin checks in. You meet his gaze in the mirror before turning around to face him. 

“I’m going to scratch my own eye out someday, I swear,” you threaten. He meets it with a grimace and a faint chuckle in the same moment. 

“At least give Seungjun a bit more time to figure out disabling parts of it,” he replies. It’s more a reminder than anything else. That you’re already many steps ahead of others in the city; that you’re already on board with a resistance group that’s making progress. 

Then again, if you were fully satisfied with that, he wouldn’t be here right now. And the lights would be on in your apartment. 

“What time is this meeting you’ve set up anyway?” Hyojin changes the topic. 

With a blink, the current time shows up in your contech; glowing for a moment only in your sight. “Not for another fifty minutes,” you tell him. “We’ve got plenty of time.” You twist about and grab a few things off the vanity’s crowded surface before heading towards the couch. 

Hyojin straightens his spine at your approach. “You still want to try covering it up?” 

It was the barcode that stains a patch of his neck. The one he’d been marked with before being released from holding two years earlier. Conscious efforts to hide record marks are illegal. The public has a right to know when an ex-convict is amongst them, and to know exactly what they were put in holding for. At least that’s the framing the law enforcement officials gave it. 

“He won’t trust you if he sees you’ve been arrested.” You settle into an empty spot on the couch beside Hyojin. A handful of cosmetics tumble into your lap. One tube threatens to roll off onto the cushions before you block it with quick fingers. 

“Even though he could see it was disloyalty to the citystate?” Despite his question, he still turns his head to give you better access to the dark barcode on his neck. 

You twist the cap off one of the products and lean in to carefully start spreading it over the record mark. “He’s convinced they don’t release anyone back into the city without turning them first,” you explain as you work. 

Hyojin considers telling you that this new contact of yours is half-right. They certainly don’t let prisoners out without trying to rid them of any treacherous thoughts first. But those are details he isn’t inclined to share with you. Once only for fear of the frown it would give you to hear. But now that you’ve been in touch with this guy from some new resistance cell, Hyojin worries you might not trust him any longer if he admitted to half the things he’d seen in holding. 

 “So trying to pass me off as someone without a record is much better?” he points out, “Trust-wise?” 

“Beg forgiveness, not permission,” you chime back. There’s a pause in your careful work when you glance up to his face. Hyojin finds a certain appeal in the way candlelight catches in your eyes. He swallows down the impulse to move an inch closer, and opts instead to roll his eyes at your words. 

A bit of weight leaves his shoulders when your gaze goes back to his neck. All the same, he struggles to think of quite what to say with your fingers moving over the same patch of his skin. “Are you sure you have to be there for this?” he asks. 

“How am I supposed to introduce you two without being there?” You pause to change the products you’re using, switching to a small, round sponge to apply the makeup as well. He shrugs, and you remind him to sit still quickly. 

“I just think…” Except he doesn’t finish his thought directly. He’s not sure how to tell you he doesn’t know how to feel about this new insurgence from what you’ve told him thus far. “If things go sideways, I wouldn’t want you there.” 

You tisk your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “I can take care of myself, Hyojin,” you start with. “Besides, there’s no reason for anything to go sideways.” 

He already has a list inside his head that’s five hypotheticals long to the contrary. “How do you think this Jeonghan will react if he figures out you’re tricking him?” It’s only the first item on his list. 

“It’s not like he’ll pull a gun on us or anything,” you answer, giving a small push on one of his arms with your free hand as you lean back. You let your eyes focus on the spot where you know his barcode still sits under a layer of cover. The scanner of your implants still picks up on it, bringing up a small box in your contech the floats beside his head reading: KIM HYOJIN. OPEN ARREST RECORD YES / NO ? 

You let out a huff and flick your focus over the word no until the contech disengages. 

“No luck?” he guesses. You answer with a grumble and lean back in to apply more. Hyojin inclines his head to one side and tries not to focus on the feeling of your warm breath upon his neck. 

“It took longer than normal. I bet it’ll be fine after this,” you mutter. 

He gives half a nod before remembering he’s not supposed to be moving. “What do you think will happen if this whole conversation goes well?” he asks. 

“The more of us there are, the better,” you say without a doubt. Your concentration stays entirely on your task, and Hyojin looks across the room towards the mirror to be able to see all of you in the reflection. “Maybe they’ve got someone working on the same stuff as us… Could make things go faster.”

“Maybe,” he echoes, tracing the curve of your shoulders and the bend at your elbow in the mirror’s image as you press the make-up soaked sponge to his neck. More sounds like a risk to him. More mouths to slip information in the wrong company. More eyes that might not be so trustworthy. More minds that might come up with different ideas of what needed to be done to cause any change here. 

Even now, his and your priorities don’t quite line up. Some kind of alliance seems to be the only thing you’re really seeing as you try to erase the barcode from his skin. And Hyojin’s eyes are fixed upon you sitting so close to him in the reflection, still uncertain how he feels about the risks you must have taken to even find this other group.

 This second time you lean back to check if your tech can still pick up on his code, you grin. Hyojin can’t help but smile in return. “Happy with your work?” 

“Very,” you answer, and hop up from the couch to return your supplies back to their places. 

- - - - - -

Heading out takes longer than it might have with all the candles that need to be blown out. Still, you seem confident that there’s ample time to get to the meeting point once you finally get out the door. 

There’s still a few hours before the nightly curfew sets in through the city. Some people are already on their way back home; leaving no room for doubt on whether or not they’d be back behind their own doors by the required time. The sidewalks are still bright with the LED ads that line so much of the exterior of ground floors. They flash with offers and buzz words, and make small pinging sounds when they change over to a different advertisement. Anything to try to draw attention when so many were simply used to the constant barrage around them on the streets. 

Something is wrong, though, when he notices the volume increasing as the pair of you turn one corner. He looks to you, and finds you’ve beaten him to giving a concerned look. Without exchanging words, the two of you continue down the pavement, following towards where the ads are blaring from. 

It takes another turn before either of you see it. 

All the screens on the block are blaring whatever promotions they have. It isn’t any kind of malfunction either. Someone behind a control panel has done it intentionally -- to try to drown out the words of the woman standing on a walkway three floors up on a housing complex. She’s trying to shout over it all, throwing some kind of flyer over the railing down to the crowd she’s attracted on the street below. Behind her, the walls and doors of the whole floor of apartments have been spray painted with messages of waking up and saying no. 

“Someone needs to help her,” you overhear another onlooker comment. You don’t suspect they mean help her speak over all the noise. 

“We should go,” Hyojin says quietly. You can barely make out his voice, even with him standing right beside you. Your head turns to him, instinctively ready to ask him to repeat himself. He isn’t looking in the same direction as the rest of the crowd. You lean forward slightly and try to follow his sight. 

All you see is a the bottom flight of metal stairs at the corner of the building, and a pristine white car parked half on the sidewalk with its doors open. 

“They’re going to arrest her,” you realize. 

If Hyojin manages to hear you, he doesn’t acknowledge it. His hand grasps at yours, and he tugs you backwards all without a word and hardly a glance away from the unfolding scene. 

He leads you around a corner into an alleyway. He’d tried not to run, not to seem too obvious. The force when he lets go makes you stumble slightly, shoulder hitting against the bare stonework of the building. This narrow passage only has paper ads plastered up against one side; an increasing variety throughout the city. But the glow and the volume from the ads out in the square still stretch faintly into the alley. 

You look Hyojin over questioningly, and then move to look around the corner. He catches your forearm before you can, and pulls you further back. “Don’t try to look,” he warns. 

A sound cuts above everything else before you can ask him anything. A sharp bang that echoes between the high walls of the buildings. The volume of the advertisements dials back, leaving space for the collective murmurs of the crowd to be heard just before an amplified voice announces everyone should carry on with their evening. And a reminder of the approaching curfew for good measure. 

Hyojin’s grip tightens on your skin. “Was that their work?” he asks. 

You hardly hear him, despite the relative quiet that settles over the area. Your mind is still buzzing with some disbelief as it pieces together what you’ve heard. It’s no revelation that they can kill. What shakes you is that they’d do it with so many watching. That you could be so close to it happening. 

He repeats your name, and places his other hand on your shoulder. 

“What?” you nearly stammer. You close your eyes for a moment and recall his question, “I don’t know.” 

“We’re not getting involved with anyone who’d think that’s even possibly a way to do things,” he practically hisses. He looks beyond you to the opening of the alley, trying to gauge if anyone’s noticed the two of you tucked away here. 

“I said I don’t know!” you reply. 

Hyojin’s eyes flicker between you and some space over your head. One of his hands falls away from you while the other slides into your own. His fingers latch with yours, and you barely register him saying “come on” before he heads down the other direction of the alley. 

You turn as you begin to trail after him to try to catch some remaining details of the scene you’ve left behind. He walks briskly through the streets, and after a block or you you realize he’s leading the way back to his own housing complex. 

“Jeonghan…!” you start as a reminder to him of why the two of you were even out to begin with. 

“You can explain it to him some other time,” he replies without looking back to you. 

The streets pass you by quickly. Bright advertisements seem to blur together, turning to a sea of neons and jewel tones and eyes. You don’t think any of the bodies plastered against the walls look real; the paint and pixels don’t line up quite right. There’s something wrong. Or something worse. 

It isn’t until you’re on the stairway up to his apartment that you pull your hand from his. “Hyojin,” you call, as if he hadn’t already stopped short the moment he lost his hold on you. With three steps between you, he seems to tower overhead.  Your hand finds the rough metal of the railing, old paint flaking at the touch as you brace yourself. “This isn’t good.” In honesty, you aren’t even sure what you’re referring to. 

All the same, he nods in agreement. “We need to get in touch with the others.” He extends his arm out to you. Not grabbing again, but waiting for you to take his hand again. You glance over the edge of the winding stairs. 

- - - - - -

Hyojin’s living unit is smaller than yours. His options were cut short as soon as anyone saw he had a record mark. The overhead light blinks on with some struggle, like it’ll give out entirely sometime soon. He lets go of your hand to close the door behind the two of you. There’s two bolts that didn’t come with the unit on the inside of the frame. He pulls both of them over the seam of the doorway.

“Check Jaeyoung and Minkyun,” he asks of you, “I’ll talk with the others.” 

You give a small nod and blink twice as you concentrate for a moment on turning on that part of your microtech. A display overlays in the upper left corner of your vision, filling in the name as your contact as you think it and showing a blinking icon as it tries to make connection. 

“What’s up?” comes Jaeyoung’s low tone only a moment after the icon stabilizes. 

“Where are you?” you ask. With a glance across the room, you see Hyojin leaning against the counter of his tiny kitchenette as he says Changyun’s name in a questioning tone. 

“Heading back to my place from work. What’s wrong?” It must be evident in your voice. 

“Just… get there quickly, okay? There was a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“I don’t know! Like… a protest. Kind of. An attempt at one,” you try to explain. Jaeyoung starts on a set of questions you can’t possibly answer. You shake your head and cut in with, “I don’t really have details. We just happened upon it by accident. But the authorities stopped it.” You can’t bring yourself to clarify what extent of a stop it was. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” 

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, pacing the floorboards at the foot of Hyojin’s bed. “Ping me if anything happens tonight, okay?” 

“Same for you,” Jaeyoung replies. 

Your call with Minkyun starts much the same. It’s much harder to get him ready to drop the connection, though. As soon as he hears you ask if he’s alright, he’s firing back with questions of what went wrong with you, and it only doubles when you offer what little explanation you have. His insistence for details even wrangles a mention of the shooting out of you. Without putting much thought to it, you end up sitting on one corner of Hyojin’s bed with one hand cupping the side of your face as you try to talk Minkyun out of his own panic. 

Once you do manage to get a steady goodbye out of Minkyun, you collapse back on the sheets with a long sigh. Drained. Far from calm, but drifting somewhere in a mix of emotions. In the corner display, the chip brings up Jeonghan’s name as calling him crosses your mind. You squeeze your eyes shut and will the microtech off. 

“Could you double check…?” You hear Hyojin asking on his end of a call. Your eyes flutter open and you look across the small room to where he’s still standing. He tilts his head back as he listens to the reply coming through his chip’s communication system. “I know. But still -- just to make sure. For tonight.” 

You sit up, the palms of your hands resting flat against his mattress.

“Shut up,” he carries on, “You know what I mean.” A few moments later: “Alright. Thanks, Seungjun.” 

And then his gaze falls back to you. 

“He’s gonna make sure our chips are still pinging as us being in our own apartments,” he offers as explanation. 

“Well, you’d be safe on that front.” You scooch a little further aside on the end of his bed as Hyojin crosses the floor in your direction. “And I could probably still make it back to mine before curfew, if I hurry up.” 

“For earlier too, though,” he says as he sits down on the other side of the bed. “I’m worried they’ll wanna check on anyone they can place as having been there when it happened.” That particular thought hadn’t crossed your mind. Your fingers twist a bit of the fabric nervously. “Anyway. You don’t have to rush.” 

“It’s probably not a good night to try going around after hours,” you point out, turning to look towards the window. The slatted blinds barely let any light in from the streets. Enough of a glow manages to peek through to let you know the sun is still going down and the ads are still playing.

“I mean you can stay here,” he clarifies after a moment. Your attention snaps back to him. There must be some surprise evident on your face as he adds quickly, “If you want. Obviously you can go back, too.” 

You stay.

- - - - - -

The city gets quiet and dark. 

All of the speakers on the street below announce that the curfew is enacted, and all citizens should be in their designated locations. And then every LED screen turns off, along with every streetlamp. If you listen closely enough, you can hear the automated lock in Hyojin’s front door snap into place.

His sheets are softer than you expect. The stretch of bed between the two of you feels far wider once your head meets the pillow. In the dark of his apartment, you stare at the shape you know to be Hyojin. As your eyes adjust to the shadows, his details come more into focus, and you find him lying on his side as well, staring back across the distance at you. 

You shrug one arm out from under the sheets and stretch it halfway. Your hand sits palm-up atop the covers as a silent question. You hear Hyojin exhale, and then feel his fingers find yours in the dark. It’s different from earlier. No urgency nor panic. His thumb runs gently over the soft skin above your wrist. 

“Hyojin?” you whisper into the shadows. He hums a reply to show he’s heard you, your hands shifting to puzzle together. “It’s going to make things harder, isn’t it?” 

“It was always going to get more difficult,” he supposes, “Couldn’t have predicted someone pulling something like that though.”  

“She must have had help. Even if it wasn’t from Jeonghan’s group.” If it wasn’t, that means there’s even more people out there seeking change than you’d thought. “We should try to find out.” 

Hyojin doesn’t reply. At least not without waiting a long pause. The quiet is worrisome. It feels like the world could be listening in on your whispered conversation. Like it’d be impossible for anything to happen in the city without being heard. 

“It’s not worth it if it’d put any of us in danger,” he murmurs back at last. Your fingers curl, pressing a little tighter into his hold. He squeezes back, and softly adds, “You agree, right?” 

“...Isn’t everything we’re doing dangerous?” you ask back. Even being here is something the authorities could drag you to holding for. You could be charged with breaking curfew at best, if not for tampering with your microtech. You can’t imagine what it looks like inside that tall beast of windowless building on the eastside of the city. Your eyes find Hyojin’s in the dark, and you contemplate asking him as much. 

“There’s different kinds of danger,” he reasons back. 

You press your tongue to the back of your teeth and think over his response. “What do we do if it becomes a different type?” 

“I’ll figure it out.” He’s trying to be reassuring. But from where you lie, it feels as if he’s taking too much responsibility in it all. 

Your shoulder wriggles against the mattress, bodying shifting a fraction further into the middle of the bed. “You’re part of any of us too, you know?” 

“Huh?” 

“Like you said. It’s bad if any of us is in danger. So -- you, too,” you try to explain. 

A small chuckle float through the dark. Its sound brings the faintest of smiles to your expression, and your fingers flex again in their twining with his. “Try to sleep,” he suggests. 

- - - - - -

Rest comes easier than you anticipate. 

It isn’t an entirely peaceful sleep, though, your mind still churning over everything that’s happened. It turns to dark possibilities, and creates images behind your eyelids that would make you shudder in real life. 

When you startle awake, it isn’t from a nightmare. It takes a moment for you to place it. At first it seems like it might be some remnant from a bad dream. But no -- you realize -- the distant sound of a siren is coming from outside. 

Before you can sit up, you feel a small pull on your hand and a groggy call of your name. Your fingers are still laced with Hyojin’s, even through your sleep. Despite the half of you that wants to get up and go to the window, you end up staying in the bed. Moving only to close a bit more of the space between the two of you.

“Did you hear it too?” Your voice barely comes out at all. As if the siren is meant for the two of you. And as if staying quiet could change anything at all if it really is. 

He nods without lifting his head from the pillow. “It sounds far away now.” 

“It can’t be good.” 

Hyojin can feel the warmth off your words with how much closer you’ve moved. “No,” he concurs. “We can look into it tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow and later and then drift across the front of his mind after he’s spoken. In that instant, it seems as if there’s a growing list of things he’s put off for unnamed future. From figuring out what to make of these other resistance groups, to defining just how much he can risk, and even down to you. 

“I guess so,” you mumble. You blink, setting your contech activate to display the time for a second. There’s still several hours before it’ll be dawn. 

In the grays and navies of this room by night, you scooch your forehead onto the edge of Hyojin’s pillow. Your joined handed still tucked in the bit of space left between your chests. Behind you, the side of the bed you’ve left is going cold; and the heat coming off his body feels far more reassuring than back away. “Is this okay?” you check in a whisper. 

His fingers unlace from yours. At first, you take it as a refusal to your question. You’re readying to move back to the other end of the bed when the touch of his hand at your cheek makes you freeze. His hand moves delicately, the pads of his fingers running down your jaw and then back up brush the skin just behind your ear. 

“Is it?” he asks in an echo of your own words. Your heart quickens at the weight in his tone. 

“I think so,” you manage to respond. In the silence that follows, you can make out the sound of his bed springs aching as he moves a fraction closer. His nose nudges against your own, forehead only a few centimeters away from resting on your own. 

“Promise me,” he starts, voice more air than sound. You strain to make out meaning, watching as his lips form around the words. His fingers curl at the back of your neck, moving so slowly you’re not sure if it counts as some kind of massage or not. “You won’t try looking into any of this on your own.” 

Your gaze moves quickly from his mouth to his eyes. “Hyojin…” you begin, uncertain what to make his request. His other hand comes to rest along your ribcage, set to pull you as close as possible, but sitting still against the fabric of your shirt. 

“Please,” he implores you, “I don’t know what I’d do.” His eyes scan you in the dark, seeking out something more than can be said out loud. 

“Mm,” you hum an affirmative, nodding your head as much as his proximity can allow. 

His breath feels shaky against your skin as he exhales. The space left between you seems further than possible as he inches closer. Your eyes shut in anticipation. Yet when his lips meet yours, it’s only for a fleeting moment. There’s a long pause, and you open your eyes to meet his own. 

His fingers run down your jawline until his thumb can brush just beneath your lower lip. He watches you carefully, as if it were the first time he ever laid sight on you. As though you might disappear into thin air if he blinked. You move your own hand to find his arm, and ghost your hold up his side until your position mirrors his own, fingers  splayed against the side of his neck. 

His kisses you once, twice, three times more. Each one torturously brief, tempting you to hold him tighter and make him stay. 

Like a mindreader, he leans in to you once more; this time moving like molasses against you. His lips linger and coax your body closer to his without either of you fully registering the movement. When your hips meet his, Hyojin lets out a small noise that gets lost against your mouth. 

He pushes against you gently, and you move easily onto your back to find him hovering over you. Hyojin takes the opportunity to look over you, the hand at your side moving languidly in small patterns. He dips his head to kiss you once more. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs when he pulls back a fraction. 

You pull him into another embrace instead. 

- - - - - -

When the morning comes, you wake to find Hyojin standing near the foot of the bed. Hair still a bit disheveled as he finishes buttoning up a shirt. You sit up, pulling the sheets with you to keep from catching a chill of morning air. 

“Good morning,” you say, looking him over questioningly. You aren’t sure quite what you’d ask even if you could pin down the thoughts swimming through your head. 

He turns and smiles at the sight of you. “Morning,” he greets in turn. He runs a hand through his hair a few times, suddenly a bit more cognizant of how he might look. 

“I was thinking,” he bends one knee as he sits down the mattress’ edge, “when you’re ready… You should try reaching out to that contact of yours again.” 

It surprises you some to hear him say. He’d seemed far from eager yesterday to get in touch with anyone outside the group of you he already knew. “I can do that,” you say with some uncertainty. “What do you want me to say…?” 

“You’ll have to tell him I’ve been in holding, first of all.” His voice is decisive. Whatever reaction it’ll get, he wants it out of the way. “And then if he still wants to meet, we can work that out. Either way -- we’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

You blink at him, and begin to feel your mouth curl into a small smile.

#onf scenarios #onf imagines #onf fanfic #kim hyojin x reader #cue me shrugging off into an apocalyptic sunset

[fab-bingo]

Fic Appreciation Bingo - Squares Transcription

Here's the transcription of the Fic Appreciation Bingo cards squares. I've included links/explanations where possible or necessary. If you still have questions about it, just ask me and I'll do my best to help you. 😄

Default Squares

These squares will be present in all cards, to give more space to under represented/appreciated fics.

1 - WIP

Work in progress. Many of us wait until a fic is complete before we read it - I do this most of the time. It's understandable; who hasn't been burned by a fic we loved but was abandoned or never finished?

For this square, we're going to take risks!

Comments on a WIP encourage the author to keep going and finish their fic; or maybe to go back to a project they haven't worked on for some time.

You can even tell a writer that you really love their fic, even if it was never finished or they've abandoned it. 😊

2 - PODFIC

Podfic is an audio recording of fanfic, read aloud by a fan (or several). Podfics are not as popular as written fics, and that's a shame. There are some truly amazing podfics out there, lots of different styles, and they're all made with heart.

If you really dislike audio content, or can't listen to it for any reason, to fill this square you can find the podfic version of a fic you like, and leave a comment thanking the podficcer for making a story you like, accessible to more people. :)

3 - "Less than 50 kudos" & "Less than 30 comments"

These are there to assure we also pay attention to less known, under-appreciated works.

And the necessary Free square, of course. 🙂

Keep in mind that most of these are only guidelines & suggestions. Use your creativity and have fun! If a fill makes sense to you, it makes sense to me . 😉

Let's get to the first card transcription: the General Card!

General Card

Favorite fic

Your favorite fic. That's it, that's the square.

Multi-chapter

A fic with more than one chapter. That wasn't as hard as I thought!

LGBTQ+ QUILTBAG

One or more protagonists of the fic identify as members of the LGBTQ+QUILTBAG community. Any identity counts, as longs as **it is clear in the text**.

This doesn't have to be through romantic pairing; the character can be trans, ace, intersex, etc.

Fantasy & Sci-fi

Lord of the Rings and Star Trek vibes. Androids. Wizards. You know this stuff, so why am I still talking?

Angst

The dictionary defines angst as "a feeling of deep anxiety or dread, typically an unfocused one about..." Yeah, no. Sorry!

In fic, angst usually is about the characters and their feelings - about their romantic interest, their past, their past & errors, the challenges they face... They're uncertain about all of hose things, and probably their own worth.

Except, it also means the angst you, the reader, feel as you read about the character's trials and travails. Are they sad? You're wailing. That sort of thing.

On a second thought, yeah, deep anxiety and dread checks out. 😶

Oldest fic you've read

By publication date. If you read it yesterday, but it was published in 1997 and you haven't read anything published before that, it counts. 😉

Fluff

The opposite of angst! Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Sweet, happy stories with happy endings.

Animals

Dogs. Cats. Horses. Unicorns. Lizards.

Dog-walkers, cat-wranglers, unicorn-wrestlers.

If there are animals in it, it fits.

Favorite author

I know, I know. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO CHOOSE?!

You love them all, and so do I. But this is a hard game, my peeps. Hard, difficult choices must be made for the good of our fanfic bingo nation.

At least until you decide to fill this card again. 😉

Under 5k

Which means, no more than 4.999 words.

Nope, you can't go higher than that.

Nope, 5.000 words doesn't count.

Okay, how about this: if you find a fic with exactly 5.000 words, I'll give you a pass. 😜

Humor

A fic that successfully accomplishes what I've been trying to do with this text, I guess? 🤔🙈😂

Alright, alright. Anything that makes you laugh is good.

Food

All and any things related to food, cooking and eating! This is the square for those fics that made you hungry and burn with desire for a personal chef or cooking lessons.

Food bloggers. Cooking channel on Youtube. Bucky is an amazing baker. Steve is an stress baker. Chefs. Sommeliers. Dinners. Even pizza take-out counts!

First fic you ever read

I bet this is going to take you down memory lane, isn't it? 😄

If you don't remember it, or it's not available anymore, go for the first you remember that's still accessible.

Music

Millions of fics have titles based on songs, and sure, you can go that route. But there are other options! Bands. Musicians. Singers. Fics based entirely on a song, not only the title.

Stories where a song is really important to the plot or the characters. The protagonist works on an instrument shop or is a music teacher. So many possibilities!

Historical AU

Any period of time is valid: Victorian, Medieval, Middle Ages, Ancient Egypt... you get the idea.

Fair warning, though: if you come and say a fic set in the 80's is historical, I will hate you. The 80's were the last decade, you heathen! 🤨

Latest read

This is almost a second free square: the fic you read most recently.

New author to me

Fic written by an author you haven't read before.

Recommended to me

If you have friends who read and rec fics to you, great. If not, a suggestion from a rec blog like Epic Stucky Fic Recs @epicstuckyficrecs or The Stucky Library  @stuckylibrary totally counts.

You can also ask me for a rec if you'd like! 😄

Sports & Games

Here we have the obvious like football, hockey, swimming, of course; but also Olympic skating, dancing, baseball, running, fitness, etc.

Fantasy football and MMORPG.

Video and board games. And even the Hunger Games if you wish!

Paranormal AU

Lots of fics that go bump in the night!

The classic vampires & werewolves keep company with ghosts, curses and unicorns (but only if you didn't use your unicorn fic for the Animals square! 😜), shapeshifters, wizards, witches and all kinds of supernatural things.

Who you gonna call?

That's it for now! Next up, Stucky cards & their squares!

#fabingo #fanfic #fanfiction #bingo #fic appreciation bingo #show your fic authors some love #fun #long post

[itsclydebitches]

How do you feel about derivative art? I'm guessing you approve since you're big into fanfics. Is art that's derivative as good as original art? Could a well made video critique of a film be better then the film? Or a fanmade rewrite be better then the original book? And yes I know nothing "original" exist, but that's not the same thing as art that is obviously derivative. And the big question. Should artist be allowed to make money off derivative art?

For me it’s an all around “Yes.” I’ve read fics leagues better than published novels. I’ve seen fanvids far better than films. Granted, when you get into the subject of visual media you run into things like finances and access to technology. Anyone can craft a story with words, but only a few have the budget and tools required to re-create the sort of Blockbuster films we’ve grown used to. But why in the world would that very specific style be the only “good” art out there? Obviously it’s not. If anything, we value limitations in our art. Six second vines shot on cell phones are adored and can lead to lucrative careers. Films like the Blair Witch Project want to mimic an armature cinematography, like these people really were just shooting what they could while running for their lives. Amateur does not in any way equal lesser. To say nothing of the fact that fans have shown time and time again that a passion for the material and a huge amount of work ethic is more than enough. As the recent Loki logo abomination attests, all the money and resources in the world doesn’t guarantee taste---or success. Outsiders to fandom love to criticize the “horrible” fics they found when they dove into AO3 for all of ten minutes, but fail to acknowledge that you’re just as likely to find a terrible book when you pull one randomly off of B&N’s shelves. If derivative art is somehow lesser than we need to re-evaluate the comics industry. And every formulaic western, rom-com, police procedural. And every great author (there are a LOT) who wrote “classics” based off of other’s characters and worlds. Art is art. Mainstream art is in no way superior to fan art, no matter how much people still want to convince us of that. 

The money question is, admittedly, waaaaaay more complicated. For me though it’s still a “Yes” simply because of how fandom functions. That is, we need the canon. Even if it becomes outdated, or is considered offensive, or is absolutely terrible compared to what the fandom has now produced, people will STILL consume that material (and more importantly buy it) in order to get access to all the good fan stuff. I’ve simply never bought into the argument that derivative works are a threat to the livelihood of the original piece because they depend on that piece. All my friends are in a fun discord for TV Show X. They’re producing all these fics I want to read. I’ve heard that Show X is actually pretty bad, but I’m going to watch it anyway because that provides me with the context that produced all this other stuff. It’s the foundation, the blueprints, the golden ticket to get inside the fandom. Will every fan do this? No, some do bypass the canon and just dive right in, but the majority of them will. Meaning that rather than posing a threat to the original author’s livelihood as most people assume, fanworks help keep mainstream content alive. Adding a price to that doesn’t change anything. If someone offers me a fic for free I’m gonna tackle the canon book first. If someone offers me a fic for $10... I’m still gonna tackle the canon book first. Either way the author gets paid and are likely to get more if fans use their work as an entry point into the fandom. “I wouldn’t have read/watched your stuff at all, if it weren’t for the fact that I want to read the stories my friend is now producing.” Giving that friend some rent money is the least we can do. 

(There are obviously other arguments against making money off of derivative works, two of which boil down to “It’s against the law”---which funnily enough we create and control and can change if perspectives change---and “They’re my creations and I don’t want you messing with them, let alone making money off them.” I’ve got a lot of feelings regarding that one and in an effort to save a bit of space I’ll boil it down to a very unkind response: Too bad. Transformation is at the heart of human interaction with art. If you didn’t want that you shouldn’t have given it to the public in the first place. Authors don’t get to police how fans interact with their work: “I love it when you take the time to write me glowing reviews! .... oh, but not when you write another story. Please continue making awesome fan posters that promote my work! ... but not one with those two characters kissing ew.” Authors don’t get to dictate how fans interact with the art they’ve put out there; how much of it is active and in what ways.) 

We also have to consider that we’re already in a world where those lines are irrevocably blurred. Why does E.L. James or Anna Todd get to make a fortune off of their barely changed fics? Why do artists get to sell their fanart but fic writers are still largely terrified of lawsuits? Fans are already making money off their work---always have, really---and I doubt that’s something we can reverse. Whether or not it continues to grow is the real question. 

Personally, I wouldn’t want to see derivative works commercialized, not because fans don’t deserve to earn money for their labor (we do), but just because that would irrevocably change fandom dynamics. We’re a gift economy and we’re built on that. Fandom has always been about progressive acts: be it writing about queer identities, providing accessibility accommodations decades before mainstream art did, or (and this is the kicker) helping to level out class differences. Meaning, mainstream art is often for the rich and the elite. Broadway shows are insanely expensive and impossible for most to get to. Movies prices have skyrocketed. Every company is creating their own streaming service, requiring that you pay three or four $20+ monthly subscriptions instead of just the one. It’s all about money and fandom is one of the few places where we still exchange art for praise and more art, rather than a paycheck. Fic is free. Fanvids are free. You guys want a cute drawing of this couple? All you have to do is send in a prompt ask and I’ll draw it! Sure, I’d also love it if you paid for a commission, but I’m going to keep creating free drawings on the side. When was the last time we saw a mainstream author go, “Please continue to buy my last story, but in the meantime here’s a free novel I’m putting up on my website. Hope you enjoy!” I mean yes, we do get things for free (especially when it comes to many games, apps, and some short stories), but not like in fandom. There’s a culture of giving that I never want to lose. Are we already doing commissions and con sales? Yes. Do we often ask for donations and payment? Yes. Should we be able to continue doing so without fear of legal action? I think so. But I don’t want a general sense of “I should be allowed to earn money off of this” get turned into “Well if I can earn money off of this why wouldn’t I?” I never want our work to exist fully behind a wall where the key in is your credit card number. Fandom is unique in its, “I made this thing because I wanted to and I shared it with you because I wanted to do that too, no strings attached” and that, I think, is worth protecting. 

#fandom #fic things #mymetas #Anonymous

[jovialyouthmusic]

The Many Lives of Drake Walker

A Royal Romance AU fanfic 

8 Straying Away from the Fold

I strayed away from Drake and had a fictional dalliance with Bastein - how will Drake react?

Word Count 3677

A/N I felt guilty for neglecting Drake and writing some steamy scenes about Bastien, and this came to me very quickly. Sorry Drake, I love you really xx

PS I may have added some of you that discovered my work through Protect and Serve. If you don’t want to be tagged let me know - or if you like this and want to catch up, here’s the first chapter 

No warnings, just a little reference to sexy times

8 Straying away from the fold

Drake paced the waiting area, his mind whirling. Les had promised him he was her virtual one and only – but was it true? It had started as a joke – she perved over pictures of another man – another REAL man who was a face claim for the man he thought of as a father figure, and he had teased her about it, modified his specs to give him a washboard stomach to rival the competition. But she had then gone on to write about him – and Drake was there on the sidelines watching it all happen in the story, pushed to second place. Les had written a new fic where Bastien was the main love interest, and it hurt. She had barely been to see him – some lame excuse about being on holiday and not having time. It had been more than two weeks since she’d been to visit him in person, and nothing had been written about him at all. Instead she’d been working on a slow burn with his mentor – and then the slow burn had broken. He couldn’t access the chapters as he wasn’t in them but he had heard that they were hot stuff, and virtual Bastien had been avoiding him – or was it the other way round?

He set his jaw and made his mind up. Time to have it out with him…

I sighed. It had been a long journey home, and truth be told, I needed a holiday to get over the holiday. Not only that, but on the way home we had picked up our daughter, who would be staying for a few days. I missed Drake, but it seemed like I wouldn’t have time to see him properly. My holiday had been wonderful, but I’d been too tired at night to go into the virtual world to see my lover. I felt guilty for neglecting Drake – and for paying so much attention to Bastien. It wasn’t the same of course – I didn’t meet up with the guardsman in the virtual world, I just wrote about him. I hadn’t really written much on holiday, just queued up chapters that had already been completed, tweaking them a little and adding just one or two more scenes.

How could I reach out to Drake? I thought on my first night back it might have been possible, but our daughter kept late hours and although she wasn’t in the house, she could return at any minute, and seeing her mother supposedly asleep at the keyboard might not be the best experience, especially as I was sometimes flustered or emotional when I returned suddenly. I thought perhaps I could make a short visit to the virtual world – but my day had been so busy that my brain decided it was time for bed even before my partner had retired – so that was that…

‘Where’s Bastien?’ demanded Drake, glowering at Madeleine, who sat behind the desk at Choice’s virtual reception desk. She looked up, bored

‘Which one?’ she asked flatly. Drake’s blood pressure – or whatever passed for blood pressure in his world – started to climb. He leaned over the desk close to her

‘You know damn well which one’ he growled ‘Unless you’ve been living under a stone, Les has been writing one with him as the main love interest, and I need to talk to him’ Madeleine stared back at him stony faced

‘I wouldn’t know darling, I don’t actually read or experience any fics that don’t involve me – why should I?’ Drake’s jaw tensed and he took a deep breath

‘But you keep records of all the relevant stories and who’s involved?’

‘It’s classified’ she said drily ‘Need to know basis only’

‘I NEED TO KNOW’ Drake shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, and one or two passing characters looked over at him

‘Please keep your voice down, or I’ll have to ask you to step away’ replied Madeleine ‘Or call security’ He leaned over the counter and grimaced at her

‘Fine, call security. Bastien’s on duty, isn’t he?’ He smirked triumphantly. The receptionist sighed

‘I don’t have access to that information Sir’ she said, and pressed a bell, sitting back ‘You’ll be sorry. Virtual prison is not pleasant, I should know after protesting at my own treatment’ A door behind her opened and Bastien walked through, his dark suit immaculate, his beard and dark hair trimmed neatly. He sighed when he saw Drake, who was trying not to vault the high counter to get at him.

‘Son, don’t do anything you’ll regret’ Bastien said sadly.

‘Please, don’t hold back on my account’ the receptionist said ‘Things have been dull around here lately’

‘You know why I’m here’ Drake said ‘Come out and face me like a man’ He knew Bastien would probably kick his backside in any physical confrontation, but it would feel good to get a punch in before he took him down. Bastien stood calmly against the younger man’s ire.

‘We need to talk son, but you need to stay calm.’ He said ‘come through to one of the security suites and we can do this in private.’ He pressed a button and indicated a door to the side of the reception desk. Drake didn’t know where it lead.

‘Are you going to put me in limbo?’ he asked ‘There’s no way in hell I’m going in there’ Bastien turned to Madeleine.

‘Tell him, your grace’ he said, still calm and collected.

‘It’s fine Drake, it leads to a room where you can talk to Bastien on the other side of a security screen so you can’t get at him. There’s no lock on the door, you can leave whenever you like’ she said ‘Though I favour you talking out here in public, I don’t get to hear much gossip’ Drake glowered at her. He didn’t trust her, and his trust in Bastien had been shaken, but he thought it would be too complicated for them to cook up a plan together to deceive him.

‘Okay, I’m trusting you. If this is bullshit you’ll regret it’ He went though the door, to find a plain room with a desk and chair facing a clear window in the wall. Bastien appeared on the other side and sat at his desk, elbows on the table. Drake paced the room, trying to keep himself together

‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, son’ the guard said ‘But we need to clear the air before I can trust meeting you face to face’

‘Don’t call me son’ Drake turned to the screen and poked a finger at him ‘You and Les…’

‘Sophia and I’ the guard corrected ‘It’s not Les, to make it clear. You’re her primary contact here, always have been’ Drake deflated slightly, and sat on the chair facing the screen.

‘So how was it?’ he asked the older man, tight lipped ‘I’ve heard things about the latest chapters – that you’ve been – intimate with – with Sophia’ Bastien sighed

‘Yes Walker, yes I have, and I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it. But I have never met Les in person, everything has just been in chapter, and she hasn’t discussed anything with me – no mention of whether I’m happy to play the role, or if there might be conflicts with my own personal preferences’ He looked up at him, concern in his eyes ‘Have you spoken to her about it?’ Drake’s ire was cooling now as he thought it through rationally.

‘Well no – she said she was on holiday… but it’s been almost three weeks now, and she hasn’t written a word about me, or visited.’ He looked up at him ‘Wait – conflicts? Preferences? are you not happy with the way she’s treated you?’ Bastien smiled wryly

‘Well it’s all been rather flattering, but I can’t help feeling like a piece of meat – do you not get that sometimes with some writers?’ Drake squirmed slightly

‘I guess so, some of them do get overheated’ There was a silence, during which Drake pulled at his ear nervously. The guard radiated calm and stability.

‘I believe you can pick and choose your – interactions when Les is around’ said Bastien. ‘There is more interest in my character thanks to her and some other writers, but I don’t always have the choice as to what I play. In fact it’s rather a novelty to be able to. I’m not just playing with Sophia, you know, I do have other contacts’

‘I’m sorry Bas, I got wound up. It’s not your fault, it’s just my insecurities. But why do you think she hasn’t written about me lately? I miss her’ He sighed heavily.

‘Do you think you could stand to be next to me without taking a swing?’ Bastien asked ‘To be truthful I’m not feeling as strong as usual, my stamina has been – compromised thanks to Sophia’ Drake looked at him sideways.

‘Heh – welcome to the club Bas. Good job virtual stamina is more powerful than the real thing – from what I’ve heard’

‘Yes indeed’ rumbled the guard. ‘You can use your virtual privileges to go and visit that dive bar where it all started if you like’ Drake rubbed the back of his neck.

‘I’m kind of running out of juice now Les has been away so long’ he said sadly.

‘Well I have some to spare’ smiled Bastien ‘Come on son, let’s have a drink together’

I sat at the keyboard. Our daughter had gone home and at last I should have some uninterrupted time for visiting Drake. It had been an interesting experience writing another love interest, but I missed my lover and hoped he wasn’t too angry with me. I had poured a lot of energy into Bastien, but I was kind of burned out. I was looking forward to reconnecting, and closed down the document I was working on, ready to follow him wherever he was.

I frowned. Drake wasn’t there – not at first. Then his face appeared, and I smiled but he did not respond.

This is Drake Walker. The Drake Walker you are trying to contact is not available right now. Please wait and you will be passed along to the first Drake Walker available. If no-one is available you may have to wait before making another attempt. Please wait to be connected…

The picture faded, and a buzzing sound ensued, like a call waiting signal. I waited, until a tousle haired Daniel Tomasso type Drake came into view. It looked as if he had just woken up – or been interrupted mid session with whoever his current lover was

‘Hey Les, what’s up? Kate says hi’ he grinned ‘Sorry for the appearance, we were – busy’ I immediately knew which one she was talking to, and blushed

‘I’m sorry to interrupt’ I said ‘I don’t seem to be able to get hold of my man’ Dan/Drake turned away from the screen and there was a muffled conversation before he turned back to her. ‘Ah yeah, he was getting a bit antsy with you away. I think he want to talk with Bastien’ I felt my blood freeze. How could I have been so insensitive? What did Drake think of me, writing steamy love scenes with another character – and such bad timing, just before I was away and he didn’t have the chance to talk it over with me.

‘B-Bastien?’ I stammered ‘I – oh heck, that doesn’t sound good’ Drake nodded to me, beckoning me to the screen.

‘I think you’d better come through and we’ll go and find him’ he said ‘Hold on a moment while I make myself decent’ A few moments later he held his hand to the screen for me to follow, and I stood next to him in the bedroom at the Palace that he and Kate shared. Kate was there too and stepped forward to give me a hug.

‘Les, it’s been too long. Did you have a good vacation?’ I nodded

‘Yes it was wonderful. I was hoping to share with my man, but he’s gone awol. I think he might be upset with me’

‘Oh honey, that’s too bad. You need to talk with him, don’t let him brood and sulk, you know how Drake is – or are.’ Kate frowned in concern. I sighed and turned to Dan/Drake.

‘Well I’d better bite the bullet. Shall we start at the waiting area? Perhaps Madeleine knows where he is’ Drake sucked his breath in between his teeth

‘Oh hell, Madeleine? Do I have to come?’ I sighed

‘I suppose not. Wish me luck’ Kate glared at her man

‘Afraid of little Miss Ice Queen, Ducky?’ she said, and he looked sheepish.

‘Not afraid Kate’ he asserted ‘Cautious, but not afraid’

‘It’s fine, I made this mess and I’ll clean it up’ I said despondently. ‘I guess I’ll see you round’ I gave them a little wave and closed my eyes, opening them at the reception desk. Madeleine turned toward me, pale blue eyes locked on mine.

‘Well look who the cat dragged in’ she said tartly ‘Your friend was asking after you a little while ago’ I braced herself, determined not to let her get to me.

‘Well Madeleine, you would know I suppose. You’d also know where he is right now, as you’re so efficient and well organised.’ The other woman pursed her lips

‘And why might I tell you?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Well Madeleine, it may have escaped your notice that I’m on good terms with Bastien’ I bluffed ‘and I’m told he has powers to discipline anyone who doesn’t – oh I don’t know, do their job properly, be helpful to visitors’ Madeleine paled slightly.

‘Perhaps I do know where he is, just wait a moment’ she tapped away at her keyboard, looking at the screen ‘Ah there he is’ she looked up at me ‘You may not like this’

‘Try me’

‘The Drake Walker you’re trying to locate is currently at the dive bar in New York – and Bastien is there too. The scene has gone dormant but as soon as you arrive it will pick right up where it stopped’

‘Dormant?’ I asked

‘Yes, when an author has been absent for a while, their characters can run out of energy, especially if they are exclusive to that author. I thought you knew that’ she smiled sweetly, looking away to tap at her keyboard and peruse the screen ‘It has been a while since you visited, according to my records’ I swallowed. Poor Drake, I really had neglected him. I hoped he wasn’t suffering, but I dared not ask Madeleine.

‘Okay Madeleine, thanks for your help’

‘Oh not at all, it’s what I’m here for’ she said acidly and gave me a strained smile.

I closed her eyes and thought of the bar, a sick heavy feeling in my stomach. Before I opened them, I smelled whisky and and the faint whiff of greasy smoke, as if someone had let the burgers burn. I opened them, to see..

Drake sitting at the bar, Riley on his knee, laughing and joking, Bastien leaning on the bar next to him, a glass of whiskey in hand. He was the first to see me and straightened up, his face flushing slightly before he got control of his features. He put his hand on Drake’s shoulder.

‘We have company, son’ he said gravely, and Drake turned to see me. He jumped guiltily and Riley fell off his knee laughing, holding onto the bar to stay upright.

‘You!’ he slurred, pointing at me ‘you…’ his face fell ‘You came back.’

‘Well it looks like you didn’t miss me much’ I said, glaring at Riley. Drake drew himself up, and put his arm around Bastien, squeezing and shaking him slightly. The guard took it stoicly, face impassive.

‘And you – you had fun with someone else from what I’ve heard’ he said accusingly ‘Isn’t that right, Bas’ he prodded the older man, who looked embarrassed for a second. I shifted uncomfortably.

‘I’m not the only one to write about more than one love interest’ I said defensively ‘I was just – stretching myself’ Drake laughed

‘Is that what they call it now?’ he said, his voice rising a little and stepping unsteadily towards me. I swallowed

‘Look Drake, yes I did write about Bastien. But you were in it too, and you were friends with Sophia, you’ll be playing a bigger part later on. You could always ask someone else to play it out if you don’t like being second fiddle.’ Drake swayed a little and the guard caught at his elbow to steady him.

‘How come you’ve been gone so long? Afraid to face me after that – that fuck fest with Bastien?’ He waved his arms wildly and I blushed to the roots of my hair.

‘I told you I’d be away. I was too tired in the evenings to come over, and then my daughter came home with me…’ Drake interrupted me at this point

‘Ha – got you – you don’t have a daughter’ he said triumphantly, stabbing his finger at me. Tears pricked my eyes and my throat tightened.

‘I – I told you Drake, our younger child is a trans woman, she came out about a year ago. It’s confusing, but we’ve started calling her our daughter now – we saw her on the way down and – she dressed up and we called her by her new name’ Drake’s face paled and he deflated.

‘Oh god – oh Les, I’m sorry – how could I – hell, I’m an idiot’ He pulled his hand over his face. Bastien cleared his throat.

‘It seems to me you two should probably go somewhere private and talk things out’ he said ‘I’ll take Riley out, unless you have a place in mind’ Drake and I looked at each other warily, then he surged forward and hugged me. I sniffled and hugged him back.

‘Les, I missed you so much’ he said, his voice muffled in my hair ‘you didn’t leave me any messages’

‘I’m so sorry, I just didn’t have time – and I guess I got a little carried away with Bastien. But it was just a fling. I’m sorry Bas’ I said over his shoulder ‘No offence meant’ The guard nodded sagely

‘None taken’ he replied, winking ‘Sophia was a marvellous diversion, but I have others’ Bastien took Riley’s hand, and the two of them left. Drake and I stood back from each other.

‘I missed you too Drake, but I just couldn’t get away’ I said softly ‘Can you forgive me?’ He sighed heavily.

‘I was a jerk. Luckily Bastien has the patience of a saint and I managed not to punch him into the middle of next week – which is probably possible here’ he grinned. ‘and I’m so sorry for getting it wrong about your daughter, that was crass.’ We clung to each other again, moulding together, feeling each other’s physicality, or whatever it might virtually be. There was solidity, warmth, breath, heartbeat – all so real, I wasn’t sure what the difference was any more. He drew away from me and held me at arm’s length, looking into my eyes

‘So how is it with your daughter?’ he asked ‘I’m here for you if you need it’

‘It’s fine – well it’s a bit weird, but she looks so comfortable when she’s wearing a dress and make up. I keep switching from one name to another but it’s fine, she understands it’s not easy for us either.’

‘Well she’s lucky to have supportive parents’ he said ‘Of course I’ve nothing to compare it with, but that’s common sense’ We hugged again. ‘So how long do you think you can stay?’ he asked

‘How long is a piece of string?’ I laughed ‘Things are back to normal, so hopefully for a while’ He held me tighter.

‘Did I  - was I okay when you first saw me?’ he said ‘I may have run out of energy, stopped…’ he looked a little fearful.

‘Honestly, Madeleine said you were dormant, but I didn’t see anything, you probably started up as soon as I landed’

‘That’s good. Early on I really ran out of juice and one of my previous companions said it took me a few minutes to come back up’ he shivered ‘it was like – well I don’t know what it was like but it wasn’t nice.’ I squeezed him again.

‘I’ll try not to be away so long again’ I said ‘It’s rare we go for more than three days so you should be okay.’

‘Good’ he said ‘Hey, how was your holiday?’

‘There were a few sticky patches but overall it was lovely’ I said ‘The weather was just right, I got a bit of a tan, and the place we were staying was good.’

‘Sticky patches huh?’ he asked ‘Do you want to share?’

‘Hmm let’s see, I had almost a whole bottle of shower gel leak in my bag, the fire alarm went off in the hotel, and hubby lost his photo ID.’

‘He lost it? Weren’t you waiting for it and you got it just in time before you went?’ he asked

‘Yup, we got there okay, then he said he couldn’t find it. We looked everywhere in the apartment and in the car. My stress levels went sky high and I was ready to push him off a cliff, but we found it the next day – it had fallen down the side of the driver’s seat in the car’

‘I bet you didn’t let him forget that’ he laughed

‘Yeah, that was a double edged sword’ I replied ‘I put it with mine in my purse, then he wouldn’t stop asking me where my purse was’

‘Ha, that sounds like fun’

‘Well, I thought now my memory is refreshed, we could go there together and I’ll show you all my favourite places’

‘Great, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!’ Drake took my hand and squeezed it excitedly.

@ao719 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @sleepwalkingelite@boneandfur @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicescommunity@darley1101 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @livingthroughchoices@likethetailofacomet @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo@silviasutton1989 @speedyoperarascalparty @zaffrenotes @missevabean@mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @tabithacarlisle@furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234@wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater@noey718-blog @katedrakeohd @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography@kennaxval @sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @aworldoffandoms@iplaydrake @drakesensworld @drakewalkerisreal@samcpossum @melodyofgraves @khakie4 @museofbooks @be-still-my-aching-heart @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @hopefulmoonobject @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @cgd03 @simsvetements @mrsdrakewalkerblog @ladyangel70 @crookedslimecreatorpasta  

#the many lives of drake walker #drake walker #drake x oc #trr fanfic #trr au fanfic #royal romance au #the royal romance au #bastien lykel

[themostrandomfandom]

Hi! I found your blog the TKTD, and that fic and your theories have highkey gotten me back into glee :D your content is so interesting, thank you so much! I haven't read all of your analyses yet, so I may have missed something, but I'm still wondering a couple things 1. why did Brittany fail senior year? You've written a lot about her not being dumb (despite her intelligence being non-normative), and we know she's able to do at least very advanced math. It seems like her primary goal would be...

To move to the next stage of life with Santana, so why wasn’t avoiding failing out a bigger priority for her? Furthermore, as someone who was so involved with extracurriculars (Cheerios, glee), she must’ve needed to maintain reasonable grades to avoid academic suspension. So avoiding failing seems like something that would be on her radar? and 2. do you think brittany dropped the ‘if sex were dating santana and i would be dating’ line on purpose?

Hey, @savealtonrichards​​!

Sorry it’staken me so long to answer you! I don’t have much internet access these days.:p

If you’re infor a good ramble, it’s under the cut.

(WARNING:Here be griping about Glee writing—as one does.)

___

First thingsfirst:

Theout-of-universe stuff.

Glee is a show that’s difficult to categorize because while it ostensibly takes place withina realistic fictional universe (as opposed to say a fantasy or science fictionone), there are times when it noticeably deviates from reality.

Though thecharacters seemingly live in suburban Ohio in the early 2010s and areregular human beings living “regular lives,” there are certain aspects of theirexistences that absolutely strain credulity (even when one actively tries tosuspend disbelief).

Some ofthese breaches are obvious, like when Lord Tubbington is shown as being capableof using a computer. However, others manifest more as gaps in logic—the typesof minor “glitches” in believability that cause the viewing audience to go,“Wait a minute. That’s not how that plot development would play out in reallife.”

One exampleof this second type of breach is how between S4 and S6, the young charactersliving in New York, most of whom are supposedly tight on money, arenevertheless able to jet set back and forth to Lima seemingly every otherweekend, as if plane and train tickets are free and travel takes no time orenergy at all. Another is that Sue Sylvester could do all of the illegal,immoral, and just flat-out batshit insane things she does without ever being firedor prosecuted. Still another is that nineteen and twenty year-old kids likeBlaine, Finn, and Sam could be hired to coaching positions at their respectivehigh school alma maters, even though none of them holds a college degree orteaching certificate.

The breachin realism that is pertinent to our discussion has to do with Brittany’sacademic history—which as depicted in show canon is replete with gaps and holesand just doesn’t make much sense.

In episode1x07, we are told that for years Sue has been doctoring the grades of herCheerios, including perhaps Brittany’s. However, even after Will puts his footdown and flunks many of their teammates, the Unholy Trinity, including Brittany,continues to attend Cheerios practice. They are the only Cheerios who do.

How theyalone of the whole squad retain their academic eligibility is not clear.Santana may not be taking Spanish, as she’s not shown in the class. However,Quinn and Brittany most definitely are, so either they must be passing (whiletheir teammates are not) or else Will must have decided against giving them thefailing grades they would otherwise deserve, perhaps because he doesn’t want torender them ineligible for glee club.

WillSchuester is nothing if not a hypocrite, so honestly I wouldn’t put it past himto walk that particular low road.

In any case,the show never really clarifies to what extent Brittany may rely on Sue tomaintain a passing GPA.

ThroughoutS1, Brittany is reported to cheat off of Becky’s schoolwork in math class (seeepisode 1x09) and is shown attempting to cheat off of Quinn’s tests in Spanishclass (see episode 1x07), incidents which suggest that she does at timesstruggle with academic performance during her sophomore year. 

However, herstruggles are not explored in depth, and her continued eligibility for theCheerios would indicate that either she somehow manages to make passing grades,struggles notwithstanding, or else that interference from Sue renders herstruggles moot.  

Kurt alsoreports that Finn sometimes cheats off of Brittany’s math assignments (seeepisode 1x10). We don’t know if this cheating represents an isolatedincident or a pattern of behavior. However, if it’s the second option, then given that Finn maintains his academiceligibility for football even after having cheated off Brittany’s work, andconsidering that, unlike with Brittany, Sue is unlikely to have doctored Finn’sgrades, we can perhaps surmise that Brittany at least occasionally managesto earn passing grades on her own.

Even if Sueis pulling strings to keep Brittany on the field, come S2, the situationchanges, as in episode 2x11 Brittany quits Cheerios, at which point whatever“help” Sue had been giving her is almost certainly rescinded.

Shortlythereafter, in episode 2x13, Brittany remarks that hergrades are bad (“Totally. Most teachers think that by cutting class, I mightimprove my grades”), perhaps suggesting a drop-off due to a cessation in Sue’shelp. 

Even so, it would still seem that Brittany isn’t altogether failing, asshe apparently passes the eleventh grade and commences thetwelfth grade with the rest of her class.

The shownever specifies to what extent Brittany and the other glee kids must maintaintheir grades in order to stay in show choir. On the one hand, glee club is notan athletic program, so the rules for eligibility may be different than withcheerleading or football. On the other hand, glee club is seemingly anextracurricular activity in which students may “letter,” and it does have itsown governing board and competition requirements, so perhaps its eligibilityrequirements are similar or even identical to those for prep sports. To whatextent there may be “house rules” specific to WMHS as opposed to district orstatewide rules for all competitive show choirs remains unclear.

My guess isthat there’s got to be some kind of statewide threshold for eligibility,particularly as we’re told, per Jesse St. James, that the Carmel High kids in VocalAdrenaline cheat and doctor their grades in order to maximize their practicetime and minimize their schoolwork.

Whatever thespecific requirements may be, the fact that Brittany remains eligible toparticipate in glee club throughout her junior year is another point that maysuggest that even without Sue’s interference Brittany maintains a passing GPA. ThatBrittany is eligible to rejoin the Cheerios come her senior year also suggeststhat her eligibility remains intact as she finishes out the eleventh grade.

However,things seem to take a sudden downshift from there, both in terms of Brittany’sprospects and in terms of narrative sense-making.  

Come S3, we arefinally told that Brittany has a 0.0 GPA, though it’s never specified if that’sher semester, yearlong, or cumulative GPA. My guess is that it’s the secondoption, given that Brittany is told she must repeat the twelfth grade (asopposed to just making up a few credits during summer school or repeating multiplegrades).

That said,the situation surrounding her failure remains murky.

Prior to S3,Brittany has seemingly maintained a passing GPA, as is evidenced by heraforementioned progress through her freshman, sophomore, and junior years ofhigh school and her continued academic eligibility to participate in Cheeriosand glee club.

However, theshow never reveals how she has come by this passing GPA.

Our threemain options for explaining this phenomenon seem to be:

We can infer that Sue hasmanipulated Brittany’s grades in order to keep her academically eligible forvarsity sports.

We can infer that Brittanyhas achieved passing grades through her own efforts.

We can infer that perhaps somecombination of the above two options has taken place (i.e., that Sue hasmanipulated some of her grades, while others she earned through her ownefforts).

On the onehand, the show heavily implies that Brittany is a very poor student who wouldprobably be incapable of passing her classes if not for Sue manipulating thesystem on her behalf. On the other hand, given that Brittany maintains academiceligibility for Cheerios even when Will flunks many of her teammates in hersophomore year AND that she spends a significant portion of her junior year offthe Cheerios and still manages to pass, it would seem that Brittany is able tomake grades even during the times when Sue isn’t propping her up.

The questionsthen become: If Brittany can pass the eleventh grade “on her own,” then whydoes she fail the twelfth grade? Furthermore, how come Brittany is allowed toremain on the Cheerios and in glee club even once her grades start slipping?Why does her failure only come to light after it is essentially too late forher (or anyone else) to do anything about the problem? How come Sue, who hasnever had any qualms about manipulating her cheerleaders’ grades in the past,seemingly “allows” Brittany to fail her senior year? How come not a singleteacher or counselor at WMHS makes any efforts to help Brittany, even thoughshe is obviously struggling?

After all, Brittany’s 0.0 GPA seems to be a reflection of a chronic problem.

The firsttime we hear about said failing GPA is in episode 3x19, which is the sameepisode that features the WMHS senior prom.

For mostAmerican public high schools, prom takes place anywhere between March and June,which means that somehow Brittany is allowed to fail for at least one or two fullsemesters (or, more likely, given that many Midwestern American public schoolstend to run on the quarter system, two or even three full quarters) before Figgins tells her what’s up.

The school thenseemingly takes no action—at least as we see play out on screen—to helpBrittany course-correct for the final semester or two quarters of her senioryear.

She’s notput on academic monitoring or probation. She’s not assigned a tutor. MissPillsbury doesn’t set up any meetings with her to discuss her options or determineher future. No one writes her an IEP. She just crashes and burns until the endof the year, at which point she fails to graduate.

It strainscredulity that in today’s day and age Brittany could flunk out as “quietly” asshe did, without anyone—including her parents, coaches, guidance counselor,and/or girlfriend—realizing she was in trouble at any point along the way.

Where werethe midterm progress reports? The report cards? The summonses to MissPillsbury’s office? The failed tests that required the signature of her parent orguardian? Santana glimpsing an F on her Spanish essay and ripping Mr. Schue agoddamn new one because who is he to tell Brittany she isn’t conjugating verbsright when he can’t tell his own ass from an ñ?

Shouldn’tsomeone somewhere along the way have noticed something was wrong while therewas still time enough left to do something about it—and particularlyconsidering that Brittany is not only a student but a student athlete?

Per the OhioHigh School Athletic Association, a student must earn “passing grades in aminimum of five one-credit courses, or the equivalent, in the immediatelypreceding grading period” of athletic competition in order to be eligible toparticipate in a varsity sport, so in theory, after she fails that first term,Brittany shouldn’t be able to compete as part of the Cheerios squad at all, letalone be one of the senior leaders.

For therecord, the real life school districts in Lima, OH require a minimum GPAbetween 2.5 and 3.0 for student athletes.

One has towonder: Where is Sue in all this? How come she doesn’t intervene once she seesthat first bad report card?

After all,Sue has no qualms concerning academic dishonesty. By her own admission, she’s meddledwith her cheerleaders’ grades for years. Why shouldn’t she simply meddle in this case, too? Wouldn’tit be in her best interest to keep Brittany eligible to compete?

Come S4, Sueherself blames a “haze of pregnancy hormones” for preventing her from noticingBrittany’s S3 academic nosedive (see episode 4x02). Another contributory factor to her negligence may be her vicious congressionalcampaign against Reggie Salazar and Burt Hummel.

However,that Sue would allow Brittany to fail still presents a narrative problem, nomatter what her excuses for doing so may be, because the fact remains that academiceligibility is an issue that extends beyond her sole purview.

OnceBrittany fails the first academic quarter of the 2011-2012 schoolyear, shebecomes ineligible to compete in interscholastic competitions. The issue is outof Sue’s hands and into those of the Ohio High School Athletic Association.Some state official somewhere has the responsibility to mark her fileand bar her from any further participation in state cheer events.

—and yetthat never happens.

Somehow,Brittany remains a cheerleader (and member of the glee club) for the duration of the schoolyear, despite not passing a single class.

It’s one ofthose lapses in believability—those “Wait a minute. That’s not how thatdevelopment would happen in real life” instances—that takes Glee out of the realmof passingly realistic fiction and into the realm of exaggeration and camp.

There’s noway that Brittany could fail an entire year of school without facing anyacademic consequences—that’s just not the way that the American school systemworks, particularly when it comes to athletic eligibility.

How comeFiggins only notes Brittany’s failures in springtime? What is going on during the fall and winter?

For the record, episode 3x19 originally aired on May 8th, 2012. Within the universe of the show, the action of the episode may take place on the same date or at least a proximal one.

By allaccounts, someone somewhere along the way should notice what’s going on—if nota faculty member at Brittany’s own school, then some official on an athleticeligibility committee, or a college cheerleading coach scouting Brittany for anNCAA scholarship, or an auditor working for the superintendent, or a rivalcheerleading coach digging for dirt on Sue Sylvester’s stars.

Someone!

But no onedoes.

I mean,that’s what the show purports. 

Figgins knows enough to inform Brittany thatshe’s failing, but he doesn’t do anything to help the situation except to lectureher for neglecting her duties as the senior class president and badger her intoplanning the prom. 

Will and Emma, too focused on rescuing Puck from a similarfate, seemingly remain either oblivious to or unconcerned about Brittany’sacademic woes until she’s on the verge of failing her SECOND consecutive senioryear in S4. 

And Santana? She’s blindsided. Somehow, even though she andBrittany take classes together and meet up during every passing block and spendall of their spare time in each other’s company outside of school, she has noidea that Brittany is in academic jeopardy—not until Brittany springs the newson her at BreadStix just before what should be their joint graduation.

Not untilit’s too late.

That’s canonas TPTB at Glee wrote it.

It makes nogoddamn sense, but it’s what we’re stuck with.

So.

Onto thesecond order of business, then:

Thein-universe stuff.

Returning toyour original questions: Why does Brittany fail her senior year—from asituational and character perspective? How come she doesn’t work harder not tofail?

Though earlyon, Glee at times tried to play Brittany off as an accidental or even dubiousgenius—such as in the scene in episode 4x22 where she’s first shown solvingcomplex equations for the researchers at MIT—they later fully committed to herprodigy, acknowledging it as the real deal.

By episode5x12, Baby Girl is shown as being capable of tackling the Riemann Hypothesis.Her work at MIT is serious. By S6, she’s doing complex math for fun, albeitwith kitty doodles drawn in the margins. The Brittany of episodes 6x03, 6x06,and 6x08 is able to slip in facts and impressive logical arguments alongsideher usual Brittanyisms and one-liners. Her intelligence is no longer subject todebate.

So what’sthe deal with her flunking out of high school? How can someone capable ofprocessing the most complicated calculus there is fail at high school algebra?

Here’s thething: While Brittany is indeed a certified math genius, there’s not always aneat one-to-one correlation between “raw intelligence” and “academicsuccess.”

Lots offolks who are plenty bright—including many who have impressive naturalaptitudes in certain areas—fail in traditional classroom settings, even inclasses that by all accounts they “should be good at.”

Some havebehavioral tendencies that are incompatible with the classroom culture. Others findthe course materials boring, either because they already know the materialbeing taught or else because the material is being taught in a way that isn’tconducive to their learning style. Still others learn at a different pace thanwhat the curriculum may allow for, working either faster or slower. Many simplytest poorly or have trouble focusing. Organizational issues, language barriers,home circumstances (which may interfere with one’s ability to complete homeworkor come to class rested and ready to learn), individual teacher-studentdynamics, problems with bullying at school, health or disability factors, etc.,etc. may also affect one’s ability to “make grades.”

Many of thesmartest people there are have failed in formalized academic settings. Conversely,many people of average or even below average aptitudes have found ways tosucceed in the classroom. Other factors such as one’s work ethic, connection toteachers and mentors, support networks, accommodations, etc. can also impacteducational success.

In Brittany’scase, there are myriad reasons why, despite her certified genius, she fails herclasses.

For onething, WMHS is a substandard learning environment, just to start out with.

Theatmosphere there is toxic. Bullying runs rampant, with the staff either whollyapathetic toward, powerless to intervene in, or even sometimes party to theperpetuation thereof. 

The administration routinely mismanages its resources,spending an inordinate amount of money to support the cheerleading and footballprograms, though lacking certain other necessities—such as a functional specialeducation department, adequate handicap accommodations, and up-to-datetextbooks.

They also hire teachers who are both underqualified (such as Will,who teaches Spanish for years despite not actually speaking the language) andfrequently abusive (such as Sue, who should literally be serving jail time forthe way she treats the student body). 

Multiple times, it’s stated that theirstudents test at below average reading levels. 

While only a small percentage ofwhat Sue says should ever be believed, her claims that she doctors the gradesof her Cheerios to maintain their academic eligibility to participate in avarsity sport are seemingly accurate, as Will and Principal Figgins aver that such is this case. 

Not a single permanentteacher, principal, or guidance counselor at the school, with perhaps theexception of Coach Beiste, appears competent to do their job.

The hijinks ofvarious staff members and students regularly interfere with the learning day.

Rememberthat old post about JennaB. Lacey, the Hogwarts student who just wants to get a proper education but isconstantly prevented from doing so because she has the misfortune of being inthe same year as one Harry Potter, whose adventures and misadventures areconstantly interrupting her lessons and preempting her exams? Just replace “Harry Potter” with “Rachel Berry” or “SueSylvester,” and you’re basically describing the life of your average WMHSstudent.

Though wedon’t spend a lot of time following the New Directions kids through theirregular classes, the few glimpses that we do get suggest that much of thecurriculum they are subjected to is either outdated or else straight upobjectively incorrect.

While theepisode plays the situation for laughs, Holly Holliday’s points about the sexeducation at WMHS being painfully inadequate aren’t at all off the mark. Mrs.Hagberg seems to experience episodes of dementia while teaching (and is aself-admitted painkiller addict). She frequently forgets her spatiotemporallocation and has on occasion been known to teach that the Nazis won WWII. Will speaksSpanglish and buys into racist stereotypes about Latinos. Sue promulgatesconspiracy theories and unsubstantiated revisionist history, purposefullyspreading misinformation as if she were the White House Press Secretary.

Later on, inS6, it’s shown that a complete overhaul is necessary to update the school’stechnology and curriculum in order for the students to start performing up tostandards on their state tests.

—and there’sBrittany, who learns differently than most people do, stuck in the middle ofall of this chaos.

Honestly,it’s a wonder that any of the kids at WMHS achieve any kind of mainstreamacademic success. That Quinn gets into Yale and Tina into Brown is kind of ascholastic miracle, all things considered.

So she’s upagainst a lot of impediments as barriers to her learning just as a baseline.

Then add inher individual difficulties on top of the other stuff.

Brittany’sis a unique mind. It is unclear to what extent book-learning and traditionaleducation work for her. She has a tendency to metaphorize concepts, suggestingthat she is an abstract thinker. Her flair for malapropisms also intimates thather mind is organized in “webs,” with various like-words grouped together byloose strings of associations. Though she is mathematically intelligent, she isalso emotionally intelligent and physically intelligent, as well.

Early on,her genius seems highly intuitive, as she is able to pull numbers out of theair, though she is not always equally able to explain how or by what means she hasdone so. In time, her methods seem to become more examined and deliberate, withtheory underlining what was once a more reflexive capability.

She isperhaps something of an autodidact, able, for instance, to teach herselfSpanish, though she apparently doesn’t fare well in the class in high school.

Though fewpeople on the show, save Santana, realize as much, she frequently runs abouttwo or three steps ahead of everyone else in terms of her conversations andsocial maneuvers. Her zany quips and seemingly innocent demeanor throw peopleoff, to the point where they don’t pick up on just how wily and keen she canbe.

On the onehand, this phenomenon affords her some social leeway—because, after all, she’sjust “Brittany being Brittany.” On the other hand, it sometimes results inthose who fail to understand her talking down to her, infantilizing her, andblowing her off. 

Frequently, both Brittany and the people who engage with herwalk away from their interactions frustrated, Brittany because she’s beencondescended to, her conversation partners because they find herincomprehensible and off-putting. 

So. 

Considerthat many of her teachers—including Will—seem to be confused by the way shetalks and find her irksome to deal with and so tend to be dismissive of herduring classroom discussions.

Because herintelligence is non-normative, a teacher talking about A subject can get her thinkingoff on a tangent about B subject, C subject, and D subject, and pretty soonshe’ll be blurting out a question or comment about Z subject, which from herteacher’s perspective does not relate to the discussion topic at hand and mayeven derail the lesson, distracting the other students. The teacher then eitherreacts to Brittany’s question or comment with annoyance, shutting her down(such as Ms. Hagberg does in episode 3x02); or reacts with bafflement, ignoring her andglossing over what she’s said (such as Will does in episode 1x10). Either way, Brittanydoesn’t get her questions answered or her comments responded to in aconstructive manner, which means that, invariably, she doesn’t get what sheneeds to out of class.

By the timewe first meet her as a sophomore, Brittany’s reputation as a nuisance and“numbskull” precedes her.

Her teachersmake no effort to hide their low opinions of her intelligence.

In episode2x04, everyone ribs Puck for crashing his mom’s car into an ATM and gettingarrested. Brittany joins in the fun, remarking, “He may be the dumbest personon this planet—and that’s coming from me.” Though the moment is generallyjocular, the fact that Brittany’s teacher Will says nothing to defend her toherself speaks volumes. The incident is also not an isolated one, as later inthe season, in episode 2x17, Will directly questions Brittany’s intelligence toher face (“I get the three of you being on [the Brainiacs], but Brittany?”).

Tack on allthe instances when he responds to Brittany’s comments during rehearsals (andeven her later “cries for help” during S4) with bafflement at best and disdainat worst, plus the way he clearly talks down to her as if she were a youngchild rather than a teenager, and there’s no question that he thinks she’s adolt.

And he’s notthe only member of the WMHS faculty who feels that way, either.

SueSylvester is likewise a serial offender when it comes to calling Brittany dumband infantilizing her. Ditto for Hagberg and Figgins. Though we don’t get tosee Brittany interacting with many other members of the staff aside fromSheldon Beiste, Holly Holliday, and Shelby Corcoran—the last two of whom areonly at the school briefly—it stands to reason that there are other teacherswho share the same negative attitude toward her that the featured teachers do.  

At onepoint, Brittany even says that her teachers have told her that her grades mightactually improve if she were to slough her classes.

Brittany’s“stupidity” is widely viewed as a given.

Time andtime again, the show depicts people taking her intelligence for granted andassuming the worst of her capabilities. Such attitudes undoubtedly influencethe way that her teachers approach educating her. If a smart kid like Quinn orArtie isn’t grasping a concept, then teachers will try changing their pedagogyup, teaching the lesson in a different, more effective way. The same is trueeven for an average student like Mercedes. If she’s struggling, a teacher’simpulse will be to show her patience because there’s a good chance thateventually (with some hard work and extra credit) she’ll get it. But not so with Brittany, whom most teachers seem to viewas an idiot. Why slow down a class for her? Why assign different readings? Whytutor her after school? Their assumption is that she is a lost cause.

Sue potentiallydoctoring her grades—and those of the other Cheerios—also exacerbates theproblem.

Thoseteachers who are aware of Sue’s meddling, and especially the ones who have beenbullied by her into being complicit, may feel a lessened sense of obligation toreally teach Brittany or attempt to accurately evaluate her learning because,after all, no matter how Brittany performs, she’s going to be handed a passinggrade in their classes anyway.

Conversely,those teachers who remain unaware of Sue’s meddling may believe that givingBrittany a failing grade will result in meaningful academic consequences forher, which will then lead to her getting the help and attention she needsvis-à-vis the systems that are in place to prevent kids from “falling throughthe cracks.”

Of course,because Sue changes Brittany’s grades after the fact, Brittany never receivesany such help.

The systemsdon’t attend to her. Nothing in her file gets flagged. No one pulls her aside.She just gets passed along from year to year and class to class without anyoneever really taking an interest in her learning.

Either way,she’s left ill-equipped to succeed in high school.

On top ofeverything else, Brittany may also have an undiagnosed learning disability,such as ADHD or ASD. Though of course the show never states that she does havea disability (undiagnosed or not), some neurodivergent fans see in Brittany a kindred spirit whose experiences inthe public school system resemble their own.

It’sdefinitely possible that she could benefit from some accommodations.

But as faras we know, they’re never offered to her—not only because, as we learn from Sueregarding Becky Jackson, WMHS doesn’t offer special education classes, but alsobecause everyone thinks that she’s just “Brittany being Brittany,” and she’s a hopelesscase from the get-go.

So howeversmart Brittany may naturally be, she’s got alot stacked against her at WMHS, including antagonistic teachers, theabysmally low expectations people set for her, Sue’s interference with hergrades (and then the sudden cessation of that interference), her non-normativelearning strategies, and other possible factors.

Add in thatduring her senior year, she’s also dealing with some extra pressures outside ofthe classroom, and what we have is a recipe for a disaster.

Note: Ofcourse, the show deprives us of hearing Brittany talk about the aftermath ofSantana’s outing, suspension, and disowning in her own words, but HeatherMorris’s nonverbal cues show that Brittany’s upset during this period is hardfelt. It’s a stressful time in Brittany’s life, and even after the initialwounds have healed somewhat, Brittany still devotes much of mental andemotional energy to trying to ameliorate the situation, to keep Santana in agood place, to help her smile, and carry on. That’s not to say that Brittana’srelationship or Brittany’s efforts to make Santana happy cause Brittany to failher classes. It’s just to say that Brittany’s senior year is one in which shehas a lot on her mind beyond the regular cares of just being a teenager.

Thesituation as it is, it’s perhaps unsurprising that she should struggle.

However, thequestion still remains: Why doesn’t she ask for help?

No one, includingher parents, teachers, or girlfriend, seems to notice she’s academicallydrowning until it’s too late. But just because they don’t notice on their owndoesn’t mean that Brittany can’t alert them to the situation, right? So whydoesn’t she turn to Mr. Schue and say, “I need some extra help on my historyhomework,” or confide in her parents that she’s just bombed another Englishexam, or ask Santana if they can perhaps study for chemistry class together?Wouldn’t it be in her best interest to do so? Shouldn’t she want to graduate sothat she can get on with her life (and follow Santana)? Why not just reach outto someone?

Easier saidthan done.

Brittany hasspent her whole life being disparaged for “not being smart enough.” Is shereally going to admit she’s struggling to many of the same people who are activelycontributing to her struggles?

Sure,ostensibly, Mr. Schue is her teacher, and he’s supposedly an advocate for her.But can she really turn to someone who has routinely made her feel like anidiot and confess to him that she’s not understanding her classes—andespecially when she’s fully aware that, even if she were to ask him for help,he is probably not the best person to offer it, considering that he’s not actuallya qualified teacher?

The samegoes for Sue, who habitually preys upon Brittany’s vulnerabilities and has beenknown to blackmail students whenever she has any sort of leverage over them.Brittany would have to be an even bigger fool than the one people take her forin order to ask a favor of a megalomaniac of Sue’s caliber.

If Brittanywere to turn to her, the best case scenario would be that she would once againresort to doctoring Brittany’s report card—which is not necessarily an outcomethat Brittany wants. The worst case scenario would be that she would find someway to make Brittany’s life hell for having even approached her.

Brittany has to wonder: Is there any good that could come of prompting Sue totake action if she hasn’t already done so (unprompted) yet?

Not evenEmma is a safe bet, considering that she seems completely oblivious toBrittany’s plight, even though it is literally her job to be on top of it.

She doesn’t pushWill to include Brittany in his Saturday Night Fever competition alongsideFinn, Mercedes, and Santana (see episode 3x16). She isn’t present to participatein the “come to Jesus” meeting Figgins calls Brittany in for before the prom (seeepisode 3x19). Nowhere along the line does she show any concern for Brittany’sGPA, even though she has access to Brittany’s records and presumably has aprofessional imperative to counsel with her concerning her future.

If she can’tbe assed to take an interest in Brittany’s academic struggles even though she’sbeing paid to do so, then Brittany’s not going to beg her to get involved.

Her inactionhas already sent the message loud and clear: Brittany is on her own.

As for whyBrittany doesn’t turn to her parents or Santana for help, things arecomplicated on that side, too.

Since wedon’t know much about Brittany’s relationship with her parents aside from thelittle we see of it in S6, it’s difficult to say why she doesn’t approach themfor help. Maybe she fears disappointing them. Maybe she feels that they won’tunderstand why she’s failing. (They might assume she’s being lazy or goofingoff rather than facing legitimate roadblocks to her learning.) Possibly,they’re dealing with some kind of crisis of their own at the same time thatBrittany realizes that she’s failing, so she doesn’t want to “bother them” withwhat she’s going through. Perhaps she does approach them but they either can’t or won’t helpher.

There’s alsothe possibility that Brittany is reluctant to involve her parents in her issuesbecause she fears the consequences if they find out that Sue has been doctoringher grades for years. How can she explain to them why she’s gone from having apassing (and perhaps even impressive) GPA in years past to having a failing(and even abominable) GPA this year? She’d have to admit that Sue’s been fudgingher report cards to preserve her academic eligibility—and doing so might resultin her parents asking her questions that she doesn’t want to answer.

Either shewould have to say that she had gone along with Sue’s meddling (even though sheknew what Sue was doing was wrong) OR she would have to admit that Sue hasbasically been abusing and blackmailing her and the other Cheerios, making herscared to come forward about the academic dishonesty. The first option oversimplifiesthe situation. The second option is the truth but one that’s probably difficultfor her to cop to.

In any case,for whatever reason, Brittany either doesn’t bring her problems to her parents’attention or she does but they can’t (or won’t) help her.

WithSantana, things are different.

Brittanyknows that if she approaches Santana with her problem, Santana will not onlycare but also understand all of the extenuating circumstances. Santana knowsabout the Sue stuff. She also sees how teachers and other staff members tend toreact to Brittany. She’s fully aware of the injustice. She’s also fully awarethat Brittany’s genius is misunderstood—that Brittany is smart, though her smarts don’t necessarily translate to hertopping the Honor Roll every semester. Santana has the full view of thesituation, and there’s no question that she’d be sympathetic to Brittany’sissues and do everything in her power to get Brittany help, if Brittany justsaid the word.

The troubleis that Brittany doesn’t want to say the word—not when Santana has been dealingwith her own troubles, which, on the whole, from Brittany’s perspective, seem so much bigger and moreagonizing than Brittany’s own.

Brittanycan’t bring herself to interject, “Um, excuse me, Santana, but can we take a break fromdealing with you being outed the entire state of Ohio, suspended from school,disowned by your grandmother, and homophobically bullied so that we can talkabout my algebra test?;” not when she knows that if she points out that she isfailing, Santana will pump the brakes on her own plans and ambitions in orderto stand by her side.

She doesn’twant to hold Santana back when Santana is on her way out of their stifling, gay-bashingtown, onto bigger and better things. She doesn’t want to drag Santana herpersonal turmoil, not when Santana is just finally getting clear from theturmoil in her own.

—andespecially not when Brittany views her own failure as inevitable.

Yeah, shecould tell Santana, and, yeah, Santana would try to move heaven and earth tohelp her. But in the end, there’d be nothing Santana could do. Brittany wouldstill fail, not due to any lagging efforts on Santana’s part, but becauseBrittany has never been able to succeed in school no matter how hard she tried,because the whole system is rigged against her and always has been. No matterhow much effort Brittany expends to show people she’s got a fine brain in herhead—by winning a quiz bowl championship, writing for the school newspaper,becoming class president, dishing out wise advice, etc.—no one except for Santanahas ever been willing to give her a chance. They always see her as an imbecileor a child. Even Santana can’t change the status quo. So why drag her into it?

InBrittany’s view, it’s better for her to help Santana pursue her dreams outsideof Lima than to do anything that might cause her to turn back or slow down.

ThoughBrittany often projects confidence, the truth is that just like the other twomembers of the Unholy Trinity, she has some serious and deep-seated self-esteemissues. After so many years of people calling her an idiot and treating herlike a child, part of her wonders if they aren’t perhaps right (see her speech in episode 4x22). 

While shedoesn’t want to believe what the haters are saying, she also can’t help butfeel that maybe she is destined for Lima Loserdom. If so, then the last thingshe wants to do is drag Santana down with her—hence why she doesn’t mention herfailure to graduate until she’s sure that Santana leaving town and going toLouisville is already a done deal.

Is refusingto seek help from anyone a wise choice on Brittany’s part? No.

But havingdifficulty asking for help is a character flaw she comes by naturally. That agirl who’s been told “no” her whole life would be scared to ask anyone to takea chance on her and say “yes” makes sense. The behavior pattern is a consistentone that she displays throughout the show, such as, for example, in S4, whenshe stages not one but two separate public meltdowns in situations where sheneeds help but doesn’t know how to ask for it (see episodes 4x02 and 4x22).

Note: Thefact that Brittany actually brings herself to ask Santana if they can seekadult help regarding their relationship troubles in episode 2x15 shows just howmuch the issue means to her. Normally, Brittany would never suggest seekingoutside counsel, but in that case she wants so badly to set things to rightsbetween her and Santana that she petitions Santana to approach Holly Holliday.Her love for Santana outweighs her fear of making herself vulnerable.

Brittanydoes want to graduate high school. She does want to be with Santana andcontinue their relationship. She wants to escape Lima. She wants to prove thenaysayers wrong. She wants to start a new life somewhere where she’s notnegatively stereotyped and looked down on by everyone. She wants to livehappily ever after with the woman she loves. She wants all of these thingsdesperately, more than anyone really knows.

But she alsodoesn’t know how to get what she wants.

She feelsboxed in and like her situation is hopeless.

So she justtailspins until she crashes.

—and thetruly tragic thing is that nobody notices what’s happening with her until it’stoo late, either because they remain oblivious (like Santana) or because theyare apathetic (like Brittany’s teachers, coaches, and guidance counselors).

Per usual,Glee tried to play the situation for laughs, but there’s really nothing allthat funny about Brittany’s academic failures at all.

Like manystudent athletes, Brittany is a kid whose physical abilities have been valuedover her learning. As long as she’s helping the Cheerios to winchampionships—and make no mistake, like Quinn and Santana, Brittany is one ofSue’s superstars, whose dance and choreography talents are one of the main advantagesthat make the squad elite—then nobody cares if she struggles in her classes.It’s all about what she can do for the school and not what the school can dofor her.

Of course,in Brittany’s case, there’s even an added element of administrative apathy atplay beyond the usual “Just pass the girl so she’s competition eligible” bit.

Because ofthe way she thinks and acts, her teachers assume that she incapable of and/ordisinterested in learning. They allow their annoyance and exasperation with herto supersede whatever obligation they might feel to provide her with a realeducation.

The sad reality is that no one’s going to go out of theirway to teach a girl that they consider a) a nuisance to have in class; b)incapable of learning; and c) someone for whom grades don’t really matteranyhow, given that she’s one of the moving parts in Sue Sylvester’schampionship cheerleading machine.

So that’show Brittany makes it through grades nine, ten, and eleven: By being passedfrom hand to hand, with the faculty and administration turning a blind eye towhat’s happening because, ultimately, no one really cares about her educationanyway.

But thenBrittany enters grade twelve, and for whatever reason this system suddenlyfalls apart. Though she has previously made passing grades—some of themostensibly without Sue’s “help”—the coursework in her senior year gets thebetter of her.

Maybe thetwelfth grade material proves substantially more difficult than the eleventhgrade material. Maybe years of inadequate learning finally catch up to her. (Ifone never masters the basics of a given subject, then one can’t very wellnavigate more advanced material, after all.) Maybe the stress in her family andsocial life so distracts her from her schoolwork that she is no longer able to juggle it all, and she ends up dropping the academic ball. Maybe herteachers finally have enough of her antics and decide to grade her punitively. Maybea confluence of issues affects her.

Whatever thecase, she fails.

That no onein the WMHS administration takes an interest in her case is a tragedy. Thatshe doesn’t feel safe enough to ask any of her teachers or coaches for help isutterly heartbreaking. Particularly when we compare her story to Puck’s, thenumerous ways in which the system has failed her become painfully apparent.

No childshould flunk out of school because her teachers find her annoying.

—andespecially not when she is willing to learn, if only given the chance.

Throughouther time at WMHS, we frequently see Brittany taking notes in her classes andvolunteering answers during lectures, incorrect though some of those answerscertainly are. She isn’t a girl who sleeps through her schooldays or cutsclasses or goofs off. She’s trying her best. And as the way she really comesinto her own after she leaves WMHS proves, she isvery much capable of learning, albeit at her own pace and in her own way.

Imagine howvery different Brittany’s story could have been if even one teacher had realizedher potential—or had even just given her a chance of any kind. 

Not onlywould it perhaps have been possible for her to graduate with the rest of herclass, but her genius could have been recognized sooner. The entire course of her life could have been changed for the better.

As thingsare, Brittany eventually succeeds inspite of her experiences in the education system, not because of them.

Hers remainsa sobering story.

Anyway.

Then, toanswer your second question:

No, I don’tthink Brittany drops the “—if it were, Santana and I would be dating” line onpurpose. I honestly think it’s a slip on her part.

Here’s thething:

ThoughBrittana don’t get a lot of foreground development during S1, they do have asubtle subtextual, “in the background” storyline that centers on the tension between howSantana thinks they need to be versus how they really are.

Whilethey’re both truly happiest when they’re monogamous with each other, Santanacontinually insists that they maintain publicly visible sexual relationshipswith popular boys at the same time that they’re sleeping with each other—youknow, to project at least the illusion of “straightness.”

However,despite her interest in appearing “heterosexual,” Santana is never able to keepup her sexual relationships with boys for long. Puck inevitably cheats on her.Finn inevitably turns back to Rachel. She invariably ends up back in amonogamous sexual relationship with Brittany, who is more than happy with thearrangement, given that she and Santana are actually in love. The cycle repeatsitself ad nauseum, until eventually, between episodes 1x10 and 1x13, Santanaand Brittany fall into a prolonged period of exclusivity with eachother.

During thistime, they’re sleeping together, plus doing all of their regular “best friend”things—you know, like sharing meals and going out to movies and sittingtogether in the back of the class and writing each other cute notes andcuddling and linking pinkies and generally being, you know, GIRLFRIENDS—whichis why Brittany feels confused about the status of their relationship.

Santana hastold over and over again that just because you’re having sex with someonedoesn’t mean you’re also dating them.

But she andSantana aren’t just having sex. They’re also doing all sorts of relationship-ystuff. Plus, you know, they’re in love with each other.

So doesn’tthat mean that they’re dating?

That’s thequestion that’s in Brittany’s mind going into the infamous party line scene inepisode 1x13.

To quoteextensively from thispost:

During S1,Santana feels secure in her arrangements with Brittany as long as she maintainsa sexual relationship with Puck and he brags about it around school. As long aseveryone knows that Santana has sex with a hot boy and “likes it,” then Santanafeels safe to also have sex with Brittany, per her own druthers. Even afterSantana and Puck officially break up circa episode 1x03, things are cool becausethey still keep having sex and Puck keeps broadcasting the fact that they do totheir peers.

But then circa episode 1x10, somethingshifts.

Though Puck and Santana continue to haveintermittent sex, Puck ceases to boast of their encounters starting around episode1x10, when he begins to woo Quinn in earnest, trying to prove his worthiness asa father and partner to her.

When Puck ceases to brag, Santana getsnervous and feels as if he has rejected her. Is she doing something wrong?Doesn’t he like it anymore? Does he know her secret?

In episode 1x11, Santana sexts Puck in adesperate attempt to rekindle his interest in her, but her efforts don’t panout. Pucktana likely stop sleeping together between episodes 1x11 and 1x13,and, when they do, it likely causes Santana to fear immensely for herreputation.

Ironically, though the thing Santana mostfears in losing Puck as her beard is that people will find out the truth abouther relationship with Brittany, Santana can’t help but run to Brittany when shefeels Puck’s attentions waning. She panics her way right into Brittany’s bed,seeking the approval, affection, acceptance, and validation there that shedoesn’t get from Puck. In so doing, she probably reveals some emotionalvulnerability or even neediness to Brittany.

Considering that Brittany is in love withher, it’s hard for Brittany not to read significance into her actions and thinkthat they signal something big.

Hint: They do.

Brittany starts thinking more and moreabout what’s going on between her and Santana. Since Santana isn’t dating Puckanymore, maybe Santana could date Brittany instead.

It’s because Brittany has the idea ofdating Santana in her mind—and heart—that she blurts it out to the group in1x13.

“Sex isn’t dating.”

“—if it were, Santana and I would bedating.”

It’s Brittany voicing what’s in her heartbefore she can really stop herself.

That she has no premeditated intention ofouting herself and Santana is clear from the look on her face the second thewords leave her mouth and she realizes what she’s just said. She spoke what wasmeant to be a private thought aloud, and she’s scared to death about what theconsequences might be now that she has. She immediately glances to Santana,gauging her reaction, wondering how badly she’s just fucked up theirrelationship. Though the conversation quickly moves on from that point, herheartbeat most likely doesn’t resume a normal pace for minutes afterward.

Anyway, I’ve jabbered for a good, ol’long while now.

Thanks for the questions!

#Crazy Brittanalyst Answers #savealtonrichards #Brittanalyzing #It's been a while kids #I just want queue

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 21

*wipes tear* my story can drink alcohol now *sniffs* they grow up so fast

Tags for chapter: v minor angst, fluff, plans for the future

Words for chapter: ~2.7 k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<– Previous chapter Next chapter (coming soon!)

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan put the steaming coffee in his right hand in front of Phil. Phil looked up and smiled in appreciation, gently pulling the plastic lid off to let the fresh coffee cool. He used his foot to push the chair across from him out from where it had been flush against the table, and Dan slumped into it gratefully, careful to keep his own coffee from spilling.

"Long morning?"

"God, you have no idea. Steve was working a half shift earlier, and dealing with him is the absolute fucking worst."

Phil nodded in understanding, his eyes darkening a little at the mention of Steve. With all of the shit Steve had pulled in the past, and all of the stories Dan told him after every shift they shared, Phil had a healthy hatred of the guy. Part of Dan found it cute, how protective he was whenever Steve was around.

"He's not coming back, is he?"

"No, thank jesus. He was just as happy about not working a full shift as I am."

Dan took a long sip from his steaming coffee, drinking it fast enough for it to not really burn his mouth and throat. One of his many near-useless skills was his tolerance to the heat of fresh coffee, and it always made him laugh to see people's distressed looks at his apparent disregard for his mouth.

"One of these days you'll drink a coffee that's too hot for you, and your hubris will be the end of you." Phil muttered, blowing on his drink and giving it a little sip. He grimaced and set it back down when the temperature still seemed to be too hot.

"Not in this lifetime." Dan glanced up at the counter, and when he saw there were still no customers, he relaxed a bit and turned his attention back to Phil.

It was Phil's day off, and even though they were both in the very public place of the coffee shop, Phil was still wearing his plaid pajama bottoms. The t-shirt that Phil normally slept in had been exchanged for a thicker sweater, and Phil's jacket was tossed over the chair he was sitting on. His hair was in a horrible state of bedhead, but Dan found the random cowlicks adorable. His eyes were tired but content behind his glasses, their focus on the various papers and the laptop spread across the table.

Dan hummed and nodded his head towards the table, knowing that Phil would pick up on his meaning without having to look up.

"Have you decided yet?"

The question messed around something in Dan's insides, but he ignored it. They were trying to rebuild things after their fight, and Dan knew that being a possessive, grumpy boyfriend who didn't want his partner to pursue their dreams would be a step in the wrong direction. They both knew that Dan didn't want Phil to go, but they also both knew how much Dan was dead-set on supporting Phil through this. 

Dan had assured Phil that their relationship—their feelings for each other—were strong enough to withstand this, and he had to stick by that because it was.

Phil frowned a little, shuffling a few of the papers absentmindedly.

"Not really? I've ruled a few possibilities out due to a bit of research I've done about each station, but at this point I'm up to making a decision, and I just don't know how to."

They both knew that Phil didn't have much time. By the end of the week, the station that Phil was currently working at would officially be gone, and he would be out of that job. He would still have his job at Tesco, and money wasn't an issue for him with how much he had saved away, but Phil didn't want to have a career of a Tesco cashier. He had a passion for meteorology, and trying to find a new station to work at was what Phil wanted to do with his life. It was the thing that excited him, and Dan more than respected that.

"Do you have any favorites?"

"No."

"Okay, um," Dan thought for a moment, biting his lip, "how about career-wise? Which one is the best for opportunities and stuff?"

Phil moved some of the papers around until he was holding a few, the others pushed to the side. 

"These are probably the best. Two stations in Birmingham, one in London, one, maybe two in Leeds, and a final one in Sheffield."

"Wow, and here I was thinking that meteorology was a competitive field." Dan snorted playfully. Phil rolled his eyes.

"They're not offering positions on television. Most meteorologists work behind the scenes, you know?"

"Yeah yeah, sure."

"You're impossible. But no, there's always an interest around, and stations are generally pretty good at humoring interest from meteorologists looking for jobs. The competition comes from trying to land a job. All of these stations are really well known, and I've got to make a real good impression to get hired, even with the star reviews I'm getting from my current boses. They all have people working for them that can do everything I can, I just need to impress them, make them think that I can bring something new to the table." Phil frowned, and his eyebrows pinched together. "We'll see, I guess."

Dan nodded. 

"Are you going to try and get an interview with all of them?"

"No, well, I don't know. Maybe? I'm not sure who I should pursue, so don't really know who to branch out towards. I guess I could just try them all and see where I land?"

"Well, what are all of these places offering you? Is one of them offering something that is different than the others?"

More shuffling of the papers. Phil took a generous sip of his coffee, and handed three papers over to Dan.

"I think these are the best deals? There's a local station in Birmingham that will probably accept me, and going from what I have, they're looking to replace their weather anchor. I could be wrong though, it's not like anyone really broadcasts if they're looking to fire. The one in London is a really well-known station, and it could probably give me the best opportunity to put my name out there. It also has the best pay, but I'm not too sure if I could get a job there, though. Then there's Sheffield. They have a really well-known and respected meteorology branch, and I could probably learn a lot by going there. Getting a job there would almost most likely mean that I would also be giving lessons at the local university, which I don't mind. It's a program that they are pretty proud of, to be honest."

Dan let his eyes roam over the sheets as Phil spoke. He picked out words here and there, not really reading, just skimming.

"These are your favorites?"

"Yeah."

"Then I think that you should apply to them. See what they say, and if they're interested, then you can pick between them. If you don't get an offer from any of them, then we can try and pick the next best options from what we've got left. How does that sound?"

Phil smiled, reaching over the table to curl his hand around Dan's. "I don't know how you ended up being the logical one between us if I'm being honest."

Dan laughed, feeling his eyes crinkle and his cheeks dimple.

"As it turns out, I'm actually very good at coming up with solutions as long as they aren't for my own problems. With those I'm kind of hopeless."

Phil laughed, and something in Dan's heart just felt light and happy. Dan settled back into his seat, letting his hand naturally slip from Phil's and curl around his coffee cup. He took a long sip, letting the flavor roll over his tongue. Dan drank so much coffee due to the easy access he had of it, and while it wasn't his favorite drink in the world, sometimes, like right now, he loved it.

Dan clicked on the screen of his phone, the corners of his lips tugging down a little at the lack of notifications.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Dan said, turning the screen back off and looking up, "I'm just waiting for Jaime to text me back. It's been longer than usual, that's all." 

"Do you think that something is up?"

"No, I'm almost certain that it's just because rehearsals are getting longer, and she was tired before, so she's got to be exhausted now. She's just busy, that's all"

"I'm sure she'll get back to you." Phil took a sip of his coffee. "What are you doing on Thursday?"

"Um, I have work until two, and then therapy right after. Other than that, nothing. Why?" Dan asked, even though he knew exactly why Phil was wondering. Dan was just surprised that he didn't beat Phil to it.

"Well, I was thinking about doing something with you for my birthday, if you want to that is. Dinner, maybe a movie after? Just the two of us?"

Dan smiled. They hadn't had a date night in a while. They had hung out together, sure, but they had never had a proper date in quite a bit. Dan was excited, but he also frowned, knowing exactly what Phil was trying to pull.

"Phil, you know that I would love to, but I'm not going to let you treat me on your birthday."

"Oh c'mon, Dan, spending time with you is a treat for me too."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Dan, love, let me take you out on a date. It's been ages, and I'd love to spend my birthday wining and dining you. You can repay me by visiting me wherever the hell I end up working, alright?"

Dan kept his frown, knowing that he really shouldn't be giving in to this. He had been planning on taking Phil somewhere, but now…

"Are you sure that this is how you want to be spending your birthday?"

"Yes."

"...Fine. But it can't be too fancy! I'm not letting you go over the top for this date, mister. Not when it's your birthday."

Regardless of Dan's warning, Phil beamed, dropping a kiss onto Dan's knuckles and instantly pulling out his phone. If Dan knew anything about Phil, he was googling restaurant recommendations and their menus. Dan sighed without any real malice behind it, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

"What time should I be ready by?"

"Hmm, I'll let you know, but somewhere around six? For an idea?"

"Fine by me."

The bell above the shop's door chimed, alerting Dan of new customers. Dan gave Phil's hand a squeeze before getting up, leaving Phil to his plans for Thursday. Dan chugged the last few gulps of his coffee left and stepped behind the counter.

Dan took the guy's order, a large strawberry and mango smoothie, with a blueberry muffin. As ironic as it may be, Dan was incredibly glad to be making something that wasn't laced with caffeine.

He put the finishing touches on the smoothie and put it on the counter along with the muffin. The guy grabbed the smoothie with his left hand, giving an appreciative sigh at the flavor. Dan rung up the order on the cash register and gave the guy his total. Dan watched as he put the smoothie back down, looking kind of sheepish as he rooted round his jacket pockets for his wallet. He tossed a small bill into the tip jar and handed over enough to pay for his food to Dan, who counted out his change and reached out to give it to him. As he grabbed it from Dan, Dan's eyes caught on the ring that was on his right hand.

It was a deep, solid black, polished to the point that little reflections shone in the light. The ring was on his right middle finger, and unassuming in every regard. Most people probably wouldn't think much of it.

But then again, Dan wasn't most people.

In his many years of existence, Dan had done a lot of research on the asexual community. There were a lot of symbols that represented asexuality, just like there were symbols for any of the other sexualities. And even though there were plenty of symbols, Dan had taken the time and care to learn them all because it made him feel closer to his identity. Playing cards, cake, even the AVEN triangle were all familiar to Dan.

However, all of those were things that the asexual community had adopted.

Black rings and their meaning, specifically on the right middle finger of one's hand, had been designed by asexual people to recognize each other in public discreetly.

Dan had seriously considered buying one multiple times, but he had always stopped himself at the last moment, fears of rejection and aphobia keeping him from going through with it.

And this guy had one.

One simple, black band around his finger that meant the world to someone like Dan.

Of course, there was the chance that Dan could just be reading into it too far. There was always the chance that this was nothing but a coincidence, and even if it wasn't Dan certainly didn't know this guy, and he might not appreciate Dan mentioning his (possible) sexuality.

But regardless, the flutter of excitement in Dan's heart was something that he couldn't ignore.

Dan had never met anyone like him. He never talked face-to-face with someone else who identified as asexual, who understood. It was always part of the reason why he felt so alone in his feelings, because as much as Jaime and Phil tried to keep their minds open, they could never truly relate to what Dan was going through. And it wasn't their fault, they just...couldn't.

But he might.

With a burning sense of needing to talk to the guy, Dan watched helplessly as he smiled and picked up both the muffin and the smoothie.

"Have a good day." He said with an easy-going grin. Dan stuttered something similar in response, completely overwhelmed at this whole encounter. But as he watched the guy take a step away from the counter, Dan found his jaw nearly unhinging in the rush to speak—

"I like your ring," Dan breathed in a rush, none of his words articulated properly and all of them coming out too fast, too slurred, there's no way he understood, no way.

But to Dan's utter stupor, the guy stopped and smiled in such a genuine manner that Dan couldn't help but laugh a little, his cheeks a little pink form embarrassment.

"Thanks," he said, but that one word said so much, and Dan wanted to cry from happiness because he had found someone like him.

Dan watched as he put his smoothie down and grabbed a pen from the counter, scribbling something quick onto a napkin. He pressed it into Dan's hand, an excited glint in his eye.

"My name's David. I have to get to work, but call me? It's been awhile since I've met someone new who's ace."

Ace.

Yes. Yes. God, yes.

Dan nodded wildly, a warm feeling in his chest. He watched as David picked up his smoothie once more with a giddy smile and left, throwing a happy "Goodbye!" over his shoulder. Dan slipped the paper into his pocket, a huge grin on his face. Phil looked at him with a raised eyebrow from across the cafe, and Dan nearly vaulted the counter in excitement to tell Phil what had him so happy.

Dan had found someone like him, someone ace.

Of course Dan had known that there were other asexual people in the world. Hell, he had even chatted with a few of them online when he was trying to figure himself out.

But there was something so different about meeting someone face-to-face. It was physical proof that no matter how alone Dan might feel sometimes, he wasn't.

He wasn't.

He wasn't.

#my fics #allyssaTM #i dare you to stay #i dare you to stay:chapter 21 #idyts #dan howell #phil lester #au #ace!dan #dan's asexuality is important in this one! #fluff #tiny bit of angst #talking abt the future guys #*wipes tear* #they're finally communicating #phan #phanfiction #phanfic #chaptered

[mareebrittenford]

Ten (Writerly) Questions Tag!

Thank you to @acfawkes for tagging me! I haven’t been tagged in ages and it’s cool to be included!

1.    How did you start writing and why?

I’m not sure how to answer this one. I wrote fiction for fun in school, and kept journals etc. I actually started writing a teen romance novel when I was about 15 but I kinda quit when I realized I’d never be good enough to be published.

Flash forward to my discovery of fanfic, due to my intense disappointment over the way a certain series ended. I started reading fic, and then writing it. And then I had this one fic that got almost no attention, and I thought to myself ‘why don’t I take this fic that no one likes and turn it into an original novel!’ and on that genius idea I began writing Echoes of Azure. Now the original story is still getting almost no attention, so that all worked out well I think.

2.    What is your favourite line from your own work?

I don’t really have favorites in my own stuff. But I asked some of my friends. Here’s a couple of passages that they told me were good.

I’m not as frightened as I should be. I mean, I’m tearing down a narrow corridor with no safe exits, being pursued by a pack of zombies. If there’s a second pack coming from the other direction we’re screwed. But I can’t help feeling a ridiculous sense of euphoria.

He’s here. Running alongside me. Keeping up with me! Him being an animal seems like a minor detail. I know logically that some of this is just the emotions he’s sharing with me. His stupid doggy joy from running alongside me.

Damn. I thought finding my soulmate would mean I’d get laid. Instead I get a pet. -- Space Rats (wip)

There’s no direct access to the house. Instead there’s a wall made of odds and ends, sheets of roofing iron, concrete block, and a whole section of tiny strips of wood all nailed together like some modern art sculpture. The whole thing is overgrown with vines, and in the middle of it is a gate. It's pretty in a faded sort of way. It's made of wood, with an arched top and a diamond shaped peephole insert made of lattice. It was once blue, but all that's left of the peeling paint is on the lattice and in the grooves between the pieces of wood. -- The Extra Fakes (I’ve started posting this novel on my blog, this is from an upcoming chapter)

3.    Who is your writing idol and how have they influenced you?

I have lots of favorite writers who have influenced the voice inside my head massively (which is the voice I try to get onto the page). But as for hero’s I’d have to say Kristine Kathryn Rusch. I read plenty of her fantasy as a kid but it was when I started writing as an adult I discovered her blog that I realized how much ground breaking she’d done. And I think the biggest influence she and other women writers have done for me is that it balanced the male writer canon in science fiction and fantasy. Seeing women in leading roles in stories I loved as I was growing up has made me more confident writing my own female leads.

4.    Which OC has the best family life, found or otherwise?

I’m not overly fond of the epic tragic back story, so most of my characters have good family backgrounds. Sure Sam’s mother was killed, but he’s got a good relationship with his father and a loving extended family. Amy feels like a bit of a misfit in her family, but they love and accept her.

And of course the found family gets a good spin too.

5.    Which OC has the most satisfying ending to their story?

I don’t know. I guess that’s for the reader to decide.

7.    Which tropes (e.g., friends to lovers, fake death, white-haired pretty boy) do you always find yourself wanting to write?

I love reading certain tropes, (fake dating/arranged marriage!) but I don’t write them much myself. Wait, no! My new thing I’m writing, Space Rats has fake dating!

I do love playing with the idea of soulmates, or destined relationships. That trope shows up a lot, but it doesn’t always work out the way it’s expected.

8.    What goes through your head as you’re writing a scene?

As little as possible! If I let myself think too much about the mechanics of writing then I don’t write well or fast. My best and happiest writing happens when I can clear those doubts away and just write.

9.    How specific is your idea of your characters’ appearance, usually? Have you drawn any of them before? (and if so, can we see it?)

I usually have very clear ideas of what my characters look like. But alas I don’t draw, so I nothing of that to offer. I do make pinterest boards sometimes, here’s a link to one for The Extra Fakes if anyone is interested

https://www.pinterest.com/mareebrittenford/the-extra-fakes/

10.  What are you proudest of as a writer?

I am proud that I’m actually finishing stuff and following through with publication! (finishing things never used to be my strong suit) I’m also proud when random readers email or message me to tell me that something I wrote moved them.

tagging my newest followers! No pressure if you don’t like these things, I only do them sometimes myself. And since the @ tags don’t seem to be working, if you started following me this week consider yourself tagged

#ask game #writer asks

[kyluxtrashpit]

For the writing game, I couldn't decide which, all the colors please? They're so interesting!

Omg I was so excited when I saw this! You’re so sweet to enable my rambling

Red: What type of writer’s block do you experience the most?

I guess the most common one is I get stuck in transitions. Like I know how this scene goes and I know how the next scene goes, but I don’t know exactly how to get from A to B and it’s one of those cases where I can’t just put a line and jump to it. Scene transitions are one of the hardest things for me for some reason. The second most common for me is probably when my brain is being a shit and won’t let me be productive due to some sort of emotional crisis lmao

White: Are you a supporter/lover of fanfiction?

I mean, kind of obvious lmao, but absolutely. I think it’s great that there are people who are creating things solely out of love for something, and that’s really what fanfiction is, at it’s deepest core. It’s a community of people being so enthusiastic about and loving something so hard that they work their asses of and dedicate time to just… making more of it. For no real external benefit other than some social validation, if they’re lucky. Love and passion are the true motivators and idk that’s just really beautiful to me

Black: Would you want to live in one of the fictional worlds you’vecreated?

I don’t really do a lot of worldbuilding because I find it incredibly boring and I’m terrible at it lmao, but since I always write either canon-verse or modern au, I’m going to treat this as ‘do I want to live in the Star Wars universe?’. And the answer to that would honestly be no. As much as there’s cool stuff, like advanced technology and aliens and maybe I’d be lucky enough to be able to move shit with my mind, there’s also a lot of bad things. A lot of fascism, a lot of wars, and every once in a while some asshole builds a planet-destroying superweapon and blows up a planet (or 5) and like… I could live on one of those, you know

That said, if I didn’t die because the planet I was living on exploded, I would probably survive alright. I mean, my background is in science, so tbh I might have better opportunities there than I do here. While that could mean making chemical weapons or something if the Empire was in power, that’s at least more interesting than customer service at a chemical company lmao. I still wouldn’t choose to live there, but I think I’d manage okay if I had to

[More beneath the cut - my sincerest apologies to those on mobile]

Blue: What’s more important to you: characters or plot?

I mean, they both definitely matter, but if I have to choose? Interesting characters can save a dry plot, but the best plot ever written will still be mediocre at best if the characters aren’t compelling. Personally, I love character-driven stories more than anything. Event-driven plots can still be fun, but I prefer the focus to be on how the characters are dealing with said events, as opposed to them just being passively driven along by them. The best is when it’s the characters themselves driving the events of the plot, but that’s more difficult to execute than it sounds. Regardless, it’s the characters that usually draw me into a story in the first place and that keep me interested. And from the perspective of my own writing, I go character-driven, all the way. Sure, some event might happen that drives the plot sometimes, but I’m far more interested in how the characters react to that event than anything else

Yellow: What’s a common writing tip that you mostly ignore?

In terms of writing advice, nothing makes my blood boil more than those posts that say ‘get rid of this entire class of words’ or ‘if it’s not absolutely strictly necessary to the plot, cut it’. Fuck that shit. If you want your writing to look like Hemingway, sure, go for it, but a) Hemingway is overrated, and b) that’s not the only way to write well. Especially as someone who tends to focus on characters, passages that aren’t necessary to the plot may be necessary to establish characterization. Or they may add some emotion to the story that gets the reader invested. Same with wording choices; more or less words can drastically change the tone or mood of the scene. Are there times when you need to cut words and keep things concise? Absolutely, but any writing tip that says ‘remove every instance of [word] in your document’ is fucking bullshit and you should never listen to it

Grey: What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Tbh I think every writing tip you see should always be taken with a grain of salt, especially if it’s a ‘never do x’ because there is almost always a situation where doing x is the right thing to do, it’s just a matter of knowing how to do it correctly (looking at you, ‘never use the passive voice’). So really, there are very few I always follow, but I’ll give one that was foundationally helpful for me

Edit in a different format than you write. That can be changing the text size, or the font, or printing it out physically, or whatever. For me, I usually pop it into AO3′s preview function and take notes of things that need changing as I go. It forces your brain to notice things it’s been overlooking for the entire writing period. I only do my final edit this way, generally speaking, but I’ve found it to be incredibly helpful for catching typos and general weirdness in the writing

Orange: How many projects do you usually have going at once?

Because my fics are usually short, I tend to only have 1, but I think I’ve had up to 3-4 before. That’s basically me just popping between documents everytime I get stuck on one until one is finished lmao. But more than 2 gets to be a lot to handle

Currently, I’m really only working on my Big Bang fic, though I do have at least one one-shot I’m planning to write when I need a short break from it

Pink: Which of your characters would become your best friend?

This is so hard because like, I don’t get along with a lot of people generally speaking. I’m also going to treat this as the entire SW cast even though I only write Kylo and Hux, for the most part. And I’m not sure I’d be good friends with either of them. While Kylo would make an excellent self-destruction buddy, I think we’re too similar for the most part to get along. And while I also have an element of Hux in me that’s my anal retentiveness when it comes to organization (not to be confused with cleanliness; I’m talking more about my colour-coded work email and my nested folder system on my computer), I’m also very emotional, messy, and I’m not really equipped to verbally spar with him. I think I would actually do okay with Hux as a boss, not a friend, but with Kylo, I think we’d get along really well until we really didn’t. And then I would be dead lmao

Aaaand none of that was an actual answer. But like, I honestly don’t know? Most of the other characters I really like (e.g. Rey, Rae Sloane, Ventress), it’s because I would have a big huge crush on them which would manifest as my hovering in their vicinity a lot but never actually starting a conversation and then waxing poetic while crying about my unrequited love when I continue to go unnoticed lmao. Which is, well, still not friendship

Maybe Finn… I might get along really well with Finn. He’s one of my favourites as well and I think he’d be really interesting to talk to. Has a lot of interesting views on things, likely a good listener. Hm. I’m still not 100% solid on it, but after far too many words, that’s my answer lmao

Purple: Which of your characters would become your sworn enemy?

Okay, hear me out on this one because the reason isn’t what you think lmao. I’m also treating this less as ‘sworn enemy’ and more ‘person I’d least get along with’ and that’s actually Poe. And the reason is that highly extroverted, extremely friendly people who others call charismatic tend to rub me the wrong way. Like there’s nothing wrong with them, they’re perfectly nice, but they’re just too friendly and my socially-inept, introverted brain always responds to that with DANGER DANGER. And I think he would definitely fall into that category for me haha

Green: Pencil, typewriter, or computer?

Computer. I have written fic by hand before (I also sometimes do planning by hand, just because it can be a bit more visual; Fractured was planned largely by hand when I used to work evenings at a gym and had access to unlimited spare paper), but that’s usually only when I have nothing else to work with. I wrote most of a fic in the Halifax airport on a layover, once. I’ve also done it on my phone, but that’s too fucking annoying lmao. Typerwriters are super fun to use but also very impractical for me; my typing accuracy isn’t good enough

Brown: Do you have a set writing space? Or do you write everywhere?

Mostly I’m at home on my couch, but that’s really cause I have nowhere else to write. I do write at work sometimes (not smut though lmao), but only when it’s slow enough that I can get away with it. And there’s nowhere else I really go where I’m sitting with a computer for long periods of time

Silver: Are you comfortable writing in public places?

I am, yeah. I don’t know why I wouldn’t be tbh. Work is a public place and the only reason I don’t write smut there is because I don’t want to get fired lmao (slacking off is one thing, porn is another). I don’t really ever write in public, but that’s more because I don’t spend a lot of time sitting in public places by myself

Gold: Do your stories usually contain lessons or morals?

Not really… I can’t think of any at least. They always have some sort of closure, though, because I fucking hate open-ended stuff where everything isn’t worked out in the end lmao (or is at least on it’s way there). I’m too fragile for that shit haha

Clear: Do your characters control where the story goes or do youmaintain control?

I tend to write more like an rper than an actual author, based on conversations I’ve had with others, so my characters have a lot of control. That said, if you’ve got your plot and all the major points of it planned out and then you get halfway through and find it doesn’t work because of the characters, then that’s a failure in planning, not the characters taking control. Sometimes things do change and are reworked as you go, that’s the nature of writing, but that still means your plan needed some adjusting, you just didn’t know it at the time. I intentionally leave a lot of room in my plans for the characters (e.g. ‘and then they talk about [blank]. Hux says something mean and Kylo gets angry’ might be my only note for an entire scene), but if you’ve planned enough to actually start writing, your characters and plot should already work together. Characters control the minor details of the story, not the major plot

Tan: Are you open to co-writing a story?

I might be. I’ve never done it before and the Big Bang I’m doing now is the most collaborative thing I’ve ever done writing-wise. If someone approached me and was really interested in it, I might be willing to give it a shot. I’m not really sure how it works, though. I tend to envision it as basically an rp except it’s planned out beforehand and then edited afterwards, but in all honesty, I have no idea how it actually goes

#this was so fun thank you so much #also you're the only one who sent in an ask so it worked out really well lmao #I think it got a little incoherent halfway through but meh that's just how I work most of the time haha #I love to ramble and thank you again for giving me the opportunity to do so <3 #squire reblogs #ask tag #things I am tagged in #sort of but not really #long post #for the folks on mobile #my fic #because I can

[winchester-with-wings]

What We Can Control

Dean Winchester x Reader / Patron Benefit Fanfic!

Author’s Notes: Let me know what you guys think! This is a patron fic from a while back! This is for @abbessolute​ 

Summary/Request: we’re always needing come anxiety comfort fics so here's a smutty comfort fic that takes place during early season 15.

Word Count: 1900ish

Wanna get previews, early access and make exclusive requests? Become a Patron! You can follow my Patreon for free too as some stuff becomes public after a while. I’ll be adding a discord server benefit soon too!

Can’t become a patron? please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi (Tips are appreciated!)

Mobile Masterlist  /  Patreon & Commissions Masterlist

—————–

With the barrier weakening every day, Sam and Dean had called in reinforcements. More and more hunters arrived everyday but there was still the concern that it wouldn’t be enough.

Sam knew most of the hunters better than Dean since turning the bunker into a headquarters.

But there was one person that he knew all too well. He wasn’t counting on her showing up though. Y/N was busy in South America. The chances of her making the trip to a small town in Kansas were 1 in a million.

But clearly Dean wasn’t as good a gambler as he thought.

The car was unfamiliar but the combat boots, and sleek, sun-kissed legs stepping out of the muscle car were.

Sam greeted Y/N first, with a hug that engulfed her in plaid. She didn’t rush into Dean’s arms. It was more tentative as they looked each other up and down. Dean figured it’d be weirder if he didn’t give her a hug after Sam’s greeting so he extended an arm for a sideways/half-hug.

Damn, she still smells good, Dean thinks to himself. For someone who likely just traveled 10+ hours, the scent of coffee and saltwater lingered in her hair.

“Good to see you. I thought you were out of the country?” he said.

“Well this is the ultimate case. All hands on deck, right Dean-o? Sam figured you could use the help and you know I can’t say no to Sam.” Dean shot a glare at Sam who knew to avoid his gaze. Dean cleared his throat, his voice getting gruffer.

“Well yeah then it’s a good thing you’re here,” Dean agreed.

--

It’s not that he was avoiding Y/N. It’s just that there’s a lot of ground to cover and a lot of hunters to coordinate. No, it had nothing to do with the sexual tension he’s fed into for years.

Y/N was one of the best hunters he’s ever known and getting involved with her would only prevent the both of them from doing their job. At least that’s what he told himself.

Some of the hunters shacked up at the school with the civilians. Some of them chose to crash in the houses that were just outside of the barrier. Sam and Dean did both every now and then. All hunters were given instructions to keep the homes in good condition if possible. It shouldn’t look like a soldier occupation...even if that’s kinda what it was.

Sam invited Y/N to stay in the house with the two of them as a chance to catch up. Dean stayed quiet as Sam told her the whole story. The story of God, the big bad puppet master. Just like every other hunter, she was shocked.

Dean could read the paranoia, depression, and anxiety creep into her features. Her eyebrows knitting together; her perfect lips pursed hard to stop them from trembling. He knows she’s tough. She’ll pull through and get the job done.

But Y/N was not without her own demons. Sam and Dean remember that the first few nights when they both wake up to her shouts. Sam checks on her each time. The nightmares have returned, agitated by the presence of so many angry spirits. Sam’s always comforted Y/N instead of him. She won’t let herself show vulnerability around Dean. It’s one of the few ways Dean can tell that she could sense the tension between the two of them too.

But on another night, Sam stayed up at the high school with the townsfolk and it’s the two of them alone in the house.

She doesn’t shout. She’s not loud enough to wake herself but the whimpers were enough for Dean. He climbed out of bed, and padded with bare feet down the hall. He opened the door just a crack to see Y/N tossing and turning.

“No. No, please, no,” she begged in a whisper. Tears glisten on her cheeks; that’s when he decided to enter the room. The bed dipped under his weight as he sat beside her. He tried to wake her with a gentle touch on her arm. It wasn’t enough so he reached out to touch her cheek, wiping away the tears.

“Y/N,” he murmured. “Y/N, sweetheart, wake up,” he said, his voice getting louder. She jolted up in bed and rushed into his embrace.

“Noononono. This can’t be it,” Y/N cried. “This can’t be the end.” Dean shushed her, rubbing her back.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” he said as he kissed her hair. Surely that was okay at least, right? That’s when she must’ve just realized it was Dean she was clinging to and not Sam. Y/N leaned back to look into his eyes.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey, Y/N, it’s going to be okay.” She buried her face in his chest and continue to cry.

“But what if it’s not. What if this is the end? How could it? There’s so many innocent people who don’t deserve this. We don’t deserve this.” Dean bites his tongue, withholding his own self-deprecating thought that the Winchester brothers deserve nothing but tragedy.

“I know, I know. You’re right, Y/N. Just take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.”

She followed his orders, releasing a shuttering breath.

“How do you know?” She looked at him and he felt like she could see his soul.

“Because it has to be.” He licked his lips, trying to soothe his dry mouth.  He set Y/N at an arm’s length so that they can look at each other. “I refuse to believe that everything we’ve ever done was just Chuck’s plan. We are in control of our own destiny. I’m in control. We’re going to get through this. You are in control. You control what happens next and how you fight this fight.”

There’s a brief pause and it didn’t sink in right away what Dean had just set himself up for but he’s glad he did.

Y/N leaned in tentatively, resting a hand along his cheek. Her soft lips brush against his and he could taste her tears. It’s not like what he’d ever imagined if he’d ever had the balls to kiss Y/N. It breaks his heart. Not that she doesn’t taste the way he expected, no, his heart is broken knowing that she felt this way, felt so alone and discouraged that in this last desperate moment of free will she had chosen to kiss him.

Although his lips were naturally pursed, when Y/N didn’t sense a response from him, she pulled back--first from the kiss and then from his arms.

“I--I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just...I mean...when will I ever get the chance again?”

Dean didn’t know how to respond. He’d never been dumbstruck by a kiss before but it figured that it would be Y/N’s.

“Right,” Dean cleared his throat again. “It’s perfectly natural. Apocalypse. Last night on earth kind of thing. I’m sure lots of hunters are hooking up.” Y/N frowned at him and his response. “I mean, I guess I could oblige.” It’s not how he wanted it to happen, but like she said when will the chance come up again? He leaned in but she held him at bay.

“Dammit, Dean. No. It’s not like that! I’m not just choosing some random guy to screw for one last thrill.”

“Oh,” Dean paused, waiting for her to explain.

“Chuck thinks he can control everything. Everyone. But he can’t. We have free will. He wants us to be scared and panicking but I have the free will and choice to do what I want, right here, in this very moment.”

“And what do you want?”

“You. Dean. I’ve always wanted you. And I know you want me too. So why not give into it? Why not give in to a different emotion? Like…” she hesitated to finish the sentence, her hands framed Dean’s face and brought his lips close.

“Love. Like love,” he finishes the thought and follows through, his lips crashing into hers. His arms coiled around Y/N’s waist, holding her body against his. But only moments later, they separated. They held each other’s gaze as Dean stripped her of her shirt and then sat back so she could do the same for him. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re gorgeous. Dammit,” he growled as he pounced.

They had all the time in the world to kiss--slow and passionate until their lips were swollen. But when Y/N’s hand cupped Dean’s ass, pressing his hips into hers, the game changed. There was no time for Dean to shirk off his flannel pajama pants. The two of them just shoved them down past his ass, while pulling her panties to the side.

He slid into her warmth with the perfect kind of resistance.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.”

“Mmm, yes Dean, please,” Y/N moaned. He rolled his hips, thrusting in and out. He didn’t know how long he’d last, all he knew was that he finally had Y/N and he wouldn’t let her go. Her hands roamed the expanse of his backs, fingertips digging in. His hands caressed her skin, gliding across her breast and down her waist until he could grab hold of her thigh, hitching her legs up higher on his waist. They both moaned at the change in position before he took her hands and pinned them above her head. He was thrusting deep and hard, he wouldn’t last much longer. But this wouldn’t be the first or last time. He would make love to Y/N all night if it meant consoling her; if it really was their last day on earth. He’d wasted too much time resisting her and a part of him wondering if that was some cruel kind of torture orchestrated by Chuck. Fuck. him.

Dean belonged to Y/N, body and soul and he wouldn’t let anyone keep them apart. He was in control of his story and his story intertwined with Y/N.

Much like the way their bodies had joined now, in this moment. He slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed her clit until she cried out. There was no one else in the neighborhood, much less this house. Dean would have her, would elicit every sound from her before they were done.

He reached his climax with Y/N. He spilled his seed inside her and for a split second, he fantasized about that seed taking hold. If he kept his resolve and believed that they would survive this trial of Chuck’s then it was a promise of a wonderful future. But then again, would Chuck let that happen? Was Dean really in control of his fate?

He had to believe he could. He had to rely on his faith in Sam and in Y/N and all the other hunters. They would get through this and he would be together with Y/N.

They made love at least two more times that night until they were both too sensitive to go on. He didn’t want to stop but she drew the line, claiming exhaustion. They fell asleep together, naked and embracing.

Y/N slept peacefully that night wrapped securely in the arms of the man she loved, who loved her in return.

The next day, she was ready to take on Hell with Dean Winchester by her side.

------

Tagging: @abbessolute​​ @autoblocked​​ @book-loving--anime-chick​​ @karazoiel​​​ @overlyobsethed​​​  @therealcap​​​  @whoopxd​​​  @bookworm4ever99​​​ @geeksareunique​​​ @pottxrwolff​​​ @barry-writes​​​ @ravenhaviland​​​ @clockblobber​​​ @softdudebro​​​ @melaninspice11​​​ @parkerschurros​​​ @woaahkelsey​​​ @montytheravenclaw​​​ @eds-gryff​​​ @smutfornerds​​​ @fabinapercabeth4179​​​ @faithtrustandpixiedust95​​​ @thinkwritexpress-official​​​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​​​ @percyjackson886​ @but-deans-back-tho​ @saxxxology​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​

#my writing #patreon fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #spn #spn fanfic #patron fanfic #patron fic #supernatural #supernatural season 15 #dean winchester x reader