#i feel like this says all that needs to be said about ao3 author demographics lol

[sostrangerous]

ONLY 5 NCT FICS ON AO3 MENTION POPPERS... oh girl this is dire. im part of the problem but god damn

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Five:Sensory Integration 1

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A Friday full of teasing for Shane ends in a steak dinner with a blue-eyed beefcake. If you don’t finish this chapter hungry for one or the other, if not both, I haven’t done my job! Lol! (For inspo on Sy’s date outfit, think back to that one Men’s Health photoshoot Hen did and just imagine his hair shorter. That’s what I did. lol!) 

Click me to catch up on the story and other stuff by Hannah!

Word Count: 4k (This date got away from me! Lol! And it’s only half over!)

Warnings: Mostly this is utter fluffy fluff, but I’m gonna put the following warnings on, anyway. Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, borderline food worship (Shane may have a problem, I definitely do! Lol!) Also, pretty much every Sy fic I’ve read says that his given name is Logan, so...should his given name be used henceforth, that’s what I’m going with because it seems the most cannon and I like it and if it’s good enough for Wolverine...

Author’s Note: So, guys, this is crazy. First off, the reaction and love Sy and Shane’s story has been getting has taken me completely off guard and utterly made my day/week. (I’m serious. Every note makes my heart do a happy dance. A like, a reblog, a comment. It all means the world to me. Thank you for your feedback and for sharing this story.) Second, YOUR FEEDBACK MATTERS TO ME! Because initially, idk what I was thinking. I was going to skim over their first date and like…not write it…and I kept getting notes as I worked on further chapters to the tune of “can’t wait for this date!” and I thought…hmm…well, the date must be written! So, here it is, the first half-ish, of Shane and Sy’s first date. I hope it’s all you were expecting…or at least half of all you were expecting! Lol! More to come in part two of Sens Integ! (BTW, fun fact, these chapter titles are all named after treatments that therapists actually use on their patients sometimes! Lol!)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira @oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland @speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby @suavechops

Friday morning. She was up with the sun. And a bit before, really. Today was the day. Her first date with Sy. She’d taken extra care in the shower, less clumsy, thank God! She shaved her legs because she had chosen to wear a knee-length blue dress with a scoop neck and cap sleeves in wrinkle-proof Jersey knit since it would be in her tote bag all day. She was not shaving because she thought anything would happen tonight with Sy. She didn’t think she was ready.

That is, she was ready, but, only physically. Emotionally, mentally, she would need to prepare for him a bit longer before taking him as a lover. She hoped he was on the same page.

He had an appointment in the early afternoon. He greeted her with his warm “Hello, sunshine.” Following it up by telling her how pretty she looked today, causing blush to burn in her cheeks. She’d reciprocated, even though he was in his typical tee and shorts look. It was still true. They got on their usual bikes to warm up for about 15 minutes, and then took to the leg press to try to advance his strengthening.

“I’m really proud of your progress! You wouldn’t have been able to do this much weight two weeks ago!” She encouraged him.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Now, we are going to do some drills next. Simple ones, but they aren’t going to be fun for you. I’ve chosen to do them on your last day of the week for a reason. You may be sore. Ice and whatever you take OTC if you must. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. But try the ice first. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Okay.” He conceded, dejected.

“Stretching afterward.” She promised.

“Okay!” He pepped up. She knew he just loved an excuse to have her hands on him.

Later, as he lay on the mat, sweaty from the exertion of the drills, with her up there with him having to use her whole body to leverage the proper stretch out of his hip flexors, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. She tried to look anywhere but those sapphire eyes below her. They were too vulnerable. She couldn’t handle that right now. Not here.

“Shane?” Dammit, he was gonna make her.

“Hmm?” She looked down at him, smile meeting smile.

“I just…” he couldn’t seem to get out the words. But she thought she understood what he was feeling.

“I know, Sy. I know.” She gently patted his outer thigh where she had been bracing her hand for the stretch, and let his leg back down, while dismounting the mat, as well.

“Well, that’s about the hour. Any questions before I let you go?”

“Are you as excited for tonight as I am?” He asked. She chuckled. She couldn’t imagine him being more excited than she was!

“Yes! Hehe! But I still kinda meant about therapy, Sy.”

“Oh, right. Are you excited to finish up with your therapy patients at therapy today so I can pick you up from the therapy clinic and take you on our date?”

“Just because you say therapy 20 times doesn’t make it about therapy.” She laughed.

“Okay, I do have a question for you, since I’m here.”

“Shoot.” She encouraged.

He stood and held her face, taking it into a kiss so devastatingly and painfully tender, she could not process what to do next. She was leaning toward fainting. But then tackling him onto the mat again seemed an attractive option. She settled for placing her hands on his waist, ready to control the situation as need arose. But after a brief moment of slight deepening, he broke away, still holding her face in his large strong hands.

“Ahem. That’s a good question. Why don’t I have you a reply later this evening?”

“Sounds good to me, sunshine.” He grinned widely, and waved a quiet goodby to her.

She walked to the doorway of the small room to watch him walk out…his gait still uneven from his injury but improving enough that she could tell he once took very…confident strides. She could almost picture it. She sighed, forgetting herself for a moment until Anita came up behind her walking her elderly patient with a gait belt and front wheeled walker.

"Is that a bit of drool on your chin, Shane?" she said quietly, but still startling the younger therapist from her reverie.

"Oh, uh, hey." she checked her chin, absentmindedly, late in getting the joke, and rolled her eyes. "Funny, Nita. Do you need anything?"

"Nope, Gladys and I are just headed to the gym for a few minutes on the NuStep to round out her treatment." Nita grinned at Shane.

"Who was that handsome young man that just left, Shane?" Gladys asked her, as women of her…demographic tended to do.

"He's just one of our patient's Miss Gladys. But I can't tell you his name. It's against the privacy policy." She explained.

"Oh, okay. Well, if I was a few years younger, I'd let ya give him MY name…and my telephone number." she smirked with pride in herself. All three ladies giggled.

"I'm pretty sure he's spoken for, Gladys." Anita broke the news to her randy patient, smirking at her coworker.

"Shame! Well, that's one lucky young lady!" Gladys hobbled on with the walker as Anita cued her not to let the device get too far ahead of her feet. Shane was beet red from the whole interaction. At least she wouldn't have to wear blush tonight.

Her day finally finished, notes done, and final communications sent,  the most important (in her opinion, probably not her employer's) message of them all was next. The text to Sy that he could head toward the clinic to pick her up.

She touched up her eye makeup, applied another coat of mascara, and dabbed on some of her favorite lipstick in a deep red that complimented her skin tone. She also spritzed on a bit of her favorite Armani perfume before slipping on her dress and black ballet flats and sliding on a pair of simple hoop earrings. She'd had her hair pulled up all day in a clip, so it should be pleasantly wavy when she took it down…and with a bit of flipping, shaking out, and finger diffusing, it was.

She looked in the mirror. She was ready.

Was she ready? She examined herself in the full length mirror in the empty locker room at the clinic. The dress and the shoes suddenly seemed all wrong, both together and as individual pieces for the occasion. She looked great, it wasn't that…but…was it right for tonight? Should she cancel? Was she being ridiculous? Clearly she was, as she'd already sent the message telling Sy he could come get her. But the closer she got to being ready to go, the less ready she felt. Those butterflies were suddenly clawing at her esophagus, disrupting the bile in her stomach, and threatening to choke off her air supply. They were no longer pleasantly fluttering. She felt like she had a boot against her windpipe.

She was snapped out of the panic attack when she heard her phone go off. A message from Sy.

Your chariot, m'lady. Should I come in and get ya?

She grinned like a lunatic. How could she have considered calling tonight off?

Nay, m'lord, verily the gates be locked. I shall use the rear exit and meet thee around yonder forsooth.

Wow, you ran with that one. *laughing in tears emoji*

I have that tendency. Lol. *monocle wearing emoji*

She grabbed her bags, walked out the back door, and tossed the one that wasn't her purse into her vehicle, which was parked nearby and walked around to the front. He was standing on the sidewalk near that edge of the building.

The sun was just setting, and the light from it hit him so bewitchingly that it took away her breath. Not in the frightening way of the panic attack she'd just had, but in the nice way, like right before you surface from a deep dive and you know the sweet relief of oxygen is imminent. She assessed his ensemble with approval. Black books, sleek dark blue jeans, and a sapphire v-neck polo that even in the low light of near dusk made his blue eyes dance with vibrant intensity against his fading tan. His hair was starting to grow out ever so slightly, but it was still very close cropped. His beard, she could tell, had been finely groomed, combed, and styled. He looked…well, she'd never looked up the word "handsome" in the dictionary, but she imagined it would describe the image before her quite succinctly. And alternatively, Sy's image could be used as an illustration in the reference book, itself.

The best part, though, was the look on his face when he saw her.

She felt like he'd never properly looked at her, perhaps. Maybe he wasn't expecting a dress, or loose hair, or red lips. Or maybe it was a combo of the whole Date Shane package he was seeing before him. As his eyes beheld her, he almost looked confused. As if she was a stand-in. Or maybe an alien. Some body-snatcher. Only he wasn't frightened. She was having a hard time working out his expression as she'd really never seen it before, and particularly, never aimed in her direction. He said one word.

"Wow." It was reverent. Not a whisper. But barely a decibel above.

Again, her cheeks required no artificial pigmentation.

"Hey. You look…you certainly scrub up good, mister." she giggled nervously, feeling immensely awkward at her inability to properly compliment the chiseled image of Adonis before her. His every muscle hugged to perfection by the fabric covering it. How did you even begin to tell such perfection how perfect it was?

"You…Shane, I don't remember the last time I saw anyone look so beautiful." he frowned, as if trying to recall, then giving up with a smile, and leaning in to kiss her cheek. He lingered a moment to hug her, hold her as the day faded, breathe her in. She did the same. He was freshly showered and wearing cologne, as he often did, but it rarely hit her so solidly as it did tonight. She loved this scent. Woody, but earthy, with notes of bergamot, a kind of musky scent similar to amber, but more masculine, and something spicy that she loved. The combination exploded like an olfactory fireworks display.

The shirt was an unthinkably soft cotton (blended she thought perhaps with kitten, she could not stop touching it.) and the warmth of him radiated into her as his chest rose and fell over the course of his numerous breaths as they stood there holding each other and enjoying this feast for the senses.

"You ready for supper?" he asked, a faint but distinct rumble from his abdomen indicating that he most certainly was.

"Yes." she smiled up at him as he took her hand in his and led her to his truck. A Ford F150, the same sapphire blue as his shirt and his eyes. She was sensing a pattern, here. It wasn't the newest vehicle, but he had taken immaculate care of it. She felt shame for her own treatment of her Explorer, Bessie, which often functioned as storage shed, trash can, and sometimes, hotel, when she felt like a road trip on a shoestring budget. He walked her to the passenger side, opened the door for her, and helped her in, as the truck sat a bit higher than what she was used to.

"So, I have us a table saved at this great steakhouse just down the road. And then, it's supposed to be a nice night, I thought we could take a walk by the lake?"

It sounded perfect to her. Quiet and simple.

"Amazing. As long as your knee is up for a walk?"

"I've got all weekend to rest before getting tortured again." he smirked at her as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot and on the main road toward the interstate. "B'sides, who better to have with me if I start hurtin' than my PT?"

The emphasis he placed on the possessive pronoun, claiming her as HIS PT sent a delighted shiver through her that she blamed on the AC, which he promptly turned down.

He had his Spotify shuffling Kings of Leon at a low volume as they conversed lightly and pleasantly. Since it was an earlier model, even well equipped as it was, it wasn't quite ready for auxiliary or Bluetooth sound, so he'd bought one of those radio receivers that tune into an unused frequency and connect to your phone or iPod. She'd retrofitted her 2003 Ford Explorer in a similar fashion.

They were both caught a bit off guard when "Sex on Fire" came on, and tried valiantly to keep talking. But it was hard to hear anything but those lyrics. Singing of exhibitionism and dangerous sex acts that were definitely moving violations…and simply the sex being on fire. She was thankful, for once, that this song that she'd always found catchy without paying much attention to the actual lyrics, was now fading into the night as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

She remembered to wait for him to get the door for her, even though it had been ages since she'd been on a date or had any kind of romance whatsoever. He helped her down from her perch, giving her a gentlemanly moment to adjust her skirt before taking her hand and leading her into the building.

He opened the door and led her in by that lumbar lordosis that made everyone tremble and swoon. She was no exception just because she knew that part of your back was not actually called "the small" and she got perturbed when she heard it referred to as such.

"Welcome to Mark's, how can we help you?" the host greeted warmly.

"Reservation for Syverson." Sy piped up. She was used to being the voice in these situations. She was thankful not to have to for once. It was a small thing, but it was still nice.

"Right this way, folks." he grabbed two large menus, a mid sized one, and a small one, and led them to a cozy but still spacious two-top in a quiet corner of the dining area. The warm light was low and ambient, and there were real kerosene lamps on the tables, which she loved. It had the rustic ambiance of a cabin with all the refinement of any four+ star restaurant she'd ever been to. Not that she'd been to many.

"Here you are, the table you requested, and your menus. Have a look at them, and Katie will be out soon to answer questions and take your orders."

As he walked away, Sy pulled her chair out for her, and aided her sitting. His gentility was so refreshing to her, because it was so sincere and kind, and in no way oppressive or domineering, as some men seemed to use such gestures. Wielding them like a club rather than a feather. She was just used to seeing a certain side of him, teasing and silly as he was in therapy that this side of Captain Syverson, or as she may end up calling him one day, Logan, his given first name, if it pleased him, had taken her off guard.

"Nice place." she approved, looking around at he exposed beams of the ceiling and the iron and copper chandeliers and light fixtures on the wall. She also noticed quite curiously a copy of American Gothic by Grant Wood on one wall and The Kiss by Gustav Klimt on another. Such different styles to be displayed in one room. She really liked it though.

"It's one of my favorites. I try to come in every couple weeks or so." The fact that he liked steak on the regular was definitely a point in his favor. She loved it but rarely went out for it on her own. Eating out alone wasn't so bad, but it was hard to enjoy a steak dinner by one's self.

"What's your favorite cut?"

"Oh, I've tried most of them, and you can't go wrong." He assured her.

They had a crazy selection. Ribeyes, filets, sirloins, prime rib, all seasoned, smoked, topped and wrapped in every way you could imagine…it was like staring at the Netflix menu of steak. And much like she tended to do with Netflix, she relied on a classic favorite. After all, who goes for an obscure choice their first time at a new steak house?

"I'm keeping it simple and going for their prime rib and a baked potato."

"Ah, that's a perfect choice. We're getting some of their lobster mac and cheese to start, though. Unless you're allergic or something?" he added the disclaimer when he saw her eyes widen.

"Not at all, that sounds…"she was thinking "sexual," but decided instead on "heavenly."

Soon, Katie, a peppy, slender young redhead in black jeans she'd been poured into and a white T-shirt she had outgrown some time ago, descended upon their table with gusto.

"Howdy, I'm Katie and I get to take care of you fine folks this evening. What drinks and appetizers can I start y'all off with?"

Sy looked at Shane to prompt her to start.

"Sweet tea?" she half stated, half inquired. Katie nodded and jotted.

"Sure thing! Sir?" she thought her eyes sparkled when she looked at Sy…she couldn't blame her. But…she thought she could take her if she tried anything. She was certain there was a very sharp knife in the black napkin set-up at her right hand.

"Same for me, Katie. And we are also gonna need an order of your lobster mac to start and a bottle of your house cab."

"Fantastic. I'll be right back with the teas and wine after I put in for the lobster mac for ya, and then I'll take your meal order." she smiled brightly. Sy looked at Shane, though, as he replied "Wonderful."

~~~~~~~

Her instincts about the lobster mac and cheese had been spot on. She couldn’t contain her yummy noises of enjoyment which amused Sy to no end. She couldn’t imagine the steak any better.

About that, she had been completely wrong. It was so succulent, tender, and flavorful, she debated on whether or not the provided au jus and horseradish were even needed. They were also too good to resist, though.

Her potato, twice baked to the perfect tenderness had a salt brined skin, and a garlicky butter that just sung with the sour cream and chives. She was in food heaven, and even if that meant she was dead, it was fine.

He’d ordered the same entrée as she had, but took his baked potato…a bit differently.

“You don’t like sour cream?” She asked, nonplussed.

“Nah, I mean, I can eat it, but…it feels weird in my mouth. I prefer the au jus and butter, instead. It’s much more tasty.” He said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” She laughed.

“You’re welcome to try mine when I get it all doctored you how I like it!”

She did, right from his fork. And he was right about it being so flavorful, but she preferred the mild, creamier texture of her own side with the savory notes of her steak.

They ate and enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

“Ya know, Sy, I totally had you pegged as a beer man, instead of a wine guy.” She said, as she brought her own glass of the deep red liquid to her mouth and nose, inhaling the bouquet before she took her sip.

“Normally, you’d be right. With a burger, pizza, sometimes tacos or what not, definitely. But I can’t do beer with steak. It’s gotta be wine. Red. And full-bodied.” He held her gaze as he drank from his own glass. Why did he have to look at her like that when he said those kinds of words? Her cheeks were warm from more than the booze.

For desert, they shared a decadent marbled brownie/blondie a la mode. He’d had the idea to slide his chair so he was sharing a corner of the table with her, rather than looking across it at her. Purely so they didn’t have to keep sliding the dessert…not so their knees would brush against one another now and then, or so they could feel the heat radiating from one another’s bodies…but actually, exactly for those reasons.

“Last bite is to you, Sy.” She set her fork down, full to bursting.

“Are you kiddin’? My mama’d tan my hide if she knew I took the last bite from my date.”

“You’re being gallant, actually! Rescuing me from a certain belly ache.” She patted her small but slightly rounded tummy. She did like her food, and was no gym rat, after all. He didn't seemed to mind. Yet.

“How 'bout we share the last bite?” He suggested.

“Technically that’s not physically possible. Becau…”

He interrupted what was going to be an intellectual explanation of why no matter how small you cut up a bite, the remaining bit was still technically one bite, and couldn’t be shared.

“No. Shh. I know you’re smart. You got nothin’ to prove here. I’m gonna cut what’s left in half until I get a bite you’re willing to take. Okay?” She nodded.

He only had to take the fork to it twice before she conceded, also letting him feed her, feigning paralysis from the food coma. She held the fork tightly between her lips, making him work to pull it from her mouth. She looked innocent, but she was an intentional little shit.

“You're so cute when you eat.”

“Said no one ever!” She held her hand over her face.

“You are, though. You enjoy the food. Experience it. It’s like you’re…getting a story from it, or something. Like it’s…almost like it’s entertaining you, I don’t know. It’s just…beautiful.” He leaned his elbow onto the table, supporting his head in his hand as he looked at her.

"Well, sometimes I think I like food a little TOO much for my own good." she lamented, reaching for the cabernet only to have it snatched by her date. He uncorked it and dispensed a generous pour for her, and topped off his own glass, killing the bottle.

"No such thing. Like I said about the wine, full bodied is the way to go. Nothin' wrong with a little cushion." he winked at her. She could not resist finishing a rhyme she'd always heard about the desirability of curvy girls…for the pushin,' and hoped the flush in her cheeks from the wine was enough to disguise the deepening color from the current blush she was feeling thinking of Sy…pushin' her cushions…but something tipped him off to her distraction.

"What's on yer mind, sunshine?"

"I'm wondering if you're prepared to carry me on this walk we're planning, actually." It was possible to think more than one thing, after all. "I don't know how I'll ever even walk again."

"Ah, give it fifteen minutes. Finish up your sweet tea, and by the time we're done with our walk, you'll want an ice cream cone."

"Ha, doubtful." But she was ashamed to admit, ice cream already didn't sound bad. Vanilla…maybe pistachio….no, coffee! In a waffle cone…with fudge drizzle…and almonds…maybe she had a problem.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded. He flagged down Katie and gave her cash, and what one might call a benevolent tip. They left the warm steakhouse, and entered the breezy late summer evening, the humid air seeming thick with promises.

Up Next: Chapter Six-Sensory Integration 2

[bilbos]

To Capture A Heart || Tyson Jost

word count: 9.3k

requested: yes || no

author’s note: this was written as part of Hockey Trumps Hate by @hockeynetwork for @galchenyum <3

ao3 link

~ ~ ~

Magic isn’t the reason people return to Morning Glory, but it sure helps. Working at a popular café right after graduating university isn’t exactly what you expected. But when Jenna, the owner of the café, offered you to be the head baker for her, you couldn’t refuse. Knowing that you would be doing something that you love will make up for not using your degree.

Your parents were a bit hesitant when you said that you would be using your magic at work, but they eventually backed off when they saw how important it was to you. Besides, you never put anything harmful into the baked goods, just a bit of happiness and feelings of home. All you want to do is make people feel good before heading off to work or school. 

Six months later, and Morning Glory is doing better than you ever expected. Not like it was a terrible place before, but the energy here is different now. More people become regulars and they stay for longer when it’s not a rush. Jenna attributes it a lot to you, but you don’t really want to take any credit, not when she’s put so much of her life on the line for it.

Right after the morning rush one day, Maddy, one of the college students working part time here, pulls you off to the side. She looks a bit starstruck and you’re wondering what you missed. It’s rare for anyone famous to come here, so you’re curious has to how that would have gone completely over your head.

“Did you see who came in today?” she asks, in a hushed whisper.

“No?” you reply, confused.

“Tyson, Nathan, and J.T. from the Colorado Avalanche came in and ordered coffee today!” she said, excitedly.

“Oh, that’s…nice,” you comment. “I honestly know nothing about them. You know I don’t keep up with sports.”

Maddy just gives you a look. “Well, if they happen to become regulars, you should get to know them. Maybe you can start making something a bit healthier. They are pretty cute and around our age.”

“They’re breakfast pastries, Maddy. They aren’t supposed to be healthy,” you say. “Besides, I don’t know if there’s any regulations on them eating stuff with magic in it or not.”

“I mean, it’s just supposed to make them feel better right? No harm in that.”

“Okay, but I doubt whoever is in charge of illegal substances would agree with that. Anyway, they’re not regulars yet. Try and change my mind when that happens, okay?”

“God, why are you so practical? You’re only a year older than I am.”

“Consistently waking up at three in the morning takes a toll on any fun I want to have,” you say solemnly.

Maddy just makes a face and walks back to the cash register. You really enjoy having people your age, making it easier to create more solid friendships. Most of the people with whom you went to university had gone off somewhere else to start a new job. Considering your early shift, it usually means that you’re exhausted once most people are done with their workdays and you don’t have the energy to do much.  

A couple more days have passed before Maddy is freaking out again about the hockey players. She seems convinced that they’ll become regulars and insists that you come up with some type of breakfast protein bar.

“That’s going to take me ages to come up with one that other people will buy,” you groan.

“But you’re a food witch, y/n,” Maddy replies. “Doesn’t that make things easier?”

“God, I wish it did. But no, every witch has their own specialty and improvising with recipes is not mine. I just make people feel better.”

“That’s…not as exciting.”

“I don’t get this idea where every witch’s magic has to be exciting,” you sigh. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know where it comes from. But most magic is pretty mundane.”

Maddy snorts. “I know I said it wasn’t as exciting, but I wouldn’t call it mundane. I mean, it’s helping keep the café pretty popular.”

You shrug. “I mean, I disagree, but if it’s letting me keep this job, then I’m not complaining. But I’ll try to figure out some breakfast bars if they come in one more time in the next week. Third times a charm, as they say.”

Maddy laughs, as she walks back to the register as a group of college students come in.  

~ ~ ~

When Tyson and J.T. come in only four days later, Maddy just looks at you smugly. You sigh, knowing that you’ll be staying up later than you need to try to find a good recipe. There’s plenty of recipes that look good, but it’s hard figuring out which ones will be the easiest to make in large batches with your magic.  

Maddy and Jenna become your unofficial taste testers. Considering that you see them every day, it’s easier for you to note the impact of your magic on them. Some days, you barely notice a difference in their demeanor and other days…it’s a bit scary how upbeat and cheery they are.  

Two weeks later is when you perfect your recipe. You end up with a no-bake almond fudge protein bar. It’s healthy enough to actually be considered a protein bar, but nothing too off-putting where non-athletes wouldn’t eat it. Your magic settled into it nicely as well, considering the sweeter aspects of the recipe were there. Once you have the bars sitting out in the display case, Maddy seems all too happy about it.

“I think they’ll love it,” Maddy comments.

“You know, it doesn’t matter how much they love it,” you reply. “If our regular customers don’t buy it, I’m not going to keep making it just for them. There’s other things I could be working on and infusing with my magic.”

Maddy frowns a little bit. “That’s no fun, though.”

“Yes, but it’s an unfortunate downfall of deciding to be a baker. No point in making something that doesn’t sell. That’s money going to waste.”

“Ugh,” Maddy groans.  

“I still don’t see why you think a protein bar is going to change anything. I get making stuff to tailor to our customers, but I honestly don’t see how that’s going to make them like us any different.”

Maddy just shrugs. “I mean, it doesn’t hurt to try. You never know.”

“I think you’re just reading too many romance novels.”

“It’s fanfic, get it right,” Maddy jokes.

You just roll your eyes and go back into the kitchen to make some more muffins. It’s not like you don’t like the challenge of making something new, you just don’t know if it’s worth it to make something for a small target demographic. At least not athletes, anyways. They only come in twice a week on a good week, so you don’t see how they’ll ever remember the café, much less the people behind the register. It’s just a part of running a business.

Right before Maddy leaves at the end of her shift, she comes over to you, smiling smugly. You just sigh and motioned for her to start talking.

“They really liked the protein bars,” Maddy replies. “Said it was the best tasting thing that they’ve ever had.”

“You know, that doesn’t surprise me. A lot of protein bars are disgusting and they’re a couple of young guys. I doubt it’s crossed their mind to try making their own yet.”

“You’re no fun,” Maddy pouts. “Just let me have a little bit of fun with this.”

“Fine, I won’t make any smug remarks next time,” you reply. “Now, don’t you have to get to class?”

Maddy just rolls her eyes, smiling a little bit, as she leaves the kitchen. As happy as you are that they liked it, it really isn’t hard to make something that tastes better than the stuff you can buy in stores. Besides, you only really care if they actually sell, considering you only made them for a couple of customers.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, you’re working the cash register for a bit while Maddy takes her break right after the morning rush. Four guys come walking in, and Maddy has shoved their faces in your face enough to recognize them as hockey players. Unfortunately, Maddy hasn’t shown you them enough to actually remember their names.

“Uh, hey,” one of them says. “Is Maddy here?”

“Oh, she’s on break actually. She’ll come out of hiding in like fifteen minutes if you guys want to wait for her,” you reply.  

“It’s okay, actually,” he replies. “It’s just weird not seeing her here.”

You shrug. “Well, what can I get you guys? I have a fresh batch of protein bars and muffins out in the display case, but I promise everything was made this morning.”

“You’re the baker?” another one of them asks.

“Yeah, that’s why you never see me. I hide in the kitchen for most of my shift,” you answer.

They nod and place their orders. The coffees are about as sugary as you would expect them to be and they all order a protein bar and a muffin to go along with it. One of them hangs back after you ring up their orders and hand them their pastries.

“Maddy has actually mentioned you before,” he says.

“Uh, that’s nice?” you reply.  

“I’m Tyson, by the way.”

“Y/n, but I’m sure Maddy has told you that.”

He smiles. “Yeah, she was pretty excited to try and sell us on the protein bars. We were pretty hesitant since they tend to be pretty bland.”

You shrug. “I’m not going to put out anything that tastes gross. It’s the principle of the matter and it’s my job to make sure it all tastes good.”

“It must be fun,” he says.

“My 3am alarm clock would beg to differ, but I suppose it could be worse.”

His nose scrunches up a bit and before he can reply, one of the baristas calls out his coffee order. He waves at you a little bit before walking over to grab his coffee. You notice his friends look at him curiously, before looking over at you. Tyson just shrugs it off.

Maddy comes off of her break a couple minutes after they’ve left. She looks at you, wanting to know if anything interesting has happened.  

“Your hockey boys came in,” you remark.

She smiles widely. “Glad my timing was good.”

“You didn’t plan this, did you?”

“Why, I would never,” she replies, mocking being offended. “Okay, but I really didn’t plan this, considering I never know when they’re actually coming in. As much as I love them, I don’t stalk them that much.”

You snort. “That’s good to know. I was definitely getting worried there for a little bit.”

“Why are you literally the worst person ever?” Maddy groans. “I don’t see why I have to put up with you.”

“Put up with me?” you ask. “I hide in the kitchen for most of my shift. You’re the one who always comes to find me.”

Maddy just starts laughing. “God, I’m going to miss you when I graduate. Unless I decide to stay here in Denver.”

“Oh, please, you would never stay here. You complain about the snow every year.”

“I would suffer through it for you,” she replies, softly.

“Thanks, Maddy. That means a lot,” you say. “For what it’s worth, I’ll miss you too.”

“Okay, not to like…ruin the moment or anything, but why is that the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me?”

“I’ve said plenty of nice things to you,” you scoff.

“I would beg to differ.”

Any further reply is cut off by a group of college students coming in, looking like they’re ready to settle down for a long study session. Maddy just smiles at you before you go back to hide in the kitchen.

~ ~ ~

You don’t see Tyson and his friends for a couple more weeks, but Maddy always tells you that Tyson says hi and that everything tastes wonderful as usual. She tries to insist that this means he’s interested in you, but you know it probably doesn’t mean much. He’s only seen you once and good pastries that make you a bit happier than normal isn’t enough reasoning to start liking someone.

“I think you’re putting yourself down for no reason,” Maddy comments one day. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? He just wants to be friends? You need more of those.”

“Are you saying that you aren’t enough of a friend?” you joke.

“I mean, kind of,” Maddy says sadly. “We don’t really hang out outside of work and I never hear you talking about any other friends. Like, your weekend plans are always just you watching Netflix with your cat.”

“I guess you’re not wrong. But it’s just so exhausting trying to hang out with people in the early afternoon. I have the sleeping schedule of a grandma. And if my schedule is bad, then his is even worse. Like, aren’t they gone a lot for games?”

“But they still have other friends, I’m sure. It just takes time and effort.”

“Since when are you becoming the wise one?”

Maddy just smiles smugly. “I’m glad I’m becoming the smart one.”

“Good lord,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Look, I can set you guys up and see what happens so that you aren’t the one taking a risk,” Maddy says.

“I’ve only talked to him once, Maddy. I would rather not go on a date with someone I’ve only had a brief conversation with.”

“Okay, by that logic, you’re never going to go on a date.”

“That’s fine by me,” you reply, shrugging. “If I don’t find anyone, I guess I can truly become the senile grandmother I’m growing into.”

“That is...the saddest thing I have ever heard and I’m a college student.”

“Please, it can’t be the worst thing you’ve ever heard.”

“I said saddest, not worst. There’s a big difference.”

You just give her a side eye, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, just come out here next time they come in and get a feel for it that way.”

“Fine. I’ll give it a shot.”

~ ~ ~

A week later, Tyson comes in with his usual group (which Maddy tells you when she pulls you from the kitchen). Tyson gives you a large smile when he spots you next to Maddy. You’re not totally sure how to react, but you give him a small smile.

“I was wondering if you were okay,” he says, as he walks up to the counter.

“I told you that I hide in the kitchen. It’s like spotting a cryptid when I come out here,” you reply.

Tyson snorts. “Maddy, you didn’t tell me she was funny.”

“She has her talents,” Maddy comments. “Is it the usual?”

All the guys nod and you notice that they’re trying to hide their smiles. You aren’t sure what that’s about, but you shrug it off. Guys your age are a mystery that you’ll never understand. Besides, Maddy has that thing covered way more than you need to.

“So, you making anything new?” Tyson asks.

“I’m experimenting with peppermint since December is almost upon us. It’ll be a good break from all of the apple and pumpkin spice.  Not that I don’t love them, it just gets boring constantly making the same thing over and over again,” you explain.

“Peppermint sounds wonderful,” Tyson comments. “I’ll be sure to try it when you put it out.”

“Wouldn’t that ruin your diet plan? That’s something that athletes have, right?” you ask.

“We get muffins every time we come in, so I don’t think I could ruin it any more than I already have,” he answers.

“Only muffins and the protein bars? I’m offended,” you joke. “We have plenty of other pastries that have just as much sugar in them.”

Tyson just laughs. “Muffins just seem healthier, I suppose.”

“Just promise me that you’ll try something else for once. I don’t get up at 3am to suffer over this just for you to have a muffin every time.”

“I still can’t believe you do that,” Tyson comments, scrunching his nose.  

“And I can’t believe that you work out as much as you do,” you reply. “We both suffer for our careers.”

Tyson smiles. “Well, it looks like the guys are ready to go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bold of you to assume that I’ll leave the kitchen just for you.”

Tyson laughs and shakes his head as he walks off to his group, quickly grabbing his order before exiting with the rest of the group. Maddy smiles widely at you, a knowing look in her eye.  

“I think this deserves a movie night,” Maddy states.

“No, I really don’t think this deserves anything,” you retort. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You had an actual conversation with him and I think we need to come up with a plan.”

“If I get to pick the movie and food, I guess I can find the time to talk about it.”

“Done deal. Tomorrow night? Since I know you don’t wake up until at least 5am on the weekends.”

You nod and head back into the kitchen. In reality, there’s nothing you can really talk about in relation to Tyson. He seems nice and easy to get along with, but that’s it. You just know Maddy gets excited about you having any new friends to add to your tiny group. Besides, Tyson seems like he would be a good candidate for taste testing your pastries.  

~ ~ ~

The following night, Maddy comes with a cheap bottle of wine and her copy of Pride and Prejudice. It’s one of the few movies both of you love, with the both of you knowing all the lines to it. You’ve already made pizza with some leftover dough from the bakery. Jenna never really minded you taken a couple of things here and there, as long as nothing was going to waste.

“So, what are your feelings about Tyson?” Maddy asks as soon as the movie is playing.

“He seems nice, I guess,” you answer. “I really don’t see the big deal about this, though. I’ve literally had two conversations with him, both relating to pastries.”

“Look, no guy would pay attention to that if there wasn’t some type of interest going on,” Maddy replies. “Even if it’s just friendly, it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to him a little bit.”

“Maddy, I really appreciate your enthusiasm about this, but I really don’t think this deserves a whole night dedicated to it,” you complain. “Just because I made protein bars for them doesn’t mean anything. I would have stopped making them if they weren’t such a big hit with our morning crowd. It’s just…not that personal.”

“I know, I just want you to have friends that actually live here,” Maddy says sadly. “As much as I want to stay here, I don’t know how practical it is. And I know you just live and breath the shop, so I know you don’t really put yourself out there.”

“God, you make it sound so sad,” you groan. “I promise I’m mostly fine with it. Like, yeah, it sucks a lot and it does make me sad sometimes, I’ve come to terms with it.”

“That is…so depressing.”

You snort. “It really is. And I’ve only been here for six months. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to figure things out.”

“I forget that sometimes. It feels like you’ve been there forever.”

“It really does.”

Things turn quiet for a little bit after that. It is really shitty that you haven’t really expanded your friend group since graduating, but you still feel like everything is settling in. There isn’t a need to really prove yourself to Jenna, but considering that this is your dream job, it scares you that it could be all taken away so easily.

Once the movie ends, Maddy takes the plates and wine glasses over to the sink. She comes and sits next to you again, looking at you expectantly. You sigh, knowing Maddy wants to continue the conversation from earlier.

“Maddy, once I start trying more with the peppermint pastries, feel free to give him one or two for free. I think it’s time for me to have more than you and Jenna as taste testers.”

“So he is moving up in the ranks of how much you like him.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

~ ~ ~

A few days later, you’ve made a few new baked goods for the shop. There’s the classic peppermint brownie, and some various cookies. You’ve set them out in the break room for everyone to take, but you notice Maddy smuggle a couple to the front.  

“What? It’s just in case they come in today,” Maddy says defensively. “You did say Tyson could become a taste tester.”

“I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t remember that,” you say, jokingly.

“Neither of us were that drunk, which is how I know you really mean it.”

You roll your eyes. “Just let me know what he thinks of them, okay? If he says he doesn’t like them, I’m assuming it’s terrible.”

“Why do you think that? He hasn’t even tasted anything yet.”

“He’s a young male athlete. I’m sure anything will taste great to him.”

“That…is a good point. I’ll keep you updated.”

Maddy doesn’t come back to say anything until the end of her shift. But when she does, she’s smiling widely.

“We have the Tyson stamp of approval,” she announces. “He was very sad that you weren’t out there to give anything to him, though.”

“It’s almost the holidays, nobody can drag me out of here. Besides, did he tell you that he was sad about me not being out there?”

“No, he didn’t say anything specifically, but he looked sad.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Well, come out here next time. I’ll be sure to drag you out of your lair.”

“At this rate, I’m really not going to miss you when you graduate.”

~ ~ ~

Maddy doesn’t have to wait long to drag you out of the kitchen, as the next morning, she says Tyson is waiting for you. You sigh, knowing he probably didn’t actually ask to see you. Still, it would be good to hear his thoughts on what you made straight from him.

“Hey, y/n,” Tyson greets happily. “I’m glad I get to see you today.”

“Uh, thanks,” you reply, awkwardly. “It’s good to see you too.”

“The pastries were good yesterday. Are those for sure going on the menu?”

“Yeah, everyone seems to like it, which is nice. Especially the cookies, I was worried about those. I wasn’t sure how my magic would take to them,” you reply.

“Your…magic?” Tyson asks, confused.

“Yeah, I’m a witch,” you reply casually, despite freaking out on the inside. “Everything that’s made here has a bit of my magic in it.”

You forgot that this hasn’t come up in conversation yet and you aren’t sure how you feel about it. There’s no way to judge Tyson’s feelings on it all, so you just wait there as he processes what you just told him.

“I, um, I’m going to head out. I’ll see you later,” Tyson says, awkwardly.  

After he leaves, Maddy gives you a questioning look, not sure what just happened. You shake your head, knowing that she’ll just come bug you at the end of her shift. While it wasn’t a bad reaction, there’s still a knot sitting in your stomach. Whatever he’s thinking, it couldn’t have been amazing.

When Maddy comes to talk to you, you just tug her into the break room, not wanting to make any of this more public that it needs to be.

“So, I may have forgotten that Tyson doesn’t know about me being a witch,” you say.

“Oh, I didn’t even think about that,” Maddy replies. “Did he react badly?”

“Well, he didn’t even really react. He just said he would come back later,” you explain. “I hate not knowing what people think about me being a witch. It’s not even that exciting.”

Maddy purses her lips. “I suppose I can be a bit less nice to him until he figures out what’s going on.”

“I’m sure it’s not too big of a deal.”

“Even if it isn’t, I don’t want to be nice to someone who can hate you for who you are.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, as you pull her into a hug.

Most of the time, people really didn’t mind you being a witch, but you know it’s because they view your type of magic as harmless. Which it really can be, but the states of euphoria you’ve caused over the years is a bit disturbing. You’re mostly surprised at how much it hurt to have Tyson say that.

“I don’t even know why I’m taking it so hard,” you say.  

“He just seems like such a happy person and like things don’t really matter. But it is just a persona that he puts out.”

“God, you’re so right. I guess I should let you go instead of having you stick around while I mope over someone.”

“We’ll just have to have another movie night if it continues. I don’t want you moping alone.”

“I really am going to miss you, Maddy.”

She just hugs you tighter.

~ ~ ~

Neither of you see Tyson or his friends until a week and a half later. You notice Maddy being a bit less cheery with them and Tyson looks apologetic. He hands something to her, which looks like a letter. Maddy takes it, but she doesn’t look happy about it. Whatever it is, Maddy will come talk to you on her break about it.

When she finds you an hour later, she hands you the letter. You just look at her, questioning what it is.

“He said that he wanted to apologize, but didn’t want to make it a huge public thing. He wrote a letter apparently.”

You open it and there isn’t just a letter there. You notice two tickets to an Avalanche game for an afternoon game in a couple of weeks.

“Oh,” you whisper. “That’s…definitely a surprise.”

“Well, that’s definitely one way to apologize.”

You snort. “I’ll see what he has to say for himself after I get these cookies out of the oven. And don’t worry, you’ll get the chance to read the letter for yourself.”

As you grab the cookies, Maddy leans up against one of the walls.

“He seemed really sorry. But I’m still a bit hesitant, you know?” she remarks.

“Acting like he’s sorry is one thing,” you say.  

Once you put the cookies on a plate and the next batch in the oven, you open the letter.  

Dear y/n,

I’m sorry that I just kind of…left last week. I know that witches aren’t bad people and are harmless, but I’ve always been raised to be cautious. Especially being in the NHL, they warn us all the time about watching our backs. They don’t want us to be cursed or to be enhancing our play style at all.  

I guess this just took me by surprise and I didn’t know what else to do. I really am sorry and I know tickets can’t make up for it, but you also deserve to treat yourself. Hopefully you and Maddy can come to the game, but if it doesn’t work, please let me know and I can get you tickets to a different one. Maybe we can do dinner or something with the guys. Anything to make it better.

-Tyson

You hand the letter over to Maddy and she just skims through it.

“Do you think that he really means it?” you ask.

“I think so,” she answers. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to go to a game and grab dinner. Just show that you’re not any different from someone who isn’t a witch.”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart. When he comes back, tell him to wait for me and I’ll come out to talk to him.”

~ ~ ~

Tyson comes back the next day and he looks hopeful as you come out from the kitchen. You sit down at his table and he just looks at you expectantly.

“I’m still kind of hurt by what you did the other week, but I get why you did it,” you start off. “And I appreciate that you took the time to write the letter and give me tickets.”

“I really am sorry,” he whispers. “I know that you don’t have to forgive me for what I did, but I do want to make things better.”

“That’s the reason Maddy and I will take you up on the dinner offer. For after the game,” you reply. “I just want to know what everyone else thinks before I join you.”

“I didn’t tell them anything. I didn’t think it was my place to say,” Tyson says. “But I know it’ll all be okay. They’re a good group of guys, I promise.”

“That’s good to know,” you reply. “And my magic really isn’t that harmful, as long as I manage it right. All I can do is make you feel a bit happier from the different things I make.”

“Oh, that sounds amazing,” Tyson says. “But I don’t see how that can be dangerous.”

“Anything that makes people feel differently than they actually do can be dangerous. If I don’t control my magic, then it can make people experience nothing but happiness for days. It doesn’t sound bad, but the fact that they can’t feel differently is very off-putting.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But I didn’t notice that with anything I ate here.”

“And that’s the whole point. I don’t want anybody to feel drastically different. I just want to make sure that everyone starts their mornings off right. Just a little bit of happiness is enough for most people.”

Tyson nods as he listens, taking it all in. “Well, I guess that explains why Nathan stopped being so cranky at morning practices. We all just thought that he finally fixed his sleeping schedule or started getting laid more.”

You laugh. “It might still be those things; my food might just be helping that a little bit. But I need to get back to work, the muffins should be just about finished in the oven.”

“Can I give you my number before you go? So that I don’t have to keep tracking you down here?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The two of you quickly exchange numbers and you head back to the kitchen. As you head back, Maddy follows you, wanting to know what happened.

“So, you exchanged numbers, huh?” she asks.

“Yeah, to make it easier to plan for the game.”

“So we’re going to it now?”  

“Yep, and we’ll be getting dinner with some of them. I don’t know what all that entails specifically, but I think it’s happening.”

“Oh my god, when they first came in, I know I imagined this happening, but I didn’t actually think it would happen.”

“Here I was thinking that protein bars were a terrible idea.”

~ ~ ~

When it comes to the day of the game, you only stop into the bakery in the morning to cook up a few basics, leaving everything else to Jenna for the day. It’s weird not hanging out at the bakery, but she insisted that you only have to do what you have to and that she managed well before you came along.

You and Maddy both agreed to just meet at the arena since you both lived in different parts of Denver. This, however, did not stop the two of you from sending outfits back and forth to each other. Maddy was pretty quick to figure out what she’s wearing, seeing as she already has Avalanche gear. You’re stuck trying to find something that vaguely resembles their team colors. Thankfully, Maddy finds a hat that you can wear, so you end up just wearing a sweatshirt and some jeans.

When you arrive a few hours later, Maddy is ecstatic. Neither of you are able to really afford tickets on the regular, so this is a nice treat, especially for her, considering she actually keeps up with the team. The seats aren’t glass side, which you’re grateful for, but they’re still decently close.

“This is so exciting!” Maddy exclaims. “I’ve only ever been in the nosebleeds the couple of times I’ve been to games. I hope Tyson is ready for me thank him forever.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” you reply. “You know, I still don’t understand the game, so I feel like I’ll be asking you a lot of questions.”

“I only understand some of it,” she says. “Some things will never make sense, no matter how long you’ve been watching the game.”

You snort. “I feel like that’s true of every sport, though.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

About ten minutes later, some of the players come out on the ice for warm-ups. It’s interesting watching it all, and Maddy points out all of the players that have come into the shop previously. You’re more than likely not going to remember anything from it, but you’ll try since who knows who you’ll be getting dinner tonight with. The least you can do is try and remember something about the team.

Once the game starts, a whole new type of energy that only happens at sporting events takes over the arena. Even though you only are able to get a small part of what’s happening, you still have an amazing time. You love watching Tyson play whenever he’s on the ice and try to remember some of the good plays he made to bring up at dinner.

The Av’s scrape by with a 2-1 win and the arena slowly empties out. You text Tyson as you and Maddy head out to the car, asking him where they’re all headed for dinner. He doesn’t reply for almost 20 minutes, but he gives you the address of a burger place only a few miles away from the arena.

When you and Maddy arrive, the two of you wait until Tyson and some others arrive. The second Tyson spots you, he lights up, hugging you tightly. You can hear some of the guys snicker, but you just shrug it off to Tyson being overly affectionate. He gives Maddy a quick side hug, which just makes the guys hide their laughter.

“Hey guys, this is Maddy and y/n,” Tyson introduces. “They’re the ones that work at the bakery.”

“It’s good to officially meet you. I’m Nate,” a blond guy says. “I usually tag along with him.”

“Oh yeah, I recognize you,” you reply. “I actually recognize most of you. I’m the head baker.”

The rest of the guys say a quick ‘hi’ and do an awkward little wave.

“So, are we going to go in and eat or what?” J.T. asks.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll head in,” Tyson jokes. “I made sure to make a reservation since there’s so many of us.”

All of you head in and there isn’t as much of a fuss over the guys as you were expecting. The table is in a back corner that is a bit more removed from the others, giving the illusion of privacy. You and Maddy end up sitting across from each other, with Tyson to your left.

As you’re scanning the menu, Tyson asks you, “So what did you think of the game?”

“It was a lot of fun,” you answer. “This was my first hockey game that I’ve watched all the way through so it was really cool.”

“I keep forgetting that you don’t really watch hockey,” Tyson replies, scrunching up his nose.

“Haven’t had a reason to until now.”

Tyson blushes a little and looks back to his menu. Maddy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. You know she’s going to tease you mercilessly on Monday. But you haven’t casually flirted in a long time, so you just want to have some fun tonight, even if you don’t have a hardcore crush on Tyson.

Conversation stays relatively laid back up until the food arrives. Nate is sitting diagonally from you, and he grabs your attention to ask, “So, you have a boyfriend or anything?”

“Uh, no, I don’t,” you reply, slightly taken off guard. “With the hours I work, I just don’t really have the energy to try and make new friends, much less try and date someone. It’s not too bad, though, I can live vicariously through Maddy.”

“Oh, but you’re open to the idea of dating?” he inquires further.

“I guess so,” you answer, hesitantly. “They would have to understand that most of the time, I don’t really want to do much. I spend most of my time at the bakery as well, so that isn’t really helpful to personal time, either.”

“That must suck,” he says.

“I mean, I imagine that it’s similar to you guys as well. I can only imagine how crazy your schedules are during the season.”

“It’s not too bad,” Tyson says. “It’s a lot at first, but it’s worth it.”

You nod, agreeing. The guys get swept away into a conversation about training schedules, complaining about their early morning practice the following morning. You just listen along, not really feeling the need to add anything to the conversation. When the waitress comes around to ask how the check was being split, Tyson immediately jumps in to pay for you and Maddy.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say once she leaves.

He shrugs. “I wanted to. Besides, I invited the two of you out, it’s the least I can do. And it’s burgers, it’s not like it’s that expensive.”

“Y/n, he is the millionaire here, so I wouldn’t worry too much,” Maddy jokes.

You laugh and shake your head. Once everyone has paid, all of you head back out to your cars. As your unlocking your door, Tyson comes over to you, looking a little bit scared. You just wait, letting him process what he wants to say.

“So, um, I was wondering if you would maybe want to go on a date sometime?” he asks, quietly. “I had a really good time tonight and I would love to do this again.”

“Oh,” you reply, a little bit shocked. “That would be a lot of fun, actually.”

“Really?” he replies, surprised. “Um, I’m not sure when you would want to go since I know that you’re usually pretty tired after work. But I’m pretty flexible for the most part, aside from practices and games.”

“I think Maddy would kill me if I didn’t say yes,” you reply. “And I think you’re pretty decent as well. I could do worse.”

Tyson snorts. “That’s really flattering. But I’ll text you my schedule for the next couple of weeks and just let me know what works for you.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling brightly.

~ ~ ~

It’s a week and a half later when the two of you finally go on your date. Tyson is taking you to a nicer restaurant in town, saying that he wants to treat you and get to know you more. You’re a little bit hesitant, but since he’s the one footing the bill this time, you won’t be complaining.

The two of you agree to meet there since you’re coming almost straight from work. The waitress guides you to a table towards the back that has a little bit more privacy than you were expecting, but you’re glad for it. Tyson smiles widely when he sees you and pulls out your chair when you approach.

“Good to see that you didn’t change your mind,” Tyson greets.

You shrug as you sit down. “If anything, I’m just excited to try the food here.”

When the waitress hands you the menu, you glance down at it, trying not to look at the prices. There’s nothing too out of the ordinary, thankfully, and you just decide to stick with a basic pasta dish, figuring that it’s a safe bet.

“So, how’s the holiday season at the bakery?” Tyson asks. “I feel bad about not coming as much, but things have been pretty intense at practice.”

“I mean, it’s what you can expect during the holiday rush. We take small orders of some of the baked goods and the orders always skyrocket this time of year,” you explain. “I’m grateful that people like to order our stuff, but it always takes a toll on my magic as well.”

“I’m still getting used to the idea of your food having magic in it,” Tyson whispers.

“Not everything has magic in it, just my baked goods. Every food witch has a different specialty and their magic doesn’t just take to everything. It’s kind of like positions in hockey. Just because you’re good at what you do doesn’t mean you can immediately jump into another position and be just as good,” you explain. “We all work hard with what we’re good at and it pays off. It’s just a misconception that we’re great at everything naturally.”

“So, it’s like…a muscle almost?” Tyson asks.

“Exactly! Even though all witches are born with their magic, it needs to be worked with as we grow older, otherwise it won’t fully develop. Magic is much more…alive than people expect.”

Tyson mulls over your answer as the waitress comes and takes your order. You can tell that it’s a lot to process for him and that there was a lot of new information that he wasn’t expecting to learn. As much as you want to be surprised, you really aren’t. People who aren’t familiar with magic are always a bit taken aback when you explain how it all works.

“When you say that it’s alive, is it like a separate entity?” he inquires.

“Not necessarily. It’s still very much tied to who we are as people and is greatly influenced by the people we become. Magic is also influenced by the people we get close to,” you answer.

Tyson raises an eyebrow at that, clearly waiting for you to explain. The waitress comes with your food then and you take a couple bites, thinking of how to best explain it all.

“Magic can form tight bonds with other witches, or anything that has a strong magical presence. It’s a bit rarer for magic to attach itself to something without magic, but it can happen depending on how strong the relationship is,” you explain. “It’s a great thing most of the time, but sometimes the bond can do more harm than good.

“One of my childhood friends is a witch who works with plants and she lives over in New York City. Her bond with someone recently broke and it’s hard watching her go through it. When a bond breaks, it’s like your magic shatters and has to completely reform. The whole process is pretty nasty.”

“That sounds horrific actually,” Tyson replies. “I just…wish I could have learned more about this growing up.”

You shrug. “We’re not secretive about our magic, but we also don’t go spreading everything around either. History shows us that usually isn’t a smart idea.”

“I’m sorry it has to be that way.”

“It’s been worse for us. I’m just happy that I’m living in a time where my magic is actually getting me jobs instead of turning me away. Granted, that still happens way more than it should, but things are slowly changing.”

Tyson just smiles. It’s silent for a bit as the two of you finish eating. He seems to be processing everything that he heard, and you want to give him the space to try and understand what he learned. You did give him a lot to think over just in one meal.

After Tyson has paid for the meal, he leads you out to your car. He keeps brushing your hand, so you grab it. This causes him to blush a little bit and smile. It’s a good look on him, if you do say so yourself.

“This was really fun tonight,” he says once the two of you get to your car.

“I’m glad you didn’t mind me info dumping on you,” you reply.

“I want to learn more,” he whispers. “I love being around you and since magic is such a big part of your life, I want to learn everything I can. That’s probably a lot to ask, but it’s the least I can do, you know?”

“I honestly don’t mind. It’s interesting trying to put it all into words, but it’s been a good time.”

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

You nod. “Of course. We’ll have to plan something again soon.”

~ ~ ~

Over the next month, the two of you don’t have any chances to go on a date again. As it gets closer to Christmas, your schedule only gets more hectic. It makes hard for dates, but the two of you start texting a lot more to make up for lost time. He has a lot more questions to ask about magic, and in turn, you ask more questions about hockey. All of it seems like a fair trade to learn more about what the other person is passionate about.

A week after New Year’s Day passes, both of you have a free day to go on a date together. It’s more laid back this time, as you insist on going to your favorite diner. The cook is a fellow food witch who focuses more on feelings of comfort and home. You figure that this is as good of an opportunity as any to show Tyson the diversity in magic, as some of the waiters there are also witches.

When Tyson sees you again, he hugs you tightly. “I missed seeing you out of the bakery.”

“You’ve only seen me out of the bakery once, Tyson.”

“My point still stands, though. I’m glad to see you again.”

“Well, that’s flattering. It’s good to see you, too.”

As you two of you walk into the diner, a couple of the waiters greet you warmly and seat the two of you in the back corner to give some privacy. It doesn’t take long for your order to be taken, leaving the two of you to talk.

“So, I take it that you come here often?” Tyson asks.

“Not that often, actually. I just know them because they’re fellow food witches. It’s why I wanted to come here; the food here always helps me destress. Jamie, the cook, specializes in comfort and feelings of home.”

“Oh, that’s…very fitting actually,” Tyson remarks. “Do you know a lot of witches in the area?”

“Not a whole lot, if I’m being honest. We don’t go around advertising our magic, so we’ll usually just meet by chance.”

Before Tyson has the chance to reply, your food comes out and you wait for Tyson to try some. He groans and sinks back into his seat. This brings a smile to your face, knowing the feeling of first trying Jamie’s food.

“This is so fucking good, even though I know it’s going to wreak havoc on my diet,” Tyson says happily.

“I don’t know why you insist on having a diet plan when you get something sweet every time you come into the bakery.”

“I’m just trying to support you and if that means eating more baked goods than I tell the trainers about, then so be it.”

It’s mostly silent as the two of you eat and you can see Tyson thinking through something. You let him think through whatever he wants to say, knowing that when it’s serious, he likes to take his time to phrase things.

“So, it’s the start of the new year,” Tyson comments. “And I really want to make sure that I start it off the way that I want to. Part of that includes me asking you to officially be my girlfriend. Only if you want to though.”

“Tyson, I wouldn’t be going on a date with you right now when I would rather be sleeping if I wasn’t interested in you,” you reply. “So, uh, yeah, I would really love to be your girlfriend.”

He smiles widely and grabs one of your hands to kiss the back of it, making you blush.

~ ~ ~

When you tell Maddy that the two of you are officially dating, she squeals.

“Oh my god, I knew my plan would work!” she exclaims.

“What plan? Did you help him come up with how to ask me out?” you ask, confused.

“No, remember me asking you to make the protein bars for them so that we could get to know them better?”

“This was seriously your plan all along?”

“I mean, not exactly, but I wasn’t not hoping for it, you know?”

“You’re literally the worst, Maddy.”

“I can’t be, because I’m the reason your boyfriend started talking to you.”

“That’s going a little bit far.”

“Okay, but is it? Who knows if they would have come back again without the protein bars. Just let me have a little bit of credit here.”

You snort. “I’ll be sure to thank you and the protein bars at our wedding.”

“You’re planning for a wedding? I didn’t realize it was so serious,” she teases.

“Oh my god, you’re actually the worst.”

She just laughs as she walks off to go help some customers that just walked in. You roll your eyes, but you really are grateful for Maddy pushing you to talk to Tyson more. Even though it’s a fairly new relationship, you’ve got a good feeling about it.

~ ~ ~

The next few years truly are better than you could have ever asked for. Maddy graduates and gets a nice office job in Denver. The two of you move in together that summer in a small apartment and it’s one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

You and Tyson are stronger than ever and you’ve never felt so comfortable with a significant other before, which can be seen by the bond your magic has taken to him. It took him a while to get used to having your magic attached to him, as it often served as a way for the two of you to communicate your feelings easier when in close proximity to each other. Once Tyson settled into the bond, though, he did everything he could to strengthen it more.

One day, Jenna calls you into her back office to talk with you. She’s still an amazing boss and you feel truly lucky to still be working with her. You’re a bit confused as to why she’s calling you back, as normally she just talks to you in the kitchen about any updates. Any time someone gets called to the office, it’s a serious matter, as Jenna likes to keep things relatively casual when talking with employees.

“As you might know, I am getting a bit older,” Jenna says, once you sit down. “You’ve been an amazing asset to the shop and I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be retiring in a couple of years. I know that seems far off, but I want you to take over the shop when I do.”

“Wait, Jenna, really? I’m the head baker, but that doesn’t qualify me to run a business.”

“I know that, which is why I’m telling you in advance. I want this bakery to stay in good hands and I know that you truly care about keeping this place alive. I would help pay your tuition to get some training in business because I know that it’s daunting taking any business over. And I would obviously train you in specific aspects of the shop as well.”

“Jenna, this means so much to me that you trust me with this, it really does. I would have to look into online degrees so I can still work here, but I would love to take up your mantle one day. I can only hope to run this shop as good as you,” you reply, still in shock.

“You will, otherwise I would have never brought it up to you. I know you’ll do good. Now, I’ll let you get back to work and I’ll give you Saturday off so you can go celebrate.”

“I’ll probably just end up sleeping.”

“I’m sure Tyson will want to take you out to celebrate.”

You groan. “Ugh, you’re probably right.”

“As I always am.”

~ ~ ~

When you tell Maddy about it, she rolls her eyes. “Obviously Jenna is going to give you the shop. You’ve been there for six years now, nobody else has stuck around that long. Besides, it wouldn’t be the same if someone new took over the shop. Pretty sure all of Denver would riot.”

“That’s a little extreme.”

“Okay, but when you were gone last summer for only a week, the whole atmosphere changed and I swear to god, Tyson complained about it not being as cozy.”

“Tyson is dramatic, too, and you know it.”

“Is that why Jenna gave you Saturday off? Because I know he’s going to celebrate like crazy, even though you don’t officially have the job yet.”

“I’m really trying to not think about it. I just want to sleep.”

“If anything, I’m sure you can convince him to at least do a special dinner at home.”

“I sure hope so.”

~ ~ ~

It takes a while to convince Tyson to just have a casual dinner date at his house, but he finally relents when you tell him how tired you are. Maddy seems awfully excited to get you out the door, but you only assume that it’s because she’s going to have a wine night by herself.

When you arrive, you can smell the soup that Tyson has started on. Ever since the two of you started dating, you’ve been teaching him how to cook more and more. It’s what sparked the bond between the two of you, which isn’t too surprised. Through the bond, you can tell that he’s nervous, but you shrug it off, guessing that he’s trying a new recipe out.

Things are pretty laid back right up until the both of you finish washing the dishes. He takes you out to the living room and sits you down on the couch. You’re confused, but just going along with it.

“Um, sorry if this takes a little while, I practiced with Maddy a lot and I want to make sure that I get it perfect.”

“Is…everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is amazing, actually,” Tyson replies. “So, the last five years with you have been probably the best five years of my life. You’ve taught me so much and it’s something I can never repay you for. I love you more than anything and I can’t imagine a life without you.”

Tyson goes to the floor, going onto one knee and pulling a ring from out of his pocket. You start tearing up and smiling.

“Oh my god, Tyson,” you whisper.

“I want to be able to spend the rest of my life with you, whatever that may mean. So, will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you exclaim, pulling him up to kiss you.

He kisses you briefly before pulling back to slip the ring onto your finger. It’s a gorgeous vintage ring and one that has some small magic ingrained into it.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say softly.

“Maddy helped me pick it out from that vintage shop you really like. I really wanted something that had magic in it, just something to make you feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

“You’re such a sap, Tyson.”

“Admit it, you love it.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

Tyson just laughs and pulls you in for a deep kiss.

[scriptlgbt]

Would it still be offensive to purposely write a badfic and advertise it as such and write in all sorts of horribly done lgbt characters?

If you are a member of all of the groups you would potentially be offending, it should be fine, provided you have all the appropriate trigger warnings and ideally, consult other folks in these demographics aside from just yourself. It could actually be a pretty funny satire.

But if you aren’t part of the community, please don’t do this. It’s probable that there would be a lot of misunderstandings and miscommunications, and you could be portraying someone who similar to a real person who would read this and feel thrown under the bus because their existence is being written as offensive.

If you do something like this, it needs to be done properly. And your satire needs to be clearly poking at authors who don’t get it, and in no way be confused for something serious, even by the most clueless of readers. It would also probably be advisable to explain or heavily imply within the story why it is bad representation.

Like, here’s an example paragraph where I’m writing an intentionally poorly done trans character, using stereotypes and ignorant narration and stuff.

Marcel, who used to be Marcella, had a burly face and angular body, thanks to years of taking testosterone pills. Every time he was misgendered, he punched that person in the face. His girlfriend, who knew him from when he was a woman, could hardly even tell anymore that he once was Marcella.

And here’s the issues I crammed in there:

using naming stereotypes (yes trans people do go to a convenient/nearby name every now and again, but not at the rate cis people write us)

“used to be a [gender]” trope (most trans people feel this is misgendering, because we were still ourselves even if it didn’t look like it to cis people. fluidity happens though so that works for that! and some trans people do feel this narrative explains their personal experience but it is generally overrepresented as a more mainstream experience than it is, and is usually very offensive.)

focus on describing body in fetishy ways and only in reference to hormones - not in any way that would actually help recognize the character if you met them in real life

estrogen usually comes as a pill (and spironolactone and other blockers are usually part of the regimen too until/unless gonads are removed)

reacting with violence to misgendering. (don’t get me wrong, that level of upset happens, but it’s not from one person misgendering unintentionally, and trans people know that violence they perpetrate will be used as a weapon against all trans people if it becomes known.) (tbh I’m not going to get into this here because it’s some dicey political stuff, but most of the violence I have witnessed perpetrated by other trans people is usually towards others in the community because it is known that we can’t come forward about it without it getting us back. I’m not going to go around saying that trans people are immune to being violent because that would dehumanize the lot of us, but it just doesn’t look like this. this is some conservative political cartoon bullshittery.)

the chaser* partner is. a chaser. this is pretty much paraphrased from some bad smut I read on AO3 tbh. and a LGBT+ youth group worker who said something like this about one of her partners after they got top surgery. a bunch of us who were in that group were warning others about it for years after she left actually. basically: don’t define your partners with some kind of ridiculous before and after thing. there’s more to a person than that. the only time I’ve ever thought about noticeable transition-related differences in my friends are when I haven’t seen them in a long time and need to recalibrate how I distinguish them from others when I see them. it’s not really visually any different from if somebody gets a new haircut or is wearing glasses now. it’s cool and stuff, but it’s superficial and in loved ones, we’re much more likely to notice that someone is carrying themselves with more confidence now or something like that. these things matter because they matter to our friend or whoever.

*Chasers are cis people who fetishize and try and date trans people, just because of our transness.

Anyway basically just know what you are doing, and if you are cis and totally straight, don’t do this at all tbh. Cool idea but who writes it makes a big difference in terms of how it is received.

- mod nat

[phanarchy-blog]

Let It Roll

Genre: Smut smut smut

Rating: E for Explicit

Words: 3.2k

Summary: Phil makes yet another accidental euphemism while filming a gaming channel video, and Dan suggests they have a private discussion about it. Spoilers: they do it on the computer chair with the camera rolling.

Warnings: Swearing if it bothers you, sexually explicit stuff (includes hand jobs, oral, fingering, and anal sex)

Author’s Notes: This was written at the request of @floppy-ding-dong! She made my super cute icon and I agreed to write a fic she prompted. Her prompt was, “...the idea of ‘do we need to have a word?’ thing that’s been going on recently... I can see it going a bit angsty, and then some smutty smut.” I don’t typically write smut because of the typical demographic here, but I had a lot of fun so if the post-post experience is nice too, I may not rule it out for the future! (Just please if you’re under 18, don’t contact me privately to discuss the details. I would be super uncomfortable about that.)

Read on AO3!

"Are we going to need to pause filming and have little chat about this, Phil?"

Dan felt like he was saying this for every gaming channel video lately. Inevitably, Phil would say something dirty, and they had to discuss whether it was the perfect level of innuendo, or if it crossed a boundary they didn't want their channels to go near.

Phil never meant it to be dirty, though he was far from innocent.

The fans tended to believe that Phil was naive, an angel bean, as he once said. Dan knew that Phil usually laughed just as hard at the euphemisms as he did. And back in the days of innuendo bingo, Phil usually lost.

Still, they snuck up on him while filming, slipping out of his mouth and spilling into the air between them. It didn't begin with "lady door", but since that day it had only gotten worse. They may never admit it, but they stopped the live streams for this exact reason.

"What do you mean?" Phil defended. "That's fine!"

His facade was dropping, a light giggle passing through his lungs, his smile lighting up the room more than the light box they kept angled at the white wall behind them.

"You're such a dirty bastard!" Dan said, nudging Phil's shoulder and giving him a glare that betrayed his affection all the same.

"I am not!" Phil said. "And I take offense to that! All I said was that this game is really hard, like me!"

Dan shook his head for the effect, on the off-chance this conversation made it into the final cut of the video.

This was something he was familiar with, playing up for the camera. Dan knew what to show, what to exaggerate. He definitely knew what to hold back.

"Well don't!" he said with a final exasperated sigh.

Despite Dan's tone, suggesting it was time to move on, Phil held onto the moment.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked, unsure to what extent the line was pushed.

"Look," Dan said, "all I know is that I'm sure hearing you say that is going to titillate some people in a way you don't want them titillated!"

Phil laughed, flicking his head so that his slight fringe flipped around.

"Stop saying titillated!" Phil hushed, pushing Dan back from the center of his chest. Dan rolled back slightly in his computer chair. He liked being pushed around. Only by Phil, of course. That didn't mean he wouldn't take it as a challenge.

Dan gripped Phil's arm swiftly, before he could pull it away completely, and pushed it to the side, pulling Phil closer as the angles changed.

"Titillated, titillated, titillated!" Dan said, leaning in close to his face.

"Stop!" Phil yelled, as loud as Phil could yell, and freeing his hands to cover his head. "My virgin ears!"

Dan lowered his voice, suddenly realizing the warmth of Phil's breath across his lips, so near his own.

"You ain't no virgin, mate," Dan corrected.

"Well, who's fault is that?" Phil said, attempting to stay in character, but breaking it once he realized the steamy tone the conversation had taken on.

"Technically, I think that'd be yours, because I surely wasn't involved." Dan teased Phil about his early sexual escapades. He silently thanked himself for moving past any jealousy. It was much easier that way.

"Well, lucky enough I was involved for yours," Phil said, dropping his voice to match Dan's. He leaned in lightly, waiting for Dan to reciprocate and close the minuscule distance keeping their lips apart.

Dan obliged, of course. He pressed his lips to Phil's hesitantly, knowing it would all definitely need to be cut out now. More work for later, but worth it, for sure.

Phil moved to envelope Dan's lips with his, and to slip his tongue inside his mouth. He was feeling insistent, having been an agonizing day and a half since they last did this.

Dan leaned back again, letting Phil take the lead. He may have taken the challenge, but Dan also knew that he loved to lose in the end, and be taken himself.

Phil slipped his hand across Dan's shoulder, skimming it all down his arm to where his elbow rested on the arm of the chair, next to his waist. Dan tipped his head back, allowing Phil to access his neck and move down to kiss gingerly at his collarbone.

Dan let out a silent breath, running his opposite hand through Phil's dark hair at the back of his head. It was soft on his fingertips, and he grazed the short buzzed sides of Phil's head, enjoying the prickling sensation. Combined with the wet pressure in his clavicle, Dan's head began to swim.

"Phil, let me," Dan whispered, making a move towards the camera, still facing directly at them and recording them in high definition. Phil looked up to meet his eyes.

"Let it roll," he instructed.

They had spoken about it before, and they both agreed that filming themselves in such a position would be a major turn on. Dan hadn't prepared himself mentally to do it that day, but now that he had Phil attached to his neck, nipping little bites into his thin skin, he couldn't help but see the appeal of the spontaneity.

He felt his jeans tightening as he got lost in sensation. The pressure was building already, and he felt the urge to have Phil touch him. He whimpered quietly against Phil's mouth, which had only just reached his lips again to meet him with a hurried kiss.

"Phil," Dan said, slotting his own hand between their bodies to unbutton his black skinny jeans. He sighed in relief, now that there was one less layer of fabric between his hardening cock and Phil's body.

Phil quickly took to running his fingertips along over the soft cotton of his pants, up and down Dan's shaft.

Dan could feel Phil's lips pull away as he grinned into the kiss. Phil always smirked when Dan twitched underneath his hand.

"Who's hard now?" Phil whispered into the shell of Dan's ear.

He was far from fucking innocent.

Dan tried to lie back further, only to find that the chair would not bend any more.

As Phil massaged his length more firmly over his boxer briefs, he returned his mouth to Dan's neck, finding it instead on the center of his Adam's apple rather than the side. Dan was familiar with this move. After nearly a decade of sleeping with Phil, Dan knew what this meant. He whimpered in anticipation as Phil continued sliding down, running his teeth over where his nipples were hidden behind his tee.

Dan gripped Phil's shoulders with both hands, rubbing the muscles connecting them to his neck and massaging while guiding Phil down his body to his groin.

Phil lifted the hem of his shirt and roughly pulled the elastic of his pants over his straining cock, freeing it to the air. The rush of cold caused a shiver to run up Dan's spine, and Phil settled him with a warm hand snaking underneath his shirt to rest against Dan's chest.

It was grounding to Dan, having a hand over his heart, feeling it pounding against Phil's palm while the rest of his body was assaulted with indescribable pleasure.

Phil licked a stripe up Dan's dick from the base to the ridge of his head. Then he wrapped his lips around him entirely and bobbed down the span of his erection. With Phil closing tightly around him, Dan could feel the slide of his tongue down every inch.

Over the years, Phil had gotten skilled at giving head. He knew just where Dan liked to be kissed and teased, and when to let things get messy. With the urgent atmosphere, and the way Dan gripped his shoulder and twisted his fingers into his fringe, pulling it back and tugging, Phil knew today was not a day to go easy on him.

Phil plunged down further, until his nose brushed against Dan’s trimmed hair, then slowly trailed back up so that the flat of his tongue pressed into the vein. He reached the very tip and sucked gently, then quickly sank down again. He began a fast, harsh rhythm moving up and down, twisting one hand around the smooth skin at the base of Dan’s cock.

He reached his free hand up and Dan grabbed it, firmly weaving their fingers together and giving him something to grip to cope with the pleasure. Dan’s left hand shook in the air just above Phil’s bobbing head, unsure what to do with it. He knew that if he rested it on Phil’s head, he would be face-fucking him in seconds, and Dan could never bear to see those tears in Phil’s eyes. He settled on pulling at his own hair instead as the waves began to hit him.

Dan was hurdling toward an orgasm already. Too soon. Phil felt the muscles in Dan’s abdomen clenching and he pulled away, leaving Dan wanting more. His voice came out in a little whine.

“Phil?” he asked desperately.

Phil considered leaving him like this, frantic for him, and returning the the game they were filming what seemed like ages ago. He took a moment to appreciate the glint in Dan’s eyes as he waited at Phil’s mercy.

Then all at once, he hooked to fingers of each hand into the elastic of his pants and pulled them down further, meeting with his black jeans and tugging both pairs down together until they were at mid-calf. Phil raised up until he could push his lips against Dan’s neck again, rubbing soft circles around the head of Dan’s penis, causing him to buck up off the black computer chair with a jolt. As his jaw dropped in ecstacy, Phil slid two fingers into his mouth. Dan sucked on them obediently, not wasting any time in wetting them with his own saliva.

Phil released Dan’s cock, finally unbuttoning his own skinny jeans and jerking his own thick erection hard, his own spit on his hand from Dan’s serving as lubrication. He reveled in the feeling of Dan’s mouth around his fingers, sucking fervently, rolling his tongue to push them against the roof of his mouth. Phil imagined it was his cock in Dan’s mouth instead of his fingers, knowing that tonight they wouldn’t get the chance.

When Dan slid his tongue between Phil’s two fingers, coating them liberally in his own spit, Phil pulled them out and guided Dan’s knees apart until he could reach between his cheeks and circle one around Dan’s sensitive hole. It slid in easily, and Phil wriggled it around, pressing against every wall inside Dan until he relaxed a little bit more.

Dan writhed beneath him when he pushed a second finger in beside the first, slowing his movements and working him open. He slipped them in deeper, and scissored them as he pulled them almost all the way out.

Dan continued squirming under Phil’s body, focusing on the feeling of his weight on his chest and the kisses he peppered along his shoulder. Phil curled his fingers just so, and Dan could feel him massaging his prostate. With every hitch, it felt better, and the burn of his stretching hole faded into the background of his mind as he rocked his hips down.

All too soon, Phil removed himself from Dan entirely, and Dan groaned as he felt empty again.

Phil stroked Dan’s cock twice more as he stood up.

“We need more lube,” he said. “Keep stretching, and be at three when I get back.”

Dan watched Phil skip out of the gaming channel room and into the AmazingPhil set just down the hall. Dan couldn’t waste time wondering when they’d stored lube in that room, he got set wetting his own three fingers and rearranging himself on the computer chair so that he sat on his knees, leaning back on his heels and using the pressure to spread himself wide.

He started fingering himself steadfastly, replacing Phil’s fingers with two of his own. He moved with purpose, brushing against his own prostate lightly, unable to get the right angle to really get himself going on it. He pushed past the pain to insert the third and final digit.

He thrust back and forth, fucking himself on his hand until his whines were out of pleasure again.

Phil re-entered to that sight, Dan balanced precariously in his computer chair, sitting on his haunches, his barely visible fist behind him as his fingers disappeared into his ass. He gripped his thigh with his other hand and clenched his eyes shut in focus, breathing heavily. Phil stood in the doorway for the moment, taking the scene in, watching him.

“You’re putting on a pretty show,” Phil piped in, reminding Dan of the camera just in front of him.

Dan moaned in response. He snapped his eyes open at Phil’s voice, finding Phil stood with a bottle of lube in hand, stripped down to his tight black pants, and wearing Dan’s oversized black and white striped jumper. He fingered himself quicker and crooked in deeper, as if he wanted to get off on just that.

Dan hadn’t thought that Phil heard him, the other day when Dan whispered want you to fuck me in my clothes mid-orgasm.

Apparently he had heard, and he listened intently. Dan bit his lip, bearing his whole top row of teeth in a less than attractive way, but not having the mind to care.

Phil popped the cap open on the bottle and made a beeline to Dan’s location, stepping right into his space without hesitation. He leaned over Dan, steadying himself with a hand on each arm rest, and kissed him on the top of his head, feeling a slight sheen of sweat at Dan’s hairline.

Suddenly, he spun the chair 90 degrees, angling it so the camera would catch it from the side.

“Gotta make sure it can see us both,” Phil told him, grabbing Dan’s wrist tenderly and directing him to take his hand from his ass, once again leaving Dan empty.

He could feel his ring clasping around nothing, thrumming at the let down. Phil raised Dan’s hand and brought it across his body. Dan followed with his torso as he twisted around, finally getting the picture when Phil lightly nudged his shoulders.

Dan swung around, facing backwards on the chair, gripping his arms around the headrest and pressing his chest to the cool cushion. Phil tapped between Dan’s thighs softly, reminding him to widen his stance. Dan did, as much as possible with arm rests on either side of his legs and his jeans still tethering his ankles together.

Phil smothered his fingers in lube, rubbing around Dan’s aching hole and plunging two, then all three, inside him. Dan thrust into the chair reflexively, stuttering out high-pitched “aaahhhh”s as Phil split him open.

Phil removed his fingers as quickly as they came, and hooked a dry thumb in his boxers and pulled it down to reveal his own leaking cock. He smoothed the remaining lube over himself and held his length by the base. Inching forward to stroke his slick head between Dan’s ass, he sunk inside.

Dan’s face scrunched up as he felt the intrusion of Phil’s thickness. It was long, reaching deeper than he could ever hope to on his own. Phil wrapped his fingers around Dan’s hips, thrusting in quick, fast motions, too far gone himself to tease Dan any more.

Dan was panting, his eyebrows furrowing together with the intensity of feeling Phil hit his prostate over and over again. He pulled his arms even tighter around the back of the chair, until his nails were biting in to the elbows.

“More,” Dan said, the first coherent word he had mustered since they began. “Bit harder.”

Phil moved his hands from Dan’s hips, grasping the chair instead and rolling it backwards, hard, forcing Dan back onto his cock. He was so tight, wet and hot around him. Phil was beginning to lose himself. He did it again, and again, moving faster each time until he was snapping his hips forward, meeting in the middle as he bottomed out into Dan with every thrust.

Dan’s thighs were trembling. He had been holding on for so long. His muscles tensed like a dam keeping back a waterfall.

“Let go,” Phil told him, voice calm as he continued spearing him from behind. He gathered another wave of stamina to push Dan to the edge, to force that waterfall to spill.

Dan was at the edge already, and at last he accepted it, letting his body tense all over and stutter as Phil worked him through each pulsation of his cock, shooting cum up the back of his seat.

Each clench of his hole brought Phil closer, and as Dan came down, head spinning and drooping onto his forearms, Phil moved to take himself out of Dan and finish himself off, but Dan stopped him.

“No,” he uttered. “Want to feel it.”

Phil obliged, returning to a softer pace, still feeling Dan’s hole fluttering around him. He slipped his hands up the tee shirt Dan still wore, massaging Dan’s chest and nipples as he spooned him, thrusting up into his ass and feeling his orgasm set him on fire.

Every wave of gratification pumped his ejaculate deeper into Dan, who felt each twitch as Phil moaned behind him, face close enough to him that he could feel his breath on his ear.

“Mmmm,” Phil mumbled, feeling out of it for the first time all night. He smiled into Dan’s curls as he pulled his softening dick from him. He used both hands to smooth down the fluffy hair at the top of Dan’s head, skimming them down his neck and rubbing his shoulders.

Dan was still recovering, and he let he head loll to the side to feel Phil’s head on his cheek. He pressed a kiss to it, laughing. Phil climbed off of him, immediately flopping into the floor.

“I can’t move from here. Too far to the bed. Come cuddle,” he offered.

Dan extracted himself from the computer chair awkwardly, nearly falling over due to his jeans tying his feet to each other. He slid them off entirely and joined Phil on the cold floor. He laid his head on Phil’s chest, setting a bent leg across Phil’s as he lay on his back. Dan ran his fingers through Phil’s sparse chest hair beneath the sweater he still had on.

“So, do we cut that out, or..?” Dan laughed, nodding towards the camera and the red recording light.

“I think that’s a safe bet,” Phil humored. He pressed a kiss to Dan’s forehead once again.

“Maybe best that we just scrap that footage entirely, start over tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’d definitely like to do this again tomorrow,” Phil said.

“Shut up!” Dan teased, lifting himself off of Phil and turning him over to his side so that Dan could curl behind him, snaking an arm under his head and pulling him close to his chest.

[elfwreck]

Things the OP got wrong (not all of them, but some):

1) Bookstores have NEVER carried "anything as long as it doesn't break the law." We got scifi bookstores because mainstream stores didn't think there was a market for scifi in their area. And we got gay bookstores because mainstream stores refused to carry queer content.

2) OP has a very odd idea of what "marketing" means, since people aren't allowed to advertise anything for sale at AO3. Also. "A place where authors can try to acquire readers" is not at all how bookstores work. Bookstores exist to make money, not to help authors find readers. Any author who said, "please go to X store and read my books but don't pay for them" will have their works thrown out of that store right away.

3) AO3, like libraries, seeks out archives that are at risk of disappearing, and imports them to a place where people can read them. That's what Open Doors is about.

4) I dunno what libraries they've been at that have "accurate warnings, descriptions, categories" for their books. My local library does not put stickers on the romance books that say "this one has a rape scene." Does not have any little signs near the historical books that say "this one contains extreme gore and death." Does not tell me which books have explicit sex in them.

My head hurts.

Transcription under the cut.

Image 1:

The incredibly frustrating fact is treating it only as an "archive."

Their website might be called "Archive of Our Own", but they function as an active social media site with more in common with a book store than a library.

A library is a place that does not actively try to sell things to readers. It's purely a place of knowledge that is stored, with the only intent to be that you educate and read more often to promote literacy.

A book store is a place to actively market content and lure someone into reading new or trending thing, and issued by writers to sell themselves to the public.

Ao3 is an actively social media site. From the get go, people use it to market themselves and post new content.

Image 2:

The bookstore allows anything as long as it doesn't break the law. They losely sort things based on determined market demographic and only rereview after the public creates a comotion over it.

Libraries will collect and document things long after theyve been discontinued, and do critical reviews for contents and place accurate warnings, descriptions, categories, and reviews based on its logical content.

Notice what I'm getting at? Ao3 has very little in common with a library in the way it is managed and marketed. It's mostly a place where people advertise for themselves and Ao3 relies on reactionary tactics after public out cries, in stead of being proactive.

Image 3:

Arguing th archive of Our own does need to change because it's an archive only is a truly false dipiction of its function in actively engaging in and marketing to people. It's a social media platform. That cannot get away from that. And whether they are for-profit or non-profit does not change the fact that they have responsibilities as a social media platform to protect people that are at risk. And the people at risk are victims of racism and other misdeeds, not people who posted Incest RomCom and were called out for its clearly disturbing contents.

Labeling people an "Anti" just to make yourself feel victimized and helpless is incredibly pathetic as well considering the situation. It's a other attempt for people to make minorities out as the bad guys.

what are you talking about

[wulfrann]

As you watch the snow fall, ch 2 (Andreil Jack Frost AU, part 3)

All for the game

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Andrew Minyard & Renee Walker, Andrew Minyard & Kevin Day

Additional Tags: Jack Frost!Neil, Writer!Andrew, Succession of vignettes, Non-Chronological, Hurt/Comfort, Friendhsip, The editorial world, POV Andrew Minyard

[Part 3 of the When the frost is in bloom series - Chapter 2/? - 3484 words - Updated 2020-02-03]

Summary:

The trials and tribulations of editing Der Albtraumprinz, featuring Andrew, Renee, Kevin, and Wymack.

(Set during Frost Bite)

[Read on AO3]

Author’s Notes:

I read I'll Give You the Sun in one night, slept from 6am to noon, and wrote this. So you can thank Jandy Nelson for getting the second vignette so soon, I guess.

[See the end for the German translations]

Chapter 2: Snowdrift

The world is right again, Mia thinks.

There’s only one thing left to do, Issa thinks.

“Will you visit?” he asks Alberich, not saying please. 

The Prince of Nightmares smiles.

“Always.”

And the wind blows. And he takes Issa’s hand. And the world is right.

_

Renee puts her bag on the table and sits across from him, smiling. Andrew’s already ordered for her, that smoked tea she always drinks when she wants to focus. His own drink is nearly finished, a coffee he didn’t taste as much as breathe. It burned all the way down.

“Thank you,” Renee says, taking a sip out of her cup. It clinks when she puts it down on the saucer, a light, clear sound that makes Andrew think of snow, of all things. Under his fingernail an itch suddenly calls for smoke. He makes tight fists until it’s gone.

Renee pulls a thick envelope out of her bag and sets it on the table where her bag was. Out of it comes paper, a stack of it. White like snow but stained with black, all over it. Touches of blue, he knows, sprinkle the heap, a very light blue, like the sky on winter sunny days, because Renee doesn’t like to write in red.

(It’s a little too harsh, she told him once. And I’m not a school teacher. I don’t write corrections. Just suggestions.)

Andrew gulps the last of his coffee, grimacing the bitter blackness down. Renee’s eyebrows make a little jump up and she looks amused at the gesture for a second. Then she looks down at the snowdrift sitting on the table covered in black and blue, and it begins.

“I really liked it, Andrew,” is the first thing she says. She always starts with a general statement. Then she thanks him. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Andrew shrugs, jumps his leg under the table a few times, brings his hand down upon his knee to stop.

Renee takes a sip of tea. Her face opens, happy and honest, enthused. “I’ve always loved your stories, but I think you’ve got something special with this one. It feels… truer. It’d already started with Winter, but - something went further with this one. It’s the rawest I’ve ever seen you write, Andrew.”  She says this and fixes her gaze on him. “I don’t know why, or how, but I think you’ve really found yourself with this story.”

Andrew stares her down, stone-like. If he moved, if he spoke, he would shatter. He’s sure of it.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling, “but it needed to be said.” She brings the cup to her lips and drinks, and when the cup is down she pulls Der Albtraumprinz closer. Somehow, Andrew too feels like he was just moved. “Ready?” she asks with both hands flattened upon the first page.

Andrew clenches and unclenches his hands, and blows a breath to lift the fog inside his head.

“Go for it.”

Renee does a detailed run-down of it. Every scene that works, every scene that doesn’t. The little things and the bigger things. What could go, and what needs more. Andrew has been deconstructed into pieces by the time she’s done, or peeled and peeled into hollows. Either way the wind rattles him raw, scrapes his skin off until everything that’s left of him is in shambles.

Words, he thinks. Words words words words. I need them now.

He gets his notepad out and starts to write.

-

The world is right again, Mia thinks. 

The world has changed again, Issa thinks.

The sword in Mia’s hand glows white. Issa doesn’t notice, because he’s turned to the Albtraumprinz.

“Will you visit?” he asks, not saying please. 

Alberich smiles.

“Always.”

And he takes Issa’s hand. And the wind blows. And the world is right.

-

Andrew drags a deep cloud into his lungs and feels himself fill up. The smoke floats out through every pore until it’s joined the sky above, where the wind flares.

“I’m not saying it’s bad, Andrew,” Kevin is saying back down on earth. “In fact, I think it’s really good. Renee’s right when she says it’s the best you’ve ever written - but, Andrew, you can’t - that’s exactly why you can’t. Think about your target demographic. You’ll lose readers.”

Kevin rakes a shaking hand through his hair. His hands haven’t stopped moving since he started talking, like flies, like birds, and his face is a storm he’s trying desperately, and failing, to keep bottled.

“Think about it, Andrew,” he pleads, green eyes like river sludge. “You’ve built yourself a readership, a name. This is madness. You could ruin it all and for what? It’s a kid’s book!” He throws both hands into the air like it’s the be-all end-all of arguments, then brings them back down to his head. “Don’t be stupid.”

Andrew turns around in his chair and stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray, shutting Kevin up with his gaze. “Are you done?”

Kevin opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “Der Albtraumprinz could be a bestseller, Andrew. This is an unnecessary risk.”

“Art is always a risk,” Andrew drones out, voice flat. “I don’t write to sell.”

“I know that -”

“No, you don’t,” Andrew cuts in. “You’re too covered in your own shit to see it. Just because you’re too scared of the monster in your own closet doesn’t mean everyone has to be.”

Kevin makes a face like he’s been slapped. His hands drop to his lap like flies. “What -” he stammers, then thinks better of it. He looks so pale Andrew’s almost tempted to feel sorry for him. 

Almost.

“You can hide all your life for all I care,” Andrew hammers down, not letting Kevin look away. “But either you get over your self-pitying paranoia, or you’re not reading a single one of my manuscripts ever again.”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. Then he gets up, and leaves a frozen Kevin to stare at the wall in his beige hotel room. Maybe the cold air rushing in through the open window will help him gather his one-track junkie brain, or maybe it’ll give him pneumonia. Andrew wishes for the latter.

-

The world is right again, Mia thinks. 

The world has changed again, Issa thinks.

The sword in Mia’s hand glows white. Issa doesn’t notice; the Albtraumprinz is smiling and it’s all he can see.

“Will you visit?” he asks, and forgets to say please because his chest is about to burst. “Will I?”

Alberich smiles.

“Always.” 

And he takes Issa’s hand. And the wind blows. Everything slots into place.

-

Wymack drops the stack of paper on his desk and sits down across from him. He tidies a few things off his desk then sits back, hands crossed over his chest. Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“Renee was right. This is your best work yet.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Wymack huffs. “You know, Minyard, what I really love about you is your modesty. Really refreshing.” He claps the manuscript on the back. “Anyway, Der Albtraumprinz’s approved. I got the cover a couple days ago, so you should get the first test copies soon. You’ll be on the shelves on the sixteenth of December like we’d planned, so hopefully you’ll sell well for Christmas.”

“Good to know.”

“If there’s any last minute change you want to make, it’s now. Tomorrow will be too late.”

Andrew nods. “There is one,” he says.

“Let’s see it then.”

Andrew digs a folded piece of paper out of his jacket’s pocket and puts it on Wymack’s desk. When Wymack unfolds it, he frowns.

“A dedication?”

“Yes,” Andrew says.

Wymack looks skeptical, but he grabs a red pen and stamps a sticky note over the page, quickly scribbling a few instructions over it.

“I’m not going to ask,” he says with finality, “but others will.”

“I don’t care.”

Wymack sighs. “I don’t doubt that. Anything else?” he asks, clapping the manuscript again, then putting it away when Andrew shakes his head. “Alright. Now that that’s done, let’s talk sequel. Are you continuing this or not? It doesn’t have to be official just yet, but I’d like to have an idea. Seems to me like you’ve got room to explore.”

Andrew twitches. 

The sword in Mia’s hand glows white.

“I’m continuing it.”

-

[From: Kevin] They have new pieces at the Landesmuseum Württemberg.

[From: Kevin] I’m going tomorrow.

[To: Kevin] why should I care

[From: Kevin] Come with me?

[To: Kevin] no.

[From: Kevin] I’m flying back the day after.

[To: Kevin] good.

[From: Kevin] They’re doing something around myths and legends for Christmas.

[From: Kevin] I’ll pay for your ticket.

[From: Kevin] You were right. I overreacted. I apologize.

[To: Kevin] what time

[From: Kevin] 2PM? I’ll meet you at your place.

[To: Kevin] you mean 14 Uhr, du Ami

[From: Kevin] You know, if you’re capitalizing words in the middle of a sentence, you might as well capitalize the first letter.

[To: Kevin] no thx

[From: Kevin] You disgust me.

[To: Kevin] heul doch

[From: Kevin] See you tomorrow, Andrew.

-

[German Translations]

- "Der Albtraumprinz" : The Prince of Nightmares

- "Landesmuseum Württemberg" : the regional museum of Württemberg

- "14 Uhr" : 14h, aka 2pm

- "du Ami" : you yankee

- heul doch : cry me a river

[dust2dust34]

Pieces of Always: November 2021 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: A parent/teacher conference with Jules' teacher doesn't go entirely as Felicity expects.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: I am taking a beta role for right now. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

(read on AO3)

November 2012 - Schooling

After six months of weighing the pros and cons, Oliver and Felicity had settled on public school for their girls, but that hadn’t happened without a whole lot of debate.

Oliver’s experiences at Starling City Prep alone had been enough to make him wary. The sheer number of classmates whose parents had wound up on his list was a definite indicator that something was wrong there that standardized tests could never measure. They’d toured a few private schools anyhow, all of them more than happy to welcome the Queen family and the Queen money. But, looking around, the demographic had been so incredibly narrow. Felicity hadn’t seen the awards on the walls or the state of the art equipment. All she’d seen were the kids. She felt like she was watching children of Stepford wives and she couldn’t, for all their money, imagine Jules fitting in here.

Security had been the biggest factor in seriously considering private school, something she’s taken even more seriously since local party leadership had approached Oliver about running for the soon-to-be vacated state representative seat. He still says he’s not sure if he’ll do it, but she is. She knows her husband. He’ll run. She’s kind of surprised he hasn’t reached that conclusion himself yet, but he’ll get there.

They’re very high profile, will be even more so when he runs for office, and they both worry about the media hounding their kids. They’re a curiosity to the public and they know it. And, the press has proven time and again that they don’t care about boundaries.

So, they’d gone back and forth as he trained in the lair or when she managed to get away from the office to meet him for lunch. Neither one of them had been certain on what to do until one day Felicity had sighed and said “Oliver, if public schools aren’t safe enough for our girls, what are we even doing in this lair? You don’t save a city by removing yourself from it.”

And that had done it.

They’d registered Jules at Three Oaks Elementary the next day and - in the first year and a half Jules has gone there - Felicity’s only complaint has been the lack of any oaks whatsoever on the premises.

Honestly, it’s a highly misleading name.

There have been a few incidents she and Oliver have been called in for, but it’s mostly been due to Jules, not the school. Their little girl has something of a temper and there’s been the occasional playground tussle that’s left one kid or another in tears - usually not her. When she gets angry, she lashes out and when she gets hurt, she shuts down. The older Jules gets, the more of herself Felicity sees in the little girl. Or, the way she used to be, anyhow, before she’d learned the hard way that she wasn’t doing herself any favors. Some nights she lies awake, trying to figure out a way to help Jules grow up without making the same mistakes she did. All she gets for her effort is frustration, though.

“She’ll find her own way, honey. Get some sleep,” Oliver tells her on a regular basis, his voice only half awake as he curls his arm around her and pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her hair.

It soothes her, but she can’t help worrying, wanting better for her daughter. Maybe that’s just what being a mother is. Maybe she’ll always want more for her children, want things to be easier, happier for them.

There haven’t been any midday calls about behavior so far this year, though, so maybe things are improving. She’s anxious to see what Jules’ teachers have to say at the parent-teacher conference today.

“Where’s Ellie?” Jules asks, exiting the front doors of the school and looking around like maybe the three-year-old is about to pop out of the bushes or something. It’s not an unfair thought, really. Ellie is absurdly active, hiding and climbing and running absolutely everywhere. What they’d been thinking when they’d bought a four-story brownstone to raise their children in, Felicity can’t remember at this point, but those stairs have surely given her calves she’s insanely proud of after running up and down them to the girls’ rooms umpteen times a day.

It’s gonna be a whole lot harder in the next few months.

Her stomach rolls as if on cue and she pushes back a wave of nausea. She’s only two months along with her newest pregnancy and they’ve told no one yet, but that’s getting harder and harder with a morning sickness that’s really an all-day sickness.

“She’s with Grandma Donna,” Felicity tells the little girl, trying to force herself to feel centered. It sort of works. Jules doesn’t notice. The six-year-old just shifts slightly, adjusting the frayed strap of her backpack. She’d refused to get a new one this year and had kept her battered Priscilla the Pirate Princess bag from kindergarten. “I have a meeting with your teachers today, remember?”

“Oh yeah…” Jules says, her brow furrowing a little. Some days Felicity would give anything to read her little girl’s thoughts, but even as a first-grader Jules keeps things to herself. It’s not that she’s quiet, exactly, but she’s something of a closed book at times and getting her to share what she’s feeling is like pulling teeth. “Am I going too?”

“No,” Felicity tells her, taking the little girl’s hand as they walk back into the school against the crush of kids pouring out. It’s like fighting to go upstream against a huge school - Ha! School… that’s appropriate - of minnows. “We’re meeting Digg and Sara on the playground. He and I are taking turns with our conferences and watching you two.”

“Okay,” Jules agrees. She leaves it at that. She and Sara get along just fine, but they aren’t especially close in spite of how much time they spend with each other. It had surprised Felicity, really, and disappointed her a bit, not that she’d ever tell Jules that. But Sara is an interactive and imaginative extrovert while Jules is happier playing hopscotch by herself or drawing with chalk than playing make-believe with Sara.

“How was school?” Felicity asks as the throng of children gives way to an empty hallway.

“Fine,” Jules tells her. It’s a standard reply and Felicity bites back a sigh because would a little detail kill her?

“What did you do today?” she prods, giving the girl a nudge.

“Played on the playground,” the little girl supplies.

Long conversations with Lyla and her own mother have assured her that this is every child ever’s response to what they did in school and it’s not just Jules being tight-lipped.

“And I had art lit,” Jules adds, surprising her and pulling her attention. “I liked that,” she follows up in a near whisper.

It’s a huge admission from Jules. For as loud as she can be sometimes, for how brash she comes off, it’s the quiet things she says that are the most meaningful.

“Art lit?” Felicity asks.

“Yeah,” Jules agrees. She bites her lip and looks up with a little half shrug. “Art literacy. We learn about lots of artists and paint and stuff. I like it. It’s fun.”

Two ‘I like it’ declarations from Jules in as many minutes is fairly unprecedented and Felicity can sense how important that is, but she’s so thrown by it that she doesn’t immediately know how to respond beyond a, “Good… that’s great.”

There’s an uneasiness about Jules, and Felicity lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her, tugging her closer instead of answering in words. Jules never looks up when she does this, but she does lean in closer, like she wants the affection but doesn’t want to admit to wanting it. That only makes Felicity want to hold onto her more, but she knows this little girl so very well and she’s well aware that holding on too tight will only mean Jules pulls away harder.

“Christmas and Hanukkah are right around the corner,” she points out after a minute. “Art supplies might make a nice gift to ask for.”

“That’d be nice,” Jules agrees, looking up almost shyly. “Maybe Santa could bring me an easel?”

Yes… yes, he absolutely will. Felicity’s decided this before the words are even finished passing through Jules’ lips. Her daughter doesn’t ask for much, never begs for candy or toys. When she does express wanting something, it’s exactly like this - an almost embarrassed request, like she doesn’t like admitting to wanting anything.

“I bet the elves could manage that,” Felicity reassures her.

Jules’ cheeks turn a pleased, ruddy hue as she bites back a smile. Her skin is so fair and her hair so dark that it stands out brightly in contrast. She’s so very beautiful when she’s happy and Felicity finds herself taking a mental snapshot of the way she smiles at her toes. It’s such a rare moment to see that kind of unabashed joy on her little girl’s face and she’s going to savor it for all it’s worth.

A lot. It’s worth a lot.

Despite slowing her gait to lengthen the moment, they reach the doors to the playground soon enough and she can already see Digg playing with Sara, both of them making their way across the monkey bars. It’s ridiculous. Even with his legs bent, Digg’s knees nearly brush the ground.

“You’re gonna break that thing,” she shouts over to him. He lets go with one hand to wave at her.

“It’s okay,” he counters. “You’ll just buy the school a new one.”

She would, but she’d really rather not highlight exactly how much money she and Oliver have donated to inner city schools this past year. A lot. It’s a lot, even to them. She doesn’t regret it in the least, but it’s incredibly hard to stay anonymous.

“How’s it going, Jules?” Digg calls over.

“Fine,” Jules responds - back to her customary answer - as she starts towards the swings.

“Hold up, little miss,” Felicity announces, hands on her hips as Jules stops and looks at her expectantly. “Don’t I get a hug or anything?”

Jules smiles, shakes her head like she’s humoring her mother and runs back for a quick hug. Or, at least she means for it to be quick. But Felicity holds on tightly and kisses the top of the little girl’s head.

“Mom,” Jules laughs with a long-suffering sigh. Felicity lets her go and she scurries off toward the playground, calling out hello to Sara and tossing her bookbag onto the mulch-covered ground before climbing up onto a swing and pumping her legs.

“Have fun, Julie-bug,” Felicity calls out before checking her watch and looking to Digg. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Take your time,” Digg tells her, which is code for ‘we both know sometimes meetings about Jules run long.’ “We’ve got half an hour before my meeting.”

Felicity breathes a sigh of relief at that and blows Jules a kiss before turning and walking into the building. If someone had told her eight years ago how thoroughly intertwined her life would get with the handsome man who lied so terribly as he asked for her help and his quiet, hulking bodyguard, she’s pretty sure she’d have laughed in their face. But from parent-teacher conferences to infiltrating organized crime conferences, she, Digg and Oliver have each other’s backs in every possible way. Others have been added to the mix of Team Arrow since then, of course, chiefly Lyla and Roy, but the core of the team remains as solid and unchanged as ever. She’s so intensely grateful for that some days that it astounds her.

Making her way into Mr. Clarke’s classroom, she’s practically assaulted by a blinding splash of primary colors. It makes her eyes hurt and her head spin a bit, but she knows enough to brace for it by now. Kindergarten had been much the same. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected, however, is more than one teacher greeting her.

“Hi…” she says in a long, drawn out word as the two teachers stand and smile, gesturing for her to come in.

“Mrs. Queen, come in,” Mr. Clarke says.

“Felicity, please,” she corrects, as she does every single time. She will always be proud to be a Queen, to be Oliver’s wife, but if there’s one place she doesn’t want all the weight that comes with her last name, it’s here. In this space, she’s not a CEO, not the mayor’s daughter-in-law, she’s just Jules’ mother.

“Felicity,” he amends, but he still looks at her like he knows she’s the reason the computer labs have all new machines. “This is Mrs. Perrins. She’s our art teacher here. You may not have met her before.”

“No,” Felicity agrees, putting down her purse and shaking the woman’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. Jules was just telling me how much she enjoys art class.”

“Oh, no, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Queen,” the art teacher says. Felicity bites back a sigh at the losing battle for the use of her first name. “Your daughter is an absolute delight.”

That has Felicity pausing mid-handshake. Jules is a whole lot of things and Felicity loves her little girl with her whole heart, but she’s not certain she’s ever had anyone refer to her as a ‘delight’ before.

“Thank you,” she manages, through her surprise.

“I wanted to be here at this meeting because I just had to ask you where you had her studying art,” Mrs. Perrins says.

Felicity’s thrown off kilter by this because... what? Her eyes shift from Mrs. Perrins to Mr. Clarke and back again. Both of them look at her expectantly and she fumbles as she responds with a fantastically ineloquent “What?” Her brain really hasn’t gotten beyond that word, yet.

“Her grasp is so far beyond the fundamentals,” Mrs. Perrins expands, flooring Felicity a bit more. “Obviously she’s in a position to be exposed to some tremendous art” - Felicity can practically feel her smile tighten in place because this woman is saying ‘you have money and I know it’ even if that’s not what she’s saying - “but her instruction has obviously been so very effective and I have one or two other students who might benefit from some extra art instruction outside of school. I’d like to recommend whomever her other teacher is.”

“That’s not…” Felicity starts, flustered and starting to feel a babble coming on. “There isn’t one. She takes dance and she went to daycare at my office, but she’s not… we’ve never had her in an art class. I haven’t even taken her to an art museum. Should I take her to an art museum? Is that a thing you do with six-year-olds?”

With the way Mrs. Perrins’ eyes bug out, you’d have thought Felicity had told her they were funding an effort to rebuild the school out of cheese or something.

“I beg your pardon?” the art teacher asks.

“She’s never been in an art class,” Felicity says again, looking between the two instructors. “She’s good?”

“Mrs. Queen…” Mrs. Perrins says, shaking her head a bit. “She’s a great deal more than ‘good.’”

“...Really?” Felicity asks, because this isn’t sinking in. Jules isn’t much for coloring. It’s usually been Ellie who’s presented them with scribbles for the fridge. If her daughter is some kind of art prodigy, isn’t that something she should have known?

“We’ve been studying a different artist every week,” Mrs Perrins tells her. “Discussing their styles and what makes them noteworthy. Then I have the children try to emulate their approach to art. Most of them can grasp use of shapes or color, to some extent. Jules is lightyears beyond them. She hones in on brush strokes and patterns and shading. And she can explain why she’s doing it! She is, by far, the most gifted art student I have ever taught.”

Felicity is pretty sure she looks a bit like a fish, standing there slack jawed and blinking at the teachers. What a wonderful impression she’s making.

“She’s six.” It’s the only thought that’s clear in her head.

“Imagine, with the right instruction and practice, what she’ll be like by sixteen,” Mrs. Perrins adds in astonishment. “I brought some examples of her best work, if you’d care to see?”

“God, yes, of course,” Felicity replies, flustered and suddenly desperate for this extra glimpse into her little girl’s life.

Admittedly, Felicity knows very little about art. It’s never been her interest, but her life these days means she’s attended enough charity events to be able to identify a few of the more well known artist’s works on sight. Mrs. Perrins narrates for her why each painting is exceptional, but Felicity tunes her out almost entirely.

She doesn’t need to hear that. She sees it.

Jules isn’t just good. She’s incredible.

She’s still young, of course, and that shows, too. But Felicity can look at these paintings and she can see which ones are modeled after Picasso, Degas, Monet, van Gogh, Klimt… When the teacher’s words register dimly, moments after they were spoken, she can see more details, too. The way Jules used shading here or blended her own colors there, the use of perspective and focal points, the technique. She seems to have grabbed the basics of so effortlessly.

“Jules did these?”

She probably interrupted the teacher, but she can’t even hear the words coming out of the other woman’s mouth. She’s just so astonished, so impressed.

“She did,” Mrs. Perrins nods, looking incredibly pleased. A surge of tremendous pride washes over Felicity as she looks back down at the piece in her hand, a self-portrait in the style of Frida Kahlo. “Mrs. Queen… I can’t overemphasize how incredible her work is for someone of her age. Her grasp of the basics is so very impressive. If she has the time, I’d like to work with her some after school a few days a week.”

Felicity’s nodding before she even realizes she’s doing it. “She has dance twice a week but if she wants to, I think that’s a great idea. She’s obviously doing well under your instruction and she likes working with you… I’ll e-mail you and we’ll work out the details.”

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. They talk about other things, socialization being the biggest problem, which comes as no surprise at all. She’s doing well at math, but lags in reading. She doesn’t always follow the rules and often doesn’t finish her class assignments on time. But, Felicity knew all that and she finds herself staring at the pile of paintings in her hands more than listening to Mr. Clarke.

It takes a moment for her to realize he’s stopped talking and she looks up somewhat bashfully to find him smiling at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she scrambles, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I swear I care very, very much about all of Jules’ schooling, I just… I didn’t expect…”

“To be told your daughter is an exceptionally gifted art prodigy,” he finishes for her. “Yes, I imagine that would be something of a shock.”

“It’s just… she barely even colors at home,” Felicity says.

Mr. Clarke opens his mouth to say something but shuts it just as quickly with a soft sigh and a quiet smile. Felicity has the distinct feeling that he’s holding something back and she’s not about to let that stand.

“If you’re not saying something because I’m big bad Mrs. Queen, please, please don’t,” she near begs. “I swear I’m only scary in the boardroom… or occasionally with my mother-in-law. I’m just Jules’ mom and I promise that whatever you want to say, I want to hear it.”

He recalculates right in front of her eyes and for the first time since she stepped into his class, she finds she feels like she’s just another parent to him. Thank god.

“Jules is more reserved than most kids,” he tells her. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but she’s obviously not comfortable expressing herself. She’s a private person, even with you. She is in class, too. I’m not surprised to hear she loves art and dance, but I’m also not surprised that she doesn’t often share it. She’s the kind of person who craves approval, but hates to admit she wants it.”

Yes… that sounds very much like her little girl.

“I think she’d benefit a lot from hearing how impressed you are with her art. I think she needs to hear that a lot about any way she chooses to express herself,” he elaborates. “It doesn’t come easily to her.”

“Of course,” Felicity says, nodding hard in agreement as his words soak in. “Thank you. Sometimes it’s hard… she acts like she doesn’t care…”

“She does,” Mr. Clarke assures her. “I think your approval means more to her than anything else in the whole world. That’s why she’s so scared to ask for it.”

“But I’ve never…” Worry floods through her again for the millionth time. She knows, logically, that Jules can’t remember how bad her mother’s postpartum depression was after she’d been born. She can’t possibly recall how gutted Felicity had been to realize she’d been secretly hoping her daughter would be Ellie, just born earlier, and how very inadequate she felt in the face of motherhood, how much she’d believed Jules deserved someone better than her as a mom. Those first few months were so very hard, but that’s all it had been - a few months. Well before Jules had even been crawling, things improved dramatically.

Still… she can’t help but fear that her own initial distance from her daughter had created the foundation for her little girl’s often closed-off nature. “Has she said anything? Does she think I’m not proud of her? That she doesn’t have my approval?”

“No,” Mr. Clarke counters. “No, this isn’t you. It’s just part of who Jules is. She’s a wonderful little girl. Really, she is. And while she’s a bit behind in some areas of class, I have no doubt she’ll catch up. But she’s not someone who shows vulnerability easily. It scares her. And she needs your support and encouragement even when she acts like it doesn’t matter.”

A sense of resolve works its way through Felicity’s body and she finds herself standing, extending her free hand to the teacher and shaking firmly.

“Mr. Clarke… thank you.” She hopes there’s enough emphasis in her voice to convince him she means it. “I appreciate your candor very much. Now, I think we’ve gone over time and I’m sure you have another parent waiting outside… and I need to go remind my daughter how very proud of her I am.”

He nods approvingly. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Queen.”

“Please, call me Felicity,” she asks again.

“Not likely to happen, Mrs. Queen,” he smiles.

She huffs and shakes her head as she walks out of the room. A mom she doesn’t recognize hovers outside the door - she was right, she’d been holding Mr. Clarke up from his next meeting - but she barely offers an apologetic glance. She’s too entranced by her little girl’s art for much more than that.

It’s beyond her. That’s the crazy thing. She looks at it and it’s pretty… she can see the effort, the emotion put into it, the dedication. But this is something she could never do, can scarcely even understand. Her idea of art is a string of beautifully written code.

Luckily, her feet know the way to the playground by heart and she winds up there without thinking about it. Pushing through the doors, she finally looks up from the art in her hand to glance around. It’s a gorgeous day, cold but clear. Sara’s found a pair of twin brothers to play with, the three of them kicking a ball around the field. Jules is playing hopscotch off to the side. Digg leans up against the wall next to the door, watching them both.

“Sorry, that got kind of long,” Felicity apologizes, wincing as he gives her an amused smile.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he replies dryly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” Felicity responds, looking over at Jules, then down to the papers in her hand before meeting Digg’s eyes again. “Turns out my daughter’s a genius.”

“Well of course she is,” Digg grins broadly. “She’s your kid, Felicity.”

She bumps his shoulder good-naturedly with hers. He’s like a brick wall, though, and she sort of rebounds off of him and has to catch herself. He doesn’t even bother to try to hide his laugh at that.

Rude.

“I’ve got the girls,” she tells him. “Your meeting is in like thirty seconds or something, isn’t it?”

“More like five minutes, but you’re right. I should get going,” Digg agrees. “I’ll just go say goodbye to Sara. Be back in a bit.”

Felicity hums in agreement and gives a little wave as he walks off toward the field where his daughter’s playing. For her part, she’s drawn to Jules. The six year old bends down, scoops up the rock she’s been using for her game and stands back up, ready to toss it again when she spots her mother.

“Hi, Momma,” she says. “Are you all done with your meeting?”

She looks nervous, like she’s expecting to be told something’s wrong or she’s not good enough, and for the life of her Felicity can’t understand where this comes from with her little girl, but she wishes more than anything else in the world that she could make her more secure.

“All done,” Felicity replies, smiling back at the girl. “And do you know what I found out?”

“What?” Jules asks, wariness and tension taking over her tiny frame. God, she looks so much like Oliver sometimes. More like she remembers him back when they first met than he is now, but the likeness is uncanny, in spite of the fact that she physically looks a great deal more like her mother.

“That you… are a pretty awesome kid,” Felicity tells her glibly. “But, I told Mr. Clarke I already knew that.”

Jules raises both eyebrows and cocks her head to the side in a disbelieving look that’s pure Thea Queen shining through, but like when her Aunt Thea does it, Felicity can see the happiness beneath it.

“C’mere a second. Sit with me?” Felicity requests as she tilts her head toward a nearby park bench. Jules drops the rock and follows. She sits immediately by her mother’s side, but Felicity hauls the little girl up onto her lap instead. That’ll be a whole lot harder to do in the near future, but her pregnancy is nowhere near showing and Felicity is going to relish the presence of an actual lap while she still has one.

“I’m not a baby,” Jules protests, even as she leans into her mother more.

“Nonsense,” Felicity replies, wrapping an arm around Jules’ tiny body and kissing her soundly on the cheek with a loud pop. “You’re my baby.”

“Mom,” Jules half-groans, half-laughs, wiping at her cheek.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her, glancing briefly toward Sara to make sure she’s still happily occupied. “And you know what else I found out about my baby today?”

“That she’s almost seven and too big for sitting on your lap at school?” Jules challenges.

So much sass with this girl, good lord. She can practically hear Oliver making his opinion known about which side of the family tree that came from. Frankly, he doesn’t give Thea enough credit in Felicity’s opinion. The Dearden genes are strong with both of their girls.

“No,” Felicity replies primly. “I definitely did not learn that yet.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Jules deadpans.

“Hush, you,” Felicity chastises lightly. “We’re having a moment here.”

“Fine, sorry,” Jules replies. It doesn’t escape Felicity in the least that her daughter is all talk. If anything, the little girl’s leaning more heavily against her and there’s absolutely no mistaking the happy pink glow to her cheeks. “Go on.”

“Thank you,” Felicity tells her. “So today, I learned that you are even more amazing than I thought you were.”

Jules snorts in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her.

“Okay, Momma,” Jules rolls her eyes.

“No, really,” Felicity insists. “So, check this out.” She holds up the art in her free hand and Jules’ whole demeanor changes. The good-natured, easy-going thing they’d had quickly shifts and her little girl is a bundle of anxiety and nerves. “You - my friend - are a really, really incredible budding artist.”

Jules gulps, bites her lip and scarcely glances up at her mother before her eyes drop back down to the paintings.

“It’s… it’s just painting,” she says after a moment.

And, oh, it’s painful how much this means to her. Felicity can see it all over her daughter’s face, but for whatever reason, the girl has such a hard time believing it when others see the best in her.

“Honey… this isn’t just art,” Felicity tells her. “At least, not to me.”

That catches Jules’ attention, probably because it shifts the focus off of her and she’s only ever comfortable being in the spotlight when it’s about something she doesn’t take seriously.

“What is it to you?” she ventures. Those big, ice-blue eyes of hers project every last thing she’s feeling and there’s no guessing how big this split second in time is for the two of them. Felicity knows to the depth of her soul that she needs to make this moment count, for both of them.

“It’s you,” she tells Jules. “That’s why it’s amazing, because you are. And that’s why I love it, because I love you.”

She pauses as she sees the cracks in Jules’ facade. There’s a tiny triumph that wells up inside her at the idea that this is actually getting through to her little girl, but she’s not done yet.

“I can see how hard you worked on these, how much focus and dedication you put into them,” Felicity tells her. “And it’s amazing. It’s better than I could do.”

“Momma…” Jules says in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her firmly. And she means it. Jules must recognize that because her face turns thoughtful again and those cracks in her demeanor start to widen into chasms. “Jules, you put so much of yourself in these paintings, into your dancing... It’s beautiful to see. I really love it. I think it’s brave.”

That perks Jules’ interest further. She looks like she’s weighing the truth of her mother’s words. Felicity can’t remember the last time Jules took anything at face value and it doesn’t surprise her that this is no different.

“Daddy’s brave,” she declares. “And Uncle Digg. This is just some paint.”

“There’s all kinds of bravery,” Felicity tells her, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is nearby. “It isn’t always jumping off of rooftops. Sometimes bravery is just letting people see who you are on the inside. That’s what you did here. That’s what you do when you dance. And I love that about you, Jules. I love how much of yourself you give to your work, even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. I think that’s something very special about you.”

Jules flushes at that and presses her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. It’s a cuddle. It’s an actual cuddle from her older daughter. Felicity sets the art down next to her on the bench and wraps both arms around her little girl, letting her eyes slip shut as she rests her cheek atop Jules’ head. She has never been a cuddler, never been much for open affection at all. Felicity can still remember the sinking feeling of disappointment when Jules had been three and advised her she really didn’t like doing the cocoon, that she’d rather fall asleep in her own bed ‘like a big girl.’

“She’s not Ellie, honey,” Oliver had told her softly after they’d bid Jules goodnight and headed back to their own bedroom.

And she’d known that. She had, but she’d also never been prepared for how different her daughters would be - she hadn’t understood - and her expectations had fallen flat more than once.

Ellie has always been so openly affectionate, so very loving. The difference in their demeanors has left Felicity wondering, in her darkest moments, if her older daughter even likes her at all.

But this… oh, this is different. This steals her breath and makes her want to hold on with everything she has.

“Thanks, Momma,” Jules mutters against her collarbone in an almost unheard voice that’s muffled by her coat. “Love you, too.”

Felicity’s throat clogs and tears well up in her eyes as her fingers sift through the girl’s silky straight dark hair. Without even thinking about it, she finds she’s rocking them slightly, the way Ellie had liked when she was just a baby, but had so rarely soothed Jules. The little girl - and she is still a little girl, though she tries to act so big and so strong - tucks her legs up, her whole body finding the security and warmth of her mother’s lap, and her fingers curl into the edge of Felicity’s coat, like she’s holding on because she wants to.

It would be impossible for Felicity to be more grateful that she’d taken the afternoon off of work for a parent-teacher conference.

But the moment ends - as moments do - when Jules pulls back and offers up the softest smile imaginable. It feels like the most fragile and tentative of bonds forms right there and Felicity wants to grab onto it with both hands and handle it as gently as possible for fear of destroying it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jules tells her. “If I draw some with the chalk… would you maybe want to see it?”

“Absolutely,” Felicity tells her emphatically without even thinking about it. Something lights up in Jules’ eyes at both the speed and decisiveness of her answer. “I’d love to.”

“Okay,” Jules says, sliding off of her mother’s lap and smiling before running over to grab some chalk and sitting cross-legged with an intense look of concentration on her beautiful little face.

She could watch this forever, Felicity realizes. She could soak in this brilliant, quietly happy look lighting up her little girl’s eyes for the rest of her life and be so very happy about it.

It’s so entrancing, so absolutely captivating that she doesn’t even register Digg’s back until his hand sets down on her shoulder. She jolts, looks up at him in surprise and wipes just beneath her eye with the back of her hand. It comes back dry, but she knows that’s just timing. A few moments ago, it wouldn’t have.

“Everything good?” Digg asks, concern plays out across his face as he takes in the sight of no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Her eyes dart back to her daughter and Jules shoots her an honest to god smile. Felicity finds herself grinning back in return.

“No, actually,” she replies, looking up to Digg. “Everything’s absolutely perfect.” 

*

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, so go send some love to @so-caffeinated! 

[footballmetrics]

Football RPF Survey -  Reading section

This section features responses to the Reading Football Fanfiction part of the Football Fandom survey. To remind everyone, it follows the Demographic section that was posted yesterday. The first question had 202 responders, while the rest of the section had 187 responders. A big thank you to everyone that participated and we hope you’ll find the results interesting.

Do you read football fanfic?

The vast majority of responses (187 of a total 202 participants, or 92.6%) told us that they read football fanfiction. Responders mentioned that it’s fun, interesting, that it makes them happy to read about their favorite people falling in love. Several people also said that reading fanfiction allowed them to get a different perspective of the players, and that while they realized that it’s a guess at their personalities, they still liked to think about the fullness of their lives beyond the ninety minutes on the pitch. They also mentioned that reading fanfic helped them improve their English and vocabulary.

For some, fanfiction was a way for them to see themselves represented in a way they would never get from traditional media, particularly in terms of gender identity and sexuality. Most of the responses we got said that they read fanfic because it was well written, and that reading and commenting on fanfic was their way of interacting with fandom.

There were a few people who said no to reading football fanfiction, because they had ethical reservations about writing about real people, or because they felt that a lot of fanfic was sexual and they didn’t see the players like that.

Is football your first RPF fandom?

Over half of responders who answered yes to reading fic have been part of other RPF fandoms aside from football (105 surveyed, or 56.1%). 82 responders (43.9%) said that football is their first RPF fandom.

In general, how often do you read fic?

Of the 187 participants who read fanfiction:

13 (7%) read fanfiction a few times a year

39 (20.9%) read fanfiction a few times a month

66 (33.7%) read fanfiction a few times a week

70 (37.4%) read fanfiction every day

2 (1.1%) said the amount of fanfiction they read is limited by either their ship or the amount of time they have

Quite a large number of people said that they read football fic on a daily or weekly basis, which surprised us, because it’s a higher number of consistent readers than we expected. Based on our survey, over half of those surveyed read fanfiction at least a few times a week. Our working theory is that the readership is scattered because of the different clubs people support/read about and that’s why it feels like consistent readership is smaller than it actually is.

Are you satisfied with the amount of fic for the pairings you prefer to read?

Only 15 people are satisfied with the amount of fic for the pairings they prefer to read, and those are mostly popular Real Madrid pairings (Seriker, Crismes, Criska), Germany NT pairings (Benedikt Höwedes/Mats Hummels, Marco Reus/Mario Götze) or Liverpool FC pairings (Gerlonso, Gernando, Hendollana), as well as Reader/Player fanfictions. A lot of those people also mention not being picky about pairings.

But the vast majority feel that while there are some fanfics written for their favorite pairings, there should be more. Some people also told us that they were the only ones creating content for their pairings. A lot of the ‘other’ answers, were people saying that for some pairings there was enough fic, but for others not.

What is the primary language of fic you read?

A majority of answers to this question was ‘English’, three people put German and one person put Chinese.

In what other languages do you read fic, if any?

In this section, people mentioned Spanish, German, French, Italian, Chinese, Portuguese, Dutch, Finnish, Danish, Norwegian, Serbian, Russian and Bahasa Indonesia.

How do you find new fics?

The majority of responders find fic through searching Archive of Our Own. Quite a few (106 out of 187) choose following authors they were already familiar with, and a few (94 out of 187) choose the searching the player or ship tag on tumblr.

This would suggest that we need to compile a list of writers and their tumblrs, as well as special tags on tumblr that would allow us to spread awareness of fic more easily.

Do you have other ways of finding fic?

People mentioned that they find fic through searching Wattpad, Google search, following the AO3-feed tumblr or searching through livejournal communities.

How often do you read fanfic by authors who are new to you?

A significant majority of survey participants who read fanfiction (164 responses, or 88.2%) are willing to read authors they are not familiar with. This may be particularly reassuring to new writers that readers in football fandom are largely not concerned with their familiarity of the author, but what is being written.

15 responders (8.1%) answered they will read new authors sometimes, if recommended; and 7 (3.8%) tend to read authors whose works they already know.

Where do you read fic?

Archive of Our Own is the most popular platform for reading fic (173 responders, 92.5%), and Tumblr the second most popular platform (127, 67.9%). 64 responders (34.2%) read fic posted on Livejournal, while some are also using Dreamwidth (9, 4.8%), Wattpad (36, 19.3%), and Fanfiction.net (41, 21.9%).

Other sites used for reading fic included fanfiktion.de and Lofter, for German and Chinese language fics, respectively.

What is your preferred platform for reading fic and why?

The majority of people prefer ao3, because it’s easier to search and tag, it’s better for long-format reading, legibility, and has the options of bookmarking, sorting, and filtering. It’s also easier to leave a comment there. A lot of people mentioned that they liked to download fic and read it on other programs.

Tumblr can be problematic for text based content, because many people have themes that are hard to read, and Read More cuts frequently disappear on mobile. Fic also frequently gets lost among the other content and some people might be uncomfortable putting it in the player tags.

A few people mentioned liking livejournal, but find it hard to navigate and feeling like the communities on there are dead.

After reading a fic, how often do you leave feedback?

When asked how often readers leave feedback on the fics they read, 187 of the total number of people surveyed responded:

Always - 23 (12.3%)

Frequently - 69 (36.9%)

Sometimes - 72 (38.5%)

Rarely - 16 (8.6%)

Never - 7 (3.7%)

In what form do you leave feedback? Check all that apply.

In addition to how often fic readers leave feedback, we asked what kinds of feedback they left. Almost all of the 181 responders to this question stated that they leave kudos or likes on Tumblr (168, 92.8%). Comments were the second most popular form of feedback (139, 76.8%), followed by reblogging a rec post on tumblr (56, 30.9%), and messaging the author on tumblr (54, 29.8%).

After reading a fic, how often do you leave feedback and in what form?

We also asked more specifically for people to rate how frequently they left different kinds of feedback, such as comments, kudos or likes, messaging the author directly, and reblogging a post on Tumblr.

These graphs show that the fic readers surveyed almost always leave kudos on the fics they read, but less frequently interact with authors directly, whether through comments or private messaging.

What other kinds of feedback do you leave, if any?

Other kinds of feedback that people mentioned are bookmarking, putting a link to the fic on a fic rec blog, making a spin off fic, fanart or a graphics edit for the fanfic, or recommending it to other people privately.

Why do you leave feedback on a fic? If you leave a comment, what makes you decide to do so?

Responders mentioned that they leave comments on fics that really touched them in some emotional way, or when they feel like there’s something that stood out in it, either style-wise or content wise. A lot of people mentioned that they are writers themselves and know how important feedback is to other writers, and that this is their biggest motivation when leaving comments especially.

If the pairing is rare, they might leave a comment to encourage the author to write more of it, or if they’re just starting out, to encourage them to keep going. Some people mentioned that they only comment on fic written by their friends.

A few people mentioned that they’d been really trying to comment more recently, which we think is really positive.

Several people mentioned that they don't always have the time to comment, but that they might end up coming back to the fic weeks/months later, because the know how important it is for artists to be recognized for their work and they know the time and effort that goes into crafting fic.

If you rarely leave feedback on a fic, why is that the case?

Responders said that they rarely leave feedback because of shyness or anxiety, or because they’re not confident in their English skills. Commenting is harder on mobile so those who read on their phone don’t comment because of that, and the people who have downloaded the fic rarely return to comment on it, even if they liked it.

Some mentioned that they wanted to leave the author a longer comment, instead of just ‘I liked it’ and this was why they sometimes struggle, because either they don’t know what to say or they don’t have to energy to do that. Several also mentioned that they were afraid that the author would not reply to their comment or that they feel like they wouldn’t care.

How do you think reading fic in football fandom compares with other fandoms?

A few responders mentioned that they felt like the football fandom had an inherently tribalised nature and that because of this, people don't tend to read fic outside their teams and players, which makes everything quite niche.

Someone mentioned that it sometimes felt like this fandom had more extreme highs and lows compared to some larger fandoms they’ve been in. Fics can be very poorly written, or are really incredibly written and characterized and stick with you for several days. They said that it’s less often that have a very 'meh' reaction to a fic, where they find that in most large fandoms the majority of the fic is pretty standard, competently written using standard tropes, while someone else felt that the fic was less diverse and less tropey than in other fandoms, and that there were a lot of AUs and PWP.

Several people mentioned that they felt that the European background of the fandom is pretty distinct (especially when you're coming from an American fandom), which made it interesting. Someone said that in other larger fandoms they’ve been in, there were more works but most of them were bad, whereas in the football fandom there are fewer works but nearly all of them are good.

Someone also mentioned that they were pleasantly surprised at the amount of 'old' fic that still gets passed around and circulates.

Someone said that they felt that reading in football fandom is very similar to reading in small fandoms in that there isn't a huge amount of new content being produced on say, a daily basis, but, unlike a lot of small fandoms, football produces a bright wide array of pairings because there are literally so many possibilities. Responders also mentioned that they were more likely to read a pairing out of their usual pairings in the football fandom than in other fandom, just because they like the author.

Some also felt like there is a higher prevalence of fics with tropes they dislike in football fandom (fic featuring cheating, homophobia, etc.)

What do you think would improve your experience in fandom as a reader?

Responders mentioned that they wanted to see better grammar and formatting in fic, which could be helped by the presence of a beta reader. They also felt that awareness of other readers and writers was low, and that this means that their fic goes unread. Several mentioned feeling a lack of a writing/reading community that would exist in the bigger football fandom, and the absence of places to connect and talk about fic.

Several people said that they wanted more fic exchange type of events as well as the return of the cornerflag fic challenge on livejournal.

They also mentioned that they felt like there was an absence a space to solicit and share fic recommendations.

Several people also asked for less fetishization and misunderstanding of the LGBTQ+ community and the experience of people of other minorities, whether it be race or religion. Someone also mentioned that it would be good if people started writing more fics where the main ship included a POC. They said that it's important for fandoms to self reflect on racism and that one of the most glaring examples of racism in the (tumblr) football fandom is the lack of popular ships involving POC (specifically black men and women) despite the amount of diversity there is on the pitch.

Someone mentioned that they wanted more accurate tags, specifically when it comes to things like hate crimes, slurs, and other bigotry and summaries that are actual reflections of the fic. They would also like to have better ideas of how to connect with the authors who do produce content for their pairings (like their multiple accounts being linked somehow) and with authors who don't necessarily produce content for their pairings but whose style they like who I could convince to write for their pairings.

Someone mentioned that they would be more comfortable if people stopped hating on other people's ships (especially hating on rarepairs and polyamory) and also if they stopped hating on stories and interpretations they didn't personally agree with.

Someone also mentioned that there should be a dedicated tag(s) on tumblr for recs, and someone asked if writers could tag their stories with the club they were writing for, because that way they would be able to find all the fic for members of their clubs, even the rarepairs.

Someone said that they would like to see the Women's Soccer RPF tag separate from the men's when they search for football RPF, because they didn’t want to scroll through dozens of USWNT fics to find new stories.

Conclusion

In conclusion to this section, I wanted to focus on the feedback aspect a little bit more. In the following section on writing football fic, we will talk about how the lack of feedback makes writers feel more in-depth, but to summarize, several people felt discouraged by the low amount of feedback, but were mostly satisfied with the quality of the feedback they received.

But, let’s talk about what it feels for an author to see the hits and kudos rise, but to get no comments. The best allegory I’ve been able to find is that it feels like you sent a text to someone who you want to talk with and you see that the other person saw it, but chose not to respond. Not a nice feeling, is it?

This can lead to authors thinking their stories aren’t good, which can frequently discourage them from writing. It might lead them to compare between fandoms, deciding that they favor the one who gives them more feedback, and driving them out of the fandom (this is a thing that has happened to the football fandom - reading older fic, you can frequently see that the authors moved to other fandoms).

Commenting allows us to establish and strengthen personal relationships between the author and the reader, fostering a sense of community that we all seem to be missing. It encourages authors to produce more content, and constructive criticism enables them to improve, producing higher quality content as a result.

And as writers, we should also be reflecting as to why our fics don’t get as much feedback as maybe other fics in the same tag do. Is our formatting/grammar not up to the task? Did we tag things poorly or write a summary that isn’t eye-catching? Are we writing tropes and pairings that just aren’t appealing to the majority of readers?

There’s so many reasons as to why some fic gets more feedback than other, and it can be nothing to do with the quality or the writer of the fic.

This is why it would be helpful to have a meta space where not only authors, but also readers can share what they like and dislike about fic in the fandom, preferably anonymously.

Straightening the bond between reader and writer benefits everyone, and will help our fandom hopefully produce content that writers love writing and readers love reading.

Join us again tomorrow, on the @footballmetrics blog, for the Writing section of the report. As ever, feel free to leave your comments in the reblogs as you like, or contact us through the askbox.