#HOW did i accidentally edit the background to be exactly tumblr blue

[z0mbiefrank]

Never let them take the light behind your eyes // Sydney 2 [20.03.23 , x]

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 4

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,122 for this chapter (15,775 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

i want to die

Aw, what happened? Did you give SugarScape spoilers?

Despite Dan's horrible mood, that makes him snort. no you buffoon 1 sugarscape has been dead for yrs, much like how i would like to be 2 i don't say spoilers ever 3 it's WORSE

I may be a little out of the loop. You gonna make me guess? I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think it was.

phil, Dan sends on its own for emphasis. i touched my coworkers tit on live telly and now i can't look her in the fucking eye

Jaime hadn't actually cared much. She'd laughed at him, made some jokes about how Dan's spatial awareness hadn't developed yet, and then moved on with grace. Meanwhile, Dan had been having a mild panic attack on his side of the sofa because all he'd meant to do was brush a distracting piece of lint off Jaime's shoulder and, somehow, drastically missed.

It was all of ten seconds of his life, and Dan is still freaking out about it. He's been pacing his hotel room since they got back, hasn't even bothered changing out of the nice shirt he'd worn for the interview.

Like accidentally? Phil finally replies on Dan's third lap of the room.

no phil i need to grope people on camera to finish. what kind of person do you think i am. YES ACCIDENTALLY.

I dunno what you're into. I'm sure she knew it was an accident?

Yes, Jaime knows it was an accident, but that's not the point. there will be gifs phil

Phil sends him some emojis, only some of which make any sense in context. Dan isn't sure why that calms him down so much. He sits on the edge of his bed and sighs, waiting for Phil to stop typing. It takes a while, but eventually Phil says, Then you'll deal with them. It honestly can't be worse than you falling off the Jimmy Kimmel stage? I swear I saw that gif for months before I knew who you were. And if you're worried about people saying you did it on purpose, tell Jaime. You can talk about it like adults.

It's all laid out very clearly, and while it does make Dan feel better, he doesn't think he's finished being dramatic yet. He checks the time and sighs heavily.

dont suppose you'd be up for a late lunch/early dinner to distract me??

Sure! :), Phil responds immediately. The quickness of his agreement makes that part of Dan's brain start shouting again. I'm actually filming today though. I'll be done in like half an hour if you want to meet me here? Then we can either get takeaway or go out?

It's truly fascinating to Dan how practiced Phil seems to be at giving someone options and pretending like either one is fine rather than just offering his own opinion on the matter.

After assuring Phil that he'll be there, Dan considers getting changed. He's only got fifteen if he wants to get to Phil's place on time, and he isn't exactly known for his quick wardrobe decisions.

In the end, Dan just swaps his nice shoes for some sneakers and rolls his sleeves up. He's a little overdressed still, a McQueen button-down maybe a little too fancy for just hanging out with a new friend, but. He doesn't want to be late. Besides, he looks good. Maybe he likes the idea of Phil being surprised, looking him up and down, having the interview as an excuse to be so dressed up.

The part of Dan's brain that exists to remind him that men are attractive has been so, so loud this week. It's been impossible to ignore.

Dan messes with his straightened fringe until his phone beeps, telling him his Uber is outside. He remembers where Phil lives, in the very vaguest sense, but has to get the exact address from Phil.

He's glad that Phil's front door is painted a specific sort of blue. It would be just Dan's luck to knock on the wrong narrow brick building.

Thor barks, somewhere inside, and Dan shoves his hands in his jean pockets as he waits for Phil to answer the door.

"Hey!" Phil greets him before he's even fully opened the door, beaming. To the great pleasure of Dan's ego, Phil's eyebrows raise as he looks Dan over. "Y'know, you could have changed. I wouldn't have minded waiting a bit."

"Feeling underdressed?" Dan teases.

"A little," says Phil. He pushes his glasses up and gestures at his own graphic tee and slippered feet. "If I'd known there was a dress code, I'd have put on a sports coat."

"You look fine, I was just impatient," says Dan. He waits for another beat. "Uh, can I... come in?"

Phil is giving him a smile, the one with deep eye crinkles and his tongue trapped in his teeth, but it drops as he realises that they've just been standing in his doorway. "Oh! Yeah, sorry, come in. I'm actually not done filming just yet, Thor distracted me. Shouldn't take long."

"What are you filming?" Dan asks curiously, his heart pounding a bit as he follows Phil inside and then, surprisingly, downstairs. "Wait, you're the basement flat? Your video lighting is so good, though!"

"Mostly artificial," says Phil. He sounds wistful. "Someday I'll have a place with a glass window, just you wait."

"What are your windows made of now?"

"What? They're made of glass."

"Then why would you need to wait for one?"

"What did I say?"

"Glass window," says Dan, fighting back giggles. They reach the basement door and Phil lets them in, giving Dan a sheepish sort of smile over his shoulder.

"I meant a glass wall. Like a wall of windows, y'know? That's the dream."

"Yeah, it is," Dan agrees, but he's distracted by the fact that he's in Phil's flat. He kicks his shoes off among the pile next to the door and looks around. "It feels super weird to be seeing this place in 3D."

"Oh, probably," Phil laughs. "You want some slippers? My feet get so cold down here, I've got like a dozen pairs."

"I'm alright."

Phil's flat has less natural light than Dan had expected - or, evidently, than Phil would prefer - but the sheer number of lamps, string lights, and scented candles scattered around the place give it a soft glow that Dan is a big fan of. There are bright colours on every surface and every wall, and the overall effect isn't as overwhelming as it could be. Dan still thinks it could be edited down, but. It's very Phil.

To his vague surprise, he sees Phil's bed pushed against the far wall, a backless bookshelf the only divider from the open living space. Box lights and camera are all set up at the side of his bed.

"If I didn't know what you did for a living," says Dan, gesturing at the setup.

Phil grins at him. "Yeah. My landlord still doesn't believe that I don't make porn. You want a drink?"

"Sure, whatever you're having," says Dan. He spots Thor, curled up on a fluffy dog bed in the corner, and immediately starts cooing. "Oh, there you are! Hello!"

Thor perks up, cocking his head to the side, and Dan gets on the floor to call him over. Within seconds, he ends up on his back with an armful of happy puppy, and he giggles helplessly as Thor licks all over his face.

"Thor, down," Phil says from somewhere above them, sounding amused. Thor backs off, winding through Phil's legs a couple of times before he trots back to his bed.

"I love him," Dan informs Phil, still flat on his back. It's not the most flattering angle to look up at Phil, but he can deal.

"So do I," says Phil. He holds up a glass. "Ribena?"

"Please," says Dan, standing back up to accept the drink. He suddenly feels very weird, standing in the middle of Phil's lounge slash dining area slash kitchen slash bedroom. "Er, you've still got to finish filming, yeah? I can just... sit."

With a small grin, Phil waves at his sofa. "Make yourself at home. Just try not to rile Thor up too much? He's already made my blooper reel longer than the video itself."

"I think I can handle that."

Dan cannot, in fact, handle it. He brings his Ribena to the floor so he can sit next to the dog bed and scratch all of Thor's favourite spots. He finds one of Thor's toys as he listens to Phil wrap up a story that sounds maybe ten percent true, and then - well. It progresses to a tug of war before Dan can even entertain the idea that this might be distracting to Phil.

"Dan," Phil says, in this tone like he's trying to sound stern but can't stop smiling. "Are you growling at Thor?"

Yes. "Maybe."

"Maybe? I'm literally filming right now."

"He's just so cute," Dan whines.

"I know he is," says Phil. "I deal with this struggle every day of my life."

Dan sighs and lets Thor have the rope, watching wistfully as he zooms off with it. "Sorry, I'm really not trying to be a dick. I know this is your job."

"Hey, no," says Phil, suddenly sounding much closer. Dan looks up from corgi-watching to see Phil leaning against one side of his shelves, hands in his pockets and a soft smile playing around his lips. Butterflies erupt somewhere in Dan's belly. "I'm not bothered, really. I think it's cute. I just also, y'know, would like to eat sometime today."

"Why don't I just order something?" Dan suggests.

"Alright," Phil hums. "I'm lactose intolerant and hate mushrooms, but the intolerance can be ignored for pizza if that's what you want."

If that's what Dan wants. "What do you want?"

Phil blinks. "Oh, whatever."

"No," Dan presses. He knows it isn't very good manners, but he wants to see if Phil will actually offer an opinion of his own instead of walking that thin line of indifference. "I will quite literally eat anything. You pick."

It's quiet for a moment while Phil thinks it over, only the hum of the refrigerator and Thor's little huffs of breath for background noise. Dan has to admit that the small basement windows have an upside - less traffic din is able to get through. Coupled with the way Phil has lit his flat, the atmosphere makes Dan feel comfortable, like he could curl up here and just stay.

The rug under Dan is soft, the Ribena is perfectly watered down, and he's got a cute dog and a cute boy to stare at. He really could sit here forever and be content.

"I feel like Chinese," Phil says eventually. He's chewing on his lip, and Dan realises he hasn't seen Phil look so... anxious.

"Chinese sounds great," says Dan. "I'll order."

Phil seems relieved that he hasn't accidentally made a horrible choice or something, and he goes back to filming while Dan fucks around on different apps to find the best Chinese place in Phil's area.

--

"You never actually told me how you managed to grope someone."

Dan, who had gotten all wrapped up in chow mein and MasterChef and had forgotten his hellish morning by this point, chokes on air.

"Oh my god, nooooo," he groans, covering his face with both hands and sinking further into the sofa. He hears Phil laugh. "She just! Had some fucking, like, fluff on her shoulder. Like lint. I was gonna brush it off."

"How did you fuck that up so hard?" Phil asks. He sounds so amused that Dan wants to keep hiding, but the curse has him peeking out between his fingers curiously.

"I've never heard you swear," says Dan.

"I don't," says Phil, "on YouTube."

Unfortunately for Dan, the sound of Phil swearing is very hot. He groans again, overdramatic to cover up his very real blush, and gesticulates wildly. "My limbs are not friends with my brain, okay, I've got very big hands and I misjudged where I was putting one of them."

"Yeah, you do." Phil's eyes track Dan's hands with an intensity that makes Dan's gut constrict. Then he blinks, meets Dan's eye again, and the look is gone. "That sucks. I get it, though, my body and brain are not on the same frequency at all."

Dan thinks, a little hysterically, that this is a very good reason not to try and have sex with AmazingPhil - he doesn't want to end up in A&E.

There are roughly a hundred other reasons, too. Dan's uncertainty about his own identity, the fact that he's only in the UK for another two weeks, and the very real bond that they've been forming as friends are all at the forefront of his mind. Even so, it helps to make a joke to himself about it.

"Have you ever touched a tit accidentally?" Dan asks dryly.

"I've never touched a tit at all," says Phil. He's drinking coffee despite the hour hurtling into evening quickly, and Dan has to wonder if he ever sleeps. "Not really my wheelhouse."

"They're fine," Dan says, with much less enthusiasm than he normally would. He can't sit here and talk about his boob opinions with Phil, though, because that way lies madness. So he changes the subject, talks loudly about the episode of MasterChef they're on.

He's not ready to come out properly to himself, let alone to someone he barely knows.

Well, okay. It would be more accurate to say 'just met', because Dan feels like he does know Phil fairly well at this point. At least as well as he knows Jaime or Patrick. And maybe that's more of a commentary on how shit a coworker he is, how bad at making friends he is, but whatever. The point is that he likes spending time with Phil a lot, and he wants to do it more, but he can't have that conversation yet.

Dan knows he's attracted to guys. When he was younger and had an even worse handle on himself, that attraction would either lead to fumbling, fearing for his safety, or both.

Right now, specifically, he is attracted to Phil. This feels different, because he's got no reason to fear Phil or to immediately jump him, he's just comfortable sitting next to Phil in the dim light and letting the warmth of the feelings settle in his chest.

Maybe someday he'll be ready to tell Phil that he likes guys. Maybe that'll even go somewhere. For now, Dan is going to trash talk the chefs like he knows what he's talking about and settle into Phil's sofa and laugh like he belongs there.

Dan gets a little too comfortable. He has no idea what time it is when his eyes start to droop, but he's sure it's unreasonably early for someone who goes to sleep in the wee hours of morning most of the time.

A hand on his shoulder jerks him back into full awareness, and Dan blinks over at Phil. "Whuh?"

"Hey," says Phil. He's smiling and his voice is low. Dan can feel the slight chill of Phil's palm through the thin material of his dress shirt.

It's overwhelming, suddenly, how much Dan wants to lean in to Phil. The itch under his skin that he would feel ten years or so ago, the restless, guilty want that had him falling into bed with whatever bloke would let him, is thrumming through him with an intensity he hasn't prepared for. Dan's tongue feels heavy, and his gaze drops to Phil's mouth before he can stop it.

"Hey," echoes Dan, a beat or two late.

"You're falling asleep," Phil says. There's something about his tone that Dan can't quite place, so focused on his own emotions as he is. "You wanna stay over?"

Dan really, really does. But he really, really, really shouldn't.

"I can't," he says, not bothering to hide how regretful it makes him to turn the offer down. "Breakfast telly or whatever in the morning."

The loss of Phil's hand on Dan is one that he thinks he'll be feeling until Phil touches him again. "Of course. You probably have to wake up ridiculously early for that, huh?"

"Unfortunately."

Dan orders himself an Uber and slides to the floor with Thor in order to stop himself from giving his body what it wants in the short amount of time before it arrives. Thor likes the attention, and when Dan glances up to see the soft, unguarded look in Phil's eye, he thinks that Phil probably doesn't mind being ditched for his dog.

They chat about MasterChef and Dan's upcoming interview for a few minutes, safe topics, and Dan is disappointed when his phone beeps with the notification that his driver is close. He doesn't actually want to leave, he just knows he has to.

"We have to do this again before you head up to Edinburgh," says Phil. He walks Dan to the door, which is a little pointless - it's a total of eight steps away.

"How'd you know we're going to Edinburgh this weekend?" Dan asks, distracted from the process of getting his shoes on.

"Been in the business a while, lucky guess."

"Right. Well, then, I'll have to see what I'm doing on Friday."

"Yeah, just message me," says Phil.

There's a moment after Dan gets his shoes on where they're both just standing there looking at each other, and Dan's heart starts pounding like he's getting chased.

"I'll see you Friday," Dan says quietly, even though he isn't sure that he's free. He just needs to say something. His phone beeps again, probably telling him the driver is outside, and Dan is both relieved and annoyed.

Phil opens his mouth to say something, but Dan's racing heart and anxious mind doesn't want to hear whatever it is. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Phil's waist in a tight goodbye hug. It's the sort of embrace he'd give any of his friends, nothing overly intimate, but he knows he'll be thinking about it later anyway.

When Phil's arms drape over Dan's shoulders and his thumb brushes deliberate circles over the back of Dan's neck, it hits Dan very suddenly that if he were to try and kiss Phil right now, Phil would let him. That kind of knowledge is intoxicating, the surety of it making Dan's head swim.

But. He still doesn't know for sure what he wants, and his Uber is waiting. So he just pulls away, says goodnight, leaves.

[pixie-mage]

#SamLives - Pt.3

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[This story has been edited and reposted on the official #SamLives Tumblr. The new post of Chapter 3 can be found here.]

(The main difference between this version and the updated version is the scene in the kitchen. Instead of Signe being there, PJ is still hanging out instead.)

“Jack, you need sleep.”

Day Nine of the #SamLives debacle.

Jack would be lying if he said he’d been sleeping fine, that he hadn’t been worried. The stress of the situation was beginning to take its toll, and it hadn’t been made any better by the GameTheory video that had come out the day before. Matt had good intentions, Jack knew, but...it hadn’t exactly worked the way he assumed the other YouTuber had been hoping.

“Game Theory: Does #SamLive? THE SCIENTIFIC PROOF!”

MatPat was one of the few YouTubers who had, accidentally, learned of Sam’s existence. It was at that Rachel Ray event, the one where he and Matt had been on the same Taco-Making Team™. Sam hadn’t been feeling well so Jack had brought him along for the day, keeping the little eyeball in his hoodie and out of sight, close to him in case Sam needed him. But in the midst of the chaos of the competition, Jack had been jostled by Matt, had tripped and landed on his arse. Matt had immediately apologized and laughed it off...but when he’d reached down to help Jack stand up, Sam had peaked out from where he’d been hiding in Jack’s hood. Matt had frozen, a stunned look on his face, and in an instant Jack knew that he had seen. That he knew. For a moment the pair had been frozen in a stare-off, neither sure what to do. Then Jack had shaken his head quickly and put a finger to his lips. No. Please. Quiet. Don’t say anything...

...and Matt had nodded. He’d helped Jack to his feet and not commented on it at all. Tom (their third teammate) had missed the entire exchange, cracking some joke about “Laying down on the job”. Later, in a bathroom down a back hallway, Jack had explained everything to Matt...and Matt had sworn he wouldn’t tell a soul.

So when #SamLived had taken the YouTube scene by storm faster than Scott Cawthon turned out FNaF games, and when Jack saw that GameTheory had made a video about it....he knew what Matt was trying to do. The video wasn’t proving that Sam was real. The video was to try and counter-prove the theories saying he was and to point out all the reasons why Sam couldn’t possibly exist. Which would have been fine, except that it meant all of the fans over on the GameTheory channel who hadn’t heard about the #SamLives chaos would now be in the know.

“...ack? Jack!”

“Hm...?” Jack dragged himself from his thoughts and blinked, shaking himself mentally. “Sorry Peej, I missed that.”

PJ was watching him from the office chair next to his with a frown on his face. He nudged the Irishman’s leg with his foot.

“Man, you were totally out of it for a bit there. I was just saying you should get some sleep.”

“I’m tryin’, PJ, I swear I am,” Jack smiled weakly. “I’ve just been stressed. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

"Are you still up for recording a game today? We can wait until next week if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Jack pulled on a brighter smile. Good ol’ PJ. He was a decent guy and an even better friend. But Jack shook his head, running a hand through his hair to fix it. “Don’t worry about me. One video isn’t gonna be the death of me! I’ll take a nap when we’re done, alright?”

PJ held up both hands in surrender, returning the Irishman’s infectious grin.

“Whatever you say! But you had better be serious about that nap. You look like you need it.”

Jack scoffed and laughed, his next words dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, thaaaanks, thanks for the compliment. I reeaaally needed that self-esteem boost. You’re too kind.”

“No problem!” PJ grinned cheekily back at him.

The two fell into laughter, and once they had started into the Nintendo Switch game they’d planned on recording, most of Jack’s worries fell away for the time being.

That’s not to say they didn’t come back. Jack kept his promise to PJ. He took a nap, crashing onto his couch with all the grace of a baby giraffe. Signe - knowing he needed the rest - only pressed a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to his devices. But his sleep was a restless one, leaving him feeling only a fraction better when he woke up later to his phone ringing on the coffee table beside him.

With his face still buried in the stiff couch pillows, Jack reached out out blindly, his hand skittering across the table’s surface like a drunk spider, landing on the remote, a game controller, and yesterday’s mail before finally coming into contact with his phone. He answered it without looking, face still half-mushed in the pillow.

“Mph?”

“...Jack?”

“Wassup?”

“Did I wake you up?”

The humorous tone on the other end of the phone was vaguely familiar, and it took him a moment to make the connection in his barely-woken-up state.

“...you’ve reached Jacksepticeye’s mouth. His brain isn’t here right now, but if ye call back again in a few minutes it might’ve come back around by then. Either that, or his mouth will have left too.”

“The infamous screaming Irishman of YouTube, missing his mouth? The horror!”

“Oh, shuddup Mark,” Jack chuckled. He dragged himself into a semi-upright position, slouching on the couch. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing asleep at six in the evening?”

“I took a nap.” Jack yawned and scratched at the scruff along his jaw. “Is there a reason fer this call or didja just miss hearin’ my voice?”

“Can ‘both’ be an answer?” Jack could hear Mark’s grin from the other end of the line.

“Heh, I s’ppose,” he chuckled a little. “But really, what’s up?”

“I...eh. Saw the video that GameTheory posted. He really jumped on the bandwagon quickly, didn’t he?”

“Is this about Sam again?” Jack didn’t mean for it to come out as annoyed as it did, honestly. He really didn’t. But it sounded that way anyway and he winced at his own words. Signe stuck her head out from the doorway to the kitchen, an eyebrow raised in question. Jack waved her off with a soft smile.

“I...” Mark faltered. Seemed like he’d hit the nail right on the head. “...well, yeah, but I’ve got a reason for bringing it up, I swear.” The American was quick to defend himself, and Jack couldn’t help but wonder if Mark thought he’d hang up because of the subject matter. He sighed and sat up a little straighter.

“Oh yeah?” Jack asked, trying to sound more friendly. “And what reason might that be?”

“Well see...the thing is...” Mark trailed off. Jack could hear sounds in the background, movement. Like Mark was moving around the house. Was he pacing? “...I mean...w-well, it’s kinda...weird. I mean not bad weird, or freaky weird - okay it might be a little freaky to some people but–”

“If this is about your third nipple I already know,” Jack snickered, trying to lessen the tension with a joke. But it didn’t seem to help because Mark let out a frustrated groan on the other end of the line.

“No! No, it’s...” More silence. “Okay, it’s kind of about Sam, but kinda not.”

“Okay...?” Jack stood up from the couch, shuffling to the kitchen as Mark struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Coffee. He needed coffee for this.

“OH!” Mark shouted suddenly, as if he’d had an epiphany. “OH! Oh oh oh! Okay! So! In Bendy and the Ink Machine, Joey Drew has that...that one tape recording, where he’s talking about belief. About how it can do amazing, impossible things, and how you could even cheat death or something–”

“Mark, what in th’ blue blazes does this have ta do with my imaginary friend?”

“I’m getting there, I promise.”

Jack rolled his eyes and started the coffee machine, leaning back against the counter with one hand tucked in his pocket. Signe was seated at the kitchen table with a book, and she was still giving him puzzled looks that made her curiosity about his phone call clear. Jack covered the mouthpiece and lowered his voice.

"It's Mark," he murmured. "Keeps asking about Sam."

"You gonna tell him the truth?" Signe asked.

Her hands were cupped around a warm mug of tea, and she held it up near her face to let the steam warm her while she waited for a response. Jack didn't respond right away...but before he could even figure out an answer, his phone buzzed against his ear, a notification pinging in the background. So he pulled the mobile away from his face and put the call on speaker, minimizing the app so he could check whatever had just gone off. All he offered Signe was a half-shrug as his response to her question.

“Belief. I’m talking about belief,” Mark continued. Jack opened Twitter, still listening. “I never really thought about it before I played Bendy, but afterwards...it just made sense! And then you posted that video with Sam and I remembered that quote from the game...”

Jack swiped over to his messages, and saw one from somebody he was fairly certain he wasn’t friends with. Weird...he tapped it. It took a long time for the message to load, and once it did, the app closed itself out. Jack scrunched up his nose. Well then. It was gonna be one of those days then, huh? The rustle of static came over the speaker for a moment and Jack frowned, struggling to understand Mark’s words.

“If y...ave...nough of it you ca...”

“Mark? Mark, you’re cuttin’ out, man–”

Jack tugged his other hand free from his pocket and tapped the screen - and he gasped sharply when a static shock jolted through his finger. He shook his hand roughly through the air and winced, cursing under his breath. What the hell...? Then whatever weak connection he’d had with Mark’s call was gone, the call dropping and ending abruptly. Jack...blinked. And stared at his phone.

"You alright?" Signe looked up from her book again to frown at her boyfriend, who tugged on a soft smile. He shrugged and tucked his phone in his pocket. Ah, well...Mark must’ve had bad reception.

"I'm fine, Wiish," he crossed the kitchen to plant a kiss on the top of her head, squeezing one of her shoulders gently. "Just a little static shock. Surprised me more 'n anything. But don't worry about me! I'm a big, strong boy! I can handle anything!"

Jack's tone turned humorous and his antics drew a giggle from Signe, her eyes brightening and her lips curling up at the corners in a brilliant smile.

"Sure you can," she teased, poking at his side and making him scamper away. "A big, strong boy who's scared of being tickled."

"Hey! I'm not scared of it!" Jack protested as he continued making his coffee. He pretended to look highly affronted by the accusation. "I jus' don't like it! Can ye blame me?!"

Signe just stuck her tongue out in response then returned to her book, a soft smile still gracing her features.

Jack finished his coffee and moved on with his day, his focus turning to recording and uploading the day's videos…though somehow Mark’s little ramblings about “belief” lingered with him, hovering in the back of his mind.

What had he meant by that…?

[A/N] This part/chapter ended up being longer than the previous two...oops lol. Got a little carried away. I don’t have a real plan for this, but I have a feeew ideas about where it might go. This could get interesting... :3c

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[Chapter List]

[regrettablewritings]

Dios Meme-o! (Rafael Barba Mini-Series, Pt. 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Rafael’s poisons of choice (coffee and scotch) could be divided up between day and night respectively. The coffee was for obvious reasons: To keep him awake and alert, to keep him going even when his work day was driving him to the brink of insanity (as it did all too often). The use of the scotch was also typically obvious: To drown out the stresses of the day, its trials hardly ever actually being over in the grand scheme of things. A cool down of sorts to balance out the caffeinated upper.

This evening, however? Rafael wasn’t sure exactly what the scotch was trying to boot off: the stress of the workday, or the revelation that he now appeared to have a small following? He decided the answer to be both as he took another sip of his drink. He wanted to believe that it was more so the former option but there was just something about the latter that made it stand so firmly in his mind.

Probably had something to do with the fact that even after the messages sent to him about his occupation and . . . tum (Rafael fought off the desire to shudder at the word), Carisi and Rollins continued to send him two more posts of a similar vein.

Where were they even specifically even getting all these? Rafael wondered. His eyes landed on his laptop.

Words and pictures travel fast, Rollins’ voice echoed. But just how fast was what Rafael wondered.

Against his better judgement, he committed a dangerous act born of morbid curiosity, enhanced by the slow but certain influx of bourbon into his system: He typed his own name into Google.

The first few results were what he expected: References to his past cases, articles on his most recent feats of interest, a handful of articles on his words at the most recent press conference.  

. . . Then there was what came after.

Rafael had heard about Tumblr, but not much if he had to be honest. Sites like Twitter or Facebook or other niche sites tended to be more of what he faced on a regular basis. But a site specifically platformed for blogging surprisingly did not cross his path as often as one might think. It therefore posed within him a sense of worry that the first time he would approach Tumblr would be because his name had become a tag on the site.

He was right to worry.

The deep blue background was offset by an assault on the eyes: text posts here, pictures there, gif sets of his past quotes to cameras before or after a court case, but mostly of him during his speech at the press conference.

His eyes weren’t sure where to look first, where to escape from first but no matter where he went, he’d always end up somewhere just as bizarre.

Some posts were weird –

“God those hands – like fricken’ face-huggers! I want them to smother me!!!” Without thinking, Rafael looked at his hands. He never really noted them as being big, per se. And despite the copious amounts of likes and reblogs featured in the notes section, and that nobody could even see them as they were now in real life, he couldn’t help but want to hide them.

At least three more Tum™ posts in either text or picture form with quadruple the notes and responses. In that moment, he began to strongly consider dieting and nearly opened up a new tab to research for that specific consideration.

“Lookit them veins in his hand. I wanna suck a hickey on them. Just slurp ‘em up like noodles.” . . . What?

Some were surprisingly nice, if not composed in a more bombastic way than what he felt was necessary or was used to –

“Oh, look at his tie!! I love that pattern!!” He had to admit, he himself was quite fond that the pink paisley tie they spoke of.

“Holy crap, you guys, he has green eyes! GREEN FREAKING EYES!!!” A little excited over something he’d considered uninteresting, but Rafael couldn’t stop the faint flutter of pride bubbling within him.

“His hair looks so smooth. He needs to be allowed to grow his hair out, he’d have beautiful long hair!” That made his lips purse. His hair hadn’t been long since high school, and even then it barely reached his shoulders. Frankly, his hair tended to get a little fluffy the longer it grew anyway.

“Handsome, dresses nicely, works hard, is a feminist – guys, I think I’m in love.” Yet another huge jump over something he didn’t consider to be too big of a deal. (But at least this person appeared to have decent standards.)

“Ok but it should be illegal to work a suit like that.” The self-importance fluttered a bit harder, both for the suggestion that he not only looked good, but for the fact that the ensembles he prided himself on were actually appreciated by complete strangers.

“Steal his look”, complete with clothes and accessories very similar to his own but for a fraction of the cost (how economic of them).

– Before dipping right back into weirdness . . .

“D.A. stands for ‘Dat Azz’” proclaimed Foodlemynoodle, who was ever so kind as to include a photo taken by the press of Rafael’s retreating form with a second picture edited to focus specifically on his ass.

“Barba looks like the type of guy who’s a stern lawyer in the streets but a spicy papi in the sheets <3.” There was so much wrong with that suggestion that Rafael didn’t know where to start.

“don’t you just wanna use his tie to tug him down and make out w/him?” The multiple notes responded all agreed. This worried Rafael, as tugging on someone’s tie could be very uncomfortable.

“I’d rather snap those suspenders tbqh,” came the response. Rafael grimaced, the memory of pain from previous accidental snappings becoming vivid for a brief moment.

“i want dat sloppy papi dick™,” announced one user, adding a gif of Spongebob Squarepants fervently licking a picture of Rafael that had been photoshopped into the original image.

It went on like this, growing increasingly more awkward and disconcerting by the scroll. It was only out of curiosity that Rafael kept going. That sick, masochistic curiosity and intrigue that compels someone to watch a train wreck or a distressingly bad YouTube video that gives you secondhand embarrassment. He’d just moved beyond what felt like the twentieth post about his “splendid tummy” when he’d come upon a post that wasn’t quite like the others in terms of text. It wasn’t crude or even necessarily complimentary per se but –

           “Get you a man who looks at you the way ADA Barba looks at his coffee ❤ lol jk   nobody’ll look like you like that just get ADA Barba.”

Included was the image of him at a coffee shop, receiving a cup of his favorite day drink, a rare smile gracing his features. Well. That was unnerving. Sure, he went to get coffee at an embarrassing and even likely unhealthy rate but for someone to have taken a picture of him at all while doing so was just . . . wrong.

One person called Ballr00mbombshell responded with, “Stale cinnamon roll, too jaded by this world.” This made Rafael’s brows pressed downward. Cinnamon roll? What did cinnamon rolls have to do with anything? As if his subconscious had directed him there, his sights landed on the tag section of the post:

#He was buying a cinnamon roll too!!, #such a cinnamon roll, #he probably needs something sweet if his job is dealing with such awful situations, #eat and drink on my sweet cinnamon roll son.

Okay, he thought as he moved his laptop further down his lap. Maybe I was better off not knowing . . . Wait. Cinnamon rolls. While never one to fully discriminate against foods, cinnamon rolls weren’t a thing Rafael normally got. Wait! He recognized that outfit! It was . . . It was the same damn one from the press conference! A trembling hand reached for his replenished glass of scotch and directed it to his lips, taking as hefty of a gulp as he possibly could without warranting a coughing fit.

Did he have a stalker? Already? Granted, after all his years in his field, he shouldn’t be so surprised by how fast fanaticism can rise and to what lengths. Should he tell Liv? She was so pissed the last time he avoided telling her about a threatening presence in his life . . .

As the burning liquid trickled down his throat, Rafael nearly paused it in its tracks. He realized one more thing: The angle of the photo. It was taken at the back of the shop, by the window judging by the looks of it. From the corner, he could just make out a barrel containing chips.

The girl with the Hello Kitty watercolor phone case!

An agitated grunt rumbled from Rafael’s chest and out of his mouth as the revelation became clear. He knew he wasn’t imagining things! Never before had the soft suggestion of watercolor and the innocent cuteness of a beloved children’s character worked together to produce such malcontent.

As tempting as it was to continue, the minor brush with the idea of being stalked mingled terribly with the alcohol in his disgruntled system. Rafael called it a night and tried to sleep decently.

The heavy presence of rounded stomachs and hand veins in his dreams made this out to be a difficult task.