#and seeing dan come out of his shell after being in the closet for so long >>>>> | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phantasticworks · 4 years ago

Text

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter Twenty

Thank you so much for the patience on this story. I promise I am not going to leave you guys hanging without an ending, it's just a long work in progress. I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

read on ao3

Words: 12.3k

Summary: Dan and Phil have an interesting "date night" at the BBC Fundraiser.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, mentions of alcohol

Dan doesn’t know what to wear. He’s stood in front of his side of the shared closet, blindly. There’s nothing jumping out at him, nothing screaming “first public appearance with your fake fiancé in front of people who matter!” And he’s not sure what to do about that.

“Dan,” Phil’s voice filters into his ears. “Hello? Daniel, honestly-“

“Huh?” Dan mumbles in confusion, turning to glance at him. “What?”

“Did you honestly not hear a word I just said?” Phil asks, sounding exasperated.

Dan huffs. “I didn’t even know you were standing there until, like, now. So no.”

Phil seems to shift from annoyance to worry then. “Are you okay?” Before Dan can reply, Phil steps forward, pressing his hand to Dan’s forehead to check for a temperature. “You don’t feel like you’ve got a fever,” he announces.

Dan rolls his eyes at that. “That’s because I don’t,” he sighs, knocking Phil’s hand away. “I just can’t decide what to wear.”

Phil lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort of disbelief. “That’s what’s got you looking like someone just kicked your puppy?”

“Hey,” Dan whines weakly. “I just want to look good.”

There’s a mutter of something that sounds suspiciously like “you always look good,” which Dan decides to ignore. “It’s not that big of a deal, Dan,” Phil says when Dan doesn’t say anything. Phil flops onto the bed, staring up at Dan with a sweet smile. “You’ll look fine no matter what.”

“But... what if I’m too overdressed? Or what if I’m underdressed?” He crosses his arms, pouting. “Should we match? Would that look stupid? Would it look more stupid if we didn’t match?”

Phil sighs, opening his arms. “C’mere.”

“I’ve got to pick something to wear,” Dan protests immediately.

“No you don’t, we’ve still got like two hours before we have to go. Now come here and let me comfort you, buffoon.”

His tone leaves little room for argument, so with a very over-dramatic sigh, Dan consents, crawling onto the bed and flopping down right into Phil’s arms. They wrap around each other smoothly, and Dan tries not to compare the way they fit together to a puzzle or something else vaguely suggestive. It’s just nice, being close to someone he cares about like this. In a completely platonic way.

“You know it’s not that big of a deal, right?” Phil murmurs to him. “Like, I know it sounds like it is, but they’re just people, Dan. Just like us.”

“I know,” Dan murmurs. “But they’re people I’d like to impress.”

Phil kisses his hair. “I know.” Evidently that’s all the advice he’s got, as the room gets quiet then, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

Rather than stew in his own nervousness, Dan pats Phil’s chest. “Should we match though, seriously?”

There’s a lovely little crinkle to Phil’s nose when Dan glances up at him. “I’d really rather we didn’t, actually,” he mumbles.

“What, you don’t wanna go with the coordinated husbands look?” Dan asks, quirking a brow.

Phil rolls his eyes, before rolling Dan off him, going to sort through the clothes on his side of the closet. “I actually had an outfit in mind for myself. But I know you’re gonna make fun of me.”

Dan bites back the instant denial that tries to crawl out of his mouth. Clearing his throat instead, he asks, “Well, what did you have in mind?”

Phil grins, and Dan suddenly feels like he’s been baited. Before he can revoke asking, Phil fishes something out of the closet, grinning broadly as he holds it up for Dan to see. It takes approximately four seconds for Dan to study the forest green shirt to notice that the pinstripes, wavy and trippy at first, are actually little bamboo stalks, and the waves are actually tiny pandas. Dan huffs, making Phil’s grin widen.

“That looks ridiculous,” Dan informs him, sitting up and crossing his arms. “What blazer are you matching it with?”

Phil looks smug. Dan rolls his eyes. “I have the black one that might be nice. The beetle one? You remember?”

Dan vaguely remembers mocking Phil about a beetle shell blazer, but he only recalls seeing it once or twice, so he’s already dreading whatever it is that Phil is about to pull out of his closet. Instead of the flashy monstrosity he’s expecting, it’s actually a very subtle shade of black iridescent, catching the light just the right way to turn it a bit greenish. It looks undeniably attractive paired with the shirt and Dan sighs but nods. “You’ll look great,” he says, almost exasperated.

Phil grins before laying his clothes haphazardly on the bed beside Dan. “Do you want me to actually help you pick something or do you want me to leave you alone?”

Dan considers it, but allows a sheepish shrug to possess his shoulders. “As much as I appreciate your opinion...” he trails off, giving Phil an apologetic look.

Rolling his eyes, Phil nods and steps away. “Okay. I’m gonna go get ready in the bathroom, but you can come in whenever you need to.”

“‘Kay,” Dan mumbles, already standing to thumb through his options again. Phil brushes his lips against Dan’s temple before leaving him be, and Dan smiles at the fabric in front of him.

After staring at his closet for nearly ten whole minutes, Dan decides on a white button down, paired with a flowery blazer he hadn’t had the chance to wear yet. It’s a little flamboyant, a little loud, but he likes the attention, if he’s being perfectly honest. He doesn’t like the idea that he and Phil won’t match, but he notices that there is a subtle hint of green to the leaves in the floral pattern of the jacket, and he hopes that’s enough to make them look matched.

After tugging on some fitted black slacks, which are cut neatly to show off his ankles, he pulls the white shirt on and makes his way into the bathroom to do something with his hair. Phil’s stood at the sink already, combing through his hair with his fingers. Dan can smell the product, an almost citrusy note to it, and he smiles at Phil’s reflection.

“You pick something out?” Phil asks, sliding his gaze to Dan’s in their reflection.

“Mhm. I’m wearing the flowery jacket, the one I got from Topman?”

Phil nods like he knows which one Dan’s talking about even though they both know he doesn’t. It’s quiet for a moment while they both fix their hair, and when Dan’s done all he can in terms of making sure his hair behaves, he begins rifling through their drawers, looking for something else. It only takes a moment of his rummaging for Phil to get curious.

“What’re you looking for?” He mumbles, rubbing at his jaw like he’s trying to decide if he should shave or not.

“Mm,” Dan hums, not quite answering. His hand finally finds the tiny cylinder and he brandishes it triumphantly. “Ah-ha!” He announces. “Found it.”

Phil squints, clearly trying to figure out what it is. He watches intently as Dan unscrews the cap, and Dan catches a flicker of dawning understanding across his face as he brings the mascara spooly up to his left eye. Dan’s careful and precise in his movements, making extra sure that he applies it neatly, considering how long it had been since he’d had any reason to wear it. When he’s finished with both eyes, he replaces the cap and admires his work in the mirror, batting his eyelashes several times to make sure it’s not sticking together.

Phil’s watching him when Dan turns around. He’s got a soft look on his face, easing the slight anxiety Dan still feels about doing things outside the traditional gender norm. “Beautiful,” he says simply, reaching up and tucking a tuft of hair back into place on Dan’s head.

Dan feels his face heating up under the praise. “Thank you,” he says, surprised at himself when he manages to keep his voice sincere. Phil’s hand slides from Dan’s hair to cradle his cheek and he gives him a soft smile before his hand falls away entirely. Dan has to clear his throat twice to settle his sudden butterflies. “Are you ready to go?” Dan asks, his voice almost cracking towards the end.

Phil shrugs, pouting at himself in the mirror as he prods at his face. “I can’t decide if I need to shave or not,” he complains.

Stepping right into his space, Dan knocks Phil’s hands out of the way, smoothing his hand over his jaw slowly. He can tell there’s a hint of stubble from feeling of it, grainy against his fingertips. He hates that he kind of loves it. His eyes flick to Phil’s as he leans in, pressing his lips to Phil’s jaw and brushing them softly against the skin. He’s got one hand on Phil’s arm and the other on the opposite side of Phil’s face, thoroughly trapping him right in Dan’s grip.

When Phil shivers, Dan pulls away. “You’re a little rough,” he murmurs, their faces closer than before.

“What?” Phil asks, his pupils blown wide. Dan can’t help but wonder if it’s him specifically or his actions that did that. Either way, he bites his lip to hide his smug grin.

“Your beard. Little bit scratchy. Maybe just a quick shave and you’ll be good,” Dan tells him.

Phil nods, looking slightly vacant. Dan’s never really seen him like this, looking this affected by anything Dan’s ever done, and honestly... the thought of that is enough to give him a confidence boost like no other. “Alright, I’ll... I’ll shave and then we can go.”

“Perfect,” Dan says brightly, clapping his hands together with a smile. “I’m going to go find my shoes.”

There’s a mumbled response that Dan doesn’t quite catch, but he smiles to himself all the way to the other room.

~~~

“Remember, call us if anything happens, okay? I’m serious, Levi,” Dan says for maybe the fifth time that night.

Levi nods, his gaze flicking to the ceiling in an almost-roll. “Got it.”

Dan stands in the hallway leading to their front door, tugging at his suit jacket to make sure it’s situated properly on his shoulders. He’s getting impatient at this point, having been waiting for nearly ten minutes now. “Phil, come on!” Dan calls. He glances at Levi, who’s leaned against the wall waiting for them to leave. “And he says I take forever to get ready,” Dan mumbles, loud enough that Levi can hear but Phil can’t.

Levi laughs, which is what Dan was hoping for. “Should’ve put money on it,” Levi jokes with a grin.

Dan rolls his eyes but nods. “Honestly,” he agrees.

They’re interrupted by footsteps and Dan turns to face the sound, propping his hands on his hips and tapping his foot, the epitome of impatience. “What took you?” Dan asks as Phil steps into the hall.

He gets the answer unspoken, as Phil barely acknowledges that he’s even said anything, too busy focusing on attempting to tie his bow tie. Dan can’t help but sigh fondly. “I can’t- ugh!” Phil complains, starting over.

“C’mere, idiot,” Dan says, his voice incredibly fond. Phil huffs but steps into his space. “Turn around, I don’t know how to do it that way,” Dan instructs, nudging lightly at Phil’s shoulder.

Phil complies, and when he does, Dan puts his arms around Phil to grab the material of the tie. He presses close to hook his chin over Phil’s shoulder to watch what he’s doing to make sure it looks okay. There’s a soft noise from Phil as Dan ties it, and Dan smiles at the way Phil’s body seems to melt against his own.

“All done,” Dan announces, pressing an impulsive kiss to Phil’s neck before stepping back.

“Thanks,” Phil says, turning and smiling at him. Dan nods, straightening the bow tie a little bit as Phil turns to Levi. “Do you have everything you need? Phone, food, all that?”

Levi has a sort of thoughtful look on his face as his gaze flicks between the two of them. He looks a little startled when he realizes Phil’s asked him a question, but he only nods. “Mhm. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Alright,” Phil says, buttoning his cuff on one sleeve. He glances at Dan, his gaze flicking up and down the length of him, nearly making Dan blush. “You look good,” Phil tells him unashamedly.

Dan avoids eye contact, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” He flicks a curl out of his eyes, fiddling with his hair absently. His gaze flickers to Phil, who’s looking at him expectantly. “What?” He asks, deadpan.

Phil huffs. “Where’s my compliment, rat?”

Dan cuts his eyes at him, quirking his brows. “You’re really gonna stand there and ask me to stroke your ego?”

There’s an adorable pout on Phil’s lips as he blinks owlishly at Dan. “Please? I told you how nice you look.”

Rolling his eyes and looking away to hide the flush on his cheeks, Dan steps past him to grab his car keys off the hook by the door. He spares a brief glance at Phil, his resolve crumbling as he reaches for his hand. “You look amazing,” he says quietly, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Phil’s hand before dropping it. “Dashing, even.”

Phil grins widely, rolling his shoulders in a puffed-up, proud sort of way. It makes Dan’s chest ache with fondness. “And to think you made fun of this blazer when I bought it.” He looks well chuffed as he tugs on the cuffs of the jacket.

Dan takes a moment to look at Phil then, really look at him, and he smiles with a wistful shake of his head. “It’s not the blazer, bub.” Before Phil can respond to that, Dan turns his gaze to Levi, who’s watched the exchange with amusement. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks one last time.

Levi rolls his eyes, but nods. “We’ll be fine. Everything’s under control, I promise.” He gives a little salute in a bid goodbye, reminding Dan of himself. “Have fun on your date,” he says with a smirk.

Dan points an accusing finger at him. “Keep your phone on, okay? We’ll be checking in.”

Levi waves him off with a nod. “I know, I know. But honestly we’re fine. You guys can have fun, do whatever. We’ll be alright.”

Dan’s about to argue when Phil puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. He gives him a look and Dan knows he needs to chill now. “We know, Levi. We’ll be home around ten or eleven, yeah?”

Levi nods. “Alright. See you then.”

Phil waves, putting his hand on the small of Dan’s back to guide him out. He probably realizes that if he gives him literally any more time to procrastinate, Dan will either find a reason to stay home with the kids, or make Levi actually lose his mind, neither of which are preferable right now. Having already said goodnight to the twins, they make their way out the door, locking it behind them.

“They’ll be okay, right?” Dan asks worriedly.

“Of course they will,” Phil replies easily, squeezing Dan’s hip in reassurance. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

Dan mumbles something half-heartedly irritated under his breath, but Phil ignores him, which is probably for the best.

~~~

When they arrive at the venue the BBC had rented out, the event is in full swing. They’re not late, Phil assures Dan when he complains about their timing. Everyone was supposed to show up around seven, then socialize amongst themselves until the speeches and things started at eight. Most of Phil’s coworkers were already there, and Dan recognized PJ and Chris among a few others he’d been briefly introduced to over the past few years since Phil’d started there.

Another thing Dan notices quickly is how Phil carries himself in this space. He’s completely in his element, holding his head high and greeting his employees with a smile. He’s so... powerful here, if Dan’s being honest. He tries not to think about how attractive that makes Phil seem, seeing him take on this leader personality. It’s made more difficult as he’s led through a crowd of people who seem to part for Phil, smiling and nodding at the two of them like they’re some sort of royalty.

“I forget about the whole “BBC producer” thing sometimes, but god, these people really treat you like a king, don’t they?” Dan whispers to Phil.

Phil laughs, moving his hand to the small of Dan’s back to lead him to a table with some people Dan recognizes. “Maybe a little bit. It’s mostly superficial though- if they’re nice, they usually want something from me.”

Dan tries not to let that rub him the wrong way as Phil waves to the table of his coworkers, a bright grin on his face. “Hi, everyone,” he greets. “I’m sure you all remember my fiancé, Dan.” Phil rubs gentle circles against Dan’s back as he speaks, making his cheeks warm in response.

“Er, hi,” he says quietly, waving to the four people sat at the table.

“Phil! Dan!” PJ says joyfully, tipping his head back to smirk at them. “We were just talking about you,” he jokes, gesturing to a woman next to him. It takes Dan a moment to recognize her in this setting, but when he does- “This is my girlfriend, Sophie,” PJ introduces her with a bright smile in her direction.

Dan laughs. “We’ve actually already met. Hello again, Sophie.”

The brunette smiles at him, a twinkle of surprise in her eyes. “Dan! And Phil! Lovely to see you again. How are the kids?”

Phil pulls a chair out for Dan next to Sophie, taking the one beside him and next to a man Dan’s never met before. Dan smiles gratefully at him as he sits before answering Sophie’s question. “They’re doing really well! The twins are loving school and I think Levi’s made a couple friends. It’s still an adjustment having three of them, but it’s really lovely.” He’s close to saying more, gushing about how much he loves being a parent, but remembering where they are and who they’re with makes him pause.

“That’s wonderful!” Sophie replies. She must notice PJ’s confused stare, so she leans closer to explain. “They’re fostering Levi, one of the foster children who I used to have on my case list.”

“Oh,” PJ says, nodding in understanding. “Small world, huh?” He asks with a lazy grin.

Dan nods with a polite smile. He’s still a little uncertain about PJ and Chris for how they treated Phil before, but he’s willing to be civil tonight. Chris, who’s sat between PJ and the man Dan has yet to be introduced to, smiles and waves at Dan, who returns it with a nod.

“Dan,” Phil says, nudging Dan’s arm with his wrist. “This is Tom. He’s one of the technicians at the studio.”

Dan reaches over to shake his hand with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Tom nods at him. “And you as well,” he replies. He turns to say something to Phil, then, so Dan occupies himself with looking around the table for a drink.

“So, things are alright?” Sophie asks, her voice quiet enough not to disturb the others, having their own separate conversations in pairs. “Levi’s doing okay?” She sounds concerned, but in a way that makes it obvious she’s trying to mask the emotion.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan agrees with a smile. “He’s getting on well with me and Phil, the twins are happy to have him home... I think he’s doing really well.”

“Good, that’s really good,” Sophie says with a sigh of relief. “I worry about him sometimes,” she admits. At the panic that’s probably on Dan’s face, she shakes her head, waving her hands dismissively. “No, no, not that he’s with you and Phil, just... in general. He’s had a very hard life, and it was one of the saddest cases I’ve worked recently, so... I just keep him in my thoughts very often.”

Dan nods slowly. He’s trying to think of a subtle way to ask about their home life, but he doesn’t think this is the right place. Another vacant look around the table has him wishing for that drink all over again. “Well... I know he’s come out of his shell a lot since he moved in. We’re really happy to have him, though. He’s such a good kid.”

PJ, who’d tuned into the conversation somewhere during Sophie talking, tilts his head at Dan, smiling. “You sound like you really enjoy being a foster parent,” he says. Something about the emphasis he puts on the word “foster” prickles underneath Dan’s skin in an uncomfortable sort of way. He tries not to let it bother him, knowing that PJ probably didn’t mean anything by it at all.

“I do,” Dan says, tilting his chin up, almost defiant. He glances at Phil, who at some point has placed his arm on the back of Dan’s chair and is softly running his fingers through the hair at the base of Dan’s head. “I think we both really enjoy it, honestly.”

PJ nods with a grin. “I know Philly does, he talks about you guys constantly,” he teases.

Phil rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. “It’s my family, Peej, what do you expect?”

PJ’s grin only widens, as if this is fuel to his fire. “Oh, I know, I get it.” He turns to Dan then with a cheeky smirk. “He told us all about your Halloween costumes the other day. That’s such a fun idea, honestly.”

“Oh, what did you go as?” Sophie asks, interrupting whatever mocking remark PJ was surely about to make. Dan’s grateful for her all over again.

“Er, we did a Pokémon theme. The kids were the three starters, Phil was Ash.” He’s very specifically avoiding sharing what part he played in that theme, for obvious reasons.

“And Dan was Pikachu!” Phil announces cheerfully, tugging lightly on a strand of Dan’s hair.

Sophie coos as Dan sends a glare to the side of Phil’s face. Chris has engaged him in another conversation already, and Dan’s just left to sit there steeping in the hot water of embarrassment.

“That’s precious,” Sophie declares with a smile. “Do you have any photos?” She asks.

Dan wants to lie and say no, but he sees the hope in her eyes and he knows he can’t do that to her. Instead he nods and goes to fish out his phone from his pockets. He panics when he can’t find it, shifting in his seat to see if it’s slipped out somehow.

“What’re you looking for?” Phil asks, sending him a confused look.

Dan sighs. “I think I left my phone in the car. Can I see yours? I wanted to show Sophie our Halloween photos.”

“Sure,” Phil says easily, sliding it out of his jacket pocket and handing it to Dan. He turns back to his conversation with the other men immediately, and Dan nearly rolls his eyes.

Dan goes to type in the password, which has been 1987 for as long as he can remember, and he’s shocked when it doesn’t work. He tries it again, slower, thinking he’s somehow typed it wrong. Still nothing. Poking Phil’s side, he turns the screen to face him.

“What?” Phil asks, his brows furrowed.

“You switched passcodes.” It’s almost an accusation.

Phil looks guilty. “Er, yeah. Mia kept trying to download games to play and I finally just changed it.”

“Okay, fine, what’s the new one?” Dan asks impatiently.

“Uh, ten-nineteen,” Phil answers, already becoming distracted by some joke Chris is trying to tell, his voice slightly loud and obnoxious.

Dan types the numbers in, his mind taking a second to process it after the home screen has already appeared. His mind, still trying to process the meaning of the numbers of the new password, is overwhelmed again at the sight of Phil’s home screen background, which upon closer inspection, is a photo of Dan sleeping.

Dan flushes, trying to cover it up with a cough into his elbow. He clears his throat, tapping on the photo app and scrolling as he leans closer to Phil to speak quietly. “Ten-nineteen?” He asks. “Our anniversary?” He doesn’t specify which one; he doesn’t have to- the only real one they share is the anniversary of the day they met in person.

“Mhm,” Phil half-responds, still not paying much attention to Dan at this point.

Dan sighs, his veins thrumming with something nervous and excited. His hand wobbles a little with it as he turns the phone to Sophie, showing her all the photos they’d taken with the kids that night.

She coos and aww’s at all the right places, asking questions and listening to Dan’s stories of their adventures so far with the kids. It’s refreshing, to talk to another adult outside his immediate family about his kids and all the funny little anecdotes. PJ and Chris want to see the pictures as well, so Dan passes the phone around, beaming at all the compliments about how cute their kids are.

“Well we can’t really take credit for that,” Phil jokes, glancing at Dan with a smile. “But we really are so lucky to have such good kids.”

“Do you reckon you’ll ever have any for real?” Chris asks, a little invasively, Dan thinks.

Still, whatever noodle part of his brain that isn’t running on the same wavelength as the rest, chooses to ask, “What do you mean?”

There’s a brief, awkward pause, before Chris explains. Phil’s hand tightens its grip on the back of Dan’s neck. “I just meant, like... these are foster kids, correct?”

Dan nods. “Yes.”

“Right, so something will happen to them eventually and they’ll leave or whatever happens to foster kids, but will you guys ever have a real family?”

He’s not trying to be mean, Dan reasons. He just doesn’t understand the situation. Dan tells himself this as he blinks back tears, his heart suddenly in his throat at the thought of something, anything, happening to these kids, their kids. And really... really he shouldn’t be surprised. Obviously Chris isn’t entirely wrong, generally children are fostered for less than a year before they either age out of the system or get moved to another home. And then what? Will Dan somehow convince Phil to stay with him, to foster more children to build an emotional connection with? To get far too attached to, only to have those children ripped out of their arms the minute they start to feel like a family? To love like their very own, to-

“That’s not really an appropriate question, Chris,” Phil says in that strong, authoritative voice that he has, sending Dan’s train of thought to a screeching halt. He sends Chris a look, one that shuts him up right there. Turning to look at Dan, Phil’s eyes soften. “Hey, why don’t you call Levi and check up on them? Yeah? I’ll go fetch us some drinks and meet you back here when you’re done, alright?”

Dan nods, numbly. “Okay,” he says, going to stand on stiff limbs. He doesn’t look at anyone at the table as he holds a hand out for Phil’s phone.

“Here,” Phil says, leaning in and kissing his cheek once. “Tell them I say hello and I love and miss them.”

“I will,” Dan agrees before stepping away, scrolling to find Levi’s name in Phil’s contacts. He smiles a little when he sees the little wolf emoji next to his name, recalling very clearly the conversation Phil had with him, asking what Levi wanted his contact emoji animal to be. He’d picked a wolf, saying that it was his favorite animal, and Phil had immediately made a joke about Dan’s surname, as was typical of him.

He’s still thinking about that conversation when Levi answers the phone. “Hey,” he says, sounding a little hesitant.

“Hey Levi, it’s Dan,” he greets.

“Oh,” Levi nearly sounds relieved. “Why are you calling on Phil’s phone?”

“I left mine in the car,” Dan explains. “Are you guys doing okay? Everything alright?”

Levi laughs. “Yes, helicopter dad. Everything is fine.” Dan can hear the smile in his voice and it both eases his mind and squeezes his heart, a heavy reminder of how temporary this connection of theirs really is. “We ordered pizza and ate it in the lounge, just like you said we could.”

“Good deal,” Dan says, glancing over to see if Phil was back at the table yet. He is, but his gaze is on Dan. When their eyes lock, the older man smiles at him softly. Dan can’t help but feel a little warmer. “Phil says to tell you and the twins hi and he loves and misses you all,” Dan relays the message.

Levi snorts, not unkindly. “You guys have been gone for, like, an hour.”

“So?” Dan replies with a little laugh. “That’s an hour longer than we’re usually away from you guys unless it’s a school day. We miss you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Levi mumbles. “I’ll relay the message.”

“Perfect,” Dan grins. “Thank you. Are the twins waiting for you to hang up so you can play Mario Kart?” He asks knowingly.

“How’d you-“

“I could recognize the distorted sound of the Mario Kart 8 soundtrack in my sleep, bud,” Dan says with a smile.

“Right,” Levi sighs, a whisper of sarcasm in the sound. “Well I’m sure you’re having a blast at your charity whatever thing, so...”

His unsubtle “good riddance” has Dan cracking up. “Alright. I’ll check in again shortly, yeah? You guys be good.”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Bye, Levi,” Dan replies. He waits until Levi has hung up before he slowly returns to the table.

Phil is speaking quietly to Chris as Dan approaches, so Dan pretends to be distracted on his phone, straining his ears to listen.

“Look, I know you weren’t, Chris. But Dan’s... we’ve gotten really attached to the kids, okay? So just... choose your words better.”

Chris looks guilty, but nods. He’s about to say something when Dan finally looks up from the phone, sending Phil what he hopes appears to be an easy grin. “The kids are fine,” he announces, sliding into his seat. “They had some pizza and they’re playing Mario Kart.”

Phil grins, dropping his arm back across the back of Dan’s chair. “See? I told you they’d be fine.”

Dan rolls his eyes, turning away pointedly. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

“Here’s your drink, love,” Phil says, his voice taking on a softer pitch as he hands Dan a glass of what Dan assumes is some type of punch.

“Phil’s really got the parental controls on tonight, he’s even censoring Danny’s drink,” Chris announces in a teasing sort of voice.

Dan sends him a wry look. “I’m driving, actually. I’m assuming he’s just looking out for me by getting me something without alcohol.”

Chris looks immediately embarrassed. “Er. Right, yeah.”

PJ shakes his head at him mockingly. “When will you learn, Chris, when will you learn?”

Chris mumbles something probably rude under his breath, but Dan chooses to ignore it in favor of thanking Phil for his drink. Phil smiles, pleased, and Dan finds himself unable to care about the other people around them at all.

~~~

There’s quiet conversation for a few more minutes until someone takes to the stage, thoroughly quieting everyone down. Phil whispers to Dan that this is his boss, and Dan, in turn, whispers back that he looks kind of like a cool wizard, with his wiry white beard and round glasses. Phil pinches his waist.

“Welcome, everyone, I’m really excited to see the turnout for the evening. We’re here to support a very good cause, as you are all probably very well aware. Mind Over Matter, the prestigious mental health charity, and also the reason for tonight’s event, has helped thousands of young people struggling with mental illness across the UK. Tonight there will be several speeches made by some of MOM’s leadership, as well as some special guests invited on behalf of the BBC.” He pauses, probably for dramatic effect, and several people applaud during the silence. He grins before continuing. “Of course, this is a fundraiser, so there is a silent auction operating in the B lobby, just down the hall from this room, and there will be several opportunities for donations throughout the course of the night, in between speeches and presentations.”

He speaks a little more, but Dan mostly tunes out, most of it applying to actual employees of the BBC. Phil seems interested, and Dan takes a moment to admire him. He looks good tonight, with his quirky outfit choice and his freshly washed hair swept back in a perfect quiff. The index finger of one hand traces the stem of his champagne glass while the other rests against Dan’s shoulder blade, where he’s rubbing smoothing circles with his thumb.

Phil’s gaze suddenly flickers over to Dan, startling him. Phil sends him a confused smile and Dan shrugs sheepishly. It’s a wordless conversation, barely even a conversation at all, really- more so just an acknowledgement of the other’s presence. It’s nice, the way it fills Dan with a comfort, bone deep.

“And of course, Mind Over Matter has been kind enough to donate some of their merch, so be sure to pick up a gift bag on your way out, everyone,” Phil’s boss, who Dan vaguely remembers is called Greg, is saying. He clears his throat as if he’s coming to an end of his announcements, which Dan is secretly relieved by. “The presentations will start shortly, led by Mind Over Matter’s co-founder, and my co-host for the evening, Bryony Matthewman. Before she takes the stage, dinner will be brought out, courtesy of our caterer for the evening...” Greg trails off on another ramble, thanking the catering company and anyone else who donated or helped set the fundraiser up in any way.

“Bit of a shaggy dog, innit?” Phil whispers right into Dan’s ear, his voice deeply northern.

Dan flinches away in surprise at the closeness. Phil places his palm on the back of Dan’s neck and squeezes gently. “A what?” Dan whispers back, their faces incredibly close.

“A shaggy dog,” Phil repeats.

Dan shakes his head, uncomprehending. “I don’t know what the hell that means,” he says with a smirk. “I don’t speak hobbit language, or whatever the hell.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “C’mon. That’s a British thing. A shaggy dog?” At Dan’s blank stare, he huffs and moves imperceptibly closer, probably noticing the subtle questioning glances from their table mates. “A made up story? Or like a long story with no point?”

Dan blinks. “You couldn’t have just said he talks a lot or something? You had to go full northern?”

With another huff, Phil reaches up and tugs on the hoop of Dan’s earring in reprimand. “Hush.”

Grinning, Dan shifts his face just enough to brush his lips against Phil’s cheek. “You started it.”

“Oi,” Chris says teasingly from across the table. Luckily, the stage is empty now and a dozen or so people in white uniforms are moving around the room with food trays. “Stop flirting in front of my salad,” he says, gesturing pointedly to the salad that’s been placed in front of him.

Dan rolls his eyes as the waiter makes his way around the table, delivering salads to each of them. “Sorry,” Phil says, not an ounce of sincerity in the way he smirks around the words.

“Don’t listen to him,” Tom says from Phil’s right side. “He’s just jealous that he doesn’t have a relationship as cute as yours.”

Chris makes an indignant squawking sound at this, which everyone at the table laughs over. “I am not!” He protests.

“Okay, sure,” PJ says. He nods like he’s being genuine. “You’re definitely not a jealous bitch.”

Chris mumbles something scathing about what he thinks about their affection, but Dan’s too busy trying to manage his face-splitting grin to even process it. Phil tuts from beside him, but a glance proves that he looks pleased by the comment as well. Dan has a fleeting moment of disappointment; these are Phil’s coworkers and friends, it’s important for them to believe the charade that is their fake engagement. As much as some newish part of Dan would like to believe that Phil is happy about their perception of them for the same reason Dan is happy, he knows that’s likely not the case.

He makes a split-decision right then, watching that relaxed smile on Phil’s face. Tonight is a performance, the fundraiser their stage, Phil’s coworkers their audience. And for tonight, Dan would be the best actor he could. And as someone who had been a theatre kid in school, he knew the best method actors used real-life emotions and thoughts to enrich their acting. So for tonight, with their perception in the hands of his acting abilities, Dan would allow himself to indulge in those emotions to impress their audience.

As his hand falls to Phil’s thigh, he tells himself this is part of the script. That the way Phil glances at him, a raised brow, is penciled in as a blocking note rather than a reaction of surprise. He smiles at his best friend, the portrayal of his love interest for the night, and allows himself a moment without pretenses or a mask of uncertainty. If Phil notices the shift in Dan’s face, he doesn’t react.

Instead, he nudges Dan’s elbow with his own. “Can I have your croutons?” He asks, nodding to Dan’s food.

It’s not a line. None of it ever is, with Phil. “Sure. If I can have some of your cherry tomatoes,” Dan says, lips quirking on a grin.

Phil nods, smiling excitedly as he moves his bowl closer to Dan’s. They pick at each other’s salads, trading the things they like or don’t like out of each other’s bowls until they have what they want. “Is that cheese?” Phil asks, pointing to something.

Dan squints at it before shrugging. “I think it’s a lettuce.”

Phil pouts. “If it’s not I don’t want it. Will you take it?”

“I’ve got lettuce,” Dan argues.

Stabbing the mystery bit with his fork, Phil holds it in front of Dan’s mouth. “Please?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, alright,” he sighs, opening his mouth and allowing Phil to pop it in. He chews thoughtfully. “It was a lettuce.”

Phil shrugs, already picking at his food again. “Better safe than sorry.”

Dan turns to roll his eyes at Phil for their tablemates to see, but instead he finds them all pretending not to look at them. “What?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow up.

PJ shrugs, looking entirely too amused. “Nothing,” he sings. “Just funny seeing the two of you in action.”

Blinking, Dan shrugs. “Okay?”

Sophie swats at her boyfriend’s arm playfully. “He just means it was interesting to see how in sync you both are.”

Phil speaks up then, half-paying attention as he is. “We’ve been together for ten years,” he comments, almost off-handedly. “I reckon we’re as in sync as two people can be.”

Chris whistles lowly. “Ten years is a long time, innit?”

Dan’s not sure if it’s rhetorical or not. “Well, where were you ten years ago? Does it feel like it’s been a long time?” He asks him.

The man surprisingly nods immediately. “Forever ago, actually. Being in uni and drunk off my face every night with Peej. Feels like ages ago now.”

Not sure how to respond to that, Dan shrugs, taking a sip of water. “Well. I don’t know, ten years hasn’t seemed that long to me.” He looks over at Phil and risks being overly sappy, under the pretense of playing his part. “Not long enough, I reckon.”

Phil looks up as he says this, looking genuinely surprised when they lock eyes. There’s an intensity there that would usually scare him, but Dan refuses to look away now. Instead, he just offers a little smile. Phil returns it immediately, without any hesitation.

Chris makes a gagging sound. “Ten years in and you still look at each other like you’ve hung the bloody moon or something,” he sounds both awed and disgusted. Dan can’t help but laugh. “I reckon if I’d been with someone that long I’d be ready to rip their face off, I wouldn’t be giving them Bambi eyes over salad.”

Phil cuts his eyes to him with a sly grin. “But that’s the thing, Chris, you’ve not been with someone for ten years. In fact, you’ve barely managed two.”

There’s a chorus of laughter around the table, but Chris takes it in stride, shrugging. “What can I say? I can’t be tied down, I’m just not made for that kind of life.”

Almost imperceptibly, Dan and Phil share a look. Phil’s eyes are dark in the light of the room and he gives Dan a look that gives him shivers. Dan clears his throat before looking away, his cheeks flushed. “Believe me, the right person can change that,” he says simply. Promptly, as he’s suddenly feeling giddy with whatever brief moment he and Phil just shared, Dan changes the subject. “So are any of you involved with the charity?”

They move the conversation to the event of the evening, and Dan’s genuinely happy to listen to everyone discuss the mental health organization and what they do, especially as it gives him a distraction from the way Phil’s decided to place his hand so delicately on his knee. It’s a light touch, punctuated occasionally with a brush of his fingers or a squeeze, and by the time the spokesperson from Mind Over Matter takes the stage, Dan’s heart is a hummingbird in his chest.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Bryony, as Greg introduced me earlier. Mind Over Matter is so very pleased to be here this evening, and we couldn’t be more thrilled to have the chance to work with the BBC for such a good cause.” She continues speaking about the charity’s mission statement and the logistics of running a mental health charity, and Dan finds himself enraptured in a way he wasn’t with Greg.

He actually genuinely cares about mental health charities and already donates to several, but now that he’s listening to someone from inside one of those charities, he realizes how much more involved he’d like to be. He makes a mental note to grab more information about the charity later in the night, listening intently as Bryony shares some of her own struggles with mental illness and the stigma that surrounds it.

Without his conscious consent, his body tenses up when she begins speaking about depression and how it has affected her life. It’s not that depression is a universal truth for every person that has it, as it comes in many flavors and shapes and sizes, but hearing someone else’s story about something he’s struggled with most of his life puts him on edge. A touch to his hand has him flinching, and Phil shushes him softly. Dan glances at his blurry face, blinking quickly to bring him back into focus.

“Breathe,” Phil murmurs, almost silently. He holds Dan’s clenched hand in both of his, holding eye contact as Dan forces himself to relax. Phil smiles when Dan unfurls his fist, squeezing Phil’s fingers several times.

“Charities like Mind Over Matter helped support me when I needed it most. I wanted to give that gift to someone else, and be a voice for someone struggling.” Bryony appears to be at the end of her speech. “Throughout the course of the night, you’ll hear several other stories, both from speakers and videos we’ve put together, and I hope they inspire you to be the change in someone else’s life. Thank you.”

An applause Greg’s introduction couldn’t have challenged erupts as Bryony leaves the stage, Dan included this time. His mind is running on a loop of what she said, repeating the words over and over. He realizes, somewhere, that he’s desperate to find a way to integrate his passion for mental health awareness into how he contributes to the world. All he’s ever wanted was to put more good into the world than bad, and part of that need has been soothed by his insistence to foster. Now, his mind is being opened to a new realm of possibilities he hadn’t even considered before.

He’s so focused on thinking of all the ways he could make a change that it takes him a moment to realize that Phil is trying to speak to him. “Dan,” he says, almost panicked.

“Hm?” Dan hums, half-listening.

Phil lets out a breath of relief. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” Dan murmurs. “Just thinking. That was a lot, right? Like a lot to think about?” He looks up at Phil, waiting for him to agree.

Phil flicks his gaze between the stage and Dan several times before he seems to get it. “The speech?” When Dan nods, Phil shrugs. “I mean, it was a good speech. She’s a good spokesperson.”

Dan nods, looking away. Phil’s not insensitive by any means, he just didn’t always get the desire to speak out the way Dan did. He was a more passive and peaceful sort of thinker, preferring to exist in the comfort of his own mind when it came to his belief system, which generally reflected Dan’s own, even if it was more subtle. “Right,” Dan says belatedly.

There’s a flicker of confusion on Phil’s face as he glances at Dan, but before he can say anything else, their waiter has returned to clear their plates away.

“I hear we’re having chicken parm tonight,” Chris says, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially.

“That’s one of my favorites,” Dan says mildly, his mind still running in circles around something else entirely.

“Except when I’m cooking it,” Phil jokes, smiling broadly when his coworkers laugh. He’s good about making light jokes at his own expense sometimes, and Dan’s always sort of admired that about him.

“I didn’t say that,” Dan protests with a roll of his eyes. He considers it, then shrugs. “I am a bit better at cooking, though.”

Phil snorts, quite unattractively. “Okay, Mr. Boil the Pasta Without Water,” he taunts.

Dan swats at him playfully. “Hey,” he protests weakly. “I don’t tell everyone about your cooking failures. Remember the dalgona coffee? Or the brownies? Or the-“

He’s interrupted by Phil placing his fingers over his mouth. “Okay! We get it, we get it.” He sounds sheepish.

PJ tuts. “I didn’t realize we’d be getting all this hot gossip.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Do tell us more, Daniel.”

Phil’s quick to interrupt there, of course. “How about we don’t and say we did,” he says blandly, looking vaguely worried.

“What’s the matter, Philly?” Chris teases. “Afraid he’ll tell us all your secrets?”

Before Phil can answer, Dan shakes his head. “Nah, he’s just afraid I’ll tell you about how he tried to cook a pizza while it was still in the box,” he says smoothly.

“Dan!” Phil squawks, indignant.

“Oops,” Dan says, grinning at him.

Shaking his head, Phil crosses his arms, looking the epitome of a spoiled child. “That was supposed to be a secret,” he whines. He’s playing it up for the sake of the people watching and laughing at their little argument, but Dan allows it. It’s nice to have a moment to be sort of themselves, banting about things that happened even before all the pretending. Not to mention it’s kind of adorable when Phil pouts.

“Not anymore!” Dan says cheerfully. He sees the same waiter from before approaching their table again, this time with a tray of food. Sure enough, there are several plates on it, each of them full of a serving of chicken parm. He’s careful as he passes them out, and Dan’s sure to thank him politely when his plate is placed in front of him.

As everyone tucks into their food, another presentation starts, and after that the chatting is at a minimum. Other than when the waiters swoop in to collect the dishes between the speeches, there’s not a whole lot of time for small talk, and Dan spares a moment to be grateful for that. Despite how much he’s genuinely and unironically enjoying himself, he’s not sure he likes the way he’s put himself on this stage, their every move speculated on by Phil’s closest coworkers. He tries to tuck that thought away for now. He’s having a good night; they both are, he thinks, so there’s no point in ruining it for himself because of his own self-doubt or whatever his mind is conjuring up now.

Eventually, the evening begins winding down. Greg takes to the stage to remind everyone to stop by the silent auction on their way out, something everyone could have filtered in and out of as they pleased throughout the night. He also thanks everyone for coming and reminds them to pick up a gift bag on the way out as well. Bryony comes back to the stage for a thank-you message as well, and then everyone slowly starts mingling, wandering over to other friends and coworkers they hadn’t had the chance to speak to yet.

“This is the part I was dreading,” Phil mumbles. “We got here late enough that we could avoid it then but there’s no way to avoid all the small talk now.”

Dan drops a hand to his thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “It’ll be alright, baby. I’m the master of escaping social situations, remember? We’ll be out of here in no time.”

Phil grins at that, and Dan’s heart flutters at having that lovely gaze on him. “I’m holding you to that, you know.”

With a smirk, Dan turns away, looking over at Sophie and PJ. “It was really lovely to see you both again, but we should probably go ahead and say goodbye to everyone. We don’t want to be too late getting home to the kids.”

Sophie nods understandingly. “Oh of course! It was great to see you two.” She smiles at PJ then, nudging his arm. “Small world, huh?”

PJ grins, the expression almost cat-like, as he glances over at them. “The smallest, really. Dan, lovely to see you again, mate. You and Phil should join us for game night sometime.” He doesn’t sound like he’s kidding, the invitation genuine.

“Sure,” Dan agrees with a noncommittal shrug.

Phil stands then, placing his hand on Dan’s shoulder as he says his goodbyes. “PJ, Chris, Tom, I’ll see you all at work Monday. Sophie, it was great seeing you again!” His thumb brushes over Dan’s collar, sending a shiver up Dan’s spine inexplicably. “C’mon, love. I ought to go say goodbye to Greg.”

Dan nods and stands, waving to Phil’s coworkers as they make their way from the table. They get several paces away before Dan grins, knocking his elbow against Phil’s. “Told you we’d get out of it quick.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he mutters, straightening his posture up when they get closer to the stage. “Greg’s a talker.”

Dan smirks, slipping his hand into Phil’s. “So am I.”

~~~

It turns out Phil wasn’t kidding about Greg’s talking ability. He rambles for nearly twenty minutes, seemingly without taking a breath. Dan tries to take several opportunities to slip away, but each time, Greg manages to start in on something else, keeping them stood there nodding along politely, pretending to care. Eventually though, Greg seems to run out of things to say, and Phil takes the chance to pretend to check the time on the watch he’s wearing, sending Dan a look, his lips pursed. “I hate to say this, but Dan and I really should be going,” he says, his lips twitching into a very convincing disappointed pout.

“Oh that’s too bad!” Greg says, looking genuinely let down. “We were going to invite you out for a drink.”

Dan’s quicker than Phil this time, sending the older man a helpless sort of shrug. “We’d love to, but with the kids at home and this being our first night away from them, we really should be getting home.”

Greg nods sadly. “I understand.” He claps Phil on the shoulder and Dan can tell just how annoyed the gesture makes him. “Well, Phil, I appreciate you being here, always glad to have a chance to sit and chat with you.”

Phil smiles, his mouth tight. “Right. You too, Greg.” He turns to Greg’s wife and smiles a little more genuinely. “It was lovely seeing you again, Marianne.”

The brunette smiles and nods. “And you as well.” She glances at Dan with a polite smile. “It was nice meeting you, Dan.”

Dan offers an easy grin. “You too, both of you,” he extends the sentiment to Greg, who responds with a nod.

“Cheers, lads. See you on Monday, Phil,” Greg bids them a goodbye, waving with the hand holding his champagne flute.

Phil waves before taking Dan’s left hand in his right, leading him to the exit. They’re nearly to the door when Phil pauses, giving Dan a sheepish smile. “Do you care if I stop by the loo really quick?”

Dan rolls his eyes but releases his hand. “Go, go. I’d rather you didn’t wet yourself in my car.”

Phil’s nose crinkles delicately at that. “I’m not a toddler, Dan, I would never!”

Hiding his grin, Dan pushes him gently in the direction of the restrooms. “Sure, bub. Go ahead. I’m gonna go snatch another one of those little biscuits.”

Phil’s eyes light up at this. “Will you get me one? The ones with icing?”

Dan huffs playfully. “Obviously. Who do you take me for?”

There’s a precious grin on Phil’s face as he leans in and presses a kiss to Dan’s cheek. “You’re the best. I’ll be right back.”

~~~

Phil takes nearly fifteen minutes in the loo, and Dan’s starting to get a bit annoyed when he shows up in the foyer where Dan’s waiting, looking a little out of breath. “You okay, mate?” Dan asks, his voice a little teasing.

“Never better,” Phil grins. “Ready to go?” He asks, reaching out to hold Dan’s hand as they walk.

Dan nods wordlessly. They’re handed a gift bag each at the door, and Phil chivalrously offers to carry both of them to the car. They’re quiet as they walk, both of them lost to their own bubble of thoughts as their hands swing between them.

“Did you have a good time?” Phil asks into the silence.

Dan glances at him, finding an almost nervous look on Phil’s face. “I did, actually, yeah,” Dan says with a smile and a squeeze of Phil’s fingers. “I really enjoyed hearing all of the ways to get involved with the charity and stuff.” Phil nods along, looking relieved. Dan nudges his elbow with his own gently to get his attention. “Thank you for inviting me,” he says softly.

Phil slows his steps a little, really looking at Dan before he speaks. “I know how much mental health means to you, Dan. I just... I figured that you’d enjoy something like this.”

Dan nods, looking down at the pavement below their shoes. “I did.”

“Did you get to speak to everyone you wanted to? I know lots of people were handing out information,” Phil says, changing the subject a little. Dan’s secretly a little pleased; he’d rather not talk about how much the gesture of Phil inviting him to such a public event means to him.

“I think so, yeah,” Dan nods.

Phil nods too, slowing to a stop as they’ve reached Dan’s car. “That’s good. I, um... I actually went and spoke to the lead speaker, Bryony?”

Dan glances up at him. “Yeah?”

Phil nods, not quite looking directly at him. “Yeah, I figured... I figured if you had an in with someone you knew at a mental health charity the school might finally let you do that assembly about mental illness and how to get help.”

“I...” Dan stutters out, suddenly at a complete loss for words. The thoughtfulness of the gesture is setting in, and all he can think about is how much Phil means to him, how much it means to him that Phil would suffer through his social anxiety in order to talk to someone for Dan, without Dan even knowing. Dan can only stare at him in shock, eyes and mouth wide and gaping as he struggles to comprehend how absolutely selfless this man is.

“I know it’s not a lot,” Phil rushes to say, clearly taking Dan’s silence the wrong way. “And it’s not my business anyway, but I- I know how much you’ve wanted to do that for the school, and I thought maybe this would be a good place to start and-“

Dan interrupts him then, flinging himself forward and wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck. He’s half a second away from kissing him, but at the last second his lips change course and land firmly against Phil’s lovely cheek. Despite the change Dan’s felt this evening in that aspect of their behavior, this is one moment of their genuine real relationship that Dan doesn’t want to mar with the confusion of his romantic feelings. So instead he hugs his best friend as tightly as he can, feeling full of something warm and fuzzy when Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s waist and squeezes.

“Thank you,” Dan whispers. “Thank you so much, that...” he clears his throat. “That means more than you’ll probably ever know.”

Phil kisses his cheek, right where his dimple is. “Of course. Anything for you, you know that,” he says, his voice soft and full of feeling.

Dan squeezes him once more before releasing him, giving him another smile before they get into the car. Almost immediately, their hands find each other again over the console separating them, and Dan resigns himself, happily, to a one-handed drive.

~~~

The flat is quiet when they get home, both of them more than ready to get out of their suits and into some pajamas. Phil murmurs that he’s going to go put the gift bags away and Dan nods before going to check on the kids. As expected, the twins are fast asleep in their beds, and Dan creeps through the room, making sure each of them are tucked with their favorite plushies. He kisses the top of both of their heads, and only Mia stirs, just a bit.

Walking down the hall, he hears quiet voices and finds Phil, minus his shoes and suit coat, talking to Levi in the kitchen. “And they didn’t give you any trouble going to bed on time?”

Levi shakes his head with a smile. “Not at all. I uh... pulled a Dan and stayed in there to read to them for a while and they both just fell asleep.”

Phil looks relieved. “Perfect. Did we leave you enough money for the food? Did you all have enough to eat?”

Dan steps behind him then, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist with a hum. To his credit, Phil doesn’t even jump at the suddenness of the contact. “Stop interrogating him, you sound like me,” he chastises, grinning at Levi over Phil’s shoulder.

Phil huffs, crossing his arms. “You worried before, I’ll handle worrying after. Go to bed.”

Dan shakes his head, kissing Phil’s jaw before stepping away. “I don’t really think that’s how this works,” he says. He turns to Levi then with a smile. “You guys were okay I take it?”

Levi nods, looking tired but happier than Dan’s seen him since he moved in. “We were fine. I’m exhausted though, I’ll give you that. I don’t know how you guys do it.”

Phil flicks his gaze over to Dan’s and they share a smile. “It’s worth being tired,” Dan says simply. “But you’re a kid too, and the kids shouldn’t have to be tired for doing the parents job, so it’s time you head to bed too, bub.”

There’s a flicker of disappointment on Levi’s face and then it’s gone as he nods in agreement. “Okay,” he says, turning to leave the kitchen with a little wave. Before he gets too far though, he spins back around, quirking a brow. “Did you guys have fun on your date?” He asks with a smirk.

Dan flushes, not even sure why it embarrasses him for Levi to call it that. Before he can answer, Phil puts his hand on Dan’s back, nodding for the both of them. “We did, yeah.”

“So does this mean you guys trust me enough now to leave us home alone every now and again? You could have a weekly date night,” Levi says with a very sweet smile. A twitch of his lip shows that he’s mostly kidding.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Thank you for the suggestion, Levi. We’ll think about it,” Dan nods to the stairs, his arms crossed. “To bed, kiddo. Don’t forget about therapy tomorrow.”

Levi nods, waving half heartedly as he leaves the kitchen. “Yeah, alright. Night, guys.”

“Goodnight, Levi,” Phil calls. He turns to face Dan with a smile. “The twins okay?”

Dan nods, pulling his suit jacket off. “Yeah, they’re all tucked in with their plushies.”

“Good,” Phil nods, leading the way back to their bedroom. He’s flung his jacket across the bed and Dan makes a petulant noise when he sees it. “Sorry,” Phil grins, going to hang it up. “What pjs do you want to wear?” He asks, pulling one of their dresser drawers open and sifting through it.

“Mm. Just a shirt, please. Something cozy,” Dan mumbles, taking his shoes off and neatly placing them back on the rack. He places Phil’s beside them, smiling at how neat it looks.

“Here,” Phil says, handing Dan a folded up tee. When he grabs it, Dan realizes it’s one of the shirts Phil had gotten him on a family vacation to Florida a few years ago. It’s got little cats in space suits and is quite honestly the best piece of clothing he owns, in his opinion.

“Thanks,” Dan says, working on unbuttoning his shirt. The bundled up t-shirt in one hand makes it difficult to make any progress though, and Dan makes an annoyed noise through his nose. “Stupid shirt-“ he mutters darkly to himself, tugging on the second button aggressively.

“C’mere, idiot,” Phil says fondly, knocking Dan’s hands out of the way in order to actually unbutton the shirt. Dan watches his hands, lips quirking when he notices how they’re shaking.

“Your hands are shaky,” he murmurs softly. “You okay?”

Phil lets out a quivering laugh. “You just make me nervous, sometimes.”

“Me?” Dan asks, incredulous. “How?”

Phil gives him a look, but doesn’t answer. His knuckles brush Dan’s stomach as he gets to the last couple of buttons, and Dan can’t stop a shiver from crawling down his spine. Phil pauses his movements, eyes flickering up to meet Dan’s again. The blue-green of his eyes is almost completely gone, his pupils blown out and making his eyes look darker than Dan knows them to be. Dan’s breath catches as their gazes lock, the soft sound audible in the limited space between them.

Swallowing hard, and trying not to spook him too much, Dan raises his hands carefully to Phil’s neck. He brushes his fingers against the bow tie around Phil’s neck, and he shivers. “I’m gonna take your tie off, yeah?” Dan whispers. Any amount of volume sounds like screaming right now, in this quiet space between them.

“Yeah,” Phil breathes back. His hands slowly drop down to undo the last two buttons of Dan’s shirt, and he hesitates, his hands poised in the air at Dan’s waist. His eyes drop from Dan’s gaze to stare at the bare skin of his chest and he cautiously reaches out, tucking his hands inside Dan’s open shirt and smoothing over his waist, just above the band of his trousers.

Just that innocent contact has Dan flushing, and he drops his gaze to where he’s undoing Phil’s bow tie, trying to hide from Phil’s searching eyes. “You looked so good tonight,” Dan says, the confession almost inaudible.

“Yeah?” Phil whispers back, squeezing the bare skin at Dan’s hips.

Dan nods, tugging the tie loose and tossing it on the dresser. He focuses on his hands as he undoes the buttons of Phil’s shirt, working slowly down the line. “I was really proud to be your date for the evening.”

Phil makes a soft noise at that. “Dan...” He takes a deep breath, almost like he’s steeling himself for something, and suddenly Dan can’t do it. He knows, with how their evening has gone so far, how this chat would go and what it is Phil might be gearing up to say, but right now- Dan can’t hear it. They’ve lived in this little bubble of peaceful in-between for so long, and right now, he isn’t mentally prepared for how their relationship could change if they have the chat they both know is coming.

“All done,” he says, loud in the space they were just occupying. His hands gently press against Phil’s stomach, pushing him out of Dan’s space a bit. “I’m gonna go have a wee and brush my teeth,” he announces, moving to step past Phil.

Phil catches his arm before he can get too far. He’s got a pained sort of look on his face. “We need to talk, Dan.”

And there it is.

“I... I know, just... not tonight, please? We’ve had such a good night, just... tomorrow?” Dan practically begs.

Phil looks reluctant, but nods slowly, running his palm gently down the length of Dan’s arm before it falls away. “Alright. Tomorrow.”

Dan nods in agreement. He’s already trying to think of a way to prolong it past tomorrow, but he’s not about to tell Phil that. Nodding to the bathroom, he holds up his pjs. “Be right back.”

When Phil nods, Dan quickly disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, something he very rarely does anymore. His hands are shaking as he goes to have a wee, and when he’s finished he washes his hands a little too vigorously, as if that’ll help with the tremors. He’s just washing his face when the bathroom door opens and Phil pops his head in.

“Remember to take your meds,” he reminds, studying Dan in the mirror.

Dan nods, gesturing to the pillbox on the tap. “I’m going to,” he replies with a little smile.

Phil looks relieved. He glances around the bathroom almost awkwardly. “Is it okay if I...”

Dan’s quick to nod, trying to force a casualness he doesn’t really feel. “Yeah, course.”

He tries not to watch as Phil comes in, moving through his own nightly routine of washing his face, brushing his teeth, and taking his contacts out. Dan’s a step behind him, just reaching for his toothbrush when Phil is fastening the top back on his contact lens pot, and instead of leaving, Phil leans against the counter and watches him.

It makes Dan feel even more nervous, and now his hands are shaking even more as he tries to ignore the way Phil’s very obviously studying him. “Quit looking at me,” he mumbles around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Phil’s got a smile on his face when Dan glances at him. “Sorry.” It doesn’t sound very genuine, but then he sighs, reaching out and tugging gently on the hem of Dan’s t-shirt. “You just look kind of adorable in that shirt,” he says with a sweet smile.

Dan flushes red all over at the compliment. “Shut up,” he grumbles before spitting out the foam in his mouth and reaching for their little rinse cup. It doesn’t hit him until after he’s swishing the water around in his mouth that this is another one of their things, another little domestic object that they share, undisputed. He places it gently back on the tap before spitting the water out. “I’m tired,” he announces, turning to leave the bathroom without another glance at Phil.

He crawls into bed, a real exhaustion suddenly wearing on him as he does, proof of the full day they’ve both had. Phil slides into bed beside him after turning the light off, casting the room in a near pitch-darkness. He shifts around a bit before finally settling, and then it’s so dead quiet that Dan nearly stops breathing, the sound shockingly loud in the silence.

“Come here,” Phil says softly.

“Why?” Dan mumbles, unthinkingly.

Phil lets out a huff. “Because I want to hold you, that’s why, rat.”

“Oh,” Dan whispers. He slowly shifts over, crowding into Phil’s space gradually. Phil apparently doesn’t have the same patience, as he hooks an arm around Dan’s waist and tugs him right up against his chest.

“Mm,” Phil hums contently in Dan’s ear. “Are you comfy?”

Dan smiles at the low voice. “Yeah, baby, I’m comfy.”

Phil kisses his jaw, close to his ear. “Good.”

They lay in silence for long enough that Dan assumes that Phil has already fallen asleep. He’s proven wrong when he feels another kiss, this one pressed to his hair, followed by Phil squeezing his waist. “You okay?” Dan mumbles, something worrying in the strength of Phil’s grip.

“I’m fine,” Phil says dismissively. There’s an audible hesitance in the following silence until he whispers, “Did you really have a good night?”

Dan tilts his head back a little to smile at him. “Of course I did.” He nuzzles into Phil’s chest, leaving a fleeting kiss on the collar of his t-shirt. “I wanted to say thank you again, by the way. For the whole...” he gestures vaguely. “Talking to Bryony for me. That was really sweet of you.”

Phil kisses his forehead. Dan feels so small in his embrace. “Of course. I mean...” Phil sighs. “Even before the whole fake dating thing, I would’ve done that. You... you’re my best friend in the whole world, Dan.”

“I know,” Dan replies, his voice cracking in an embarrassing sort of way. “I know that,” he repeats after clearing his throat. “This wouldn’t work if we weren’t.”

“Right,” Phil says slowly. He tugs gently at Dan’s shirt, and Dan feels his heart flutter at the way Phil’s hand sneaks underneath the fabric. His nails lightly scratch over Dan’s back, and the feeling is so light and gentle that it sends shivers all over Dan’s spine. “But even outside of this part of our life, the part that’s just for now... you’ll always be my best friend, yeah?”

Dan swallows hard. Something hot and sick is crawling at his throat, making him feel suddenly fidgety and anxious. He goes to shift and Phil’s hand splays out on his back, holding him steady like he’s falling. He is, in a way.

“Of course, yeah,” he rasps out, half-responding to Phil. The half of his brain that isn’t stupid and filled with mush is trying desperately to come up with a way to curb his anxiety.

He finds that distraction in the way Phil strokes his back in long sweeps, and Dan feels himself relaxing into it. “You look so cute,” Phil whispers.

Dan smiles, his eyes having fluttered shut at some point. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Phil laughs, and then there’s an easy, sleepy silence spreading over them. Dan’s brain, even as it slows down with the impending sleep, manages one last coherent thought. “Phil?”

“Mhm?”

Dan smacks his lips as he tries to remember what he wanted to ask. “How long do you think we can do this for?”

“What?” Phil asks, nearly inaudible.

“This,” Dan mumbles, punctuating his words with a squeeze of his arm around Phil’s torso. “It’s got a deadline, doesn’t it?” It’s not really a question. Dan knows the answer.

The question’s not completely out of left field, Dan thinks vaguely. It’s been on his mind all night rather consistently, and even before that he’s thought about it from time to time; wondering if they’ll get to celebrate Christmas with the kids, or Easter. Sometimes his mind races past that, to the what if’s beyond their current family unit: what if someday these children were moved somewhere else, would they even be able to cope well enough to move on and foster other children? Or would this whole thing, this whole life they’d built together, come crashing down?

“I don’t know,” Phil eventually answers, after what feels like hours.

Dan nuzzles his chest. “Not forever though, I guess?”

Phil leans down and kisses his cheek softly. “Let’s not think about that tonight. We’ve had a good night and we can talk about this tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dan says quietly. There’s a lot on their plate for tomorrow’s conversations, it seems. Suddenly Dan’s so exhausted, he feels like he could sleep for a year. He’s not sure how much of that is genuine exhaustion and how much is the desire to avoid the confrontation he knows will be waiting for him on the other side of tomorrow. He kisses Phil’s neck. If this is the last night they have like this, with this same platonic intimacy, he wants it to end on a good note. “Love you,” he mumbles, intentionally low and inaudible.

Phil rubs soft circles between his shoulder blades. “Love you too, bear.”

#phan #phanfiction #parent!au #parent!phan #foster parent au #bbc producer!phil #school counselor!dan #fake relationship #friends to lovers #best friends #if you don't love me pretend #iydlmp #chapter 20

22 notes · View notes

savysavannah · 4 years ago

Text

Practice Challenge one: Part One

Beginnings:

“Fuck!” I yelled and slammed my hands against the steering wheel. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a total mental breakdown in the dim lighting of the courthouse parking lot, and it sure wasn’t gonna be the last. This case was rigged from the get-go, Mr. Dean esquire was always there against me, swaying the jury with his charismatic personality and his masculine gender. Not to mention it was a jury which he decided to leave fully as white men, his fellow groupies against my defendant, a woman of color who defended herself against her abuser who came at her with a gun.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Opening them I saw Dean sashaying to his car. I considered putting my own in reverse and waiting until he just walked by, then bye bye Dean. Deciding that it wouldn’t be worth the cost of defending myself I waited until after he’d passed to pull out and start to drive to Illean Private University. I was an attorney coach for a Mock Trial team and of course, had to encourage these kiddos that law was the best career and it would really be fulfilling to help people. Driving past the Greek life houses I couldn’t help but smile thinking of happier times. Chugging shitty beer, dressed like a total slut and not giving one single fuck.

After an hour or two of bullshitting some kids and reminding them to object when someone playing a witness says “well I heard the defendant say he was mad at the victim so he must have killed her.” I drove on my way home.

“Incoming call from Uncle Dipshit'' said my car, continuing the never ending day that is my life.

“What?”

“Hey little Savy-Hannah, I’m in a bit of a bind and need some help.”

“What was it? Cocaine? Meth? Or did you finally snap and get caught with heroin.”

“Come on, Savannah, why would you just assume that, can’t I call my one and only niece because I wanna talk to her?”

“At 11pm? Friday night? Bullshit.”

“.......fine Sav-”

“Fuck you, I’m not doing probono work for you anymore. Get your shit together or get the fuck out of our lives.”

Taking a turn away from my apartment I started to head for Lux, my old usual club. I hadn’t gone in awhile but right now I needed to get absolutely shitfaced. 8 shots and 2 waters later I was grinding up against some strangers to Kesha’s “Die Young”, a classic. Suddenly I heard an all too familiar voice, “Savannah!”

My brother. Specifically, my oldest brother, Dan. He danced his way over to me of course being in this scene and grabbed my wrist. “Wha-u wan dan?” I slurred and kept jumping to the song.

“I was worried about you, Ricky called and said you were acting weird.”

“Weird!" I laughed throwing my head back "Because I wouldn’t clean up his shit for once!” I screamed over the music before he pulled me out of the club by the wrist. As soon as the cool air hit my cheeks I leaned my head back and looked up at the sky.

“I wish I was a star." I mumbled seeing the shimmering lights above us before suddenly leaning forward and hurling all over the cement. Probably a usual occurrence for Lux but I still felt bad. Dan rolled down the windows of my car as he drove me home, I stuck my head out of it for the breeze to feel the air in my lungs.

“How’d you find me?” I mumbled, still not fully back to myself.

“We all have eachothers phone locations, remember? You insisted on it like a year ago after you interned on that kidnapping case.” He sighed as we drove up the familiar road home.

“You’re really a mess you know that?” He asked. It's not like he was much better….well, he was but it's not like I'm our brother Danny. At least I made something of myself. Didn't get handed my career and a wife on a silver platter. Or like Daniel who was still so far back into the closet that we really aren't sure if he'll ever come out, even though our family would be more than accepting of him.

I was tempted to defend myself but stopped, “I know, I just need a win."

The next morning Dan was sleeping on my couch and I was on the living room floor. “You couldn’t have carried me to bed?” I mumbled through a yawn.

“You’re the dumbass who got white girl wasted and said you were too tired to walk to your room.”

“What time is it?” I mumbled and went to find my phone despite the world swaying as I crawled to my purse.

He lifted his arm up to look at his watch, “Like 8:00am chill out.” He groaned.

“HOLY FUCK 8?” I flinched at the loudness of my own voice. I was normally up at six, two hours slept in, what’s today it’s a wednesday. ‘What was I supposed to do today? No clients in court today, so that’s good. Okay so I suppose I have to? Paperwork?’

I sighed, “You’re fucking lucky I didn’t have court today.” Stumbling up I ran to my room to change out of yesterday's clothes, splash some water on my face and get on the move.

"Lucky? I'm the one who got your ass home at all!" He yelled back from the living room as I slipped into a different skirt. Shirt could stay the same, just a plain white shell no one would notice. But skirt absolutely not. I grabbed a pair of earrings and a bag of makeup wipes and rushed past Dan.

"Fine sorry love ya. Family dinner on saturday right?" I hurried as I slung a purse over my shoulder.

"You got it." He replied.

"Uh, stay awhile have breakfast if you want. I've got bagels and eggs. Just lock up when you leave." I remembered finally to be polite as he stretched getting up from the sofa.

The office was busy and loud as usual. I tried to smile and act like I wasn't hungover as holy hell while I walked to my desk.

There was someone new taking a desk near me too. Lanky guy probably straight out of law school too. I sized him up for a moment before nearly catching his eye but going back to my work.

It wasn't till lunch that I had to actually deal with another human when I ran into Mr. Asshole-dean.

"Ms. Mars?" He said as he tapped my shoulder in line at the starbucks near the courthouse.

I turned but knew his voice right away, "Mr. Dean?" I replied wondering why he was bothering me. He seemed to catch my cold tone.

"What, rough night? Does suck the night you lose the case but don't worry. You'll get better at losing, can't win em all."

I would like to get an extra extra hot- you know what make it just a cup of fucking lava to poor on this jackass. I smiled, "Thanks! I'm sure it didn't take you long to get used to it." I gave a passive aggressive smile and looked down to my watch.

"Listen, Mars, I know we're opposing counsel but I don't mean any harm by it. I think we could be great friends if you'd give it a shot. I mean I'm sure we both hate our jo-"

"Hi I'd like a venti mocha!" I ordered cutting him off the scurried back to my car.

I had a few hours before I actually had a meeting. It was just to speak with a judge over a custody case between a homophobic mother and two "really good friends" one of who was the father of the child in question. There was a chance it could turn into a serious case, the mom was wealthy and if she got too displeased she could probably turn it into a civil suit on the grounds of the father being gay. But it wasn't likely she'd take the time. She was only really fighting for custody to use their kid as a weapon in the divorce.

I drove home with my coffee deciding I wanted to Pad Thai leftovers I had as comfort/hangover/please-god-dont-make-me-live-another-day food.

Daniel was sitting on my couch when I walked in. "Can you not just walk into my house? Dan may have forgotten to lock it but that's no reason for you to just waltz in here!" I yelled as I dropped my purse and walked up to him.

"Is that my mail?" I huffed and snatched my letters from him. It was just junk mail but he still had no right to be so intrusive.

He looked up at me with a slight glare, "I know what you did and I'm gonna get you back for it." And as quickly as he came he scurried out.

Ringing up Dan I tapped my foot on the ground, "You forgot to lock the door!" I yelled into the phone.

"Oh shit my bad. You okay?" He asked.

"Yes, but Daniel was just here. All pissed over something." I grumbled and walked to the fridge to get out my leftovers.

"Any idea of what?" He asked.

"No clue." I answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, don’t call anyone. Listen, they record everything but our conversations for confidentiality, if you call someone it’s possible that they might somehow be involved and we don’t want prosecution to get that- understand?” I hated explaining the basics to my clients, but those dumbassses would sign their own sentences if they didn’t know any better.

I walked up to the courthouse, in one hand I had my phone, the other a black coffee from the starbucks across the street, my work back slung over my shoulder and threatened to slide lower onto my arm. As I turned the corner I was suddenly burning with hot coffee against my chest and a stranger staring down at me as I had run right into him,

“FUCK!” I yelled as I stepped back. My heel slipped in a crack on the sidewalk, the top of it snapping it too causing me to fall back, my head hitting the hard concrete.

When I opened my eyes again he was standing over me. It was the new guy who sat across from me. "Don't worry I called an ambulance." He assured. I was going to sit up but as I pieced the situation together I realized I was no longer wearing a shirt. Instead I had his blazer placed over my top. I assume because of the burning coffee which would have been sitting on my torso had he not.

He rode in the ambulance to the hospital. We sat in awkward silence as I tried to figure out his angle. Was he afraid I'd sue. I was the one who bumped into him. Did he wanna ask me questions about our workplace. It'd been a month or so since he'd arrived though so that wouldn't make sense.

He sat next to me at the hospital and was still there when the doctor told me it was a light concussion and a small burn. He sighed, finally not seeming like a stiff board for a moment. Maybe he was scared I'd sue. I turned to him in the hospital bed when we had a moment alone.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

He blushed and looked down mumbling a bit as he said "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wouldn't be able to work anyways till I knew." My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Why? I'm the one that bumped into you?" I asked.

He was about to respond when the brigade of brothers came in. He seemed startled at all the sudden male energy in the room. "Ah, these are my brothers Dan, Danny, and Daniel. Daniel is a family name." I added the common addition when introducing them to anyone.

He stood up and shook Dan's hand firmly "Nicholas Lamia." He said. I realized then that I also didn't know his name. Danny started to get suspicious as he looked at him with antagonizing eyes.

"How do you know our sister?" He asked. Nicholas flushed again and tried to find words for a moment.

"We work together. He's the one who called the ambulance." Daniel set a balloon down next to me that he'd gotten at the gift shop.

We hadn't really spoken since his home break in. I still don't know what that was about. But he's been suspicious since. Once they released me Nicholas went on his way and the Mars siblings stood on the sidewalk and considered where to go.

"Should we get sushi? It's been a moment since we hung out without mom and dad." Dan suggested leading the conversation.

"Hmm, works for me. Samantha's out of town for work." Danny chimed in.

I sighed thinking about all the work I still had to do. But it had been a minute since we hung out for fun, and cucumber rolls wouldn't be too bad right about now. "Sure I'm in." I replied.

"You?" Danny asked Daniel.

He mumbled for a moment with the same guilty look, "no, I don't th-"

Suddenly Danny got him in a headlock, "come on even Savy agreed and she'd rather eat shit than waste time." He joked. I rolled my eyes and we all piled into Dan's car.

The waitress led us up to a small booth towards the back. At first I was going to sit next to Daniel but the blaring TV would send me down a spiral. There was a government program on and as soon as that shit for an heir came on I'd be fuming about how we're leaving the lives of multiple disadvantaged people to a boy who did body shots off a Delta Nu on a thursday night. I wasn’t exactly sure if that story was true, but it wouldn’t surprise me based off of what I’d seen from more credible sources than Lucy in the room down that hall at the sorority house who was gushing about how she wished it could be her. Prince Eaton went to the University of Labrador with us and she was hopeful that he would do it but sadly, no.

Dan saw my eyes lingering on the TV and switched sides of the booth with me. We were just about finished and considering desert when I began to notice the glances and smirks. I wiped with a napkin thinking maybe I had some rice on my face, but they continued nonetheless. It wasn’t like creepy guys smirking either, it was everyone. The air felt different and Daniel looked like he was going to be sick. “What?” I asked as he opened his mouth.

It looked like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words. Dan opened to speak too, “Savannah, we didn’t think you’d ge-”

“Oh my gosh congratulations on being selected! Would you like a desert? Everything is on the house of course!” The waitress smiled.

I looked up at her as if she were speaking German. “Congratulations on what?” I asked.

“On being selected! They were just announced, are you so excited? Could I also get a photo by any chance! The next queen of Illea could be sitting at my booth!” She cheered.

The world slowed as my mind raced selected? Like The selection selected? I didn’t apply? I didn’t want to apply? How did I even get entered? What did Daniel want to tell me? Did Daniel do this? Was this his revenge for what?

I snapped out of it as Dan called my name. “I’m sorry. I have to step out for a moment.” I said and grabbed my purse running out of the restaurant, feeling everyone watching me. I walked to the side of the building and pressed my back against the cold brick panting. I crumbled inwards as my brothers ran over to me. I took a deep breath in,

“I don’t”

another breath

“understand.”

Suddenly a man with a long lens camera appeared. How did that happen so fast? How did he know what she looked like? Stupid your Savannah Mars it’s not like you’re a nobody your grandpa runs the largest candy company in the world.

“Can you back off?” I heard Dan ask him.

He kept ignoring Dan entirely, that is till Dan pushed his camera out of focus. “What the fuck man? Chill.” The creep said and went to shove Dan. Level headed Dan of course responded by punching him in the face.

We all piled into his car and drove to my house. I sat in the car ride silent and waited for someone to speak. No one did but Daniel still looked like he was going to throw up. We all sat on the sofa in continued silence. Only Dan spoke to offer everyone water.

No one said yes to it but a cup appeared in front of each of us anyways, always the responsible older brother.

I inhaled then finally said, “I’m not mad. I just want to know why?” and looked at Daniel. It was clear by now that he was the culprit.

He sat there in silence, his lip whimpering like he wanted to cry. Like he wanted to cry? If anyone’s going to cry it should be me. Suddenly I lunged at him to get in a hit. Only Danny’s arm stopped mine from smashing into his face.

“Why?” I yelled.

“I thought you made a gay dating profile for me.” He whimpered.

“What?” I asked, even more confused than before.

Dan spoke up, “Danny made a gay dating profile for him to try and give him a little push. When he got mad he said it was you who did it.”

“I just saw the letter sitting there and it seemed like the perfect way to get back at you for meddling in my love life. I was just gonna taunt you with submitting it, then Dan told me it was Danny but he said you wouldn’t get in and you’d just never know.” Daniel explained.

“Well, statistically speaking you shouldn’t have.” He defended. My anger shifted to the brother holding me back. If Danny had teased Daniel about his sexuality none of this would have happened. But I couldn’t do anything with him still holding my wrist.

I stood from the sofa and the brothers stood as well. “I’m going to go get changed.” The second they relaxed I turned and charged at Danny. “You fucking bitch!” I yelled and started to pull at his hair. He didn’t fight back but Daniel panicked and Dan rushed over. I was yanked off of him before I could make any real damage but he did look hurt enough.

“How could you! Just minding your own fucking business could have avoided this whole thing! And Daniel!” I yelled and turned. “Don’t fucking get vengeance especially not without communicating!”

The phone started to ring. It was probably about the selection. I huffed over ready to say, “Hi, yes this is Savannah Mars. No, I would not like to participate, please pull someone else.” But as I picked up the phone I realized something. Daniel would have had to forge my signature. In order to apply for me he had to sign a contract. If I say I want out I would have to prove I didn’t agree to begin with. That would mean proving the false signature. Which is by the way, illegal.

I sighed, held the phone to my ear. “Yes this is she. I’m so excited to be selected and am more than happy to discuss a time for you to send your people over.”

4 notes · View notes

blackjack-15 · 4 years ago

Text

When the Boys Come Marchin’ Home — Thoughts on: The Creature of Kapu Cave (CRE)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: CRE; mentions of ASH’s mechanics; TMB.

The Intro:

Oh, thank Heaven, onto a game that’s fun to talk about!

Creature of Kapu Cave probably holds the title of ‘Most Maligned Nancy Drew Game’, at least in my mind; suffice it to say that while it has its fans, it’s most certainly not a fan-favorite. I’m not afraid of standing against the grain slightly here – not after my CUR meta, which is way more divisive than this one is gonna be — and saying that CRE is not only one of my favorite games (for mostly subjective reasons) but also just a solid, if not a stand-out, game in the series, far more deserving of praise than the title before or the title after it.

Yeah, next is ICE, and there’s no game more deserving to start out our “Odd Games” section than it. Yeesh. But that mess is still a couple thousand words away, so let’s dive right in.

The last of the Jetsetting Games, CRE cranks it up to full force by depositing Nancy straight into the beaches and jungles of Hawai’i, keeping the indoor locations to a bare minimum and even then limiting them to: a research facility dominated by plants, tents, caves, and a hilarious kitschy tiki shack.

Everywhere Nancy goes, HER is eager to point out that she’s on Hawai’i, and it’s honestly refreshing after being cooped up inside for all of CUR, most of TRN (my love for that game aside), and most of DAN. CLK had a mix of outdoor (mini-golf, tunnels kind of, car rides/chases, the barn) and indoor (the Inn, the Bank, Topham’s house) locations, but CRE blows it out of the water with just how much we see of Hawai'i, and how determined the devs were to keep Nancy — and thus, the player — out in nature.

CRE is a game where Nancy’s pre-professional-detective presence is actually fully justified; as a recent (and bougie) high school grad, she’s working an internship for a Dr. Quigley Kim, an etymologist studying the norsobeta oderata moth on the island and their odd shift in ~mating habits~.

In my good Christian game, no less.

While Quigley is far more interested in the norsobeta oderata moth going hot ‘n’ heavy than in her assistant, Nancy still gets a good education in frass, bugs, and what dealing with ‘professionals’ and academics is actually like. I can even handwave the ‘bugs’ idea rather than the humanities/history that Nancy is normally drawn towards, because Nancy’s the type of person to want to expand her horizons.

The Hardy Boys are, as ever, a bright spot in an already pretty sunny game. The switching between them and Nancy is a fun thing that the games haven’t really done before — at least not with this level of immersion and control — and it really makes CRE stand out as a game.

Finally, a point which should work in CRE’s favor: its detractors often point to the game as feeling rushed without a proper storyline. While I believe this negative statement to be (and hope to prove it so) mostly untrue, there is a persistent rumor that went around at the time of CRE’s release (and is still noted on the Wikia today) that CRE’s production was greatly rushed in favor of working on the new interface that would come with ICE.

While there’s no definite proof of this rumor, it does fit with HER’s general business practices (even before Pinch-A-Penny Milliken became CEO), and should probably be kept in mind while considering the outside forces surrounding CRE.

The Title:

Even detractors of this game have to admit that its title is pretty awesome, especially for this point in the Nancy Drew series (we’re about halfway, for those not keeping track at home, both through the series (#15/33) and through this meta series (#15/30, as this series will skip MED/SEA/MID). While the book it’s incredibly loosely based off of is called Mystery on Maui, The Creature of Kapu Cave is way more evocative as a title; the location still tells us that we’re in Hawai’i, the “Cave” addition tells us we’ll be spending most of our time outside, and “Creature” means a prowling presence stalking Nancy throughout the game.

In other words, it has all the elements to promise a really fun (and, at this point, unique) entry into the series.

While it’s not exactly part of the title, it doesn’t really fit anywhere else, so I’m going to take the time here to mention how wonderful the cover art is. It’s cohesive, well-segmented, and shows off the focal point (the entrance to the cave), the reel-in for the audience (the Hardy Boys) and the lurking danger (the volcano/lava). It works so well in tandem with the title that I feel like it’s worth pointing out here.

Now, onto what the title promises us:

The Mystery:

Nancy arrives bright-eyed and ready to work upon landing on Hawai’i, arriving at a place called “Big Island Mike’s Immersion Excursions” to get the keys to the car that she needs to drive to get to her professor — Dr. Quigley Kim — and to their base camp. The titular Big Island Mike, having other ideas, assigns her to complete a necklace for him in order to get the keys, saying that she’ll see that she’d rather do his Immersion Excursion than work for Quigley at camp.

Which, like, fair point. I’ll take Mike over Quigley any day.

Nancy has barely gotten to the beach (and received a call from Sir-Not-Appearing-In-This-Game and Marginal Boyfriend Ned) when she spots the Hardy boys, looking decidedly worse for the wear than in TRN (why is Frank’s hair so light???? WHAT DID THEY DO TO JOE’S FACE???) and promptly hangs up while Ned is still confused and asking questions.

I see we have another strong entry for Nancy’s “Girlfriend of the Year” nomination.

The three sleuths trade new information and Nancy finds the sea shells that she needs to make the ‘beginner’ necklace and get the keys from a reluctant Mike. Nancy sets off, car-having and confident, over the bridge and into the jungle – but not before hearing about Kāne ‘Ōkala, the ‘rough-skinned’ man, and his recent reappearance that can only spell bad news for the island.

The forces of Mystery – not to mention the tropical weather — seem to be dead-set against Nancy, as a bad storm and an equally bad man-made (or Creature-made, rather) disaster not only prevent Nancy from getting back to the beach and to safety, but also prevent her from meeting Quigley at their Base Camp, which has been ripped to pieces by someone — or something. Nancy has to survive the jungle, find Quigley, figure out what has sent Kāne ‘Ōkala on a rampage across the island — and, the most deadly task of all: sort frass.

Meanwhile, appearing on the very same beach where Nancy “Whirlwind” Drew talked to them are the Hardy Boys, undercover as vacationers at Big Island Mike’s Immersion Excursions to scope out his daughter Pua for their client Richard Aikens, as Pua is potentially being used for an ad campaign and they need to ensure that she doesn’t have any skeletons in the closet.

In other words, they’re vacationing with a side of snooping, all expenses paid. Jerks.

Because the writer is relatively competent, these two plotlines of course intersect, as Nancy finds out dirt behind the Mapus while Frank (and Joe, briefly, before he takes some hardwood to the head) finds the information Nancy needs for the titular cave, when he’s not busy making shell necklaces, trying out shave ice, and threatening random people via phone.

So because this game usually gets a lot of flak for its story, I thought — contrary to what I usually do in this section — I’d lay out the entire plot, point by point, so that it can be judged, rather than discarded based on some nebulous remembrance of its ‘nonsensicalness’.

We begin, pre-game, with disgruntled ex-pineapple grower Mike Mapu opening up his idea for a tourism business focusing on island living while the Hilihili Research Facility, headed by the CEO of Aikens Biotech, Richard Aikens, opens its doors as well. The connection between the two? The land officially granted to the Hilihili, it turns out, would go to the Mapus if the Hilihili were to go out of business.

Mike then hatches a plan; spread the word of a local folktale figure – Kāne ‘Ōkala — that’s returned and is wreaking havoc all over the island because the Hilihili’s research is killing the pineapples. While each little upset and natural storm adds to Mike’s claims, he needs something bigger — proof that the local pineapple crop is actually suffering.

Enter a shipment of fritillated flag beetles. The beetles start munching on the pineapples and their natural predator, the norsobeta oderata moth, noting that its prey is more plentiful and well-fed than ever before, begin eating and mating in unheard of numbers, drawing the attention of Korean-American entomologist and noted quirk Quigley Kim. Quigley quickly notices that there’s a little too much work for her to be able to just observe all day, and puts out an ad for a research assistant — an ad that reaches all the way to River Heights, Illinois, where Nancy jumps on the opportunity and a plane.

At the same time, Richard Aikens hears about a champion surfer who lives not far from his research center in Hawai’i and wants to use her in advertisements – provided there are no skeletons in her closet, of course. In order to find any trouble before it could cost his company money, he turns to ATAC, who send out Frank and Joe Hardy to start digging.

And that’s where the game starts.

Honestly speaking, this is a fine story — not as strong as some games, stronger than other games. The biggest problem I could see someone having with it is that so much happens pre-game — but that’s true of a lot of Nancy Drew games (CAP being the obvious standout).

Faced with the prospect of the Hilihili continuing to survive, Mike keeps spreading rumors and tries to prevent Nancy from reaching Quigley, who’s the one person who could foil his plans, as she’s studying moths who feed on the very bugs who are, themselves, feeding on the local pineapple crop. Meanwhile, Malachi Craven, secretive head researcher at the Hilihili and noted grouch, thinks that Quigley is spying on him (which she is, but we’ll gloss over that) and goes to her camp to confront her, tearing the place up in a fit of rage when she’s not there.

Thus, when Nancy happens on the crime scene and discovers an audio tape of whatever attacked the camp (which is really funny to think about knowing that it was Craven), coupled with the fact that Quigley is missing, the rumors of Kāne ‘Ōkala build even higher than Mike could have anticipated.

From here on, the story is as laid out in the game — Nancy and the Hardy Boys snoop, finding secret tunnels and lava caves, documents that Big Island Mike definitely shouldn’t have, Joe gets whacked into a concussion by a wooden head — the usual mystery stuff. While there are holes to be poked, they’re no more extreme than most other Nancy Drew games, and less extreme than most games that get put in the same pile as CRE.

Now, onto the characters that make up this mystery!

The Suspects:

Starting us off with the sheer force of his personality is Mike Mapu, otherwise known as Big Island Mike. Provider of Big Island Bucks, lover of shave ice, purveyor of varying degrees of fish bait, and our Big Bad for this game, Mike is a larger-than-life figure who controls much of the game, keeping the Hardy Boys busy, trying to delay (or even prevent) Nancy from getting to Quigley, and keeping telltale documents closely guarded — yet in plain sight.

As our suspect, Mike is honestly a decent choice — I would say he and his daughter are the two best out of our cast — and I have no problem with his actions within the game leading up to the climax. While the climax itself could use some work, Mike’s actions and his plot to achieve his goals make sense, track well, and honestly his plan is pretty well thought through. Mike, unlike a lot of suspects, takes 3 people (4 if you count Pua’s help) to take him down, rather than the Lone Nancy, and I honestly think that says a lot about how well he pulled it off.

His daughter, Pua Mapu, is at the center of the Hardy Boys plotline. A champion surfer on the brink of achieving stardom through advertisements, Pua only cares about surfing and getting ready to surf, but helps out with her dad’s business anyway giving surfing lessons, paying excursioners for necklaces, and even gives out fishing tips.

Pua’s our resident non-entity suspect, but has a bit more of a place in the story given her relation to a far more interesting suspect and her being the lynchpin in the Hardy Boys story. She’s the reason that Mike is actually found out; Nancy by herself couldn’t have gotten where she would have needed to go in order to solve the mystery, and the Hilihili probably would have folded before she could have gotten proper documentation, let alone confronted Mike.

As a suspect? Pua would have been an interesting choice, honestly; the bulk of her dad’s decisions would have been shifted onto her, and he would have been her (moderately uneasy) support. Her motive is already present in the game; if her dad inherited land, that means money, and money means she wouldn’t have to waste her time giving out fake money for fish and necklaces and could instead focus on surfing 24/7. A simple motive for a game where so much happens before Nancy and the Hardy Boys get there, but a good motive nonetheless.

In a very real way, Richard Aikens’ absolutely dumb decision to use the daughter of the man who would inherit his land should he fail for his advertisements is what saved his research facility; had the Hardy Boys not been there to snoop around Pua, most of the plot wouldn’t have had the chance to happen.

Specific to Nancy’s storyline is Dr. Quigley Kim, an entomologist who’s far more on the “observation” than the “research” side of academia. Drawn to Hawai’i to observe the norsobeta oderata moth’s unusual mating season, she hires Nancy to…well do to basically everything except the actual observation, has a tendency to ramble, and hates the nasal sound of her voice in recordings (because the recordings render it truthfully).

Quigley is missing for the first bit of the game, and is usually the suspect the player will meet last, so she has a bit less time to be suspicious — not that she’s a prime suspect anyway. A bit kooky, a whole lot annoying, and absolutely wrapped up in her work, the only thing Quigley’s actually guilty of is spying on Craven (and she never gets in trouble for that anyway).

While I appreciate the slight nudge she gets into the Non-Culprits who do Bad Things that Nancy Discovers, Quigley’s probably the weakest member of the club, and thus doesn’t feel subversive enough to be actually interesting.

As a culprit, Quigley would have been an odd, weak choice; as an entomologist, she’d have no reason to destroy the local pineapple crop, as the pineapples are in the food chain that she’s studying. The game never really goes out of its way to make her seem overly suspicious, which I find a point in its favor, as no player was going to believe it anyway.

Rounding us out is Dr. Malachi Craven, a short-tempered plant scientist with horrible plant allergies — irony at its finest. Brilliant, irritable, and egotistical, Craven refuses to work anywhere that’s not at least halfway solar powered, has been thrown out of a conference of his peers for calling them “hopelessly deluded morons”, and is on non-speaking terms with his brother (though he has a soft spot for his niece).

Craven is the obvious suspect in this mystery, as his bad-tempered and secretive nature is what really gives the rumors of the Hilihili tampering with the local pineapple crop its running shoes. Had the lead scientist been anyone even a bit more amicable, Mike’s plan likely would have fallen through — but since Craven keeps so close a watch on the facility and is so harsh to deal with, he unknowingly plays right into the rumors.

As a suspect, he would have been rather pointless; there’s enough “evidence” against him that the authorities would have already gotten involved, found out he was harming the crop — for what reason, who knows — and stopped him before Quigley could even start her moth project. As it is, he works as a competent distraction, as well as a character who’s slightly more sympathetic than I think he’s really intended to be.

The Favorite:

The Hardy Boys, as is the case with nearly every game they’re in, deserve a spot in this section. Ignoring the design choices that were, all in all, definitely for the worse (2006 was an ugly year, kiddos), the Hardy Boys are light, bright, and entertaining. Playing as Joe and getting whacked by a wooden head is great; playing as Frank threatening the man who whacked his brother is great; all their little mannerisms that separate them from Nancy and each other are well done, and the voice acting is top-notch.

And the fact that they bring with them the chance to change the User Interface (UI) and make it a pretty color is fantastic too.

I actually think the swapping mechanism is done better here than in ASH (note that this is one of the only times you’ll hear me say anything negative against ASH), because you’re only swapping between Nancy and a Hardy Boy, not a possibility of four different people. It’s a lot easier to keep track of things when each character is limited to a certain area, though I do love that the different responses that suspects would have to different people in ASH is sort of beta-tested here in Pua’s different responses to Frank and Joe.

I love the location that was chosen for the game; Hawai’i is the spot of not a few Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew mysteries, and it was cool to have a game that works in both the jungle and the beaches, rather than choosing one over the other.

I might be in the minority, but I actually really love Dr. Craven as a character. He’s got a bit more depth than most suspects even at this point, and you can tell he loves his niece despite his relationship with his brother.

My favorite moment in the game is honestly Frank’s gangster moment when he calls up Johnny Kuto, ready to kill him for hurting his brother. It’s a great moment of voice acting, a great brotherly scene, and a whole lot of fun to see Frank (and Joe, but Frank in particular here) having the mettle be an Agent, regardless of his age.

My favorite puzzle probably ties between the shave ice logic puzzle (I’m always here for a logic puzzle, as readers of this meta series already know) and frass sorting. I never really got why other people disliked frass sorting, as it’s an easy and fun puzzle to me. Bring on the frass.

I’m also going to add in here my love for the minigames in this game — specifically making necklaces (fishing is fun too, but I prefer trolling for shells). It’s fun to find the shells, to snorkel to find more (and move the plot along, of course)…I just really enjoy the Immersion Excursion part of this game, and would totally go on one in real life.

In a very stupid way, I like laughing at how horrible Nancy is as a girlfriend in this game; not only does she refer to Ned in the tutorial part as “a really good friend of mine” rather than “my boyfriend” (seriously Nancy what the eff) but she also abruptly hangs up mid-conversation on Ned when she sees two people that she thinks might be the Hardy Boys. It’s almost absurd how bad of a girlfriend she is in this game, and I like laughing at it.

#NedDeservesBetter2KForever.

Lastly, there’s a bit of dialogue that I love in this game – I know, CRE isn’t even a Nik game, so I was shocked too — when Frank’s listing all the things he’s found out for Nancy that will enable her to get into the titular cave.

He finishes his list and then says “oh, and I also saved the whales and brought about world peace”. Nancy responds with a teasingly dejected “Darnit, I was gonna do world peace”, and Frank answers her with an amused “Sorry, you have to do bug stuff”. It’s a fun, funny moment, and it’s nice to hear Nancy/Frank banter, no matter if you ship them or if you prefer them as friends. Shout out to, as always, our good ol’ boy JVS for his great work with Frank this game (and another hooray for the inimitable Rob Jones as Joe).

The Un-Favorite:

My least favorite moment in the game would probably be listening to all of Quigley’s recorded data; they weren’t really trying to make her nasality subtle, and boy does it get unbearable really, really fast. The fact that this is the stand-out worst moment in the game says a lot about how much I personally enjoy this game, and how inoffensive even the ‘bad’ stuff really is.

Well, mostly. See below.

Rather than frass sorting, as seems to be ubiquitous in the fandom, the little stealth section is by far my least favorite puzzle in the game. It’s nerve-wracking, timed, mandatory, and makes you rely on tiny visual cues to win it — in other words, it’s my worst nightmare when it comes to games.

I’ll include the endgame puzzle in here too, though I like it better than the stealth puzzle, just because it’s honestly a bit of a letdown. Nancy and Frank are in lava caves — cool — with currents that lead there – double cool — and the final endgame puzzle is lava mahjong? It’s a poor way to end an otherwise engaging game, even if it doesn’t prevent me (like other puzzles that have been and will be featured in this section) from replaying the game.

The Fix:

So how would I fix The Creature of Kapu Cave?

First things first, I’d change Joe’s entire design for this game. I don’t know why they chose “caveman Jesse McCartney” as their guiding star, but it was an unbelievably poor choice. Sure, Frank’s hair is a bit light, but considering they keep him dark brown for the rest of the games rather than the black hair he had in TRN, I’d be fine with just tinting it a bit darker and focusing on the Enormous Wrong done to Joe Hardy.

The other thing I’d fix is the endgame puzzle. While that style is done well other places in the series (TMB being the obvious example of the tile-style endgame), it really doesn’t fit CRE, and it makes the ending feel like an anti-climax. Even a trip through another set of currents would have been better, though honestly even a final confrontation just through speaking to Mike would have been better.

Other than that, I don’t think I’d change anything else. Sure, there are puzzles and moments I’m not too fond of, but I don’t think that the game suffers from having them in it. Honestly speaking, as long as the player pays attention to the story and tries to put it together rather than just waiting for the final scene, The Creature of Kapu Cave isn’t an impenetrable mystery nor a poorly written game; it’s just a mystery with a beautiful location, fun games, and entertaining puzzles to soup it up.

Oh, and the Hardy Boys, of course.

#nancy drew #clue crew #nancy drew games #Creature of Kapu Cave #CRE #long post #my meta #nancy drew meta #video games

15 notes · View notes

hopelessromantic1352 · 5 years ago

Text

Welcome Addition - Part 2

More dad Hunt! And y’all learn the gender of their baby in this part. Plus, hormones. That should be warning enough. Hopefully everyone enjoys this!! Thank you for all the feedback and support, I appreciate you all!

Perma tags: @cora-nova @drstrange46ers @desiree-0816 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Thomas tags: @alleksa16 @alj4890 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @choicesfactor @choicesmakemychoices @marycarillo21 @lxaah11 @kuladekiwi @ajayismybae @choices-dan @aloehasrose @miss-indecisive-says @mfackenthal @ethanplaysfavorites @amillionmoonsred @usuallyamazinglyaverage @thethots-plicken @hhiggs @jlpplays1 @kamilahvescovi @flyawayboo @lilyofchoices

Word count: 2,059

Warnings: None

Thomas tightens his tie while Stephanie looks at her reflection in the mirror. Both frown, but he speaks first as he sits on the edge of their bed to put his shoes on.

“I agreed for Ms. Sinclaire to hold an event for us and our child, but I am perplexed and rather annoyed as to why she would take our home over and lock us in our room. With the blinds drawn.”

He finishes tying his shoelaces and turns when his wife doesn’t say anything. The silence worries him and then he sees her hand on her stomach while she turns, looking at her body closely. The small bump is obvious and growing as each day goes on, but Thomas swears she has never looked as stunning as now. She literally glows, her eyes bright and her smile full of warmth.

“Stephanie, what is the matter?” As he moves to her side, she steps away, keeping her face turned away from him. Stunned, he stands where he is, unmoving.

She continues ignoring him, walking into their closet. He can hear hangers shuffling, clothes being moved around restlessly and then a loud groan. Seconds later, his custom dress shirts start flying out of the small room, landing on the hardwood floor of their room. His eyes widen before he scowls while he paces towards her, dodging a shirt as he steps into the walk in closet with her.

“Stephanie Hunt, I suggest you tell me why you are destroying my area of the closet before I am forced to drag you out of here in order to protect my clothing.”

His bride glares directly at him and reaches for another one of his shirts, but he’s just as quick, gripping her wrist in a gentle, yet firm hold.

“Thomas, let go.” She struggles against him, but he is unrelenting, keeping her hand in place away from the hanger.

The director wraps an arm around her growing waist and guides her around the clothes on the floor, leading her to the bed and motions her to sit on the edge as he does. She stays standing, crossing her arms and turning away from him instead. Thomas sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he collects his thoughts. He cannot allow anger to rise because he knows this is most likely the pregnancy hormones causing whatever is going on. But, what is going on?

“Please inform me of the reasoning behind tearing into our closet.”

“You have too many clothes.”

The sharp tone in her voice doesn’t even register with him. It’s the statement that finally triggers him. He stands and steps directly in front of her, lowering his face towards her so he can stare into her eyes, their noses nearly brushing at the close proximity.

“I have too many clothes?” His jaw clenches, his dark, intense eyes boring into hers. “Your clothing and shoes take up the entirety of the closet! I have a small portion in comparison to you and you have the audacity to say that I have too many clothes?”

His voice has raised an octave, the usual deep, settling sound higher than she is used to startles her. She immediately drops her head in shame, backing down as she realizes how selfish she’s being. The tears come too easily and begin flooding down her face, sobs wracking her body and with another sigh, he stands to wrap her in a comforting embrace. He holds her, rubbing her back gently while she tries to get control of her emotions. Her slender fingers grip at the lapels of his jacket as she buries her face against his chest, not caring about the mess she’s making of his shirt or her makeup. After a few minutes, she finally collects herself and pulls back to look up at him apologetically.

“I am so sorry, that was… I didn’t mean that. These hormones-- I…” She shakes her head, blushing lightly as she looks away.

His hand reaches under her chin, a finger pushing it up so she has to look at him. His face has softened, the anger gone, replaced with love and care as he looks down at her with worry.

“What started all this?” His voice has lowered as well, the depth of it holding its usual warmth when he’s with her in private.

Stephanie takes a deep breath, her sparkling sapphire eyes still shining from her previous tears as she looks up at him, the blush deepening as each second passes.

“Nothing looks good on me. I’ve tried on every dress I have, everything I have in our closet, but nothing looks good. I’m getting fatter. My eyes have these bags under them, my breasts are huge compared to how they used to be, and I have these stupid mood swings.” Another tear rolls down her cheek, she wipes it away quickly and shakes her head while she breathes out a laugh. “Ridiculous hormones.”

He cannot fathom what he is hearing is what she actually thinks. His dark brows draw together. “You cannot actually believe that.”

“Thomas, look at me.” She steps back and holds her arms out, motiong at her body.

“I have.” He steps back to her, a hand cupping her cheek softly as the other goes to her belly. “You take my breath away each time I see a glimpse of you. You are carrying a child made from our love, that love radiates through you and I have never seen you as beautiful as now. You should understand that I fall more deeply in love with you each day I wake up with you in my arms knowing I’m holding my family.”

Throughout his short speech, her tears began to build up again and at the end, they finally begin falling once more. She wipes at her eyes furiously, sniffing while he caresses the baby bump and her cheek, softly smiling at her. He’d never felt as much love as he does now. Love he didn’t realize he could ever hold for two people. His family. His chest swells with pride as he looks down at his bride with love. He leans down, kissing the shell of her ear before he whispers against it quietly.

“You are a stunning mother.”

She slaps his chest softly, sniffing again. “Stop it, I don’t want to cry anymore.”

When he chuckles, the deep rumble warms her and she wraps her arms around his waist, needing to hold him while she presses her cheek to his chest. He begins rubbing her back in silence and looks around at his shirts littering the floor.

As if reading his thoughts, she speaks up, mumbled by his chest. “I’ll clean those up. But, I think you might need one.” She pulls back and looks at his white shirt stained with mascara.

He nods and cups her cheek once more, smiling so widely the corner of his eyes crinkle. “I love you both beyond words.”

Stephanie swears she will never get used to seeing that smile from him, but she matches it and leans up, kissing him sweetly before she pulls back and begins to lean down to pick up his scattered clothing.

“We love you, too. I know this baby loves you beyond words because they get really excited when you’re around.”

He smirks and picks up most of the hangers with shirts, taking the ones she’d already grabbed from her and he takes them to the closet, hanging them up again. He smooths them out before he takes a white one off the hanger and carries it with him into the bedroom. He lays it across their bed before he slips his jacket off and begins unbuttoning the stained shirt. His fingers are nimble and efficient in their work as he stares at Stephanie. He sees her eyes following his movements, her breathing hitching subtly at every new inch of his exposed chest and he steps closer to her.

“If the child truly does grow excited when I am near, they must get that from you.”

Without any hesitation, she reaches forward with both hands and places them on his chest, sighing as her palms meet his warm skin. “We get excited for two completley different reasons, Mr. Hunt, but yeah, they probably do get it from me.”

Another chuckle erupts from his chest and he slips the mussed shirt off, allowing her to trail her soft hands over his toned body. He fights every urge and want to ravish her right now, forcing his hands to stay at his side while she continues her exploration.

“Mrs. Hunt, I believe it would be best to wait to celebrate until we’ve learned our child’s gender.” He smirks at her despondent huff, “You are the one who asked Ms. Sinclaire for this party.”

“Fine.” As soon as her hands leave his skin, he misses the warmth from them, but soon she’s moving away to reapply her makeup.

***

Thomas could not believe that Addison actually achieved an air of elegance he could approve of. She’d lined their backyard with tables, alternating between light pink and light blue tablecloths. Groups of pink and blue balloons also adorn the yard while silver accents the decorations. The colors are not overdone, nothing is overbearing and she was beyond ecstatic when he gave his version of a compliment to her. So much so, she ran off and began talking excitedly with Matt, gripping his hand and arm. Thomas arches an eyebrow and turns to Stephanie who is looking around in awe.

“Is Ms. Sinclaire pursuing Rodriguez?”

“Huh?” Her gaze follows his to where Addi is held close to Matt. “Oh, yeah. They’ve been going out for quite awhile.”

Before Thomas could push for more information as to why he’d not been informed of that, Addison goes to the front of the party, tapping a spoon against her champagne glass to capture the party guest’s attention.

“Thank you everyone for coming to the Hunt’s gender reveal!” Her bright smile widens when friends and colleagues of Thomas and Stephanie’s begin to cheer. “I’ve been holding this secret in for days and it’s really starting to take its toll on me, so I think I’m ready, as are the parent’s, to find out the gender. So without further ado, please turn your attention to the big screen we’ve set up at the back of the yard.”

Everyone turns to look towards the back of the yard at the large screen Addison has set up. A vintage film countdown appears on the screen. A three shows up, then switches to a two, and finally a one until all of Stephanie and some of Thomas’ close friends appear. They are on a set, a green screen behind them with no background and Addison steps forward from the group. Behind her, Matt, Ryan, Chris, and Holly stand with large cards. The cards have both pink and blue designs on them, not giving away any hint as to the gender.

“Hi everyone! We’re here on set preparing to share the exciting news of Thomas and Steph’s beautiful baby’s gender.” Addison steps back between Matt and Ryan, holding her card forward as she prepares to flip it.

She glances at the group of friends as they start counting together.

“1… 2… 3!”

The cards all flip on the screen while the background of the green screen transitions into a dark sky being illuminated by pink fireworks. As Thomas and Stephanie read out the cards, she starts laughing as tears stream down her cheeks and she covers her mouth while she leans her head onto Thomas’ arm. He feels his lips turning upwards and he reaches over to his pregnant wife, grabbing her hand as her laughing causes him to chuckle.

Matt’s card says “It’s a…” while the rest of the cards spell out "girl".

“It’s a girl.” Stephanie reads it out, beyond excited, her voice cracking while she wipes her eyes. “Thomas, we’re having a little girl.”

He nods once, turning and embracing her while he buries his face in the crook of her neck. His eyes well up with tears as his emotions are overwhelmed. The two cling to each other while their friends clap and cheer around them, celebrating the life of the little Hunt coming into the world soon.

#Thomas Hunt #thomas hunt x mc #thomas orson hunt #professor hunt #dad!hunt #grumpy director #red carpet diaries #choices red carpet diaries #red carpet diaries fanfic #red carpet diaries fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years ago

Text

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 1

strawberryfields-forever said: ok, another request because I cannot get enough of your writing,,,, this might be wayyy out there but, what about a Rog imagine (I know he's all I request but I am a sucker for that man) where the reader lives in current time and is like in her early 20s and time travels somehow and ends up falling for 70s Rog,,,,idk how exactly you could work this out but i'm sure you could do something amazing with it, I love youu thank youuuu,,,

(a/n: THIS IS JUST AN INTRODUCTORY thingy hehe. roger x reader will 100% come later, this was just a difficult topic to dive straight into without some background. if all goes well, this will be several parts, definitely more than three, but no idea how many it will end up at. alright. i’m going to go take some medicine and die on my bed, my head hurts SO BAD)

Go back and save your mother. That’s what you had to do.

It was a daunting task, one that you were extremely worried you couldn’t carry out, but that’s where your uncle came in. After learning about the attack she suffered in the 70’s, he had dedicated a considerable amount of time mapping out what happened when, who was involved, and what could have been done to stop it.

He’d felt guilty ever since that day, seeing as he had been with her just minutes before. She was walking from his flat back to her own when it happened. The attacks had led to your mother’s excommunication from her church upon going public with some of the details/names, and eventually led to her divorce from your father just years ago. And now she was unresponsive, reclusive, and it broke your heart. Your mother, a strong, beautiful woman, now a shell of her former self. Just sitting there in her rocking chair, doing nothing all day, wasting away.

It was enough to make you wish you could go back and fix it all. And that’s what you’d told your uncle one night, when you’d paid him a visit at his flat. You were struggling with your mother’s bills, and you didn’t know who to turn to. And a quick visit to ask him what to do had turned into a night-long visit of venting, crying, and then, the wildest development you’d ever found yourself involved in.

“Yeah. Just walk through the closet. It will take you back.”

“This isn’t funny, Dan, is there something hiding in there, waiting to scare me?” you asked, turning to face him after taking a long, hard look at the dark, seemingly endless closet he’d revealed behind his wardrobe.

He shook his head, then nodded towards the closet and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t go back on your word now. You said you wanted to fix it. I’m showing you how you can.”

“By walking through a bloody closet?” you said incredulously, giving him a skeptical look as you turned and stared down the black expanse of the closet.

But you didn’t get the chance to make your own choice, because your uncle gave you a quick, light shove, and you were sent stumbling into the closet. Dan quickly closed the door behind you, and you were immediately engulfed in darkness. Something felt wrong, very wrong, and once you’d gained your footing and tried to redirect yourself, you headed towards what you thought was the way you’d just come from.

Bursting through the door, you started yelling immediately. “You fucking wanker! You-“

This was not his apartment. In fact, this wasn’t even an apartment at all. It was a hallway, an unfamiliar hallway, lined with cheap-looking apartment doors. The carpet was very 70’s-80’s, a green, purple and red hexagonal pattern that was familiar, for some reason, and threw you off quite a bit. The walls didn’t help either, a bright, shining white that reminded you of a trauma bay that had been recently scrubbed down, not a shoddy apartment building.

The door behind you slammed shut, and you jumped as you turned around to look at it. It read ’00 – authorized entrance only.’

You could hardly believe your eyes, standing there and staring at it without a clue in the world as to what in God’s name you had just stepped through. It was a closet, not a hallway. By any calculations, if it was a hallway, you should have just emerged in your uncle’s bathroom, right around the toilet, not a hallway straight out of ‘The Shining.’

The only thing to snap you out of your trance was a pair of voices echoing out into the hallway as one of the doors to your right opened. Two people stepped out, a fair-skinned blonde man and a somewhat-darker-skinned man with black hair. They both glanced at you, their conversation halting for just a second, and then they continued on their way down the hallway, towards what you assumed was the stairs.

“If we don’t get another roommate by next month, Freddie, we’re toast,” the blonde lamented, clutching onto a small stack of papers and a stapler. The one who you presumed to be Freddie nodded, pushing his bangs back from his face a bit as they continued to walk away from you.

“Think we could make Bri drop out and move in with us?” Freddie asked, turning to look at the blonde. The other man sighed, shaking his head and making his blonde locks look even more shaggy and un-brushed.

“How could he graduate in ’74 if he didn’t keep going?” he replied, an almost mocking tone taking over his voice. And with that, they both veered off to the left, disappearing down the stairs.

“What in the hell?” was all you could say. “Seventy-fucking-four? Where am I?”

Running down the hallway to where they had just disappeared, you practically flew down the stairs and caught them just before they’d descended the next flight down. You were frazzled, very obviously, and the blonde one looked up at all the commotion you were making, pausing on the stairs for a moment.

“You alright?” he questioned, his facial features very clearly noting that he thought you looked like a downright lunatic.

“What year is it?” you breathed out, gasping for air as you stared at them wildly. The blonde one looked at the other, raising an eyebrow and giving him a helpless look. Both of them were completely confused by the situation right now, as evidenced by the looks being exchanged between the two of them.

“Roger, I think she’s ill,” the one named Freddie whispered, but you ignored him and pressed on with what you’d just asked.

“What year is it?”

“Uhhhh, ‘71. Are you okay?” The one you now knew as Roger was uneasy, shifting his weight to his other foot as Freddie gave you an apprehensive look. But you were already too overwhelmed to care whether this stranger thought you were mental.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed out, looking around you in horrified amazement. Dan wasn’t kidding. Without another word, you raced back upstairs in no time, throwing the 00 door open and running back through the ‘closet’ before nearly slamming into the door on the opposite end. But you slid to a stop just in time, pulling it open, and there was your uncle. “What in the fuck was that?!”

“Welcome back,” he said, his hand still retracting from where the door handle would have been.

“Have you been standing here, holding the door so I couldn’t get back in here that whole time?” you nearly spit, somewhere between rage and confusion and disbelief and amazement all at the same time.

“Nah. You’ve only been gone for a fraction of a second.” A fraction of a second? He had to be kidding. But then again, you had literally just traveled back to the year 1971, so pigs may very well be flying at this moment and you could hardly feel shocked.

“I…” you trailed off, looking around helplessly as you started to feel overwhelmed again. So much was happening all at once, and it was too much for you to handle as you stumbled over to his bed and sat down, your head in your hands.

You could hear him quietly shut the door, so you peeked up to see him cross the room to his desk, where he sat down and opened a drawer. Pulling out a manila envelope, Dan turned around in his chair to face you, which made you raise your head and stare at him with multiple emotions running across your face all at once. What was going on?

And now here you were a month later, clutching that same damned envelope, back in the same damned hallway, staring at the same damned door. The only thing different about you was your clothes – Dan had insisted on you wearing period-appropriate clothes, so you’d had to ditch your modern outfit for some unbelievably itchy corduroy bell-bottoms, a flowy, white blouse, and an astonishingly ugly newsboy cap. The thrift store had not treated you well.

The manila envelope was stuffed with an assortment of fake identity documents, things to help you get places, like passports, IDs, birth certificates, and the likes. There was also a large amount of cash in there, which you were supposed to take straight to the bank. But first, you had something to do here, right now.

The door to your right opened, and out came the same blonde-black haired duo, yammering on and on before they saw you. Again, they paused for a moment to look at you, then kept talking, making their way down the hallway.

“If we don’t get another roommate by next month, Freddie, we’re toast,” the man you recognized as Roger lamented, clutching onto the now-familiar small stack of papers and the stapler from before. Freddie nodded, just like clockwork, pushing his bangs back from his face again. Or was it again? Does that even count that way?

“Think we could make Bri drop out and move in with us?” Freddie asked, turning to look at Roger, who sighed and shook his head.

“How could he graduate in ’74 if he didn’t keep going?” he replied, clearly mocking whoever this ‘Bri’ was. His already higher voice raised even higher in his mocking tone, but there was a distinct softness to his voice. Even when he was speaking that aggressively, he still sounded a bit mousy, and far less intimidating than his companion’s posh baritone.

“Hey!” you called out, your voice almost scaring yourself as you turned to face them. They were quite a ways down the hallway, but they heard you and turned around curiously, staring back at you as you hesitantly made your way over to them. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You need a new roommate?”

“Yeah, d’you know anyone, love?” Roger asked, turning to face you fully and shoving his hands in his pockets. Now that you got a good look at him, you saw that he was quite a feminine looking man, with big doe eyes that were an oceanic shade of blue, a soft nose, and dainty lips that drew back to reveal a charming smile when you nodded. “Brilliant! Can you give us their number?”

“Er, you’re looking at her,” you replied, smiling a bit sheepishly and trying not to seem like you were desperate to move in with them. Suddenly, you recalled Dan’s urgency as he explained that you had to move in with these two men. They were right next door to where the attack would take place, and it gave you a good position to observe that night and make sure you could redirect the past.

“You?” Freddie said, seeming apprehensive at first. “Why, you’re in this building already. Don’t you live here?”

“No, just scouting, I guess,” you offered weakly, scratching the back of your neck and glancing between the two of them before focusing on Freddie. For a moment, you also scanned his features. From this vantage point, you could see a strong jawline making the basis for an aquiline nose, deep, almost sunken eyes, and prominent front teeth that he quickly covered up with his lips whenever he wasn’t speaking. “Anyways, I really need a place to stay. My roommate is moving out too, and I only have enough money for my part of the rent.”

“Well,” Roger said, pursing his lips and looking up at Freddie, who shrugged and gave him no help at all. “You’d have to sleep on the couch, you wouldn’t have a room. And we’d all share one bathroom.”

Damn. Dan hadn’t mentioned that. “I suppose I could live with that,” you replied, against your own reservations. In your personal experience, men were absolutely disgusting creatures when it came to the bathroom, so this was sure to be a joy. “And I don’t have a lot of stuff, so I promise I wouldn’t be taking up too much space.”

“Tempting,” Roger mused, mainly to himself. His eyes roved over you quickly, unashamedly, and you suddenly felt like you were under an x-ray. He was slow, deliberate about it, ending right back up at your eyes, and you could swear that you saw a little smirk play at his lips before he tore his eyes away from you.

They looked at each other, Roger chewing on his lip as Freddie raised an eyebrow at him in question. Sharing a similar exchange of glances to the one you’d witnessed previously, the time went on agonizingly slow as they mulled over the idea in silence. It was enough to make you shift uncomfortably, then speak again. “Listen, I’m really desperate. I’ll do all the dishes and grocery shopping as long as you pitch in money.”

“Sold!” Freddie almost yelled, throwing one of the papers in Roger’s hand up in the air. Roger laughed once, looking from Freddie to you, and you couldn’t help but sigh in relief as you pressed a hand to your head, smiling widely. Meeting Roger’s eyes, you gave a little laugh at Freddie’s mini-burst of excitement and shook your head. He chuckled with you, his large blue eyes holding an amused look as he shrugged, catching his tongue between his teeth and grinning.

Freddie pulled you up into a hug, and then wrapped his arm around you as he led you back towards their apartment, babbling on about how excited he was. He talked with eccentric flourishes, his hands doing half of the talking, and his face, framed by long black-brown hair, was entirely animated.

As he talked, you stole a glance over your shoulder at Roger, who started to follow behind you two while still smiling a bit. He looked up as you glanced back at him, and you swore you could see him wink before you turned back around quickly and caught your lower lip between your teeth. Oh, Christ. This was going to be interesting.

PT. 2

PT. 3

message me/reply to this to be added to the permanent taglist!

#roger taylor x reader #time travel #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor #queen imagine #freddie mercury

109 notes · View notes

phanfictioncatalogue · 7 years ago

Text

Model (2) Masterlist

Links Last Checked: November 5th, 2024

part one

All i ever wanted was the world (ao3) - Furud

Summary: Photographer phil x Model dan with Dan being a prick who would only do his usual right side poses.

all the light we cannot see (ao3) - uselessphillie

Summary: “Hello, we met for two minutes at a party last weekend and I left because I assumed you were a twat but I’ve been stalking you online and have realized the error of my ways. I’m entranced by your portraits and am desperate to know what it’s like to be photographed by you also you have nice eyes and the memory of your smile helps calm me down so I think I might like to get to know you better would you also like that?”

or, the one where phil is the only person to have ever really seen him.

Camboy (wattpad) - http-jojo

Summary: Phil is in need of some money and sometimes the best way to get it is to the do harder jobs. Model!Phil & Harsh!Howell

Echoes Of Fashion - irphanfic

Summary: Dan Howell is a 26 year old famous fashion designer. In the shooting for his new clothing line, what will happen when a new model called Phil Lester gets on his nerves?

just like that (ao3) - Mayleah

Summary: Phil is an openly gay model. Dan is a closeted actor. They meet at a party.

makeup is not for boys (ao3) - reportdanhowell

Summary: “Makeup makes me feel so incredibly comfortable in my skin. Dressing the way I like makes me feel so empowered.”

Picture Perfect - doomedhowell

Summary: Phil Lester is a big time photographer and has just been offered the opportunity of a life time for his company. He needs a model, so he asks his pastel, fashion lover boyfriend, Dan. The only problem? Dan is extremely shy around strangers and has anxiety. Phil hopes to finally help Dan out of his shell.

Picture Perfect (ao3) - FollowYourDreams

Summary: Dan is a professional photographer and Phil is his muse. Unfortunately, Dan is forbidden to have a relationship with his models. However, when tension builds and builds, rules are broken, lines are crossed, and careers are put on the line.

Poser (wattpad) - ecstasyphan

Summary: Daniel James is an asshole, arrogant mainstream model, who doesn't make it easy for his new stylist, Phil Lester. But Daniel also has a secret, which lead him to needing Phil as his new stylist in the first place..

pretty boy (wattpad) - snazzylester

Summary: photographer!phil and model!dan.

Pretty Tough (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil’s a special agent. Dan's a model. Under normal circumanstances, they would never collide. But one day, Phil gets the model in trouble and has to keep him safe.

Showbiz (ao3) - jlawad

Summary: Dan, a shy college freshman, finds himself a job working as a model for an art student. Phil, the art student, likes to explore the art of BDSM.

They’re Going To Love You - doomedhowell

Summary: Dan is Phil’s model boyfriend, and Phil is a youtuber in a wheelchair. They decide to finally make a video together after months of Phli’s viewers asking them to make a video together.

Thunderstorm - waverlysangels

Summary: In which Phil likes to take photos and Dan is his muse.

Until You Love Me - pianodan

Summary: (80s AU) dan howell, a nineteen-year-old model with an ego bigger than his wardrobe, is the hottest thing to come out of the UK since The Smiths. Phil is a twenty-two year old photography student who prefers to be behind the camera rather than in front of it, but upon landing himself a six month placement with River, the biggest modelling agency in Britain, he finds himself in the company of the younger boy more often than he’d like to be.

When The Light Beckons The Dark (ao3) - doctor_killjoy_loves_you

Summary: One night as you stand outside admiring the stars, a flashing error message lights up the sky. As you look around, objects begin flashing and pixelating. You realize something is wrong.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #au #model #model!dan #model!phil #model masterlist

100 notes · View notes

missingverse · 7 years ago

Text

Missing Chapter Two

…..

Around the age of ten, when they had only started in the fifth grade, some sort of shift happened with Helga. It was something you wouldn't have noticed unless you were pretty close to her (or just very familiar with her, as Arnold was) and it was gradual, barely seen until one day you paid attention and realized she was a completely different person.

She started wearing her hair differently, ditching the pigtails and the head-eating bow for loose waves, a few strands tied back from her face with a more modest pink ribbon. She grew enough so that her eyebrows finally fit her face, and although they were no less bushy it was in around the time strong eyebrows were just becoming fashionable.

She tossed the spitballs and snide remarks and the all-round air of irritation with the rest of the world, and although she could still be sharp with the insults and quick with a fist mostly she treated everyone around her with a cool indifference. She could have easily become one of the cool girls (and indeed the cool girls at the time were desperate to get her to join their little coven) but she stuck with loyal, steadfast Phoebe. She joined Little League in the spring and quickly became their star player, easily forgiven for driving fast balls that sprained wrists for just how many games the team won with her at the helm.

Boys clamored for her attention, in and out of school. The boys on her baseball team, some of them sixth and seventh graders, jostled each other to walk her home. She got notes in her locker, slipped into her books, passed over at lunch. Arnold watched her open one of these notes once during lunch, watched as she rolled her eyes, tossed it into the garbage can and said something dismissive about it to a giggling Phoebe.

He missed her. He didn't think he would but he did.

He missed the spitballs and the insults and 'Football Head' and that way she used to glower at him with her eyes narrowed and those thick brows furrowed and the deadpan tone of her voice. She no longer spoke to or about him the same way she did, and she seemed to look through him instead of at him.

And then she disappeared, and he would have given anything to have her look through him again.

…..

She said she didn't need to sleep, but when she yawned for the third time he asked if he should set her up with a bed.

“I didn't sleep before,” she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don't remember yawning much, either...”

“I dunno, maybe you're shifting or something?” he wondered. “Maybe it's different because I can see you.”

“Shifting? Why do you think that?”

“I read something online once, something about spirits taking on different forms for different purposes,” he shrugged. “Can't remember where I saw it though.”

“You think I'm here for some purpose?” she asked, stifling another yawn through her fingers.

“Well, yeah,” he answered. “Like, ghosts in the movies always come back because they have unfinished business...”

She hummed a bit dubiously, rubbing the carpet with her bare foot. The shoed one tapped on the leg of the chair.

“You have unfinished business,” he continued. “No-one knows what happened to you...”

“That no-one includes me,” she told him. “I have no idea what happened.”

“Yeah, and maybe you're meant to find out. Like, maybe you don't know anything now, but your memory could be jogged by something...we could find some clue the police missed.”

Now she looked a little more awake. She glanced at the flickering computer screen, where the details of her case were spread over ten different browser tabs.

“Where would we start?” she asked.

“The shoe,” Arnold blurted out before he could stop himself.

The shoe was that one detail that had caught him like a fishhook. Found in an irrigation ditch thirty miles from Hillwood, on partially deserted farmland. The nearest road was seven and a half miles away, and the land itself was fenced off and undisturbed. It was searched and partially dug up, looking for a body, but nothing was ever found except for that shoe. It was like it had been dropped from the sky.

And it was definitely Helga's shoe. Even if there had been a number of tween girls wearing these particular white sneakers with pink laces, even if her name written on it was a coincidence, the ghost sitting across from him wearing its twin left no room for doubt.

She yawned, again.

“The couch okay with you? It's pretty comfortable,” he said, going to his closet and dragging out the spare comforter and pillows.

“You....want me to sleep here?” she asked.

“None of the boarding rooms are free right now,” he said. “Or I'd clear one out for you, but I'd have to explain that to my Grandpa and....”

“I don't need a whole room,” she demurred. “Up until now I didn't even need a bed.”

“Then you've been awake for weeks, so you definitely need to rest.”

He laid out the pillows and comforter and left to change into his Pjs in the bathroom. When he came back in she was buried under the comforter, just a patch of blonde fuzz visible on the pillow.

“This is nice,” she said, muffled through the fabric. “Thanks.”

A spreading warmth trickled under Arnold's skin, looking at the girl-shaped lump of covers on the couch.

“No problem,” he said. “We can make a plan for the weekend after school tomorrow.”

…..

Helga was still asleep when he left for school. He checked on her, and she looked more solid and real than ever. She mumbled something in her sleep and he tucked her in before he jogged out the door.

It was hard to concentrate in class; he had made a catalogue of all the places he passed on his bike, and he tallied them over and over in his head.

Bob's old beeper shop. Would she have gone there after school? Why?

The street corner where the Jolly-Olly man stopped his truck. He was interviewed, said he didn't see her. But he sees so many kids, why was he so clear he hadn't seen her in particular?

The city library. Phoebe was there after school, Helga didn't go with her. Phoebe's phone was turned off because of the library rules. Helga might have tried to call her if she was in trouble.

The batting cages. Some of her teammates saw her there the day before. She went there a lot after school.

The corner store. Security cameras put her there between 4 and 5pm. She bought a soda and a bag of chips. She was alone.

That kid he sometimes talked to at lunch (Dan?Dave?)asked if he was feeling okay. He hadn't realized but he had been staring hard at his lunch without actually touching it for most of the lunch period.

“I'm fine,” he laughed weakly. “Didn't get much sleep last night, that's all.”

“You worried about the test?” Dan (or Dave?) asked.

“Little bit,” Arnold lied.

Who saw her that day?

She hadn't gotten on a train or bus, security cameras showed that much. She had her bike when she left the corner store, and then Andrew Lancie was caught trying to pawn it two towns over. The woods had been searched with dogs. Speed cameras on the outskirts of Hillwood hadn't picked her up on foot. If she left Hillwood, it would have had to have been in someone's car.

“Maybe you should go to the nurse's office,” Dave (or Dan?) said. “You're seriously spaced out.”

A throaty laugh from the edge of the cafeteria made him jump, and even before he turned around to watch he knew Harold was tormenting another freshman. Apparently he had cornered some poor skinny goth-ish kid and was setting fire to his homework. The cafeteria monitor was watching impassively, with no sign he was going to intervene.

Harold was never this bad before.

That wasn't quite true, was it? He had always been a bully....but his bullying had been a mildly understandable front for his insecurities regarding his weight, his slowness, his appearance. These days he was downright sadistic.

But if he thought about it (and sometimes he did) everyone was worse than they had been before. His former best friend was egocentric and careless with people's feelings. Phoebe was a crumpled shell of what she had been. Rhonda was even more self-absorbed and cruel to other girls. Sid was a creep, Stinky hardly even turned up at school any more. Eugene was constantly out of school with 'illnesses' that doctors couldn't find any evidence of.

Arnold had wondered from time to time if they would have been different if Helga hadn't gone missing. He knew Phoebe at least would be in a better place, but who was to say?

The effect it had on the class couldn't be denied. Before Helga vanished, kids had walked to school, hung out on street corners, let themselves into their homes while their parents were at work. After, parents picked up their kids or got someone they trusted to pick them up. They were called in from the street before the sun even began to set. There were no more latchkey kids, parents quit their jobs instead.

The class was numb for months, disbelieving that anything could have happened to Helga. Their teacher was shaky, prone to tears, and the grown-ups spoke in whispers. Playground rumors spread around were nasty, graphic and upsetting. They couldn't have come away from it all without being damaged in some way.

…..

As Arnold unlocked his bike, he spotted Phoebe shuffling out of the library door, shoving a stack of books into her backpack.

When did I last speak to her?

Helga's ghost had come to him, for some reason, and not her best friend. He felt bad for her, in an all new way.

“Phoebe!” he called.

She looked up, frowned, and hurried away. He rushed after her, his bike clattering against the pavement.

“Hang on,” he gasped as he caught up to her. “I just want to talk for a minute.”

“What do you want?” she snapped, not slowing, not looking at him.

“It's been a while,” he said. “I just want to know how you're doing.”

“I'm fine.”

No, you're not. Everyone can see that.

“I mean, really,” he said, drawing up alongside her to look at her face. “I know it's been hard. I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner...”

“Do what?” she said as she stopped suddenly, glaring at him.

“You know...” he shrugged, at a loss. He had been impulsive, hadn't expected to get this far. “Check in on you.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Furious red spots bloomed on her cheeks, a sharp contrast to her deathly pallor.

He shrugged again, suddenly embarrassed.

“I feel like Helga would have wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

She had been angry before, but as soon as the name left his mouth her fury could be felt radiating from Phoebe in waves. He took a step back; she looked like she wanted to hit him.

“You don't know what Helga would have wanted,” she hissed. “You didn't know her.”

She pushed past him so hard he nearly fell over. He let her go, watching her helplessly.

That could have gone better.

…..

“You feeling okay, Shortman?” his grandpa asked.

The nickname was ironic, now that he was a head taller than Phil. He smiled weakly, and stirred his potatoes into mush.

“Didn't get much sleep last night,” he lied for the second time that day.

“It's those chinchillas,” his grandma muttered. “Too noisy at night.”

No-one in the boarding house had chinchillas, of course, but Arnold nodded in agreement anyway.

“Hey Grandpa,” he began, pushing his plate away. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Remember when Helga Pataki went missing?”

Gertie got up from the table, shaking her head as she left the room. Phil pushed his own plate away, looking uncharacteristically grim.

“Hard to forget that kind of thing, Shortman,” he said quietly. “What about it?”

“What did people say about it? I mean, I read the reports and a bunch of stuff online....but what about you and the rest of the neighborhood?”

Phil leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“It was pretty obvious to us, Arnold,” he said. “Someone was watching her.”

He blinked. That was pretty unexpected.

“Why do you think that?” he asked. “I thought everyone thought her dad did it....”

“Big Bob was an asshole,” Phil said, and now Arnold knew he was in serious mode because he almost never swore. “But he didn't kill that little girl. He let her wander all over town on her own for years, though. Might as well have painted a great big target on her back.”

…..

Upstairs, Helga was waiting for him. She had made a little nest out of the pillows and comforter.

“I left the house today,” she told him, not even bothering with a greeting. “Made it as far as Stoop Kid's stoop.”

“That's great,” he said. “You think you'll be able to go further?”

“I think so,” she replied. “I feel like I can walk around as long as I have some connection to the house. I can see Stoop Kid's stoop from here so...”

She trailed off with a shrug. Arnold took out a notepad and brought up Hillwood on Google Maps.

“Right,” he said, uncapping a pen. “Tomorrow, we're going to start retracing your steps.”

#missing #hey arnold fanfiction #hey arnold #tw:crime

1 note · View note

ships-sailing-in-the-night · 7 years ago

Note

Fic prompt: Marcus invites Chloe to the fasionable restaurant... to eat fugu fish. She is reluctunt but agrees. Maze learns about it and tells Lucifer.

Here ya go, another one complete! Read below or on AO3 here

A knock on her desk pulled Chloe’s attention away from her laptop and up towards the man standing in front of her. He was tall, handsome, had dark brown hair and bluish-gray eyes.

“Afternoon Chloe.” The man gave her a warm smile.

“Afternoon Lt. Pierce.”

“How many times must I tell you, Marcus is just fine….I was uhh, was wondering if you were doing anything later tonight?”

Chloe pursed her lips and thought for a minute. Dan had Trixie tonight, Maze was just going to be watching porn or something, Lucifer was, bring Lucifer…yeah her night was basically free.

“I’m not doing anything really, I was planning on just relaxing and perhaps watching a movie.”

“Well, there is this really good restaurant on Beverly Grove called Matsumoto. I heard they have really good Fugu Fish there and I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner there?”

“Ummm…sure, I guess it would be nice to get out for a while.”

“Great, is six o’clock ok?”

“Yep, that’s fine.”

“Alright, I will see you then.” With a smile, he turned and walked away. Chloe thought that having dinner with Lieutenant wouldn’t be too much of a big deal, but she wasn’t prepared for the endless questions that came from Maze when she got home later that night.

______________________________________________________

“So you’re going on a date with your boss? To some fancy restaurant? To eat fish that is poisonous and really doesn’t taste that good? And you really think that is more ideal then sitting here and watching Netflix with me?” Chloe looked up from what she was reading on her phone and glared at Maze.

“Maze. First; it’s not a date, second; I’ve never tried Fugu fish so who knows, it might actually taste good, and third; you don’t watch anything that isn’t porn.”

“That’s not true.” Maze folded her arms in defense, but Chloe continued to glare at her.

“…Ok maybe it’s not entirely true, but I do enjoy that show Thrones.

“It’s called Game of Thrones.”

“Yeah that one, there is a lot of sex in that show, and I mean a lot. It is just up my alley. Last night I got to the part where-“ Chloe glanced up from her phone and practically put both her hands over Maze’s mouth.

“Don’t say anything, I haven’t had a chance to catch up on all the episodes!” Maze smirked, before taking Chloe’s hands off from her mouth. There were a couple minutes of silence before Maze broke it.

“Anyway, does Lucifer know about this not so-called-date?”

“No, and for the last time, it isn’t a date. I only agreed because I would like to stay in the good graces of the Lieutenant and I was being nice. I would have felt a little bad if I said no…Still, though, I am not telling Lucifer about it and neither are you.” She pointed a finger directly at Maze’s chest before she started to head upstairs to prepare for the dinner.

Going through her closet she realized she didn’t a lot of nice, dressy clothes for a fancy restaurant. She eventually decided on a blue sundress with tan heels. Both were simple but it looked fancy enough for the restaurant. She didn’t put too much makeup on, just touching up here and there, a little neutral lipstick, and she pulled her hair halfway up. She grabbed her summer clutch and her house key as she headed down the steps. Once she reached the bottom of the steps, Maze gave her a quick once over before huffing and turning on her heel to go back to whatever she was doing. A knock at the door signaled that Marcus had arrived to pick her up. She opened the door and saw him wearing a maroon button down and black suit pants. ‘Hmmm, he went a bit on the casual side too, so I guess the restaurant isn’t that fancy,’ she thought to herself. Smiling she allowed him to lead her out the door and to his car.

“What, no motorcycle this time?” She stated jokingly, knowing he always drove everywhere on his precious bike, sort of how Lucifer would take his beloved jet black Corvette everywhere he would go. Instead, Marcus drove his Acura RLX which was a deep blue color, the rays of the sun bouncing off the exterior.

“I didn’t think you would want to ride a motorcycle in a dress at this time of day. You might get cold.” He offered warm smile before opening the passenger door, allowing Chloe to enter the vehicle. The interior was all black, the seats were leather and faux wood paneling outlined some of the compartments. The drive was about half an hour out of town, in the car they chatted about family, work, cases, all small talk really. After a couple moments of silence, Marcus spoke once more.

“I have to ask about your partner if you don’t mind, how did that even come to be?”

“Well, a friend of his was murdered outside of his club. He was the only witness to the murder so I asked him a couple of questions about the victim.” She started to laugh thinking about their conversation.

______________________________________________________

“Lucifer Morningstar…is that a stage name or something?” Surely he was joking, out of all the names he could have picked he chose the Devil’s name”….…“God-given, I’m afraid.”……”You like to play cop do you?“…….”No, I just like to play in general detective, what about you?” Man, if looks could kill, and his smile….

______________________________________________________

“Aaaannnnd, so how did a club owner named after the Devi go from club owner to civilian consultant?”

“Well, he kept interfering with the Delilah murder so I let him stick around. Together we were able to get the clues to find the murder and put him behind bars…well, or a psychiatric hospital…but yeah. He kept helping me with cases so I put a request in to make him an official consultant of the LAPD.”

“Psychiatric hospital? It seems like a majority of our suspects end up going mad after they a have a quick one-on-one chat with him.”

“Perhaps, but his way gets results, even if it’s not always the most conventional or legal way.”

______________________________________________________

They didn’t have to wait long because Marcus had put in a reservation for them for two at six o’clock. The young waiter led them to their table, the table had a blue cloth draped over it with a small vase containing shells and a candle. The atmosphere was a little on the dark side, but the aquariums surrounding the floor brightened up the room a bit. Not too long after an older woman, looking to be in her mid 40’s approached the two.

“Here is your menu, as you might have known our specialty is the Fugu Fish, it is served it a corn hash and a small side salad. This page here shows you our other fresh fish and seafood options. Can I start you two off with something to drink?”

“We would like two glasses of your house red, please,” Marcus told the waitress, whose name tag read Samantha.

“Alright, I will bring you some bread and your drinks should be out shortly.” After writing the order down Samantha turned and left to head towards the kitchen.

“So…” Marcus began.

“What made you want to move to LA? You don’t seem like the big city type of guy.”

“Well, let’s just say LA served up an opportunity for me that I just couldn’t resist. Though I suppose you are right though, I prefer to live in the country. I lived in Colorado for most of my life, I started working in the police department, helping with paperwork mostly in college, and then after graduation, I joined the academy. Then a couple of months ago, something came up and I was offered the opening for Police Lieutenant of the LAPD, so I packed everything and left to move here.” Marcus rested his chin on both of his fisted hands, his elbow’s leaning on the table in front of him.

Samantha returned shortly after with their drinks and some fresh rolls. She placed the bread and glasses of wine down on the table before pulling out her notepad once more.

“Do you two know what you would like to have tonight?”

“I believe we would both like to try the Fugu fish tonight.” He smiled up at Samantha while handing both his and Chloe’s menu to her.

“Alrighty, I will go ahead and put the order in so the cook and get started on it right away. It will take some time but I’ll make sure that as soon as it is done it will be headed your way.” Closing her notepad and grabbing the menus she turned and headed towards the kitchen once more. While waiting for their food, Chloe and Marcus snacked on the bread that was provided while continuing in light conversation.

______________________________________________________

“The detective is going to each something called Fugu fish with Lt. Pierce?”

“Yep, she said it wasn’t a date, she just ‘wanted to look good for her boss’.”

“Hmmm, well the Detective is free to do and have dinner with however she pleases, that is the whole concept of free will. Being able to decide what you do and don’t want to do and have control over your choices. It wouldn’t be my place to advise her otherwise.”

“I know, I know, I just thought I would let you know seeming that you don’t like this Marcus very much.”

“I’d take the douche any day over the Lieutenant any day.”

“Alright, I gotta start the next episode of Thrones now otherwise I won’t be able to finish it before Chloe get’s home, and you know how she hates it when I watch it while her child is in the house.”

“Fine, I have to take care of a few things down in LUX anyway, thank you for the information Mazikeen.” Lucifer hung up his cell phone and slipped it back into his pants pocket. He checked his refrigerator to see how many ingredients he had in case the detective decided to drop by later that night for a snack.

______________________________________________________

About three hours later Lucifer heard his elevator ding, perhaps one of the Brittney’s was coming up to entertain him. He was about to ask them to leave when he saw a rather familiar face. A smile appeared on his face as he headed toward his kitchen.

“Let me guess, not your type of fish?”

“You could say that. The Fugu was alright, but I am definitely more of an Italian restaurant type of girl than a seafood restaurant person. It was too dark and Marcus just told me all about his days on the farm.”

“Sounds boring if you ask me.” He then headed to his freezer and pulled out two tubs of ice cream, both different flavors. With the ice cream tubs in his hands, he asks,

“Care for some dessert if you are not already too full?”

Chloe smiled and placed her jacket on his bar countertop, she had gone against ordering dessert at the restaurant because all she really wanted to do was to go back home. Fancy, poisonous-if-not-cooked-properly-fish, was not something she would want to eat again in a long time. She used the excuse that the salad had filled up most of her appetite and that she didn’t have much room for the fish. She only ate probably half of the fish and all of her corn hash.

“I think I saved enough room.” She grabbed one of the tubs of ice cream from his hand and headed over to grab two bowls from his cabinet. They spent the night, eating ice cream, chatting and watching a movie on Netflix; Chloe’s definition of a perfect night.

Thanks for the prompt! :)

#anon #ask #answered #lucifer fanfic #deckerstar #marclo #one-shot

11 notes · View notes

roidespd-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Eighteen : LE MARIAGE POUR TOUS

Part Two of the extensively-researched and exhausting journey through France and its Queer citizens through time. As we explored France’s Past with Queer History yesterday, Today is about that very special time of 2012–2013 with the passing of Same-Sex Marriage. Tomorrow, our present and future. In this article, we’ll explore how we came to same-sex marriage, the opposition, the climate of the time and how much of a cunt you are if you ever thought “yeah, now we have same sex marriage, we can chill”.

As most of you must know by now, Same-sex marriage has been legal in France since May 18, 2013. It became the thirteenth country worldwide to allow same-sex couples to marry (out of 28 as of 2019). Unfortunately, even in a country that promotes itself as gay-friendly, it wasn’t an easy fight. And here are the highlights.

With the implementation of the PACS in 1999, the country was somewhat at peace with LGBTQ+ rights. It didn’t last long though. On June 5, 2004, Mayor of Bègles and former Green Party Presidential Candidate Noël Mamère conducted a same-sex marriage ceremony for two men. The Minister of Justice later declared the union null and void. The case went up to the Court of Cassation and the European Court of Human Rights, to zero positive results and Mamère was suspended from his functions.

In 2006, as the PACS was getting more and more rights, a committee on the “Report of the Family and the Rights of Children” argued that marriage, adoption and medically assisted reproduction for same-sex couples were still out of the question.

Flashforward to 2011. While the government was no longer trying to give more rights to LGBTQ+ people (it should be noted that only the L and G were in the public’s mind. Maybe a little L but with even less consideration), LGBT organizations decided to go the Constitutional Council and ask a review of same-sex marriage as unconstitutional. The demand was rejected and the question was send to the Parliament. On June 14th, the Assembly voted 293–222 NO to same-sex marriage. Socialists deputies were “mostly” in favor of the law and just like that, as gay rights were a major player in the 1981 presidential election, the same happened with the 2012 legislative AND presidential campaigns.

2012 AND ITS PROMISES

Power-thirsty candidate François Hollande announced during his presidential campaign his support for same-sex marriage and adoption for same-sex couples. To be fair, Hollande was already a vocal supporter of those rights back in 2004, while his partner at the time, Ségolène Royal, was less into it. Queer people had their cheerleader and, no spoilers here, Hollande won the election on May 6th, 2012. With a absolute majority at the Assembly a few weeks later came a promise of a bill no later than spring of 2013. The first draft was submitted to Parliament on November 7, 2012. And that’s when…

BIGGOT’S SHIT HIT THE FAN

November 17th, 2012 saw the creation a collective called “La Manif’ Pour Tous” (or MPF) as a response to the new government’s plea for same-sex marriage. Made mostly of faith-based associations (37 to be exact), it was founded by Frigide Barjot, Ludivine de la Rochère and Albéric Dumont. Yep, if you feel the need to thank anyone for feeling like a piece of shit back in 2013, those three seem like the main recipients.

I was going to do a portrait of Frigide Bardot but on second thoughts, she’s so not worth it. The self-proclaimed “press manager of Jesus” also created the ‘Collectif de l’Humanité Durable” which campaigns against abortion and euthanasia rights. Her quotes are as intelligent as “Same-sex marriages are like weddings between animals” and she’s a ridiculous person.

So, back to MPF. Did you know that of those 37 organizations, Le Monde found out that 22 of them did not exist or were just “empty shells” associations ? Hmm. Funny, right ? Anyway, on November 17th, the first manifestation is organized. Around 70,000 people took to the street with slogans like “La Famille, Patrimoine de l’Humain”, “Un Papa, un Maman, on ne ment pas aux enfants” or “Le Gender, c’est pas mon Genre”. What a bunch of clever little Jesus Freaks.

A second manifestation is put together on January 13th, 2013. This time, sources talk to close to 340,000 people all around Paris. Marine LePen was there, all smiling and happy. CUNT. A month later, 700,000 signatures were on a petition sent to the Conseil Economique, Social et Environnemental (CESE). The demands of the Manif pour Tous were rejected by the Tribunal Administratif of Paris, which dimmed it invalid, the Cour d’Appel of Paris and finally the Conseil d’Etat.

Third manifestation on March 24th. 300,000 people attended while the Right Party (UMP) joined the march.

On the fourth manifestation on April 21st, only 45,000 people were present, showing a slowing down of the bigoted movement. The Manif Pour Tous was tearing itself apart from the inside, with Frigite Bardot becoming a too crazy-and-permanent presence in the media and a few important organizations leaving the show, like Printemps Français.

Did you know that the Manif pour Tous was still active and is now a political party ? More on that tomorrow.

Nothing about that was funny. More than dramatic, it was a scary time for Queer People as La Manif pour Tous instigated a new rule to the game of life.

THE RIGHT TO HATE

It became apparent in 2013 that parts of the country was liberating themselves from its political correctness that came with the Aids Epidemic et the arrival of the PACS. A report from May 2014 announced a 78% gain in homophobic slurs and attacks in 2013. In total, 3500 cases were reported to the police at some point during the year. A third of those cases were linked to the Manif pour Tous. The media saturation on the subject made it an everyday debate from Monday to Sunday, from the workplace to the dinner table. A Queer person was being attacked every two days, mostly in public places.

Quote from the report “victims consider that the exposure to aggressive rhetorics gave the attackers a sense of encouragement, a feeling of doing the right thing, and favorable impunity when it came to act”. Queer people were forced back in the closet in some way, as just holding your partner’s hand or kissing in public could land you in the hospital.

Example : A lesbian couple in Lyon cuddled on the subway. A young homophobe saw that, called them “disgusting lesbians, whores, sluts, bitches” and hit them both. Example : On April 7th, 2013, the very public bashing of Wildred de Brujin while he was walking with his boyfriend in the streets of Paris (see article “Queer Community vs Violence”). Example : I COULD DO THIS ALL DAY. I, myself, was punched in the face in my car while surrounded by a group of thugs who didn’t like the fact that two guys were in a car talking in their neighborhood. They asked us “What are you doing here?”. We’re talking, what does it look like ? They said “We don’t want people like you around here, fuck off”. What people ? People who talk ? My window was open just enough for one of them to put his fist in my face. I turned the engine on, open the door wild to push them away and ran away. My friend was living on that street and we had to wait at least half an hour before coming back and letting him go home. I was furious. I kept on driving, my hands were shaking. I stopped the car twice. The first time, to calm myself down as I was about to faint from anger. The second time, I leaned over to my friend — who was just a friend — and kissed him for a full minute, tongue and all, and said “At least now, we were attacked for a reason”.

Social Media was full of openly homophobic tweets and Facebook posts. Poetic phrases like “Beeeeeeeeeeurk dans mes amis sur Facebook y’a une gouine”, “#BrulonsLesPD”, “#LesGaysNeSontPasHumainsCar” or “#LaFranceSansGays”. And don’t think for one second that the anonymity of the internet was the main reason for those statements. They were, but it was so bad back then, you would still hear them out loud ON THE FUCKING STREET.

AND THEN IT HAPPENED

On February 2, 2013, The Assembly approved the first article of the bill, legalization of same-sex marriage, 249 to 97. Opponents then introduced more than 5,000 amendments to the bill in order to slow down its passage. By February 12, the bill as a whole won 329–229 and was sent to the Senate. Same story starting there starting April 4th. First article approved 179–157. By April 23rd, with minor amendments, the bill came on top with 331–225. François Hollande promulgated the bill, commonly known as “Loi Taubira” in reference to its main sponsor, as law on May 18th, 2013. The first same-sex marriage took place in Montpellier on May 29.

146 mayors challenged the law and refused to officiate marriages for same-sex couples. Just so you know, a refusal to implement is considered discrimination based on sexual orientation and is punishable with up to 5 years imprisonment and a 75,000 euros fine. Their cases were send to the European Court of Human Rights in vain, as their were dismissed in October 2018. As of 2018, 40,000 same-sex marriages have been celebrated in France, approximately 3.5% of all French marriages in the 5-year time frame.

THE FIGHT HAS JUST BEGUN. YOU KNOW THAT, RIGHT ?

We talked laws. We talked Homophobia. We talked Fear. I know want to share an impression of the Post-Mariage pour Tous situation that I’ve shared many times with friends, who mostly agree with me. It seemed that after the gigantic milestone was sealed and done, and the celebrations of the 2013 pride went according to plan, there was some sort of general drop of shoulders from Gays and Lesbians all around the country. The common attitude felt like an extension of the commonly heterosexual thought that now that we had marriage, we were all good and equal under the law. Well, absofuckinlutly not. While we have the right to marry and adopt as Queer couples, it didn’t come with IVF (In Vitro Fertilisation) for lesbian couples or any types of surrogacy for same-sex couples. Also, Gay men are still discriminated by the Law by not being able to give blood unless we’re a year abstinent. And for fuck’s sake, what about Trans rights ? Don’t you care about your Trans brothers and sisters ? That’s a story for tomorrow. Just know, dear Queer who is totally satisfied by the current situation, now that you have what you want, isn’t time to focus on those who don’t ? Wouldn’t be fair for this year’s pride to be all about parts of the community who is still search for their right to exist ?

See you then.

0 notes

alchemyphan-blog · 7 years ago

Text

I’ve Got a Thing For Suits

word count: 1.8k

style: smut

desc: dan and phil get invited to a fancy premiere, but seeing phil in a suit just becomes too much for dan to handle.

It wasn’t very often Dan would get to see Phil in particularly spiffing clothes. It always sparked his imagination to think of him all dressed, suit and tie, pulling at the lapels of a jacket. He’d seen one in his closet for so long, and couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to actually see him with one on. It was fair to say that suits were a bit turn on for Dan, almost a kink.

So when Phil walked into the lounge tonight wearing that suit, it’s fair to say it took Dan off guard. His hair had been pushed back, and his tie was thin and showed off his chest through his white dress shirt underneath. His belt held up the trousers sitting perfect on his legs, tugging in the perfect places and tightening around his crotch, silhouetting his cock. Dan knew he’d have to get up as they were to leave soon, but couldn’t bring himself to get off the couch from his view at Phil. He was tightening his collar, looking out the window and turned back to Dan. He saw his jaw half opened and his eyes wide, and suddenly he backed away.

“What’s wrong, Dan?” Phil asked.

His breath was caught somewhere in his throat, and the only thing he could do was wander his eyes over him. He coughed.

“Y-You look…” he tried to say. He never thought it would turn him on this much to see Phil in a suit. Phil looked down at him, waiting for Dan to make out what he wanted to say.

“I-” Dan stuttered, standing up quickly. He placed his hands on Phil’s shoulders, feeling the soft fabric beneath his fingers. He smashed his lips to Phil’s, backing him against the wall and letting his hands feel all over his body. Phil let a sound somewhere between a shriek and a deep moan. He kissed Dan back, clasping his hands around the back of Dan’s neck. He drew back for a long breath, finally able to make coherent sentences.

“I’m not gonna make it through the night if you’re gonna wear that suit.”

“What, you’ve got a suit fetish or something?” he asked jokingly.

“Yeah, I do,” he answered in a deep tone. Phil looked down, and around his feet. He lifted his head up, eyebrows flicking.

“Oh really?” he teased.

Dan’s hands grasped at Phil’s tie, stroking along the silky fabric. He looked to Phil with hungry eyes. “I’ve got a, uh, thing I guess, for suits.”

Phil leaned down close to his ear, and licked the shell. “Well I’m going to make you want it so bad you’ll come just looking at this suit. I’m not going to make it easy for you tonight,” he whispered inside his ear. Dan let out an exasperated breath, unable to control himself. He was aching so hard in his suit trousers he practically grabbed his own cock. Phil took Dan’s hand, and they walked out of the apartment and to the tube.

They were invited to attend a red carpet movie premiere and dinner party, which they kindly accepted. The tube was packed full of people, and very possible someone there that knew them or of them. They knew in public they couldn’t act like a couple, only under extremely rare circumstances in which it was only people they knew well that knew, no cameras, and no one knew where they were. As thousands of fans, photographers, and other strangers would be attending, they knew they’d have to act as friends. While it was a huge struggle and weight on their lives to not be themselves in public, it was almost fun kind of being this huge secret.

Phil’s hand ran from Dan’s knee up into his thigh, and as their sides pressed together he could hear Dan’s breath hitching at the sensation. He looked around quickly, scoping to see if anyone was watching them extensively. Phil could feel Dan getting achingly harder throughout the entire ride to the premiere.

“Jesus Phil,” Dan whispered close to Phil’s ear.

“Please, this is only the beginning. Theaters are dark, you know.”

As soon as they were seen, cameras and other forms of flashing lights swarmed them. After signing things, speaking to cameras and taking photos, they were escorted down the main red carpet, where a friendly face greeted them.

“Oh hey, PJ!” Phil shouted over the noise, acting as though there was no sexual tension between him and Dan.

“Hey you guys!” PJ jogged over to Dan and Phil, taking a photo and walking the rest of the carpet with them.

“Great turnout this year, eh?” he asked.

“Yeah, I never expected something as big as this,” Dan said. By now the hard-on had declined a slight bit, but every now and then Phil would shoot him a look that made it grow.

The red carpet came to an end, and a thinner one ran through the doors to the theater and they followed it to their seats. They watched as the stragglers filed in around them, and Phil went in front of Dan, taking his hand to lead him to the top back corner. Phil sat him down, sitting on the left of Dan. There were few people surrounding them, if any in a radius. The lights were on as the film hadn’t started, but dim. Popcorn scattered onto the ground, whispered were exchanged, and the last photos for a few hours were taken.

“And now you’ve gotta stay up in this corner for the entire movie with nothing to do but sit here,” he whispered, leaning in close and placing his hand to trail his fingers across Dan’s neck. “Don’t forget to be quiet. We’re in a theater.”

Dan shuddered, and felt his pants getting tighter.

“How about this, Dan? What are you gonna do knowing you can’t yell or say a thing at all? Knowing I can do all I want and you just have to sit there and let it happen?”

Dan swallowed hard, trying to contain his sweat bullets and the hardness in his pants. Phil continued to tease Dan through the entire movie, both of them not paying any attention and waiting for the credits to roll around so Dan can give him payback for making him wait and hunger for him.

As the music died and the credits began, people rose from their seats, stretching their backs and exiting the theater.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. Come with me,” Phil ordered. Dad nodded quickly, standing up and walking swiftly behind him out of the theater and to the bathroom.

Phil looked around in case someone was watching him before grabbing Dan’s wrist to pull him into the bathroom. He stood with his back pressed onto the door, and Dan shifted awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom. Phil began to walk closer and closer to Dan, enough to touch him and make Dan voice the noise of a horny teenager.

“Phil…” his voice trailed. “S-suit, on you-”

“What’s that? The suit?” Phil teased, standing back to spin once and tug on the lapels of his jacket.

“Phil, stop, I...can’t…” he breathed. Dan was a hot mess.

“Is it my suit, Dan?” Phil teased. “I told you I wouldn’t be making it easy for you tonight, maybe you should’ve listened.” He popped the collar of his shirt and cuffed his sleeves for his own amusement. Dan was flustered - his hair was curling at the edges and sweat bulleted its way down his face.

“God Phil, just fuck me already,” Dan pleaded. He was tired of waiting for him.

Phil walked across the floor to meet Dan. He looked to the side of them, landing over the three cubicles in front of them. One was significantly larger than the others, which may be helpful. He looked back to Dan, his expression begging Phil to do anything. In a split second, Phil grabbed his wrist violently, throwing him into the cubicle and locking the door. He threw Dan up against the wall nearest to them and kissed him, already flicking his tongue down along Dan’s lower lip. He backed farther into the wall, arching his back and bucking his hips forward into Phil.

Keeping their lips connected, Phil’s hands wandered down Dan’s chest and to the buckle of his belt. It was unusually tight around his waist, and he unbuckled it to relieve the pressure around his crotch. Dan let out a moan as his trousers fell from his legs and rested around his ankles. Phil dropped to his knees, lifting up Dan’s feet to toss his pants to side so he was left with just his thin boxers and jacket. While still on his knees, Phil took the waistband of Dan’s boxers into his fingers. He pulled them down, leaving Dan exposed. For a moment Phil just set his gaze on what was directly in front of him before taking it into his mouth without warning or caution. Dan’s hands grabbed against the wall, violently trying to find something to grasp onto when he found Phil’s hair and latched on.

“Phil, Phil-” he mused. He slammed himself into the wall every few seconds when Phil would start as his base again, another pound of pleasure surging through him. His mouth circled around his cock, and Phil pursed his lips at the tip. Dan threw his head back and felt his legs tremble. He was almost completely fucked out. Phil swirled his tongue around once and pulled away. It only took Phil to graze his fingers along Dan’s cock for him to come into his hands, sighing loudly with his head against the wall, Phil’s hands still on Dan’s thighs.

“What, I make you wait this whole time and you’re already braindead? I must’ve done a good job,” Phil said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Dan caught his breath, drawing in an excessive amount of air each time to nourish his lungs.

“You,” he breathed, “are a dickhead.”

“You’re welcome.” Phil slowly pulled his boxers back onto his waist, followed by his trousers. He did up his belt, tucking in his shirt and buttoning it back up. He rose back up to his height, ruffling Dan’s hair before adjusting it to make it look like they didn’t just fuck in a bathroom.

“I love you,” Dan told him before resting his head on Phil’s shoulder, still in front of him with his back to the bathroom wall. “But I can’t move at all. Yet.”

“You are always gonna remember this, you know that?”

“Who wouldn’t remember this? I just can’t believe we didn’t get caught,” Dan joked.

Phil nodded, locking his fingers into Dan’s. “Our dirty little secret.”

Ten minutes later they hadn’t moved, and figured most people had forgotten about them by now, hopefully. It was Phil who decided to make the move and unlocked the door to the cubicle and pulled Dan to the exit of the bathroom. His hand was on the handle.

“If you tell anyone about this I will make it my personal duty to have your dick cut off,” Dan said.

#alchemyphanfics #phan #phanfic #smut #goodbye

3 notes · View notes

danithebookaholic-blog · 6 years ago

Text

I'm Not Good Enough

TOPIC OF THE DAY: I’m Not Good Enough

I’m about to get real personal here with you…

I’m not good enough is an excuse/issue I have had battles with a lot before in the past. And I still do to this day, just not to the same degree that I used to. Let me tell you a story…

Just days after my 28th birthday I found myself in a life situation I never thought I would be in: my marriage had fallen to pieces and Jack was asking me for a divorce.

I fell into a very deep depression. I didn’t eat for nearly a week, I cried anytime I was alone and I didn’t smile for weeks. My life, the life I had spent the last 14 years building with this person, was ending and I didn’t know how to cope.

Jack and I were high school sweethearts. We met when I was 14, and he was 16. In the beginning we didn't even connect on an emotional level. Jack actually tried hooking me up with his friend Aaron at the time. But a few weeks later when fate would have our paths cross again we finally connected in a way that only young teenagers in love can. It took me almost a year of dating before I said those three gigantic words, and even then they just kind of slipped out before I realized what I was saying. A few heart stopping seconds later (after we both realized what was said) he responded with, "I think I love you, too", and the rest was history.

Almost nine years into our marriage, and there were were with our marriage on the verge of death. Blame it on the "seven-year-itch" coming late. Blame it on the stresses of his school work and the fact that we were living with another couple at the time (not the best idea). Blame it on the fact that I had become very insecure not only in my husband and our marriage (and vice versa), but I was also very insecure in myself as well - something he told me on a daily basis was "not attractive." Blame it on the loss of love and trust and that spark that we once had in our marriage and in one another. Or you can even blame it on the fact that I thought Jack was sleeping with our female roommate who was a colleague, a classmate and his "best friend" (his words, not mine). No matter what you blame it on, the deathbed our marriage was on was because we put it there.

The night he asked for a divorce I was a mess (obviously). I didn't know what to do or where to go. In the end, I spent the night barely sleeping on the floor of our walk-in closet, and I left the house by 4:30 am because I couldn't stand to be in the house any longer. I needed to escape the house, him, and the other couple. I wanted nothing to do with anyone in that house and had it not been for Miyagi and Simon (our dog and cat, my babies) still being there, I don't know if I would have ever returned.

Not knowing where to go, I headed to the gym. I had begun working out at the gym at 6:00 am, when it opened, every weekday morning a few months prior, so I just stuck with my routine. I sat in the parking lot of the deserted gym for a little over an hour before the first employee showed up. Thankfully, because it had snowed the night before, they let me into the building early. This was the first day of my battle with depression, and the first day of my workout obsession to cope with it.

Every morning I would leave the house by 5:00 am (weekday or not), go to the gym where I would run for at least an hour or two. If it was the weekend I would then follow that up with weight lifting for another hour or two. I would spend my day doing anything and everything that I could to keep my mind off of the situation and Jack. I burried it as deep down inside that I possibly could, and then I'd push it down farther. I went into work 30-40 minutes early, stayed an hour late, and then would head back over to the gym for another run before I would finally head "home" around 9-9:30 pm. Once there I would take care of the boys as quickly as possible, and on days that I felt like I could eat something and keep it down, I'd grab a small bowl of cereal or some cheese and pepperoni on crackers (absolutely nothing healthy or nutritious), and I would eat this locked in my room, away from anyone who might be in the house. After I would promptly go to bed.

I didn't speak to Jack for almost two weeks after that black day. The first person I did speak to about it was a complete shock, and I'm sure it was to him too. It was Dan, my boss at the time.

Three days after Jack hit me with the dooming fate of our relationship, a lab tech - who stops by the office daily - looked at me and said, "I don't know what's going on, but know that I'm praying that you get through whatever you're going through." I almost burst into tears on the spot. But I take professionalism very seriously, so I held it together, took a deep breath, and thanked him with the best smile I could muster. I'm sure it was very scary to look at. A half hour later, I pulled Dan aside and asked to speak with him in private. I hadn't planned on telling Dan anything at all about my situation. I had only been working for him for about six months at the time, and we didn't have a relationship beyond being the employer and the employee. I had asked to speak with him so I could apologize for my behavior and attitude over the last few days. That I was dealing with some personal stuff that I needed to check at the door and intended in doing so from here on out. But I never made it past saying, "Dan, I'm sorry." The sweet man, only a few years my senior, handed me a box of tissues and told me to take my time, he could wait.

It took me 25 minutes to tell him what was going on between the sobs, and he listened patiently the entire time, never offering advice or pity. He knew the only thing I needed was someone to talk to. While he never said anything, he had noticed the changes in me: arriving early, staying late, not eating at lunch, no perky smile, no small talk, and no emotion. Today, friends tell me I was nothing but a walking shell of a human. I wasn't really there. My body was, but I wasn't, and Dan had noticed this too.

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

At the beginning of February my great-aunt Teddy (from my mother's side) pasted away. Privately, I took it kind of hard, even though the family knew it was coming. She had been ill, and knowing she wasn't going to make it out of the hospital, I visited her a few days before her passing. A week later, I went to the funeral and it was here that I laughed for the first time in almost three weeks. You're probably thinking, who laughs at a funeral? But this is exactly what Teddy would have wanted. She never liked being fussed over or being the center of attention. She was the matriarch of the family and she was the one that was always taking care of us, not the other way around. I know those last few weeks of her life must have been the most difficult for this reason alone. A group of us - my God-parents; God-sister, Brandy; my brother, Oscar; and my Aunt Betty (from my father's side) sat around catching up, telling stories of Teddy and her crazy ways (no joke, she was a 50/50 mix of Lucille Ball and Edith Bunker), and just laughing and carrying on. It was during this time that I remembered what life was like and that no matter what, these people loved me and would do anything for me.

Before leaving the funeral, Betty pulled my mother aside and asked if I was okay. She had noticed how thin I was and that I wasn't myself. My mother told her that I had started running a few months earlier and she was sure this was the change. Later, when my mother brought it to my attention, I too blew it off. I had already lost almost 25 pounds since divorce was mentioned. I was pale and sickly looking. My hair and skin were dull and my eyes didn't shine. I looked terrible.

Jack and I had talked a couple of times at this point, and we had come to the decision to try to make some changes and see if we could make it work. While I had picked up this really healthy habit, deep down I knew I had taken it and turned it against me too. Eventually this realization made me take two steps back and evaluate where I was in life and where I wanted to go. I looked at myself and knew I needed to find help. I started seeing a therapist.

Seeing my therapist, Erica, was the absolute best thing I ever could have done for me. Yes, she was great for my marriage eventually, too, but first and foremost she was great for me. If you're dealing with depression I strongly suggest that you start seeing a therapist. There is such a stigma about seeing a therapist, I didn't want to do it. It took everything I had to pick up the phone and make that first appointment, and then even more to drive myself to the appointment, but I wouldn't take any of it back. Meeting Erica the first time I thought for sure that she thought I was crazy because I cried the entire first session. But I returned later that week for my second session and I did much better. After a couple of weeks of seeing her she finally suggested to me that she thought that I needed to try medication for my depression. Erica is not a psychiatrist, she's a therapist/yoga instructor. She doesn't take telling a patient to begin medical therapy easily, but in my case she thought it would help. And eventually, once we figured out the right medication, it did. And it helped even more when I was running.

I was still running at the gym every morning through all of this. While Jack and I were on speaking terms and passively working on our marriage, I had also picked up running with my friends Shelby and Ashley. Shelby had mentioned to me that she was going to run the Decker's Creek Half Marathon in early June and asked if I would like to do some training with her. Of course I jumped at the chance. I needed something that would prove my worth and this was something that I had never done before and I (at the time) didn't know many people who could personally say that they had run a half marathon before. Jack couldn't. I needed to prove that I could do something that he couldn't.

I began running with Shelby at 5:00 am on the trail three times a week, while running my long runs with Ashley on the weekends, and I still kept up my other running and workouts at the gym on the off days. When I wasn't seeing Erica, these girls were my therapists. They helped me through everything and saw me at my weakest and ugliest moments. On top of that, it was the end of March at this point and I had lost almost another 10 pounds. While the anti-depressant was helping me get happy, the anorexia and extreme workouts still played a big role in keeping me happy.

Jack began seeing Erica with me every other week. It was a bit of a fight to get him to go each time, but he went. The day before the race I asked Jack if he would be at the finish line. He said he didn't think our relationship was there yet, and thought it best if I had this one to myself and shared it only with my friends. The only person waiting for me at the finish line was my mom who had driven the 2+ hours to get there that morning. It broke my heart all over again not seeing him there, supporting me. And to be honest, it made our relationship take a huge leap backward.

Ashley and I ran the race together and we did really great for it being our first race. We missed our goal time by only 2 minutes. But here I was, six months after that terrible night, and I still was not gaining weight. Yes, I was running half marathons just about weekly at this point, but I was eating all the time, and not the healthy stuff. My depression still had a death hold on my body. I was 45 pounds lighter than I had been at Christmas. For me to have lost 10 pounds it would have been a very healthy weight for my gender, age and height; 45 was sickening. While you couldn’t quite see the bones in my back and I didn’t have a concave stomach, you could see my ribs, and not in healthy, sexy sort of way. I needed a change, and I knew it.

Decker's Creek Half Marathon was the first and, until this past April, my last 13-miler I have run. For the longest time I was scared of what training again might do it me. Would it be a healthy thing for me to do, or would it push me back over the edge into the skeleton person I was. I know a lot of that person had to do with my depression, too, but it was still a scary thought.

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

A year went by, and things were better to a degree with Jack. While divorce had been taken off the table, we still no where close to being perfect, let alone fixed, and I was still on anti-depressants. Then, disaster struck again. With Jack's degree program he had signed up for a rotation in the Middle East. I was okay with this, it wouldn't be his first time in the Middle East, he had spent sometime there while in the military. The disaster was that the female roommate, the one I was positive he was/had had an affair with, was going too. They would be overseas for a month together. Alone. While I think I held it together pretty well (Dan had no idea this time around at least), I was falling apart on the inside and I fell back into my depression. While Jack was away on his rotations leading up to his time overseas, I would hardly get out of bed. I stopped working out all together, and I stopped talking to my friends, the people I knew I could count on to get me through anything.

And then Jack left for the Middle-East and something in me just snapped. I don't know what it was. Call it a mid-life crisis, or a breakdown, or even an act of insanity, but I called up my friend Meghan and asked for a favor. Two days before Easter, Meghan turned me into a blonde.

While going blonde may not seem like a big act for a lot of people, it was for me. I had never dyed my hair in my life. I was in love with my hair color and was extremely proud of it. On top of that, Jack didn't find blondes attractive in the slightest. Why on Earth did I want to go blonde when I was trying to make my relationship with my husband better?!

On top of dying my hair a color he didn't find attractive, I didn't tell him about it. Two weeks later I went to Washington Dulles airport to pick him (and the roommate) up. I stood off to the side and waited. Maybe I wanted a disguise so I could spy on the two of them? I don't know. But once I saw him pushing his cart 10 feet in front of her, looking around excitedly for me, I knew that no matter what had happened in the past, it didn't matter any more. He was excited to see me, and that put the butterflies back in my stomach. It made everything we had worth fighting for that much greater.

Every day I fought with not being good enough. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t thin enough. I didn’t have the perfect job, the perfect car, the perfect house, husband or family. I developed an addiction to running, to be good enough. I stopped eating, to be good enough. I put all my left over energy into my job, to be good enough. I dyed my hair, to be good enough. I looked for ways to make my husband jealous, to be good enough. And I lost myself, to be good enough. But none of those things made me good enough.

It took 2 years of weekly therapy, antidepressants, and a team of beautiful and strong women to get me to see that I was good enough all a long. And it’s taken almost 4 years to really believe it. Now when I look in the mirror, I don’t see not good enough. Now I see a strong, beautiful woman that is more than good enough.

Take a look in the mirror. What do you see? I hope you see someone that is more than good enough, because you are! No matter what your spouse, or your mother, or that person you idolized in high school tells you, YOU ARE MORE THAN GOOD ENOUGH!

💋 - Dani

P.S. Make sure to check out my Facebook Page for more information on today’s TOPIC OF THE DAY!.

0 notes

thiswillbereportedtomanagement · 7 years ago

Quote

GQ's Best New Restaurants in America, 2018Every January, just after new year's, I set out across America in search of what we at GQ call the Perfect Night Out. What does that mean? Well, that's a good question. The easy part of the answer is that I'm looking for superlative restaurants that have opened in the past 12 to 18 months, the places we deem the best newcomers in the land. What makes them “perfect” is more complicated, and figuring that out for myself anew is, in some ways, precisely the purpose of each year's travel. I could give you a list of traits that the new restaurants I love nearly always display: ambition, artistry, heart, style, humor, familiarity, surprise, comfort, conscientiousness, craft—in addition to the more traditional restaurant qualities through which those are filtered, like deliciousness, hospitality, value, service, design, and so on. But the exact way in which any number of those will come together in a particular space, on a particular night, in a way that makes you say, “This. This is the only place in the world I want to be eating right now”—that remains something of a wonderful mystery.Which is what gave me hope in a year that provided abundant reasons to be depressed about dining out, even to wonder whether restaurants should still exist at all. There have been times when it's seemed that behind every inviting dining room lies, as Boston Globe critic Devra First memorably put it, “a Hieronymus Bosch tableau of struggling operators, lascivious chefs, and broke staffers.” To those who believe the only answer is to burn it all down, the 13 new restaurants in which I enjoyed this year's Perfect Nights Out—not to mention dozens of others that offered wonderful moments and meals—are, to my mind, the best argument for why restaurant culture is worth fighting to change, so that restaurants may live on. Futures of dining are like small plates: Everybody's got 'em. The other purpose of my annual journey—this year, nearly 75 restaurants across 18 cities—is to try to tease out a picture of the dining moment, some overarching theme or through line that sums up what it means to eat out in America today. This year, I threw up my hands. On an eight-degree January day in Chicago, in search of where things might be headed, I stopped into a new branch of a fast-casual dumpling chain billed as the city's first totally automated dining experience. It was fun ordering on a touch screen and then watching a bank of high-tech Automat windows for my name to appear alongside little dancing cartoon dumplings. Then the one visible employee, tasked with helping customers order while the rest presumably toiled backstage, leaned in over my shoulder and whispered: “It's the future, bro.” My first reaction was feeling like that eight-degree wind had just blown through my body. My second was to think, Get in line, bro. Futures of dining are like small plates: Everybody's got 'em. We've got more futures than we know what to do with—big, small, formal, casual, avant-garde, nostalgic, all of it up for grabs. (You get a taste of the schizophrenia in the taxonomic mania that has overtaken menus: HOT SMALL PLATES, SMALL COLD PLATES, SNACKS, BITES; FROM THE LAND; FROM THE SEA; FROM THE FIRE. Or perhaps monsieur would just like something from BOWLS?) With a few gloriously messy exceptions, the restaurants I love are ones that approach the question with some kind of clarity, a purposeful path through the clutter. The other great part of my job, of course, is that no two of those paths ever seem to be quite the same.This was the year I saw perhaps the last thing I expected to see in any restaurant, anywhere: a comment card in a David Chang restaurant. This one came with the check at Majordōmo in Los Angeles, where Chang has been spending more and more of his time. “How did we do?” it asked cheerily, followed by a range of smiley faces like those on the International Pain Scale. None of them showed a face contorted in the kind of anguish I imagined a younger Chang might have felt had he been able to look ahead to this moment. Chang, to quickly refresh, began his career as the very embodiment of client- directed hostility. Momofuku was the Kingdom of No: to substitutions, to seat backs, to dessert, to photos. Had it not been for the inconvenience of his being in the food-selling business, you got the feeling he might have done away with customers altogether.You're greeted at Majord-omo, which sits all but alone in an industrial neighborhood on the northern edge of Chinatown, by a brigade of hosts as plentiful and polite as von Trapp children. Looking up at the bay of mullioned windows, you might think the space was used to overhaul engines by day, but below there are comfy sling-back chairs, large, soothing paintings by James Jean, a soundtrack of Steely Dan. You could argue that, for all his kitchen innovation, Chang's primary vocation has been as a restless explorer of American restaurant forms—from fast food to fine dining. This confident, comfortable place is his utopian Cheesecake Factory, an impression aided by the kitchen's use of a loudspeaker ordering system that mimics the call of “Party of two” across a mall's tiled byways.What I'm trying to say is that Majordōmo is really, really, disconcertingly, nice. On the wet and chilly night I was there, Chang was in the kitchen sending out complimentary bowls of hot soup to those huddling outside on the patio. (It was a broth of miso, peas, and Benton's ham, the kind of sort-of southern, sort-of Asian, sort-of farmers'-market-driven creation on which Chang has made his bones for well over a decade now.) Even the name Majordōmo starts things off with a punny kiss of gratitude (domo is the casual Japanese term for “thanks”). It must be maddening to other restaurateurs that Chang, in addition to all his other talents, seems to have a bag of perfect restaurant names lying around. This one manages to also evoke Chang's ongoing fascination with the intersections of Italian and Asian cuisines, a theme he attacked in a more awkward manner at his last major New York opening, Nishi. You see it play out in tapioca lo mein, a purse-shaped spiral of spaghetti-sized noodles slicked with pork fat and twirled with rapini and an underlying bass line of preserved krill. Or in the waves of fermented-fish funk coming off the “bagna càuda” bathing a wedge of braised cabbage. Majordōmo riffs on the craze for Middle Eastern dining, serving steaming bing bread alongside spicy lamb and a hummus-like dip made with a fermented-chickpea substance that Momofuku has trademarked as Hozon. I can't think of a single dish that spans more cultures than what is simply billed as California Rock Crab; from left to right you get simply steamed claws served with a Meyer-lemon mayo, a shell filled with crab-fat rice, and a faithfully spicy version of the Korean marinated raw crab called ganjang gejang. I'm not sure they really make sense on the same plate, but in that, the blend of dissonances and connections, it screams nothing more clearly than Los Angeles.And, of course, all of the components are delicious, which is Chang's gift, even if he has sometimes seemed to think of it as a curse. Majordōmo may be his most unconflictedly delicious restaurant, and his most fun. Chang has said that his generation of chefs were like child actors, unprepared for the outsize cultural role they happened to fall into and struggling to figure out adulthood while in the public eye. Some, the implication goes, are Jodie Fosters; others are named Corey. Majordōmo proves he's in the former camp.If I have any objection to Majordōmo, it's that it was part of a disturbing trend of Big Important Restaurants taking up my usually more freewheeling meals in Los Angeles—my favorite dining city of the year. It was no small consolation that one of those was David Beran's Dialogue, which has 18 seats and is located in what appears to be a repurposed storage closet on the second floor of a Santa Monica food court. Beran is an alumnus of Grant Achatz's kitchens in Chicago, most recently as executive chef at Next, the restaurant that during his tenure changed its entire menu and concept every four months. Quite reasonably, he took some time off after moving to L.A., during which he engaged in such ordinary-person vacation projects as charring, pressing, and barrel-aging hundreds of pounds of onions to create gallons of burnt-onion syrup. If anybody tried to imitate it, he said gleefully, while I sat in front of his station at Dialogue's chef's counter, they were already a full year behind.The onion syrup shows up as a deep smoky note in a dish of maitake mushrooms and smoked-date puree, but not before you've had to find your way into Dialogue's windowless hidey-hole. To get there, you follow a series of e-mailed instructions that involve a dark alley and an unmarked steel door. It's kind of thrilling, but also kind of a cheat, given that you could have just taken the escalator up past the ice cream shop and grab-and-go grain bowls.The menu is built around seasons. Beran plans to change it entirely every three to four months. Mine, perversely, began with tastes of summer, though outside it was full January. You could almost detect the joy of a recent émigré from Chicago discovering L.A.'s season-less farmers' markets in the opening act: a geodesic dome of strawberry bubbles over pork belly and caviar. We proceeded through summer—a green leaf of choy sum, stuffed with strawberry nam prik, standing like a lonely tree atop cashew puree and a dusting of freeze-dried strawberries; a finger of lobster in béarnaise sauce, tucked under a blanket of nasturtium leaves, fennel pollen, and fermented-tomato powder; chamomile shortbread with olive-oil custard and whipped honey. And with that semi-dessert, we looped back and began autumn. Too often in this kind of cooking what you miss is…cooking: the smells and sounds of heat applied to ingredients. Early on in this meal, Beran began pan-searing what I thought of as Chekhov's Duck: Appearing in the first act, I thought, it damn well better pay off in the third. This one did, in the form of crisp-skinned breast, a dish of unctuous rillettes, and a sauce made from the carcass in an old-fashioned French duck press.Despite the restaurant's name—which strikes me as being awfully close to that of a fragrance you see ads for around Christmas, probably starring Johnny Depp—I found that my dinner was strikingly quiet, without a lot of the over-explaining that often accompanies such meals. Consequently, you might miss Easter eggs along the way, like the fact that each dish contains at least one element of the one that came before, or that the sound system plays only entire albums straight through, a conscious echo of how Beran wants you to view the meal as a coherent work. No matter: The sensual pleasures here are equal to the intellectual ones; the food speaks for itself. It was my favorite new restaurant of the year.Everything you need to know about the growing meaninglessness of traditional dining categories is that $220-per-diner Dialogue is described on Google Maps as a “New American Bistro.” If that descriptor applies anywhere, it's Julia Sullivan's Henrietta Red, in Nashville, where simple dishes are made dazzling by tiny details: littleneck clams dabbed with a bright escabeche of Calabrian chile and pineapple vinegar and roofed with a single nasturtium leaf; salty cured egg yolk in a beef tartare; the touch of smoked olive in a nourishing lamb sausage with lentils or the bite of whole-grain-mustard emulsion on a simple but shining fillet of wild striped bass.Is it strange that some of the best seafood I ate all year was in notably landlocked Tennessee? Hardly. Two of the best gumbos I've eaten in years were served to me in Seattle and North Carolina—which to many old-line New Orleanians might as well be Seattle for all the kinship it has with the Big Easy. The North Carolina version was at Hello, Sailor, a fantastical midcentury-modern surf shack located on the shore of Lake Norman, in the town of Cornelius, a half hour north of Charlotte. In the summer, I gather, the area is a bustling vacation spot; boaters can approach from the lake and tie up beneath the restaurant's patio. In the middle of winter, it appeared at the end of a pitch-dark road like a hallucination—all buttery wood ceilings, candy-colored fireplaces, and sexy curves. The food riffs on the kind of dishes you might have gotten at the building's previous incarnation as a dockside joint called the Rusty Rudder: crab dip spiked with pimiento cheese and crusted with brown-butter bread crumbs and benne seeds; fried bologna on a roll topped by a near solid caul of poppy seeds; soft serve for dessert. If the haute college-food-hall presentations sometimes veer toward too cute—ribs and shrimp calabash arrive on a tiny cafeteria tray—tastes like that of the gumbo make you forgive a lot: shrimpy, slippery, deep and inky as the water of the quiet lake outside the wide picture windows.The other gumbo was equally dark and contained shrimp, fried in a batter crispy enough to hold its crunch within the murk, and with a housemade Louisiana-style hot link. This was at JuneBaby, chef Edouardo Jordan's astonishing restaurant in Seattle's Ravenna neighborhood. If the idea of a great southern restaurant in the Northwest makes you skeptical, consider the benefits. Freed from any particular region of southern cooking, Jordan can roam: from the gumbo-lands of Louisiana up to Georgia and the Carolinas, where he picks up supple strips of fried pigs' ears, drizzled in spicy honey, down to Florida, where the “rice of the day” might be an almost pudding-like confection with coconut and conch.Jordan, who is himself from the Sunshine State, also dodges the dread bullet of “elevation”—a term of defensive insecurity that still gets thrown around when people feel the need to justify restaurant treatment of supposedly low-lying southern cuisine. His food may draw on high-kitchen technique, but it feels no need to apologize or protest on the plate. There's no better example than an appetizer of chitlins, or pig intestines, here served over rice in a rich pork stock. Like the French sausage andouillette, another example of Deep Offal, chitlins provoke a fleeting crisis between brain and stomach, a moment when the mind teeters on the edge, deciding whether to react to the incoming data with revulsion or desire. Then you—or at least I—find yourself downing the entire bowl in ravenous, breathless gulps. On the other end of the spectrum, but no less boldly straightforward, is peach brown Betty, done as it should be: piping hot and barely a knuckle deep, so that each bite is chewy, buttery, and crusty at once.The chitlins, too, are representative of a restaurant that is explicitly about the story of southern food as African-American food—from a hot toddy with rum, the spirit most closely entwined with slavery, to the creamer peas, a legacy of West Africa served here alongside a thick and gravy-covered chicken-fried steak. This is a meal that is narrative without being pedantic. It could only be improved by taking reservations and avoiding the stress of a waiting-list system that keeps tables empty while crowds push up against diners in the bar. More than enough people want to taste Jordan's food; making it more difficult than it needs to be is downright inhospitable, regardless of the latitude.It was, of course, the year of Fire and Fury. Or at least, in restaurants, fire: Across the land, flames continue to blaze in every open kitchen. I guess it's only a matter of time before a restaurant actually places tables inside the fire. Until that day, there's Maydān, hidden down an alley in the U Street neighborhood of Washington, D.C., with an open-fire kitchen located smack in the center of the dining room. Trussed lamb shoulders hang above, turning amber in the smoke, which exits through a soaring copper chimney. A team of chefs led by Gerald Addison and Chris Morgan labor at primitive stations, losing eyebrows and knuckle hair as they tend whole chickens, marinated in coriander, garlic, and turmeric, and lamb kebabs spiked with pistachio. With the baffling exception of bland pita bread that is by turns undercooked and cracker-like, everything is delicious, but the fire's most salubrious effect may be on those gathered around it: Conversations break out among neighboring tables at a rate that one feels wouldn't happen if the fire wasn't activating some caveman instinct for banding together to beat back the beasts and the darkness. (Outside, don't forget, is Washington, D.C., with no shortage of either.)It's no secret that the once sacrosanct categories of High and Low were long ago cast to the wind, leaving rarefied experiential dining on the top end, super-casual eating on the low, and a great, often muddled middle. It sometimes feels as though the real restaurant divide is between Big and Small. If I may vent for a moment about a great American food city that I find myself liking less and less to eat in, what is the matter with Chicago? How can a city known for amazing architecture and amazing neighborhoods center so much of its dining energy in the West Loop, where every “concept” in every oversize industrial space looks like a multi-million-dollar version of Top Chef's Restaurant Wars—cavernous, soulless, hastily assembled, and destined to be gone by next season.What a relief, then, to land at 24-seat Kitsune, far from the Loop, in North Center. This is the idiosyncratic restaurant of chef Iliana Regan, who became a champion of midwestern foraging and terroir at her first restaurant, Elizabeth. Here she applies those principles to Japanese cooking: delicate, wobbly chawanmushi swimming with bits of clam, marinated roe, and bacon; or ramen noodles made with ramps. This isn't gimmicky, or even particularly visible, “fusion,” but quiet, careful, nourishing invention.It's the kind of small, personal, focused place that stood out in this year of chaos, and it was not alone. There are few things I take as a better omen for a meal to come than spotting a baked tarte Tatin sitting near the kitchen pass, waiting to be sliced for dessert. It was one of the first things I saw at Chez Ma Tante, in Brooklyn's Greenpoint neighborhood, and I was not disappointed. The restaurant's name may come from a famous Montreal hot-dog stand, and one of its chefs, Aidan O'Neal, may have cut his teeth at Au Pied de Cochon, the High Temple of Quebecois offal-heads, but I'd say its most Montreal-like quality is a homey sense of great care and little fuss. There are soft slices of pig's-head terrine; grilled skate on the bone with classic sauce ravigote; a pork-shoulder steak, marinated in a mixture of chile, mustard, and maple syrup that imparts just the right level of heat, like an idle bug zapper. The unlikely star is kedgeree—a British colonial mash-up of curried rice and fish, here as fluffy as pilaf and studded with lightly cured cod. New York is filled with alleged “neighborhood restaurants” that are too cool, too experimental, too self-conscious to be the place you return to over and over again, say on a Tuesday night, when it's too late to cook or you want to celebrate a minor victory. If I lived near Chez Ma Tante, it would be my spot for just those days.So would Lady of the House, especially on cold Detroit nights when there's fog on the windows, Curtis Mayfield on the stereo, and a full complement of diners crowded elbow to elbow at the bar. Kate Williams's Corktown tavern feels like a midwestern twin of Chez Ma Tante, down to their coolly modern dark-wood interiors. One of my favorite single dishes of the entire year was Lady of the House's “Parisian Ham”—a simple plate of slow-poached French-style ham, shaved thin but in slices that still offer a pleasantly spongy bite. It is served on a plate accompanied by a small dish of butter whipped with Dijon mustard and fermented honey, and it takes you a moment to realize what's missing: There is no bread. You look from the ham to the butter, from the butter to the ham. You glance around: Is this some kind of test? Is there a two-way mirror somewhere? Am I supposed to just…butter the ham?So is rich, oily “shrimp butter,” served in a sardine tin in an allusion to Spanish conservas. After a few glasses of Slovenian wine, my companion, a local, began declaiming that it shouldn't be called butter at all, since the texture of the intensely orange paste is closer to that of uni; I got the feeling this was not a new monologue, but also that Lady of the House is that kind of place: where everybody knows your name and your personal pedantic demons. (Mine would be that the “Corn Dog Rillette” is really a rillette corn dog, but never mind.) There are fat slabs of pink prime rib coming out of the kitchen, but also dishes that treat plants as equal objects of lust, like cauliflower glazed with a fennel-olive marmalade and served with Parmesan sauce. On the way to the bathroom, you pass a wall covered with the staff's childhood photos. They seem to sum up everything about this happy, occasionally awkward, deeply personal restaurant.It is, of course, a blessing of our era that personal and neighborhoody hardly has to mean unambitious. That was reconfirmed for me when I sat at one of the counter seats at Houston's Theodore Rex. This is Justin Yu's re-invention of his much loved tasting-menu restaurant, Oxheart, and it reflects the easy, happy feel of a chef released from the obligation of making all his customers' decisions for them. Leon Bridges and Sam Cooke croon from the speakers; the napkins resemble terry-cloth dish towels. The food, meanwhile, is as careful and precise as the surroundings are casual: Pristine Gulf citrus is the ostensible star of a grapefruit salad, but I found myself fixated instead on the warm thin-sliced snap peas scattered across the ruby segments, an inspiration Yu says he got from an old Alain Passard pairing; tasted alone, they were sweet as sugar but, somehow, bites with grapefruit brought out a totally different set of peppery, almost horseradish notes, the way orange juice changes utterly if you've just brushed your teeth. A simple bowl of Carolina Gold rice and butter beans revealed itself as not so simple, its flavors shifting as lemon zest gave way to pepper on the way to the bottom. Steamed snapper in a smoked fumet broth thickened with spinach pistou and filled with rustically cut mirepoix managed to evoke China, France, and Texas simultaneously. I would have been happy to let Yu design my dinner; perhaps I wouldn't have ended up with three dishes that had soupy bases. But until he returns to tasting menus, I'll focus instead on his simple Paris-Brest: two rings of pâte à choux sandwiching a pillow of barnyardy Swiss-cheese pastry cream and burnt honey. I crave it more than any other dessert I ate this year.The Charter Oak, St. Helena, CA: High and low, casual and fancy: All mix delightfully by the light of a blazing hearth in the heart of the Napa Valley.Chez Ma Tante, Brooklyn: A little bit Montreal, a little bit France, this Greenpoint corner outpost is at its core all Brooklyn.Cote, New York City: The happy collision of American and Korean steak-house traditions makes for a raucous and delicious night in N.Y.C.Dialogue, Santa Monica: This tiny tasting-menu joint, tucked into a food court, is a revelation about the possibilities of dinner as storytelling.Hello, Sailor, Cornelius, NC: This midcentury-modern haven features expert cocktails and fine-tuned southern classics.Henrietta Red, Nashville: Pristine oysters and deftly cooked seafood are the anchor of Julia Sullivan's cool and comfortable joint.JuneBaby, Seattle: Southern food has rarely tasted as vital as it does under Edouardo Jordan's hand—way, way above the Mason-Dixon Line.Kitsune, Chicago: “Fusion” isn't a dirty word when it's as delicate as this mash-up of Japanese cooking and midwestern bounty.Lady of the House, Detroit: From the comfy bar to the buttered Parisian ham, Kate Williams has created a neighborhood restaurant to dream of.Majordōmo, Los Angeles: Chang's first West Coast outpost is everything you love about Momofuku, plus everything he loves about L.A.Maydān, Washington, D.C.: Gather around the blazing indoor fire for meats, meze, and other Middle Eastern eats at this literal D.C. hot spot.Theodore Rex, Houston: Justin Yu's latest—delayed by Hurricane Harvey—is an ambitious and welcome successor to his beloved Oxheart.Xochi, Houston: The breadth and depth of Oaxacan cooking is on magnificent display at this slick H-Town jewel from Hugo Ortega.Mind you, big, slick, and ripe for replication can have its charms, too. The concept at New York's Cote is the marriage of American steak with Korean barbecue—the natural and brilliant extension of how accustomed we've become to good beef and how deeply Korean flavors have become entrenched in the American palate. On the relatively modestly priced “Butcher's Feast,” you get pieces of hanger steak, 45-day-aged rib eye, and intensely marbled Wagyu flatiron before ending with slices of more traditionally marinated short rib, or kalbi, scored so that they curl and char on the grill like hen-of-the-woods mushrooms. That grill is located in the center of the table, equipped with a venting system that sucks fumes away through subterranean ducts. In the era of the all-powerful big-name chef, every member of the front of house does the cooking here—fairly leaping over one another to tend to the beef as it curls and spits on the grill before you.The table technology plays an important role, eliminating the need for venting hoods over each table and thus leaving space for such dinner niceties as eye contact and toasting. So does the fact that you end up eating a satisfying but relatively small amount of beef compared with an American steak house, while the acid of the accompanying *banchan—*kimchi, bright green scallions dressed in gochujang vinaigrette, the fermented-bean-paste condiment called ssamjang—further diffuses the impact of the beef's richness. If all this results in a room that gets a little giddy and deafening, it's also incentive to order another bottle of soju and, rather than seek a solution, become part of the problem.Likewise, the highest levels of cooking can thrive in the most sterile nooks. Xochi, Hugo Ortega's Oaxacan restaurant, tucked into a glass-sheathed corner of a soaring Marriott Marquis in downtown Houston, has all the appearances of a safe, unchallenging haven for corporate retreaters and badge-wearing convention-goers. Then you get a taste of its mole. Moles, actually—there are at least eight of them on any given night, a range as wide and varied as a rainbow. Fifteen dollars gets you a sample of four, accompanied by fresh corn tortillas, but there's nothing to say you can't double up and get the whole spectrum, spread out before you like a vibraphone: Here are the bright, clear notes of the amarillo; you'll taste it again later, ringing clearly alongside the brininess of wood-roasted oysters; next, the dusky middle tones of red coloradito and murky chicatana, which is made with ants; finally the deep, burnt bass notes of chilhuacle and chinchillo. That last one, too, will make an appearance later, on beef decorating the wide, flat, and crackling street tortillas, called tlayudas, that are served at lunch. Ortega, whose 16-year-old restaurant, Hugo's, helped revolutionize Houston's Mexican dining scene, introduces a whole world of Oaxacan tastes here. The sopa de piedra, a fish-and-shrimp stew served bubbling furiously from the last-second addition of blisteringly hot river stones, is a deep, orange blast of seafood flavor. A pool of blue-corn cream brings soft, earthy notes to a dessert of corn ice cream sculpted into tiny cobs. But it's those multidimensional moles I keep returning to. “All those famous French sauces?” my enthusiastic companion raved. “These kick all of their asses.” It was hard for me to disagree.And sometimes you just want to embrace the chaos. Witness The Charter Oak, in St. Helena, California, in the middle of the Napa Valley. This is theoretically the casual counterpart to Christopher Kostow and Nathaniel Dorn's three-Michelin-star Restaurant at Meadowood, just up the road. In fact, it's a riot of conflicting signs: The hosts wear blazers; the servers, butcher's aprons; and, for no discernible reason, the chefs, Secret Service earpieces. Cocktails come in pre-batched flasks and punch bowls for the table; water, in curvy pewter-and-glass jugs appropriate for bathing Muses on Greek urns; dessert on a modern butcher-block dessert cart.Does any of it matter? Not in the least. There are some restaurants where you get the feeling that everybody is at least momentarily aware of how lucky they are to be there, and this is one. When you enter the bank-like dining room, you're faced with a massive hearth—a place my server pronounced so that it rhymed with “earth.” Off the flames come thick pieces of sourdough, made with a 25-year-old starter, kissed with smoke and delicious with slices of homemade mortadella. “Tostones” are smashed potatoes, deep-fried and tossed with honey, vinegar, sea salt, and seaweed brown butter. These are potato skins, to be clear, and utterly impossible to stop eating. A luscious beef rib is smoked over the wood from Cabernet barrels and comes alongside blistered beets dressed in rendered aged-beef fat. The dessert cart came by, and the chef pushing it cracked a dome of meringue for a Pavlova with a sharp thwack of her spoon. We perused the whiskey menu, deciding to pass on a $240 shot of Orphan Barrel bourbon.None of it made any sense, but at that moment it was also hard to imagine having more fun. In 2018, would it surprise anyone to learn that the great American style might just be incoherence?Brett Martin is a GQ correspondent.This story originally appeared in the May 2018 issue with the title "The Perfect Night Out: GQ's Best New Restaurants 2018"

https://www.gq.com/story/best-new-restaurants-2018

#IFTTT #Feedly

0 notes

istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years ago

Text

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 12

Now that you’ve done what you came to do, what comes next? Where do you go? How do you cope?

TRIGGER WARNING: BIG SAD. also low quality pic of roger hehe

The last of your measly belongings were packed tightly into that folded up box you’d stuffed into the closet a year ago, the clock reading some time around 2 in the morning as you took a deep, shuddering breath. A few tears escaped your eyes, and you reached up to quickly wipe them away. This was it.

Weston had explained everything from the beginning, pausing only to let you cry it out. He was patient – a bit irritable, but not outwardly, and he always waited until you were calmed down a bit to continue. He was understanding, you thought, as you made your way down the hallway to Roger’s room, which was still empty. Roger wouldn’t be back for a good 6 or 7 hours, leaving you plenty of time to process what Weston had said.

Roger was the universe’s punishment for your involvement in Weston’s creation. He had manifested the time portal, through some sort of quantum physics mumbo-jumbo you hadn’t even pretended to understand. He did it for his childhood friend, a redhead that went by the name of Abigail. She was beautiful, and all the boys chased after her, including Weston. But he had the upper hand as her best friend, and he squandered it away by pining after her silently until it was too late – Abigail was gone, victim to an IRA car bomb that detonated yards from where she was standing, outside of a pub. She was killed at the ripe age of 16, before he could even say goodbye.

“So you made a time machine to save a girl you were obsessed with,” you deadpanned in between crying sessions, Weston’s face twisting up in annoyance and agreement as he struggled to form a comeback.

“Well, when you put it that way…. I guess.”

He’d studied for years, running algorithm after algorithm, test after test, until a successful run in 1993 – he found himself thrust back into the 1970s, at the same exact time, in the same exact place. Roger and Freddie became background characters in his quest to fix what he saw as an error in the timeline, people who just happened to be there every time he came back to try and fix it again.

But that was the problem both of you had – you saw the tragedies as erroneous, but as traumatic as they were, they were not errors. It took Weston years to finally realize there was no way to fix it.

“I spent all of my time from 1993 to 2010 trying to figure out what I was doing wrong,” he’d quietly remarked, tugging on a string that was frayed off of the knee of his baggy jeans. “Turns out, it wasn’t my place to try and change history anyways. Abi wasn’t meant to be with me, as much as I wanted it to be true.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, not sure what to say. It was overwhelming, all of it, and an excessive amount of shame and pain washed over you as you realized that you were not the only one chasing something that wasn’t yours, that didn’t belong to you. A small part of you still wanted Roger, but the common sense in you knew it wasn’t in the cards.

Weston was silent as he stared at the floor just past his knees, chewing on the inside of his lip before he stood up and brushed his jeans off absentmindedly. “I spent 2010 and on trying to convince Dan that it wasn’t worth it. He caught me one time, coming out of the closet door. Wouldn’t leave until I explained, shit a brick when I did.”

“But you let him?” you countered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked up at Weston.

“It’s hard to say no to someone who offers to pay double the rent for an apartment that only offers you pain because of a time portal you can’t get rid of. And I figured he’d get the message eventually. I never imagined….” He trailed off, looking down at you as he tried to find the words to say that wouldn’t offend you. It was clear that he found you incapable of dealing with the consequences, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he cleared his throat and shook his head. “I didn’t think he’d send anyone else.”

“I get it,” you muttered, standing up as well as tears once again threatened to spill out of your eyes. “I’ll just pack up my things.”

And now here you were, standing in the middle of Roger’s room, silently crying as you took one last look. It was a mess, clothes laying across the bed that wasn’t made, an ashtray with an abundance of cigarette butts near the window, and tons of crumpled papers with scrapped songs on them – but it was home to you. You approached the desk, picking one paper up that seemed to be an abandoned love song. Those weren’t typical of Roger, so you folded it up slowly and pushed it into your pocket, sniffling once before grabbing the pen and a discarded paper, writing out a note to your boyfriend. Could you call him a boyfriend now? It was all so confusing.

I did it. I love you forever. Please keep writing music, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine – you just keep being the best drummer out there. Queen is going to do numbers, I promise. Gotta go now.

Placing the note on his bed, you walked back out of his room to where Weston was waiting, his arms crossed as he watched you wipe away the last of your tears.

“Ready to go?”

The apartment wasn’t like you remembered it. When you and Weston walked back through, it was an unfamiliar layout, complete with a mirror in front of the door that you nearly broke upon opening the door outward. But Weston shoved through, strolling into the bedroom as if it was his own. Which, you quickly realized, it was. Pictures of him with a strange redhead girl you recognized as Abigail were on the dresser, coupled with some stacks of papers with equations and diagrams that looked like another language to you.

“Wow. Guess you really did do it. Wonder where Dan is,” he remarked, mostly unfazed by the fact that it had returned to his own apartment. He looked around for a moment, then turned to you and nodded. “Uh, sorry about your boyfriend. I know what it’s like, so if you ever need anyone to, uh, talk to-“

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, a bit more sharply than you intended, but the rim of red around your eyes was enough to keep him from being offended. “I’m just going to go.”

He was quiet, just nodding in response and heading for the door so he could open it for you. “Okay. Hope everything works out.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath, then hurried out of the door with your box of belongings. It felt heavy in your arms, heavier now that you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you managed to make your way down to the street, the church’s shadow looming over you like a death sentence as you hailed a cab that took you all the way to your mom’s house. It wasn’t home. Not anymore.

When you arrived at the small house on the other side of the city, you saw the driveway had your car in it, plus an unfamiliar junker that looked like it might fall apart if you shook it a little bit. Furrowing your eyebrows, you eyed the car suspiciously as you paid the cabbie with the pocket money you had left. It wasn’t yours, and it sure as hell wasn’t your father or mother’s, so whose was it?

Stepping out of the car, you shifted the box to your hip and stared up at the house. It seemed dirtier than you remembered, but maybe it was a year without seeing it that stained your eyesight, so you walked up to the door without another thought. Your feet dragged just a bit as you ascended the stairs, the reality of finally seeing your mom again after a whole year hitting you like a freight train. What if she was still an invalid? What if nothing had changed?

“Y/N?”

The front door swung open before you could even get to it, the familiar voice of your mom flooding your ears. But there was something off about it, a slowness to the way she spoke your name that made your ears ring as you looked up to find her standing in the doorway, leaned up against the frame.

Jesus, she was a mess. She looked at least 20 years older than she should have been, her collarbones jutting out of what used to be a healthy, toned body. In fact, all of her bones were sticking out, a sickly pallor discoloring her face and making her seem as if she was a ghost as she smiled lazily at you, her eyes a bit bleary and unfocused as she searched your face.

“Mum?” you asked unsurely, still standing at the top of the stairs as you stared at the woman who had taken care of you for the last 20-something years, a shell of what she’d been when you saw her literally hours ago, young and relatively unscathed.

“Can you go get me some Guinness? I’ll give you the cash.”

Staring blankly at her, you sat the box down on the porch and nodded slowly. She wasn’t drunk. This wasn’t the body of an alcoholic. This was something else you couldn’t put your finger on, something worse. Registering your nod slowly, she shut the door again and left you out on the porch, reeling from the interaction that had just taken place. Seconds later, she came back with a wad of cash, your phone, and your keys. Walking out to you, or rather, wobbling, she gave the handful to you with a shaking hand, then picked up your box and carried it inside without another word.

“What the fuck?” you whispered once she’d shut the door, still shocked from what had just happened. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?” you continued anxiously, slowly turning on your heels to walk out to your car that was waiting in the drive. What in the fuck had just happened?

Opening the car door, the familiar peony and cherry car freshener assaulted your nostrils as you dropped in, closing the door behind you and shakily unlocking your phone. It was still March, maybe 30 minutes after you’d went in to the portal, and yet, you felt like it had been forever since you’d been here. There weren’t any notifications, just the time and the date staring you back in the face from your iPhone.

Dan. He would know what’s going on. Opening your phone, you quickly pulled up his contact, calling him and pressing it to your ear as you listened to it ring, ring, ring. But he never answered, eliciting a string of curses out of you as you called him again, refusing to quit. And he finally answered on the third ring, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“What d’you want?”

The words tumbled out of you before you could even think, pouring out of your mouth like a torrential waterfall of stupidity. You would regret it in a moment. “I did it, I went back and stopped William and Ted, and I thought mum would be alright, but now I’m here again in 2018 and I just-“

“Jesus, what are you on about? Did your mum let you shoot up with her, finally? She let you in on her stash of smack? Fuck, no wonder your dad took off, you’re both so cracked out. You both still owe me.”

“Wha- I-“ You were floored, so many truths attacking you at once you could barely comprehend the situation. “Smack? Owe you?”

“You’re high,” he accused, sounding even more annoyed than before, if that was possible at all. “And you owe me 700 fucking pounds. Remember that? Don’t fucking call back until you got it, you and your fucking thief of a mum. Fuck you.”

The line went dead. Stunned, you stared at your phone as it returned to the home screen, still devoid of notifications, and for some reason, you didn’t cry. You just breathed slowly, almost heavily, a hundred needles poking into your heart while you watched the screen go black after your inactivity. Smack? Your mom was a heroin addict? That explained the sluggishness, the harrowed appearance, but didn’t explain why? What had you done wrong? This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. You were supposed to come back to a normal family, a normal life, not an addict mother and an uncle that despised you, plus a still-absent father.

No tears came, still. All that overtook you was a need, a desperate one at that. You needed his name to pop up on that phone, to call you and ask you if you were okay, because you weren’t, not anymore.

You needed Roger.

Roger. Roger, fuck, where is he? Scrambling to open up your phone, you opened Chrome and typed in his name faster than you’d ever typed in your life, hitting search even though you misspelled his last name in your haste, and feeling a flood of relief when you saw his Wikipedia page pull up. For a moment, you felt like at least something went right. But, as your luck would have it, you were wrong.

Roger Meddows Taylor was an English musician, singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist, best known as the drummer for the rock band Queen.

Was?

Clicking on the Wikipedia link, you waited a few seconds for the page to load before you were met with a picture of Roger, one that was slightly unfamiliar due to the shorter length of his hair. He looked middle-aged in the photo, the caption indicating it was taken around the mid-90’s, but you didn’t pay attention to it for too long before the death date caught your eye.

August 3, 2000

“No, no, no, no,” you whined, a tear immediately springing forth out of your eye as you scrolled down to the Personal Life section of his Wikipedia. What awaited you there was crushing, and you continually swept tears out of your eyes as you read it, so distraught you couldn’t even make a sound.

Following the 1997 release of No-One but You (Only the Good Die Young) and Deacon’s departure from Queen, Taylor unexpectedly committed himself to an unnamed institute, allegedly in the countryside near London unexpectedly. Remaining Queen member Brian May, speaking about the situation on a talk show later in 2000, cited ‘personal issues related to grieving,’ mentioning Freddie by name. He also briefly mentioned an old girlfriend from the early days of Queen, although this story is unconfirmed and no evidence of this relationship was brought forth upon public doubt. Taylor passed in 2000, leaving behind five children with two ex-wives.

“Oh, fuck me,” you sobbed as the tears finally began to fall in full force, your phone dropping to your lap as you pressed your hands to your face. Roger was dead. Your mom was just as fucked. Dan wanted nothing to do with you. Your dad? Might as well not exist. Everything was somehow worse than before.

Forgetting completely about the Guinness, you curled up in your car and sobbed for a good hour, the sky darkening to the point where you could barely see your hands in front of your face when you finally pulled yourself together, sniffling and wiping your nose on the back of your hand. Locating your phone, you grabbed it and shoved it into your pocket, neglecting to grab the keys out of the ignition before you wobbled back inside, overwhelmed with grief for both of the lives you had lost – one here, and one with Roger.

When the door on the porch opened again and you saw the outline of your mom lit by a single dim hallway light, you cursed yourself silently for completely forgetting what she’d sent you to do.

“Did you get it? Took you long enough.”

Her selfish, stinging words hit you like a slap to the face as you fully stopped in your ascension of the stairs. In her hand, she held the dress from Biba, the one Roger had bought you. “Give me my dress,” you immediately demanded, hopping the rest of the steps in one leap and coming to stand in front of her. She stared at you like an alien, eyes still bleary, probably from shooting up while you were busy mourning all of your mistakes in the car. This was not her fault, but as you stared at her offended expression that was chastising you for what you did, you couldn’t help but feel like it was.

“Where’s the fucking beer?”

“Fuck you!” you spat, snatching the dress from her hands and taking off for your car again as she yelled after you, berating you for being ungrateful and a thief and every nasty name under the moon. But you ignored her, climbing back into your car and starting it before ripping out of the driveway and peeling off down the street. Fuck her.

The dress laid in a pretty pink heap on the passenger seat, tossed over there hastily and taunting you as you drove aimlessly through the London night, not sure where to go. You didn’t even know where your dad was, so that was out of the question. And you were as good as dead to Dan. Maybe your friends? But how would you explain that? Hey, so I went back to 1971 to save my mom, but then I came back and she’s just a fucking druggie now, and my boyfriend from the 70’s is dead, and my uncle hates me, so can I crash on your couch? No. You were officially homeless.

So you went back to Weston’s. Parking on the street outside the building, you stared up at that church, the same one that had been so lofty and imposing in the 70’s now seeming small and pathetic as you examined the cracked brick, the crumbling stairs leading up to it surely being a safety violation. Your hand found the dress blindly, resting on the soft, velvety fabric and giving it a small pet. God, how desperately you could use a hug from Roger right now.

You weren’t sure was propelled you up to Weston’s door, or how you even made it up there, but a few minutes later, you were knocking on his door rapidly, your free hand clutching onto the dress desperately. When he opened the door, he didn’t even look remotely surprised to see you, though his words were polite enough.

“Hey. Back so soon?”

You groaned softly at the greeting, not sure whether to smack him or run away or both, but you shook your head and pressed your palm to your forehead. “I have to undo it. Everything. You were….. you were right.”

“Could have listened to me half a year ago, but okay,” he sighed, opening the door fully and letting you in. You beelined for the bedroom, not even stopping for a moment to explain the situation to him. It had to be done. You had to erase this reality, to start over. Your mom was too important. Roger was too important. Everything was too different. You should have listened.

And so, in you went again, plunging in to the darkness of the closet with only a few pounds and a dress on you, plus an all-too-familiar idea of what came next. As you opened the door to the 70’s décor in the hallway of the building you’d come to adore over the past year, you sighed.

Here we go again.

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5 PT. 6 PT. 7 PT. 8 PT. 9 PT. 10 PT. 10.5 PT. 11

taglist - @crosmopolitan @just-ladyme @rogerfxckingtaylor @fourmisfitz @shae-is-not-ok @moreinfinite @fruityfreddie @poachedhazontoast @strawberryfields-forever @imladrs @psychoticobsession @killer-queen-xo @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @brownhardyho @stardvstial @iminlovewith-rogers-car @benyeehawdy @mercurys-bike @mazzelloplots @beaaatle @sunshine112 @wonderless-screwup @rogers-sweatbands @whowaits4everanyway @sunflower-borhap-boys @bitemerog @sitonmyhot-seatoflove @siriusly-a-nerd @rockerchic93 @darkangel711 @jennyggggrrr @bensrhapsody @xiaoqueencava @rtyler19 @discodeacygotmorerhythm

message me/reply to this to be added to the taglist! PLEASE specify whether all imagines, queen, beatles, or series taglist (just for Tomorrow Never Came)! REQUESTS CLOSED

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagine #angst #time travel #series

29 notes · View notes