#anyway i’ll probably make more of trans lester

[spec-s]

hi *transgenders your lester*

[moronic-validity]

The Vincent Sinclair’s Boot x Reader Fic

okay so a few notes! 

1) Reader is a trans guy (like your’s truly) 

2) This is smut for the sake of smut, plain and simple.

3) I finished this at 2:30am and I have to be at work at 8. 

This Contains: dubcon/coerced consent, drugs, bdsm, dom vincent, a boot kink, typos, almost murder, masturbation, and car problems! Everything under the cut is 18+!!!

As the temperature gauge crept higher and higher, [y/n] had to kick himself. He had been told to check his oil periodically through the road trip, but more than that, he had always been told to keep an extra thing of 5-20 in his car. Both pieces of advice went in one ear and out the other.

Which left him here, in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, 30 miles shy of Baton Rouge.

The immediate reaction was to get out of his car and scream. Sure, it was near midnight, but there wasn’t anyone nearby, so what was the worst thing that could happen.  The flash of headlights on him and his car answered his question.

Great. Fantastic. Cool.

“Hey, sorry about the yelling,” he called out in the general direction of the headlights. “Any chance you have some 5-20, I’ll be right out of here if you do!”

No response. [y/n] sighed and sat on the hood of his car and watched the car. It was the middle of the night and it was still hotter than hell and humid to match. Without giving it much thought, he pulled his t shirt over his head and sat it on the hood next to him. What did it matter, he had a binder on anyway. Not like anything was showing.

The mystery driver flashed his brights at [y/n], then threw it in reverse and went back to where he came from.

Well that’s fantastic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and someone knows I’m stranded here. Perfect.

Without giving any more thought to it, he got back into his car and went to sleep, his t shirt thrown over his eyes.

The sun didn’t wake him up, the tapping on his window did.

[y/n] scrambled into an acceptable position and pulled his still damp t shirt on. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see the man standing near his window. The man wasn’t intimidating or anything, but the situation was odd and [y/n] was immediately warry.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn mean to startle ya or nothin,” The man with the green hat said with a small laugh, “it just looked like ya might need some help, most people don like sleepin in their car this time a year.”

[y/n] squinted at the guy. It wasn’t due to the accent or the look of him, the sun just happened to be right in his eyes. The perfect start to another fantastic day.

“Uh yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. Any chance you know where to get a quart or two of oil?” He asked, ending it with a still tired yawn.

“I could give ya a lift into town, ‘m sure Bo will help you out at the station,” The green hatted man offered helpfully.

“Actually, that’d be wonderful, thank you…” [y/n] realized that he just accepted a ride from a man who’s name he didn’t even know. His mother would be so proud.

“Lester, Lester Sinclair,” Lester said with an extended hand.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n]” He took the other’s hand and gave a firm shake. [y/n] was acutely aware of the tacky reddish-brown smudge that was now on his hand.

The ride into town was quite, aside from the rumble of Lester’s truck and the sound of tires throwing rock.

“So where’re you headed?” Lester asked, glancing over at [y/n].

“Ah, no direction, wanted to go up, down, coast to coast. Want to see a little bit of everything, I guess,” [y/n] picked at the skin around his index finger, “I’ve only broken down once, so I figure I’m doing okay.”

“Welcome to Ambrose, I know it probably isn where ya wanted t’ go, but there are worse places.” Lester said cheerfully.

The ride went back to being quiet.

“Oh shit,” Lester whined, more to himself than anything else, as he threw the car in park and jumped out, “ya wouldn’ mind givin me a hand flipping the hubs, would ya?”

What the hell does that even mean? {y/n] thought to himself as he hopped out of the car to help Lester with the task anyway. Help was a bit of a strong word for what [y/n] did, it was more get in the way and offer moral support. Lester appreciated the gesture and the company. Most people jumped out of the car and fled into town by this point.

The two got back into the truck and drove right on into Ambrose and parked in front of the service station.

“Now, you wait here, Bo ‘ll be ‘round soon,” Lester dropped [y/n] off with a wave then drove off to wherever he worked. It occurred to [y/n] that he never thought to ask.

It also occurred to [y/n] that he’d have to walk back to his car or hope that someone in town would be willing to give him a ride. Just one more thing. He sighed and sat with his back against the wall of the station.

At least there’s shade. It’s already starting to feel like the devil’s armpit, but at least there is shade.

Time passed, could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes.

No, it was definitely hours.

Around the point [y/n] was sure that this Bo guy would have to pry him off the cement with a spatula, Bo happened to come down the road and up to the door of the station, near where he was sitting. Bo stood within arm’s distance as [y/n] pushed himself up off the sidewalk.

“I take it you’re Bo? [Y/n] [l/n], Lester said you might have some oil?” [y/n] offered the man he assumed to be Bo his hand. Bo flashed [y/n] a smile that seemed to try to hard to be charming.

“Well, I’d introduce myself but you already know who I am,” Bo chuckled. He was in a suit and tie, didn’t seem like he was dressed for his line of work. “ Let’s see if we can’t get you back on the road, hm?” He hummed to himself as he unlocked the door to let the two men into the store.

There was no AC, and that was the first problem [y/n] had with the station. The second problem was that there appeared to be no oil. Anywhere.

What type of station doesn’t carry oil. Oil. OIL. Walmart carries oil, DG carries oil. Why does this man not have oil.

“Uh….Hey Bo, any chance you have some oil in the garage that you’re willing to part with?” [y/n] asked, while squatting and looking at another shelf devoid of oil.

“I’m sure I could check,” Bo said, his voice drifting further away. [y/n] kept looking.

“So I’ve got some bad news, I don’t have any oil down here;” ,” Bo said as he re-entered the store, wiping his hands down on a grease rag, “Good news though, I got my restock shipment in yesterday and just haven’t gotten around to bringing it down from the house. I’m more than willing to let you wait here while I go up to to get what you need, but you look like you need something to drink.”

[y/n] thought it over. This would mark the second time in less than 24 hours that he went somewhere with a random stranger, but at least this time he knew the guy’s name.

Well, the south is known for its hospitality, so I might as well go and get something to drink.

“I’d really appreciate something to drink and thank you so much for the help,” [y/n] said, suddenly aware that his mouth felt like it was full of glue.

The pair were about halfway to the house, when [y/n] finally felt the need to ask about the suit.

“Okay so, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but why are you wearing a suit? Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Bo stopped moving at [y/n]’s question and seemed to consider a few possible answers before he nodded to himself and kept walking.

“Well, it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity,” he chuckled to himself, “and uh,” he paused to clear his throat, “My mom passed on, was at her service.”

“Bo, I am so sorry. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sure to pay my respects before I leave town,” [y/n] couldn’t help but feel intense sympathy for Bo.

He left his mom’s funeral to help me get some oil so I can get back on the road. Holy shit.

They walked in silence for the rest of the day, [y/n] was unsure how to comfort this stranger, so he just followed the other man’s lead. Silence.

Bo unlocked the door when they got up on the step and lead [y/n] into the house.

“Washroom is down the hall if you need it, the door should be open,” Bo motioned towards the washroom, “Make yourself at home.”  

With that, Bo was in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of sweet tea. [y/n] decided to take Bo up on his offer of a washroom. Once the door was shut, he fought with his binder for a minute, before finally getting it off his chest, letting it hang loosely around his neck. At this point, it just felt good to take a few deep breaths. After a few minutes passed, [y/n] pulled his binder back into place, swore he’d keep it off until he hit the next rest stop, then went back out into the house and met Bo in the kitchen.

Bo handed [y/n] the glass of sweet tea, condensation already beading on the sides. Nice and cold and incredibly sweet, it even tasted southern. And a bit salty. [y/n] had never had homemade sweet tea before, so he assumed that maybe that just happened sometimes with the tea when it cooled.

The room started to sway.

“Hey, [y/n] maybe you should sit down, looks like the heat is getting to you,” Bo said, worry in his voice, but a smile on his lips, “maybe you ought to lay down for a bit.”

Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

That was weird, he tried to say it out loud, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Bo helped [y/n] to sit on the couch and as his vision started to darken, [y/n] swore he saw another person enter the room.

When [y/n] came to, he realized a few things in short order. It was much darker, he was not on the couch, and he was restrained to the metal table he way laying on. Ever the optimist, he was thankful for the fact that he still had his clothes on and also for the fact it was much cooler wherever he was.

A tall man with long dark hair entered his line of sight. [y/n] had a few ideas of things to yell at him, but instead, took a different approach.

“So, either I’ve been asleep for a really long time, or you’re not Bo,” [y/n] said, turning his head to get a better look at the man. The man’s shoulders shook, like he was laughing without the noise.

Okay so he can’t talk. Noted.

The man turned around to face the table and made sure his hands were in clear view as he signed, “Vincent.”

The motions were smooth and [y/n] caught it near immediately.

“Vincent is a nice name,” he mused, giving Vincent a charming smile of his own, “I’m [y/n]. Now, I do have a few questions, mainly, why am I tied up?”

Vincent turned his back on [y/n] and went back to preparing the paralytic, deciding to make it a bit stronger so the man on the table wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it. When he turned around and [y/n] saw the needle, the reality of the situation began to sink in and things snapped into focus.

“Hey Vincent, I don’t know what’s in that needle, but I promise you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re about to do,” [y/n] tried to keep his voice level as he squirmed and fought against the restraints, “I know we don’t know each other, but I swear you don’t need to do this.”

Vincent watched him writhe on the table and considered his options.

“Please, can we talk this out, please,” [y/n] continued to beg, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and bruises already forming at both his wrists and his ankles from the jerking around. Desperation in one hell of a drug, because in no other situation could [y/n] see himself saying, “I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Vincent set the syringe back down and walked up to the head of the table and gripped [y/n]’s jaw and turned his head to make sure he saw when he signed “Are you sure?” he drew it out to emphasize the importance of the question.

Was [y/n] sure? No. No he wasn’t, but he wasn’t in a place that allowed many options. Behind door one? Death! Behind door two? A questionable fate that could very well still end in death!

Yeah, I’ll go with door number two, please.

[y/n] nodded, Vincent’s hand still not leaving his jaw.

Vincent considered the situation for a moment. He considered the number of girls that Bo had brought to him after he had had his way with them at the station. Girls had never really been Vincent’s speed.  There were plenty of attractive guys who had come through, but mostly they were either already dead or just spit curses at him. [y/n] was different. No threats, no insults, he was shockingly calm, all things considered. Vincent stroked up and down the side of [y/n]’s face, bringing his hand into the smaller man’s hair and pulling, eliciting a soft whimper.

“I want you to show me,” Vincent signed before undoing the restraints at [y/n]’s ankles. As for his hands? His hands were going to stay bound, but a change of position was still needed. Vincent kept eye contact with [y/n] as he undid his wrists.

[y/n] sat up on the table, moving slowly as to not startle Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to scare the guy who probably had a half dozen ways to kill him in arms reach. His wrists ached and were bleeding in some places. He rubbed at his sore joints before Vincent snapped his fingers, pointed directly at him, then down at the floor near his boot clad feet.

[y/n] had the opportunity to make a run for it, but instead knelt at Vincent’s feet. Vincent put his hand out and without thinking, [y/n] rested the side of his face against it. Vincent’s face burned beneath his mask, that was not what he needed the man to do. He pulled his hand away and gently slapped at the kneeling man’s face, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to know that that was not the desired action. The kneeling man was a quick learner and when Vincent put his hand out again, he reluctantly placed his wrists in the larger man’s hands.

[y/n] was not thrilled at this situation, but he was also a simple man, and for all the terror in the situation, Vincent was a large man with shockingly soft hands that were big enough to envelop both of his wrists, who had complete control over the situation. Should he be getting wet due to the situation? Absolutely not, but in the one psychology class he took in high school, it was mentioned that fear and arousal were close together in the brain.

Vincent saw the bruising and blood on the smaller man’s wrists and was careful when he rebound them. Sure, he was planning on killing the guy, but his plans had changed. He threaded a rope and carefully suspended his wrists so that his wrists would remain above his head.

[y/n]’s first thought was that Vincent wanted head. Most guys he had met enjoyed getting head, so it did make sense. He carefully pressed his cheek against the man’s crotch and nuzzled against it, then looked up and into Vincent’s eyes for any sign. Instead, Vincent just lifted his knee and pushed [y/n] off of him like he was a disobedient dog.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as to what he wanted, if not a blow job. He was further confused when Vincent lifted his boot clad foot and pressed it into the smaller man’s pelvic bone, hard.

Oh.

The pressure of it was enough to lift him up just a little bit more and it had him wetter than he thought he could be in a situation like this. He pressed down onto the shoe and began to grind against it, shamelessly chasing the friction it created.

Vincent groaned. His cock twitched as he watched the man’s lewd display. He didn’t want [y/n] to touch him, not yet. There was still the chance that could go horribly wrong, what Vincent wanted was to see exactly how desperate the man was. Vincent began to palm himself, stroking through the fabric of his pants while he watched.

The answer was very. [y/n] was very desperate. [y/n] was desperate not to die and now, now he was also desperate to cum. He pressed himself harder against the toe of Vincent’s boot and rutted against it, groaning loudly when it pressed up against that bundle of nerves. He began to fall into a rhythm that hit every sensitive spot he could reach.

Vincent’s hand was now in his pants as he stroked himself to the same rhythm [y/n] was fucking himself to. God,  Vincent thought to himself, this man was making an absolute whore of himself. It might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Could make work slightly less taxing. Then the bound man made a sound that snapped Vincent out of his thoughts and almost made him cream his pants.

He was getting so close, he had thrown himself so into chasing his high that he almost forgot that the circumstances that brought him to this were less than desirable. He pressed began to rotate his hips so that bundle of nerves caught significantly more pressure and more friction. He let out a loud, needy whine.

“Please Vincent, please tell me I can cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please God, Vincent,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he was babbling and begging for a different release now. Vincent bucked into his own hand, listening to the whines and pleas.

Tears were starting to form in [y/n]’s eyes again, he was trying so hard to be good for Vincent, trying so hard to be his good boy. Sure, less than an hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible, but God, he was so close to cumming and he just needed Vincent to tell him he had been good. Hadn’t he been good enough to deserve release?

Vincent pressed his crotch against [y/n]’s face and continued to jack himself off. He didn’t want the man’s mouth, but he wanted the proximity. He was so close to his own release. So so close, all he needed was-

“Oh GOD, sir please, I’ve been so good for you, please sir. Tell me I’ve been a good boy for you, tell me I’m your good boy, please sir; oh my God, please, please,” [y/n] continued to babble, now crying for release against Vincent’s aching cock.

Yeah, that just about did it for him. Vincent’s orgasm took him hard and left a sizable stain that leaked into the front of his pants and against the begging man’s face. Vincent closed his eyes, lost in his own release. When things snapped back into focus, he realized the other man was still whining pitifully, still having not came.

Vincent had to admit, he was impressed at the man’s willpower, it was oddly attractive to him that the man refused to grant himself pleasure without permission. This could actually work out wonderfully, Vincent thought to himself.

He took the rope in his free hand and yanked on it hard enough to knock the [y/n] off balance. He looked up at Vincent as he tried to regain balance. Vincent let go of the rope and let him drop onto his knees, but his eyes were still locked on his masked face.

Vincent thought about it for a moment before signing “I want you to cum.”

That was all [y/n] needed to hear before going back to rutting against the shoe, quickly going over the edge and coating the toe of the boot in his fluids. He braced himself against Vincent’s leg, mumbling thank yous as he came back down. Vincent allowed this to go on for a short while, before cutting the rope and pressing [y/n]’s face down to the still wet boot.

Vincent used one hand to yank [y/n]’s hair to make the blissed out man look up at him, with the other hand, he calmly signed “Clean it up.”

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (15)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 49.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"So," Phil starts, and then pauses. He has no real idea how to say this.

His parents wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts and his mum mutes the telly. Having their undivided attention doesn't really help, it just makes Phil sweat a bit. He can't even bring himself to sit down, too wired with anxious energy as he is.

The video has only been live for a day, but it's already one of Phil's most popular. People are clamoring in the comments for more; demands for proof and simple curiosity about what could explain his experiences. He's already had a call from Martyn about the benefits of going back and doing an update, but PJ and Sophie have put their two cents in as 'absolutely not'. Chris offered a don't care and then asked for Phil's mum's lasagna recipe.

Phil wants to stay. It's not so much about the mystery, for him, but he's pretty sure his friends and maybe even his brother already know that. He's got his own reasons for not buying a train ticket the moment the video went live and asking his divisive audience what they wanted him to do. Yeah, he'd been sort of hoping for this outcome.

He's not sure if he wants to stay for himself, for the stagnation that being here allows him, or if he wants to stay for deep dimples and a nice laugh. Probably a bit of column A and a bit of column B, if he's honest with himself.

"I uploaded the video on this case," Phil tells his parents. "And there were a lot of, um, unanswered questions. Because of that whole thing with the footage."

"Phil," his dad says, exasperation in his voice already.

"And that means more money from one case," Phil presses on, "because I don't have many expenses here and the ad revenue was really good in comparison to my last five videos. Martyn really thinks I should look into this some more. I promise I won't be here for months or anything, I just - just give me another week. Please, I just need a week."

Money talk usually gets his parents to back down a bit, but they exchange a long look between them that convinces Phil it isn't going to work this time. His mind is already whirring quickly, trying to settle on arguments that it thinks might win him this battle. He considers telling them that this is more than just a video to him, that his whole future feels like it's resting on this one mystery, but he has a suspicion that they wouldn't be very impressed with that lack of foresight. He's ready to bring out specific numbers when their silent communication breaks and his mum gives him a small smile.

"Phil," she says, echoing his dad with a bit more warmth and a lot more pity. "You know we need to talk about this, dear, why don't you sit down?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets so they don't see the trembling. He's not scared, he's just anxious, and his brain and body are conspiring to make him feel like he's going to die if something unexpected happens.

Phil doesn't like change. He doesn't like seeing his childhood house like this, he doesn't like having his career up in the air, and he doesn't like the way his parents no longer trust him to do what's best for himself. The worst part is that he's not even sure they're wrong - Phil knows he isn't thinking logically right now, that Martyn is the one who even mentioned ad revenue while Phil was busy wondering how best to prove himself.

"I'm good," says Phil. He hopes that the nerves aren't as palpable as they feel to him.

"Okay, well," his mum says, briskly rearranging things on the coffee table like she has to be doing something with her hands while they talk about this. He's reminded a bit of Dan in the coffee shop, of Chris in the attic, and he wonders what it is about him that makes people need to split their focus like that. "Your dad and I have been talking."

"About how I need to grow up?" Phil offers, heart in his throat. It feels like he might laugh or cry at any moment. "Yeah. I've noticed."

"We're retiring, Phil," his dad says. That's not exactly news to Phil - he knows why they're selling the house, after all - but he bites his tongue and lets his dad speak. "We've understood the... unstable nature of your work for several years now, but we can't keep bailing you out whenever you have a bad month. You're a smart man and you've got a good degree, you should have something steadier under your belt."

"We love how creative you are," Phil's mum chimes in. It almost sounds like they've practiced this. Phil bites down harder. "And if you can channel that creativity in a way that isn't so dangerous, you'll have our full support."

Phil kind of wishes that he already had their full support, but he's already had this conversation with himself. The work isn't fun for him anymore, and the risk of getting arrested for trespassing isn't a low one. It's almost not worth it when he doesn't have that full-blown excitement about a case.

He doesn't need every haunt to have a nice ending wrapped up with a bow, but he does need to like the content he's producing. Otherwise there isn't any point to it.

Still. It sucks to hear.

Phil deflates a little bit. His automatic defensiveness that springs up whenever his parents start questioning his many bad decisions in life is fading to something that feels like bone-deep exhaustion. The anxiety is still there, thrumming under his skin, but there's nothing he can really do about that. The truth is that he's been feeling listless and defeated and trapped for a lot longer than he's been back in his parents' house. There's no real point in pretending otherwise.

"Give me a week," he repeats, quiet. "I want to finish this project either way, y'know? Just let me stay for the rest of this week and - and if it doesn't pan out, if I don't find anything new, then... then I'm done. I'll stop. I'll find something else."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" his mum asks. The relief that pulls at her shoulders and her pursed lips is enough for Phil to be sure.

"Yeah," says Phil. He gives them a little shrug. "I'm comfortable with what I'm doing. I like making videos and exploring places with cool stories, and even talking to people has been getting better. But you're... you've got a point. I can't keep doing this forever. Not at the pace and quality I like to maintain. If this video goes well, it might help me break into a more diverse and less dangerous niche, which would make everyone happy, I think."

His dad nods at him. "Okay. You can stay until Sunday, because that's when we're going to the Isle. You can do whatever editing and post-production stuff you need to when you get back to Brighton. We'll expect a call when you know for sure what you're going to do, Phil."

Phil swallows, clenches his fists tighter in his pockets. "You'll be the first to know."

--

Nobody asks Phil to leave, but he can't stay in the aggressively neutral version of his parents' house and field their 'casual' questions about what sort of things he might want to do if YouTube doesn't work. He escapes to the city again, sending a message to Dan on the bus. Instead of asking if they want to hang out with him, he simply asks where he can meet them today. As if it's a given that they're going to be spending time together.

Maybe that's presumptuous of him, but Dan uses an exclamation mark when they reply, im at home!, so Phil thinks it's probably fine.

Dan meets him at the door this time, mid-ramble about the broken dishwasher in their flat as if social niceties are no longer expected of them. That suits Phil. He grins back at Dan and joins them in the small but tidy galley kitchen, letting Dan talk his ear off while they scrub at some discoloured Tupperware.

"Sorry," Dan interrupts themself, turning big and apologetic eyes on Phil like they've just registered that he's standing there. "I'm having a weird brain day. Bit all over the place, you know."

"That's fine," Phil says honestly. He smiles, because Dan doesn't look all that convinced by it. "No, really, I don't mind. I like listening to you talk."

The blush spreads across Dan's face too quickly for them to hide by turning away. They try, anyway, and Phil is left looking at their face in profile, turned down and rosy as it is. "Normally I at least break for breath. What's new with you?"

"Since two days ago?" Phil teases. Dan's dimple makes an appearance right before the smile splits their face, and Phil has to twist his own fingers together so he doesn't reach out and poke at it. He's still working through some stuff, still doesn't want to make any decisions about this without thinking it over carefully, but he's never been good at resisting temptation either. "Uh, not much. My parents are still on my case. I'm getting good feedback on the video, but you probably know that already."

"It was a good video," says Dan. They pause as they dry their big hands on an old tea towel. "I... appreciate you saying that stuff about me."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Dan meets his eyes again, almost stubbornly ignoring the colour in their own cheeks. "I can appreciate things that you think are true, dingus. Take the gratitude already."

Phil grins. "Never."

--

There are snacks after that and some video games that Phil loses spectacularly and some good ferret snuggles. As the afternoon turns to evening, Phil watches Dan rearrange some titles on the bookshelf as they chatter about one of their science-y classes, no longer self conscious about how much they're talking. He's sitting on Dan's soft, unmade bed with Pixel, who keeps rolling around in the sheets like she's trying to get comfortable.

Phil is already comfortable. It's hard for him to ignore that Dan's bedroom feels so much like a safe haven in the way that his old house no longer does.

At some point Dan gives up on whatever system they were trying to implement. They pick Tofu up off the floor and flop onto the bed with Phil, wiggling around in almost the exact same way Pixel had. Phil presses his lips together tightly so he doesn't laugh.

"I think that things can be improved," Dan is saying, and Phil tries to figure out if they're still talking about the environment or if Dan has picked up the loose thread from their earlier rant about Bethesda. Pixel and Tofu are both running around like Dan and Phil are just bony jungle gyms, and Dan barely even stutters when one of them steps on their nose. "Of course they can be improved, it's not something you just give up on when things get tough, but the problem is that the people in charge have to implement the changes that are necessary for improvement, and - ow, that's my ear, don't bite that - and, uh... where was I?"

"You were telling me about climate change," says Phil. "Or potentially Todd Howard's ambivalence towards a quote-unquote 'perfect game'. I honestly lost track."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Phil's anxiety rears its head for the first time since he got here, but luckily he hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth this time - Dan starts laughing, more or less cackling, and they roll closer to Phil to bury their face in a pillow.

Phil grins and reaches out to tug at one of Dan's curls, fascinated by the way it just springs back into place. He's done this to PJ once or twice or six times, but he's usually had a couple drinks before he resorts to it. Dan comes out of hiding with tears of laughter welling up in their pretty brown eyes and their dimples in full force, grinning up at Phil like he's the funniest person in the world.

"Those are both really important issues," Dan says, trying their best to sound deadpan when they're so obviously gleeful.

They wiggle around again and Phil says, "You look exactly like Pixel when you do that."

He's pretty sure that Dan honks at that, but he's immediately distracted by a ferret trying to bite his eyebrow.

This is good. Phil likes this. He's trying to dig himself out of the mindset that he'd backed himself into when he first started noticing Dan, because PJ might have had a point. Okay, so PJ definitely had a point, and Phil has been a bit of an idiot.

He won't know for sure how Dan feels about him being gay and uncompromising about that fact unless he asks, and he doesn't think he's ready to do that just yet. But there's a rainbow flag on Dan's wall and they don't consider themselves not not a guy, so... Phil thinks that maybe he's been assigning a strictness to Dan's own relationship to gender and sexuality that isn't actually there.

Dan is talking again, to their ferrets this time, and Phil is almost overwhelmed by the force of affection that washes over him now that he isn't trying so hard to hold it back. Dan's leg is pressed against his own and they're holding Pixel up like they're playing airplane with her and Phil likes them so goddamn much.

"Did you want to," Phil starts, interrupting Dan's musing about what goes on in a ferret's tiny brain. Dan looks up at him with such genuine happiness on their face that Phil's words stick in his throat. He should be asking if Dan wants to go out for dinner again or if they've seen whatever blockbuster action film is playing in cinemas this week, but that's not what comes out of his mouth. When Dan raises their eyebrows quizzically, what Phil ends up asking is, "Uh, come spend the night in the haunted house with me?"

Great. Real romantic.

--

Dan doesn't make a secret about how much they hate this plan. They say it over and over, but they don't take any of the outs that Phil offers them.

"I hate this plan," Dan says as they make a bunch of sandwiches. It seems like way too much for just the two of them, but Phil isn't about to say no to having a near endless supply of peanut butter and bread when they're stuck in a dusty attic again. "This is stupid. You should have just left it at the first video, Phil, that was fine."

"You don't have to come with me," Phil reminds them for the umpteenth time.

Dan glares. "No, I'm coming."

"You're a very complicated person," says Phil.

With a heavy sort of sigh, like they've been dealing with Phil for years instead of a week, Dan finally sets the peanut butter down. "Look," they say, pointing the dull knife at Phil for emphasis. "I can hate this plan and still want to make sure you don't get fucking arrested or possessed or trip down the stairs or something. PJ knows where I live."

"I think he'd be in the camp of me deserving it if I died in the Wilkins place," Phil says, his lips tugging into a grin. "But thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan mutters. "Will you at least tell me why we're going back? I know you're fucking stubborn and all, but I didn't figure you for someone who beats dead horses."

"Oh, that's a terrible idiom," Phil says, mostly to himself. He reaches out to squeeze Dan's shoulder when he sees them get all huffy at the apparent avoidance. The tension leaving Dan's body under his palm is frustrating to feel, because there's nothing Phil wants more than to lean into it. The problem, of course, is that he really does need to talk to Dan before he starts trying to hug them in their own kitchen. Phil lets his hand drop awkwardly between them and shrugs. "Well, uh. This is the first time in a long time I've actually been excited about a project. And that makes me think that maybe I've worn out my welcome here. Not... not here like Manchester here, but here like... my job, here."

Dan leans their hip against the counter and looks at Phil with their brow all furrowed. "This is an ultimatum," they say. "Like, to yourself."

"Yeah," says Phil. "I need to solve this - or at least find something else that I can show to people. Because if I don't, then I need to actually look at myself and admit I'm not doing something I like anymore."

"It sounds like you're already looking at yourself," Dan says quietly.

"I guess."

"No, you are," Dan insists, their voice stronger now that they can assert an opinion. "Trust me, I'm a pro at unproductive self-reflection and existentialism. Who am I, what does it all matter, I know the song and dance. And I don't think that getting more footage is going to erase what you're already thinking, Phil. Tell me if I'm out of line, whatever, but if you want to do something else with your life then just do something else with your life."

The automatic defensiveness threatens to make Phil snap back at Dan that this isn't any of their business, but he's had a lot of practice in keeping his negative thoughts to himself. He gives Dan a little humourless smile and shrugs his shoulders.

"You're twenty-one," Phil says. "And a student. I don't really expect you to get it."

Dan puts their hands on their hips like they're settling in for a proper row, but instead they just say, "I know. I don't know what you're going through, sure, I doubt anyone knows what anyone else is going through at any time. And, yeah, I've got another year before I have to worry about my career. But I've made some fucking tough decisions in my life, mate. I dropped out of my law course after two lectures. I don't talk to my family anymore. I've tried on so many different names and labels that it would make your head spin. You don't like your job anymore, and one video isn't going to change that."

"Yeah, probably not." Phil looks down at their little collection of sandwiches, feeling lost and stubborn and a bit scared about how much Dan sees him. "But I have to try, y'know? I can't just give up. I have to try."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, Dan sighs.

"Okay. Put these in a container, we don't use unnecessary plastic in this flat. Just whatever they fit in. I'll make some coffee for the road and find our Scrabble board."

[theotherbloodfart]

Rules

Please understand that I work a full time job. And I’m a slow writer. I do this because I love to do it. So requests might be closed often as I do not believe in making people wait too long for things they’ve requested. If you don’t mind a longer wait just specify and throw that request my way anyways. Just don’t be hateful okay? I’m here to fuck monsters and slashy boys the same as you lolololol

What I WILL NOT write for:

• Rape. Literally any nonconsent. It’s gross. And I won’t do it.

• Please. Please. PLEASE do not ask me to write about pewp. If it ain’t sweat blood spit or cum I won’t do it.

• Incest.

• Pedophilia

• Bestiality. I mean the fur baby kind not the monster kind lol.

• 2 slashers together (I WILL pair certain monsters tho)

• Vore (I can’t. I just CANT)

• Self harm

What I WILL write for:

• SFW/NSFW

• Dubious consent

• Fluff

• Gore

• Gay

• Lesbian

• Trans M/F

• Blood play

• O/C (not from anon tho as I’ll need to ask questions about your O/C)

• This list will get bigger as time goes on

My character list I will write for:

• Pennywise (1990 and 2017)

• Michael Myers (1978 and gilf 2018 oop)

• Jason Voorhees (1980 dead or alive and 2009)

• Bubba Sawyer

• Thomas Hewitt (I’m not grouping them together because they’re NOT THE SAME SO SUE ME LOL)

• Brahms Heelshire

• Chucky (1988 only for now. I did a one shot as a present but I wanna watch the film a few more times and become more familiar with the character before I’ll go all in)

• Tiffany Valentine

• The Yautja (male or female)

• Xenomorphs

• Colossus (because…… I thirst okay?????)

• Spock (original series only)

Characters I’ll be adding after I finally open the giant ass binge box of blurays and DVDs I’ve been hoarding and WATCH them:

• Billy Loomis

• Stu Macher

• Chucky (2019)

• Billy Lenz (1974 and 2006)

• Vincent Sinclair

• Bo Sinclair

• Lester Sinclair

• Freddy Krueger (he’ll probably go up next as I’m currently plowing my way thru his series)

• Pinhead

• Toxie (eat me)

• The fuckn turkey off Thankskilling (Idgaf if y’all request him or not this turkey is getting some pu$$y on Thanksgiving on this blog….)

Others may be added.

[all-things-lgbtqia]

Reacting to [Vaguely] LGBT+ News, pt. 1

I want to talk about it. I have stuff to discuss. So here we are.

As the fight for equality for the LGBT+ community becomes more present in the public eye, it’s not unusual to find LGBT+ news (even if only tangentially related) spilling over into mainstream news. This could be coverage of pride parades, this could be movie announcements, this could be interviews with people who have come out in really spectacular ways, it can be anything. And sometimes, there’s more to say after the broadcast ends. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been wanting to discuss this for a while now, but I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough content. However, after missing most of the year in which Michael D. Cohen came out about his transgender journey; prominent figures in entertainment Daniel Howell, Phil Lester, and Lil Nas X came out as gay; a new LGBT+ health center has been announced to open in Asbury Park; and New York became the 6th state in the United States to outlaw the use of the gay/trans panic defenses; I realized there was a lot to talk about. I’m thinking about covering the past week of LGBT+ news, even if only vaguely related, in one big recap on Sundays, although I’ll have to wait and see. For now, I’ll just cover little snippets I feel are worth mentioning, as well as give my two cents.

First up, and the reason I say “vaguely”, is an already somewhat dated article in regards to the gay character in Avengers: Endgame.

Apparently, this reveal was not meant to be a big deal.

This article is pretty easy to summarize: this “reveal,” if you can even call it that, was not meant to be a big deal. Despite the announcements and articles speculating on who it will be (which the article touches on), this reveal was not meant to be that big.

For some reason, I don’t really believe that claim.

Now, don’t get me wrong: news about this stuff does tend to get out and blow up pretty quickly. Whether or not this is in good faith, I’m not sure; at this point it seems Hollywood is racing against itself to make the first movie doing the most in way of representation while also doing to least as to not offend the bigots.

Here’s my concern: the reveal wasn’t meant to be a big deal, but Marvel announced it anyway. You don’t announce things that won’t be a big deal. Now, to Marvel’s credit, they didn’t seem to announce that this major character would appear in Endgame specifically. I tried to look it up, because I feel like I’ve heard it before, but the only articles I’m finding are about this more recent event. But the point still stands, there was some promise of LGBT+ representation in Endgame. And what we got was, quite frankly, crap.

Spoilers, I guess, if you haven’t seen Endgame.

Early in the movie, a man credited only as “Grieving Man” references how he’s dating a man, but it’s hard with all the tragedy in the world. And Steve Rogers doesn’t bat an eye at this. According to Marvel president Kevin Feige, the important part of this scene is to show how Steve Rogers just accepts this, how being gay is just a part of life.

So homophobia is over I guess.

Real talk, I can’t stand when people say faux “woke” stuff about these issues. Yes, being LGBT+ should just be a truth, just a fact of life, and it should just be a minor part of your life, but for millions of people, it just isn’t. People are losing their jobs, their homes, and even their lives because they are LGBT+, even here in the USA. Major networks still won’t allow LGBT+ content. And yet, some studios show it. Creators like Rebecca Sugar risked their jobs, their livelihoods, to give us mainstream LGBT+ representation. Marvel already did it in Deadpool 2 with Negasonic Teenage Warhead and Yukio. They’ve gotten away with it. They can do it. And yet they choose not to, and instead want praise for this half-hearted attempt to normalize being gay.

You know your “it’s just a part of life” argument is dead in the water when say it but are still too afraid to show it.

But anyway, let’s get back on track. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. Then why was it announced at all? Why did anyone know? And why did Marvel give Deadline permission to run that huge article on this character?

My guess? Publicity. The LGBT+ community and our allies are becoming a huge influence, not to mention a nearly untapped market. It feels like media companies want to go down in history as the first movie studio, TV show, network, etc. with good LGBT+ representation, but they don’t want to do the work or receive the backlash. So what do they do? They advertise their role in the fight for equality, only to provide us with blink-and-you-miss-it moments and scenes that can easily go ignored and overlooked, or be removed so that movie theaters that don’t “agree” with our “lifestyle” can go back to pretending we don’t exist. These companies want to have their cake and eat it, too. And you know what? We get tricked every. time. We got tricked with Beauty and the Beast, we got tricked with Riverdale, and now we’ve been tricked with Endgame. Hopefully the rumors are correct and we’ll get something of substance in Eternals. And no, this representation won’t hurt Marvel’s image as a family friendly company. If a TV show aimed at 7-year-olds can give us the first lesbian wedding in a children’s television show (and probably the best lesbian wedding on TV, period), Marvel can give us a gay character.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (9)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 29.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The sleep Phil has is restless and patchy. He wakes up so many times, spikes of panic cutting through the calm as he tries to remember where he is and who's breathing next to him. Dan is either a very heavy sleeper or very good at pretending to sleep, because Phil jerking awake never makes them stir.

It's a comfort, to look at Dan and see their blurry face slack with a peacefulness that wasn't there all night, but Phil doesn't do it for too long. Watching someone sleep is the pinnacle of creepiness. He just looks for a couple of seconds until his heart rate slows back down and he can roll onto his side. He faces away from Dan so he isn't tempted to keep looking at them, staring at the boring wall instead and waiting for sleep to momentarily take him again.

He's still tired when he wakes up properly to Dan tossing and turning, but he decides that's his cue to be awake.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching for Dan's hand. He squints, but he can't tell if Dan is having a nightmare or if they're awake without getting even closer to their face. "It's okay. You're okay."

Dan takes a deep, shuddering sort of breath and cradles Phil's hand in both of their own. It's like they're afraid he's going to let go. "Sorry, fuck."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," says Phil. His stomach is doing a weird twisty thing at the sound of Dan's voice all husky with sleep. As long as he acts normal, it's fine, right? It's hard to convince himself of that when Dan's hands are pressed to his own and making him feel impossibly small. "How did you sleep?"

"I mostly slept fine," Dan says, and Phil nods like he didn't already know that.

"Good. You needed it."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Then, they shuffle onto their side so they can properly face Phil, who has to fight the urge to hide away from their gaze. It's a good thing that he can't see the depth and warmth and sparkle of Dan's eyes without his glasses on.

"You didn't sleep very well," they say like it's a fact. Phil doesn't bother trying to deny it, he just shrugs. "You could have woken me up."

"Why would I do that?" Phil asks, puzzled by the offer.

Dan smiles, and Phil reaches for his glasses. He feels so vulnerable without them, and the sensation of not being able to see the way Dan is smiling while Dan can probably read every tiny emotion on his face is anxiety-inducing.

He leaves his other hand in Dan's. Maybe it would be easier if he just let go, but he finds that he doesn't want to.

The world comes into focus, and Phil blinks over at Dan like it's his first time seeing them. They look so different with their lashes clumped together and lines creased into their soft cheeks by the pillow. Curls are in complete disarray, and Phil presses his fingers into his palm so he doesn't try to brush the frizzy, unruly mess off Dan's forehead. Their smile doesn't fade when Phil just kind of stares - if anything, it gets even wider.

"You stayed with me all night," says Dan. Their tone is dry, but Phil imagines there's not a small amount of sincerity behind it. "You didn't have to, like, be alone."

Alone isn't something Phil had felt at all. Dan's steady breathing and the warmth of them emanating from their core even when they weren't touching were the only things keeping Phil grounded every time he woke with a start. He doesn't know how to say that to this person he barely knows, though, wouldn't know how to say something so open to most of the people in his life, so he just chuckles.

"No use in neither of us getting any sleep," he points out.

Dan is very warm, and Phil can feel his palm starting to get sweaty where it's trapped between both of theirs. He makes an apologetic face and pulls his hand back, patting it on his flannel pyjamas. Dan doesn't seem bothered by the lack of contact, but they also don't seem relieved - Phil can't tell what they're thinking at all, if he's honest.

"So," says Dan. "Where do we go from here?"

Before Phil can even think about it, he echoes the question in falsetto. It's louder and more obnoxious than he intends it to be. He swings his legs out of bed and reaches for his phone on the nightstand to try and hide a blush. "Uh, we go eat breakfast. Lunch, I guess."

"You lied," Dan says to his back. "You are always thinking about Buffy."

"Not always," Phil says weakly.

"Often enough."

"Once More With Feeling bypasses my brain entirely. It's just a primal call and response to anyone as obsessed with the show as teenage me was."

"I've never seen the show the whole way through," says Dan. "But Buffy is a style icon of mine."

Phil's tired brain offers him a half dozen mental images of Dan in various Buffy outfits before he shakes his head to try and clear it. He's never been particularly interested in boys wearing girls' clothes, but the concepts of gender identity and presentation are so blurry when it comes to Dan that he's going to have to rethink that position. They're not 'girls' clothes' on Dan. Maybe there's no such thing as 'girls' clothes' at all.

It's too early in the day for a deep dive on his own perceptions of gender, though. He thinks that sort of existentialism can wait until after his second or third coffee.

--

Phil's parents eat lunch with them and do their best to make small talk, but only Chris is On enough to properly converse with them. At Phil's umpteenth 'huh' of the early afternoon, they give up entirely and migrate to the lounge to watch tv.

For a long few seconds, the kitchen table is quiet. Then, Dan stands and starts to clear everyone's plates.

"You don't have to do that," Phil says, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I need to do something with my hands or I'll lose the plot," says Dan. They dump the dishes carefully in the sink and start running water. Having their back to the group seems to give them the courage to add, "I don't have all my meds with me. I didn't exactly expect to be out all night."

"What d'you take?" Chris asks.

"Little fucking nosy of you," says PJ.

"Well, one of us might have what he needs, love. I'm not just asking for the hell of it."

Phil feels a bit like his mum has possessed him when he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't share medication," he says when Chris gives him a look.

It makes Dan laugh, anyway, so Phil feels like he's done something right. They still don't turn around, just washing everybody's dishes and looking so weirdly at home in Phil's clothes, Phil's old kitchen. Phil doesn't realise he's staring at their back until someone kicks him under the table.

"Earth to Phil," Chris murmurs. He's resting his chin on a hand and smirking, but his eyes are too sharp for how little sleep he must have gotten. Phil feels heat rise to his cheeks and pulls his coffee closer to use the steam as an excuse.

"I don't need anything, really," Dan hums. "Thanks for asking. My brain just struggles a bit."

"A big mood, as the kids say," Chris says sagely.

Dan laughs again. It isn't as loud as Phil knows it can get, but it still fills the room and makes everything seem a bit brighter. "Do the kids say that?" they ask. "Is that what they say?"

"I believe it is," says Chris.

There is another stretch of silence. Phil watches his friends' faces as the elephant in the room weighs on them all. He's making a bet in his own mind about who will be the first to break when Dan turns around and bluntly says, "I still don't think that was a ghost, but I really fucking hated it."

"Sorry," says PJ, "but what else could it have possibly been?"

"I dunno," says Dan. They cross their arms over their waist, holding onto their own elbows. Phil is beginning to recognise the position as a protective one for them. "But I'm sure there's an explanation. Sleep paralysis is normal."

"The way it happened was not normal."

"What do you think it was, Dan?" Sophie asks. Her tone is much kinder than PJ's, but she seems just as skeptical.

Dan's dimple is pulling downwards in unhappiness or discomfort, so Phil waves a hand to get everyone's attention on himself instead.

"Why don't you guys tell us what exactly happened to you," he suggests, meeting Dan's eyes almost apologetically. He knows that none of them want to relive it, but it's easier if they're all on the same page here. "And we can toss around theories later."

--

PJ says, "It was a demon. I could see it. It was tall and humanoid-ish and had a Cheshire Cat smile and it kept going closer to Chris and Soph just to watch me panic. Then it would laugh and sharpen its claws on the wall. It felt like hatred and fear in a physical being. I really don't think our protection sigils did fuck all, but it didn't actually touch any of us, so maybe they helped a bit?"

Dan says, "It was nothing of the sort. I saw the same shit you did, Peej, but that doesn't mean anything. Haven't you ever heard of mass hysteria? Folie à deux - not the album - isn't unheard of. Maybe there's a high level of carbon monoxide. Maybe the asbestos got to us. I don't fucking know, but there's a hundred explanations before you hit demon. But, yeah. It looked like what PJ says. It felt like I was frozen for a fucking week, not just a few hours, it was awful. Zero out of ten, would not do again."

Sophie says, "It smiled at me and I felt cold."

--

They pile into the basement to recuperate so they aren't bothering Phil's parents. Or, more accurately, so Phil's parents aren't bothering them. Most of the games are packed up, but Phil finds the Wii and its small collection of disks in a box under the stairs. He sets it up, hands his friends the controllers, and sits back to zone out while they tear each other apart at Mario Kart.

Phil doesn't consider himself a skeptic. He knows that his threshold of belief is a lot lower than he makes it appear to be in his videos, but he'd never call himself a Scully. He always thinks about the supernatural aspects of any case he's looking into, even if he doesn't commit a hundred percent to the mentality that it must be something weird. He usually just prefers the weird option to the more common and boring reality of things.

So this thing with the Wilkins place is downright terrifying. Not only is it in Phil's proverbial backyard, too close for comfort in a lot of ways, but he hasn't had an experience quite so chilling since he was sixteen and dipping his toe into this hobby at Martyn's side.

He and Martyn still aren't sure what exactly left those finger-shaped bruises on Phil's ankles, but it's become a funny story in the years since.

Maybe this will be something to laugh at in a few years, too. Phil hopes so.

"You sure you don't want to play?" Dan asks, breaking into Phil's reverie. They're in first place and not even looking at the screen, their concerned brown eyes focused on Phil. Phil gives them a small smile and shakes his head.

"No, I'm alright."

"Phil, please take the controller from him," says Chris. He seems annoyed, but Phil can never tell how much of that is a show. It's possible that Chris isn't actually competitive at all and just likes to work Phil and PJ up by acting like he, too, would rather eat a whole head of lettuce than lose. It's also possible that Chris genuinely feels that way. "He's not even fucking trying and he's kicking our asses."

"Maybe you deserve to have your ass kicked a bit," Phil says, watching the screen to see how easily Dan ducks around various obstacles.

It still jolts a bit, hearing the people around him make an assumption - however logical it is - about how Dan wants to be addressed. Phil knows it isn't his place to correct them, especially since it seems like they're not using any less correct terms than he is, but it still rankles a bit.

"Fuck's sake!" PJ exclaims, looking like he's a hair away from throwing the Wiimote at something. He's never actually hit that level of gamer rage, but getting lapped by someone who keeps checking their phone during a race seems to be getting on his nerves. Phil reaches out and pats at PJ's mess of curls.

"You'll be okay," he says, dry. "They're just better than you, you'll live."

Maybe the pronoun use is a little more pointed than it needs to be, but Dan gives him such an exasperatedly fond grin that Phil can't bring himself to regret it. There is a brief beat of quiet, and then PJ groans again.

"It's not fair," says PJ, gesturing dramatically with the Wiimote. Sophie leans out of the line of fire. "This is unacceptable. We have to play a game they're bad at, now."

"I don't care what you call me," says Dan. They sound more amused than anything else. "As long as you know I'm winning anything we play."

"That's why they call him Winnie," Chris says in that very mild voice he uses for absolute nonsense. He puts his own controller aside and flops onto his back on the basement floor, stretching. "I can't do it, I can't play another round of this farce. I'm going upstairs to let my future mum-in-law dote on me."

Phil sighs. He can feel Dan's eyes on him again, and he shrugs helplessly in their general direction. He does not control the Chris. "Please stop saying things like that. Dan is going to think I'm mixed up in… this."

He gestures vaguely at the three of them, and Chris' eyes sharpen like he's spotted prey.

"Oh, so you want Dan to know you're horrendously single, then?" Chris gives Dan a wide, conspiratorial sort of grin. "He's useless at this, you know."

"Me rejecting you doesn't make me useless," Phil huffs. He can feel a flush creeping up his neck, because Chris is more right than he wants to admit, and Dan is smiling back at Chris like they're in on the joke.

"I think it demonstrates a lack of taste," Chris sniffs.

"You know what I think?" Sophie asks, stretching her arms above her head. "I think I need a shower."

"Me too," Dan says with an unnecessary little sigh. Phil pinches his own thigh to circumvent the mental images before they start. It's annoying to have such a good imagination, sometimes. "And I need to take my meds. Is there a bus that runs around here or something?"

"Don't worry about taking the bus," says PJ. "I'll drive you."

"I don't mind," says Dan.

"I mind," says PJ, more firmly. He stands like he's planning on dragging Dan to the car himself if Dan tries to say no again.

Dan's shoulders relax forward. Phil knows the anxiety of riding unfamiliar public transit all too well, and he definitely wouldn't make Dan do something so harrowing after they got roped into ghosthunting. He's glad that PJ is on the same page again, keeping Dan in that sense of protection that being a team gives them.

It's only been a weekend, but Phil is already reluctant to let Dan go home and leave the team bubble. He wants to insist on coming along, but he knows PJ probably wants solitude on the drive back.

Still. Phil chews his lip and looks down at his phone so he doesn't have to see the looks on his friends' faces when he says, "You can keep the pyjamas. If you want them."

"Okay," Dan says softly. "I will, thanks."

He knows that he should look up, should smile at Dan or stand and hug them before they leave his life, but that all feels so big at this moment. Phil's anxiety lets him wave and murmur a goodbye before he's left alone in the basement. At least, he thinks he's alone, until he sighs heavily and Chris responds from the floor. "Oh, you're fucking mooning over him, aren't you? This is awful. I preferred the ghost."

--

Phil takes a shower after his friends have, to be polite, and it feels incredible to wash off the dirt and dust from the attic. It feels less incredible when the door opens.

He hadn't bothered locking it, because his parents' shower is loud and it should be obvious that he's in there. At least the curtain isn't see-through. He takes a moment to just stand under the spray, bewildered, before it occurs to him that he can ask what's going on. It probably isn't a serial killer. "Er, hello?"

"Hi," Chris' voice comes, tense. "We've got a problem."

"I'm a little busy," Phil says pointedly.

"Well, get your hand off your knob and get out here," says Chris. "We need to figure this out before Peej gets back."

Phil rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother arguing about why exactly he's busy. He rinses the last of his mum's conditioner out of his hair and squints at the unfocused, opaque shower curtain like he'll be able to see Chris if he just tries hard enough. "Figure what out, mate?"

"All of the footage is fucked," Chris says, blunt. "It's corrupted to high hell. Every single second. There's no evidence we were even there at all."

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (2)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 6.4k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Do you remember the Wilkins place?"

"I'm well, thanks." Martyn's voice is dry, and Phil finds himself grinning at the wall despite himself. "How are you?"

"Good," says Phil. It's mostly true, although he could do without the piles of clothes he's sorting through. He holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he picks up a top of Sophie's and starts a whole new pile that he's calling delicates, aka things he's absolutely going to screw up somehow. "People think the Wilkins place is haunted."

There's a beat. Presumably, Phil's brother is trying to fit the name into adolescent memories to see where it slots in. "Oh, that wreck in Rusholme? It hasn't been condemned yet?"

"Apparently it's still a hot spot for binge-drinking teenagers," Phil says.

"Well, sure. But haunted? Really?"

"That's what I said!"

Phil feels a little vindicated by the skepticism in Martyn's voice, to be honest. His friends hadn't taken his weird feeling seriously at all.

"I mean, it's a dump," says Martyn. "More likely to be haunted by a bunch of rats than anything else. Why haven't we heard this before?"

"According to my sources," Phil says, only feeling a bit ridiculous about referring to a bunch of strangers on the internet as 'sources', "the activity only recently started. Which makes me think that someone's lying, or maybe one incident kickstarted everyone else's imaginations?"

"Both could be true. Why don't you ask Ian to go check it out?"

It's not exactly a sore spot, but something inside of Phil still twinges at the question. "He's a little busy, isn't he."

"So am I," Martyn says in that same dry, familiar tone that makes Phil feel as comforted as his mum's fretting or his dad's bad jokes do. "And yet here you are, on my phone."

"You don't have a toddler," Phil points out.

"I don't? Yet here you are..."

Phil snorts a laugh and drops all of the socks he's gathered into an empty basket. It's as good a place to start as any. "Shut up, Mar. I'm at least six."

There are, literally, enough dirty socks and pants between the four of them that Phil has a whole load of just underthings. He spares a moment to be grateful to Sophie for not including her bras, because he'd have no idea where to begin with those. He sighs and picks up the basket, fitting it against his hip with one hand so he can hold his phone with the other.

"Well, I can ask around," says Martyn. "I think my friends might be past the point of sneaking into abandoned houses to party, but maybe they've heard something from their annoying little brothers."

"Ha, ha," Phil says dryly. "Think I should contact some of the people making these claims?"

"Deffo," says Martyn. "If you can record them, it'd be best."

"Yeah, that way I can use them in the video," Phil hums, setting his basket on the washer and opening every cupboard to try to find the detergent. "I mean, if they're okay with that, obviously."

"I actually meant because your bullshit detector is dysfunctional, so me or Peej will have to tell you if someone's lying."

"Wow, rude. Whose fault is that?"

"Yours," Martyn informs him dryly. "Just because I told you Santa would pull you up through the chimney doesn't mean you had to believe me."

Phil rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. Maybe it's just a big brother thing, or maybe it's their personalities, but Martyn isn't wrong - Phil has a hard time telling when someone is lying to him. Martyn was always good at lying with a straight face and seeing right through Phil's outlandish stories.

"I still blame you," says Phil.

"Alright," says Martyn. "When are you coming to visit?"

"Probably not ‘til after this one," Phil says slowly, glancing at the kitten calendar on the fridge. They'd let one of their milder housemates pick this year's after everyone got tired of looking at Chris' previous choice of nude knitted puppets.

"Yeah? You gonna head up north for this one?"

In the very last cupboard he checks, Phil finds the detergent. He wants to be annoyed about it, but the truth is that Holly's habit of switching around the kitchen when she's anxious has saved many a pack of biscuits from expiring behind some flour. Phil has never once been useful to anybody when he's having a meltdown, so.

Phil absentmindedly loads the washer while he considers Martyn's question. Maybe it would be best to check the place out for himself, see if anything's really going on. He likes being on-site best, trusts his own gut more than he trusts strangers' eyes.

The problem, of course, is that Phil's childhood home is up for sale, he has no money for a hotel, and Ian's gone and got himself a child. The last thing Phil wants to do is impose or, like, get roped into babysitting. A trip to Manchester might be out of the question for him right now.

"Maybe," Phil says, noncommittal.

Martyn sees through him in an instant, like always. "Want me to ask Mum if they've got any viewings next weekend? I'm sure you know not to trash the place."

"Have I ever once trashed the place? Don't answer that," Phil adds, remembering the shaving cream incident.

A huff comes down the line, and Phil feels the same pride at making his brother laugh as he had when he was seven and making weird noises out the car window. Yeah, he definitely needs to go to London soon, the Isle afterwards - he hasn't seen his family in way too long.

"I'll let you know what's buzzing, if anything," says Martyn. "And I'll call Mum for you and all. I know you get weird about asking them for favours."

"I get weird about asking anyone for favours," Phil says instead of a thank you, because if he gets weird about asking for help, then Martyn gets twice as weird about reacting to gratitude.

"Except me."

Phil smiles, watching the rainbow of socks and pants spin. "Yeah. Except you."

--

Laundry does end up taking Phil most of the day, but he doesn't mind much. It's the least he can do when Chris always does the first draft edit for him, PJ reminds him to take his EMF meter and his meds when he's packing for an overnight, and Sophie sends him pages upon pages of research while she's at work. He's so fond of these people, and he appreciates all they do for him, but being in debt to them - and not in sole control of his projects - makes Phil feel like he's got ants crawling up his arms.

While he waits out the machine cycles, Phil starts putting feelers out into this story. He checks the sources linked to him again and shoots off a couple of direct messages and emails to see if any of the people posting about the Wilkins place are eager to chat one on one.

He's got his laptop set up at the kitchen table and he's on his third coffee of the day when it occurs to him that he's not out of the woods of owing favours just yet. He clicks back into the Tumblr submission that started this spiral.

He decides that he needs to thank this person, at the very least, and maybe offer to buy them a coffee or something when he's in town. They did so much of Phil's grunt work that it feels weird not to pay them back somehow.

"Well, I can't exactly do your laundry," Phil murmurs to the screen. He hopes none of his other housemates are milling around to hear him.

Another click, and he's on the blog. It's minimalist and monochrome in a way that makes things easy to read, but not very interesting to look at. Phil's eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls through, because it's entertaining enough but - well. It's a typical Tumblr blog. That familiar mixture of memes and rants about social issues and some gifs from shows that Phil doesn't have time to watch. There are a lot of familiar walls of text tagged as personal posts, but Phil still can't parse them without really trying.

They do reblog Phil's video posts, though. That makes him grin.

He scrolls back up to the top of the page to shoot them a message and immediately gets distracted by the bio.

winnie. 21. any pronouns.

For someone who sent Phil a wall of text that could be mistaken for copypasta at first glance, it's surprisingly succinct. Phil takes another swig of his coffee and tries not to get caught up on the last part of it.

Any pronouns? What does that mean, any pronouns? What if Phil uses the wrong ones? He isn't exactly a queer theory student, and as much as he supports everybody under his little rainbow umbrella, he's got to admit that a lot of things still go over his head.

He dithers for so long that his laptop screen goes black, and he makes a face at himself in its reflection. Surely he's overthinking this.

Hi!, Phil types, and then accidentally hits enter. He was just trying not to send the fan a paragraph back, but, fine. Oops. So I'm looking into the things you sent me on the Wilkins place and I'm really impressed by the amount of time you put into this? Like it makes MY job a lot easier haha. Is he a triple-texter? He's a triple-texter. The first one didn't count anyway. So thanks!!!!! I'll def give you credit in the video, but is there anything else I can do to pay you back?

Not literally, he wants to add right after he's sent it. Oh, well. He can't just keep spamming this poor person's chat. He hopes it's obvious that he'd offer monetary compensation if he had it.

Phil leaves the Tumblr tab open and works on editing for a little while. It's almost frustrating how bad this video is, how little effort and energy Phil has started putting into these, and he doesn't know how to fix it short of rethinking his entire career.

He could easily keep churning these out for as long as people watch them, but. He's not having fun anymore.

The Phil on his laptop screen is asking questions, wandering around a cemetery just to see if anything will happen, and Phil can't help comparing it to things he did last year, the year before that, the year before that - it feels like his content is declining as his enthusiasm for the topic does, or maybe vice versa.

Phil zones out for so long that the dryer chime goes off from the hallway, echoing through the old, creaky house. He'd given up on sorting the loads after the fifth shirt that could belong to any of them, so he just takes his own things out and folds his housemates' clothes into one basket.

They can figure it out, he's sure. There's only two bedrooms between the three of them, so there's only two closets, and Phil has gone so long without knowing who's officially sharing that it would be awkward to ask now.

Phil swaps the load over and goes back to his laptop, even though the very last thing he wants to do is continue editing and uploading this mediocre video.

The thing is, Phil doesn't need his content to be perfect. He's happy to post things that just make him laugh or have a nicely spooky vibe or whatever, he doesn't need to solve mysteries every month or two. It's just that. He can hear how little he cares about it, lately. It won't be long before people notice, if they haven't already.

Phil sighs and exits the project. Maybe this video is best left unposted. He's not happy with it at all.

Maybe, if this Wilkins place video doesn't pan out, Phil can start redirecting his energy into a different type of creative output. He's got so many stories bouncing around in his mind, he just needs to figure out how he wants to tell them.

It sounds like his father's voice inside his head, telling him you can't chase ghosts forever. He wishes he still had the gumption to disagree with it.

His laptop makes a little noise, and Phil blinks back to reality. He has to click on a few different tabs to figure out where it came from, but then he realises that he's gotten a response on Tumblr.

Phil smiles despite himself and gets ready for another difficult-to-read message.

Sure enough: UHHHHHH hi hello what the fuck i didnt expect you to say anything this is so weird i am being so weird right now um like no problem? i was procrastinating an essay and this was more fun to research so you dont have to thank me or pay me back whatever that means like i was just fucking around its fine but thank you?????

Phil thinks about the four word Tumblr bio again and snorts. Maybe Winnie wanted to seem as cool and minimalist as their theme itself was.

Procrastination or not, I appreciate it!, Phil replies. Would it be ok if I use you as a reference?

?????????????? i mean yeah but what the fuck, he gets back almost immediately.

It's nice to see you know some punctuation! Sorry if it's weird to reach out like this, I just wanted to like acknowledge the work you put in. I don't have to mention you in the video if you'd prefer!

The sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut interrupts Phil's nervous typing. He freezes for a moment, fingers still on the keyboard, but then PJ comes in the kitchen with a little salute and several bags of craft supplies, and Phil can breathe again.

It isn't that the other people who live in this house are bad people. Far from it. It's just that, of the people Phil has opted to share this large space with for nearly two years, only three of them have made any kind of effort to understand Phil. The others are nice enough, he supposes, but sometimes they come and go and new people replace them and - Phil isn't exactly good with change, is the thing.

So he relaxes when he can talk to PJ instead of making small talk with someone who thinks he's weird and too messy. "Hey! How's your day?"

"Better than yours," PJ laughs. He drops all the bags on the table and starts puttering around the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"Please. And it wasn't so bad, I got some work done."

"Yeah? Any new info on the new haunt?"

It's incredible how genuinely interested PJ always is in Phil's work. Phil grins down at his keyboard and shrugs a bit. "Some. Mostly just poking around right now, though. Mar's asking his friends too. Oh, and I thanked the person who sent it in."

"That's good," PJ says. He's putting the kettle on, because that's what PJ does when he comes home. "How'd they react?"

"Mostly confusion," Phil laughs. He glances at his screen to see if Winnie has responded - they haven't - and chews on his lip a little bit. "Hey, Peej? If someone says any pronouns are fine, what does that mean?"

"Generally," PJ hums, "it seems like it would mean any pronouns are fine."

"Oh, shut up." Phil runs a hand through his hair, always anxious about getting stuff like this wrong.

"I'm not joking," PJ says, although his tone is still light.

"Oh. So it just... doesn't matter?"

"Not to some people, I guess." PJ leans against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. At least he's smiling, although Phil can't help but notice that it's a little patronizing. "You do know that I'm not a gender guru, right? I'm barely a gender novice. I failed gender out the gate, buddy."

Phil knows his cheeks are pinking up a bit, but he rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he repeats. "You still know way more than me."

The shrug he gets in response makes Phil huff a laugh. This isn't something they talk about, but Phil has been present for enough of Chris and PJ's conversations that he'd gotten the idea.

He wonders if PJ cares that he's bringing it up. Is he making PJ uncomfortable? They don't talk about this.

"Stop spiralling," PJ says easily. His smile is warmer, now. "I don't hate you, nobody hates you, and the fan who doesn't care about pronouns certainly doesn't hate you. If you're that worried about upsetting them, though, you can always ask."

Maybe he's known PJ too long. He's grateful for it, still, so relieved that he doesn't have to voice the swirling anxiety of doing something wrong when he only has the best intentions.

"I guess I could do that," Phil mutters, embarrassed by how easily he's been read.

Winnie's responded by the time Phil looks back at the chat window, a lmao yeah ofc thats fine i just cant believe you want to, im not trying to b weird ive just been a fan for a really long time?? (used a comma for you too) (and brackets) (youre welcome) that makes Phil smile.

Awesome! And are the name Winnie & they/them pronouns fine to talk about you with, or do you prefer something else for this?

no yeah thats good idc how you refer to me, is Winnie's immediate response. It's stupid how much of a load feels like it's been lifted off of Phil's shoulders at that easy reassurance.

"You were right," Phil informs PJ.

PJ nods, solemn, as he stirs his noodles. "I often am."

"You're annoying, also," says Phil. "Hey. D'you wanna come up north with me?"

"Phil," says PJ dramatically, holding the wooden spoon up to his heart. "Are you asking me to run away with you?"

"No, absolutely not, stop making that joke." There's no way in hell Phil is going to keep putting up with this from both of them, and PJ is more likely to listen to him than Chris is.

PJ laughs. "Yeah, yeah. You going to see the haunt?"

"If my parents are okay with us hanging out for the weekend, yeah."

"Oh, okay," says PJ. "We're just waiting on confirmation that Kath and Nigel want to spend time with you? Might as well pack now."

"Your stuff's folded," Phil says helpfully. PJ throws a noodle in his general direction. It flops onto the floor between them, a sad, wet spiral of a thing, and Phil touches his nose at the same time PJ does.

"Well, one of us has to pick it up," PJ says in his Reasonable Adult voice, as if he hadn't thrown it in the first place.

Phil looks at his laptop, valiantly pretending not to see the floor noodle, and blinks.

and i mean i havent seen any of this shit firsthand but if you need to ask me anything about the stuff thats gone down im always free. like literally always.

[theotherbloodfart]

Rules

Please understand that I work a full time job. And I’m a slow writer. I do this because I love to do it. So requests might be closed often as I do not believe in making people wait too long for things they’ve requested. If you don’t mind a longer wait just specify and throw that request my way anyways. Just don’t be hateful okay? I’m here to fuck monsters and slashy boys the same as you lolololol

What I WILL NOT write for:

• Rape. Literally any nonconsent. It’s gross. And I won’t do it.

• Please. Please. PLEASE do not ask me to write about pewp. If it ain’t sweat blood spit or cum I won’t do it.

• Incest.

• Pedophilia

• Bestiality. I mean the fur baby kind not the monster kind lol.

• 2 slashers together (I WILL pair certain monsters tho)

• Vore (I can’t. I just CANT)

• Self harm

What I WILL write for:

• SFW/NSFW

• Dubious consent

• Fluff

• Angst

• Gore

• Gay

• Lesbian

• Trans M/F

• Blood play

• O/C (not from anon tho as I’ll need to ask questions about your O/C)

• This list will get bigger as time goes on

My character list I will write for:

• Pennywise (1990 and 2017)

• Michael Myers (1978 and gilf 2018 oop) (also RZ Mikey)

• Jason Voorhees (1980 dead or alive and 2009)

• Bubba Sawyer

• Chop Top Sawyer

• Nubbins Sawyer

• Thomas Hewitt (I’m not grouping them together because they’re NOT THE SAME SO SUE ME LOL)

• Brahms Heelshire

• Chucky (1988 only for now. I did a one shot as a present but I wanna watch the film a few more times and become more familiar with the character before I’ll go all in)

• Tiffany Valentine

• The Yautja (male or female)

• Xenomorphs

• Colossus (because…… I thirst okay?????)

• Spock (original series only)

Characters I’ll be adding after I finally open the giant ass binge box of blurays and DVDs I’ve been hoarding and WATCH them:

• Billy Loomis

• Stu Macher

• Chucky (2019)

• Billy Lenz (1974 and 2006)

• Vincent Sinclair

• Bo Sinclair

• Lester Sinclair

• Freddy Krueger (he’ll probably go up next as I’m currently plowing my way thru his series)

• Pinhead

• Toxie (eat me)

• The fuckn Turkie off Thankskilling (Idgaf if y’all request him or not this turkey is getting some pu$$y on Thanksgiving on this blog….)

Others may be added.

[theotherbloodfart]

Rules

Please understand that I work a full time job. And I’m a slow writer. I do this because I love to do it. So requests might be closed often as I do not believe in making people wait too long for things they’ve requested. If you don’t mind a longer wait just specify and throw that request my way anyways. Just don’t be hateful okay? I’m here to fuck monsters and slashy boys the same as you lolololol

What I WILL NOT write for:

• Rape. Literally any nonconsent. It’s gross. And I won’t do it.

• Please. Please. PLEASE do not ask me to write about pewp. If it ain’t sweat blood spit or cum I won’t do it.

• Incest.

• Pedophilia

• Bestiality. I mean the fur baby kind not the monster kind lol.

• 2 slashers together (I WILL pair certain monsters tho)

• Vore (I can’t. I just CANT)

• Self harm

What I WILL write for:

• SFW/NSFW

• Dubious consent

• Fluff

• Angst

• Gore

• Gay

• Lesbian

• Trans M/F

• Blood play

• O/C (not from anon tho as I’ll need to ask questions about your O/C)

• This list will get bigger as time goes on

My character list I will write for:

• Pennywise (1990 and 2017)

• Michael Myers (1978 and gilf 2018 oop) (also RZ Mikey)

• Jason Voorhees (1980 dead or alive and 2009)

• Bubba Sawyer

• Chop Top Sawyer

• Nubbins Sawyer

• Thomas Hewitt (I’m not grouping them together because they’re NOT THE SAME SO SUE ME LOL)

• Brahms Heelshire

• Chucky (1988 only for now. I did a one shot as a present but I wanna watch the film a few more times and become more familiar with the character before I’ll go all in)

• Tiffany Valentine

• The Yautja (male or female)

• Xenomorphs

• Colossus (because…… I thirst okay?????)

• Spock (original series only)

Characters I’ll be adding after I finally open the giant ass binge box of blurays and DVDs I’ve been hoarding and WATCH them:

• Billy Loomis

• Stu Macher

• Chucky (2019)

• Billy Lenz (1974 and 2006)

• Vincent Sinclair

• Bo Sinclair

• Lester Sinclair

• Freddy Krueger (he’ll probably go up next as I’m currently plowing my way thru his series)

• Pinhead

• Toxie (eat me)

• The fuckn Turkie off Thankskilling (Idgaf if y’all request him or not this turkey is getting some pu$$y on Thanksgiving on this blog….)

Others may be added.