#but it was cause i fucking identified with dan hard

[danisphilsbottom]

You are so brave for having your url in this day and age. I stand with you. The silent majority.

omg anon thank you i am literally so pained by how wrong i was but i feel like if i abandon the url that it would be so wrong of me. i have to remain brave, thank u for steeling my spirit.

[uniteds]

We signed Dan James, AWB and Dalot in June and that’s just off the top of my head.. So maybe we should start making moves instead of fucking around. Honestly it’s one thing that we are not buying but for the love of god why are we not trying to sell those players Ten Hag doesn’t want? It feels like nothing is happening at the club and it’s frustrating cause I’m sure Erik has identified the players he needs long ago yet the club’s recruitment is being tragic as usual.

Listen, I genuinely don’t mean to be rude, but what are we gonna do about it? They might have a plan, but they might not. It’s just all out of our hands and collective social media stress does nothing except makes it hard to enjoy being around united fans because everyone is freaking out about everything all the damn time when we know nothing. At the end of the day, united have a bad recruiting team and they’ve had a bad recruiting team for 15 years. That’s not changing so why are we all having a meltdown of them being what they’ve always been? How is any of this new?

[dannywagnerenthusiast]

Empty Seat Moments Two: The Auditorium Chair DRW x SFK x Reader

Hey everyone! Part two of empty seat moments is here! This one is a little angsty, so let me know how you like it!

A/N: leave a comment if you want me to post Sam's letter to Danny and y/n ;)

“We’ll be right out in the audience, my love. I am so proud of you.” Danny dropped a quick peck to your cheek before adjusting your sleeve and rubbing your arm gently before leaving you alone backstage.

Even though you had your typed-up speech in your hands and had read it over and over throughout the past week, you were still shaking with nerves. You were finally being acknowledged with an award for your hard work at your job, and you were being celebrated as the guest of honor at an elegant gala.

At this point, it had been weeks since you and your boyfriend Danny invited your best friend Sam into your relationship, and things were going almost suspiciously easy.

Sam slotted into your relationship seamlessly, spending nearly all of his time at yours and Danny’s apartment. The ease with which the three of you shared affection made your heart flutter even just thinking about it.

And even just a passing glance about the way Sam slotted into your sex life caused a deep throb between your legs. You find yourself getting lost in recalling the way Danny had spread both you and Sam out on the bed the night before, going down on you torturously slow while fucking Sammy in the spooning position.

“Hello, earth to y/n!”

Embarrassed, you clear your throat and say hello to your work partner, who is also being honored tonight. You two had spent many long nights making this project come together, and you were ecstatic that everyone you loved was coming together to honor your work tonight.

“I’m really proud of us.” You said, bumping your hip against your co-workers as you made your way towards the side stage. You could hear your boss speaking, no doubt giving introduction to the project you were being honored for.

“I’m just glad it’s fucking done, honestly!” Your coworker laughed. “Now I just need to flex on my boyfriend from the stage so he gives it to me good tonight.”

Your mind flicks to Danny and Sam, who would be sitting in the audience, along with your parents and Danny’s. You were really excited for them to see what you had been working on for so long- and your coworker had the right idea too, the afterparty would certainly be fun.

Again, the nerves flare in your stomach. You were confident in your project and your coworker, but the speech left you feeling shaky.

As a surprise to both Sam and Danny tonight, you would be referring to them as your partners in your thanking portion of the night. You would keep it lowkey with your parents and in-laws there, but nonetheless, they would know what you mean. And damn if you weren’t excited.

Suddenly you’re being escorted onto the stage under blindingly bright lights, and the audience is whooping and cheering on their feet. You proudly make eye contact with your coworker and allow the moment to wash over you. For now, the lights are too bright to identify anyone sitting in the audience, so you allow yourself to simply relish the pride for just a minute.

Your coworker is the first one to step up to the podium so you shuffle to the side, smiling on as she describes your shared hard work and dedication. When her personal portion of her speech begins, you begin scanning over the crowd to search for your loved ones.

You spot Lori and Dan, your mom and Dad, and Danny, all smiling at you proudly, beaming. But when Danny catches your eye, he looks apologetic. Then your eyes land on the empty auditorium seat next to Danny.

Sam hadn’t come.

Your smile falters for a fraction of a second right as your coworker is finishing her speech. You adjust your face and graciously hug your friend before stepping up to the podium with your heart in your shoes.

Somehow you’re able to make it through the portion of your speech where you describe the trials and victories of this project, and the crowd is responding to your subtle humor and grace beautifully. They can’t tell that your heart is breaking.

You obviously can’t read the part of the speech that you already had written, so you decide to just speak from the heart to close out the night.

“Finally, I owe a lot of people some very sincere thank-you’s for not letting me go crazy while working on this project.” The crowd chuckles.

“To my parents, who flew all the way here for this night. Thank you for always believing in me and my dreams. I wouldn’t be anywhere without your love and support. I owe this all to you. I love you.” You can see your dad wipe away a tear and your mom blows you a kiss from the crowd.

“To my in-laws Lori and Dan, thank you for being like my second parents and providing me with a home-away-from-home. Thanks for being a listening ear and letting me rant like a crazy person sometimes,” more laughter from the crowd. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know, I love you.” Dan is looking misty-eyed and clapping hard, and Lori is fully crying, holding on tight to your mother.

“Danny, you’re my everything.”

The look on Danny’s face is hard to read, but his eyes give him away. There are tears brewing on his lashes, threatening to fall, and even from the stage you think that you can see his lip shake.

“I really think I would have lost my mind a long time ago without you. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you, so I’ll just say thank you for everything. Thank you for being you, thank you for loving me.”

Before you can stop yourself, your eyes dart to the empty seat to his left, so you add to your speech, “thanks for being here, Danny. I love you so much.”

“It really is the honor of a lifetime to accept this award with my coworker, who has been nothing short of a dream to work with. We worked so hard, and now we are going to relax even harder! Thank you all so much.”

With that, you and your coworker walked arm-in-arm off the stage, celebrating the successful speeches and successful night. Still, your mind was on that cursed empty seat beside your boyfriend.

“Baby girl!” Your mom is pulling you into a bone crushing hug the moment you’re off stage, and you allow yourself to be wrapped up in her warmth and comfort. “Hi, ma.” you smile at her.

“I am so proud of you baby!” She finally relinquishes your hug so that she can share you with your dad, who also sweeps you into a big teary hug. “So proud of you, my girl.” As your dad holds you, you can see Dan, Lori, and Danny happily watching the tender moment. You give a little wave as best you can from within the hug, causing the Wagners to smile.

“That was an incredible speech, y/n.” Dan says when your dad finally lets you go. “You were great up there, you should think about replacing Daniel on the next tour!” Laughing, you thank your father-in-law and move to give Lori a big hug, who is still working hard to compose herself.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t stop crying! You’re amazing, sweetie!” Lori says, gushing over you. You laugh and hug her again, thanking her and Dan again for coming. They, along with your parents, decide to go find some circulating champagne to give you a minute with Danny.

“Hi.” he smiles at you from his spot a few paces away.

“Hi, yourself.” You give him a small smile and close the distance between the two of you. You thread your arms around his waist and lean back, letting yourself look into the face of the man you love for a moment.

“That speech, my love… you had me in tears. I am amazed by you, sweetheart.” Finally Danny is pulling you into a sweet kiss.

You hum contentedly, but when you pull away from the kiss, Danny’s eyes are scanning over your face.

“So he didn’t come, huh?” you ask your boyfriend sadly.

“I’m really sorry, baby. I’ve been calling him all afternoon to remind him. I just can’t get a hold of him.” He reaches his thumbs around to stroke softly under your eyes where large droplets of tears are starting to fall.

“I just really wanted him here, Dan.” you whimper pathetically, letting your head fall against Danny’s chest. “I even put the stupid tickets on the fridge with a magnet.” You huff out a sad laugh.

Danny just gently sways you back and forth and hums a bit in thought. “Get a drink?” you ask him, and he nods. Grabbing your hand, you move to find your little group of parents that have taken up residence at one of the standing tables in the reception room.

“Everything ok, honey?” Lori asks you, handing you a flute of champagne.

“I’m ok, just feeling a little overwhelmed.” You sip your drink and lean on Danny as he rubs soothing circles on your hip. She smiles gently at you and continues the conversation at hand.

***

Some hours later, you find yourself holding Danny’s hand on the walk back through the hallway to your apartment door. A little tipsy off the celebratory champagne, your mind was more at ease than it was before the drinks started flowing.

That is, until Danny opens your apartment door.

Instantly, you’re hit with the overwhelming smell of weed. Sitting on the ground in front of the couch is Sam, with his head tossed back onto the cushion, eyes closed and looking blissed out.

You and Danny both stop dead in your tracks in the doorway. Sam is too far gone to even hear his two partners arrive before you’re bolting down the hallway into your bedroom and slamming the door shut.

“Baby, wait!” Danny calls out after you, chasing you down for a few steps before deciding to deal with Sam first before comforting you.

Danny calling out to you finally alerts Sam to your presence, so he’s lazily picking his head up off the couch cushion and smiling lustfully at Danny.

“There you are, been thinkin’ ‘bout you all day” Sam giggles, making grabby hands towards Danny as he very clumsily stands up.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sam?! We’ve been calling you all afternoon!” Danny’s voice is a harsh whisper. He’s up in Sam’s face now, grabbing at the collar of Sam’s shirt to bring him close enough so that you wouldn’t have to hear him yelling.

“Turned my phone off Dan, was waiting for you and y/n to get home…?” Sam trailed off, seeming confused but not at all clarified to the situation at hand. “What are you…” Danny is shoving Sam away from his space with a disgusted scoff, leaving Sam with a bewildered look on his face.

Louder now, voice approaching a shout, Danny gestures wildly at the lone ticket that is still stuck by a magnet onto the fridge. “Did you forget?!”

In an instant, Sam seems to sober up. His eyes are wide and when he looks down he realizes that his hands are shaking wildly.

From your place under the covers, you can hear Danny, enraged, yelling at Sammy, asking him if he forgot the most important day of your career. Once again you can’t stop the tears from falling, and this time you decide not to fight them. Instead, you tuck your head under Danny’s pillow and will yourself to fall asleep.

Back in the kitchen, tears have begun flowing from Sammy’s eyes, too. Danny scoffs at him again and turns on his heel towards the bedroom to go comfort his girlfriend. Suddenly, Sam grabs at Danny’s wrist gently.

“Wait Danny, please. I didn’t handle this right, but I didn’t forget, please follow me, Dan. Please, I’m…just please follow me.”

Danny takes pity on his best friend turned lover and lets Sam lead him around the corner from the kitchen into the formal dining room of the apartment, which rarely gets used.

When Danny saw what was spread out before him, he let out a barely audible gasp.

He turned to Sam with his eyebrows raised, and instantly Sammy was melting into Danny’s embrace. Sam was a puddle, crying and heaving into Danny's button down, fists clenching the fabric.

With a gentle kiss to the crown of Sam’s hairline, Danny asks Sam, “what happened, baby? Talk to me.”

Lifting his head off Danny’s chest, Sam’s pitiful teary eyes search Danny’s before he begins explaining himself.

“When I saw the tickets on the fridge, I assumed it was, uh, it was a...couple’s thing. So I thought that you two would go to the event and I would stay here. But I needed y/n to know how proud I am of her, so I set all this up so that the three of us could celebrate when you guys got home.” Danny’s heart was breaking listening to Sam’s voice crack as he stumbled over his words.

Sammy cleared his throat and went on, “I even wrote everything out in a card, Danny.” He points to a sealed envelope on the dining table next to a vase of white roses. “ I wrote down everything I  was feeling about her. About you. Everything I am feeling. And you know how bad I am with words, Dan.” He emphasizes that point with a gentle swat to Danny’s chest.

That earns a gentle chuckle from the taller man, who is so proud of his best friend. The two boys take a moment to just hold each other and admire the work that Sam had put into the usually neglected dining room.

Soft twinkling white lights bordered the perimeter of the ceiling, casting the entire room in a pale glow. An enormous glass vase at the center was filled with fresh white roses. Three empty wine glasses and a bottle of red wine sat to one side. A large platter of cheese, crackers, and various other treats sat to the other side. A beautiful cake with “congratulations, y/n!” written on it sat front and center, alongside a large envelope with your name on it, scrawled in Sammy’s script.

Taking a deep breath, Danny gave a playful smack to Sam’s ass before turning him around by the shoulders, pointing him toward the bedroom. “You’d better go get our girl and show this to her before she accuses me of conspiring with the enemy.”

For a quick second, visible nerves flash across Sam’s face. With a reassuring smile and nod from Danny, Sam makes his way to you.

****

You’re starting to get very frustrated at your inability to fall asleep. The multiple glasses of champagne should have helped you greatly, but your mind is fighting it hard.

You had heard Danny raise his voice at Sam once, asking him if he’d forgotten about tonight, but you hadn’t been able to hear anything since. Just as you’re about to get up and make sure that the two haven’t killed each other, you hear the hinges to your bedroom door open.

You can’t see who it is through the dark, but you venture a guess anyway. “Danny?”

“It’s me,” Sam says quietly, standing in the open doorway.

“Oh,” you allow yourself to sink back into the blankets you were tucked into, waiting for him to approach you.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. To you his voice sounds shaky, scared almost. You’d feel bad if you weren’t the one heartbroken here.

“Okay,” you resign with a sigh. You sit up a little higher against the headboard and wrap yourself snugly in the cocoon of warmth you had created. You were being cold, but you weren’t going to shut him out completely. You’d hear what he has to say, and then decide.

Sam approaches your bed and looks a little hesitant before deciding to also sit at the head of the bed next to you. You look at him expectantly while he looks at you apologetically.

At the very same time you say “You didn’t come.” He says, “I didn’t know you wanted me to come.”

You roll your eyes and shirk down a little lower into the bed. “It’s not like I had yours and Dan’s tickets on the fridge for the past two weeks” you mumble.

Sam stays silent for a minute, but from the corner of your eye you swear you can see a sad smile on his face. Suddenly you jump as he barks out a harsh chuckle. You look up, so confused, to see your best friend in your bed, doubled over in laughter with tears streaming down his face.

You can’t help from chuckling along with his monstrous laugh, and eventually you’re able to force out a, “Sammy, what?!”

“I thought those were Danny’s and your tickets.”

Dead silence fills the room before the two of you are uproariously laughing. You find yourself tucked into his embrace as the two of you can’t control yourselves, stomachs and cheeks aching. “I didn’t need a ticket, babe, I was the big event!” You laugh.

This, however, stops Sam’s laughter in his tracks. He looks down at you in his arms.

“I really am sorry, baby. I know this was such an important night for you. I truly thought this was like a… couples only thing.”

At this, your heart shatters more than you thought it already had.

“Sammy, that’s why I wanted you there.”

Sam’s breath hitches in his throat, and fresh tears are pricking at his eyes. He frantically pulls you in for a stifling kiss, pouring out all his feelings of love, commitment, passion, longing; everything you could put into a kiss is there. “Come with me, baby. Need to show you something.” He rasps as he breaks the kiss, leaving the two of you gasping for air.

As Sam drags you from your bed, down the hall and towards the dining room, you see Danny’s shadow sitting at the couch. He’s obviously listening, so he knows what’s going on. When Sam turns the corner, you’re presented with the transformed dining room and all the work that Sam put into it.

Before you can even thank Sam for how stunningly decorated the room looks, he’s shoving an envelope into your hands. “Danny! Come here!” He’s shouting, and sitting you down into one of the plush dining seats.

When Danny rounds the corner, he’s wearing a smile at the sight of his two loves having made up. Nobody has said that word between the three of you yet, but Danny has a feeling that the envelope in y/n’s hand is about to change all that. Sam places a swift kiss on your mouth, then one on Danny’s as he shoves Danny’s shoulders to get him into a chair as well.

“You guys know I’m not the best with feelings, but I hope this gets the message across. I, uhm, I really love you two.”

Tears shine in all three of your eyes as you look between Sam and Danny, frantically tearing the envelope open…

[nanoland]

new chapter (lucifer fic)

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 6 

Mazikeen/Eve/Michael  

(Whole thing can be read on AO3.) 

0  

Fuck the next bounty.

After thinking about it for ten seconds, Mazikeen turned them around and started driving straight for Los Angeles.

Eve can talk to him. Not me. He needs to talk to someone, and Eve will do.

Barely half a mile later, Amenadiel dropped out of the sky and landed in the middle of the road, just far enough away for her to bring the car to a screeching halt before it would otherwise have slammed into him like wet clay into a steel wall.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, looking exhausted.

She snorted and pointed skyward. “Yeah. This? Not gonna lie, I was expecting something like this. But I thought it would take, like, at least a month.”

Wincing, Amenadiel said, “No, that’s… that’s a different problem and Chloe’s promised to discuss it with him. Maze, we need you back at Lux. Now.”

“Hi, Amenadiel!” Eve called, waving.

He succeeded in smiling at her without even glancing at Michael, despite his younger brother sitting right at her side, glaring fixedly.

“Why?” demanded Mazikeen, tensely drumming her fingers on the wheel. (Inner voice hissing, Shouldn’t have left him alone, you dumb bitch, you’ve been doing this for centuries and you know what he’s like when you leave him alone for more than five minutes.) “Seriously – what could he possibly need me for? He’s God.”

Sighing, Amenadiel put his wings away. “Mazikeen, we’re all well aware that Lucy often… has difficulty focusing. To put it mildly. There’s a lot more for him to focus on now than ever before. He’s trying to undo climate change. To that end, he started refreezing all the melted ice in the Arctic. But he did it too quickly and, resultantly, there are several hundred trapped ships we need to save and several thousand dead penguins to resurrect and, to be honest, he hasn’t really got the hang of resurrection yet – you remember what Dan looked like for the first few hours after Lucifer brought him back to life…”

“Eurgh. Yeah. Yuck. Totes not the kinda shit you’d wanna see in Happy Feet.”

Michael was snickering.

“Right. And then there are all the changes he’s been making locally,” Amenadiel went on. “The expansion of Lux, the overnight disappearance of all Los Angeles’ firearms, his deciding that the city’s white supremacist population should grow a third ear so they can be easily identified, and, well, it turns out that a lot of Chloe’s colleagues at the police station-…”

“I get it, I get it. Chaos everywhere. As usual. What, exactly, is the problem he wants me to fix?”

Amenadiel exhaled heavily. “The demons. The ones you brought from Hell to help us defeat Michael.”

“Oh, so you do remember I exist,” Michael muttered.

Stonily ignoring him, Amenadiel said, “They’re still on Earth and they’re causing trouble. The one called Dromos, in particular. He’s gathered followers and they’ve surrounded Lux.”

Her brother’s face – his real face, not the human puppet he wore – flashed through her mind’s eye; a memory from when they were unruly children and had raced through Hell together, using the stone pillars that they’d not yet known were cells as an obstacle course. She’d been faster; he, more athletic. Together with a few cousins, they’d made a fearsome team, and not even their meanest older siblings had bullied them.

She folded her arms and looked away. “They’re demons. Lucifer can deal with them. Snap his fingers and turn them into rats or whatever. Make them explode.”

“Mazikeen,” Eve murmured, soft and low, touching her shoulder. “You don’t want that. They’re your family.”

Amenadiel blinked, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Er… yes, there’s that. There’s also the fact that Lucifer doesn’t want all of humanity to see him as the type of God who casually annihilates his enemies; a harsh, vindictive God. He wants to be liked. To be loved.”

“Fine. So why don’t you and the other angels sort it out?”

“Come now, Maze. A bunch of angels and a bunch of demons waging war in the midst of a bustling city? Humans will die. But you’re the Queen of Hell now and, by extension, the Queen of Demons. If you command Dromos to stand down, he will. This can all be resolved peacefully.”

Eve’s fingertips were cool against her skin.

Mazikeen looked back at the sky. The cloud letters were starting to dissolve. “What does he want?”

“Who?”

“Dromos. He doesn’t act on instinct. He’s a planner. He wants something.”

Shrugging, Amenadiel said, “He shouted at me about demanding an audience with the king. I didn’t ask for details. I don’t really care. Dromos isn’t someone I’m inclined to listen to at the best of times. The last time the wretch showed his face on Earth, he kidnapped my son.”

“Mmm. Kinda like your sister was gonna do. Kinda like you were gonna do, now that I think about it.”

“Maze!” he gasped, sounding shocked and hurt. “You can’t compared poor Remiel’s misguided actions to-…”

“I’ll do it,” she interrupted. “Take me to Lux. Now.”

“Excuse me? What about us?” snapped Michael.

Mazikeen met Eve’s gentle gaze. “You don’t need to be involved in this. My family drama, it – it’s not pretty.”

“My son killed my son,” said Eve, taking her hand. “My husband loved another woman. I’m used to drama.”

Swallowing, Mazikeen glanced at Michael. “And you, wimp?”

Feigning disinterest – feigning it badly – he said, “You showed up to my last domestic dispute. Guess this’ll make us square.”

“I’ve only got two arms. I can’t carry all of you,” Amenadiel pointed out.

Mazikeen rubbed her chin. “No… but you can carry the car, right?”

0

He didn’t have time for this. There was so much to do.

“World hunger,” he recited as he bounced from one laptop to the next, all twenty-three of them displaying a different article or video by a leading scientific or sociological mind, “wealth inequality, pollution, cancer, droughts, racism, elderly abuse, housing shortages, cruelty to animals…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda patiently, sitting on his best couch with her legs crossed, a cup of coffee and a laptop of her own beside her. “You said you wanted my advice as to how you should manage this whole ‘being God’ business.”

“I do, doctor! Very much. Your input is invaluable. Blast, where did I put that map of Alaska? I’m thinking of making it bigger; slotting it in alongside the Arctic to help stabilise all that new ice.”

“Right. Thanks. So here – here is what I’m suggesting now; slow down. Seriously. Take a breath, step back, and think your next move through.”

He scoffed. “‘Slow down’? Doctor, I need to work at least three times faster if I’m to keep up with everything. There are people suffering everywhere, millions of them! There are sinners in need of punishment! I’m seriously considering asking Chloe to be my Deputy God. I never imagined omnipotence would entail so much paperwork and she’s always been better at that than me.”

Outside the penthouse, many stories below, the chanting grew louder. None of the human police officers, journalists, and gawkers who’d gathered to watch could understand it; it was in Lilim.

Cursing, Lucifer strode to the balcony and shouted down, “For the last time, would you all kindly piss off? I’m trying to fix an entire planet here!”

He heard the elevator open and moaned. “Detective, not now. Please. I’m very sorry I haven’t returned your calls – I swear I’m not avoiding you – it’s just that I’ve got a lot on my plate today and we did already agree to meet for supper at-…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda, sounding terrified.

“Lucifer,” said someone else, sounding irritable.

Now that he was God, rage didn’t turn his eyes red anymore. It turned them gold and blindingly bright, like spotlights. Fists clenched, he turned to see Dromos step into the penthouse, once again clad in the flesh of the late Father Kinley and wearing a leather jacket.

“Nice trick, making all the doors disappear. Finally decided to climb up the side of the building with a sledgehammer and burrow my way through into the elevator shaft,” said the demon, hands in his pockets and concrete dust coating his beard and his bald head. “I want to talk to you, sire.”

Storming across the room while Linda remained frozen, white-faced, on the couch, Lucifer snarled, “You! You have the nerve to come here, to stand before me, after what you did to my nephew?”

He took Dromos by the neck and lifted him off the ground, his wings opening in fury (he had six of them now).

Stoical even as he choked, Dromos said, “I need. To talk. I will leave immediately afterwards.”

“Oh, you’ll leave, alright! You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you into an active volcano, you accursed traitor!”

Dromos’ stolen skin began to sizzle beneath his fingers. He waited until the demon’s face was wrinkled with pain before throwing him to the floor hard enough to crack the wood and make a crater.

“I will leave,” Dromos gasped, coughing up blood, “when I have spoken.”

“What could you possibly have to say for yourself? Kidnapper. Child-thief.”

Still on the couch, Linda said tremulously, “Lucifer, you’re… you’re hurting him. Stop it. Please.”

“Let us stay!” shouted Dromos, and coughed again before dragging himself up onto his knees. “On Earth. That’s what I came to say. Let your erstwhile subjects stay on Earth if they choose – at least, those who served you in the battle against Michael. Don’t force them to return to Hell. Let them, let us choose where we live, going forward. That’s my request, your Majesty. My only request.”

Lucifer boggled at him. “Is that a joke? Demons? On Earth, indefinitely, unsupervised? Are you out of your tiny mind, Dromos?”

Baring teeth, Dromos said, “Why not? What does it matter to you now? You’ve got everything you could possibly want. Everything anyone could possibly want! All we’re asking is the freedom to come and go as we please.”

“No.”

He spoke the word bluntly, and then he stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. Regaining his composure. “Never. You’re dangerous and untrustworthy. This world is for humans, not you. Good grief, haven’t I got enough to preoccupy my mind, without the added stress of demons rampaging around town?”

“We won’t rampage. We just-…”

“Why are you even coming to me with this? Mazikeen’s the new Queen of Hell. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Dromos wiped blood from his lips. “I don’t know if my sister and I are on speaking terms right now. And she may be Queen, but you’re God; I assumed you would be tasked with such decisions. After all, there’s never been a demon in charge of Hell before. We were told – we were always told – that only angels could rule us. I don’t doubt Mazikeen’s competence, but I…”

He seemed to run out of steam, spreading his hands and finishing weakly, “Lucifer, you’re the king. You’ve been the king for millions of years. For my entire life. Look, if you really don’t want us leaving Hell, then can you at least use your newfound power to improve it? Let us have the things mortals enjoy? Pianos, dogs, blankets, weekends, all that stuff?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Hell is supposed to be a place of punishment. The ultimate consequence awaiting sinners. I need a carrot and a stick, Dromos. How else am I supposed to convince people to behave if I don’t? Imagine a rapist arriving in Hell and being confronted with demons playing pianos and walking their dogs. Wouldn’t have quite the desired effect, would it?”

Dromos was quiet for a moment, then said without inflection, “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to put rapists. Somewhere other than our home.”

Throwing up his arms, Lucifer said, “More demands! Don’t you see how selfish you’re being? Here I am, doing my best to end all suffering, and you’re complaining about babysitting a few evil-doers – which, might I remind you, is your job. Nay, your very reason for existence. Always has been. Why’re you getting stroppy about it now?”

“I think,” Linda began, taking a tentative step forward before stopping and clearing her throat. “Excuse me. May I interrupt? Um. Okay, so I think that maybe Dromos has a point here, Lucifer.”

“Doctor! This is the creature that stole your baby!”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not saying I forgive him for that, but…”

“I wasn’t going to eat the brat,” Dromos grumbled. “I was going to make him a king.”

“You took him away from his mother!” Lucifer shouted.

“Gentlemen!” said Linda, sharply. “Please! Let’s try to talk this through like adults.”

Overcome with frustration, and only vaguely aware that he’d not been sleeping well lately, Lucifer kicked the nearest chair. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him, doctor.”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I-…”

“You don’t know these people like I do. You didn’t spend millions of years in Hell alongside them. The only demon you’ve ever gotten acquainted with is Maze, and she’s not like the others; even without a soul, she’s learned how to behave like a more-or-less civilised adult, barring the occasional tantrum. But your average, baseline demon has nothing to them besides wrath and cruelty. Lilith made them to be weapons and that’s all they really are. I mean – just imagine, for a moment, how hard it was for me. To go from the Silver City, the most beautiful place ever created, to a lightless nightmare realm full of these bloodthirsty animals. To be surrounded by them, for endless eons, while they nattered mindlessly on and on about how much they love torture and pain and…”  

He trailed off. Linda and Dromos were both looking past him.

To the elevator. Where – oh – Mazikeen was standing.

Where Mazikeen was crying.

No sobs, not like when Dan had died. No expression at all, really. Just open eyes, motionless muscles, and steady tears.

Before Lucifer could say a word, she pressed the button to close the elevator doors.

“Wait!” he yelped, sprinting over to stop them.

He needn’t have bothered. Now that he was God, objects did whatever he told them to do. The doors stilled, half-open.

“That sounded wrong,” he acknowledged, clasping her shoulders in apology. “You completely missed the context. What I was trying to say was-…”

“Don’t touch me.”

It was a phrase he’d heard many times before from mortal lovers to whom he had accidentally revealed his Devil Face. Some of them said it in horror. Some of them, the religious ones, said it in anger.

Mazikeen looked neither horrified nor angry. She looked sick. As though the very sight of him turned her stomach.

Lumbering over, Dromos stepped into the elevator alongside her and pointedly pressed the button again. With no idea what to do or say, Lucifer allowed the machinery to work.

The elevator closed.

“What have I done?” he asked Linda.

0

Nothing I didn’t know.

“Maze?” called Eve, waiting by the car with the others as Mazikeen stepped out of Lux’s front door and into the sunlight.

The door hadn’t been there when they’d arrived. She’d been forced to use Dromos’ route. Lucifer must have decided to put it back. He could do that now. Just decide things. Didn’t need servants, nor followers, nor anyone. Sure didn’t need a ‘more-or-less civilised adult’ whose kin were animals.

“Maze! Wait!”

Mazikeen didn’t know where she was going, only that she was walking very quickly and felt that she’d die if she stopped. She heard Eve’s heels patter on the pavement and heard her say her name a third time, quiet and worried, and that was what stilled her feet.

“What happened?” murmured Eve, cupping her face.

The fifty or so demons who’d been standing around outside Lux when Amenadiel had set the car and its passengers down were still there. Instead of chanting to get their king’s attention, they were now looking at her.

Michael and Amenadiel stood among them, the latter having been trying to convince them to stop blocking traffic.

Which was what she should have been doing. It was what he’d brought her here to do. But she’d been gripped by a sudden, violent need to see Lucifer, to check on him, just quickly, before tending to her siblings. Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard.

Except that wasn’t what I was. Not to him. To him, I was a Rottweiler on a leash.

“Are you alright?” asked Amenadiel, his eyes overflowing with concern.

That was what cracked her.

To him. Not to everyone. Not to Eve, or Amenadiel, or Linda. It’s not that I’m incapable of earning love and respect.

I’m just incapable of earning his.

Her legs gave out. She crumpled against Lux’s outside wall and started to weep properly, loud and bitter.

Eve immediately dropped down beside her, holding her tight. Michael shuffled closer, rubbing his shoulder while his mouth opened and shut, testing out sentences that were never spoken.

Then Dromos was there, kneeling, his face sad and tired.

“We did what we were told,” she said to him in Lilim, through sniffles. “We obeyed. We were loyal. We… we…”

“We are alone, sister,” he replied. “But I think we always were.”

“We obeyed!”

“We obeyed Lilith and she left. We obeyed Lucifer and he left. No one wants us, Mazikeen. It’s just the truth.”

She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I want us.”

Seizing his jacket’s shoulder, she hauled herself to her feet and addressed the crowd, her voice raw: “I want you! You’re my family and I want you! And I swear I will be the queen you deserve, for as long as you’ll have me!”

Her human skin fell away, the left side of her face turning cold, bony, and brittle.

Stepping back to join their siblings, Dromos asked hesitantly, “What would you have us do, then, my queen? What are your orders?”

Hurriedly drying her eyes, she studied them one by one. “Whoever wants to can stay here. But I’m going home. Hell is going to be ours, Dromos. No more damned souls. No more angels. It’s ours now and we’re going to make it into something we can love.”

She turned to face Eve and Michael, her heart pounding. “You’ll come with me, yeah? You’ll stand with me?”

“Always,” said Eve, closing in to kiss her.

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, clearly just relieved that the crying part was over.

Amenadiel sighed, shaking his head gravely. “Mazikeen, are you sure this is what you want? You won’t be able to leave Hell on your own – you’ll need to contact me.”

“Yeah. At least until this one grows his feathers back,” she said, gesturing at Michael. “That’s okay. You’ll always come when I call, right?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Maze. I’m sorry if I haven’t said that often enough.”

Fuck it. Cringing on the inside, Mazikeen drew Amenadiel into a quick, gruff hug. “You too, idiot.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ransomware for coffee makers

My 2019 book RADICALIZED opened with a novella called Unauthorized Bread, a tale of self-determination versus technical oppression that starts with a Libyan refugee hacking her stupid smart-toaster, which locks her into buying proprietary bread.

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

I wrote that story after watching the inexorable colonization of every kind of device - from implanted defibrillators to tractors - with computerized controllers that served a variety of purposes, many of them nakedly dystopian.

The existence of laws like Section 1201 of the DMCA really invites companies to make "smart" versions of their devices for the sole purpose of adding DRM to them, because DMCA 1201 makes it a felony to unlock DRM, even for perfectly legal purposes.

That's how John Deere uses DRM: to force farmers to use (and pay for) authorized repair personnel when their tractors break down; it's how Abbott Labs uses DRM, to force people with diabetes to use their own insulin pumps with their glucose monitors.

It's the inkjet business-model, but for everything from artificial pancreases to coffee-makers. And because DMCA 1201 is so badly* drafted, it also puts security researchers at risk.

*Assuming you're willing to believe this isn't what the law was supposed to do all along

Adding networked computers to everyday gadgets is a risky business: as with any human endeavor, software is prone to error. And as with any technical pursuit, the only way to reliably root out errors is through adversarial peer review.

That is, to have people who want you to fail go through your stuff looking for stupid mistakes they can mock you over.

It's not enough for you to go over your own work for errors. Anyone who's ever stared right at their own typo and not seen it knows this doesn't work.

Nor is it sufficient for your friends to look over your work - not only will they go easy on you, but sometimes your errors come from a shared set of faulty assumptions.

They CAN'T spot these errors: this is why no argument among Qanoners ever points out the most important fact, which is that the whole fucking thing is batshit.

The default for products is that ANYONE is allowed to point out their defects. If you buy a pencil and the tip breaks all the time and you do some analysis and discover that the manufacturer sucks at graphite, you can publish that analysis.

But DMCA 1201 prohibits this kind of disclosure if it means that you reveal flaws that might be used to disable the DRM. Security researchers get threatened by "smart device" companies all the time.

Just the spectre of the threat is enough to convince a lot of organizations' lawyers to advise researchers not to go public with this information.

That means that a defect that could crash your car (or your implanted pacemaker) only gets disclosed if the company that made it authorizes the disclosure.

This is seriously bad policy.

Companies add "smarts" to get DRM, because DRM lets them control how their customers use their products, and lets them shut down competitors who try to give control back to customers, and also silence critics who reveal the defects in their products.

DRM can be combined with terms of service, patents, trade secrets, binding arbitration, and other forms of "IP" to deliver near-perfect corporate control over competitors, customers and critics.

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

But it's worse than that, because software designed to exercise this kind of control is necessarily designed for maximum opacity: to hide what it does, how it does it, and how to turn it off.

This obfuscation means that when your device is compromised, malicious code can take advantage of the obscure-by-design nature of the device to run undetectably as it attacks you, your data, and your physical environment.

Malicious code can also leverage DRM's natural tamper-resistance to make it hard to remove malware once it has been detected. Once a device designed to control its owners has been compromised, the attacker gets to control the owner, too.

Which brings me to "Smarter," a "smart" $250 coffee maker that is remarkably insecure, allowing anyone on the same wifi network as the device to replace its firmware, as Martin Hron demonstrates in a recent proof-of-concept attack.

https://decoded.avast.io/martinhron/the-fresh-smell-of-ransomed-coffee/

Hron's attack hijacks the machine, causing it to "turn on the burner, dispense water, spin the bean grinder, and display a ransom message, all while beeping repeatedly."

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2020/09/how-a-hacker-turned-a-250-coffee-maker-into-ransom-machine/

As Dan Goodin points out,  Hron did all this in just one week, and quite likely could find more ways to attack the device. The defects Hron identified - like the failure to use encryption in the device's communications or firmware updates - are glaring, idiotic errors.

As is the decision to allow for unsigned firmware updates without any user intervention. This kind of design idiocy has been repeatedly identified in MANY kinds of devices.

Back in 2011, I watched Ang Cui silently update the OS of an HP printer by sending it a gimmicked PDF (HP's printers received new firmware via print-jobs, ingesting everything after a Postscript comment that said, "New firmware starts here").

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njVv7J2azY822/21/20/

A decade later, there is no excuse for this kind of mistake. The fact that IoT vendors are making it tells you that the opacity and the power to punish critics is not a power that companies wield wisely - and that you shouldn't trust any IoT gadgets.

[laurent--stpierre]

NEW YEAR’S EVE 2020 [2 of ?]:

*Inbetweeners voice* OOOH, FRIEND.

Date: December 31st, 2020. About 10:30pm. Warnings: None.

“You’re going to be back before the countdown, right?”

“I promise I’ll be half an hour, tops…”

Though she looked unconvinced, agitated even, Zahira didn’t protest.

It wasn’t hard to be heard over the music given both the quieter corner of the club, and their close proximity. Since she had arrived just under an hour ago (having first made her obligatory appearance at the political party over in the Chelsea Royal) Laurent had refused to let her out of his sight. Whilst tonight was scarred by the one year anniversary of several, deeply unpleasant events at The Kingdom, he was attempting to hold on to the fact that it had also marked an important beginning: them.

Maybe he was becoming a sentimental bastard in his old age.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

It wasn’t until his thumb brushed across her cheek that he realised how cold she was.

The Frenchman’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown, his concern blatant.

When she smiled back at him, it was almost sad: “I’ll be fine. I think it was the Scotch. I wasn’t about to turn down a personal toast with Elizabeth Acton…”

Despite not being entirely convinced by her explanation, it did come as some relief. For a woman he’d never once seen drink alcohol in the year he’d spent with her, he reasoned that was a sure fire way to make herself feel like shit.

“We can head home after the countdown if you want?”

“No,” she shot back quickly, shaking her head. It was an action that had her grimacing a moment later. Laurent watched as she reached up to her neck, disappointment and pain etched into her features. “No, I’m just tired. It’s your party, you’re not leaving. I’ll be fine. I’ll go after midnight, and you can catch up with me later, okay? You should spend some time with Oliver.”

The internal battle off the back of her words was more intense than he’d been expecting. The way her expression read and the idea of leaving her behind whilst he attended to business? Laurent found himself questioning whether it was worth it. That was, until he saw a look on Varden’s face that was even more agonizing than that of his girlfriend. For a man that’d been struggling all night, it looked as if he was about to hit breaking point, and Laurent couldn’t blame him after all that he’d suffered through in the last month. This was a shot they had to take, and he wasn’t about to leave him walking into the fucking lion’s den alone…

“Okay,” he finally conceded. The sigh that followed was a testament to his unease.

Zahira looked pleased at his acceptance, though her smile remained muted.

“Just stay with Aurélie, all right? She’ll look after you.”

Though he’d looked up, ready to snap his fingers to get the angry dwarf’s attention, to his surprise, she was already glancing their way, acknowledging him with a gentle nod of her head before he even had to ask. The St. Clair reached out to touch the top of her arm softly before Laurent grabbed his coat and moved to wrap it around her shoulders.

“You worry too much…”

If only she understood how much better that was than not worrying enough.

When he leaned back in to kiss her, the three words he mumbled against her lips, his first I love you, was enough to make their parting slightly less bitter.

Though it hadn’t been his intention to leave the party at all until someone had to physically carry him out of the place in a state of characteristic, paralytic euphoria, when one of their soldiers had approached their table with news that somebody of interest had been spotted at a bar a few streets over, it became clear that action was required.

Medea was in Westminster, and Varden was keen to introduce himself before the opportunity once again disappeared into thin air.

“If you’d rather take Vorya, you needn’t explain yourself to me.”

Varden’s tone was so genuine in its understanding that Laurent almost felt guilty.

In the same way that the older man sought revenge for his son, he was well aware that the one in tow had his own demons to confront.

“Someone else is handling it,” Laurent said, as he followed the imposing man toward one of the private rooms at the rear of the club. Before they could do anything else, there was important business to be dealt with. “I’ve got your back.”

Though he didn’t speak as he pushed open the door into the dimly lit room, Laurent took his solemn nod as thanks.

“So, what’s the game plan, kids?”

It was Noa that greeted them first, despite the fact there was a handful of people waiting, all of them looking like they had their own input to offer. Laurent shoved his hands into his pockets as he waited for Varden to take charge of the meeting. To his surprise, however, the man who had since rescinded his own authority as the head of London (albeit it temporarily, he hoped) gestured for the Commandant to instead take the lead.

“All right,” he started, gearing himself up to orchestrate what they all knew could either be a night  they would celebrate for months to come, or something as catastrophic as a year prior. There was a brief pause. That was all he needed. “If they get any bright ideas about hitting here or AU in response to our little gift, I want someone over there to back up our guests. You still have some Launceston contacts, don’t you? Want to go and make them feel at home?”

“Ooh, I do,” she cooed, a playful smirk gracing her lips. “I also can’t think of a better way to bring in the New Year than bludgeoning a few Russians to death. Count us in.”

Laurent knew she had almost certainly not recovered enough from Hallowe’en to be doing any of the damage herself, but there was a fire in Dan’s eyes that suggested she wouldn’t need to lift a fucking finger for all hell to be rained down on anybody that dared.

“Jean can join you for backup, but I want the rest of you here.”

Aurélie had to be the priority, always.

“Varden and I are headed a few blocks over, but it’ll be quick. If anything happens here, someone calls us fucking immediately. No excuses. Lost your hands? Dial with your fucking face.”

“Wait, so who’s taking the trip to Vorya?”

It wasn’t lost on him that, like Varden, all those who watched on expected him to be the one to deliver that particularly brutal blow to the Russians, because he’d fucking earned it. The blood on his hands would have to be enough for now. His name had already been attached to more than enough shit to put him in the hot seat. Laurent could take one for the team and let someone else take it.

Someone far more content to be identified as the antagonist…

“That’d be me.”

A gravelly voice, vaguely familiar in its disdain, echoed over his shoulder, causing the Frenchman to turn his head momentarily and watch as the silhouette of a man came into view.

“Well, well, well,” someone muttered with amusement.

“I thought you were all spending the night at AU.” It was only when Noa got to her feet that some of the confused expressions of those who hadn’t been present in Porto Velho or Launceston faded: “A pleasant surprise indeed, Vincenzo.”

Varden stood in silence.

“Need back up, Vespucci?” Someone heckled from the corner.

The laugh that followed was colder than the bitch he was fucking delivering.

“No. I think I brought more than enough of my own.”

And oh, wouldn’t the Russians soon know it…

[goldenpinof]

so basically here’s a script of “Basically I’m gay” by Daniel Howell, if someone needs it

link to a google doc

Hello Internet.

«Sex! Secrecy! And a whole lot of internal screaming. Starring Daniel Howell. One of the greatest mysteries of our generation. What is Dan’s sexuality?»

Spoiler alert. I’m not straight. Sex, the foundation of life and the only thing we’re really supposed to do. Everyone’s obsessed with it. You bunch of degenerates. In the list of things that identify a person, one of the most important for other people to know is their sexuality. For, if sex is the primal force propelling all of these humans forward by their hips, they have to know. Are we gonna fuck? Or like could we? Or are you, ‘cause I’m just wondering. Now, we live in a heteronormative world, which is a long scary word that makes people feel attacked for some reason. Shh it’s okay.

What it means is people are presumed to be straight. If you’re not, then at some point, you have to “come out”, which is a whole thing. Or people might just try and guess based on something you do or the way you act, because yay stereotypes. So this is something you have to be clear on, because if you’re not, how are all these other people that aren’t you going to cope? But I’m pretty sure no one that knows me thinks I’m straight. So I don’t really need to come out as much as just clarify what the hell is going on. As here I am at age 27 and my sexual preference is seemingly still a vague, debatable, confusing, impenetrable mystery. But why? And what is it? Well, those are some big questions. Are you sure you wanna know my answers?

[YES]

Okay, well, if you say so 'cause this is a complicated and sensitive issue and when it comes to me, boy, there is a lot to unpack here and it is a total clusterfuck. So strap yourselves in and let me tell you a queer little story about a boy named Dan.

Chapter 1 – The Word

♪ When I was a young boy ♪

♪ My father ♪

Didn’t have much time for me because my conception was clearly an accident and he was a narcissistic proud man suddenly inconvenienced in the prime of his life and this emotional neglect gave me lasting problems.

Sorry that’s not all relevant right now.

I was an only child for seven years and with working parents. This meant I had to make my own fun so I was imaginative  and loud which is something that my teachers used to say quite a lot followed by, “However.” Here I am age five. Look at me. Cute, poised, sassy, turning out this photo shoot like sorry, Grandma, I stunted on this set. Are you seeing this? In almost every way, I literally peaked age five. I loved being the center of attention. People said I had an infectious happiness, that my beaming smile brought them hope and joy. People that know me are laughing right now. But a boy, in the '90s being happy and generally polite acting? Sounds kinda GAY if you ask me. Literally, masculinity was so fragile, people were so proud and scared and society so aggressive that a boy smiling!?.. appearing to be empathetic or in any way emoting was seen as a threat. How dare they laugh and feel comfortable? They must be soft and weak and girly and GAY. So basically thanks, Grandma, for raising me to be a nice child, you dick. Just kidding. That’s a joke and I told you not to watch this video because it would be rude so if you send me a disappointed text telling me you’re offended, I don’t know what to tell you. Although, now I think about it, you did make me go to church for 10 years, which in hindsight probably also didn’t help ♪ Hallelujah ♪ the issue here so. But then it was time for little Dan to go to school and this is when it  

♪ All went wrong ♪

'Cause it turns out most children, evil pieces of shit. Doesn’t matter if you try to raise a happy innocent child, throw that kid into school, aka, a literal Mad Max Battle Royale with the feral offspring of your local community. Yeah, that crap’ll be undone in about two weeks. I was six years old running around the playground pretending to be Sonic the Hedgehog or something when two brothers come up to me aged seven and eight with an unexplained aggressive look in their eye. And the younger one pushes me to the ground, kicks me in the stomach, and just says, “GAY.”

This was the first time I ever heard that word. Well, I don’t know what the heck gay means but apparently it means people kick you on the floor so that ain’t good. I didn’t know this child or give them any cause to have an opinion on me. And, actually, I never directly interacted with them again. What epic clustershit of failed parenting and general culture brought this tiny child to get angry and attack someone, then call them gay for looking like they were having fun outside. Are you okay, 1990s? And so my relationship with sexuality began.

I wasn’t looking to define myself as a child indiscriminately playing doctors and nurses with various friends until once somebody’s mum walked into a room to find three fully naked children sat on a bed sticking sellotape to each other’s butts. Yep, which I don’t recommend. Also, Jesus Christ, the poor woman that saw that. Then you get to the magic age around 10 or 11 where everybody suddenly wants to pretend they’re totally a “cool teenager” who’s doing all the drugs and the sex and the fights, totally. Boy, gay was a really popular word back then.

[[Boy] Uh, homework is gay. [Girl] Uh, my mum’s so gay. [Boy] Uh, you touched a girl, gay.]

This one little shit who I won’t name was one of the school bullies and he loved the word gay. He had it in for me and I have no idea why. You know me, Mr. Winnie the Pooh Meets Slender Man. Well, when I was 10 just Winnie the Pooh. I didn’t do nothin’ to no one ever and yet this guy used my pacifism as a punching bag where any group situation was an excuse to single me out call me gay for some reason and then make everyone else exclude me because they were scared of him. I had a girlfriend. We dated for six whole weeks. We kissed in a game of spin the bottle once by literally sucking on each other’s faces. Then she ended dumping me over speakerphone at a birthday party that everyone in my class but me was invited to but, hey. I don’t know what I was doing wrong, but at this age, I understood one thing. Being gay, whatever that meant, was clearly the worst thing you could be. On a Darwinian level, I was being told, okay bitch, “Survival Code”. Don’t be this apparently. Evolution. Plot twist, this bully I think he was a bit gay because once he asked me to have a sleepover at his house and I thought was me finally getting socially accepted only for him in the middle of the night to come up and ask me, “So who’s going to be the boy and the girl?” I was an innocent smol bean who didn’t really understand what he meant because, to be honest, I didn’t actually understand get how babies were made yet. But needless to say I think he was disappointed. Wow, closeted child turns into homophobic bully. Thanks again society. But this whole primary school journey was really just an amuse-bouche for the full six-course tasting menu of suffering that would be secondary school.

I went to an all-boys school. It was a literal hellscape.  I thought it was hard making it through a school of 200 kids with two or three bullies. Try over a thousand where a clean 800 are fully psychopathic gorillas fueled by testosterone, Red Bull, and Eminem albums. Making sure that the word f- no longer means an innocent bundle of sticks or a cigarette anymore in the British lexicon. Nope, now it was a cool homophobic slur along with gay, gaylord, gayboy, puff, pufter, ponce, batty, batty boy, bum-boy, bender. Shit, this is so long. People have a lot of words for something they don’t wanna think about. Look at me in this stupid blazer. Oh, “you’ll grow into it at some point in the next four years”. Thanks, Mum. Day one, kid in form class, some stupid hedgehog-looking motherfucker side eyes me and says, “What you lookin at, puff?” First interaction at a new school. Great! My entire existence on a daily basis then becomes navigating this school like I’m in the bloody “Maze Runner” trying to avoid aggressive pricks with chode ties. And you know being verbally abused for being a nerd or a Greebo at least felt relevant to me at the time. Greebo, definitely one of my faves there and I’m sure that Korn and Slipknot would have been proud to have 12-year-old me as a fan. I kinda knew who I was in the hierarchy at that point. I was essentially a theater kid who spent all of his free time playing Runescape on the AOL browser on his mum’s PC instead of football. I accepted it. But at least I wasn’t actually this “gay thing” people kept throwing around because by now I understood a gay is a boy who fancies other boys. And to be honest I don’t really feel like I’ve ever fancied anyone before.

Then puberty happened.

Oh yeah, this is fun, tingly feelings, I smell bad. It was quite fun dribbling on this girl’s face playing Truth or Dare, maybe later we’ll go behind that bike sheds and, there I was sat in English class, my friend next to me. I watched as he delicately removes a pencil from its case. We briefly make eye contact as he flutters his long black eyelashes with a blink before staring forward. His eyes are so bright and beautiful yet they seem so sad and deep with emotion. I wish I could just understand. Oh fuck, I think I’m a bit gay. You’re telling me this whole time I actually have been the bad thing that people keep calling me? Shit!

Chapter 2 – Feelings

Oh do you hear it that faint hum, something coming from a deep, dark place too powerful to control? It’s the self-hatred. She is here and she’s only getting started. Short version, I fall hopelessly in love with a friend of mine who doesn’t feel the same way which crushes me into a million tiny pieces and years later actually it turns out he was gay the whole time. He just really specifically didn’t like me. [Double kill.] Here I am, 13, crying to evanescence alone in my bedroom feeling like there’s no point in really being alive as I’m clearly a faulty outcast person that has no place in the world. I stopped going to church with my grandma because I felt like I wasn’t really supposed to be there. Also, by this age, the whole Christianity thing didn’t really make much sense to me. And the adult services were dry AF compared to coloring in a picture of Jesus’s face at Sunday school. So other than the free tea and biscuits they gave away after the sermon, religion didn’t really have much to offer me. Damn, there was some good biscuits though. I miss that. But wait! All is not lost yet. Do you see that? A triumphant, rallying cry of guitars, stripey hoodies, and black hair dye. Emo had arrived! I swear to God, emo is one of the best things that happened to pop culture in the last 20 years. As well as inventing eyeliner and skinny jeans, a new word hit the theater, nerd, goth, band, kid corner that would change my world forever.

Bisexual. You can be normal and gay at the same time and some people think it’s cool? Well, slap a long fingerless glove on my arm and sign me up to Myspace 'cause Mum, I’m bi. It was a good term 'cause it was a catchall for anyone who felt sexually confused or curious that didn’t want to commit to something stronger which is very me. Big commitment issues. Thanks, fam. To be clear, regardless of whatever the 2006 teenagers thoughts and feelings were, being bi is valid and should not be excused away or erased by anyone. Thank you.

From this moment, I was a loud and proud raving bi to my close friends and the strangers on the internet who saw my clearly-labeled sexual preference on my Myspace page. And the emo friends I made at this time were awesome. We just used to hang and make out with each other and listen to music and drink bottles of Smirnoff Ice until we were sick on each other with no judgment. The judgment came several years later looking back at the photos that you can’t delete. So I didn’t need to tell my family or people at school anything. But the thing is with a Myspace page, anyone with an internet connection can read it. And so the rumors started spreading through my neighborhood that Dan Howell was in fact a bisexual. I had a friend in French class who one day, totally unprompted, just turned to me and said, “Hmm, yeah, I thought so. You give off a bi-vibe.” A bi-vi-, what the fuck is a bi-vibe? Great, yeah, nothing to make a 15-year-old feel self-conscious about his behavior like being told he emanates a bisexual aura. What am I supposed to do with that? Sorry that I give off mixed signals. I’m versatile. Turns out it was actually a social upgrade from being called gay all the time 'cause bisexual was a new word that only referred to sexuality so people actually had to decide how they felt about the fact I was attracted to boys. As opposed to gay which as we all understand is synonymous with bad and also implies a general threat, plague, curse/evil force that simply must be destroyed. People at school were actually almost nice to me with curiosity about it and a few of the boys that previously loved to just generically call me gay while throwing a compasses at me or something, now started to low-key flirt with me and some stuff happened. Go figure.

But then I entered the dark ages and no I’m not talking about my hair because I was never actually cool enough to commit to dying it black. As quickly as they arrived into my life, my emo friend group vanished into the night. Like the tip of an eyeliner pencil snapping or the HTML on your intricately-crafted MySpace page falling apart when the host websites of your embedded gifs die, so, too, did my social life. One had to suddenly focus on school, another moved town, two of them just fell out with each other and started hanging out with their old friends again. Well, we don’t all have back up friend groups, Lindsey! I went all in on the emos! You’re telling me I have to go back to sitting in my kitchen playing Runescape now! Thanks a lot. So for a year I literally had no friends. And this is when the bullying at school really stepped its pussy up. The things people used to say offhand to me in a corridor were now said loudly in classrooms where everybody would laugh. People used to sing songs about me being gay on the bus while my fellow nerds sat around me just stared awkwardly out of the window not wanting to get involved. People shouted things out during GCSE exams in front of the whole school and the low key pushing became punches. People used to wait for me after school just to throw things at me. Once a guy put his hand around my throat and pushed my head against a coat peg in the locker room while everyone was watching and just slapped me for five minutes. But I never reacted. I never cried or got angry or fought back 'cause then I’d be giving them what they wanted and I refused to play along. But this way of dealing with things definitely had an impact on my relationship with emotion going into life. I became a total outcast. No one wanted to come near me out of fear that they’d get targeted, too. So no one ever stood up for me. And, you know, I don’t blame them. I just resent them even to this day. No, I’m kidding, I don’t really. I do. No, I don’t. I, hmm. Teachers at the time obviously did nothing. In fact, one of them saw this happening to me and laughed 'cause you know, boys will be boys especially the gay ones that get killed by the other ones, am I right? Ah, classic lad banter. And home. See, keeping this on the topic of sexuality and not economic class, violence, addiction, and health issues, let’s just say some shit was goin’ down. I didn’t think I could ask my family for help or share my feelings about this, mainly due to my dad. Funny guy, kind of a woke hippie who did and said a lot of things I did respect but at the same time used to walk around the house saying how he hoped someone he had a problem with at work would *clears throat* “die of bum cancer.” Yep, so picked the one area to be a bigot that would further traumatize your child. Nice! This experience coming from a childhood hearing the word gay meaninglessly thrown around as an insult at home and school, in music, on TV, to then realizing I am actually kinda gay, to then very specifically being attacked for it was traumatic. The world was clearly telling me if I ever wanted to be accepted by anyone or, in my particular environment, survive, I couldn’t be gay. I was afraid of it, literally homophobic of myself. I am talking Pavlov, sunken place, North Korea-level mind alteration that made me terrified of and repulsed by this part of me. This is called internalized oppression. It’s a real thing and it’s some real shit.

Chapter 3 – Internalized Oppression

From this moment I was no longer advertising myself as bi. No, BRB deleting that Myspace real quick, xD lemme get on that Bebo. “My Chemical Romance”? No, I’m listen to what’s this, N-Dubz? Jesus Christ. I go away for the summer break and come back to school quiet and serious and fully straight. *coughs* I needed me some new friends that were a bit higher up the social ladder, you know what I’m sayin’ for security so I go ahead and join “The Inbetweeners”. Literally this group of friends, the exact middle ground between nerds and desperately wanting to be cool. And oh how desperate we were. The great thing about these friends was they knew loads of girls. So firstly, instant cool points. Secondly, if I date a girl *scoffs* super not gay. The problem with that was it’s not like everyone just forgot everything that’s been said about me and this group of friends, casually homophobic pretty much all the time and also they hung out in places near some even more aggressive and super homophobic peeps. Just full-time Runescape would have been a better in hindsight. I find myself going through the same shit at school but now voluntarily going through it at the weekends from the people that are supposed to be my friends thinking I’m doing the right thing whilst constantly telling myself I’m now totally heterosexual. So I did what many people choose to do at that point and I got a girlfriend. But this is pretty messed up because I really liked this girl. In fact, I loved her as a friend and I was genuinely attracted to her but I was so afraid of sexuality I didn’t even wanna do anything straight in case I had some weird gay panic that I was totally frigid and I led her on. And when she got pissed at me, understandably, for being a terrible boyfriend, I just felt even worse. This was someone who I liked that I was hurting and lying to but I couldn’t leave as then I’d have no armor. Beautiful irony here is having a girlfriend didn’t in any way stop the abuse 'cause remember, gay is a great all-purpose general insult. (Call someone gay today and we’ll throw in a free set of steak knives.) And when these neighborhood teens started heavy drinking and getting into drugs, things suddenly got quite scary as people joked about setting fire to a tent as I slept in it at Reading Festival. Or saying, “You know that notoriously unstable guy? Yeah, he said he’s gonna kill you next Saturday.” Awkward.

This was definitely the lowest point in my life. I just felt totally alone, confused and I deeply hated myself. I used to ask God, in case he was there, to please, just make me straight and everyone stop. But I saw no end, no escape, no way to change the world or who I was. So one evening I thought fuck it and I attempted suicide.

I say attempted, because just before it was too late I thought

“oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit what have i done what have i done fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck?”

“what will your grandma think don’t do this to her she tried her best and she loves you”

“your family aren’t total dicks and this will fuck them up can’t you just get over it surely”

“you’re gonna get to the last year of school and give up now really what was the point”

“I heard this is one of the most painful ways to die so not a great choice if I’m being blunt”

Felt kinda bad for a few days otherwise I pretended it never happened and I didn’t tell anyone, until now, literally. Hmm, I know pretty dark right, but hey spoiler things kinda worked out. I mean still gotta lot of issues but here I am. I’m so glad I failed for so many reasons, for the people in my life, for the future I would’ve wasted. The most important being that I thought I was trapped in a situation forever when in reality, the entire world I lived in and my life changed completely. I thought it was hopeless when in reality there was so much to hope for and that’s it. Time changes everything. With the lives that we have, we can try anything we’ve dreamed of. I want anyone that’s ever felt like this to realize you are never trapped. There is always hope. You just need to believe in yourself and get to the other side. So yeah school age 6 to 18, I’m gonna give that a bad Google review. The thing is I did stand out. I’ve always been a loudmouth, class clown, annoying shit. Since graduating, it turns out half the people I knew were fuckin’ gay. That group of friends I had, all lovely people now. Five of them were gay, five gays! That is statistically irregular. Oh but they flew under the radar. All I’m saying is I wish people just hated me for being annoying and immature. Leave the gays alone!

My light at the end of the tunnel was university. I was gonna get my A levels move to a new town and ghost these bitches. But I took a gap year first to earn some money which was very boring sitting at home and working at ASDA where I was not happy to help. My shift started at 5 a.m. on a Saturday. Signed up for a Twitter account to run my mouth off and then bam. “So my name is [Dan].” My YouTube story begins, a new chapter of my life to redefine. So you know what I do? Get a Formspring because nothing gives you that attention feeling like one of those anonymous question and answer websites that are inherently toxic and no one should use. And straight out of the bat bisexual Dan returns. 'Cause hey, just like Myspace, I’m only telling a few people on the internet right now. It’s not like one day I’m gonna get so many followers that random strangers and my family might see it. Wow, I had a lot fun with many different kinds of people in 2009. Let’s just say I got a lot out of my system. Got a couple of things in my system, too. Sorry.

And this is when, through the magic of the internet, I met Phil. And obviously we were more than friends but it was more than just romantic. This is someone that genuinely liked me. I trusted them. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And the relationship we formed at that point was something that I needed in my life. We are real best friends, companions through life, like actual soulmates, not that souls are a real thing that exist. It’s so lucky to just find someone you can be that compatible with and especially to anyone that has experienced the kind of self-hatred that I have dealt with, one person accepting you can make all the difference. And I bet so many people wanna know so much more about that which, honestly, I take as a compliment. But here’s the thing. I’m somebody that wants to keep the details of my personal life private. So is Phil. I know lots of people these days, thanks to social media, want to share and monetize every aspect of their life and then as soon as something changes suddenly it’s this huge drama because everybody got invested in the story of your life like it’s a soap opera. I don’t want that. I wanna do certain things without an audience. I wanna be spontaneous. I don’t wanna feel afraid to take risks. I want to enjoy totally fucking something up and not have to post a statement about it. And if anyone thinks people really have to share these things about their life, you need to rethink your position. And look, I understand that sex is a fun and interesting thing to talk about. I get it. I am also a disgusting pervert. But the specific minutiae of who I be fuckin’, when, why, where, how long, how, uhh, I mean? Sexuality is a general fact that it can be very useful to know about a person for several reasons, but we can’t force people to disclose that either. We don’t know this person’s life story, what they’ve been through, if they haven’t told people, if they’ll lose their job, if they’re in danger. There are so many reasons someone might not be open about it. We can preach the message that being out is good, but aggressively speculating or trying to out someone is really bad. They might not be gay, in which case we’re just harassing someone and probably stereotyping. And if they are there’s gonna be a reason why they haven’t talked about it. So I don’t wanna see any responses to me finally talking about this like no one is surprised. “Dan we been knew.” Wow, you huge galaxy brain genius. What’s it like walking around with all those brain cells in there working overtime? What, you got like three in there? Don’t lose your balance, mastermind. I haven’t exactly been subtle have I? I’m an awkward, sexually ambiguous nerd. “What the fuck even is your sexuality?” That’s not the point. I’m already dead inside so it doesn’t matter here, but to me if someone’s reaction to a person coming out is just, “yeah, I knew”, they’re showing no empathy towards the issue or that person. They’re just making it about themselves like it was a fun piece of gossip they already knew. All we have to do is listen and be accepting.

So anyway back to the tale. Whilst things were looking up for Dan aged 18, things quickly got messy again. Wow, that beats the emo streak of temporary self-acceptance by like six months, nice. There was a point around 2011 where the relationship with my audience shifted from what felt like direct communication between me and individuals that just saw me as a comedy creator to communities of people that formed to talk about me when I wasn’t there. Which is fine, but for some people it was about getting generally invested in me and my real life which I thought was a bit strange 'cause inevitably like anyone who puts themself out there, some people started to really dig into my private life to find out information about me that I wasn’t ready to share. And this was around the same time that YouTubers finally started to get mainstream recognition in the British press. We had the BBC knocking at our door trying to offer Dan and Phil a radio show. From that, Dan and Phil became this entertainment duo that we could have a creative career with. And we love working together, so when all these opportunities came for Dan and Phil, we were really excited but I was also scared as people clearly knew I wasn’t straight and I hadn’t told my family that. None of my old friends knew about this, and what me and Phil had was ours and personal and yet some people were trying to get access to it for their own satisfaction. It was no longer a few people on the internet, no big deal. So I just shut down. It felt like I was back at school again, surrounded by threatening people trying to expose me for their entertainment. Most I’m sure just wanted what was best for me and I feel such genuine sadness and am sorry that I couldn’t be closer to and more truthful with the people in my life that were just trying to be nice but I wasn’t ready to deal with it at this time so I had to do something to contain it. I definitely sent some mixed messages. Some were just joking around, others were super defensive that in my panic came across like “I’m now telling everyone I’m totally straight” when all I really meant was “please fuck off and don’t invade my privacy, you creepy stalkers, thank you”. But this experience seriously triggered some PTSD in me and I was back in the dark place. I didn’t want to just disappear from the internet to escape it and throw away this creative hobby that actually started paying rent. Thanks. So I just decided to put anything to do with my sexuality in a box to come back to later as I was still processing my past and I wanted to understand my identity on my own terms and timeline and not just have it hijacked as fuel for people’s sexual fantasies or some headline in an article. And whilst we’re not exactly living in a utopia yet here on YouTube, the general internet culture only five or six years ago was a much less wholesome, progressive place as this little bubble is now. Sure, a lot of people probably would have been supportive, but there was just as much open bigotry and general toxicity 'cause people felt less accountable and it was okay to say certain things 'cause it’s just on the internet and I couldn’t handle that at the time. And, generally, I can handle a lot. I have big hands with a very wide reach for playing piano, you fucking.. get your mind out of the gutter. We can’t ask people to just put their lives on hold to address their sexuality first. If a kid dreams of being a footballer and age 18 gets signed to a club and all their dreams come true but they’re scared to come out because of the insane homophobia in that community, they shouldn’t turn it down. Yes, it’s so important to be truthful about who you are and open and proud in front of the world but it’s our society’s fault that these people are scared to say who they are. So let’s all focus on making it a welcoming place and people will come out when they are ready. So when was I ready? Well, it’s always been on my mind that I need to talk about this at some point. I couldn’t just keep going forward in my life ignoring it, not only just so I can be authentic, which is very important for general existing, but also just letting people know what kind of sexual attention I want from the world. All of it from everyone. God I’m so thirsty. And if anything motivated me, it’s the idea that I can help someone else 'cause that’s basically my whole career, isn’t it, admitting to shit that I’ve been through so you will feel better about yourselves. There we go, you’re welcome. I have a platform and a following of millions of people, many of whom I know have been through exactly what I have. And if I tell my story as painful and flip floppy and flawed as it is, I know it will mean something to someone as every time someone speaks openly about sexuality, it saves lives. I’d never met a single out gay person until I was 18. And if I had, or even just seen better representation in the media, I wouldn’t have felt so totally alone. I wouldn’t even be saying this to you now if it wasn’t for TV shows, musicians, and public figures in the last couple years reinforcing this to me. It doesn’t matter if I was living the life privately as there was still so much confusion about my feelings and fear. But things are better now, on the internet, on TV, in my real life. It’s not perfect but it feels safe enough in this space right now for me to feel confident. So thank you, sincerely, to all the brave people that came before me and to any of you that made this world seem welcoming for me. And instead of procrastinating from this by focusing on work, which was a way for me to insure my own independence and survival in case I was rejected, or just doing things for other people to take my mind off it instead of asserting my own needs, which my therapist keeps telling me is one of my biggest problems. Here I am with a fresh void of time in front of me to fuck up however I want. Now look, we all have different experiences in life. Some of us are lucky, some of us not. It just so happened that the first 18 years of my life were horrendously shit. It failed me. But we get dealt cards from the start, too. If you look at my life, I was born into this world as an able-bodied, white, cis-man in Britain which immediately gives me so much privilege in this current world and I am fully aware of how much harder making it to today could have been for me, which is why we all need to stand up for equality and social justice even if it doesn’t apply to us. No one stood up for me when it mattered the most and that almost cost me everything. So if you see a woman being harassed, a gay being threatened, someone muttering something racist, say something, do something because if you’re still or silent, the victim will just think that you are against them, too. We all have a responsibility.

This tale was just some of the stuff relating to sexuality. We all have a whole sob story if we wanna tell it but I just wanted to explain the journey of how I got to this point and overcame the obstacles that tried to block this path. And now I’ve arrived.

Chapter 4 – Labels

Okay cool story, bro, it’s answer time. What’s your answer. Whaddayalikedafuk? Here’s the thing, you want me to talk candidly about sexuality as if it’s something that I understand? I don’t know what it is, why it is. Turns out no one knows. I’ve been sitting here for years waiting for scientists to just work it out like bleep bloop. [Oh this is why and exactly how it’s different for people. There we go.] Thinking I shouldn’t run off my mouth on the internet in case my theories and opinions on varying gayness get debunked next week. Well, I waited long enough and it didn’t happen. Science, ya fucked up, you let me down. And I fully expect to have to delete this video in two weeks when you find out all the answers suddenly. Thanks a bunch. What makes someone gay or straight or all the things in between? What the ever loving fuck is gender about? This is a mess. Yet people want you to give them a word because that’s how humans communicate with words that have meanings. Which is why our disgusting species is impatient, stupid, and obsessed with labels. And this applies to everything, sexuality, gender, political identity, what obscure genre of synthwave you listen to. People just want a label that represents something they understand so they already know how to feel about you and don’t have to bother thinking. [Oh you’re a feminist well I don’t need to know anything more. Oh you’re a leftist. Oh you’re a K-pop fan but but but but.] If people just want to find a way to disagree with you or dislike you, they can refer to the label and turn off their brains. Hey, what does my label say? Huh. The issue is, especially when we start talking about the writhing mass of confusion and suffering that is sexual and gender identity, the limits of language and specific terminology become a big problem. What does being gay mean? You never thought about a boob once? What does being a man mean? You wanna be an emotionless rock rubbing raw steaks against your biceps? It’s not like humanity is all in agreement right now. I don’t like the stereotypes and drama that come with all this terminology so I’m just not gonna use it. Thing is gender identity isn’t my issue. I feel comfortable with the identity that I’ve had my whole life. Dan, a tol boy from England. But being a man means nothing to me. I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable wearing makeup or a sickening pair of heels, though I can’t even draw in a straight line so that would be a disaster. Also is anyone really comfortable wearing heels? Hmm. Icons of masculinity aren’t really a big part of my life. Might as well call me a fucking formless blob that sounds more relatable. Shout out to all my formless blobs out there, rise up. I don’t have to do anything or be anything and I personally wouldn’t feel offended if I wasn’t referred to as a he. Well, she’s feeling hungry today. Stop fucking judging me, Susan. I’m sad and I’m gonna eat this whole damn cake whether you like it or not. But anyone that has this don’t really care attitude about their gender identity is in a way privileged 'cause some people, especially trans, care a lot about their gender identity and using the correct pronouns which other people should respect. Likewise with sexuality, whilst to me the endlessly increasing list of tribes and flags being flown is a bit daunting and confusing and personally stresses me out 'cause I almost find it constrictive, some people like it. Because if you’re feelings are confusing and then you look at a word that represents something and go, “wow, that me”, it can help you realize you’re valid and find a community and that’s great. There is so much controversy around this issue and others but if we all just calm down, respect each other’s experiences and try to just be nice, reasonable people, which is a lot to ask, let’s be real, it’s quite simple. If you wanna use language to express your honest feelings and identity, that’s great and other people should respect what you say. Likewise, if you hate labels and you just wanna be a formless blob, that’s fine, too. No one should force you. The only thing that isn’t cool is telling other people what they should or should not identify as 'cause that ain’t your problem or your business, bye. This was one of the things that held me back from talking about this for years. Shit’s confusing, man. Let’s just go back to cellular reproduction by mitosis so I don’t really have to be specific. Two people that I really look up to and respect, Harry Styles and Janelle Monae, both famously say that they don’t feel the need to label it which, to be honest, is how I feel and is perfectly okay. But I get it, for me, you want a word. Oh, that’s hard, though. I’m an annoying guy. I feel uncertain specifying my sexuality in the same way I wouldn’t say I am an atheist. Who the fuck am I to say whether God does or doesn’t exist? I don’t know shit 'bout shit and neither does anyone else. I mean I think it’s unlikely in the same way I know I like DICK. But I’m not gonna pretend to have a definite answer here. Looking at my public statements is inconsistent and confusing. Looking at my personal track record through life is super confusing. And looking at the void inside my soul threatening to crush the entire universe with the force of its event horizon of misery and melodrama, well, fuck let’s close that shit up. One thing’s for sure whatever heterosexual is, I ain’t it. Really if you ask me, I don’t think anyone’s totally straight. I think there’s a lot of social and emotional issues getting in the way of yet to be understood feelings of attraction that can be very flexible. And trust me, I’ve known a lot of straight guys until a couple of drinks, some deep conversation, and lingering eye contact, and suddenly they just start leaning in. What does that make them? And am I totally gay? No. Am I slightly more gay or is it just easier for gays to hook up with each other because of societal norms. It’s not like the signs for male and female bathrooms are what I’m attracted to. I don’t care what flesh organ you have between your legs, what your hair’s like, if you’re covered in it or a fuckin’ beluga whale. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not picky. I’m easy. So am I bi or pan or poly? Well, now we’re just in a clusterfuck of defining language and I’m confused and sad and horny. This is why I personally love the word queer. I understand that some people don’t as it is a slur but as someone that’s been the target of it several times throughout my life I’m up for some reclamation. It’s like recycling. The definition makes sense because until society is equal with all sexual and gender identifies, it is literally strange from a conventional viewpoint plus it’s better than a super long acronym, it’s inclusive of everyone and therefore great for formless blobs. There we go, an identity I feel comfortable with. A highly-strung, depressed queer praying for a giant meteor to hurry up and finally eradicate humanity. LMAO, yeet!

But to come full circle, I know that even today, deep in my heart the word gay scares me because that’s how I’ve been conditioned my whole life. So, you know what? Fuck the literal definition and the scientific definition and what everyone thinks. I finally have to just confront and accept this.

I’m gay.

Oh look, didn’t spontaneously fucking combust. Well, there we go, that was a lot of stress about nothing, wasn’t it? Bloody hell. So yup, I’m here, I’m queer, and don’t worry I’m still filled with existential fear.

WE’RE HERE, WE’RE QUEER WE’RE FILLED WITH EXISTENTIAL FEAR.

Chapter 5 – Fear

Even though I’m at this current place, there is still so much I’m afraid of and this has taken months to make because of that. Telling my family was a big fear. I have problems connecting with them emotionally because reasons. So I only came out to them this month and if it didn’t go well, as I’m now the independent adult that I fought so hard to be, I was ready to cut them off like the bottom of a sweater turning into a seasonal crop. But I didn’t have to, love you. I didn’t think they’d reject me these days but coming out is still a surprise. It changes things. And I’m a pretty awkward person generally but the idea of just dropping this in conversation in front of them all terrified me. And I tried several times this year to do it but I just couldn’t. So you know how I finally came out to my family? E-mail. Yep, I literally just sent them an e-mail saying and I quote,

“Hello gang. I’ve been meaning to talk to you all for a while, something quite important that should be disclosed at some point. I thought I would around Christmas, then Mum’s birthday, then last Easter Sunday, etc., but every time I meant to, I either felt like I would ruin the mood of the day or I just felt awkward and didn’t want to. So I decided just to email you all instead which is really inappropriate and just weird but that somehow seems appropriate for me and at least I’ll just finally say it.

Basically I’m gay.”

Yup. It was just getting ridiculous so I thought screw it and hey, it worked. Turns out my remaining family, pretty chill bunch of people. Even my Christian grandma said this,

“We love you for being you. It must be a great relief to finally acknowledge who you are. Popsie and I just want you to be happy. People are born as they are and have no say in it. I hope that now you will feel free to live your life as you want with no pretense.”

Aw.

“Don’t forget the iPad.”

Yes, I said I’d give her my old iPad. She mainly cares about that I thing. Wasn’t so sure when I was 17 but it went well now and I know that makes me lucky but, hey, it shows that times change. As for the other people in my life, obviously all the friends I have now are cool. If anyone in my life I’ve ever known isn’t cool with it then I don’t care. And sure here online there might be a few incredibly lost bigots following me or just some classic trolls who I think should get fucked. No, like literally, I think you should try it. You’ll probably enjoy it and you might learn something about yourself. Inevitably some of you watching this might have a weird reaction if you just feel like it was a shock or you feel hurt that I kept it from you. But I feel like I explained myself reasonably here and going forward I can’t have any space for that, sorry. I’ve come to terms with who I am and now you have to, too, ha. Funnily enough straight up homophobia is probably the one thing I’m not that afraid of, because I just don’t agree so it doesn’t hold much emotional power over me but you bet I’m opening myself up to all new kinds of in real life and international discrimination now which is fun. But one of the other big fears holding me back was, honestly, that I wouldn’t be accepted by the community. I know that it’s a big pride flag covering a lot of ground and even the idea of it and certainly most of it is amazing. But there is a lot of drama within it right now especially on the internet. You’ve got Grindr gays arguing about how manly gays should be, bi’s getting ignored, trans people, especially of color, not being historically appreciated, acephobia, fucking SWERFs and TERFs. No thank you. So even though they are my people, I know some of them will have problems with something. And even then, just seeing such a loud and proud, strong and opinionated group of people celebrating something just intimidates a smol introvert such as myself. And in my mind if these people don’t accept me because I’m not being definitive enough or I took too long then I almost feel like I’ll be alone all over again, and this is a fear that a lot of people have honestly. But I’m a nice guy and I’m trying my best so you better be welcoming, you bunch of fuckin’ queers. And obviously with the topic of sexuality, it doesn’t matter where we are or how far you think we’ve come, by merely mentioning it, I will be opening up a primordial box of bullshit which will include every single stupid argument and question since the dawn of time. [It’s not natural.] There’s gay animals. [Adam and Steve.] That’s based on a story and the protagonist that arrives later probably doesn’t agree with you. [Why can’t we have straight pride?] I could spend 10 hours on all the classic crap and people would still be asking the same things. This being posted on the internet, my hopes are so incredibly low, lower than my self-esteem.  Wow, that is unhealthy. I need to stop doing that. This video is about internalized oppression and the problems of language. I’m not here to pontificate on every topic tangentially related to the entire concept of gayness. *ASMR voice*: Pontificate on every topic tangentially related to the concept of gayness.  

There’s other humans and all the time in the world left for that. The time in the world coincidentally being not much longer. Climate change LMAO. But I had to tell my story so people would understand me and these things. Why coming out is still a big deal because queer people are often invisible and suffering until they have to do it. Some people grow up in supportive environments and it’s a positive experience. But more likely, especially around the world outside of the big cities, it isn’t. This is not a fight that is anywhere near over. Even in Britain today people are debating whether children should be taught to be accepting of sexual and gender identity in school.

Queer people exist. Choosing not to accept them is not an option.

To anyone watching this that isn’t out, it’s okay. You’re okay. You were born this way, it’s right, and anyone that has a problem with it is wrong. Based on your circumstance, you might not feel ready to tell people yet or that it’s safe and that’s fine, too. Just know that living your truth, with pride, is the way to be happy. You are valid. It gets so much better. And the future is clear. It’s pretty queer.

So there we go. Now I can proceed authentically in my life with full disclosure. Cute mutuals know to slide into the DMs. And you can all fuck off and leave me alone.

Bye.

[atc74]

Hey Ang - cause I’m in a mood...how about F. U. C. K. For the fic asks - or just pick your favorite question from those 💜

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. 

Wow, I am not even sure where to start with this! I’ve got a few favorite lines. 

This is a line from Show Me Your Scars: “Do you know what I feel? Relief; I feel relieved that it’s over. It’s not the way I wanted it to end and a part of me did love him, but I am finally relieved that there will be no more fighting, no more hiding who I really am and who I want to be. I am finally free to be me.”

This is a line from Soul to Souls (available on Amazon), my very first series:  “What the actual fuck Dan?! You have been back almost the whole time and couldn’t pick up a fucking phone and call your brother? He has been sick out his mind with grief over you! He still has nightmares, did you know that? No, you didn’t, because you couldn’t be bothered to reach out to him! What the fuck is wrong with you? Did being Hades’ bitch turn you so calloused that you don’t even care about your own blood?”

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

This is going to be a long answer: 

I am currently crushing hard on @smol-and-grumpy . She has a few great series that deeply speak to my fluffy heart, making it a bit fuller.

Something Just Like This, and it's sequel, Sky Full of Stars. Rarely do I read something that leaves such a lasting impression and makes an impact.

Dear Dean is a series I first discovered On Nat’s old blog. It’s a wartime love story with a determined and spunky OFC. It has EVERYTHING you are looking for in a good great series.

@muchamusedaboutnothing is working on the saga of sagas, Heart of a Hunter, that makes my Sundays the best day of the week. With a Doctor!Reader with a hunting background, you'll get exactly what you crave. Again, another story that makes an impact. And is educational, too!

@alleiradayne is not new to the FF world, but is making an impact on me as well, and not just personally. Her writing is well thought out, and poetic, creating beautiful imagery and emotion from thin air. She has some incredible OFC’s and will make you think twice. My personal fave canon series: There Something Strange, this is so damn good it should be an episode. 

Read: Unconventional, Cowboys and Angels, and my personal favorite one shot, Yesterday's Son.

I would also like to throw in some fun shit here: 

Favorite comfort fics: @supernatural-jackles

Favorite Queen of the AU: @luci-in-trenchcoats 

Favorite Smut Queen of the a/b/o variety: @evansrogerskitten

C: What member do you identify with most? I'm not entirely sure what "member" means here, so I am skipping this. 

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with? 

My very few angst story, I Hurt Myself Today, was probably the angstiest I've ever written in my early ideas, but I seem to be more comfortable with it now. Check out Watching You, a Sam x Reader AU that I hope will leave you breathless!

Shel, I am so sorry it took me so long to asnwer this and I am sorry you had such a bad day/week. I hope you are doing better and enjoyed your long weekend! Thank you for playing!

FanFic Ask Game

[techworkerszine]

Call for Work: Workers in Tech Zine

I spent a lot of 2018-2020 thinking about driverless cars. I wrote about them. I taught a course about them. I wrote a novel about workers in Pittsburgh’s driverless car sector that will be published [ TK ].

While working on these projects, I talked to many people in and around the AV sector (you, dear reader, are likely one of these people). In these conversations I heard solutions to fixable global problems. I heard frustrations about unfixable company-related problems. More than anything, I heard stories from workers who felt 1) incredible scrutiny and pressure at their jobs 2) incredible social scrutiny and pressure the instant they left their workplaces. Yes, I endured conversations with some true A1 Tech Assholes, but far more frequently, I spoke with employees from all levels (think after-hours employees to directors) who were incredibly self-aware about their privilege, their skill, their replaceability, the shockingly entrenched and ascendant power of their company, the shall-we-say clumsy treatment of workers at said company…

Me, an artist and writing instructor: “you should write something about all of this!”

Worker: “yeah, but where would I write for? Plus my NDA really frowns on this sort of stuff.”

I made multiple offers to look at work, of any sort, whenever they wanted, if only as an exercise in self-reflection. The more work I saw, the more I thought: it would be so beneficial for this all this work to be in conversation in some way.

So, I’m seeking writing and art from tech workers to be published in a zine alongside the release of my book in [ TK ].

_____________________

So um, I’m just supposed to write? About working in tech?

Your prompt, which you are welcome to reject or reframe in any way you see fit: what is it like to be a worker in the tech industry?

How exactly am I supposed to tackle this prompt?

It’s up to you. Visual art, short written narratives, a comic, a poem—I am big believer that artists need space, not direction (though I can certainly help provide the latter if you find yourself in need).

The only constraint is that you get two pages--think 8.5ish x 7ish. Consider those two pages yours.

Do I have to work in the driverless car sector?

No. I’m fine with loose definitions of ‘tech’ and ‘worker.’

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that my very first two thoughts are: oh I would love to tell story ‘X’, and oh I could totally get in trouble for doing this. The risk-reward is too imbalanced.

Authored pieces are welcome, as are anonymous ones. I would be the only person to know which piece was yours, and I would ensure that there’s no identifying details or information of any sort. If you doubt my commitment to protecting workers, consider: when my teachers’ union went on strike, the state education system briefly terminated our healthcare. My wife was 8.5 months pregnant. So, I picketed, without healthcare, while my wife was on the verge of labor, all because she and I believe in protecting workers’ rights.

What I’m saying is: you’re safe with me. We can talk more if you’re concerned.

So like, why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?

To the extent my novel has a thesis, it’s that blue collar work ethic is an insufficient personal credo in the face of enormous social problems. This is not some flimsily chosen notion. For years, I have burrowed into my writing well, eager to ‘work hard’ and ‘uphold familial blue collar values’ and ‘something something steel industry something something.' Meanwhile, the world outside this writing well of mine has grown tragic-comically worse seemingly every hour. It is destined to deteriorate further without a continually replenished spirit of collaboration and organization. These notions are, in part, what my novel is about, and I hope this project can put this idea into more tactile action in some small way.

Come on, be real, what’s really in it for you? Aren’t you just trying to sell more books?

Fuck yes I am, though I would revise that sentence: I am trying to help my publisher sell more books. One of my primary goals is this: I want my publisher, the heroic small press outfit Propeller Books, to break even on my novel. This is very, very important to me. Breaking even will not earn me any financial reward. It will very much reward my publisher, the heroic Dan DeWeese, who has run Propeller Books and Propeller Magazine for ten years. I very much want the press to continue for another ten (and more).

I also very much want to help ___[cause TK]______, which is why I am building upon a ‘book launch’ model my wife concocted for her own book release in January of 2021 (read more here). Whereas she created her own zine for her Level 2 perk in her Indiegogo campaign, our zine will serve as the Level 2 perk. In our (not my, our) model, Level 1 contributors would receive my novel. Level 2 contributors would receive a Book and our Zine. Level 3 would get some yet-to-be-determined benefit.

I’m looking at your wife’s page and it seems like she’s making some decent money. Do I get any of that $?

That’s the goal! The biggest cut will go to Propeller Books. A second cut will go to ________. I am working on acquiring grant funds to pay for zine printing costs, and my hope is that once zine costs are met either from grant funds or from Level 2-and-up purchases, zine contributors will split funds earned from the sale of the zine.

Seems very complicated.

Collaboration often is.

What if I just want the zine?

Spoiler: there will be many zines left over after this project. Before we sell them individually, I’d like to try and maximize the launch campaign as much as possible. I imagine you will get plenty of zines in the end.

So what is really, actually, truly required of me?

Make something. Send it to me. And, if you want, maybe participate in a launch event at White Whale Bookstore in Bloomfield when the novel comes out and vaccines are aplenty.

All this talk about ‘pieces’ and ‘comics’ and ‘anecdotes’….I’m just a freaking tech worker! I’m not an artist! Even if did want to submit, I’d have no idea how to go about it.

Look. Someone (me, a colleague, a friend) thinks you have a story to tell. That’s why you have arrived to this page. Don’t get caught up in the form. Think about your experience. What do you want people to know about you? What do they not understand about working in tech? What does your family not understand about working in tech? Your friends? Your bosses?

I know someone who would be oh-so-interested in this.

Give them my email—patrickmmcginty@gmail.com—or send them the link to this page. The more the merrier.

I’ve got to confess: I’m a little leery about making it seem as though tech workers are this incredibly disadvantaged group. I don’t want to come across as whiny.

This is a very self-aware concern, and I actually think there’s a way to invite this discomfort into whatever you submit. I also think that the best stories arise from tension, which the tech sector has quite a high supply of at the moment. It might be helpful to consider this advice I once received from a very, very smart organizer: “labor learns best from labor.” I won’t explain that quote away. Instead, I’m going to try and collect work for a zine that puts that advice into practice. 

When is this due?

Let’s say May 31st.

[hes-writer]

One Of My Own (4)

Summary: Harry falls out of love

Warnings: angst and a lil fluff 

Word Count: 4.4k

[THIS IS UNEDITED]

The weekend getaway was over and Y/N was back to reality. Harry had left shortly after dinner, indicating that he should probably look for Dani. It was an eventful two days, to say the least, but Y/N felt a little better sharing some of her internal hardships to people that will comfort and support her.

She was on her way to class when the sighting of a familiar man made her slow her pace down in order to watch his interaction with Dani. Niall and her sister were talking to each other animatedly, and she would’ve loved to stay and watch but she really had to get going. He should too, Y/N thought, since they were in the same class after all.

“Hey, Y/N. How was your weekend?” Niall greeted her cheerily, taking a seat on the chair beside her. She looked at him for a few seconds, debating if she had the right to ask what she wanted to question.

“Why were you talking to Daniela?” She interrogated, hands playing with each other as a nervous habit.

“Ah, thought I saw you walk past, didn’t even say hi to me,” Niall bore a grin towards her, avoiding the extent of her question.

Y/N knew that Harry felt more comfortable keeping their relationships to themselves, not because he was embarrassed by her; but because he wanted to make sure that the person that he was with currently would be there for a long time. He explained to her some time ago and she understood since she was also quite iffy of Harry meeting her sister. So, she really didn’t know many of Harry’s friends, not aware that Niall was one of them.

“Sorry, had to get to class,” She shrugged her shoulders, pulling out a pen and notebook. “Are you gonna answer me?”

“Woah, slow down tiger,” Niall widened his eyes at her intrusive question. “Well, just came to talk to her cause there’s been some rumors going around,”

Y/N turned her shoulders to face him, interested in what he had to say and if she could do anything to help her sister out-- after all, they were still relatives. “What kind of rumors?”

“Heard she stole her own sister’ boyfriend,” Niall whispered, looking around as if he didn't want anybody else to know. “What a bitch! And that boyfriend’s a fucking asshole,”

She was alert, back extended to her full height as she let the next words fall out of her mouth, “Do you know t-their names?”

“Hmm well, I think her sister’s name is Y/N? Not you though,” He tilted his chin to gesture at her. “And I dunno the boyfriend, but she’s dating a new guy now,”

“Oh really?” “Yeah, he’s my best mate,”

“Your best mate?” Y/N stuttered out, feeling her heart start to pound. From the corner of her eye, she could see the professor walk down the angled slope towards the front of the lecture hall.

“Yeah. Harry Styles? Do you know him?” Niall asked, completely oblivious. “He was a dating a Y/N too,”

She only gulped at him, “Funny, isn’t it?” He continued, trailing off when the puzzle pieces fit with each other, “Wait, d-did you-- are you..?”

Y/N blinked, facing the front. She could feel Niall’s blue eyes lingering on the side of her face, watching her with caution and what she’s been used to recently--empathy. But, he didn’t say anything.

------

Harry was over at Dani’s apartment for the day. It was the first time that they’ve met up since the disastrous dinner at her parents’ house. Harry ducked down from the flying shoe that speedily whizzed past his head.

“That’s funny, I thought boyfriends were supposed to support their girlfriend!” Dan’s voice bellowed from the distance where she threw the shoe.

For the time that he was alone, Harry had confirmed to himself that he did--indeed--  still loves Y/N. He figured the feelings were pulling at his heart, but his talk with Carlos further exemplified the things he was feeling. Not only that, but the newfound knowledge about Dani’s evil-doings had kicked him in the gut.

“Not when you hurt people, Dani”

“Now you care about Y/N?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him and Harry swore that that was all she did nowadays.

“I always cared for her,”

“Even when you fucked me in your bed while you were still together?” A ringing appeared near Harry’s ears as if it was information that was hard to swallow. “You’re lying to yourself,”

“You manipulated me,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “You used me to hurt her and I let you,”

Dani responded, "So what if I did? All my life the attention has been on her. Everybody prefers her and I can't stand it so I did what I had to do to make her feel like she deserves,” She crossed her arms across her chest, “It’s not my fault you left her,”

"You’re so jealous of her that you've gone insane,” Harry twirled his finger against his temple, striding his long leg towards Dani, “We’re over.”

“Am I supposed to be hurt by that?"

“If you truly loved me, it should." It was a loose thread that Harry was pulling at. Through the short months of being with Dani, he couldn’t help but develop fundamental feelings for her--he was only human after all, and being in a relationship can boggle with his mind.

“But I didn't,” And Harry really shouldn’t have cared by that statement because he expected it. However, his desire to find a mate kicks in and he is met with the realization that he had neither a partner or a sentimental value of love. It’s not like Y/N would take him back either.

“Don’t look at me like I just kicked a puppy,” Dani interrupts his train of thought. “You'll get over it quickly,”

Harry was gobsmacked with the intensity of it all. He just found out that his own girlfriend lied to him about her childhood, and he realized his feelings for Y/N but now, he can’t even do anything about it. What are the chances of her letting him talk to her, let alone be in the same room as her?

Daniela was a--very--cold woman to be able to do the thing she did. She could’ve simply talked Y/N about how she felt; Harry was sure that Y/N would’ve listened to her worries. But no, she was a bulldozer that attacked the moment she got the chance and Y/N was blinded by the idea of blood being thicker than water that she let herself get trampled by her own sister.

As for Harry, he found himself in a mindset the picked on everything he did wrong. Y/N was such a strong woman for handling things the way she did. When she answered the door for them, she greeted them in a civilized way--with a smile even. And when Dani insulted her right in front of their family, Y/N was dignified and didn’t let it bother her but before she went upstairs again, Harry could see the pain in her eyes. She was crumbling and he could clearly identify that she was screaming for help; but not from him. Even if he was the last man on earth, and she was drowning; she’d rather let herself fall freely than come back to him.

She had all the right to be hateful, but she didn’t. It wasn’t in her nature to cut people off and it came with its pros and cons. The good thing is, he could still walk up to her and have a conversation. The bad thing was that it probably wouldn’t be very pleasant for both of them. Y/N would probably fight through wanting to punch his stupid face while Harry scoured his mind for something interesting to say.

Y/N deserved so much love--love that he didn’t give her before because he was blinded by what he thought was love for Daniela. He thought that Y/N and he were a dead end and he flew before he could get hurt; not taking into account that he was hurting instead. He was a selfish man, he concurs. But he’s changed, he could feel something different spiking through within him. He was more prepared this time, more knowledgeable and Harry promised himself that he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He had a plethora building up within him--for Y/N-- but he wasn’t allowed to give it to her no matter how much he wanted to. She won’t accept. Frankly, he doesn’t blame her. What he did was cruel--too cruel. In fact, he doesn’t know if he’ll find a way to get back on his feet if Y/N did something similar to him; much less doing it on his own like Y/N was at the moment. He betrayed and abandoned her for her own sister. That’s twofold the pain that one would go through a cheating partner.

Speaking of, he hasn’t actually talked to her since, well, since they ‘broke up.’ If he felt bad before everything spilled, his feeling exacerbated when he saw her looking thinly and like she didn’t get enough sleep. There was no use trying to conjure up reasons as to why her appearance changed because Harry knew deep inside that he was the reason why she wasn’t taking care of herself.

-------

While Harry was mourning over a loss of great love, Y/N was being lifted off of her sorrows by the one and only Niall. Despite knowing each other for only a few weeks--close to a month-- Y/N somehow found it in herself to let Niall in through her high walls and thick skin. She let him see that parts of her that she was afraid of because she felt like she could trust him. And so far, he made no action to disprove her conclusion. He was different, but she was still wary.

Niall and Y/N were getting close and closer each day. They started hanging out outside of class time. They started talking about other topics and not only about the project they’d been assigned. Niall saw more of Y/N coming out of her shell, and she watched as the usually bubbly boy became vulnerable in the confines of her apartment walls.

“Chocolate is better than vanilla!” Niall exclaimed at her, spoon digging inside his pudding cup. “Change my mind,”

Y/N made a muffled sound with closed lips. Her mouth is filled by vanilla pudding. She shook her head in disagreement, “Nuh uh,”

“Yeah huh,” He responded as he outstretched his hand out to hers, indirectly asking for her pudding cup so that he could throw it in the bin. She was almost done with it.

“I don’t understand. Chocolate pudding is kind of bitter,”

“But vanilla pudding is too sweet!” He grabbed her cup, heading to the attached kitchen to rinse out the remains before tossing it in the recycling bin.

As Y/N watched him being so domestic--being so caring for her-- she realized that this was exactly how Harry acted in the early stage of their relationship. It seemed that she kept comparing Niall and Harry’s actions, and she would always make herself sadder by the thought. Whatever Niall did, Harry would find a way to disclose the happy moment by reminding Y/N of what used to be and made her cautious of what could happen again if she let Niall come too close.

Y/N mumbled to herself quietly, trying to shut off the thoughts about how Niall will only hurt her.

“What was that, Y/N?” He asked, plopping his bum down on the couch beside her.

“I think you should leave,” She said so softly that Niall only got whisps of her sentence.

“Hmm? You wanna watch something else?” He grabbed the remote from the table in front of them. “I know you like rom-coms so maybe we’ll watch that,”

The TV flicked to the main menu. He browsed through the categories, briefly glancing at her. “Oi, what’s wrong?”

“I think you should leave,” Y/N said more sternly. Guilt was eating up her inside. Somehow, it felt wrong to have Niall over while she was still thinking of her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t fair to him either.

Her statement made him drop the remote on his lap. He winced a little but his eyes widened in surprise. His mouth opened and close, not knowing what to say when someone asks you to leave. “Oh, d-did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head ‘no’. “I just--- I have stuff to do and I won’t be able to focus,”

Niall nodded understandingly, but he was still discombobulated by the sudden request to exit the building. He stood up, grabbing his phone on the table before wrapping his arms in his coat that he had hung by the door. His hand grasped the doorknob, looking at her for a final time before he left. “Y/N,”

She looked up to him from her position on the couch, the tears she’d tried to dry out spilling a little over her waterline, “Yeah?”

“I’m here for you,”

---------

Niall was worried for Y/N. Since the day she had asked him to leave, he hasn’t seen much of her on campus. It was like she was avoiding him. Actually, he was certain that she was avoiding him because she recently switched seats to the other side of the room. She wouldn’t even look on his direction, much less spare him a subtle wave or glance. He tried calling out her name one day after class, but he got no response from her. He could only watch as her head of hair disappeared among the mass crowd that hid her from him.

Y/N was disappointed in herself. She was aware of what she was doing this time. She was isolating herself and her pride wouldn’t let her overcome the loop she’d put herself in. Niall was getting closer to her faster than she had anticipated and it sent her into a frenzy. Was she ready? She didn’t know if she was prepared to let somebody in again--even though Niall had squeezed himself in--she was scared.

She was shaking in her boots, teeth nipping on her fingernails as her eyes shifted from one corner of the room to the other because her mind couldn’t stay quiet in the late hours of the night. Y/N was under the covers, hiding from the harsh reality of the world. Would it be so wrong to let Niall in? She so badly wanted to but there was a pull in her heart that warned her. She didn’t know if she was being paranoid or there was something suspicious about Niall.

Nonetheless, Niall was very persistent in being in her life. He reached out to her in any way he knew how.; chased her after class, but she ignored it. He left voice messages on her phone when she failed to answer his calls. He spammed her with texts despite always being left on read. He was trying so hard and she was rejecting him with the same energy--pushing him away, yet he pushed back and with it, he polished off the ball that is Y/N’s fear of abandonment, making it more real than she thought possible.

-----------------

“Hey H,” Niall greeted as Harry opened the door to his apartment. He was over for the day to hang out and chill. The two boys haven’t done so in a while, especially with exams and assignments running at full speed.

“What’s up, man?” Harry responded, leaning in for a hug.

Niall walked into the small living room--as Harry had instructed--while he gathered up some snacks and drinks to keep them filled while they caught up with each others’ lives. Minutes later, Harry and his bowl filled arms came into view.

“How’s you and Dani?” Niall questioned. He remembered how Y/N’s face looked when they talked about the topic before, and he was antsy to confirm the truth.

“We broke up,” It was a solemn confession from him, but Harry was relieved.

“Why’s that?”

“We just-- we didn't work out,” Harry stuttered out an excuse. “How about you? Found anybody you like?”

Niall cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he was caught off guard of how quickly the question was directed to him. “Uh, yeah actually. Got my eye on someone,”

“Innit?” Harry punched Niall’s knee in a teasing manner, “What’s her name? Do I know her?” He took a gulp from canned ice tea, filling his cheeks with the slightly chilled beverage.

“Her name’s Y/N,” Niall watched carefully as Harry’s eyes widened, fighting himself from spilling the liquid out of his mouth. “Not sure if it’s *your Y/N, though,”

Harry asked him what that Y/N looked like and from the way Niall as eyeing him cautiously, he knew that both of them were tiptoeing on a topic that was bound to make them face the truth. And when Niall described Y/N’s appearance first, Harry couldn’t help but envision a perfect image of her in his mind—having not forgotten such a beautiful face. However, once Niall rambled in about her ‘perfect personality’; how she was nice and sweet, but humble and gentle—Harry felt his heart hurting because that totally sounded like his Y/N.

“Does that sound like your Y/N?”

Harry nodded, unable to deny something that was so undeniably true. It was quiet for minutes, neither of them saying a word to each other.

“Harry,” Niall began. “Were you—did you leave Y/N for her sister?”

He nodded hesitantly but nonetheless witnessed as hope vanished from Niall’s baby blue eyes. He was praying that Harry wouldn’t do such a thing, but he was proven wrong. “I did, yeah, I-,”

“That’s … not very nice,”

“Don’t you think I know that already?” Harry gassed, squinting his eyes. His nostrils were flaring from hearing the way Niall talked to him as if he didn’t know that what he did was terrible.

“Don’t get angry at me! I’m just saying,” Niall raised his hands up in the air. “That’s pretty fucked up man,”

“I thought we were drifting. I had to get out before it got worse,” He gulped, trying to explain himself. “I didn’t think I was gonna fall for Dani,”

“Don’t you think you should’ve talked to Y/N first?”

“Yes but sh-she,” Harry stuttered over his words. The simplest thing he could’ve done to avoid this whole mess was to talk to Y/N, but it somehow managed to slip his mind. If he communicated with her, maybe they would’ve fixed this and gone over the bump. “You’re right. I’m going to talk—,”

Niall phone buzzed loudly on the glass surface of the coffee table. He reached out to grab the device. “It’s Y/N, I have to go,”

Harry watched as Niall got up on his feet, waiting for him to do the same so he could bid him goodbye properly. The blonde patted the others’ shoulder firmly as if to reprimand him of his wrongdoing.

“Where are you going?”

Niall looked over his shoulder, shrugging on his coat by the door. “Her place,”

It was all Niall said before he unlocked the door and swung it open. Harry was left with his wandering thoughts that imagined filthy things going on between Y/N and his friend. He shook his head to get rid of them.

He sat on his love seat chair, legs spread widely as he covers his face with the expanse of his palm. He glanced up towards the ceiling, silently praying to a God that would be able to help him figure hot to cure the ache in his heart know that Y/N was progressing from him and slowly replacing him. He had no right to be angry but he couldn’t help but want to burst into her place and blame her for moving on too fast; for not even trying to fix them before she let the fire between them simmer. But Harry knew that she was doing the best thing that she can for herself, and as much as he didn’t want her to—he was a selfish man and Harry wanted Y/N all to himself.

-----

“We’re almost done!” Y/N exclaimed excitedly from across Niall. They were in her bedroom, sat on her bed with papers surrounding both of them. Her laptop jostled over from her lap when she bounced from the knowledge that their efforts would soon dwindle when they finish this assignment.

“Oi, calm down Y/N. I have to focus,” Niall replied as he but his lip. Fingers typing on the keyboard to finish the last bits of information needed on the ‘reference’ page.

Y/N pouted at being reprimanded but she let her eyes dance on her own laptop screen as the pink line moved on the Google Doc that they were sharing. “Sorry, I’m excited to relax,”

It was true. Since Niall arrived, they’ve hit it straight to the ballpark. They’ve not had a break since hours ago and her stomach was rumbling with need.

“And done!” Niall accentuated his words with a final tap to his keyboard—submitting an assignment had never felt better than it did right at this moment.

Y/N gathered the papers in a neat pile before placing them in a blue folder. Niall shut down his computer, preparing to pack for his departure for the night. “Where are you going, Ni?”

He paused, halfway to zipping his bag when she asked him that. “Uh, my place?

“But it’s,” Y/N glanced at her alarm clock. “Eleven-thirty in the evening!”

“So?” Niall raises his brows in confusion.

“So? You can’t go out that late,”

“Then where am I supposed to sleep tonight,” He replied. Y/N thought the idea over her head and concluded that it wouldn’t be too big of a deal to let Niall stay the night.

“Here, of course,” She places her school materials on her desk, clearing her bed of any clutter.

“You want me,” He pointed at his chest. “To sleep here tonight?” Y/N nodded enthusiastically.

Y/N squealed as Niall landed on the spot beside her, body flopping against the mattress. He released a slight groan, “Ooo, your bed is comfy,”

She giggled when he spread out his limbs purposely, shoving her off the bed eventually. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“‘M a big guy, I need all the space I can get,” Y/N puffed air out from her tightly closed lips, mocking his words.

“You’re not that big,”

“Size doesn’t matter,” He mumbled the best he could with his cheek being squished against the soft pillows.

Y/N slapped his shoulder for his innuendo, instructing him to get up so that they could head to the kitchen and fix themselves some very late dinner.

Niall watched from his spot on her kitchen table as Y/N seemed to dance around from spot to spot, collecting ingredients and mixing them in the pot on the stove. His mouth watering with the delicious aroma wafting the air around him despite the exhaust fan above being turned on.

“Y/N, I have a question,” She hummed in response. “Did Harry leave you for Dani?”

Y/N paused her movements, arm stuck frozen from its stirring position. He couldn’t see her face and she was glad because she was sure that it must’ve morphed into a crumpled expression.

“Actually, you don’t have to answer that,” Niall cleared his throat. “He was a jerk to do that. Harry, I mean,”

He continued when Y/N didn’t respond verbally. “I apologize for him. He’s my friend and I’m having a hard time comprehending that he could do something so vile,”

“But I want you to know that he doesn’t deserve you,”

Y/N felt the warmth of his body against the expanse her back and she was rendered frozen once again. “I know,”

She could hear him chuckle breathily and for a moment, she smiled too. “That’s good to hear,”

“I’m trying to get over him, you know,” She sighed, finally turning around, only to be met with his broad chest. She stared at the white shirt that covered his skin, thinking through her next words. “It’s hard,”

“But being with you,” Y/N lifted a hand up to his chest, letting a finger trace lightly. Niall’s heart quickened its pace, she could tell from the increasingly deeper breaths he took. She swore she could feel his heartbeat pounding through the barriers.

His hands touched her lower back gently just after he switched the stove knob off. He was afraid to take her by surprise when he felt her body tense, but it soon relaxed against his touch. Niall was looking at the top of her head because of his height advantage, and he so badly wanted to tilt her chin up and bore his eyes into her pretty ones.

“But with you, it gets easier.”

And maybe it was stupid of Harry to impulsively visit Y/N at the slither of dusk, and even stupider when he put his key--that he never gave back to her--in the keyhole because she wasn’t answering the door. His mind was fuzzy and he wasn’t thinking clearly; maybe his knocks were too light against the wood of the door. He thought Y/N was ignoring him because he can clearly see a crack of light from underneath in front of his feet. It was the stupidest thing to enter her apartment, ready to softly call out her name. He can smell the food she’d always especially make for him---it wasn’t just his mouth-watering, but his eyes as well because the root of the intoxicating scent was centered on the stove. He couldn’t see the appliance because of two bodies blocking the way. 

He really wished that he’d just waited behind the closed door and not witness the sight in front of him.

-----

okay so I said I was recurringly posting part 4 with pt3 but im late sO O WELL. AND YES, there will be a pt5 cause i haven't said all i wanted to say 

this is me squeezing out the last of the writing cells out of my brain 

more of this series; Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 

-----

permanent taglist; @ynm1505 @ynm1505 @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @calums-sugarbaby @queenbeestuffs @ashkuuuu @kettxo @send-me-styles @ofpeppermintbay @littledreamybeth @trustfulhaz @harrysfeastedflower @harrystxleslx  lorena123789

[aelysalthea]

The Secret Lives of Neil Josten

Chapter 5: Allison's Specific Skillset

The winter banquet was a celebration of peacock strutting and puffed chests. Allison knew it, just as every other member of her team did. Even the more oblivious freshmen were aware of the foolish posturing; it was apparent by the dragging of feet and the moaning of their requisite attendance at a stadium a flight and extended bus trip away from Palmetto State.

That didn't mean that Allison didn't revel in it, though. She would damn-well make the most of it, and she'd look fucking fabulous as she did. And, if she had any say in the matter, her team would look just as on-point.

Which was why, as their motley crew ambled one by one out of the change rooms with suit and tie or fitted dresses pervading, Allison ran a calculating eye over the lot of them. Some, like the twins, weren't worth her time, for any demand wouldn't elicit anything but a glare and a potential loss of limb on her part. The freshmen, though, were easier meat, and she'd already made short work of fixing up her own sub's mess of a hairstyle and sent another pair back to the bathroom to redo their own poor attempts.

"Nicky, what the fuck?" Allison said as Nicky emerged into the hallway in a waft of cologne and colours so bright that they were surely identifiable from a satellite. Nicky, the fucker, only grinned, and Allison rolled her eyes. Another lost cause. As she turned from him in a fit of disgust, it was to see Dan and Matt wearing twin smirks like the cheeky, judge-y power couple that they were.

"I don't want to hear it," Allison said, folding her arms stoutly.

Matt held up both hands. "Hey, I'm not saying anything."

"But I am," Dan said. Her smirk became a grin. "Good to know you're picking up the slack."

Allison scowled. "I don't have a choice. I swear, it's worse this year than last."

"Except that last year you didn't bother with correcting your perceived mistakes," Renee said, coming up behind Allison and bumping her hip with her own. Allison didn't bother with running a glance over her to be sure of her refinement; Renee had more than enough class. "You didn't have as much pride in our team as you do this year. It's nice to see."

Allison clicked her tongue, tightening the fold of her arms as she turned towards Renee. Opening her mouth to reply, she paused as she caught sight of Neil and Kevin stepping from the men's change room, locked in muted conversation. Kevin was experienced enough in bathing in the spotlight to know how to dress with a modicum of decency, but Neil?

For a moment, Allison could only frown and purse her lips. Maybe she shouldn't… except that in this case, unlike with the monsters, maybe she could.

Snapping on a heel, Allison strode towards them and, before they'd more than stopped and glanced her way, she caught Neil by the elbow and tugged him in the direction of the women's change rooms. She ignored the glance Andrew shot their way – it was usually better to simply not engage – and didn't slow for Neil's startled query.

"What's wrong?" he asked, shaking himself loose as Allison stalked towards the mirrors. "Allison, what -?"

"We're making a change this year, Neil," she said, scooting around him to shoo him further into the empty room. Perfume hung in the air in a cloying cloud of jumbled fragrances that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but Neil nonetheless scrunched his nose as she nudged him through it. "That change starts with you."

"What about me?" Neil asked, eyeing her warily over his shoulder.

Standing behind him, peering at their reflection in the mirror above the sinks, Allison planted her hands on his shoulders. She studied his visage for a moment, flicked a quick glance down the more than sufficient suit he wore, then returned to studying his face. As was typical of him, as had been typical for a long time, Neil rarely gave himself the benefit of looking at his own reflection. A shame, really; despite his reluctance to engage in any kind of hairstyling or painted touch-ups, and despite the scars that were only just beginning to fade on his cheeks, he was a damn good looking kid.

"You're not making the most of what you've got," Allison said, digging her fingers briefly into his shoulders. "It's embarrassing to be seen with someone so negligent of their own appearance."

"You don't have to be seen with me," Neil pointed out. "You can sit at the other end of the table or something."

"I'd still be guilty by association. When you don't take care of your appearance for the sake of appearances, it reflects on the team, Neil. I'm not having that. Not anymore."

Neil frowned, and Allison could see in his eyes that he wasn't moved. "You're overthinking things. People don't care about that kind of thing."

Allison shook her head. "See, that's where you're wrong. You don't care because you've never cared what you look like. Or, more specifically, you've never cared if people aren't wowed by you. Right?"

It wasn't quite accurate, but Allison didn't say what both of them already knew – that Neil hadn't the time, energy, or care to play to the whims of fast-fashion and social posturing that every other child and teenager had engaged in or at least been aware of since the first day they stepped onto school grounds. Allison didn't pity Neil, wouldn't do him such a disservice, but she'd been lenient. Until now.

"You can care to care a little more now," she said, raising her hands to his head and plucking a strand of his hair in silent request. It was a little wiry, the ends still a deadened by the distinctive texture of hair dye. "Consider it a part of your job description now."

Neil's face twisted. It was a complicated expression that Allison couldn't quite read and was only emphasised by the way he tipped his head out of her reach, letting the long curl of his bangs fall across his face. "I play exy. That's the job description."

"You really are an idiot if you actually think that," Allison muttered, reaching for him again. "Hold still for a second. Come on, let me work my magic. I'll only work with the foundations you've got. I'm not changing anything about you innately. We don't have time for that."

"Allison," Neil began.

"Neil." Allison arched an eyebrow and Neil's lips thinned. He was unimpressed personified, but Allison didn't care. Or at least she didn't care enough to stop her efforts. "Look, I'll cut you a deal. Let me fix you up and if you really don't like what I do you can rearrange it back into the mess you usually have. Fair?" When no reply met her words, she rolled her eyes. "If you're going to be a public figure you may as well get used to people prodding you. Consider it me helping to ease you into it."

Neil's expression didn't shift at her words. The tightness that had settled in his shoulders remained too. And yet, in spite of that, he didn't retreat further and didn't openly protest, so Allison took it for a win. She quickly got to work.

It didn't take long. Neil really did have a good foundation to work off, and if Allison had more time and products at her disposal than a comb and minimal make-up, she knew she could really make something of him. Certainly something worthy of a professional athlete in the throes of glamour. She hadn't wasn't the time or the resources though, so she plucked through Neil's hair, flicked and tucked it, tweaking the strands of hair until they sat just right.

"You should put product in this," Allison murmured, more to herself than to Neil. "You've probably destroyed it with all the colour that's been put through it. You should go to a hairdresser or something."

"I cut it myself," Neil said quietly.

Allison paused. "What? Really?"

"Is that so hard to imagine?"

"I guess not." Slowly, she began picking up her work once more. Maybe it wasn't so unexpected that Neil would cut his own hair – Renee had been doing her own too for years – but she somehow hadn't seen it coming. "Have you ever fucked it up before?"

Neil made a neutral sound. "It's good enough to pass."

"Good enough to pass. Good enough isn't really good enough though, you know."

Allison trailed off as she fiddled, and Neil didn't reply. Allison didn't expect him to. What more was there to say? She knew she and Neil held vastly different opinions about public image, even if she was realistic enough to acknowledge that they were both gifted with exceptional basics. It didn't dampen her flicker of frustration, however. It was almost as though no one had ever prevailed upon Neil the benefits of aesthetic attraction, or the satisfaction and confidence it could instil in a person. Most likely they hadn't.

Muttering to herself, Allison continued her work. It was hard to stop but after a minute or two she was lowering her hands and taking a step back, admiring her handiwork with a tilt of her head. Allison couldn't help but smile as she gestured to the mirror for Neil to behold himself. The hair, a touch of colour added to his face, a minor adjustment to the set of his suit and a flick of his shoulders to nudge him into a slightly different posture – it was the little things that could make the biggest difference.

"See?" she said as Neil reluctantly turned to his reflection. "Better, right?"

Unimpressed still remained forefront. Allison could see it, and she could see that it wasn't going to waver. Even so, it was with only a hint of disappointment that she watched Neil take a step closer to the mirror, take a hand to his hair, and pause for only a moment to glance at her as though asking permission. When Allison sighed and rolled her eyes, he immediately set about redressing himself. That disappointment faded a little as she watched with more than a little fascination as Neil work his own magic.

Time. She's always considered it to be a product of time, necessity, and lack of care that had Neil dressed in rags and faded colours, his hair outgrown and posture tipped in just such a way as to make him seem slightly smaller, slightly reserved, just a little less inviting to the average passer-by. It made sense with his history; without the care and money, even she would be hard pressed to maintain optimal presentation.

As she watched, however, Allison realised she had been wrong. Was still a little bit wrong even, though understanding slowly dawned. Neil didn't not care – he simply cared enough to channel his efforts in the opposite direction.

Every lock of hair created an effect, hid a feature or distracted from his face. Chin tipped down, eyes lowered and diverted with it, and shoulders slightly raised added to the impression. Even how he adjusted his tie just so, the settled weight of his jacket slightly too, bespoke deliberate manipulation that could have been a careless oversight.

But it was practiced. It was specific. Allison watched Neil fix himself into his version of 'comfortable and practical' that so vastly contrasted to her own and yet had served its purpose in just the same way: it was what Neil had and perhaps even still did need. It was what grounded him and gave him confidence just as a pair of killer shoes and skin-tight dress bolstered Allison's own.

It might have been strange to consider Neil actively trying to slide beneath the radar to the point that he would adjust his appearance for it, especially understanding him as Allison did. He was nothing if not blunt, vicious on the court, and uncaring of what others truly thought of him enough to all but spit in their faces. And yet somehow it just… wasn't. Even if he shed his reserved persona entirely when on the court, or with the rest of the Foxes, or even in the offhanded interview that Wymack allowed him, it wasn't really all that unexpected at all. If anything it somehow fit, and Allison abruptly lost any desire to attempt to readjust what she'd similarly adjusted in her other teammates that night already.

When Neil glanced back at her, challenge in his eyes as though he expected her to descend upon him once more, Allison pursed her lips. She studied him in silence for a moment before clicking her tongue. "Alright, you're good. I'll give you that."

Neil frowned. "What?"

With a roll of her eyes, Allison shook her head and turned from the change rooms. "The most stupid part is that I almost don't know if you do it deliberately," she said, and stalked from the room. As she did, however, she couldn't help but shoot a glance over her shoulder towards Neil and consider him in a faintly different light.

In the year and a half since she'd first met him, Allison's opinion of Neil had changed drastically. Maybe she shouldn't be surprised that it was still changing.

***

"What did Allison want?" Kevin said as Neil fell into step alongside him.

Neil only shrugged. Really, after all of her fussing, he still didn't quite know himself. "Nothing."

"Then what took so long?" Kevin cast a glance over the heads of their teammates as they descended the hallway towards the court, peering into the stadium that already thrummed with noise. "We're practically the last team to arrive."

"Calm down, Kevin, before you pop a hernia," Nicky said, all but bouncing in step as he hastened past them. He winked at Neil as he did so. "Besides, they weren't even the last ones out of the change rooms. Coach took longer. Fucking unbelievable, I'll tell you."

"Quite your nattering up the back there," Wymack shot over his shoulder with a pointed glare in Nicky's direction. Nicky only grinned and Wymack's grunt disregarded further attempts at quelling him. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, you lot. Keep it clean tonight."

"Hey, we've got no beef with anyone here anymore," Dan said, striding alongside Wymack. "No more than every other team has with each other. There won't be a fuss this year, Coach. I'll make sure of it."

Wymack grunted again. "I can't say I'm particularly reassured," he said, but didn't expand further.

Neil's attention was drawn back to Kevin as a hand swiped before his face, catching his bangs and flipping them aside. "You need to do something about this," Kevin said. "Get it cut. It's not presentable."

Neil scowled. First Allison and now Kevin? Why did they feel the need to kick up their own personal fuss that evening? It wasn't like he had anything to prove; everyone already knew what he looked like and dressing up was… uncomfortable.

"I like it how it is," Neil muttered.

"It looks sloppy," Kevin said.

"So?"

"So, it's not professional."

"What does a hairstyle have to do with professionalism? It has absolutely no bearing on how I play on the court."

"You're not just a player on a court now," Kevin said as they stepped out onto the exy court itself, the sounds and wash of colours and people flooding over them. "Your game doesn't stop with the buzzer."

Allison had said much the same thing minutes before, but for some reason she'd backed off. Kevin, Neil suspected, wasn't quite so inclined. He was a dog with a bone when it came to Neil's game. Neil just hadn't anticipated it to spill off the court quite so much.

"When the length of a players hair or what he wears when it's not a uniform starts to matter more than how they actually play," he said flatly, "then I'll know that exy's been well and truly corrupted. Pardon me for not pandering to the changeable whims of a camera, the media, and the fashion industry that I couldn't give a fuck about."

Kevin's scowl was fully formed in an instant, and he wasn't the only one to turn towards Neil. Matt grinned over his shoulder, and a couple of the freshmen shot him curious glances. Neil spared Matt a nod but mostly had attention for Andrew pacing at his side as they split to head to their table. Andrew, who was regarding him sidelong with an unblinking stare.

"What?" he asked.

Andrew didn't reply, only strode past him to plant himself in his chosen seat at the table. Even so, Neil wasn't quite sure why but for all of Kevin's huffing and Allison's fiddling, he didn't think he was alone in his opinion. Certainly so, given that Andrew bore an expression that wasn't quite a smile, wasn't quite a break in his expression, but was as close as it ever really came.

Neil didn't need to prove himself to anyone, and certainly not with fancy hair and fancier clothes. And yet it somehow felt just a little nice to have someone on his team. Just a little.

[kincringeemporium]

A peek into factkinfriendly.tumblr.com

Sure has been a while since I wrote one of my classic, salty, long posts. And what better way to break that hiatus than by scarring your minds with age regression Game Grumps aesthetics, Jeffery Dahmer kin, historical figures with Tumblr blogs, and a person who believes they are their own grandmother? Let’s go! 

Disclaimer: I’m not inviting you to witch hunt this blog. Okay... now, let’s go! 

We’ll start off with this perplexing little dilemma... 

Ah, yes. The teenager who genuinely thinks that people can be kin with real, living people and thinks that it’s acceptable... is worried about trolls. And this really makes me wonder what in the hell could raise their suspicions, when they have literal serial killer kinnies requesting aesthetics for their favorite killer & shooter ships. 

I’m serious. Killer... and shooter... ships. 

 Now, I’m aware this is an old post and whoever sent this in has hopefully grown out of serial killer kin hell. Regardless, this gave me a full-body cringe and made me laugh so hard that I started wheezing and sounding like a dying rat. 

Now... using the actual photographs of killers in these oh so charming aesthetics just slathers another thick, goopy layer of creep factor on top. And I’m pretty sure I pulled that exact face as I finished laughing, subsequently realizing just how done I am with this website. 

We’ve gone from 0 to 60 here, so let me dig through my dozen tabs to find something a little lighter and cheerier. Hm... looking, looking... oh. Oh, no. Not like that! 

It’s bad enough that people are identifying as YouTubers, because there are these things called acting, egos, characters, pretending, and so on. Though these kids probably aren’t too familiar with the concept of “pretend”, since everything is real to them. And everything is fair game. Including finding relaxation and enjoyment in children’s activities. Yes... if you enjoy balloons, bubble baths, candy, and balloons, you are, in fact, a child. 

And yes, it’s definite fact that Dan Avidan is a soft pastel age regression young boy. Quick, someone add that to his Wiki page! 

And speaking of updating information to 100% totally true things, someone also needs to inform the world that we’ve misunderstood Marie Antoinette, so now that she’s back, we need to be super nice and make her some pretty pink aesthetics... maybe bake a few cakes, too... 

Seriously, what in the fuck do fairies and dolls have to do with Marie Antoinette? 

And what does this French magician have to do with -- wait. Gimme a moment here. Another duel? 

“Another duel.” Okay. 

“In this life.” I’m pretty sure we call them street fights, and that unless you’re in a PVP enabled zone Texas or Russia or some place similar, you can’t just walk about carrying a weapon for fencing? I’m also pretty sure that nobody is going to jump out of a dark alleyway and attack you with a rapier? 

Wow. Alright, I need to find something more modern... I need to ground myself in reality, in this time period, so that post doesn’t knock me into an endless spiral of unreality and then into the wormhole I probably deserve. Let’s see... 

Huh. That’s really not so bad. And if kin were real, I’d say it’s solid advice... in fact, you can apply that to things that are actually real, like being transgender or gay. It’s always a good idea to think through scenarios for how someone might react to that, so long as it won’t cause anxiety problems... 

Oh. Wait. 

You know what? That’s it. I’m absolutely done writing this p 

[Post terminated early at 1:39 p.m. due to Khorra’s unwillingness to deal with it anymore. Fuck this factkin blog.}

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (Last Chapter!)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER FOURTEEN] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: 71,815 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, heavy drinking, drug mentions, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven] [Chapter Eight] [Chapter Nine] [Chapter Ten] [Chapter Eleven] [Chapter Twelve] [Chapter Thirteen]

[Ao3!]

This chapter is NSFW. Explicit. Sex happens.

A shrill, tinkling noise is coming from the end of the hall. There’s a door there, with a sliver of light peeking out beneath it - the only light, aside from that which the moon drools through the windows lining the grey brick walls. Dan creeps across the cobblestone, towards the door. The silky, wet moonlight is splashing all over him, dampening his arms, covering him in a pearlescent glow that drips from his fingers, to the grey stone beneath his feet. It won’t do, he thinks, trying to cover up his skin with his sleeves. Someone will notice the peculiarity, will point and stare, and he will be singled out as the moonlight-covered monstrosity. He walks on a little faster. It’s just as well he hasn’t seen a soul for hours. Or has it been days?

Dan is searching for someone, the person that was at his side when he first arrived here. He cannot picture the person’s face, but they have blue eyes, and black hair, and his mother’s voice, and his father’s clothes. The tinkling noise is growing louder, definitely coming from behind the door. He reaches it, heart thumping, and tries to ignore the way the moonlight is dripping from his soaked sleeves, creating a puddle at his feet. He steels himself, and pushes the door open. Light floods in, along with that eerie musical sound. He shuts his eyes against the brightness, against the cacophony, and when he opens them he’s in Phil’s room, beside Phil, who has switched on his bedside light.  

“Who has an alarm on a Sunday?” Phil asks, irritably, from beside him, grabbing Dan’s phone off his bedside table and dropping it onto Dan’s chest. 

Dan fumbles with the thing for a moment, managing to hit the snooze button. “I have work,” he croaks.

He’s cold, he realises. He’s thought that the bleak, stone corridors he’d been wandering in his dream were the source, but now he understands that his chilliness is more to do with the fact that Phil has wrapped himself in a cocoon of covers, leaving Dan half bare on the mattress. To punish him, Dan pushes his icy feet under the duvet and entwines them with Phil’s, making him yelp.

Phil turns to him, sheepishly grinning, and places the covers back over Dan. He lifts his arm so Dan can curl into him, which he does. After a moment, Phil sighs into his hair. “You have work today?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Sorry. Lou could only be persuaded so far.”

Phil trails his fingers down Dan’s neck, then up again, tucking a curl behind his ear. “But what about all the sexy things I was planning to do to you today?”

“You bastard,” Dan groans. “Is it not hard enough that I have to leave you in bed, naked, to go and serve a bunch of entitled teenagers frothy drinks for six hours?” He rolls to his side to look at Phil properly. “Now I have to do that knowing that I’m missing out on planned sexual activities.” 

Phil kisses him the moment he stops speaking, tasting of mint again, and marshmallow, and… Dan really needs to stop trying to identify all the flavours he can taste on Phil’s lips - he’s becoming a total sap. Instead, he melts into it, allowing the pillow of Phil’s lips to sweep away every irritating, niggling thought in his overwrought brain. It must work better than he expected, because the thing that jolts them apart is Dan’s alarm, again. Phil snatches the phone, and Dan only just manages to stop him launching it across the room.

Once Dan’s shut the alarm off for good, Phil sighs heavily, taking one of Dan’s hands and kissing the knuckles. “Do you want a shower before you go?”

“Yeah, that’d be great actually,” Dan says, pulling his hand free of Phil’s to stretch his arms above his head in a yawn. Phil’s hands wander aimlessly over Dan’s taut body; he’s inevitably going to need a cold shower. “Mind if I go first?”

One of Phil’s eyebrows quirks towards his hairline. “I meant with me.”

Dan feels the arousal rippling around his groin. He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Phil peels the covers off himself and stands, naked aside from his boxers, and holds out his hand for Dan, smirking. “Coming, then?” 

“Um, go put the shower on,” Dan tells him, feeling a little dazed already. How Phil can look so goddamn beautiful at this time in the morning is a mystery. His hair’s a mess and his glasses aren’t on, and he’s hiding a semi in his tight pants, but he’s a deity if Dan’s ever seen one. “I’ll just get my shit together. Meet you in there.”

Phil shrugs, smiling mischievously. “Don’t be long. Not sure I can wait for you...”

“Bastard,” Dan says affectionately, admiring the back of him as he walks out.

In truth, he wants an opportunity to find his own underwear, preferably a new pair. He digs out a fresh pair of boxers from his emergency reserve (a deep pocket in his jacket) and slips them on, half rolling his eyes at himself because he’s about to whip them straight back off again. Somehow though, it seems disrespectful to wander Phil’s house - Kath’s house - butt naked. He heads for the bathroom as soon as he’s vaguely decent, trying to keep himself from power walking despite the knowledge that Phil is, right at this moment, naked, wet, and waiting for him a few yards away.

Phil’s bathroom is smallish, but he has one of those wide shower-baths, with a glass pane instead of a curtain. Phil is already stood under the spray, Dan can see his blurry silhouette through the condensed glass.

“Dan?” 

Dan snorts. “No, sorry, it’s Russell. Heard you fancied a quickie.”

“Ooh, sounds good, Mr Brand,” Phil calls back, his voice muffled by the spray. Dan shuts the bathroom door and locks it - they might be alone, but they’ve had enough surprise appearances this weekend. “Don’t let my boyfriend know though, yeah?”

Dan freezes, underwear halfway down his thighs. He can feel his heart squeezing, clamped in a fist, fighting to pump blood to his swimming brain. “Y-your what?”

The shower switches off, and Phil’s head tentatively pokes around the pane. “Shit. Um, is that not… we don’t have to, like, label it or whatever-”

Dan lets his pants fall to his ankles and steps out of them, then climbs into the tub. Phil is soaking wet, dark hair plastered to his skull, droplets falling down his face like tears. For a moment, Dan is too scared to speak, so he just places a hand on Phil’s chest, sweeping his thumb through the moisture.

“Is that… something you want?” He manages to ask eventually.

Phil swallows, eyes wide, trained on Dan. “I want what you want.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s... boyfriend,” Dan tells him. The term sits strangely on his tongue, like it doesn’t fit. “I don’t think I know how.”

“Me neither,” Phil says, voice small. “But I think, with you, it’d be easy.”

Dan clings to the small smile Phil offers, thinking of it as a tiny life jacket, only big enough for a child, that he has no choice but to use to keep him afloat. He nods, feeling his own exhale shake and tremor as it leaves his lungs. “Okay,” he says, though the terror is paralysing. “Let’s try being... boyfriends.”

Phil reaches for him, pulling them close together. His wet skin is cold now, after so long out of the spray, so Dan reaches blindly, and manages to turn the shower back on. Phil shudders as the warm cascade of water sluices down their backs. He kisses Dan sweetly, hands either side of his face; it only lasts seconds, because the water makes it hard to breathe, but Dan still drowns in it.

“What privileges do I get, then,” Dan asks, hands slipping over Phil’s warm, wet shoulders, down his arms. “As a boyfriend?”

“Well.” Phil grins, then swivels awkwardly, half trapped by Dan’s embrace, to grab for a bottle of something. Conditioner, Dan sees, though he’s not sure Phil even knows what he’s reaching for, blind as he is without his specs. He manages to snatch it, then spins triumphantly, and of course promptly slips, falling to floor of the tub, legs crashing into Dan’s like they were bowling pins in his path. Dan’s hand flies out, but with nothing to grip but the slippery glass pane, he tumbles directly onto Phil, landing on his lap.

“Phi-il,” he groans. “You’re literally the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey,” Phil says, rubbing his thigh, leaning back to keep his head out of the shower spray. “At least you had a Phil-cushion to land on. That’s gonna bruise.”

Rolling his eyes, Dan makes a vague attempt to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs they’ve landed in, but the water, along with the conditioner that Phil spurted from the bottle on his way down somehow, makes the action impossible. He tries to gain some leverage with his elbows on the lip of the tub, chest pressing into Phil’s, but it’s hopeless.

“Fuck’s sake, I am not missing work because I’m stuck in your bloody bathtub-”

Dan stops moving when Phil’s hands grip at his waist, a little too hard to be considered normal. He looks down, noticing that Phil’s breaths have grown stuttery, and his pupils are blown wide. Belatedly, Dan remembers that they are, in fact, both naked, slippery, and hard right now. In the haze of aching and discomfort caused by the fall, Dan tries to figure out if he can feel exactly where his and Phil’s bodies are touching. Dan wriggles his hips experimentally, and Phil lets out a pulse of breath, as if he’s been punched in the stomach.

It’s then that Dan understands what’s happening. Phil’s cock, which is, Dan now knows, fully hard, is nestled between Dan’s butt cheeks. Dan’s own cock twitches as soon as he realises this, and he grinds down, unable to stop himself pushing into the delicious feeling; he wants Phil to thrust right into him, to fuck him raw and bare, but he gets the sense that it might be a bit too soon to ask for such a thing, so this will have to do for now.

Phil’s hands are still gripping his sides, and Dan can’t stop thrusting his hips down, eyelids fluttering as Phil’s long, hard cock slips, conditioner-slicked, between his cheeks. His foreskin catches on the rim of Dan’s hole, and he groans, latching his mouth onto Phil’s, drawing Phil’s tongue inside, so at least some of him will be.

Dan honestly does not believe anything could be better than this, so when Phil’s hand - also slippery with conditioner - wraps around his cock and starts pumping in time with Dan’s own movements, he can’t keep the moan that surges up within him from pouring out of his mouth. A tumble of filthy curse words follow soon after, almost lost in the mash of their mouths, but still enough to pinken the tips of Phil’s ears.

“Fuck, fuck,” Dan whispers, drawing away from the kiss to tip his face to the spray. His hip movements are far from rhythmic, and Phil’s hand is unpracticed and sloppy, but it feels phenomenal. Phil’s breaths are ragged, and he’s gazing at Dan, above him, with a gorgeous, wondering expression that Dan could gulp down in pints. “I’m gonna come, fuck,” Dan says, then bites his own lip, hard. “You feel incredible.” 

“M-me too,” Phil manages, obviously teetering on the edge. He thrusts his hips up to meet Dan, rubbing himself tightly against Dan’s entrance. Dan squeezes around him, encouragingly. “Don’t stop.”

No intention of that, Dan just grinds down harder, faster. Phil’s thumb, perhaps inadvertently, sweeps over the tip of Dan’s cock, not once, but twice, and Dan simply cannot stop the sizzling pleasure from unzipping through him, pouring out as he tries valiantly to maintain the pace of his own movements, intent on pulling Phil over the edge with him. It works, easily; it seems that the sight of Dan falling apart is enough for Phil to push into his own high. Phil grips him tightly, fingernails digging into Dan’s waist, shuts his eyes, and chants Dan’s name like a mantra. When it’s over, Dan collapses onto him, thrumming with the afterglow, the warm water beginning to slowly turn colder as the boiler runs out of heat. Phil, back slumped against the head of the tub, is glassy-eyed.

“If we do that again, would you consider being a little late to work?”

*

It’s Monday, and Dan’s in Music, the one class, aside from perhaps Chemistry with Phil, that he is able to tolerate. Ms Chilton, the Music teacher, is not, by any means, a kind, sweet woman, but for some reason, she seems to give Dan a little more attention than the others. Mostly due to bafflement, Dan lets her chide him and push him, and Music tends to be the only subject he ever gets decent grades in. Today, they’re finishing up their final projects, which will decide their overall grade. They’re supposed to compose a piece, either on the computer, or on their chosen instrument.

Around fifteen minutes ago, Ms Chilton asked Dan to play her what he has so far. Thankfully, Ms Chilton seems to understand, wordlessly, that Dan would rather set himself on fire than play for the entire class, so they both plug headphones in to the electric piano, and Dan plays her his piece. She listens thoughtfully, eyes shut in concentration. Dan doesn’t really get what she’s listening to - his performance can hardly be anything special compared to what she is probably able to do.

“Yes, I can hear the improvements you’ve made to the final section,” Ms Chilton says approvingly, slipping the headphones down to rest around her neck, where they immediately become tangled in the beads and necklaces she wears. “I agree that an imperfect cadence works for you, however I think there’s something to be added in the final few bars, if you’ll allow me to have a play…”

She battles with the headphones for a moment, then manages to free them from the tangle of jewellery, and places them back over her ears. She leans forwards, her shoulder pressed to his, and effortlessly dances her long, ringed fingers over the keys, producing a sweet trill of decorative melody that, Dan readily admits, would fit perfectly over the ending of his piece.

Just then, the bell rings. Dan thanks Ms Chilton in a mumble, removing his own headphones. As soon as they’re off, the chatter of the other students, excited for lunch, fills his ears. He grimaces, wishing he could slip back into the solitude of his song. Before he is able to so much as pick his way out from the piano bench, Ms Chilton says his name. 

He pauses, and she lifts an unhurried finger, draining the remnants of whatever strange, pungent tea she’s been drinking for the past hour. The students file out, and Dan waits, rather impatiently, for Ms Chilton to speak. She stands, her long skirt wafting over the cellos, the abandoned tambourines, the guitars loosely stacked in their stands, as she crosses to close the classroom door.

“Your time at school is almost over,” she says at last, gliding to her desk and perching on the edge.

Her creased, grey eyes fix him to the spot. Though she’s a subdued, dreamy sort of woman, with wispy hair and a vaguely hippyish style, there’s an intensity about her that makes students wary; she never shouts or even raises her voice much, but she’s sharp and rarely smiles. It’s unusual for her to show genuine interest in a student. Dan secretly suspects that her apparent indifference to her class is just an act, but it does seem to work in her favour - the students clamour for her attention in a way they don’t bother to with other teachers. If they think they’ve earned her approval, even for a moment, it’s as if they’ve won a prize.  

“Yeah, I know,” Dan says, because she seems to be waiting for an answer.

“And what is it, Daniel, that you’re thinking of doing next?”

He shrugs, playing idly with the bell on one of the nearby tambourines. “Dunno, really.”

He does know, of course. He will continue working at the café, upping his hours to full-time. He’ll work the long shifts, and save to get a place - any place - away from his mum’s house, which he will move into the minute he can afford to. He’ll buy a car, so he can drive to see Phil now and then, who will be at some university or other.

But Ms Chilton doesn’t want to hear this. No teachers want to hear that a student they’ve spent years trying to fill with knowledge and ambition has long ago resigned themselves to a life of solitude, monotony, and pointlessness.

“I’d like to discuss an opportunity with you,” Ms Chilton says, unexpectedly. “It would require a great deal of effort on your part, but has the potential of being quite life-changing. I have thought long and hard about whether you would be able, or willing, to rise up to the challenge, but upon deliberation I must say that I think you, Daniel, are the only student I have ever taught who might possess the sufficient talent for it.”

Dan stares at her, unsure how he could possibly respond. “Sorry, um. Me?”

“Yes,” she says, that unwavering, dazzling gaze never straying. “You.”

*

After leaving Ms Chilton’s classroom, Dan’s in such a daze that he doesn’t even register who it is that Phil is chatting to beside his locker. Phil tenses as soon as he sees Dan approaching, nervous for some reason, though Dan has no energy to work out why. Last night, after work, Phil had kept him up rather late, so they’re both pretty knackered today. In Dan’s case, tiredness makes him dazed and distant; in Phil’s case, it tends to hit him in bursts, interspersed with periods of high energy to make up for it. Right now, that energy radiates out of him. It’s making Dan exhausted, just to stand in his vicinity.

“Hey!” Phil squeaks, far too chipper. “Where did you get to? We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hm?” Dan is looking past him, at the swarms of students still scattering through the hall, like marbles flying past one another, ricocheting off the walls. “Yeah, sorry. Was talking to Ms Chilton.”

Phil reaches out and plucks something from Dan’s hand. He hadn’t even been aware he was holding anything. It’s a leaflet, apparently; Phil unfolds it, frowning at the contents.

“The British Young Person’s National Orchestra,” Phil reads out, then lifts his eyes to Dan. “Was she asking you to a concert?”

“I think it may be more to do with this,” Amanda says, pulling suddenly and spectacularly into focus at Phil’s right.

She points a delicate finger at something on the far page of the leaflet. Dan stares at her, trying to figure out what on earth she’s doing here, before remembering the strange conversation they’d had on Friday, when she’d declared that she wanted to be friends. Phil’s mouth falls open slightly, his pupils darting left to right, reading quickly. Amanda lifts her eyes to Dan’s smiling tentatively.

“Hi, by the way,” she says.

“Uh,” Dan replies. “Hi.”

“Oh my God,” Phil breathes, lowering the leaflet at last. His eyes are alight. “Is this true? Are you really going to audition for this?”

Dan licks his lips, trying to recall the conversation he and Ms Chilton had just a few minutes earlier. A piercing ringing noise in Dan’s ears had obscured much of what she’d said, but he does vaguely remember her saying that she would like to help him prepare for the audition day coming up.

“Maybe,” he says. Phil lets out a delighted laugh. He turns towards Amanda, and she smiles too, sharing his glee. And then, watching the two of them, it strikes Dan like a blinding flash of lightning. The particulars of his life, his situation, are illuminated once more, and he shakes free of the whole ridiculous idea. “Probably not,” he corrects himself, snatching the leaflet back and shoving it deep, crumpled, into his pocket. “S’just one of Ms Chilton’s mad pipe dreams. Can’t really picture me, coat tails flung over the stool, playing Mozart on a stage, can you?”

He scoffs, hands patting his jacket pocket in search of cigarettes before remembering that he purposefully didn’t bring any today in an attempt to ‘cut down’. 

“Wait, Dan, what exactly did Ms Chilton say?” 

Phil’s face has fallen, and Dan can’t bear it. Can’t he just listen to any one of the many teachers that will happily tell him - Dan’s a disappointment, and always will be. 

“Oh, you know, a load of hippy bollocks,” Dan answers in a mumble, eyes darting away.

“She’s pretty difficult to impress, I hear,” Amanda tries. In a better mood, Dan might have the patience to tolerate her, but right now, he can’t even bring himself to respond. “If she thinks you’re in with a shot, I’d say that’s a ringing endorsement.”

“Um, you guys go on to the cafeteria,” Dan says, backing away from them. He can feel the unbearable itch of his nicotine craving scraping beneath every patch of his skin, and he can’t take it. “I’ll meet you in there.”

“Where are you going?” Phil calls, though Dan’s already walking away.

“Just gotta find Lee quickly,” he calls back, then pushes into the throng of students.

*

Lee, as ever, is not tough to find. He’s sat with his laddish Year Ten friends on a picnic bench outside the IT block. They’re splashing their sodas at one another, jeering and making a mess, occasionally stopping to put one another in a headlock, or flick a lighter near the hem of their school jumpers in the hopes of singeing the fabric.

The moment he spots Dan approaching, Lee attempts to appear separate from the others, the moronic grin slipping from his expression, his body relaxing into cool nonchalance as he rolls his eyes at the others’ behaviour.

“Quit acting like a bunch of twats, would you,” Lee says, just loud enough for Dan to hear. 

Dan has to hide a smirk. He walks up to Lee, then inclines his head. “Can I have a word?”

Lee shrugs. “Sure,” he says, then gets up casually, clearly all too aware he’s being eyed by his shocked companions.

“Goin’ for a quick shag, Lee?”

Dan turns to the kid that asked, glowering. Whether or not Dan’s reputation has been a little besmirched by now - Hardy Jenns has apparently spread news of Dan’s past Ozone-related activities - the idiot has the decency to look as if he regrets that question. Dan might be the school’s slutty gay mascot, but he’s also the one that caved Jenns’ face in at Prom.

“Get bent, Harry,” Lee shouts, coolly. Dan won’t admit it outright, but he’s mildly impressed by Lee’s blazé attitude, though he knows it’s put-on for his benefit. Lee turns to Dan, then. “What’s up?”

“Got a fag?” Dan asks.

Lee nods, casting a quick look around for lurking teachers. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro menthols. Dan makes a face.

“Sorry, Harry’s brother got ‘em for me,” Lee says. “Can’t be too picky when your mate’s doin’ you a huge favour, y’know?” 

Dan takes one, reasoning that it’s better than nothing, then tucks it behind his ear. “Cheers.”

He starts to walk away then, but Lee calls after him. “Wait.” Footsteps, rapidly catching up with him. “I’ll come with you, I’m gagging for one, too.”

Internally, Dan groans, but he doesn’t have the heart (and since when does he have a soft spot for Lee?) to turn the kid away. Together, they walk in silence to the narrow groove behind the huts at the back of the grounds, where they can’t be seen.

As soon as Dan takes the first drag, his world sharpens, and he feels instantly better. Then, the minty aftertaste hits, and he feels a little like throwing up.

“Grim,” Dan mutters, but takes another drag anyway.

Lee chuckles. “Least they’re not fuckin’ cherry flavoured.”

A laugh bursts from Dan’s chest, as much to his own surprise as Lee’s. Has Lee always been funny? Perhaps he just never bothered to notice. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Dan says.

“So,” Lee clears his throat. They’re both looking straight ahead, at the fence directly in front of them, their backs against the wall of the hut. “Haven’t seen you since Prom. You alright?”

Ah, no wonder Lee wants a catch-up. Last time he saw Dan he was wasted, bawling his eyes out, with a face bruised and bleeding from Hardy’s fist. “Right, yeah. Sorry about… all that.”

“Nah, it’s alright.”

“Thanks for taking my brother’s car back, by the way.”

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Lee says. Dan turns to him, confused. “That was your, er, your… mate. Phil?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathes, nodding. “Yeah, Phil.”

“I dunno where you live, so he offered to take it back in the morning.”

Dan blinks, not sure what to make of this gesture. He remembers Ricky mentioning something about Phil stopping by the day after Prom, but he hadn’t put two and two together until now. He looks at his shoes. 

“Dan, mate,” Lee says then, so Dan turns to him, cigarette caught between his lips. “I know you’re not really big on, uh, ‘friends’. But just so you know,” Lee tilts his chin up, defiant. “I’ve got your back.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift. “Oh,” he says, confused. “Right. Uh, thanks.”

Lee nods, turning back to the fence in front of them. “No worries.” He’s clearly got more to say, so Dan just stays quiet, smoking, until he works up the courage to spit it out. “And uh, I don’t, like, care. About the stuff people are saying, I mean.”

Something squeezes around Dan’s chest, like a belt tightening. He wants to fucking sprint away, but the space they’ve slipped into is barely wide enough for the two of them to stand in, let alone for Dan to push past him. 

“Lee-”

“Nah, just… listen a sec, this is fuckin’ difficult but I need to tell you.” Lee’s voice is different. It’s lost that needy, young quality. There’s strength behind it now, and Dan marvels, trying to work out when it was that scrawny Lee grew some actual balls. “I worked it out a while back, y’know. How you felt. The way you looked at him. And how funny you got when he started off with that Elite chick. I know it was shit for you, at Prom, seeing him wiv’ her. But I don’t give a shit that you like him. I’m your mate, and I think you should be happy. If people try and talk shit about you when I’m around, I tell them to fuck off. ‘Cause that’s what mates do. I just want you to know that you’ve, uh, got me in your corner.”

Lee finishes the stub of his cigarette and throws it to the ground. Dan’s has burned out; he’s been too stunned to do anything but listen to Lee, cheeks flaming because it’s probably the wildest conversation they’ve ever shared. All this time, Dan was convinced his only friend was Phil. But maybe he doesn’t always get a say in who his friends are.

“Well, right.” Dan stomps on his own cigarette. “Thanks, Lee.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

A few agonising, silent seconds pass, and then Phil, somehow, rounds the corner. Dan might have run away from him a short while ago, but right now he’s ridiculously glad to see him.

“Finally,” Phil says, squeezing into the narrow space. “Found you. Should’ve known you’d gone for a smoke.” He inches, somehow, through the tight gap between Lee and the fence, nodding at him as he passes. “Hey, Lee.”

“Alright,” Lee says uncomfortably, trying not to move as Phil squishes him against the wall.

Eventually, Phil stumbles into the space beside Dan. He smiles, and Dan can’t help returning it, despite how awful he feels inside.

“I’ll, uh,” Lee says, jabbing a thumb in the opposite direction. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“Thanks for the cig,” Dan calls after him. Lee lifts a hand in acknowledgement, and slips out of the small space.

“Where’s Amanda?” Dan asks as Phil settles his back against the hut.

“She told me to come talk to you alone,” Phil says.

“About what?”

Phil bites his lip, deliberating. “I know you don’t really like talking about… what’s gonna happen when school ends,” he says carefully. Dan can feel Phil’s eyes burrowing into the side of his face; he’s watching Dan’s expression, checking he’s okay. It’s mildly infuriating, but Dan sticks it out, because it’s Phil. “But, well, it’s coming up.”

“I know that,” Dan snaps. “I’m not in denial. Is it such a crime if I wanna enjoy being with you while I still-” he cuts himself off, but not quite quick enough. 

Phil cocks his head to the side, like a confused puppy. “While you still what?”

“I really don’t wanna talk about this now,” Dan says, shaking his head.

He turns to Phil, grabbing him by the jumper and pushing him up against the wall. If he stands in front of Phil, fence at his back, there’s barely any room to move, which means he’s pressed deliciously along Phil’s body. He swoops in fast, closing the short distance between their mouths. He’s forceful and insistent, tongue searching, teeth nipping and coaxing, but Phil is distracted, and after a few moments pushes Dan, gently, away.

Sighing in frustration, Dan turns from him, moving to lean back against the wall. 

“So you’re withholding affection until I pour my heart out now?” Dan asks, scornfully. “Blackmail doesn’t work well with me, Lester. Maybe you should buy me some more Skittles.”

Dan kicks out, toe colliding with the fence in front of them, making it wobble.

“Dan, don’t be mad,” Phil says, sounding upset. And that’s just great, now Dan’s got to digest a helping of guilt on top of it all. “I just think maybe you should at least consider what Ms Chilton said-”

“What’s the point?!” Dan shoves his hand into his hair. “Look at me. The snobs from the Orchestra would kick me out before I had a chance to tickle the damn keys!”

“You don’t know that,” Phil says, quietly. “You could at least try.”

“I’m not good enough, Phil,” Dan says, glaring. “That’s it, plain and simple. I’m not the kind of person they want. I’m self taught, and sloppy, and working class. My destiny is not to play the fucking ivories with a load of pretentious kids that salivate over Beethoven. If you wanna shoot for the stars, go for it. I actually think you’ve got a hell of a chance. I don’t.”

“So, you can have faith in me,” Phil challenges, seemingly outraged by something Dan can’t fathom. “But I’m not allowed to want better things for you?” 

“We both know you’re the talented one,” Dan says. “You’ll get into some distant, fancy art college no problem, and we’ll keep up the long-distance for a bit, and then you’ll forget about me. Or, not forget, but find something better. Someone with purpose, and potential. And that’s just the way it’ll go.”

Phil’s enraged expression now has alarm bells ringing all over it. He reaches for Dan’s arm, obviously softening, but Dan pulls away. “Dan, woah, there’s a lot to unpick there, just-”

“So, yeah,” Dan interrupts, not listening. “Excuse me for not wanting to talk about the future. For wanting to live in the present just a little bit longer, when I still have you, and everything isn’t just complete, utter shit.”

He’s had enough then, and mercifully, the bell rings, so he doesn’t need to stick around any longer. Dan squeezes, with a fair deal of effort, past Phil, and round the corner of the hut, managing to lose himself in the swarms of students that suddenly appear. He sits through English, just about, but can’t bring himself to attend his final lesson, so slips out of school via the back entrance, and wanders home.

*

Dan wakes up on his sofa, immediately awash with dread, because he has no idea how long he’s been asleep. If it’s dark outside, Ricky might be home soon, or worse, he might already be home. Something catches his eye on the coffee table to his right; it’s the British Young Person’s National Orchestra leaflet, laid out where he left it. Now, however, there’s a note laid on top, scrawled in his mother’s handwriting.

Ricky’s out tonight. I’m at work.

I think you should go for it.

Mum x

Dan rereads the note four times before he understands what his mum is saying. She thinks he should audition for the orchestra. It makes no sense at all; she’s always shouting at him for not being home enough, not contributing to the rent payments enough, not doing his share of the housework. Why would she encourage him to leave? Still fuzzy from his nap, Dan decides to push this peculiar note away for now, and to think about it later. He checks his phone, which is flooded with activity. Most of the missed calls are from Louise, and Dan’s stomach sinks.

“Shit,” he says, to no one. 

He missed work. Well, is technically still missing work. He clicks onto his text messages. Apart from Louise’s stream of abusive, panicked ‘get down here right now’ texts, there are a fair few from Phil, as Dan expected.

From: Phil To: Dan 15:32pm hey did u forget we have detention??

From: Phil To: Dan 15:38pm ok mr richardson was not pleased but i think i  managed to cover 4 u

From: Phil To: Dan 15:40pm can u at least let me know where u are?

From: Phil To: Dan 16:34pm ok im out of detention now coming 2 cafe. xx

From: Phil To: Dan 17:23pm ok ive been here since 5 where r u??? louise cant get hold of u either

From: Phil To: Dan 19:56pm ive been here nearly three hours. im gonna go to ozone. i rly hope ur not there.

“Shit,” Dan says again, then checks the time. It’s eight now, Phil will be at Ozone soon. Dan doesn’t blame him; if he were in Phil’s shoes, he’d assume that’s where Dan had gone as well.

Without thinking about it, Dan gets up, grabs his keys and shoves on his shoes. He manages to remember his jacket, then bolts out of the door. He contemplates waiting for the bus to take him into town, but decides it would be better to just leg it. His phone buzzes again in his pocket, and his lungs start screaming at him two minutes into the journey, but Dan pushes through it.

He reaches Ozone in just under seventeen minutes, which is a record time. He’s hot and damp from exertion, panting so hard that he can’t even speak to Ben at the door. Mercifully, Ben lets him through anyway, though God knows why, as the last time Dan was in here, he was thrown out.

Almost the second Dan is inside, he feels someone grab his butt. It’s an aggressive squeeze, the kind of possessive, awful clutch of flesh that belongs to guys that think they can have whatever they want. Dan turns, scowling, to find the dude who gave him the pack of Djarums a while back. He’s even more nauseating than Dan remembers him being; it seems disgusting to think back on the person he was when he met this man, and the ways in which he degraded himself for a stupid pack of flavoured cigarettes.

The guy holds up another pack of Djarums in his beefy hand. “Got another pack for ya, Princess. Shall we find somewhere quiet?”

“Fuck off,” Dan says bitterly, turning away.

He pushes through the crowd, eyes scanning frantically for Phil. He spots Sam in the sound booth, setting up for whatever awful band is about to go on, and ducks out of his view. He asks Niamh, one of the bartenders, whether she’s seen a guy with blue eyes, black hair and glasses, but she just shakes her head.

Dan does a circuit of the whole club three times before he has to reluctantly admit to himself that Phil is not here. He slumps into one of the grimy little booths, defeated. Someone approaches pretty quickly, and Dan’s about to spew a load of abuse at whichever gross guy that Dan might have drunkenly given a smidgen of attention to long ago is deciding to try it on now, but at the sight of who it is, the words die on his lips.

Amanda slides neatly into the booth opposite him. “Hi.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She looks a little startled by his hostility. Honestly, he’s lost track of his feelings around the girl now. Is he angry with her? Kind of reluctantly impressed by her? Indifferent, maybe?

It’s likely a combination of all three. But Dan’s failsafe mode is ‘moody dickhead’, so it would almost be weirder if he treated her any other way.

“Phil sent me,” she explains, getting straight to the point. “He was gonna come himself, but he wanted someone to scout out the scene.”

Dan just stares. “Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Amanda says, smoothing out her skirt beneath the table. “But I imagine it’s because he didn’t want to see you snogging someone else.”

Fiery, red hot fury scorches through Dan’s veins. How dare she imply such a thing. “I’m not fucking snogging anyone else-”

“Yes, well, I can see that.” Amanda seems entirely nonplussed by Dan’s anger, and her coolness is disconcerting enough to forcibly relax him. “And I’ll be sure to tell him. But you can see how he might have been a little scared that’s what he’d find.”

There’s a lump in Dan’s throat, a huge one. “Just because I used to sleep around a bit doesn’t mean I’m gonna cheat on him.”

She nods, calmly, and sends him a small smile. “Remember how I said we’re the same, Dan? Self-sabotage is kind of my thing. And I’d wage a bet it’s yours too.”

Dan shakes his head, but he can’t come up with any kind of argument in his defence.

“You’re not used to being happy,” Amanda continues. “Nor am I. It doesn’t sit right. It feels too precarious. Like it’s all seconds from crumbling away.” She’s too fucking good with words, that’s the problem. She’s like Derren Brown or something, manipulating his mind with her steady gaze, and her mesmerising appearance. He tries to shut her out, but the words trickle through into his mind anyway. “The second you find even the tiniest hole in the perfect, happy blanket you’re wrapped up in, you can’t help picking at the loose thread. You make the hole bigger, worse than it needs to be, because in some way, deep down, you’re expecting it to all fall apart.”

“I’m not making it worse,” Dan says through gritted teeth. “I came here to find Phil.”

“But, he’s not here,” Amanda reminds him. “So, if I hadn’t turned up, would you have just left?”

Dan shrugs, but he knows the answer. And even worse, she knows it too. No, Dan wouldn’t have left, probably. In all likelihood, what he’d have done is gone to the bar and gotten smashed on some other loser’s tab. And after that, who knows? 

Dan’s a mess when he’s drunk. He doesn’t want to cheat on Phil - the thought is utterly repulsive - but he knows himself. And Amanda’s right. He’s convinced that he and Phil are doomed - by their dangerously different futures, by Hardy, by Amanda, by Dan’s family, by the fucking world. So, in a haze of moronic, drunken stupidity, Dan can completely see himself taking the opportunity to drag that impending doom a little closer. To get it over with.

“Dan,” Amanda says, and reaches her hand across the table. Her eyes are round, pleading. For some reason, he lets her take his hand. “You deserve to be happy. Phil deserves to be happy. This little tiff is not worth losing such a good thing over. You can get through this. Just talk to him. Just try.”

It’s so infuriating, knowing that she’s completely right. He nods stiffly, and she squeezes his hand.

“Will you call him?” Dan’s voice is croaky. “Tell him to come here? I need the bathroom.”

She nods, smiling supportively, and picks up her phone. Dan climbs out of the booth, walking quickly, head down, towards the bathrooms. He pees, ignores a guy trying to coax him into one of the stalls, then washes his hands and splashes water on his face. He peers into his own reflection, sighing. When Phil gets here, he tells himself, he will apologise for his stupid reaction earlier. He will tell Phil his concerns about their future, and together they will work out how to deal with it.

That’s what a sensible, mentally healthy person would do. That’s what Amanda thinks he should do. And she’s, irritatingly, always right. 

He leaves the bathroom; he’s already spent ages in there, Phil’s probably halfway here by now, provided Amanda got through to him. He’s just squeezing back through the crowd towards the booth where he left her, when a hand clamps itself around his upper arm, painfully.

“Ow,” Dan cries out, turning. It’s the Djarums chap again, and Dan would roll his eyes, but this time, the git looks livid. He tries to pull away, but the idiot’s not having it.

“Listen up, Princess,” he hisses, leaning close; Dan can smell the beer on his breath. “I bought these Djarums specially for you. Now, how I see it, I’m out twenty quid, and you fuckin’ owe me.”

The guy shoves the pack of Djarums into Dan’s jacket pocket, then exposes his yellow, crumbling teeth in what Dan assumes is a grin.

“I’m not for sale, you creep,” Dan snarls, again attempting to pull away. “I don’t want your fags. Go give them to your wife.”

“Not for sale? That’s not how I remember it,” the guy says, then yanks Dan forwards, sloppily, trying to duck in for a kiss. Luckily, Dan, being the completely sober one for once, swerves away just in time. “Come on you little brat,” the guys growls, tugging him through the crowd, towards the back rooms.

A blur of burgundy red swoops in, barreling straight into the spot where the gross dude’s hand clamps onto Dan’s arm, breaking them apart. It’s Phil, Dan notices in the next second, just in time as always. Dan could kiss him; in fact, he will, later.

“Get the fuck off him,” Phil snarls at the Djarums guy, fist raised in what Dan must admit is a vaguely menacing stance. Phil’s only ever hit one person, but he seems to be all too ready to do it again. “Or I’ll call the bouncers over.”

“Or we could call his wife,” Dan suggests, holding up the mobile phone he snagged from the Djarums dude’s trouser pocket.

“Oh, you little shit-”

The guy lunges for him, but Phil’s arm launches out, holding him back. “Back off, or he’ll call her right now,” Phil threatens.

The guy looks about to explode, but he nods, red-faced. Dan hands the phone back, and he stomps off. Dan is grinning, because that was fucking epic, but he turns to Phil, and finds a look of hurt on his face.

Dan’s smile slips away, fast. “Phil, what’s wrong? I’m sorry about earlier, about not texting you back, I-”

“Did you get with him?”

Dan balks. “Get with- no. No, Phil I would never-”

Phil presses his lips together. “How can I believe you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Dan says, taking Phil by the shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a twat all day, but Amanda was here, and she’s knocked some sense into me. Can we go and talk?”

Phil heaves a sigh, looking like he very much wants to refuse, to be far away from Dan right now, but he nods, ever the Saint, and Dan is so, ridiculously grateful.

“Okay,” Dan says quickly, before Phil changes his mind. “Let me just go and find Amanda, tell her we’re going. Will you meet me outside? I’ll be two minutes.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly, and Dan plunges into the crowd again, searching for thick brown curls and a small, dainty figure.

*

“Find her?”

Dan is barely out of Ozone before Phil’s question hits him. He turns to the left to find him leant on the wall outside, hands in his burgundy jacket pockets. Dan walks up to him, relieved that he hasn’t simply left.

“She was sitting with about five other guys and a hot girl,” Dan says. “I’m pretty sure they were all hitting on her. She’s fine.”

Phil nods. “It was good of her to come here. It’s not exactly her scene.” 

Dan snorts with laughter. “I think she’ll hose herself down when she gets home.” 

“She’s a good friend,” Phil says, clearly testing the waters. It’s uncomfortable to hear him say it, obviously, but it’s not unbearable, and that’s a start. 

“Mm,” Dan manages, which he’s enormously proud of himself for. 

They wordlessly begin walking back in the direction of their side of town. Dan wants to explain everything, but he can’t work out where to begin.

“I don’t wanna pressure you, Dan,” Phil says eventually, the words almost lost in the enormous sigh he heaves. “If you’re sure you don’t think the Orchestra thing is for you, that’s fine. I guess I just know how amazing you are, and I’d like you, and everyone else, to know it too.”

“Thanks,” Dan whispers. “It’s really nice that you think I’m…” he can’t think of the word. “Good enough, I guess.”

Phil sighs again, and Dan gets a familiar feeling that he’s stupidly not seeing something right in front of his nose. “Dan, I don’t just think it. Anyone who hears you play, who hears you talk even, can see that you’re wasted in a crappy café in a dead-end town.”

“Don’t,” Dan begs. He suddenly, blissfully, remembers that the moron in Ozone had shoved those Djarums into his pocket. Dan digs the pack out, thanking every deity he can think of. “I know you mean well, but I can’t bear it. The way you talk about me…”

Dan rips the pack open and pulls out a cigarette. In his haste to light it, he drops his lighter to the floor. Phil gets to it first, and flicks the flame into existence. He holds it to the end of Dan’s cigarette; in the light of the small flame, Dan can see the sadness in his eyes.

“I can’t think you’re amazing?”

Phil hands the lighter back to Dan, watching him take a long drag, then blow out the smoke through his nose.

Dan sucks the end of the cigarette before speaking again. “I’m not the person you think I am,” he says eventually. Even he cringes at the phrasing; he sounds like a martyred anti-hero in some terrible action movie. Phil snorts, confirming Dan’s fears. “I just mean… I can’t live up to the Dan in your head. I’m not some gifted flower, wilting behind my insecurity. If I let myself think I can have… y’know, a better life, where I don’t have to work shitty customer service jobs and live with my abusive family, then I’ll hope for it, and I can’t, I can’t deal with the disappointment I’d feel when I didn’t get it.” Dan shakes his head, eyes stinging from the smoke in his eyes, or maybe something else. “It’s not worth it.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Phil says, though he sounds like he doesn’t want to. It’s brave to speak the words aloud, Dan can see it. He must know that disagreeing with Dan now will only lead to an argument. As Dan knows from that overheard conversation he had with his mum, Phil is worried Dan’s gonna run off at the first sign of trouble. If that’s still true, inciting any argument is courageous of him. “I think it’s always worth a shot. Your dreams matter, Dan.”

Dan laughs, smoke billowing up into the dark sky. “Don’t you know this, Phil? I already got my dream.”

*

Eventually, Phil decides to drop the matter entirely, mostly because he can’t speak with Dan’s tongue in his mouth. He should remember, in future disagreements, that Dan’s got an arsenal of weaponry, primed for distraction, hidden beneath his clothes, and he is apparently not above using them. They’re laying on Phil’s bed, Dan half on top of Phil, trying to be quiet because Phil’s mum is downstairs.

Phil’s hands are inside of Dan’s t-shirt, and are mapping the skin of his chest and back thoroughly. Dan’s kissing is getting dangerously heated, but Phil cannot bring himself to tell him to stop. 

“Phil,” his mum calls from downstairs. 

Dan moves his mouth to Phil’s throat for a second, so he can shout back. “Yeah?”

“Do you and Dan want some dinner?”

Phil pushes Dan back a little to give him a questioning look. “Do you?”

Dan shrugs. “Sure.”

“Yes please! Coming!”

Dan grins. “Not yet.”

“Ew, please do not say anything sexual in the context of anything to do with my mum,” Phil says, rolling Dan off him. Dan laughs and stretches, exposing skin at his middle, which Phil is basically forced to lean down and kiss. The feel of Phil’s lips is apparently tickly, because Dan shrieks. “Oh? Are you ticklish, Howell?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dan says, jumping into a defensive crouch atop the bed. 

He looks like a wildcat, poised to spring. And, well, it’s too tempting to resist. He gets a few kicks to the face, stomach, and shins, but it’s worth it to send the perpetually bitch-faced Dan Howell into peels of uncontrollable laughter for a few minutes.

Phil’s mum eyes them both when they get downstairs, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink that Phil has never witnessed before. He’s confused for a moment, then looks Dan up and down, and realises that he too must look just as breathless, red and ruffled, right after exiting the bedroom.

“We were just-”

“How about you come sit up, and we shan’t mention it, Philip,” his mum says, very steadfastly averting her eyes. Dan is trying not to laugh, so Phil elbows him in the side. “There’s plenty to eat, so don’t be shy.”

Resigning himself to letting his mother believe he and Dan have been up to no good, Phil takes a seat at the table, and Dan follows him. His mum hands out plates, and they pile on mashed potatoes, veggie sausages, and various steamed vegetables.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Lester,” Dan says. “It looks delicious, as usual.”

She sends him a sweet smile. “You’re always welcome, Dan love.”

Phil sends him a look that is supposed to say something along the lines of ‘how come you aren’t in trouble for supposedly fucking me in my room two minutes before dinner?’, but probably comes out as something unreadable, because Dan just stares back blankly.

“So, boys, what’s new?”

Phil opens his mouth, about to tell his mum about the petty dramas of the school day - he’d gotten a B on his English essay, Mr Richardson’s shirt was on inside out, Amanda had tripped someone up in the hall for muttering that she was a ‘last season harpie’, but Dan gets there first.

“My music teacher thinks I should audition for the British Young Person’s National Orchestra,” he blurts.

The words jumble together a little, spilling from his mouth so fast that Phil is sure Dan didn’t think them through. He stares at his boyfriend, flabbergasted. He thought the matter had been officially dropped. Dan shoves mashed potato into his mouth, as if he wants to stopper it up.

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful!” Phil’s mum exclaims, placing her fork down. “Phil, isn’t that fantastic news?”

“Um… uh…” Phil stammers; he’s at a total loss over what to say. Dan had basically told him to shut the hell up about the subject, but here he is bringing it up of his own accord, to Phil’s mother. “Y-yes, he knows I think it’s… amazing.”

Dan winces at the word. still chewing mashed potato. He swallows it down with obvious effort, and shoots Kath a smile. “Thanks. I don’t actually know if I’ll do it.”

“Oh, well there’s no harm in trying, honey,” Kath says, taking a sip of wine from her glass. “Why, your music teacher seems to think you have as good a chance as anyone else! And he or she would know, I’d think.”

Dan, for some reason, seems to be listening to her. He’s staring at his plate, but he’s chewing his fingernail, deliberating. “Yeah,” he says, and Phil is about ready to pinch himself to check he’s not dreaming.

“I don’t have a musical bone in my body love,” Kath says. “But I hear you playing Phil’s old piano from time to time, and my goodness, I could listen forever. It’s just beautiful!”

Dan’s head lifts. “I didn’t know you could hear that.”

“I think even the neighbours can hear, love, the walls aren’t exactly soundproof,” Kath says with a chuckle. “But I’ve heard no complaints, and I highly doubt there’ll ever be any.”

Dan pushes his peas around thoughtfully, and the conversation moves onto other things.

*

“I brought you a coffee,” Phil says at around eleven at night, nudging the door to his bedroom open with his hip.

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Try’na keep me up?”

“Maybe,” Phil says with a smirk, handing Dan his mug. He sits down on the bed, sipping his own delicious coffee and leaning back against the pillows. “Do you wanna have a chat?”

Dan’s been sitting at Phil’s piano for around an hour, trying to work up the courage to play something now that he knows Mrs Lester listens. She’s gone to bed now, but she’s probably still awake, so the pressure mounts.

Sighing, Dan turns to face him. He knew this was coming; dinner had brought up some unexpected ‘word vomit’ on Dan’s behalf. “I know I’m being nuts,” Dan says. “Veering from one decision to the other. I dunno, I thought I’d made up my mind about the Orchestra thing. But I think... maybe... possibly I’m just a stubborn dickhead. Everyone seems to share your point of view, even my own mother, which is just... mental. Maybe I’m just being a coward, too scared to even try in case I fail. Maybe you’re more persuasive than I let myself believe.”

Phil doesn’t bother to hide his ridiculously pleased grin. “Really?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it,” Dan warns, very cautious of Phil getting his hopes up for anything Dan-related. It’s best that he stay very pessimistic about Dan’s willingness to do anything he doesn’t have to. It’s been hard enough trying to give up smoking, and that’s not exactly working out great; he’s had three cigarettes today. “I think talking to your mum helped me realise. She’s kind of like… a voice of reason in my head.”

Phil hums a noise of assent, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “She’d love to hear that. Think she wishes you were her third son, sometimes.”

Dan nearly chokes on his own sip. He’d rather not have the added pressure of Mrs Lester wanting him as a son-in-law just yet. “Maybe I’ll have another talk with Ms Chilton,” Dan says carefully. He shoots Phil a ‘don’t get excited’ look, and Phil struggles - and fails, spectacularly - to hide his sheer delight at this news. Dan rolls his eyes. “You can’t put all your faith in me, though. I’ve never won anything, ever.”

“Um, incorrect,” Phil says, eyes shining. He pats the space beside him on the bed, and Dan, besotted little puppy that he is, stands and goes to sit with him. “You won my heart.”

“Ugh, you sap,” Dan mutters as he sinks onto the bed at Phil’s side. “Why do I hang out with you?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?”

Dan snorts, drinking more coffee. “Hey, did you make me coffee to keep me up for a DMC, or because you wanna seduce me after your mum’s asleep?”

Phil sends him a horrified, innocent look. “Dan, are you accusing me of using nefarious means to ensure you don’t zonk out before I can shove my hand down your pants?”

This time, Dan doesn’t need to be tickled to descend into laughter. Phil takes the mug from his hands, and places it, along with his own, on his bedside table, then dives on top of him. 

“Ugh, get off me, you weigh a tonne,” Dan groans, though he doesn’t even try to wriggle away. 

Phil’s body is warm, and heavy, like those weighted blankets he’s read about on Buzzfeed. His eyes sparkle in the light of his bedside lamp.

“You smell like cherries,” Phil says, smiling widely. He leans in and sniffs Dan’s hair, which is super weird, but somehow totally expected, at this point.

“Sorry,” Dan says, hands resting on Phil’s back. “I know I said I was cutting back. It’s been a stressful day.”

“You know, you don’t need to change anything about yourself for me,” Phil tells him, pinching Dan’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger, then raising it to his nose to sniff.

It’s a sweet thing to say, but he surely cannot mean it. “Er, I think you might prefer me if I weren’t such an asshole, or if I didn’t stink of smoke every time you got within five inches of me.”

Phil shakes his head, a big, dopey smile on his face. “Nah, I want you just like this. Bitch-faced, cherry-smelling, pretentious piano-genius.”

There’s a thousand retorts on Dan’s tongue, a hundred reasons why Phil is wrong, and should immediately reconsider his decision, but Dan gets to verbalise none of them. Phil’s kisses are electrifying, sending pulses of bright energy between his synapses, lighting his nerve endings on fire. Dan could be on the brink of death, he’s sure, and a single kiss from Phil would revive him, like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. He’s the modern day Snow White, if she had more of a Mia Wallace attitude to life.

As their clothes become nuisances, and the dragging, clawing pull of their combined arousal begins to rip the garments from their bodies, Dan feels that familiar, heady, intoxicating swell of adoration welling up, like a sea, all around them. He pulls back from Phil’s mouth, dizzy, adrift in the waves of it, sure he can feel the bed bobbing up and down.

Phil looks down at him wonderingly, fondly. “You okay?”

“I love you,” Dan says, because it’s all he can think of to say that might have a hope of scratching the vast universe of emotion he feels for Phil in this moment. 

“Love you too, nerd,” Phil says, and Dan plummets, happily, freely, into the roiling ocean beneath him.

Thank you all so much for reading! Love to every one of you <3

[pipsqueakparker]

happy pride queers 🏳️‍🌈

dan coming out inspired me to think about how i think of myself and label myself because i think i’ve used ‘em all at some point. rather than just sticking to ‘queer’ because it fit the best, i decided that bi, pan, AND queer ALL fit how i feel - so why do i have to choose one? these are all just words we made up to help us articulate feelings and emotions and aspects of our identity that are nearly impossible to completely understand - whoever made this a ‘choose one’ question really missed the mark, because i feel like it’s more of a ‘check all that apply’ and ooh, boy, a l o t apply to this queer lad.

how i answer depends on who i’m talking to, because sometimes with the hets it’s just easier to say bi because that’s one they understand, or queer if i’m feeling particularly defiant, mystical, and unknowable. around other queer folk? i can say pan, cause they don’t need the explanation i’d be damn-near required to give to a cishet person because if you’re out you’re expected to educate everyone else. (that’s a load of bs to uncap another time.)

and if a particular, potentially self-deprecating but definitely bad, joke or pun fits best with one over the other.... well.

and i know there are people that disagree with this stance, and i used to take all of that very deep and tried for years to just. choose. one. but in the end - sexuality is fucking hard to understand and pin down and if you feel like you fit in multiple boxes, get yourself a box-hopper pass and join me in this wonderfully confusing but ultimately amazing adventure. and if you do have one very specific label that you know you fit and you need that to identify yourself, that’s okay too, you’re also invited to the fun.

but don’t dictate what other people can or can’t do, say, or identify as - and don’t let others do it to you

[roxannc]

❝ Girls like her were born in a storm. They have lightning in their souls. Thunder in their hearts. And chaos in their bones. ❞ AISHA DEE? No, that’s actually ROXANNE WEASLEY. A SIXTH YEAR student, this RAVENCLAW student is sided with MCGONAGALL’S ARMY. SHE identifies as CIS-WOMAN and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be DRAMATIC, HAUGHTY, and TEMPERAMENTAL but also PASSIONATE, SOCIABLE, and OPENMINDED.

LINKS: stats, pinboard, character tag. CHARACTER PARALLELS: donna pinciotti (that 70s show), amy pond (doctor who), amy santiago (brooklyn 99), dan wilds (aftg) HELLO just a quick note from me mar, some of this is for sure up for change, mostly regarding the wotters and family in general!! besides that, here we finally Go

history

roxanne voice: i was born in an iconic family because it was my destiny to be iconic! but --- in all honesty --- she is right. roxanne is born to george & angelina one hot summer morning, waking up the whole damn hospital with her crying and huge lungs. she has a brother --- fred, who’s officially her half brother, but that’s not something that makes him anything less than her brother. and then there’s heaps of cousins, almost too many of them, and uncles and aunts and other people to call family, and from day one, it’s all good.

roxanne was a chaotic kid, growing up. a cheerful and energetic and exciting one, but a chaotic one. dirty walls and destruction followed her wherever she went. a bit of a hurricane of a girl, even then. roxanne discovered her love for quidditch at a young age, too, and how couldn’t she? it was in her blood and all around her and there was something bloody magical about flying.

a love for people and laughter and loving people was also discovered. roxanne grew up in a warm environment and had plenty of reasons to love the people she loved, even if she needed none. there was, of course, tragedy in her blood too, an awareness that there’s horrible things in this world --- an awareness that she buried as soon as she was able to.

upon arrival at hogwarts, the hat took a while to decide between gryffindor and ravenclaw but went with the latter, in the end. was roxanne disappointed? a bit, maybe. she would have liked to be sorted into the same house as her parents and brother and a lot of her family but the hat had made some solid points and heck, she wouldnt be roxanne if she looked at ravenclaw as a challenge.

was eventually sorted in ravenclaw because her mind, in the end, is her motivator. she might be a very physically active and present person, but she thinks. a lot. about everything. ( with an exception for moments where she acts on impulse. ) roxanne is a very bright individual, to be honest --- she’s able to be booksmart and she likes learning. she likes challenging herself. above all, she just has a Very open mind and is always looking to broaden it.

is a whirlwind. roxanne joined and dropped clubs like no other, switched favourite subject every month, delved into odd sections of the library to become an expert on rare subjects ... it was a lot. her grades suffered under it, too --- roxanne might be a loyal person, but she’s damn flighty. there were, of course, passions that she stuck with. quidditch, of course, but also justice. roxanne, as a queer woman of colour, has always felt very passionately for human rights issues and knows shit about it too. always down for a debate over lunch. getting on the quidditch team was one of the best days of her damn life. getting the quidditch badge later on was an even better day. roxanne loves the sport so much, wants to go pro once she’s graduated, is crazy competitive. she’s a gay jock. another cliché character by mar learned eventually how to focus and keep her grades up, but she does have trouble motivating herself for things that dont interest her. she’s just not an academic. she likes learning, loves it actually --- but hates the way she has to do it at school. hates it. she’s still working hard to get good grades, of course, because she gets that that’s part of life but she just really... wishes it wasnt. [ death, murder tw  so life was going pretty good and then her uncle was murdered and everything went to shit like that. and--- here’s roxanne’s question: how in the living hell do you deal with that? she doesn’t know, that’s for sure. she knows that she’s angry. that she’s absolutely livid and not sure what to do with the grief in her chest because damn it, that’s not her thing, not at all. she’s sickened with worry. she mostly is enraged at the world and that this is happening and that people can be like this. end of tw ]

so joining the DA was something roxanne didn’t even think about. she just did it. her studies, once again, have taken a backseat while she pushes all her energy into the DA and the team, as that functions as something ... as close as therapeutic as she can get, i suppose. leading her team, searching that snitch, hoping to win, win, win --- all things that in the grand scheme of things dont matter but do make it easier to deal.

roxanne ... she’s a lot. she’s a fucking lot. she’s a mess. 

personality & rambling

roxanne does NOTHING half heartedly; she either commits fully or doesn’t do something at all. she doesn’t do half-assing, doesn’t believe in it — this got her in a fair amount of trouble at hogwarts (handing in 10/10 homework or ,,, not doing it or barely doing it) and she knows it’s a bad attitude to have, deep down. not that she’s admitted that to herself yet, though. things have been put in perspective now, though. it’s clear that there’s no room for just doing what she wants to do and what she feels like, so she’s ... improving ( and yet completely abandoning her studies lmao )

when roxanne is passionate about something, she goes on about it for a long time. loves ranting about topics that drive her, is very vocal of her views and thoughts and hardly shuts up about it. can be condescending, at times; roxanne believes she’s always right, has little humility to her — she often doesn’t try to put herself in other people’s shoes, thinks that anyone who disagrees is simply wrong. it’s a thinking pattern she’s trying to shake, but alas; it’s easier said than done.

this is also a way for her to cope with her insecurities, tbh; she puts others down in her head so she can lift herself up. unhealthy!!! yikes! it’s something she’s pretty unaware of.

i mean, roxanne is, deep down, very fucking insecure. she has this surname that’s got a bit of fame to it and she has such high ideals for everyone around her including herself. especially for herself. her confidence is not completely feigned, i think part of it is definitely real, but part of it is definitely a mask

roxanne LOVES music. she’s into everything that either is a jam, old classic rock or has a damn good message. she’s v passionate abt it. her spotify? gold. she’s also a good singer! this video is literally roxanne im sorry aisha dee move over! honestly if she had mroe time she would try and get into music bc she would love that but yeno quidditch is the name of the game (someone show her hsm and show her that u can do both)

she’s so competitive someone please stop her from fighting everyone over quidditch

uh she’s just very... much. she’s outgoing and loud and dramatic and her emotions are like! all over the place! and change very easily! she thinks she’s a lot herself too tbh she’s constantly exhausted from herself which i think is valid and relatable on a personal lvl for me. 

possible plots

friendos roxanne loves ppl and loving ppl so let’s go and have some FRIENDS up in this building. couldve met through family things, in the library, on the pitch, in dueling club, in any other club that roxanne was in for a short amount of time, etc etc etc. roxanne is fairly easy to place at hogwarts bc she’s everywhere

quidditch competition just give me all the plots if you have a fellow quidditch pal because roxanne is ready to fight to the death for that cup!!

dumbledore’s army bros people that roxanne got to know better through the da would be v interesting because it’s a ??? weird base for a friendship or dynamic ( i mean, a tough one. like ... we’re buds because we’re fighting for a cause whihc we shouldnt even be fighting for bc the world shouldnt be like this )

idk roxanne is literally so all over the place, if your character is at hogwarts im sure we can plot something??? enemies, shenanigan pals, exes, study buddies, etc etc etc

[biamondpickaxe]

All Hail The Outlaws

Genre: More angst than I intended

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Dan doesn’t understand why some people are so damn homophobic

A/N All of this has basically happened to me so at this point I’m just turning my traumatic coming out experience into a phanfic I’m so sorry.

Contains: Sexuality crisis, swearing, discussions of sex, homophobia, homophobic slurs, anti-vaccination beliefs

Dan didn’t realize what he was saying until the words came out of his mouth.

“I don’t see what the big deal about being gay is.”

His friend, Zakary, paused the game of Halo and looked at Dan with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“You got something you need to tell me, Howell?” Zakary joked, snickering.

“I’m just saying. Think about it, Zak. Technically, what’s the big difference between fucking a dude and fucking a girl?” Dan made sure to keep his voice down, knowing that Zak’s mom was making dinner downstairs.

“Dudes are fucking gross, man. Girls are hot,” Zak said simply.

“Okay, yeah, but it would feel the same, right? Fucking them, I mean,” Dan continued.

“I’m pretty sure sticking it up a dude’s ass would be different than a girl’s pussy,” Zakary snorted.

“Okay, well then what about blowjobs? Same thing, right?” Dan asked. He didn’t exactly know why he kept pushing the subject, but he figured he should learn to be able to prove his point if his parents wanted him to be a lawyer.

“Do you just let anyone suck you off, Howell? Even if they’re not attractive? Guess that makes sense, though, all fags are sluts. That’s why they all have AIDS,” Zakary said before unpausing the video game and carrying on as if nothing had happened.

“I’m not... I’m not gay,” was all Dan said. He quickly got back into the game as well, not wanting Zak to know how badly his words actually hurt.

Dan swallowed the lump in his throat and fought back the tears that were pressing hard against his eyelids. It was fine.

That night Dan couldn’t sleep. He thought that everyone was attracted to both sexes. Maybe not romantically, but sexually, at least. It just made sense to Dan. It would feel good either way, what was the big fuss about?

Apparently, not everyone felt the way Dan did.

He sighed, turning himself onto his side and curling up into a ball. What did this mean for him?

He wasn’t gay. He knew that much. He couldn’t be gay because he liked girls. But the thought of being with a guy, kissing a guy, holding hands with a guy was just as appealing as doing all of those things with a girl.

After two weeks of fighting with himself and a lot of research, Dan decided that the term bisexual fit him the best.

Now it was just time to tell his parents.

When his parents both got home from work, he approached them in their bedroom where they were watching TV.

“Hey, guys. I need to talk to you,” Dan said, starting out simply. This was good. A good place to start.

His mom turned off the TV, a silent go-ahead for Dan to start talking.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about relationships and things. Love and stuff...” the 16-year-old paused and looked up at his parents with scared, wide brown eyes. They mostly looked confused, so he figured he should get to the point.

Dan swallowed and sighed before speaking again. “Dating a girl... and kissing a girl... that sounds good to me. It feels right. Appealing, I guess.”

Dan chewed on the inside of his cheek before continuing. “But, the thing is... I can also see myself doing all that with a boy. It feels equally as right and appealing. So, I’m not gay, ‘cause I still like girls, but I’m bisexual.”

When Dan said the words, he expected to feel a great weight lifted from him. But he didn’t. He could just feel his heart beating in his chest and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he scanned his parent’s faces.

The anticipation was eating at his insides, rotting them away with acid and Dan wondered if he was going to throw up or pass out or die when his mom finally spoke up.

“Alright. Why don’t you, uh, go to your room and let your father and I talk about this?”

Dan just nodded - he didn’t know what else he could do - and scurried out of the room and into his own. He sighed and flopped down on his bed, the butterflies in his stomach not ceasing their fluttering.

That was easy. Too easy. He could almost feel a static in the air, like the calm before the storm. It made the hair on his arms stand up and he had the urge to flee but he knew he had nowhere to go.

So, he stayed on his bed with his eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing.

Ten minutes later, Dan’s eyes shot open when he heard yelling coming from his parent’s room.

“No! This is a phase and you know it!” Dan’s dad screamed.

Dan rolled his eyes. This was the kind of thing he read about online when he had researched other people’s coming out stories, but he never actually expected to hear the words from his dad.

Dan sighed. He thought his parents would be okay with this, but he was wrong.

“He’s doing it for attention, why can’t you see that!?” Again, his father’s voice sounded throughout the house. At that moment, Dan was glad his brother was at a friend’s house so he didn’t have to hear all the yelling.

The pit in Dan’s stomach grew as the arguing continued. He was numb. He could hear each and every word that was being screamed and he just let it wash over him, but he knew it would sink in sooner or later.

Dan only let himself go when he heard his parent’s bedroom door slam, and then the front door being slammed. He curled in on himself and cried himself to sleep.

Over the next two years, Dan kept exploring his sexuality. He identified as gay, straight, definitely-not-straight-but-I-don’t-need-a-label before finally landing back on bisexual. It was still the only one that felt truly right to him.

Even though the first time Dan came out was less than perfect, the moment Dan felt like trying out a new label he went to his parents and told them. He always had a close relationship with his parents, and he could talk to them about anything.

Dan didn’t want the topic of his sexual orientation to be taboo just because their initial reaction wasn’t great. Dan wanted to normalize the discussion of LGBT topics because, in reality, it wasn’t anything abnormal.

So, Dan found out that each time he came out to his parents it was easier and they reacted better each time.

It took two years, but eventually, his parents and brother were excited to go to pride with him. Of course, they were still learning and growing, but they were always improving.

Dan was grateful for this. He voiced that one night while on Skype with his new best friend (slash kind-of-boyfriend), Phil.

“I’m grateful for them being willing to change,” Dan said.

“That’s good!” Phil said, smiling at Dan through the shitty webcam.

“It’s just... well, nevermind,” Dan decided. He averted his eyes from the screen of his laptop.

“What is it? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I’m here for you, no matter what. You know that. I’m not here to judge,” Phil replied soothingly.

Dan exhaled through his nose. He was grateful for Phil, too. They had only been friends for a few months but it felt like they had known each other for a lifetime.

“Well, as great as my parents are sometimes, with my mom it’s like... I never really know what she thinks of my sexuality. It’s just... it can feel like her acceptance is just a facade,” Dan confessed.

“Why do you say that?” Phil asked.

“About a year after I came out - for the first time - things were going well. Until one day she told me that she thought that people were only gay because the government created vaccines to make them that way. To control the population or something,” Dan explained.

Phil gasped. “Oh my god, Dan.”

“I mean, I’ve always known she was anti-vaccine. I don’t agree with her but those are her beliefs. I just never knew that she thought vaccines had anything to do with LGBT,” Dan said.

“That’s... terrible,” Phil said. It was clear he was still processing everything Dan had just said.

Dan had never told anyone this before, so as soon as he let it out, he couldn’t stop. It was like a portal had been opened and all of these emotions he’d been burying for years with no one to talk to were finally coming out.

“It doesn’t even make sense. Like, I’ve never even been vaccinated up until this year. She wouldn’t let me until I was 18. And even then, there are ways to have biological children so the concept in and of itself is completely illogical,” Dan ranted.

“I know. What she said... it’s not true. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that, Dan,” Phil said.

“‘S fine. But, like, what do you even say to that? Oh, son, I think that a large part of who you are was fabricated in a lab and then injected into you. So I just said ‘oh’ and then went to my room,” Dan paused to take a deep breath. “She says that she doesn’t still think that, but... I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust anything she says again. For an entire year, she let me believe that she was all accepting when really she was thinking this the whole time. She still reads all these anti-vaccine books and... I guess it just hurts.”

“I’m sure it does, baby. Nobody should have to go through all that. Especially someone as amazing and kind and cute as you are,” Phil tried his best to be comforting, but there was really nothing he could do that would heal these deep scars except for simply being there for Dan. He knew it was all he could do, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

“And then, a few weeks ago, she basically implied that gay men deserve to be called faggots. Like, what the fuck? Who says that? Who buys their son rainbow flags and goes with him to pride and then says that? Of all things, why did it have to be that?” Dan felt his throat closing up as he talked. He forced the tears away, though, determined not to cry in front of Phil. He was good at that - not crying.

“Bear, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Phil said, deeply saddened.

“It’s okay,” Dan sniffed, “just a few more weeks ‘til I get to come visit you, right?”

“That’s right, angel. Just a few more weeks.”

I don’t want to get into an argument with anyone about vaccines. This is just me basically venting about something that happened to me.

Idk if pride and vaccines and all that work the same way in the UK as the US but it’s a fic so just go with it please.

I take prompts/requests! <3

Title from X Ambassadors - Masterlist & AO3