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vizowrites · 3 years

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“We” vs “Me”| or “Why BlitzStrike Works So Well For Me But Stolitz [as of episode 6].....Doesn’t”

Alright my Loves, so I said that I was going to talk in further detail about my feelings regarding Stolas and the multi-layered portrayal of his relationship with Blitz in the new episode, and today’s the day where that happens!! First of all, though, before I really get into my feelings about things, I want to just make it ABUNDANTLY clear that I’m not trying to sway anyone from one side to the other, or trying to shame anyone for shipping two fictional characters. I’m fully in the boat that you are completely entitled to ship whoever you want, but I also think it’s wise to at least be able to recognize the faults and flaws in a pairing--and especially to be able to recognize them in the context of an IRL relationship. In this analysis in particular, I’m specifically focusing on these two relationships within the realm of the Helluva Boss universe [......Hell] and within the specific context of their characters as they’ve been portrayed in the show thus far. And, my biggest disclaimer of all: I’m doing this for no other reason than I felt like putting my jumbled thoughts together into a cohesive post so that they don’t have to stay bouncing and buzzing around in my head. Please keep that in mind that this is just pure personal opinion and interpretation before anyone comes at me with torches and pitchforks. <3 <3

SO WITH THAT LONG ASS DISCLAIMER OUT OF THE WAY

Let’s finally get to the good stuff. And the not so good stuff. :D

So I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone who follows me here that I’m a huge BlitzStrike fan. What I think fewer people know is that when I first entered the fandom a few months ago, I actually was on board the Stolitz train like so many others that I’ve met here in the fandom. Naturally Stolitz was the first major pairing I was introduced to, and I did find both the characters of Blitz and Stolas incredibly interesting and compelling in their own rights AND saw the potential in how they could really come to grow into one hell of a relationshp over time. I was honestly really excited to see it happen, too.

And then I watched Episode 5 [still my favorite episode, btw] for the first time and had this sudden question hit me like a truck that even now is still relentlessly burning in the back of my mind because I still haven’t found a legitimate answer for it: Why in the FUCK wasn’t Blitz falling head-over-heels in attraction to Striker throughout this fucking episode??

And I don’t mean that in a “They’re so hot and I ship them now why didn’t they get together?? DX DX” kind of way--I mean that in the genuinely perplexed “I don’t understand based on what has been presented to me thus far about Blitz as a character and the storyline overall why he’s reacting so nonchalantly to this whole thing”. To Note: This is me wondering this from the context of what’s in the show itself, not from any extra fan materials like the Instas or Twitter or just straight up knowing that the most likely answer is that there are people on the creative team that ship Stolitz really hard and realistically wouldn’t have probably written Blitz as being attracted to Striker because that would just be--to quote Jack Sparrow--blowing holes in their own ship. No, this is me disregarding ALL of that and trying to rationalize this with myself from the perspective of a fan whose entire knowledge of the show and its characters comes exclusively from what’s in the episodes themselves. .....And that’s where I just can’t find my answer, except for the Stolitz positive “He’s not attracted to Striker because he’s in love with Stolas” answer. Which really doesn’t even feel like a satisfying answer, because the entire vibe I’ve gotten from Stolitz in the show has just felt.....strangely.....off. Like, the framework is there and the elements are there, but I’d felt as though they had so far to go still that it would be entire SEASONS before they got there.

And THEN the new episode [Episode 6] came out and I’d heard a handful of fans going crazy because the show was finally addressing Stolitz in full, and I thought to myself, “Well, maybe if the show really is going to go with saying that the reason Blitz wasn’t interested in Striker is because he’s in love with Stolas.....sure. I’m curious to see how they finally establish it in an episode, especially since there’s only two more episodes left in the entire first season.” And then I watched the episode. And then it hit me why Stolitz just does not do a damn thing for me but BlitzStrike does despite the fact that we’ve had 4/6 episodes [5/7 if you count the Pilot] of Stolitz but only 1/6 [1/7] of potential--not even canonical--BlitzStrike:

When Striker talks about Blitz, or interacts with Blitz, he always talks about them as a “we”. As a team. A partnership. OR he just straight up puts the entire focus on Blitz and his accomplishments and keeps himself out of it entirely.

When Stolas talks about Blitz, he always talks about them within the context of “me”--of himself--of what Blitz does or should do for him. Even here in episode 6, in the most “selfless” instance we’ve seen yet, where he does ask about Blitz’s safety first BEFORE going right back into how Blitz’s actions affect him and what Blitz should be doing in response for him. Stolas’s focus is always automatically set to himself--and even when it comes to the people he supposedly loves the most.

To explain what I mean here, let me give some examples directly from the show itself, starting with the Stolas side of things:

Episode 1

Blitz, in the middle of trying to hide so much that he actually clamps both of his hands over his mouth just to muffle the sound of his own breathing, knowing damn well that this psychotic bitch who already shot him once won’t hesitate to do it again if she finds him.....gets a call from Stolas. Stolas, who we clearly see from his leisurely hang out time in his bubble bath, is literally watching this happen and is fully aware that calling Blitz right then was potentially putting him in danger. But what does he say when he gets Blitz on the phone? He offers--not help--but Blitz the use of his book in exchange for monthly sex. Stolas literally uses Blitz’s peril as leverage here--consciously or not, though given the fact that he knows the situation at hand, I’d find it very hard to argue that he didn’t do this on purpose--just to get him to agree to be his bootycall until further notice.

Stolas not only doesn’t lift a finger to help Blitz once in all of this--even at the moment where he and Millie are about to be shot in the face--but instead continues to stay on the phone talking about all of the things he wants for their upcoming future rendezvous. He already got exactly what he wanted out of this and he still just continues to go for more for himself.

Episode 2

.....There are honestly so many fucked up things that happen here as far as Stolas and his relationship with Blitz goes but honestly the thing I want to draw the MOST attention to is actually Stolas’s storyline with his daughter, Octavia. I know it’s a little left field, but bear with me--this is actually something I want to use as comparison for Stolas’s relationship to Blitz as we go along:

When Stolas first decides that he’s going to take his daughter to Loo Loo Land, he does so while completey setting aside the fact that she doesn’t want to go. He just offers her assurances that it’s going to be so much fun because he remembers that she loved it so much when she was a little girl--effectively putting his memory above her wishes even as she’s sitting right there and telling him that she doesn’t enjoy the idea of going now.

Stolas doesn’t actually notice just how uncomfortable he’s making Octavia throuhought their entire trip by spending his time sexually harassing paying more attention to Blitz than he is trying to cheer her up. This tells me that Stolas--though I do believe he genuinely wanted to do something to make her happy--still wasn’t able to completely overcome his own self-centered tendencies at first even when it’s for her. And this is the person that Stolas loves more than anyone or anything else in the entire world. It still wasn’t enough.

It’s only when Octavia runs off and completely breaks down that Stolas finally gets the much needed slap-to-the-face of reality to understand just what he’s putting his daughter through--and, for the first time in the entire show, he actually puts someone else’s needs and well being above himself. It’s the one solid honest display of love that we see from Stolas in the entire show--and it’s how we as the audience come to learn that that’s how Stolas shows that he loves someone: When he puts their needs above his own with no strings attached or expectations of something in return. A true selfless act just because he loves them. **Keep in mind the parallel of Stolas carrying Octavia out of Loo Loo Land at the end, and how it compares to Stolas carrying Blitz out of D.H.O.R.K.S headquarters.

Episode 5

The. Fucking. Cigarette. I had no idea that something so small and quick would be able to infuriate me as much as it did, but the fact that Blitz used the post sex cigarette to free Stolas from his wrist bondage but then Stolas turned around and put the cigarette out on Blitz’s horn which is literally a part of Blitz’s body just.....honestly it sums up exactly what I’m trying to get across in this entire huge ass post: Stolas only ever thinks of himself first and anything pertaining to anyone else just doesn’t cross his mind at all unless you blatantly put it there in front of his face. And the fact that he’s still at this point with Blitz all the way here in Episode 5 is not.....promising for their relationship.

The fact that Stolas literally cannot stop himself from calling Blitz “Blitzy” or talking to him in such a condescending way no matter how frustrated Blitz gets and how many times he asks him to stop. I just--how is that supposed to be interpreted as someone talking to a person that they love? There’s no respect or dignity given to Blitz at all on Stolas’s part, and the fact that it seems to be presented as a “Oh teehee it’s just their cute couple thing” is just.....I really, really don’t like that. It also doesn’t match with the Stolas in the very next episode which I quite frankly think is because the creators have been listening to the feedback from fans and were like “We need to SHOW THEM that Stolas actually does speak to Blitz respectfully!!” but that’s just my personal opinion there and, also, it still didn’t happen.

Episode 6

Keeping in mind that THIS is finally the episode where we see Stolas actually save Blitz from danger and demonstrate even the slightest inclination towards his well-being.....I think that honestly makes the next few things here even more fucked up

First and foremost: “WE”. The second after Stolas asks if Blitz is alright and gets the assurance that he is, he roughly grabs his cheek and points out that “If you get in trouble, I get in trouble! WE don’t want that”. The fact that this is the first time that Stolas ever talks about Blitz in the context of “we”--when really what he’s really saying is that him [Stolas] getting in trouble is going to be a bad thing for all of them--is just.....so, so disappointing. At least with this I could hope that perhaps the idea here is that Stolas is genuinely afraid that if he gets in trouble, he won’t be able to protect Blitz from the undoubtedly much worse trouble that he would be in as an imp, but still. The fact that Stolas immediately reverts back to his self-centered perspective so quickly after supposedly being so worried about Blitz’s wellbeing, really makes it seem as though it’s just his own ass that he’s trying to protect. And that.....isn’t exactly what I’d been expecting from “the episode that confirms Stolitz is canon” feedback I’d been hearing.

"Am I going to get ANY thank you for the rescue Bltizy?” This for me was kind of what actually lead to me having this whole epiphany over Stolas’s selfish perspective in the first place. I realized that even here--even when he’s just been the most “romantic” towards Blitz that he’s ever been in any previous episodes up until now [and yes this shift in his character was incredibly jarring for me because of that]--Stolas still goes right back to thinking about what he’s going to get out of this now that he knows Blitz is safe. Let’s take this back to that thing I was saying about Episode 2 and comparing how Stolas rescued Octavia and how he rescues Blitz. Obviously they’re going to be different because it’s Stolas’s daughter vs his hook up BUT just think about where the focus is for Stolas in both of these scenes. With Octavia, Stolas is entirely focused on making things up to her--taking her to do something she wants to do--even if it’s something that he himself doesn’t fully understand or isn’t fully into. That doesn’t matter though, because the entire point is that he’s doing something just for her. It doesn’t have to be about him. But now go back to the scene where Stolas is carrying Blitz out of the room. What does he do? Ask what Blitz is going to do for him. That just takes the idea that this scene was a confirmation of their love and throws it right out the window. Stolas--as we’ve been shown before--would never ask for something in return from someone that he actually loves.

Now let’s take a look at the one and only episode we have of Striker and Blitz interacting together, with an honorary shout out at hallucination!Striker’s appearance in Episode 6:

Episode 5:

Striker knows Blitz’s name.....and he uses it. He’s literally the ONLY other character that we’ve seen so far refer to Blitz as “Blitz” instead of “Blitzo” or “Blitzy” by someone who wasn’t a member of I.M.P.. Aka someone who wasn’t a member of Blitz’s family. He shows Blitz respect at that basest level, and only builds on that from there going forward.

Striker first recognizes Blitz for being “the bold imp that started his own killin’ biz”. Not his hotness, not his skills in the Harvest Moon games because at that point he hasn’t seen them yet.....but for his accomplishment in starting up his own successful business down in Hell. He treats it as an accomplishment. With the kind of respect that comes with acknowledging another person for their accomplishments. Right there, within two seconds of meeting him, Striker demonstrates more respect for Blitz than Stolas has yet to do in the entire show.

The Harvest Moon Festival Games. Now this is something I find fascinating to think about from Striker’s perspective in particular. We as the audience are shown pretty early on that Striker has a strong desire to be the one who comes out on top. He likes the idea of being superior and he openly relishes in the praise and attention he gets for being better than everybody else. ....Except Blitz. When they tie in the games, Striker doesn’t seem bothered with sharing the spotlight with him at all. If anything, he--again--respects just how skilled Blitz is in rightfully earning his place beside him on the stage. That, to me, is HUGE. I’m not going to go so far as to say that Striker necessarily sees them as equals because I think that might be going a bit too far for his ego but he does still fully acknowledge that Blitz is in the same general class as him: that is to say, better than most. Worthy of the same kind of acknowledgement and praise that Striker gets. I literally can’t get over just how big of a thing that is for what we’ve been shown of Striker’s character, and I think it’s unfortunately something that’s incredibly easy to miss or gloss over. :(

And now--for what I personally think is the most significant thing of all--we have: “We”. How many times does Striker suggest during that final scene between them that he really wants Blitz to join forces with him as equals? He never demands that Blitz join up with him, he doesn’t threaten him into joining up with him--Striker barely even hurts Blitz at all during their fight scene compared to how he tried to straight up murder Moxxie--and, most of all, Striker continues to acknowledge that Blitz deserves better than his current arrangement with Stolas. And he’s right. But instead of putting it as “I’M right and this is why you should do this”, he always puts his focus on Blitz himself, or the two of them together as a partnership: “You are so above sucking on a a digusting rich pompous Goetia” | “We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, Blitz” | “You could partner up with me and klll the unkillable--starting with the one that treats you like a plaything”. It’s just--I honestly can’t believe it’s taken me this long to put together why Striker appeals so much more to me as a romantic interest for Blitz, but really breaking it down episode by episode and comparing the differences in wording between Striker and Stolas’s dialogue when it comes to Blitz is just.....holy shit.

Honorary ShoutOut of Episode 6:

The fact that the only thing hallucination Striker has to say to him is “But you don’t want to do things alone Blitzo!” is really, really interesting to me in the fact that he’s.....not......wrong?? Like, To be fair, Striker, RoboFizz, and Verosika all spill their harsh truths, but the thing is.....Striker’s is markedly different in that his wording really isn’t harsh or aggressive at all the way the other two are. He’s just kinda stating a fact in an overexaggerated way because tripping balls hallucination sequence. It’s very interesting to me that that’s the worst that Blitz can imagine him to say--as well as the fact that halluci!Striker calls him “Blitzo”, which is really weird considering that Striker’s never called him “Blitzo” once in the entire show. Makes me kinda wonder where that came from tbh.

Alright so, in conclusion of this very long and rambly styie post: I want to take things back to where I started by reiterating that this is not me trying to convince anyone that BlitzStrike is “right” and Stolitz is “wrong”, or that you should stop shipping what you’re shipping in the fandom. This was just me honestly getting way more excited than I should’ve been over having my “Eureka!” moment for realizing why this new episode didn’t put me back on the Stolitz train like it did for so many other people--and why, in fact, it actually made me think even more favorably of the idea of Blitz and Striker being together.

Thanks for sticking around with me for this very long read, I hope you found it interesting, and I really really hope that it didn’t piss anyone off or rub too many people the wrong way. Like I said at the beginning, ship who you want to ship!! That’s part of the fun of being in a fandom. I’m just hoping that this might help make it easier to understand at least one perspective on why Stolitz is seen as being so problematic as a ship [as of where they are right now].

Here’s to seeing where things go from here!!

#vizowritesthoughts #BlitzStrike #Stolitz #Helluva Boss #hahahahaha I've been dreading posting this because I know it's going to lead to shit even though it's all just personal opinion :'D #but since I went to the trouble of writing this entire thing up I figure what the hell #might as well post it now #anti Stolitz

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theexecutionerssong · 5 years

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SKAM FRANCE BTS MASTERPOST

This is a master post of BTS anecdotes told in interviews, at cons, screenings and on social media. Don’t click the read more if you don’t want to lose some of the magic. I know sometimes knowing too much of how a show was shot can ruin it. Also, it’s very obvious that there was more promo starting around season 3 than for the first two seasons, don’t hold it against me. Feel free to message me if you think of something else as I must have forgotten a ton of things.

CASTING, REHEARSALS, BTS IN GENERAL

Skam France had the rights for the 4 seasons first but had to follow the original script almost to a T for the first 2 and if the audience was big enough then they would be allowed to distance themselves from OG

Skam France casted actors that were as close personality wise to their characters as possible, which made it easier for the cast to identify with their characters and made the friendships developping between the characters more believable since it was also developping off screen

They were not allowed to cast underaged actors who would have been closer to the real age of the characters due to the long hours of the shooting conditions

Most of the actors come from theatre and many had no or little previous experience with shooting for a camera before

The cast isn’t allowed to watch the clips before they air.

Most of the clothes they wear in the show are their own.

During rehearsals of the first seasons, Philippine went to the board with everyone’s names on it and wrote something funny next to Zoe’s name and wanted to send it to her but she messed up and published it on her ig stories, leaking the entire cast when it was still supposed to be a secret.

Lula’s first reaction when she got the script and “met” Daphné was “oh no I’m scared. I just want to slap her, she’s insufferable”

Assa almost didn’t audition for two reasons: the casting call didn’t specify they were looking for a woman of color and French casting calls almost always say whether they are specifically looking for a black woman. If it says nothing then they are usually looking for a white person. She thought she had no chance because of that. Second reason, after accepting the casting call, she did some research and found out OG Sana was from the Maghreb and she’s not. But her agent convinced her to go through with it, the only thing the skam france team wouldn’t negotiate was that they wanted a Muslim actress. There was no way they would have casted a non muslim actress/actor for Imane and Sofiane.

Skam France was the first TV show on French TV to have a black muslim woman wearing a hijab as a main character

Paul, Robin and Axel knew each other before shooting, they’d met in Avignon.

Coline was still in her last year of high school when she shot the first two seasons.

Niels is the one who came up with a raccoon as Eliott’s spirit animal

They shoot about 15 minutes of usable content per day which is impressive (it’s usually 2-3 for movies released in theatres, 5-7 for TV programs)

When France TV told David the first two seasons were a success and they were renewing the show, he gave them a list of things he wanted to change so that he’d agree to come back to direct the next seasons, including a different camera, renewing the writers team (they included Niels), storylines, the ig content, etc. The new camera they got was a SONY Venice which allows them to play a lot with the focus/blur ratio and the cold and warm undertones, which made a major shift in the visual quality of seasons 3 and 4 compared to the previous 2.

David named Eliott after his son.

Having the teaser from Eliott’s POV was David’s idea. It’s the first remake to have a clip from the French Even’s POV

The bus stop from season 3 is fake, it doesn’t exist. It wasn’t even shot in Paris itself but in Saint Ouen.

Maxence didn’t watch OG - besides the towels in the bathroom clip - because he wanted to create his own Eliott without being too influenced, and he didn’t watch s1 and 2 of skam france either because he wanted Eliott to discover the characters without knowing their backgrounds.

Maxence wasn’t supposed to audition. He wanted to be done with his acting school before shooting anything but the head of the casting team came to watch a public class at his school and asked him to audition for Eliott at the end. David and Niels knew right away he was the one. Niels watched the audition tapes and was very impressed with another actor but within the first 3 seconds of watching Maxence, he knew it wouldn’t be anyone else. Maxence met Axel after the 3rd call back and they clicked right away. He’d broken his foot two days earlier so he was in crutches. They watched Even’s manic episode and had to improvise a similar scene but had to do with the crutches. They also went for a drink before shooting and they talked for hours, their connection was instantaneous.

When he learned Maxence was cast, Axel went on his instagram and saw the model pictures and thought he was way too hot with the abs and everything and he himself would look like a potato during the nude scenes next to him. So he got a coach and for 3 months he trained and got on a very strict diet. He was disappointed that there were no shots where you could actually see his abs properly in Skam. He had also said months before that he had gotten a coach because before they started shooting seasons 3 and 4, he had met up with Marilyn to get advice on how to carry a season and she had told him to get a coach otherwise he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the pace. So what is the truth?

It leaked that Maxence was casted in July 2018 because someone on a Korean website recognized his shoes in an IG story from when he’d been spotted at the airport months earlier but it was kept mostly under wraps. Then his and Lais’s names leaked too a couple of months later but most people hadn’t seen his face before the trailer.

David asked Axel and Maxence to give up their phones and social media during the couple of months they were shooting to be really focused and not get distracted by the outside world and they mostly did. Axel bought an mp3 to still have music, he wrote “LUCAS ♥” on it with a white out pen. He created a playlist for Lucas, including songs like Run Boy Run and I love you by Woodkid, and To Build a Home by the Cinematic Orchestra.

Maxence’s process to get ready for a shot: he does yoga and dances a lot in the morning. he puts music on and paces a room while picturing himself standing on the edge of a cliff and if at some point he feels like falling and loses his balance, it means he’s got it. He asks that all the scripts he gets be printed on the right side of the page and on the left he takes notes about what the character is feeling through 7 different states: love, hate, fear, power, vulnerability, sex and i hate myself for not remembering the last one. To play a scene properly, you have to conjure up 4 states to create one emotion. He loves that David respects his method and is able to adapt to every member of the cast’s method. He also uses his body as a tool, for example if his character has to feel lonely or unsure, he will curl up into a ball for an hour without moving and then he’ll be in the right mindset because his body is telling him he’s isolated. That’s the method he used for Eliott, he created “lost scenes” that weren’t in the script, moments in between scenes with Lucas, to get more into Eliott’s mindset.

Maxence wrote a letter to Eliott, drew a picture of him, and spent hours adding notes to the script about his personality before even trying to get into his mind.

There was a contest for the drawings in season 3. Maxence participated but didn’t get picked. Jeanne Lelièvre did!

All the social media content for seasons 3 and 4 were shot on the same day in December 2018 which is why you can see heavy winter clothing even when the content was published in May. For season 3, most ideas were Axel’s, and Maxence said no to 90%.

While shooting for seasons 3 and 4, Axel was also on stage every night for theatre

To prepare for his role in s3, Axel watched CMBYN, Moonlight, and The Office

They received more feedbacks from international fans than French ones at first. It was even a private joke between Niels and David, there were no comments in French on Youtube. Then the piano clip happened and David’s phone went crazy with notifications. He was in the editing room with Jérémy and the buzzing from his phone was non stop. They banned phones in the editing room after that.

Skam France owes part of its popularity to how accessible the cast and crew are, either on social media or IRL, with 6 entirely free events organized to get the fans and the cast and crew to meet, watch episodes together and have Q&As during seasons 3 and 4.

Skam France shooting locations have become extremely popular for the fans to hang out at and leave little mementos, to the point that the mayor of Paris has asked the team to pick completely untraceable locations, or make sure they are not in Paris itself for the next seasons

Skam France was the first remake to get renewed for 2 (possibly 4?) original seasons

Alexia and Daphné were supposed to have their own seasons they but couldn’t get the green light from Norway. He got the idea for Arthur’s story quite quickly after but they had to rework the scripts for seasons 5 and 6 a lot. Robin talked to David about his addiction to video games and how it could be a potential theme but in the end David chose deafness instead.

SEASONS 1 AND 2

It was Coline’s idea to make Alexia bi. There was a scene when Alexia mentions an ex boyfriend and she asked David “why wouldn’t it be a girl?” and his only reaction was “Ok. What’s her name?” and that’s how bi!Alexia was born.

It was also Coline’s idea to give Alexia’s colorful hair. She later regretted it because she had to bleach her hair twice to get the blue to stay and it fried her hair.

Assa’s worst memory of shooting s1 and 2 is when the girls have to carry Daphné, she kept dropping her and was afraid of hurting her.

Marilyn and Lula ruined the scene when the girls are having breakfast all together when they are on the countryside because they couldn’t stop laughing over carrots and the crunchy noise it was making. It was the last day of shooting and their nerves were all over the place.

SEASON 3

The first scene in the common room didn’t hit them that much, they didn’t realize the impact it would have because the whole shooting was just David yelling at them to look at each other then stop then do it again then stop etc

Nobody realized how big of an impact the “Moi c’est Eliott” line would have and then when they watched the clip, it was obvious.

The check de gang wasn’t scripted, it was Paul’s idea to make it a running gag. David wasn’t sure about it but after doing it just once, he was sold. Basile tripping over the bench was also Paul’s idea but he didn’t warn anyone he was doing it so Xavier started laughing and the camera was shaking so bad that they couldn’t keep it and had to reshoot the scene. They noticed during the editing process that Robin also tripped at the same time in the background during one take so they had to keep that one.

Lucas playing the piano was Axel’s idea even though he didn’t know how to play properly. He sent a text to David at the end of June with different ideas for songs and David picked the most difficult one. He then practiced anytime he could until they shot the scene in october. It took him two months to learn it completely and then a little more to make it look easy. (Niels later said it was his idea and that Axel was a cheeky little shit). Maxence had never heard Axel play the song before that moment so Eliott’s reaction is genuine. He didn’t think he’d manage to get in the right state of mind because the apartment was too small for the whole team and they were all very cranky, it was 3 am, but the moment he heard the first notes, he forgot all about it and was completely amazed.

The infiltration party: David asked that Basile pushes Daphné a bit, like shoves her out of the way when they have to run, but they hadn’t had the time to rehearse anything. After a couple of takes, Paul pushed Lula a bit too hard and she fell on her knees quite hard. He felt so bad because he never wanted to hurt her and they all had to take a half an hour break because her knees hurt. David after that was like OKAY NO MORE STUNTS EVER.

Axel got mad at the makeup department because the two lines on his face were not on the same place when they shot the outside scene and then once inside. He got so angry he could have cried that they wouldn’t believe him. So during the shooting he looked straight at the camera and wiped them away with the back of his hand to force them to draw the lines properly.

The first kiss scene: they had been shooting for 12 hours. It was raining intermittently all day so the team had to pack up the cameras often and wait it out when it was too much. They ran 4 hours late. They had a fake rain machine but no change of clothes so they could only shoot once. Below the bridge is not easily accessible, it’s a long path from the gate, so they used ropes to get things up and down from the bridge. They only had one shot. They had already shot kissing scenes but David was always telling them it had to be more passionate and kept yelling at them to use more tongue so for that shot they gave it their everything on the first (and only) take they did. 5 minutes later they were shooting the Remember scene.

They shot all the scenes in the colloc on the first week of shooting. Minute by minute was shot right before Samedi 9h17. They had to restart shooting samedi 9h17 four times because something wasn’t working between Axel and Maxence, they were clumsy and stressed. After taking 5 minutes to themselves with David to remind themselves of how pivotal the scene was, Axel and Maxence said they were ready and they shot the opening scene that made the cut.

The Phase de latence clip : Axel and Maxence felt like terrible actors because they had already shot all the big very emotional scenes and this was a bit tamer since Eliott doesn’t show much emotions. They felt that way about all the scenes shot in the school.

The Fête de trop clip: They shot the fight with the guys 8 times but it wasn’t enough for David until Robin slapped Axel on the 9th. After that they shot Chloé yelling at Lucas. Axel was still out of it due to the slap he’d gotten earlier that he hadn’t expected. At 3am, they finished with Lucas injuring his hands. Axel cracked the metacarpus in his hand and only told David two days later.

Leo has talked about the coming out bench scene and said Yann took it a bit too far and was too dramatic, he was like “i don’t know if i can say that… but c’mon… I mean. C’mon… that’s your best friend… who cares if he didn’t tell you right away, he had bigger problems on his mind, right?”He would have done it differently.

The “viens on n’en parle pas” scene was shot in 50 minutes in the middle of the night on the second day of shooting. Marilyn and Axel’s emotions were briming under the surface so it was one of the easiest scene to shoot.

The hardest scene to shoot for David in s3 was the intervention clip. It was the second day of shooting, the 4th clip of the day. Axel’s first take was not good enough and David was scared it would set the tone for the season. He had a stern talk with Axel. Thankfully, they shot a second time and it was the right one, everyone on set was crying and Axel was completely drained.

The scene where they go get the couch from the creepy place is the one they shot last for season 3.

The paint scene: they only had one try. Axel and Maxence hadn’t shot together for a week, David had done it on purpose and they’d missed each other. It was shot on a Friday at the exact time it was supposed to happen IRL. The whole thing lasts 14 minutes long. David took their pants off because they were slipping too much. Xavier almost stopped filming he was like “is he serious? did he just take their pants off??”. They shot a part when one of them slips on the ground and the other follows but that didn’t make the cut. There were 25 people on set, everyone in a suit to protect from the paint, but Axel and Maxence forgot everyone and just got lost in their characters. When David yelled cut, Axel and Maxence didn’t hear him and kept making out. David had to separate them. Then they all were so happy that they yelled their joy but then saw all the people who were behind the camera, and everyone was crying, like they had witnessed something too intimate. They showered for an hour, emptied 2 bottles of soap and even then it wasn’t enough, Axel still had paint running down his neck at a party that evening. The music used on set was Dreamer, the Khlar remix. Maxence was upset it wasn’t the one they ended up using in the clip, it felt like a betrayal because it “wasn’t the song they had made love to”.

Maxence fought with the costume department over the briefs he was wearing in the paint scene, because they had shot the PONI scene first and he could remember which ones he was wearing for the PONI scene and he wanted to wear the same ones. He was sure people would notice.

The first scene Maxence ever shot was the PONI scene.

The boat scene was quite special. It was a big moment for Maxence, he was extremely nervous, so David reduced the team on set as much as he could. Maxence got upset at Axel for being too present during the scene. Being used to a theatre stage, Axel is always a bit over the top, eating his ham with a flourish, stuff like that, but this was supposed to be Eliott’s big scene. Maxence asked for a break and told David that if Axel didn’t tone it down, he’d kill him. That also got resolved quickly.

The Remember Me scene: the priest is Lula’s dad. Lula and Niels both make a cameo in the church. They forgot to warn Axel that a car was coming when he’s running so his reaction is genuine. He was running so fast, the minivan with the camera couldn’t keep up so they shot it twice. They shot Lucas finding Eliott under the bridge just after shooting the first kiss. Maxence only had 4 minutes to get into the right state of mind which was extremely challenging and during that time he had to change his clothes, dry his hair and redo his makeup. Axel wasn’t feeling very well, he was exhausted after having shot 4 clips that day, but David told him he could do it so he ran on the path to the bridge harder than ever (David thought he was going to hurt his sinews) and when he fell to his knees, he was close to passing out, you can actually hear when he says the first “t’es pas tout seul” that he’s about to throw up / can’t breathe properly. They only shot that part once and after it was done David told them they should hug each other because what they had just done with Lucas and Eliott was precious and a moment to remember.

There was supposed to be a scene after the Remember scene but it was cut. Eliott is sleeping, Lucas brings him food and starts reading his book and then Eliott wakes up. They say hi, Eliott is confused about the time it is, it’s already late afternoon. He says he needs to leave, but Lucas tells him no. He keeps saying he has to go, he has to go to his parents. Lucas tells him it’s fine, they’ve been warned of where he is. But he says he’s got to leave anyway. Lucas asks him why he keeps insisting he needs to leave and Eliott tells him he just doesn’t want Lucas to see him like this. Lucas tells him he doesn’t mind. Then he starts teasing him, saying Eliott just wants to leave because he doesn’t want to own up to the fact that he lied to him. Eliott is confused. Lucas reminds him that he’d said there was no way he would ever be able to sleep next to a guy that hot (on the boat) and yet here they are actually taking naps. So Eliott must have lied to Lucas about finding him hot. Eliott says he’s an idiot and Lucas tells him that at least he’s not a liar at that what matters is that he is his idiot. “Congrats, you’re now the owner of an idiot… more or less hot” Eliott tells him he’s won and asks what they should do now. Lucas answers that they should start by saying hi properly and they kiss, and when they pull back they just look at each other whispering “salut”. Axel said he was upset at David for cutting the scene because it was so soft and intimate, he called him when he watched the episode to ask why he cut it, but it would have been too repetitive with the following Lundi 17h21 clip.

Lundi 17h21 is the second clip Maxence shot. Lucas’s “T’es beau quand tu rigoles” wasn’t scripted, Axel changed the script, he was supposed to say something about liking seeing Eliott smile.

The Je t’aime scene: the first shot they did was the most emotional one, it was one of the hardest scenes emotionally for Axel. He was crying so so much, he had tears and snot everywhere, and Maxence was just wiping it away so tenderly that David thought about keeping that shot but the snot was REALLY disgusting so they didn’t keep it. They shot it a few more times, except that then Maxence had to leave. So the shot of Lucas saying Moi aussi is actually to David. Axel said it didn’t feel weird because he does love David so it felt true.

SEASON 4

Assa sat down with the team before they wrote anything for the season and told them her whole life story. It lasted 4 hours and she cried when reading the script because they had included so many things she had told them, it felt like her and Imane were one.

Making Assa dance was Philippine’s idea. David asked her what she thought about when thinking of Assa, something that was really her and Philippine said “Dada, you should see her dance”

Moussa and Assa knew each other before since they had filmed together 5 years prior, a movie in which they already were siblings. They feel like siblings in real life.

The worst clip to shoot was on Lais’s first day of shooting, it was the bus clip. The shooting conditions were terrible, there was too much noise, and the crew was tired from having shot the 3 bus stop clips from season 3 earlier that day. David was convinced there would be nothing to save and they would have to rent another bus but the team worked their magic in post prod and it turned out amazing.

They shot the scene with Imane, Lucas and Eliott in class the day after Halloween. Maxence was at a party the night before and lost track of time. He had to take a taxi straight from the party to the set at 6am and showed up in full zombie costume and makeup.

Charles come back: it had been cloudy and raining all day but the moment the camera was on the girls’ faces, a ray of sunlight appeared and the wind blew in their hair, making it a real dramatic moment. Too good to pass on, it’s the shot they kept.

The fight between Lucas and Eliott that we vaguely hear in the background was just gibberish. Axel and Maxence hadn’t prepared anything and Axel just ended up shouting at Maxence things like YOU LIED TO ME BEFORE ABOUT LUCILLE YOU MIGHT BE DOING IT AGAIN ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE and Maxence NO I WOULD NEVER - BUT YOU DID - NO I WOULDN’T - YES YOU DID - NO and they kept going in circles so David was like “guys…. please, you might want to start screaming about something else or this is gonna sound very repetitive” but in the end we can barely hear anything so it didn’t matter much

When Alex comes to pick up Emma to go to the cinema, Assa had a break down and couldn’t stop laughing, hiding under a blanket and making all the girls laugh too with her. David had to scold them a bit to get them to stop.

Lais also ruined a clip by laughing for 15 minutes straight, it’s the clip at Imane’s house when they talk about the fair. It was the longest 15 minutes of the crew’s life.

The oui oui song during Daphné’s birthday party wasn’t planned, the team just lost control of the cast. Axel started it and everyone followed. The cast are actually terrible extras. They are too dramatic and noticeable in the background so party scenes like Daphné’s birthday were a nightmare to shoot.

Assa and Laïs rehearsed the Unknown dance clip every chance they got between every take, everyone kept tripping on them in the corridors.

The last sequences they filmed were actually the last clips at Imane’s house for the Eïd. Axel isn’t in the last shot because he had to leave for his play. He actually ruined the very last clip of season 4 by shouting his goodbyes to David from across the corner.

SEASON 5

The auditions for season 5 and 6 were held in June. Lucas was spotted through his youtube channel and asked to audition.

Coline learned sign language by herself after an initiation class with the whole team. She started signing in July and has been practicing ever since. Robin took a one week class in September and then kept practicing by himself and with the D/deaf people on set. David and the rest of the team also took an initiation class.

Robin doesn’t like water and was anxious about the scenes in the pool. David got in the water with Xavier, Robin and Winona to reassure him and direct them better. They limited the number of extras around the pool because of that.

The place where Eliott works is where David used to work when he was younger.

Coline wrote a song for the season

They couldn’t leave the mural in the high school so they took it off the wall (it wasn’t actually painted on the wall itself) and cut it into pieces. There are a few pieces framed on the walls of Lucas and Eliott’s flat.

#skam france #skam france bts #gaelle parle

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homebody-nobody · 4 years

Text

touch me someone

HIIIII it’s your favorite fic writer back from the dead with TWO whole fics real close together maybe I’ll finally become a consistent publisher?!? we can dream. Anyway. JJ and Kiara are my new Bellamy and Clarke I guess so enjoy this VERY angsty smutty hurt/comforty poetic nonsense the idea for which would not leave my brain til I wrote it. Please for the love of god read this bc I actually kind of love it and need validation or concrit or literally any feedback at all bc my none of my irl friends like this show so pls interact/comment

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ao3

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He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

But she’s still here.

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Touch me someone

I’m too young to feel so

numb, numb, numb, numb

You could be the one to

Make me feel somethin, somethin.

The Phantom went down around 8:30 PM. Or maybe 10:30. Kiara doesn’t remember. She only knows that the hours between then and now have felt like a lifetime and also no time at all. Like she’ll turn and John B will be there, behind her shoulder, laughing at something JJ said, Sarah hanging off his arm; but also like the world is dark and will be dark and has been dark forever. Like the sun will never rise after this. Like the storm took the light and heat from the world just like it took her best friend.

Later, she’ll learn that John B’s official time of death is listed as 8:34 PM, when they stopped trying to establish radio contact with him and Sarah. Later, she’ll watch news stories about the manhunt for Rafe Cameron and the scandal of Ward Cameron’s property being left to his second wife, rather than his remaining daughter. Later, she’ll get an email from an internet cafe in Bermuda and her whole world will flip upside down one more time.

But now, she is laying in her four-poster bed, watching the ceiling fan lazily trawl the same, tired circle, listening to the pull-chain tap not-quite-silently against the glass fixture. Now, her hair still damp from the shower that her mother made her take, eyes stinging from sharp wind and tears not yet shed, the inside of her mouth shredded and sore from the hours she spent chewing on her lips, the world is too quiet, too peaceful. The crickets outside sing soft and gentle, just like they have every night her whole life, and the texture of her comforter, the quiet harmony of the night, the soft click and whoosh of the fan -- it all feels so chokingly familiar, like spiralling back down to earth after spending weeks dipping in and out of orbit.

She wants to scream until her throat is raw, sob and fight and unleash herself on every single adult that hurt John B, that brushed him off or refused to help or wouldn’t listen to him. She wants to gut Ward Cameron for ripping everything away from John B, first his father, and then the gold that was his by right. The gold that was theirs. She wants to rip off Rafe’s skin piece by piece until he’s in shreds at her feet. She wants to eviscerate his father with the same gaff hook he used to rip apart those two mainlanders and ruin John B’s life. She’s so full of hurt and grief and anger that her fists keep clenching white-knuckled in her blankets and she wants to bring down the sky itself. But at the same time, she’s haunted by that same emptiness that followed her after Sarah’s childish betrayal, like she’s watching it all from the outside.

She can’t sleep. She won’t. Sleep is just an escape, a place to forget, and she’ll have to wake up and remember what happened all over again, remember the rush of hope and the hours of adrenaline and apprehension that ended in a tragedy none of them could have ever predicted. What child foretells death?

Rolling over, she presses her face into her pillow, smothering herself until her lungs force her to turn her head for air. She opens her eyes, no less heavier than they were hours ago. Her throat tightens like tears are about to well up, to spill over and stain her sheets, but they don’t come. Itchy and claustrophobic, she throws back the sheets and paces over the smooth boards of her room, bare feet making soft noises over the lacquered wood. She has to get out, to make sure that she didn’t dream up the whole goddamn thing.

She dresses quickly, throwing on denim cutoffs and an old drug rug that cycled its way through at least two of the boys’ wardrobes before landing in hers. She doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t know what she needs, but she throws her wallet, her charger, a flashlight, and her water bottle in her beat up backpack, and, on second thought, a toothbrush and some deodorant. She picks up her keds and tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the creaky eighth stair.

The key rack is empty, and, chastising herself for believing her parents would leave the car keys out after everything she’d pulled in the last few days, she rocks on her heels, assessing her options. The most prudent one is probably just to go back to bed, given the usual risks of going out at night as a teenage girl, the massive punishment that looms in her future, and, now, the lack of a vehicle. But the thought of returning to her stale room, skin crawling and mind racing at a standstill, makes the decision for her. She slips out the back door, making sure to catch the screen door before it slams, and digs out her bike from next to the garage. The tires could use air and the gears are misaligned, but it still rides, and it’ll get her… somewhere else.

Her original intention is to go to Pope’s house, mostly because it’s closest, but then she thinks about how she kissed him earlier that afternoon -- and God, was that just this afternoon? There’d be implications, now. Showing up in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at his window -- it would mean something. So she stands up on the pedals and pushes past his street, floating like jetsam through the night.

She ends up heading for the chateau, which is where she was going all along. After her family moved to the outskirts of figure eight just before high school, it was the only place that felt like home anymore. She cruises deep into the cut, where even the smell of the air changes, from freshly mowed grass and chlorinated in-ground pools to gasoline and oil, rotting seaweed and the salt marsh.

The little house sits in the reeds, ramshackle and welcoming as ever, tired and reaching under the moon. It’s empty and forlorn, alone on the edge of the edge, out past the main cluster of the cut, pushed past the tideline, separated from the rest of the flotsam by a freak wave. The Routledge boys never fit in, even with the outcasts, and they made their home like they knew it. Skidding to a stop in the gravel driveway, the sting of tiny rocks against her bare ankles is the only thing she’s really felt in hours. Her heart picks up, skipping over itself as her memory stumbles over all the years seeping out of the wind-weathered boards and the sinking foundation.

Again, it feels like this would be a moment for tears, like the sight of John B’s house, the memory of Big John’s booming laugh and all the bonfire-scented nights on that sagging porch should mean enough to make something in her crack, to finally shatter the glass walls of shock and let the grief come pouring in. But it doesn’t. She just stares up at the chateau, one part of her aching for the ease of a found family she’ll never get back, the other dreading the fate of the little house.

The breeze changes directions as she stares up at the rickety shutters and holey screens, bringing with it the tinny sound of music played out of a cell phone in a solo cup, a noise she knows well. Her stomach drops to the hard-packed dirt, crashing there with her bicycle and sending up a cloud of dust. Maybe John B survived. Maybe he made it back to shore, and he’s laying low, doing that stupid, chivalrous thing he does, trying to protect them by not letting them know. Maybe he’s out by the shed in that old metal lawn chair, Sarah in his lap, exhausted and defeated and alive. But as she gets closer, the moonlight glints off tawny waves crusted with sweat and salt, and the momentary, wild hope crashes and ebbs away from the shore.

JJ hears her, of course, sitting up in the hammock and turning toward the sound of her flat-soled sneakers slapping the dirt. “Hey,” he says, his expressive face, for once, inscrutable.

“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath from the sprint. “I thought you were…” she trails off, because he knows. Because he’s the only one in the whole world who can look at her and understand the cathedral dreams and vaulted memories crashing down in her chest.

“I’m not,” he says, an answer that belies more than either of them knows. JJ gets this look, when he’s seconds away from doing something particularly concerning (and usually criminal). Manic energy lights up in his blue eyes, burning anywhere from mischief to stubborn determination to full-tilt rage. The well-developed muscles in his shoulders and arms refuse to relax, and his hands get so fidgety they lose the coordination it takes to flip the zippo lighter between long, practiced fingers. His face fights with itself, half already spitting with well-steeped anger, the other tired, and broken, and grieving.

“I noticed,” she responds. She drops her bag on one of the metal folding chairs, dooming it to a coating of flaky, faded paint. Crossing the grass, hoping her broad strides will disguise the rattling breath in her chest, the shake in her hands, she moves to sit next to him in the hammock, and he shifts his weight to allow her.

There’s no verbal communication, no squabble about personal space or indignant demands she find her own seat. There never is, not with her boys. The Pogues. It seems so silly now, hiding behind that name for themselves, a name she’d never really belonged to, anyway. He’s holding a lit joint in one hand, a bottle dangling from the other, and he offers her one while swigging from the other. The old favorites of a Maybank in crisis. She takes it.

He falls back next to her, sending the hammock swinging as he gazes up at the stars. Sarah had known the most about constellations, of the five of them, but JJ knows a fair amount, too, some of the only memories of his mother the nights when she would hold him under the stars, tracing the designs across the sky, her hand wrapped around his tiny one. His eyes keep drifting off the sky and landing on Kiara, eyes distant, bathed in moonlight.

“He’s not dead,” JJ says, surprising himself as much as her. He sits up, and she follows. He stares at his feet for a while, and she thinks about putting her arms around him. “I --” he picks his head up to look at her and stops, voice stolen by the hope in her eyes. “I’d feel it,” he finishes lamely, and watches the spark die.

“The first stage of grief is denial,” she says, and it’s supposed to be at least slightly lighthearted, but it falls cruelly to the crabgrass.

“You sound like Pope,” he counters, and there’s too much weight to that name to throw it around for long. They’re both thinking of Kiara kissing him, and the memory is pleasant to neither.

She doesn’t really know why she did that. Maybe it’s because he’s everything she’s supposed to want, intelligence and ambition and ingenuity, everything she tells herself is important in a guy. Maybe because he’s in love with her. Maybe because she’s definitely in love with one of her best friends, and he’s the one who makes sense. She takes another hit and hands the blunt back to JJ.

“I’d know,” he repeats, and she knows it’s not her he’s trying to convince. He lays back in the hammock, putting the blunt between his lips and dragging deep before tilting his head back and blowing the smoke into the tumultuous night. She looks back over her shoulder, watching his jaw and the movement of his throat as he exhales. Laying back next to him, she tries not to think about the warmth of his skin against hers, the strength of the body pressed to her side. It’s only JJ, the same reckless, stupid asshole who carried that damn pistol everywhere all summer and has a talent for getting into trouble. He’s not giving her butterflies with his proximity, and she’s not thinking about reaching down and lacing her fingers through his.

Eventually, JJ flicks the roach into the darkness and stands as quickly as he can without tipping Kiara out of the hammock. She starts, not realizing she was dozing on his shoulder until it’s gone. “It’s late,” he says.

She stands as well, tucking her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt as he kicks at the dirt. “I don’t --” she starts, and the hesitation makes him stop his nervous movement, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to go home.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts him. “I can’t go home.”

“Okay,” he says, after a second. He doesn’t want to be alone, either. She nods, and walks past him, picking up her bag. He follows her up to the house, and they stop at the foot of the stairs to the porch, staring at the buzzing light. JJ takes a stuttering inhale Kiara pretends not to hear, and he goes up the stairs first, wrapping a shaking hand the handle to the screen door. He pauses before going in, frozen, and it isn’t until she lays her hand on his shoulder that he summons the courage to push the door open.

They knew the place was going to be tossed, but it still hurts Kiara and kills JJ, to see the overturned table and scattered papers, the couch cushions scattered on the floor and the coffee table flipped. He tries to shuffle backwards, to run from the sharp, fresh grief and the deep, familiar ache of loss and violation, but Kie is in the way, and when he turns to escape she catches him, her arms around his shoulders, his clutched around her waist. “I can’t --” he chokes, his face pressed to her neck, “It’s not --” his breath speeds up, his shoulders shaking. “They --”

“I know,” she says, swallowing down tears, herself, in that same small voice from the night in the hot tub. She knew JJ was broken, on that deep, fundamental level that, intellectually, she could conceptualize, but she could never feel. But that night, seeing the bruises on his ribs, damning as fingerprints, the ghost of his pain, the whisper of breath knocked out and the brush of betrayal, turned her chest inside out. This feels the same way, watching him lose the last shred of some semblance of home to the same kind of mindless anger and selfish authority that claimed the first one. “I know.”

But she’s still here. “Kie…” he breathes. She opens her mouth to reassure him again, but then his hands are on her face and he’s kissing her, deep and rough and desperate. She bursts into flame underneath him, paralysis broken, stupefaction overcome, as the glass walls she’s been watching through crack and shatter at her feet. JJ’s hands wrap around the back of her neck and spread across the small of her back, pushing her up against the door, and she twists her hands into his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. Every desperate question is met with his touch, and she chases it, even as he pulls away in horrified shock.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, Kie, I’m so sorry --” He tries to shove himself away from her at the instant she curls her fists in his shirt, and it almost rips as she pulls and he slams back into her. Teeth clash and noses bump and it’s not perfect or soft or loving, but passion born from desperation and terror of what it would mean to stop. Putting his hands on the door on either side of her face, he pushes himself off of her, even as she tries to yank him back. “What are we doing?” he asks, in a voice that won’t like the answer.

“JJ,” she gasps, pushing her fingers back up to tangle in blond, salt-sticky waves. “Shut up.” Pulling his mouth back down on top of hers, she gasps into him as his hands come down and frame her ribs, one of his arms sliding around her waist and the other pushing back up into her hair.

“Don’t you think --” he tries, even as he leans over her, their breathing ragged, his knuckles white in her impossibly soft curls. His forehead is pushed to hers and he can’t pull away any farther, sucked into her gravitational field, helpless to it.

“I don’t want to think,” she insists. “I want this, I need this,” This momentary pause is already too long, and if he stops kissing her, stops touching her, the tears she’s been holding back will crash over her and they won’t stop. The dark room is loud with heavy breathing as she catches the scent of him, salt and sweat and smoke. “I need you.”

His grip falters and the momentary relaxation has her pressing herself against him. “Are you sure?” he asks, and this is a choice, now. This isn’t something that either of them can pawn off as a mistake made in the heat of a desperate moment. He wants this, has wanted it, ever since he met her, but he won’t be a decision half-made, won’t take advantage of vulnerability only to become a regret. He’s giving her a way out, knows her pragmatic nature and her anxious need for well-thought plans. He wants her to think, even if she’s desperate not to.

He’s right, when he almost never is, but she knows that if she waits too long or lets in the doubt that expects her, she will break. “JJ,” she gasps, “Please.” His name, she knows, he can’t resist, not when paired with urgent pleading, and in this way, she makes her choice. He surrenders to her.

They fall onto the creaky pullout, still set up from JJ’s most recent stay, not minding the sheets and blankets wrought asunder by the angry police search. He can’t let go of her, his hands pushing up her sweatshirt, dragging over her sides and up her thighs, tangling in her hair like he’s drinking her in with his touch, intoxicated with the smell of peach in her hair and the taste of sweat on her skin. Kiara lets herself get lost in him, ride the wave of desire pushing through her, moans and gasps when he hits the right spots and closes her eyes as he lifts her shirt over her head and attaches his lips to her neck, his hands finally coming up to cover her tits, and the long careful fingers she’d spent so many afternoons watching prove adept at twisting and pinching her nipples and leaving her begging for him.

She almost rips his t-shirt off, pulling his bare chest against her own and letting the feeling of skin on skin light her up, setting fireworks off behind her eyelids. Wrapping one hand around the arm holding him up, she can feel his teeth on her neck, and she knows he’s leaving marks, and, for once, it doesn’t feel like she’s being claimed. She knows what it is -- proof this is happening, that they’re alive and feeling and crashing together again and again. She sinks her nails into his bicep as his fingers skim below the waistband of her shorts, and feels him smirk against her lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, and the teasing in his voice is tortuous and reminiscent of his old, humorous self, just enough to make her sad for a moment, and when she nods quickly in return, it’s a bid to forget that sadness. His fingers flick open the button of her shorts and as his fingers dip lower, the only thing she can think about, the only thing she can feel, is his touch, his all-consuming presence, radiating heat. The bastard takes his time, her only gratification the press of him against her hip, hot and hard. He teases her through her underwear, and she can’t say she doesn’t enjoy it, arcing into his touch, shocks of pleasure building in incredible anticipation, but he’s going too slow, and he’s wearing too many clothes, still, and the intense want gnawing at her has too much potential to turn into grief.

“Would you just --” she grunts against his mouth, cut off on a moan as he presses his fingers against her clit. “Fucking -- ah,” he works slow, hard, circles, enjoying himself as she tries to form sentences with his hands on her. “Fuck me already!” Because even this can’t be easy, not between the two of them. Because she’ll always be fighting with him, even with her bare chest pressed against his and his hand down her pants.

JJ grins, scraping his teeth over her ear. “What,” he says, still teasing, still bittersweet, as he finally pushes his hand into her underwear, “aren’t you enjoying this?” Slowly, much too slowly, his fingers part the lips of her cunt, pressing down over her clit before finding the wetness further down. JJ practically growls as his middle finger dips between her folds and he finds her soaked, dropping his forehead against the forearm braced above her head. “Fuck, Kie,” he moans, and he can’t disguise the wasted crack in his voice. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He’s already drunk on her, every new sensation dragging him deeper.

“Your fault,” she stutters as he puts his hands, lean and strong and practiced, to good use, dragging slick fingertips back up to her clit and teasing small circles, rough, calloused skin creating delicious friction. And this -- this is what she was so desperate for, to feel only his touch and the way he pushes her higher, closer to an edge far away from the bleak grief of their every day world. He moans, too, as he dips his middle finger into her and she keens into his mouth, and she’s not thinking anymore, only chasing heat and skin and pleasure, the rest of the night foggy and distant, moonlit and blurred.

She doesn’t even know how much time passes before he’s kissing his way down her body, only that he’s fucked her so well with his hands he has three fingers inside her and she’s asking for more. He pulls his hand away and she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at the loss of contact, only to end on a gasp when she opens her eyes to see that he has his fingers curled around the waistband of her shorts and his face is hovering near her hips, pupils blown wide as he looks up at her. He asks her something, but blood rushes in her ears as her heart pounds and her chest heaves and it isn’t until his tongue darts out to wet his lips that she realizes what he’s saying.

“Fuck, yes, please,” she whines, and it feels like less than instant before her shorts are on the floor and his head is between her legs, his tongue on her clit, and she screams, pushing her hands into his hair as his mouth launches her higher and keeps her there, wave upon wave crashing over her until her legs are shaking, and when she feels the pull deep in her stomach and he takes half a second to breathe, she has enough presence of mind to yank him back up, slamming his lips down onto hers, tasting herself there.

“Inside me,” she gasps, ragged and raw and scraping. “Now.”

“But you haven’t --” he breathes, and she reaches down, shoving past the waistband of the shorts he’s still wearing, her hand on his cock stopping him dead.

“Now,” she repeats. And then, leans up to kiss him, slightly softer than before, as if in apology for being so rough, but more as a distraction as her hands unbutton his shorts and shove them down his thighs, her hands finding him again and stroking his cock until he’s gasping into her mouth. “Unless,” she says between short kisses, trying to keep her tone light, even as her cunt aches for him. “You changed your mind?”

He scrambles out of his shorts and boxers so fast it’s almost funny, but the laugh falls out of her chest as he braces his forearms on either side of her face, pushing her hair back from her forehead and looking at her so carefully it almost hurts. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, uncharacteristic worry trembling in his voice.

“I’m clean,” she says, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair once more, to ground her, and disguise their shaking. “You?”

He nods. “What about --”

“I have an IUD,” she says, more grateful than ever for her liberal mother and her own presence of mind.

He licks his lips again, eyes dropping to her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. “Last chance,” he says, like she’s going to change her mind and push him off of her, run off into the night and leave him here, disgraced and embarrassed. “Still sure?” he asks, like he’s expecting her to say no. She nods without hesitation, caught in his blue eyes, turned cobalt in the half-light. He kisses her one more time, and it’s laden with years of things he hasn’t said, and she surges up with urgency, not ready for the tenderness in his touch. JJ tries to slow her down again, to revel in the moment of bare skin and vulnerability, no matter how guarded it may be, but she reaches down, wrapping her hand around his dick, guiding him closer to her, and he’s falling into her touch, into her orbit, helpless.

She draws him inside her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder with a forsaken, heavy breath. It’s too soft, this moment before he moves, too easy to break, every sense on fire. The air is too close to her skin, too tight around her arms, like she could rip the fabric of it with the barest movement. She wants to be lost in him again, to feel separate, far away and floating above herself, not so torturously in her body, JJ trembling and present above her. “JJ,” she says, opening her eyes to find his, a split-second mistake, the next word hitching on its way out of her chest. “Move.”

He does, mercifully lowering his face to press against her neck, the eye contact too substantial, too burdensome to hold. The bubble surrounding them expands as he works her up to that blissful edge with ease, his mouth letting out a stream of filthy words about how good she feels surrounding him. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, letting her hands have free reign over his back, his shoulders, his arms and up into his hair, every place she wants to touch him when she watches his ridiculous muscles ripple under his young, tan skin. He shifts his weight, hooking her knee over his hip so his cock hits exactly the right spot with every thrust, and she cries out, racing higher.

She should have expected that JJ likes to run his mouth -- she only catches parts of what he’s saying, things like ‘so fucking hot’ and ‘sound so fucking good’ and ‘so fucking wet for me’ and as her moans increase in pitch and volume, he growls “c’mon, Kie, cum for me,” and she falls apart. He fucks her through the aftermath and she barely knows what noises are coming out of her mouth, her nails digging angry welts in his back. Just when she thinks she can’t take anymore, he tenses and spills inside her on a half-broken sigh.

Her vision sharpens as he rolls off of her, collapsing on the squeaky bedsprings, and the house is too quiet all of a sudden, the air once again too close. Her breath slows, the sweat cooling on her skin in the soft breeze pushing through the wooden walls, the still-open front door. Neither of them says anything, and Kiara can feel him looking at her, his blown out smile too loud in the fallout. She sits up, almost flinching at the light touch of his fingers on his spine when he picks up a strand of her hair. “I’m gonna pee,” she says, finding her underwear and pulling them on, and then, after half a moment, pulling his discarded t-shirt over her head.

Her head echoes as she steps over the scattered mess to get to the bathroom, like she’s walking through a tunnel. Her legs ache and tremble, and she wraps her arms around herself, numb and falling. She fights tears as she washes her hands. The bathroom is, as always, a deplorable mess, products everywhere and hair all over the sink. Her green bikini top is still on the floor from when she’d forgotten it just the other day, and that girl feels impossibly far from the one staring at herself in the mirror, wearing her best friend’s shirt while he’s naked in the next room. There’d be shame, and guilt, too, if the smell of John B’s deodorant didn’t choke her with overwhelming loss. Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she can’t hold it back anymore, and sobs spill out of her, harsh and echoing in the small space.

JJ is behind her an instant, half-dressed in basketball shorts and drawing her into his arms, tucking her close to him, her tears hot on his skin. “He’s gone,” she whimpers. “He’s really gone.” He doesn’t say anything, just guides her back to the pullout and straightens the blankets enough for her to fall in. She curls up on her side, crying so hard she can’t breathe, and he climbs in across from her, pushing one arm under her neck and using the other to pull her against him, his lips pressed to her forehead.

Tears leak out of his own eyes, silent and soft to her earth-shattering grief. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reassures her, fighting the quiver in his own voice, his chin shaking with the effort of it. He stares into the empty darkness above her head, every jerk of her prone body another crack in his breaking heart. “He’s coming back,” he says, more to himself than her. “He’s coming back to us.”

When she finally quiets down, the betrayal of dawn is beginning to lighten the sky, the moon fading, and the idea of this night being over feels impossible. For a short while, they breathe each other in, her forehead pressed to his collarbones, his hand trailing up and down her spine. Her head aches and her eyelids fall heavy over gritty, exhausted eyes, but she still fights sleep, stubbornly resisting another day, the beginning of a life without John B and Sarah. “I can’t stay here,” she says, finally, pushing back from him. “I should go home.”

He reaches up to catch her chin as she watches her hands curled close to his chest, reluctant to go. “Kie,” he murmurs, lifting her gaze to meet his. He moves forward to kiss her, and she flattens her palms against his skin, stopping him even as her eyes fall to his lips.

“JJ,” she says, an exhale more than his name. “We -- I mean, I --”

“Shit,” he sighs, and it almost sounds like a laugh, formed from expectations he wished hadn’t come true. “Okay.” His eyes flutter close, and she watches him draw back into himself, close all the doors, like he wants to turn off the lights and pretend he’s not even here. But then, he looks at her again, gently smoothing a curl behind her ear. “It’s just --” he starts, and inhales again, wetting his lips as he struggles to keep his eyes on her deep brown ones. “Can we go back to normal tomorrow?” Her eyebrows push together a fraction of an inch, and he focuses on the wrinkle there, a thousand times easier than holding her gaze. “Please,” he says when she inhales to say something. “I don’t want to be alone.”

It’s the first time either of them have been completely honest all night, and the most he’s said in hours. “Yeah,” she says, agreeing without thinking. Making it about him instead of admitting to herself that she wants to stay, that she doesn’t want to be alone either. “Yeah, okay.” She allows herself to be kissed, to be held and kept softly. JJ twists his fingers in her curls, skims his lips over her hairline before pressing his forehead against hers.

He tucks his hand against the side of her neck, his fingers spanning from her ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises, and they both pretend he’s saying it to her. She’s seen JJ cheerful and stubborn, breaking and angry, seen him a thousand different ways. But never like this, kind and soft, quiet in the grey, grieving dawn. Eventually, she falls asleep under his touch and reassuring whispers.

The morning is just as sticky and unforgiving as every other that summer, and she wakes up damp and sticky with sweat. JJ is stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his head, mouth slack and hair falling over his eyes. Her head still hurts, and now so do her back and thighs, and she stretches her hand out across the rumpled sheets, tracing the red lines she’d left down his back. He blinks awake, closing his mouth and freezing when he feels her touch on his skin.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey,” he replies.

She waits for him to say something, but he just watches her, his clear blue eyes unflinching. She bites her lip. “I should get home,” she says, keeping her eyes on the knuckle tracing over his back, his gaze too heavy to hold.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.” Neither of them move. The world waits on a hair trigger, and JJ’s more familiar with this kind of silence than she is. She wants him to break it first, to be the impulsive hothead he always is, to make the choice for both of them. But he doesn’t, and the moment crumbles, and she sits up and goes in search of her clothes.

He doesn’t say anything until she stoops to pick up her bag, sweatshirt in hand, ready to shove it into the biggest pocket. “Kie,” he says, and she stops dead, looking up at him. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say, but she deflates anyway when he just asks “my shirt?”

She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Pulling it off, she feels his hungry eyes trace up her bare chest as she untangles the drug rug before pulling it down and arranging it around her hips. She tosses him the shirt, and he holds her gaze as he flips it right side out and tugs it on. They stand on either side of the disheveled living room, daring the other person to say something, move, do anything first. He knows what he wants, what he can’t have, what he’s convinced himself he never will. She remembers the line she drew, the boundary she’d very clearly set. He chooses to respect it while she waits for him to break the rules.

Birds sing in the unflinching morning, and a breeze stirs the hair around her face. She slings her backpack over her shoulder. The sun blazes as gulls call and waves lap against the dock. He tilts his chin back, like he always does just before a fight. She turns to go.

#outer banks #jiara #jj x kiara #kiara x jj #kiara/jj #jj/kiara #outer banks fanfiction #jiara fanfic #jiara fic #jiara fanfiction #jiara smut #jiara angst #angst #smut #hurt/comfort #PLEASE interact with this I'm LITERALLY BEGGING YOU

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maychup · 5 years

Note

I know the glitra prompts was a while ago but if you still feel like you wanna write for it I’d be hella interested in seeing how they react to the realisation that they like each other, what makes them realise? Do they tell anyone? If any drama occurs, irl if I’m picturing this in a modern au or canon so feel free to do either!

Imm a do,,,, modern au :)

=====

A fight you can’t win

Catrina Driluth had this way of just... driving Glimmer up the wall.

Figuratively and literally.

Here’s how it works — Catra is an annoying highschool bully, who shoves kids into lockers to take their lunch for the day. Her victims are quite select kids too. Usually it’s the spoiled brats. Sometimes, her flavor shifts to rich jocks. Glimmer’s luck ran out when she realized she’s both. Two days into the school year, she found herself phnned to a locker with Catra threatening her for money.

So Glimmer clocks her in the jaw. Catra looked stunned, but she then threw herself to a brawl.

They were both sent to the office. Catra’s already damaged record pretty much automatically sorted the blame to her; Glimmer got away without a slap on the wrist.

That’s when Catra told her she’ll “pay for that”.

Two months into the school year, she saw something interesting.

Here’s what she saw — two bullies slapping Kyle’s (a well known weeb) stack of binders. They all laughed and made fun of him. One of them even went through his backpack and emptied it out when he couldn’t find anything of value. Glimmer was about to fight off the bullies, but they had already scattered away by the time she stood up. Instead, she helped Kyle clean up.

That’s not the interesting part.

The interesting part happened when both of those bullies ended up in a fight with Catra, and Glimmer was a witness to it all.

Glimmer left to the back of the school. She saw the three of them, except she thought it was a murder scene.

Catra stood over the bodies with a bleeding nose, a cut on her lip, and her fists bruised to hell.

“Hey Princess,” she said as she brushed passed her.

Glimmer debated calling help for the two boys on the pavement, but then again...

“Here, let me help you.”

If Glimmer could pick a spot, it all started there. Everything. Started there. She started watching Catra’s behavior a little more.

And that’s when the patterns arise —

Catra stole money from the rich folk. Almost like a Robin Hood type kind of stealing. It’s not right, for sure, but Glimmer feels something ease in her mind at the realization of it. For some reason, learning that Catra had a heart made her own heart flutter.

And still at the same time.

Because where did all the money go?

That question was answered almost immediately. She spots Catra after school, stopping by a local asian place — the ones where tou could buy a meal that’ll last a week for only five bucks. Catra steps out and heads to the more sullen part of town. Immediately, everyone greets her.

And immediately, Glimmer couldn’t fight the smile on her face as she watches Catra hand out portions of food to the masses.

Immediately, she headed home.

She talks to her friends about it — Bow and Adora. She wonders if they have noticed anything about her.

Bow — who has had surprisingly gentle interactions with Catra — said that when a group of boys in archery bullied him for having two dads, those same boys ended up with missing teeth the following week. That same week, Catra told Bow that he’s ‘Good at archery’.

Adora has had more than one good interaction.

Then again, the two used to be best friends.

Adora saw the most gentle side of Catra. Adora claimed that Catra is very, very observant. That she’d pick up an off hand statement and make something out of it within the next month. Adora remembered this one time she mentioned liking a certain food place to Catra. A few days later, she finds a take out from that place by her doorstep while she was sick with the flu.

Another incident was when Catra heard about Adora’s bullies, making fun of her for being scared of a rat. Catra took the blame by acting like she was terrified of mice, and Adora was just trying to protect her.

The most recent one was when they weren’t friends anymore. Catra fixed her car by stealing the needed pieces from other rich folks’ cars.

“She’s good inside but... really crappy on the outside,” Adora says.

Everything was pretty much the same for next two months. During a football game, though, Glimmer finds herself in a predicament..

She had snuck out, lying to her mom that she was sleeping over at Adora’s place. Really, she went to the homecoming football game. It was for her boyfriend, Roosevelt, who is now her ex-boyfriend after she saw him smooch one of the cheerleaders. And the problem is that Roosevelt was her only ride.

The night was looming over her, and it was far too cold to just walk five miles back home. Still, Glimmer tried.

That’s when this happened — Catra drove up to her in a motorcycle that looks too new to actually be hers.

“Jesus, Brightmoon,” Catra said with urgency. She shedded her hoodie off and urged Glimmer to put it on. “It’s the middle of fucking November, what the hell are you doing just wearing that?”

Glimmer shakes, and Catra looked more annoyed than she was worried.

Catra sat Glimmer down on the back of her motorcycle and they rode all the way back to Glimmer’s community. It’s a quiet home, so Catra’s loud motorcycle could be heard a block away. Glimmer’s grip on Catra’s waist felt incredibly warm. Like as if Catra radiated off some sort of unnatural warmth.

She tries to ignore it, but she can’t. Might as well savor it until it lasts.

When Catra pulls up to their house, her mother is already running out if the front door.

Catra doesn’t say a word as her mother started lecturing her about lying. She also started yelling at her about how worried she was when she called the Grey household because Glimmer wouldn’t pick up her calls. Glimmer tried to talk back, but what do you say when your mother catches you lying red handed?

“And you,” Catra visibly flinches when her mother started yelling at her. It... it’s a first. Glimmer doesn’t know what to make out of it.

So instead, she defends Catra.

In the end, her mother invites Catra back into the house for food and warmth. Her mother asks Catra questions upon questions, and for each of them Catra answered with full honesty.

It’s all revealed right in front of Glimmer — Catra is a bully who bullies bullies who bully those who don’t deserve bullying.

“What about me then?” Glimmer asks.

“I thought you were a snob too, but Kyle told me you helped him when those boys picked on him.”

After a few moments, Catra ends up sitting in Glimmer’s bedroom. She looked in awe of everything in the room. Every little trinket was picked up carefully before being placed back the way it was. She looks ethereal doing so.

Glimmer has watched Catra, but she hasn’t really seen her like this.

When Catra picks up a stuffed animal and teases her sbout it, Glimmer mentions how they’re old ones from her childhood.

“Mom never bought me these kinds of stuff,” Catra chuckles.

“Is it... because of money?”

Catra shrugged, finger still trailing a line to touch every item in the room. “No, she had the money,” there was something dark in her voice, “but she just wasn’t invested in me.”

This is when everythinf clicked together — Catra’s not the monster the world made her out to be.

“Is that why you hurt other kids?” Glimmer took a bold step towards her.

Catra stops and shrugs.

“That’s not good for you. You need to get help —“

“I know,” Catra sighs “but not yet. Not when my mother has the rights to know about my counseling sessions.” Step.

“I... take it you tried and it didn’t go very well?” Step.

“Something like that.” Step.

Glimmer takes Catra’s hand away from its roaming.

“Sparkles,” Catra whispers, “if this goes out to anyone at school, I’ll —“

“Beat me up?”

Catra’s smile carefully grows. The hand on hers grips hers. “If that’s what you’re into.”

Glimmer flusters. “I —“

“Oh, shit. That was supposed to be a joke but — ow!” Catra snickers when Glimmer shoves her back.

Catra retaliates by pushing her back. They rough around, and for once Glimmer feels some of the power in Catra’s body. No wonder she could take on groups of men. She was rippling with strength. Probably even more than Adora.

Definitely more than her.

Here’s what it was — Catra figuratively and literally pushes Glimmer up the wall.

Here’s what it is — Catra pushes Glimmer up the wall with their lips carefully dancing together. Glimmer can’t remember who made the first move, but it doesn’t matter. For someone so rough, Catra’s kisses were achingly gentle.

Glimmer did ‘pay’ alright.

Glimmer punched Catra in the face with her fist. And Catra struck her heart with everything she’s got.

And Glimmer hates to admit it, but it’s a fight she didn’t want to win.

#Glitra #She ra #spop #catra #glimmer #CAN SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO DO A ‘READ MORE’?? pls...?

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kweebtrash · 4 years

Note

Hey, not necessarily a sex question. But as someone who loves reading fanfic and appreciates fanfic writers, I still can't bring myself to write it. How did you get into writing fanfic, and was it ever weird for you? Do you have any advice on how to feel less weird about it? Especially smut about real people? (To be fair I can't bring myself to write smut in general idk why)

I started writing naruto and yu yu hakusho fanfiction when i was ten and it was just a regular oc and the character i liked. It wasnt good at all but i thought it was the greatest. When i met my sister (non biological) in middle school we decided to come up with our own "anime story". We would write it in notebooks and pass it to each other during class and get in trouble for it. So i guess that was the first time ive written an "original" story. By the time i was 12 i knew what sex was (mostly) and i knew teenagers did it (my characters were teenagers) so i was like oh if they like each other then they should do it. But because i was 12 i was like THATS ICKY TO WRITE ABOUT (in detail) so i made them get in bed and then skipped ahead and wrote THE NEXT DAY 😂😂😂

Then when i got access to a laptop and internet thats when i round "real" fanfiction online and smut back when it was called "lemon/lime/citrus" whatever the fuck that means. I still remember my first one was about neji hyuga LMAO.

I started reading more fanfiction throughout my teenager years and kept writing for anime, wrote bandfiction, created a bunch of OCs to rp with my partner at the time and i think by the time i actually started having sex that i was like ok this isnt so weird to write about anymore. So when we would rp we would just text each other sex scenes and i guess it became normalized because we were doing it irl so writing about it was just like hey! We sorta know what were doing! Oh i also used to watch a lot of porn as a teen? Idk why. That stopped after like a year or so but i found out shit through that, like bdsm, squirting, how utterly gross blowjobs are, what a hitachi wand was, how much i hate spit, etc. So that actually helped me discover like my beginning kinks. Porn is still terrible tho.

I think the first time i wrote smut was with a wrestling fanfic? And i had been reading a bunch of fics that had smut and with my basic knowledge and slowly finding out what phrases i liked in order to describe things it flowed a little more naturally but it was still hard.

Then i think i didnt really write much until i wrote my pentagon story which i think is terrible but other people like it. I guess with my practicing, experience, and sex education it started becoming easier? You can tell in my pentagon story that i was still getting back into the swing of things bc my sex scenes are atrocious and ridiculous 😅

I never really liked reading series myself bc i didnt want just prose and build up. I wanted smut. I was like THATS WHAT I CAME HERE FOR. So i made it a point to write smut in every single chapter so that way people stayed interested. In doing so it also helped me practice and get better. Then i read A LOT of bad kpop fics and was like....why dont these people know that sex isnt like porn??

There is a lot of copying in kpop fics in the sense that a lot of them are written the same way and we get the usual; some u realistic giant dick, "ministrations, pussy, cunt", kitten every other word, thigh riding, everyone confusing abuse with bdsm, "daddy" popping up left and right without going in depth to what meaning that holds, random weird shit. And i realized WOW I REALLY HATE KPOP FANFICS lol. So when i started writing messy i was like OK FUCK THIS IM GONNA WRITE SEX LIKE HOW ITS SUPPOSED TO GO. Then i starting writing smut where the condom broke, they talked about birth control, having a mental breakdown during sex, sexual assault, accidentally wacking each other while moving around, giggling, talking, explaining what you want. This i think helped me a lot, especially with my mental trauma that was associated with sex. I wanted to make it fun and real while also possibly teaching my readers about sex and maybe influencing other fic writers to not just regurgitate what they read.

As far as advice, im not quite sure if i have any?? Maybe i do lol. Take it with a grain of salt maybe?

With writing i would suggest

Read fics you like and highlight key phrases or actions you think are sexually appealing

Practice writing shorter scenes, you can even do time stamps or drabbles, things like that-people love those on here

Look into things. Honestly i knew what a cock ring was but someone requested i USE it in a fic and i was like shit guess i gotta google how to use a cock ring and while awkwardly watching videos of guys putting these things on i learned about metal ones, cages, silicone, rubber, rings, how long you should keep it on for, etc. So RESEARCH! is key too

If youve never had sex before that also helps if you research. Porn can give you a little bit of knowledge in generic motions or toys to use but by no means is it great as far as realism and sometimes its just plain icky.

So porn can be a basis, research can be a middle layer, reading other fics and seeing what you like and dont like is on top, and writing ur own is like...idk frosting lol.

As far as being weird with real people; since i wrote bandfiction and wrestling fics i was used to writing about real people for a little under ten years or so. Also i have a really active mind at night and i have tons of sex dreams that fit into like a story based setting. Thats where all my ideas for prose, dialogue and smut come from. Not everyone ofc has a brain like that but writing down things here and there might work. Lets say you have a favorite idol moment-like some really slutty dance move during a performance, you could time stamp that for inspiration. Save a lot of gifs and pics of them looking *chefs kiss*, listen to some music (i like alina baraz, sabrina claudio, galant, alex tbh, and jooyong for softer, gentler scenes or if you wanna get freak nastie listen to some dumbass jae park, or pretty ricky, or any sex related song thats not pretty lmao. Like rude boy by rihanna or something with a hard beat).

I think its also good to try and picture yourself in a sexual situation. You dont have to look like you, you could make up however you want to look in the scenario, its fantasy after all. Also think "would i like this?" Like i wont write about some idol spitting in my mouth or slapping me or peeing on me or something because thats not stuff that im into and i would be forcing myself to appease someone else and the writing woukd end up sucking big time. This also doesnt help the lack of good fics bc people are just following the requests they get even if they dont like it. I would write about what i think id feel in the moment. Id probably be nervous or if im pretending i could be a cool badass, i would think about things that i find attractive like his (imma use his bc i do write mostly about boy idols) face in the shadows of the light, how nice or soft his lips look, they way hes conveying emotions and looking at me if we were in love or if we were angry, the hold he has on me, why would it be going slow? Is it sad makeup sex? Is it a first time together? Is it just comforting after a bad day? Why would they be rough? Are they angry? Had a fight? Had a slow burn relationship and its culminated into a big explosion? Did they hate each other but hide their true feelings?

So i would suggest not just thinking about sex but thinking about the moment and all the things that lead up to, happen during, and the aftermath of it.

And of course if you don't understand anything or need more info about sex you can always ask me!

I hope this help and sorry its long😅😅😅😅

#i love my readers!

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danfanciesphil · 7 years

Text

Give Me A Try (New Chapter)

Gay Instagram Model/Bartender Phan AU Part 3

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Read on Ao3!)

Dan’s in the middle of his break, scrolling through his phone, when a text notification appears at the top of his screen. He drops his bagel into his lap, cursing.

The text is from Phil. He doesn’t know any other Phil’s, so it has to be AmazingPhil, texting him, inexplicably.

He clicks the notification, eyes wide, simultaneously scooping up the bagel bits that have fallen onto his knees.

From: Phil To: Dan im in makeup for a weird photoshoot for some korean clothing brand and they just put loads of silver goo in my hair to make it chromey

As Dan is reading the message, searching between the lines for a reason Phil might be telling him this information, another text pings through.

From: Phil To: Dan whoops, i kinda meant to send that to PJ. but hey, if you’re interested, here’s a pic of me with ‘Kpop Idol Silver Hair Paste’ in lol xx

From: Phil To: Dan [image]

The phone slips from Dan’s fingers, clattering through his legs to the floor of the staff room. Phil has sent him a selfie. An un-edited, un-Instagrammed photo of his breathtaking face, up close. Sure, there’s a weird silvery goop in his usually raven hair, but still. Gingerly, Dan retrieves the phone, a small, strangled sound escaping from his throat as he surveys the image in front of him.

It makes a little more sense now that Phil has informed him that he had actually mistakenly texted the original message, but did the guy really have to follow up with a photo? He must, surely, be aware of Dan’s crush. He witnessed the brunt of Dan’s obsessive stalking in person on his phone, after all.

Bagel entirely forgotten, Dan just stares down into the pixelated blue of Phil Lester’s eyes, wondering how to respond, and if he even should. Deciding eventually that it would be rude not to, Dan shakily types out something he hopes is vaguely witty.

From: Dan To: Phil hahaha wow :’) kpop? more like kpoop. (it looks like bird poop, sorry dude.) x

From: Phil To: Dan hahaha it does ur so right. and if you think thats bad you should see the outfits… xx

Settling back into his chair, Dan bites his lip. As he thinks of a potential response, his eyes wander over to the spot, just to the right of him, where he and Phil had stood not long ago, when it had seemed like maybe, possibly, Phil might’ve…

But obviously that’s absurd.

Dan’s wishful thinking had clearly driven him to the point of hallucination, because the very notion that Phil Lester, AmazingPhil, the famous Instagram model, would ever have looked at Dan as anything more than a random bartender, is laughable.

Dan sighs to himself, then smirks. Well, just because he has no chance, doesn’t mean he can’t utilise his semi-connection to the celebrity to get some behind-the-scenes footage of his fave.

From: Dan To: Phil well now i have to see x

There’s a noticeable pause, and Dan wonders, panicking vaguely, if he may have pushed too far. Is it a little much to ask this of Phil? Maybe he just won’t respond, and Dan will have to quit his job forever, or maybe just spend his shifts on red alert that Phil will wander into the bar, and hide from him if he does-

He texts back.

From: Phil To: Dan [image]

From: Phil To: Dan hot, right? xx

For two long, uninterrupted minutes, Dan is frozen. Then, he lets out a muffled groan of frustration. The photo Phil sent is a full body shot taken by someone else; he’s dressed in an asymmetrical long white t-shirt with several long rips through the chest, some bright pink camouflage trousers, and a shiny silver puffer jacket with a black fur-lined hood. The outfit is a complete disaster, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. His chest is visible through the slits in the tee; having seen it twice now IRL, Dan is drawn to the slivers he can see. The trousers make his eyes pop, and the jacket matches the silver streaked through his hair.

His pose is casual, feet apart, smirking at the camera, with his hands gesturing to his body as if to say ‘see what i mean?’. If he’d posted this on his Instagram, Dan gets the feeling he’d have saved it to his camera roll anyway, maybe even made it his phone background.

Dan’s done that with a few of his favourite photos of Phil in the past. He won’t even dwell on the time when Phil posted a photo of himself in the bath and Dan, in a semi-sleep-deprived fit of insanity, printed the photo out and stuck it on his wall.

Tyler came over once, weeks later, saw the photo taped above Dan’s bed, and tore the thing down. He’d told Dan, quite rightly, to stop being such a creep and keep his crazed obsessive behaviour to social media like everyone else.

“Who even has physical photos these days?? You’re like a fucking serial killer!”

Dan chuckles at this memory. He’s glad for Tyler, sometimes, even if he’s only good for keeping Dan’s stalkerish behaviour within the realms of normalcy.

Belatedly, he realises it’s been over five minutes and he still hasn’t responded to Phil. Also, his break is close to being over.

From: Dan To: Phil woww. please, phil of the future, tell me what life is like in 2087 x

From: Phil To: Dan stawwp. i keep laughing out loud at what ur saying and now the designer is sending me death glares :’’’D xx

Trying hard to ignore the fact that his dorky jokes are apparently literally making Phil ‘lol’, Dan checks the time, and sighs, typing out another message.

From: Dan To: Phil is the designer a martian? or maybe secretly one of those reptile-people? maybe skin him just to be safe. also my break is over so i gtg. have fun on set of NASA’s moonlanding recreation x

From: Phil To: Dan aww ur at work too? that sux. i forgot that u work at night lol. hope u stay dry this evening ;) xx

From: Dan To: Phil speaking of… why are u at work? isnt it kind of late for a photoshoot? x

From: Phil To: Dan well its 8am here so no haha xx

From: Dan To: Phil where are you? x

From: Phil To: Dan seoul :) hence the… unusual fashion lol xx

Dan’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He stands from his chair, throws his half eaten bagel in the trash, and looks around himself. He’s in the staff room - a small, dusty space with a row of falling apart lockers, a couple of chairs and a small table. There’s a hook on the wall which holds a load of unused aprons, and a rusty heater for when it’s especially cold.

He’s about to go back out to serve a load of rowdy customers some overpriced cocktails, then mop a dancefloor sticky with sweat, alcohol, and whatever other liquids might have found their way there. Then, he’s going to go back to his crummy flat way across in Kemptown, unfold his sofabed, and fall asleep to Netflix.

Phil, on the other side of the world in Korea, is having his hair, makeup and wardrobe done by professionals. He’s being treated like a celebrity, no doubt, and pampered excessively. Later, he’ll receive high-definition, professional photographs of himself looking gorgeous, and post them to his Instagram, where millions of people will tell him how stunning he looks.

Dan sighs to himself. How the other half lives.

The following day, Dan wakes up to find that Phil has updated his Instagram story, and posted the photo with the silver goo in his hair. The same one he’d sent to Dan. The caption reads:

Not sure silver hair was a good idea! The designer was going for Kpop, but ended up with Kpoop… can’t wait to show you guys the photos from this shoot! xx

Two things cross Dan’s mind.

First, Dan can now officially state that he had a sneak-peek at an official AmazingPhil photo before it was posted.

Second, the bitch totally stole his joke.

He smiles to himself ruefully, then decides to leave a comment. There’s no way that Phil will even see it - he’s never seen any of Dan’s others, or at least Dan sincerely hopes he hasn’t, as they’re mostly things like ‘choke me’ or ‘slap me round the face with your yaoi hands dad’.

Okay, maybe he tends to leave those sorts of comments when he’s less than sober.

This time, Dan just taps out a simple:

danisnotonfire: joke stealing is a low form of theft phil smh ;)

Still smiling to himself, Dan rolls over onto his side, and settles in to watch Phil’s story. The stories are usually long, silly, and full of adorable clips of Phil being clumsy and cute. As expected, this one is no exception. It’s a tour of Phil’s hotel room in Seoul, which is very posh.

Phil exclaims over the origami hand towels on his bed, the robe provided for him in the wardrobe, and the multiple options on the ‘disco shower’ as he calls it. Just as Dan is marvelling at the panoramic shot Phil has filmed of his view from the balcony, a notification pings at the top of his screen.

amazingphil replied to your comment: joke stealing is…

Dan sits bolt upright in bed, the sheets falling off him. He runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes wide. He clicks the notification before it disappears, heart pounding.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Dan hadn’t intended for him to actually see. What if Phil thinks he’s being rude? He doesn’t actually mind Phil stealing his stupid joke about the hair goo. It’s an honour, if anything, that Phil finds his dumb joke good enough to post as a caption millions of people will read.

Heart thrumming, Dan finds the response Phil left.

danisnotonfire: joke stealing is a low form of theft phil smh ;)

amazingphil: @danisnotonfire aha i was kinda hoping you wouldn’t see ;D

Another notification pings at the top of his screen.

amazingphil started following you

“Holy shit,” Dan says to nobody.

amazingphil liked your photo

“Fuck,” Dan squeaks, clutching his pillow for support. “Stop it Phil, I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Curious, Dan clicks the last notification, wondering which photo it was that Phil pressed the little heart for. To his surprise, it’s a selfie, one he took at work around a month ago. He took it during a lull between serving, if he remembers correctly. The lighting hadn’t been awful when he was doing his hourly fringe check in his phone camera, so he’d snapped a pic. It’s nothing special, just a moody expression and a wash of pink lighting across one half of his face.

amazingphil commented on your photo

amazingphil: nice pout ;) xx

Dan falls back into the pillows, mind obliterating itself into a thousand, tiny pieces.

Over the next few weeks, Dan has several text conversations with Phil. They’re usually started by Phil himself, who will - out of what Dan assumes is boredom - sometimes send him a random meme, a musing about his surroundings, or a selfie. For obvious reasons, Dan prefers the latter.

No matter how many times Phil reaches out via text, the surreality of it never fails to send Dan’s mind freewheeling. It always knocks the wind out of his lungs, it always makes him stop dead in his tracks, and it always leaves him struggling to recover for the next few hours. Whenever this happens at work, Tyler never fails to tease him mercilessly.

“Whoops! Please excuse him, sir, his mind has been blended by a single text from his crush,” Tyler tells a customer the fifth time Dan drops a glass behind the bar.

Dan scowls at his friend, but doesn’t try to defend himself. It’s true, after all. One text from Phil has him behaving like a moron. He becomes physically inept, unable to make the simplest drink.

One night, after the bar has closed, Dan and Tyler are cleaning up.

“So when’s he gonna stop torturing you over text and come sweep you off your beer-drenched tootsies?”

Dan rolls his eyes at this. “He’s not, Ty. He’s a rich and famous superstar, and I’m clearing up puke for the third day in a row.”

Dan wrinkles his nose as he continues mopping up the patch of vomit. He’s suspicious at this point; three days in a row is unusual. Is the same person coming in each night and spewing their guts all over the dance floor out of spite? Perhaps it’s some sort of hate crime.

“It’s like a Cinderella story!” Ty exclaims, pirouetting around his broom. “Except it’s gay, which makes it even better.”

Dan scoffs at him. “I’m pretty sure fairytales don’t involve stalking someone over social media and having them find out. He’s just taking pity on me because he saw that first night that I’m a fan.” Dan dunks the mop back in the bucket, turning to Tyler. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he has a boyfriend.”

Tyler sucks in a scandalised breath. “What! Who?”

Dragging the mop back to the supply closet, Dan laughs. “Remember the drunk guy he came with? The one who gave me a lovely Rainforest shower?”

“Him?”

Dan sighs, locks the cupboard, and nods. He digs into his pocket for his phone, and brings it over to show Tyler the photo of Phil and Charlie kissing. Matt, the security guard wanders over to see as well, letting out a low whistle.

“He’s a nonce if he thinks that guy’s behaviour was attractive,” Matt says. “He puked ‘soon as I got him out the door that night. All over the pavement.”

Dan looks at Matt, tilting his head in interest. “He did?”

Tyler plucks the phone out of Dan’s hand, zooming into the photo to have a better look, a frown on his face.

“Yep, your friend there came out, called him an Uber and sent him off,” Matt says. “Doubt pukey there would’ve made it home without him.”

“Nice guy,” Dan mutters, cheeks warm.

“This is staged,” Tyler announces abruptly.

“What?”

“Look,” he says, bringing the phone back over for Dan to see.

He zooms in on the crux of the kiss, right onto Phil’s face. Dan grimaces.

“Ty, I don’t want to see-”

“Shut up and look at his face,” Tyler interrupts, grabbing Dan’s chin and angling it towards the phone. “See how his lips are puckered? All stiff and pointed, like he’s kissing his grandma. And his eyes are open.”

“He’s looking at the camera!”

“Nah, Tyler’s right mate,” Matt says. The gum he’s chewing is making gross squishy sounds right in Dan’s ear as he leans over to look. “He looks awkward as hell.”

Dan narrows his eyes at the photo, trying to see what the others see.

“Besides, didn’t you say he hated that guy?” Tyler asks, clicking off the photo.

Dan tuts, snatching his phone back. “Well, apparently he was just being nice to compensate for the fact his kissing buddy covered me in sugary cocktail.”

He makes the smart decision to step away from this preposterous conversation before he does something stupid. Like allow either of these morons to give him hope that Phil is actually single.

Not that Phil being single would even matter.

“Or he was making it clear that he’s available!” Tyler calls after him as Dan stalks over to the staff room. “He whipped his shirt off for you twice and gave you his number. Do you think he’d do that if he had a boyfriend?”

“Drop it, Ty!” Dan calls back, shutting the staff room door behind him.

He will not let himself fall into the trap of daring to believe he could get someone as gorgeous, as hilarious, as pure and… amazing, as Phil Lester.

He won’t.

This is a good philosophy, in theory.

In practise, it turns out to be a lot more difficult. Dan finds this out to his cost when Phil strolls into Habenero the following Friday with Charlie Hickory at his side. Dan’s stomach sinks as soon as he sees the pair, the butterflies that appear each time Phil so much as acknowledges exploding into dust the moment he registers who Phil is here with.

Phil makes a beeline for the bar, a big smile on his face as he sees Dan. Warily, Dan smiles back, very aware that he is not exactly Charlie’s biggest fan.

“Dan!” Phil sings, chipper as ever.

Blushing already, Dan waves an awkward hand. He will never, he’s sure, get used to hearing his name on Phil Lester’s lips. “Hi. You’re back.”

“Of course! This is my local hangout now,” Phil says, winking. “Great cocktails, cute bar staff, crazy Bingo nights… this place has got it all.”

“Some people might not agree with you about the cocktails,” Dan can’t help himself saying, glancing at Charlie.

Charlie shuffles awkwardly on the spot. “Right,” he says, casting a look at Phil. They share a look that seems loaded with something Dan is not privy to, and then Charlie sighs, turning to Dan. “I wanted to, uh, apologise. About last time. Totally not cool of me to… tell you off like that. I was wasted.”

For an awkward moment, Dan waits for the actual word ‘sorry’ to leave Charlie’s mouth. It becomes obvious fairly swiftly that the dude feels he’s already said enough, so Dan just gives him a tight smile, and clears his throat.

“Oh, yeah man,” he says. “Let’s just… move on, I guess.”

If Charlie won’t say sorry, then Dan’s sure as hell not going to say he forgives him.

“So, drinks?” Phil asks, seeming to sense the taut atmosphere. “Maybe not cocktails?”

Dan can’t help the splutter of laughter, but Charlie shoots a dagger-like glare Phil’s way. It makes Dan’s lip curl; how could anyone be angry with Phil, of all people?

“Maybe some beers?” Dan suggests, teeth clenched. “We have a load of craft beers, or if you’re more into spirits I could make you guys a-”

“I’ll have a vodka and light tonic, no ice,” Charlie interrupts. “A double. If you use regular tonic, I will know.”

“Charlie,” Phil hisses under his breath.

They exchange another loaded look, and again Charlie sighs, turning to Dan with a fake smile. “Please.”

Swallowing the urge to roll his eyes, Dan nods, then gladly turns his attention to Phil. “And for you?”

“Oh,” Phil says, like it’s only just occurred to him that he needs to order as well. “God, I’m so bad at deciding, err…”

As he’s dithering, Charlie sighs. “Are you cool to get these, Phil? I’m gonna go find us a table.”

“You don’t wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

Phil nods, obviously disappointed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll meet you in the back.”

With that, Charlie is gone, slipping into the crowd. The look of distaste must be more evident on Dan’s face than he thinks, because Phil laughs at it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But he does have a few… marginally amiable qualities.”

‘Why have you chosen to be with someone that’s marginally amiable when you’re so great,’ is what Dan wants to ask. Instead, he simply shrugs, deciding to change the subject.

“Have you decided on a drink yet? I’d better get on with making his low-cal dishwater.”

Phil laughs a little, then leans forwards, his smile deepening as he leans across the bar. “Surprise me.”

Something sparks a roman candle in Dan’s stomach, and his skin prickles with the heat it creates. He drags his eyes free of Phil’s with some difficulty, nodding, and turns to make the drinks.

He prepares Phil a ‘PopQueen’ cocktail, which is one of their most popular. It’s inspired by popcorn, along with the trio of Pop Queens that rule the gay music scene: Gaga, RiRi, and Bey. The moscato vodka base is made from Italian grapes to represent Gaga’s heritage, the spiced rum is a shoutout to Bey’s favourite drink, and Riri comes in in the form of a smoky splash of passion fruit bitter. The rest is topped up with popcorn syrup, lemonade, a sprinkle of caramel popcorn kernels, and as many sparkly cocktail sticks as Dan can fit in.

He explains the whole concoction to Phil as he presents it, a little smug because he knows this is an impressive looking cocktail. It’s probably his favourite one to make; the Viniq shimmery moscato vodka makes the drink swirl and shimmer - always exceptionally pretty.

Sure enough, Phil’s mouth drops open at the sight of it. “Okay wow,” Phil says, chuckling. “I’m gonna get drunk tonight, aren’t I?”

“If that’s your plan, this should definitely help you on your way,” Dan says, laughing too. “I wouldn’t recommend having a second if you want to remember your evening.”

Phil leans forwards to take a sip of the PopQueen, moaning around the straw, much to Dan’s dismay. He plucks one of the popcorn pieces off and eats it, eyes closed. In related news, Dan struggles not to fall to the floor. “Dan, you are an artiste,” Phil says. “Popcorn is my all time favourite food.”

“Oh, wow, that’s... lucky, I guess,” Dan stammers, a swell of pride surging up into his chest. “Glad you like it.”

“So, how much?”

“Oh, on the house.” Dan smiles, sliding the cocktail across the bar along with Charlie’s vodka tonic. “I feel bad for not letting you in on the forfeit for Bingo last time.”

The look on Phil’s face softens into something so sweet Dan can taste sugar on his tongue.

“You don’t have to do that,” Phil says softly.

“It’s fine, really,” Dan assures him, all but sliding his elbows across the bar towards him. “I insist.”

A twitch in the corner of Phil’s mouth, and then he’s leaning across the bar. It happens slowly, but Dan still manages to be caught off guard. One moment, he’s watching, bemused, as Phil inches towards him, and the next there’s a light press of paper-soft lips to his cheek. A scratch of stubble grazes over Dan’s skin as Phil leans away.

“Thanks,” Phil tells him, smiling. “You’re sweet, Dan.”

And then he’s turning away, drinks in hand, slipping into the mass of people.

For the next few hours, Dan hopes for Phil to return to the bar for another round. He waits, eagerly, for this moment to come. Instead, Charlie is the one who brings his and Phil’s glasses back over, and waves to flag down Dan’s attention.

He nods in acknowledgement, finishing up the drinks order he’s in the middle of, and sidling over to Charlie. He forces a strained smile.

“Same again?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, digging out his phone. “And a couple of vodka shots.”

He says nothing else, eyes glued to his phone screen. Dan waits for a moment before moving off, eyes stuck to Charlie’s face. He’s the kind of gorgeous that shouldn’t exist in real life. Unblemished, tanned skin. Clean, dark stubble, lacing his perfect, razorblade jawline. His hair is a swoop of glossy mahogany; even the cut of it looks expensive.

Charlie’s eyes flick up to Dan’s, obviously questioning why he’s staring, so Dan nods, embarrassed, and hurries to make the drinks. From a superficial standpoint, it’s obvious why Phil is with Charlie. Obviously, in Dan’s eyes, Phil is the most attractive man on the planet, but that’s just because he’s Dan’s type. Even he can tell that Charlie is objectively a beautiful human being.

It’s just a shame about everything below the surface level.

Dan pours the two shots Charlie ordered. “All together it’s twenty pounds, please.”

Charlie snorts, then pockets his phone at last. “Figures you’d give Phil the discount.”

He pulls out a twenty and slaps it on the counter.

“Sorry, I can’t give you guys free drinks all night.”

Charlie just stares back at him, a faint, knowing smile caught on his dusty pink lips. One of this thick eyebrows is slightly quirked, sliding an irritation under Dan’s skin. “Listen, Danny, is it?”

“Dan,” he grits.

“Dan,” Charlie says, leaning across the bar. “A little advice, yeah? Don’t be so transparent. It just comes across as pathetic.”

He downs both the shots in quick succession, baffling Dan, who is frozen, mortified, to the spot. Before his brain can thaw enough to stammer out some witty rebuttal, Charlie has swept the drinks off the counter, and is moving away.

Cheeks burning, Dan turns around, trying to calm his boiling blood. He squeezes his fists together, counting to ten, the way he makes himself after all encounters with dickhead customers.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, can we get some drinks over here, please?”

With a deep sigh, Dan unclenches his fists, and turns to the next customer.

At around one in the morning, Dan runs to the bathroom for a minute, and on his way, he sees Charlie. He’s against the wall of the club, near the DJ booth. There’s a muscular, dark-skinned man pressing him there; their faces are close. Dan can’t stop, he’s left Tyler and Dodie to the mercy of the drunks in their worst state - things get rowdy an hour before closing - and he needs to get back there. So, instead, he simply tucks the image away in his mind, to think about later on.

That man, leant against Charlie in a less-than-innocent seeming stance, was certainly not Phil, after all. As he exits the bathroom, he notices that Charlie is gone, as is whoever was with him.

At 1:55am, the lights come on. As usual, an enormous groan chants out of the crowd of patrons on the dance floor, followed by a few pairs awkwardly stepping out of the shadows, some squinting and eye-covering, and the slow, jelly-legged walk to the coat-check area.

“I think I just saw some guy getting up off his knees in the corner,” Tyler says despondently. “Shotgun not mopping the floor tonight.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dan sighs. “On the dance floor? Really? Why can’t they suck each other off in the bathroom like normal people?”

“Oh, there were definitely people doing that in one of the stalls about an hour ago,” someone says to Dan’s right. The voice, for some reason, sends the hairs up on the back of Dan’s neck.

He turns, wondering when Matt’s voice got so low, only to find that Phil has perched himself on one of the bar stools, the dregs of his cocktail still in a glass in front of him. For a moment, Dan is too stunned at the sight of him to reply. Then, he registers that the lights are on, and cringes, knowing he likely looks frightful. Phil, of course, looks radiant as ever even under the harsh fluorescents, apart from a faint tiredness, visible in the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You’re still here,” Dan comments. “I thought you guys had gone.”

“Charlie left,” Phil says, looking away from Dan. “Or I assume he did.”

Out of sight, Tyler catches Dan’s eye, making an obscene gesture with his hands before snickering and running off in the direction of the supply closet. Dan just glares after him, pink-cheeked, and turns back to Phil.

“Wait, he left without telling you?”

One of Phil’s shoulders moves towards his neck, then falls. “He does that.”

“Wow that’s… kind of shitty.”

As soon as the words are out, Dan regrets them. He can’t help but think of Charlie’s comment from earlier; it rings in his ears as if the guy had screamed it at him.

Don’t be so transparent. It just comes across as pathetic.

He was right, probably, though Dan had hated hearing it. He should stop being such a suck-up. It must be awkward and cringey for Phil to see Dan so obviously smitten.

Still, Phil throws him a faint smile. “It’s cool. He’s just a flaky guy. A bit of a princess. He grew up rich, so he’s always been a bit superficial. I’m trying to wring the bourgeoisie out of his blue blood.”

Dan snorts with laughter. “In my experience, you can’t filter the dickishness out of people very easily.”

There’s a silence, then. Phil regards him with a faintly curious expression.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Dan says once the silence gets too uncomfortable. He shrugs, grabbing the rag from his back pocket and starting to wipe down the bar. “I don’t know the guy, really. I’ve just had a couple of unfortunate experiences with him.”

“Oh no,” Phil says, face falling. “What did he do this time?”

Dan laughs, bitterly. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just a little mouthy, is all.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“So, when do you get to leave this place?” Phil asks, playing with his glass. He still hasn’t drunk the remainder of his cocktail. “Or do you sleep here?”

“On weekdays, the bar closes at two, so I get out of here at around two-thirty.”

“Christ,” Phil mutters. “And I thought my job was long hours.”

A laugh bursts out of Dan’s throat, but he covers it as best he can with a cough, turning away. Busying himself with ‘dusting’ some liquor bottles, Dan tries to compose a straight face. Is Phil honestly going to try and argue that his job is difficult? When was the last time that guy ever grabbed a broom, or handled someone’s sticky change?

In a minute, Dan is going to go into the corner of the dance floor, get down on his knees, and clean up some randomer’s come. A few weeks ago he saw Phil swanning about a five-star hotel in Korea. If AmazingPhil’s worst complaint is that he had to have a few questionable outfit choices put on him, and some silvery goo in his hair, then he needs a reality check.

Nevertheless, Dan knows that he can’t say any of this. Not only would he never dream of insulting Phil Lester, but it’s pointless to try and explain the differences between classes to someone in a privileged position. They’ve usually forgotten how to understand.

“Are you close by, at least?” Phil asks, interrupting Dan’s thoughts.

Dan turns back to him. “Kemptown. It’s half an hour’s walk, more or less.”

“You walk?” Phil asks, eyebrows skyrocketing towards his quiff. “At two in the morning?”

“Five in the morning on weekends,” Dan confirms, hiding a smile at Phil’s surprise. “It’s okay, you get used to it. Besides, it’s mostly just drunk idiots chugging cans of cider and threatening to run into the sea. Not too scary.”

Despite Dan’s reassurance, the look of pity and concern on Phil’s face doesn’t subside. After a while, Dan turns from it, feeling awkward. He busies himself with clearing away the last of the empty glasses, yawning into the crook of his elbow. Tonight was rough.

“You should crash at mine,” Phil blurts.

Sure he must have misheard, Dan faces Phil slowly. “Um, what?”

“If you’re exhausted, I mean.” Phil fidgets, fingers tapping against his glass. “Like, on the nights you can’t face walking all the way home, you can totally just sleep on my sofa.”

Speechless, Dan simply stares.

“The couch is pretty comfy,” Phil continues in a ramble, not meeting Dan’s eye. “And my flat is just up the road, literally like a minute away. I’m not saying, y’know, come over every night, ‘cause obviously… that might be an issue, but you can absolutely stay round on, say, Saturday nights when you finish later. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

He’s just being nice. That’s Dan’s only explanation. Phil Lester is a sweetheart of a person, and he got so worried about the hypothetical danger involved in Dan’s walks home, that he offered something big, even though he didn’t really mean it.

Dan is a stranger to him. He needs to decline the polite offer, and let Phil off the hook he accidentally created to string himself up on.

So, Dan forces out a small chuckle, and says: “Oh, no, it’s really fine. Thanks for the offer, that’s really good of you, but I quite like the walk. It’s a nice come down after a busy night.”

Phil nods, chewing his lip. He looks unconvinced. “I’m not just saying it, though.” His voice has dropped to a lower tone. “Like tonight… you’re so tired, I can see it. Just grab some sleep at mine before you head back across town.”

As soon as Phil mentions it, the quilt of his own exhaustion flops around his shoulders, dragging Dan’s bones towards the floor. He tries to picture the stumble back to his crummy flat in Kemptown, loathing each imaginary step.

“You barely know me,” Dan says - one last attempt at refusal.

Sensing he’s won, Phil smiles very slightly, then downs the rest of his cocktail at last. “I don’t know if it’s just me, Dan, but I have this feeling that we’re going to be good friends.”

(Part 4!)

#phan #phanfic #bartender au #phanfiction

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