#i knos i sound so arrogant here but please. please i just want to make this music fun and enjoyable. i just dont want it to be boring

[widevibratobitch]

so i am singing that vitellia in the end... but at what fucking cost.

'you gotta sing this softer'

'what'

'this is mozart'

'this is vitellia'

'this is mozart'

'im singing about how much i hate this mf and want him dead before the end of the day'

'this is mozart'

'i wanna murder a guy'

'this is mozart'

'...'

'softer. gentle. mozart'

'...ok'

[stokingthemidnightflame]

Xanthorrhoeas: Fire and Flame (1/6)

(AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173700/chapters/61005721#main)

So I did a thing...wrote a fic. I hope you like it! 

Xanthorrhoeas

It’s a little known fact that lingering in the ashes of fire, the beautiful Xanthorrhoeas can spring up again.

Six years after a nasty breakup, Nesta Jia Archeron and Cassian Ramirez still can’t seem to get away from each other.

As Nesta seeks to make sure that life-saving healthcare ends up in the right hands, and far away from Hybern’s hands, she begins to attract threat after threat. Underneath carefully curated pearls, stilettos and tweed jackets, Nesta’s a viper waiting to strike. But she’s fresh out of law school, and the Archeron sisters are wading into dangerously flammable territory.

Where flame appears, heat follows close behind.

Cassian Ramirez is ex-Marine. After two tours, a breakup, and one honourable discharge, Ramirez Securities is a leading digital and personal security company. Nesta has always been his kryptonite; and when he gets the call, there’s no question - he’s always going to have her back. Semper fidelis. Always faithful.

And maybe, just maybe, something else will bloom too.

----

Chapter 1: Fire and Flame

She wanted to be here about as much as Rhysand seemed to want Keir to be here. His arm was curled protectively around Feyre, both dressed to the nines as they greeted each guest with smiles and hugs. The gala was yet another one of Rhysand’s obligations as the CEO of the massive technology conglomerate, Velaris. There were perks to being a thirty something heir of a recently deemed Fortune 500 company: thousands of employees, a healthy salary and almost anything money could buy, but it did not preclude Rhys from having to deal with pompous old white men and their entitled children. Tomas being one of them. Nesta didn’t want to think about her ex, who she saw with two women wrapped around him in a corner.

Unfortunately, she was about two seconds away from pouring her virgin margarita on his smarmy face. He grinned as he saw Nesta and gave an arrogant half-wave, half-beckon, still ensconced by the two blondes, each wearing a tiny scrap of a dress. She ignored him resolutely.

That fucking asshole. Two years, and all she had for it was a shitload of trauma and therapy - six months and still counting.

“Nesta, there you are.” Helion, smoothly said as he finally arrived, wrapping a soft, manicured hand around her elbow. In the nick of time too, as Nesta’s fingers tightened around the half-empty margarita glass.

“You’re late,” she replied stubbornly, trying to be offended by Helion’s charming smile and dazzling beauty. Her date for the night, Helion looked like he had stepped fresh off the runway in a black, double-breasted satin tuxedo. Fuck. She needed to get laid. It had been months since Hybern Co. had started a massive patents war with Velaris, and Feyre had asked her for help. She had never been able to refuse Feyre, which was how she had ended up working the case with a bunch of overqualified associates with half a brain between them. And how she ended up with exactly no time for herself.

Harvard grads were not all they were cracked up to be.

“My apologies. I only just came from a meeting, darling,” he responded smoothly as he continued to guide her gently across the room. They moved further away from Tomas and his oh-so-punchable face. With a start, she realised that he had guided her all the way to the middle of the dance floor. Screw Helion and his charm.

“May I have this dance?” A voice came from behind her. Startled, Nesta whirled around and came face-to-face with Cassian Ramirez. Formerly known as fiancé. But that was a long time ago, Nesta.

She arched a single brow, nodding to Helion as he let go of her hand.

As Cassian offered an open hand, she composed herself, trying not to think about how handsome Cassian looked in his slick burgundy suit. She was a sucker for a good suit, and his hair was tied back, making his dark brown honey eyes all the more prominent. It didn’t help that he had worn that exact suit on their second date. It had been so long, but she could still remember him in exacting detail.

Nesta hasn’t laid eyes on Cassian Ramirez for at least a year and a half. Not since Tomas started getting violent. And even before then, they were on tenuous terms. Things had never been the same after she had stormed out of their apartment six years ago, her heart savagely ripped out and stepped upon. Nothing good ever came after that. It was all tortured glances from the other side of galas, avoiding bubbly messages from Feyre and Elain and Rhysand and Azriel to go out with them! and the unending ellipsis of unsent texts. Over and over again.

“She’s all yours,” Helion said, quirking his eyebrows. Nesta reflexively pinched Helion, and he winced before hurrying away. Cassian in the meantime, was gazing into her eyes, She could feel her hands start to sweat under his intense gaze, and as she tried to wipe her hands discretely on the thorned roses stitched into her stiff silk dress, Cassian offered a hand that Nesta took.

“I uh - ” as he stood in front of her, he suddenly seemed lost for words. Cassian's hand was warm and calloused and still perfect for her. Once, these caresses had been as natural and fluid as breathing. Even with the rift that stood between them, it still felt so right.

She smiled serenely and ignored Cassian’s fumble, patently aware of Tomas in the corner. “We should probably dance.” The words hover in the air, an olive branch that she wonders if Cassian really deserves. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. They can’t make a scene tonight.

And if she’s telling the truth, she doesn’t want to either. After Tomas...Nesta craves the kind of blissful innocence she had with Cassian. Lingering kisses and slow mornings, late nights with coffee and curled up with each other.

“Uh-yes.” Cassian blushed, his olive skin flushing a cardinal as bright as her dress. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” He grasped the olive branch, as Nesta slid into his arms, his hand drifting to a respectable, brotherly place on her waist as he guided her into a delicate spin. Her skin was as delicate as ever, and her as her hair grazed his hand, he shivered.

“Good.” The overture is gone as fast as it came. Her tone is brisk and terse, an end to the conversation. Why did he have to ask that of all questions? Unbidden, her eyes fall upon Tomas again, and she felt her lips purse tightly.

Cassian, perceptive as ever, gracefully glances over, his eyes darkening as they landed on the arrogant lawyer in the corner.

“Yes, I heard that you got together with Mandray,” he said tightly.

Nesta’s fiery gaze slid back to him, as she hissed, “That’s none of your business. Why are you here anyway? Last I heard, you had left for San Francisco.” You were the one that left me. Again and again and again. The thought bubbled up, and Nesta squashed it, willing her tone to remain firm and steady.

He grimaced but didn't fall for Nesta's bait. “You know why I’m back.” His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze firmly upon her as they kept on dancing. Nesta forced yet another smile with gritted teeth.

“Fuck Azriel. That’s not his right and he goddamn knows it!”

“Hybern is dangerous. Don’t be stubborn. You know better than that.” Impassive and cold, his words ignite a fury in Nesta.

“Stubborn? You have the nerve to call me stubborn? After that stunt you pulled-”

His brows furrowed in pain and she felt the urge to dig her nails into the pad of her palm. Anything to stop herself from apologizing for the gaping wound she had re-opened with half a sentence but before she could say something he cleared his throat and said quietly, “I’m sorry. That was - a poor choice of words on my part.”

Nesta scoffed, her fury blanketed again. She didn’t say a word.

“We really do have to get you a security detail,” he pressed instead.

“You mean you.” She accused. He doesn’t object. Azriel would never have just asked anybody to protect Nesta.

“I don’t need a security detail. I’m fine. I know how to kick somebody in the balls,” she said emphatically, trying to resist the urge to rip Cassian a new one. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Not really. Not the way he hurt her. “And if Hybern comes after me in any other way, I will systematically destroy them.”

“As delightfully painful and visceral that sounds, some things require a more delicate touch.” he said, suddenly smirking in a false bravado that Nesta sees right through. “Hybern will be after you in more ways than one. I can help with that. Or have you forgotten my degree in-”

“Cybersecurity and computer science. I remember. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. Elain and Feyre need it more than me.” Her voice is brusque and words to the point. I don’t need this. And even if I did...you would be the last person I ever asked.

His only response was a growl. The smirk disappeared as fast as it came.

“You know as well as I do that Feyre and Elain both have martial arts training. You were the only one who never wanted to learn. Which is fine, but they can protect themselves physically. Unless if you suddenly earned a black belt in the past two years, that kick in the balls and viper mouth won’t keep them down.

“Please, sweetheart,” she hears him beg. Was that anguish in his voice? The nickname dropped so naturally from his lips, but as soon as he says it she flinched, seizing up. You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you? A pretty little thing... The memory comes back so swiftly that she almost reels. Cassian lifted his hands from her immediately, his eyes questioning.

She pursed her lips firmly. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian bowed his head and Nesta sees a glimpse of torment, can just barely hear him curse himself as he bites down on his lip. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” It's not why you think. It's much worse.

They dance along to three more songs, before Nesta announced she was tired. She had made her presence known, and ensured that Tomas knew she was in peak ability for their impeding legal battle. Meeting Cassian had not been part of the plan. It left her with the kind of bone-deep weariness that she hasn’t felt since pulling three all-nighters in a row as a law intern.

“Let me drive you home. You still haven’t bought a car, right?” he offered. There was no denying that. Nesta had never seen the need for a car in New York, but she scowled anyway as she disparagingly asked him if he was drunk.

“Not a drop,” he promised. When they had been together, they had rarely drank. Part of Nesta had always wondered if he had reverted back to his pre-Nesta college days of drinking after their less-than-ideal breakup. She glanced over at Feyre and Rhysand who were still dancing together happily, nodding a goodbye, before waving to Azriel and Elain. All of them...in their lover’s cuddles. A wave of jealousy washed over her before she clamped it down, breathing out quickly.

“Fine. You remember where I live, right?” She asked, letting him drape her matching red coat over her shoulders. Watching Cassian’s hands linger on the ruby red coat before he helped her into it almost made her regret wearing it.

Red had always been their thing.

---

How could he forget her home? The brownstone, with its first and second floors decked out in rich brocade and tapestry, hardwood floors for visitors. But then, her third and fourth floors; soft modern furnishings. Carpet so thick that his feet sunk into it. A walk-in closet, wholly converted into a sunken lounging area, snug and cosy surrounded by her favourite novels. Late nights with Nesta curled into him as he read romance novels to her or they watched some trashy flick.

His tongue suddenly felt swollen. He couldn’t breath for a moment. Instead, he nodded, opening the passenger door for her as the valet pulled his car up.

He had to get a grip on himself.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, looking over to check on Nesta. As he does, his eyes fall onto her monogrammed leather clutch.

NJA.

“So you’re Azriel's girl with the fancy monogrammed bracelet,” Cassian says. He dangles the golden chain with its delicate monogrammed heart in front of her, but frowns when he spots the faint tan line on her writs. Immediately, he feels like an ass for playing around with something clearly so sentimental to the girl.  

Nesta’s eyes look up as he slides over her gold bracelet. “I'm not Azriel's girl." As she glances over at him properly, she glares and adds, "And you’re the trust fund baby. Not sure why you’re talking,” she hits back. She grabs the bracelet and clasps it on immediately. No thank you. She had left it behind in the apartment Azriel and Cassian had shared, and Cassian had taken it upon himself to bring it back to her.

Cassian snorts. “Clearly. As if wearing a monogrammed 24-carat gold bracelet isn't a sign of being a trust fund kid."

Nesta pushes up her glasses, puckers her lips and says primly, “I, unlike you, actually pay for my own things."

Cassian shrugs and then foolhardily remarks, "Not if I take you to dinner." He smirks, the kind of panty-dropping grin that has worked so effectively in the past.

"In your dreams, asshole."

Three months later, he knew he was in love with her. She was it for him. He graduated college, while she continued law school. Cassian had moved into her brownstone, bequeathed by her mother. He had promised to never hurt her, that he would always be there for her.

But somewhere along the line, he had fucked it up. Sent her running to Tomas. His hand clenched, fingers digging into his palm, sending a dull pain through his body. It’s her life. He doesn’t get a say. And he knows, knows that he would never impede upon her choices. But he feels a lot.

“Cassian?” Nesta’s confused voice cut through and he ripped his gaze from the purse.

“Sorry. Let’s get going.” His voice is short. Terse. But Nesta doesn’t question it, instead settling into the leather seat and sighing, her eyes fluttering shut.

He remembered how social events always drained her. She loved dressing up but hated talking to everyone. It exhausted her, having to put on that facade of unthreatening politeness, when she was really a viper. A viper in pearls and stilettos, ball gowns and dripping in diamonds, but a viper nonetheless.

As he pulled up, he realised with a start that Nesta had fallen asleep. Her loose, dark hair was strewn across her shoulders, and Cassian wants more than anything to tuck it behind her ear. To do anything so that the way her forehead was creased, even in sleep, softened and-

“Nesta,” he said abruptly instead. He can’t keep fantasising. It’s not fair for her, not when it’s his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault. When he sees her, all he can see is his mistakes, again and again and again.

Her face reddened as she fumbles with her clutch. “Let me check everything’s okay, alright?” He reassured her.

Nesta nods without a fight, still tired. She passed him her keys without a fuss, following him as they walk up the stairs to the brownstone.

As soon as he unlocked the front door, he noticed the heavy, musk scent. It’s so out of place with the light, lavender and floral scents that Nesta has always favoured. But maybe something changed after you left. It wasn’t until he nearly tripped over the box right behind her door that he realised something was very, very wrong. As he inhaled, he tried to keep his stomach from lurching.

“Nesta, I want you to stay calm, okay?” he said carefully, pulling out his gun. Her eyes widened, her hand trembling as she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Liar. Liar. Liar. It thrummed in his head, making it hard to concentrate. “Just call Azriel, okay? Tell him to bring the Level 1 team. And hurry.” She nodded, pulling out her phone and dialling. As she started talking, he glanced back at the box.

Inside the cardboard box, was a decapitated snake nestled amongst red roses. The same cardinal as Nesta’s dress. It doesn’t take a genius to realise the death threat. Not when he was pretty certain the snake was a viper. The stench wasn’t just from the dead snake, he realised.

The roses had been dipped in blood.

Cassian took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hand. Focus. Nesta needs you.

Because Nesta’s never been one to listen to Cassian, she had, unbeknownst to him, walked over and looked over his shoulder. He only realised when he heard her gasp in fear, hand reaching up to her throat as if she was being choked.

Immediately, Cassian turned around, holding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he promised. “I’ve got you. Do you still have the go bag we made?” He remembers teaching her how to be safe in the old, cavernous brownstone. He had bought her the grey cargo bag two weeks after they started dating. He had probably come on a little strong, but at the time, he didn’t care.

Nesta clutched onto his shirt, but he felt her nod against him. Selfishly, a part of him feels gratified that she still feels some measure of comfort in him. The rest of him hates himself for even thinking that at this moment. “Okay. Once Azriel and my team gets here, we’ll get the bag and you’ll spend the night at my place. Is that okay?”

She let out a sob, and Cassian tightened his grip on her. After what seemed like an eternity, Azriel pulled up, his face drawn and tight. Azriel and Nesta had been friends for longer than even Cassian had known Azriel. They were twin souls of fire and ice, with a deep understanding of each other.

Cassian nodded to Azriel, his eyes a silent order to him. Azriel inclined his head ever so slightly, and Cassian returned his focus to Nesta. “Azriel’s going to get your bag. Then we’re going to get out of here.”

There was a single nod from Nesta as they walked towards the minivan, Rowan sliding open the door for them. Two minutes later, Azriel returned with the grey duffel bag that made Cassian’s heart clench. It hurt more than he could say that Nesta had kept the bag. But it lit a new fire in him too.

Nesta had regained her poise, sitting ramrod straight on the bench, seatbelt clicked into place. As Cassian and Azriel took seats on either side of her, she didn’t say a word. But her hands were clenched so tight, her knuckles were white and her skin was blanched.

“We’ve got you,” Cassian said quietly as he looked at Azriel over Nesta. Azriel’s face was easy to read: Don’t fuck this up. You better not make me regret my decision to call you.

As Rowan drove, the only thing Cassian could think was she’s in danger again. I have to protect her.

I swear, I won’t fail you ever again Nesta.

I swear it on my life.

[macbookpro-hard-drive]

HI HOW DO YOU WRITE CHARACTERS

hewwo! i can answer this! im literally gonna do a quick list of both deh and bmc characters for u under this readmore! :D

im gonna start with deh because smaller cast!

evan: 

isn’t so much stuttery as he tends to repeat things and uh stammer a bit here and there. stutters over his words sometimes but it’s more l-like this and uh, like… like this

evan hansen has anxiety. he is not anxiety. evan hansen fucks up and makes mistakes and probably internalizes a lot of things. very polite when in public but he can be a bit snappy (as seen w evans comment abt how zoe’s parents have never been poor i believe? it was something he said to zoe)

soft spoken, most of the time. probably not the kind of guy to vocally ask for things until he’s at a comfortable enough point that he feels like he’s not bothering you (same buddy)

i see evan as someone who gets frustrated with himself easily. not as a sense of “god i wish i were normal” but more of a “i should be able to do this, why cant i do this, i want to do this but i cant” because sometimes it’s just a matter of i literally cant do this and i dont know why? and god its so frustrating sometimes

jared:

jared kleinman is a fucking asshole and he knows it. very sarcastic and uses it to cover up his own insecurities, probably the kind of dude who laughs in your face when you tell him off when internally he’s just OH FUCK OH SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK

a lot of ppl write jared as being insecure abt his weight and tbh i don’t see that being a problem for him? i see jared as being insecure abt the fact he comes off very snarky and assholeish but he turns it around and tries to own it even though… that’s not something you want to be proud of? and he knows that

not the kind of dude who stops to assess his feelings. he powers through shit and insists he’s okay until he’s out of steam. i think it was psy who said he’s a “needs therapy boi” and tbh she’s right? 

can be very passive aggressive imo it’s something he really needs to work on.

arrogant, sarcastic, and just a big fucking dick who needs to learn how to watch his mouth.

zoe:

not an pure baby angel, by any means. we’re at a disadvantage because we only see zoe when she’s sort of grieving (because grief can and will come in different ways, and while i see her as not missing connor, i do think that her pushing away her feelings is a form of her grieving imo? it’s a weird thing to explain but there’s a part of zoe that does miss (the old) connor’s presence as w the fake emails evan “gave her her brother back” (albeit a very fake version of connor) and sort of standoffish when it comes to the subject of connor

a bit of an ambivert. extremely outgoing when she’s around her friends or when it comes to music and other things she loves.

very individualistic! her style tends to have doodles on her clothes, she dyes her hair a lot, she probably would be the kind of person to make her own jewelry!

very sweet. the castng call for zoe describes her as being the kind of person who learns the names of the kids who sit alone at lunch and thats she goes out of her way to be nice to people since. connor. yeah.

thats all ive got for zoe but u can always send questions in and i can say yes or no after i ask my pals too

alana:

smart gal! valedictorian! president! i love her! tends to overshare a bit. anxiety + depression gal.

probably into gardening tbh? i can see alana having succulents in her room and maybe a dog that just chills with her.

dont be afraid to make alana mouthy. alana is someone whos extremely headstrong in her actions imo and does what she believes is right, even if others dont believe that. like… think about the fact that she literally published what was believed to be connor’s suicide note because she thought it’d get them the last bit of help they needed for the orchard. it literally fucked the murphys over - but she never considered that?

very much an extrovert. just really wants to belong, man. very optimistic on the surface but i can see her being a little less so underneath. she looks on the bright side because if she doesnt, she doesnt know who will and idk i dont think alana’s the kind of person who just... lets that risk be there.

connor:

we dont kno much abt connor in canon but uhhh…. i can see connor as being a loner, sort of aggressive by accident (tbh this dude’s probably used to people being a dick to him so he’s just sorta standoffish in response) but like… whenever i write connor i usually write him as getting better? he’s gotten the help he needs and he’s doin better 

artsy depressed dude. poetry, painting, ect - whatever u want tbh. i just see connor, with help, finding himself in art or something creative (theatre and music included! u do u!)

very much a reader. this dude both has a lot of books on his bookshelf and a lot more books he hasnt fucking read because hes terrible at reading new books. (i personally hc he loves all of poe’s work)

to sorta sum connor up: bold, but not outgoing. caring, but not obvious with it (once he gets help btw). easily angered but sometimes he just doesn’t fucking know why and that frustrates him further. troubled.

honestly if u want to see one of my fave connors - check out @ask-sincerely-memes​! i rly love how they portray all three of the boys, but connor is by far my favorite! (mod con and/or mod ev if u read this i love u)

OK ONTO THE BMC FUCKERS if you want to kno abt the adults for either show then feel free to ask

jeremy:

anxiety boy, but not evan hansen level of anxiety. more just… self deprecating, not super confident in himself, probably underestimates himself a lot.

jeremys hard to explain sometimes because a lot of his actions and dialogue comes naturally since i can actually relate to jeremy a lot, personality-wise? a really good fact to throw out there is i don’t think jeremy’s the kind of guy who just goes for stuff sometimes. he has to sorta be hyped up by others imo. michael motivated him to sign up for the play, rich and michael both played parts in getting him squipped (michael in the aspect of “lets check this out and see if its legit” bc i doubt jeremy would have genuinely done that on his own).

which really means jeremy isnt the kind of guy to just… confess things, unless it’s built up enough (i.e. jeremys confrontation w reader in unlonely since it was a conversation he’d been thinking about for a bit). in canon, he didnt really… confess to christine without the help of alcohol (at the halloween party) or without other people building him up (voices in my head). 

im literally rereading jeremy fics rn because im trying to come up with a good way of describing him

extremely horny teenage boy. hormones suck. for anyone who writes nsfw: i dont see jeremy being incredibly kinky and sexual and dominant (god forbid) his first fucking time having sex. especially if its both him and the readers first time. sex can be clumsy. you can laugh during sex. but also sex smells. like… once you’ve smelled it, you fucking know it - its just a weird combo of sweat and bodily fluids. 

that last part was just a PSA for ppl.

lightweight boy. a lot bolder when drunk. thank you.

honestly if u have any questions abt jeremy, i can try to answer them more specifically but this is as general as i can get.

michael

not an uwu anxious depressed innocent baby boy uwu. remember that michael literally withheld the mtn dew red from jeremy because he wanted an apology. remember that michael wouldnt have been squipped because michael had been completely comfortable with who he is. michael likes his place. he doesn’t want to be cool and popular - he likes who he is. michael in the bathroom was a peak moment of michael finally letting go of emotions he’d been withholding - jeremy calling him a “loser” was the final straw that broke him. thank u this has been a psa.

a goofy boy. probably snorts when he laughs and im not projecting there what are you talking about-

okay, canonically: likes video games, likes retro shit (probably the kind of nerd who LIVES for arcades and record stores and vintage clothing stores even if he doesnt mix that into his personal style), very into music. there’s a lot you can do with this! 

imo he’s very caring? like. okay, yes he did withhold mtn dew red from jeremy - but michael still went through the trouble of finding and obtaining that in order to deactivate the squip. i think michael’s a fairly understanding dude, even if he has moments of anger.

just a very warm person. probably the kind of person who stops and makes sure people are okay when he notices they’re upset.

sometimes impulsive. sometimes very restless, imo. bouncy boy. 

like w jeremy - you can absolutely send me questions abt michael (or anyone tbh!) and i’ll answer them the best i can! im by no means an expert but ive got pals i can bother in order to help get a solid answer :3

christine

chriiistiiiiiiiiine, the love of my life. a gal w ADD! please don’t forget that! i personally hc that she got into a theatre as a way of like… sort of getting energy out since she’s fairly restless??? track girl christine….. also good

loves herself a lot tbh! like. in the show, its canon that she has stuff to figure out but i personally think christine loves herself and her body and is proud of who she is?

very friendly, very open, very passionate abt theatre! these are basic facts lmao

very sweet! very smart! she’s like... The Girl in all the movies that everyones like “oh no i love her” bc shes just a bubbly gal

writing christine is really hard to describe sometimes. like with all the characters, i write what feels right and sounds right to me and to others.

but like... to be honest, as long as you stay a bit happy and supportive and loving with christine - you’re on the right track.

jake

god - one of my favorite boys to write sometimes because there’s a lot to do with jake’s character

he’s the ultimate cool dude in high school. probably the kind of dude who would join a frat in college. handsome, popular, flirtatious - you fucking name it man.

sorta effortlessly popular and cool. there’s problems underneath - considering his family - but it’s hard to see that he has flaws when everything just comes so easily to him.

a very caring and sweet dude tbh. his friends mean a lot to him and he’s the kind of boy who carries your books and asks where you’re going and how you’re doing

he makes mistakes. he gets aggressive and protective and just angry physically - he did try to attack jeremy, albeit drunk, based purely on the idea that jeremy was having sex w chloe - so like... that’s a good thing to acknowledge

i said hes flirtatious and he is - without realizing it. someone probably has called him out on it and he’s like “sorry what?” bc he was caught up in talking to someone and not realizing that the dillinger charm never went off. because it never goes off. rip.

rich

GOD, my FAVORITE BOY, the LOVE OF MY LIFE, i love him.

squipped: aggressive. a bully. stinky. 0/10.

post-squipcident: getting better. sorta numb at first before happy, outgoing rich resurfaces because He’s Fine! Do Not Worry! but y’know like... he definitely has a lot of problems with what he did and who he was while he had the squip

a bit sensitive imo. easily upset on certain topics, easily angered on others. really misses his mom (i hc she died and his dad took up drinking as a coping mechanism and its mainly rich and his older brother relying on each other but thats just me tbh.)

rich is tricky to write when it comes to his home life. while i see rich’s dad as being a loud drunk, others see him as being physically abusive and so forth and - okay, that’s your decision, but please make sure you’re being respectful and you post trigger warnings because some people are in abusive homes and it’s not a fun thing to read. 

great sense of humor imo. flirtatious but in the more obvious “haha hey lets bone ;)” way. alternatively: flirtatious with squip, floundering a bit without it because all he knows is “haha hey wanna fuck” 

would probably fight a dick for his pals. rly just loves his friends even if he doesn’t show it.

chloe

chloe is a bit hard to write without saying “shes kind of a bitch” but like... she is and she knows it and she fucking owns it.

casting call: “ confident, crass, sexy, manipulative, and downright mean at times”

so like. she’s nowhere near bein a sweet angel baby uwu

has problems. explore them. she literally was down to fuck brooke’s boyfriend since jeremy was dating brooke yknow. part of it could be alcohol but like... dont ignore that fact. like. she probs needs to talk to both brooke and jeremy.

i think of chloe as someone who can see the potential in others tbh. gets slightly annoyed when people arent achieving what they could - but i like to imagine she gets it after a while since some ppl dont have confidence and such. 

yknow the kind of people that take charge when the situation calls for it? that’s chloe. she’s very much a leader. cunning, ambitious - she’s fucking ready.

brooke

more of an angel i guess? sweet, a bit insecure, and a little more caring. not very dominant in situations - tends to be more of a follower (as shown w her and chloe’s friendship)

very caring actually. she literally followed jeremy out and said “uhhh he was kind of a dick to women but i know u like eminem” upon his death in the show??? like??? she literally went to check on this boy.

imo she sorta needs to learn to be bolder. to not take shit. shes probably the kind of person who says yes to a lot of things even if they’re conflicting bc she doesn’t want to like... bother someone and make things worse

emotional, imo. fairly feminine.

its hard to keep describing sdfkjhds sorry

jenna

not popular. remember that she wanted people to be interested in her, which is why she gossips a lot

probably tends to overhear half of the gossip. other than that, i can see her easily finding shit out bc she has eyes Everywhere

bold, fairly extroverted, probably really fucking smart tbh. give her love. she deserves it.

thats both at me and everyone else. jenna rolan ily...

very much a big sister figure, post-squipcident. theres this kdrama i was watching where the main protag lives w a couple other girls and one of the oldest one of the bunch is very much a big sister figure that will call other people out on their bullshit because she knows protag isnt the kind of person to do that? thats jenna. and chloe, but mostly jenna.

probably the kind of person who wants to be helpful imo. she likes feeling useful.

[astudyinfreewill]

love is strange

aka: lazy mornings at the barns, smitten teenagers, and old-fashioned love songs; aka (pt. 2): ~3k words of pure, unadulterated adam/ronan fluff inspired by song lyrics, because that’s just what my life is apparently??? aka (pt.3): a reimagining of that one scene from ‘please like me’. yes that one. u kno the one. thank you to @ethicalmadness​ for betaing this last minute!! <3

read on AO3

During the summer, it wasn’t often that Ronan woke up after Adam. He was used to weird sleeping patterns, and Adam was in perpetual sleep debt during the school year, so now he made up for it by sleeping in whenever he didn’t have an early shift at work.

That morning, however, seemed to be one of the exceptions, Ronan making his way downstairs to find Adam sitting at the kitchen table with a book, no doubt trying to get a head start on the coursework for his first semester at Columbia. He stopped for a moment at the foot of the stairs to savor the sight: Adam in loose sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hair still mussed from sleep or from running his hands through it, sitting in Ronan’s home like he belonged there, because he did belong there. Ronan’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, then another two when he realized Adam was wearing one of his old t-shirts (Adam always claimed he just grabbed whatever was closest, but Ronan was certain he did that to him on purpose, the little shit).

“Morning,” he greeted, stepping into the kitchen, making sure to approach Adam from his right side.

Adam looked up, closing his book but keeping one long finger inside to mark his place. “Mornin’,” he replied, his smile as soft as his rolling accent, which always liked to make more of an appearance early in the morning or late at night.

“Sleep well?” Ronan asked, reaching down to mess his hair up even more.

“Mhm. Like the dead. That mattress is a dream.” He paused, tilting his head to one side. “Wait, was it a dream?”

Ronan snorted. They had recently moved to Niall and Aurora’s old bedroom, because as spring rolled into summer and the days turned hotter, it was getting impossible for them to share Ronan’s old twin-size bed without waking up all sticky and sweaty (and not for one of the fun reasons). When Ronan had complained about the excessive heat, Adam had offered to go back to Declan’s room, but Ronan was damned if he was sleeping on his own again. He had had a taste of what it was like to wake up to Adam, and he wasn’t giving it up if he had a choice.

He’d thought it would be weird to sleep in his parents’ room, but somehow, it was better for it to be put to use; it had always felt too empty, a gaping reminder of Niall’s absence first, then Aurora’s. And, to be honest, the mattress was amazing.

“It’s entirely possible. Or it could just be a good fucking mattress. How come you’re up so early, then? Every other morning, it’s like I wake up next to a log.”

Adam raised his eyebrows at him, with a small smirk: “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

“Wow, so clever,” Ronan drawled, sarcastically. He chose to ignore the fact he could feel his cheeks warming up, or the way Adam’s smirk only grew larger in response.

“I know, right,” Adam replied modestly. “Anyway, I woke up because I was thirsty and when I was here… well, food just seemed like a good idea.”

“Imagine that,” Ronan deadpanned benevolently. It was Adam’s turn to blush. His perennial appetite was something of an awe-inspiring thing, but Ronan knew all too well why he was always hungry, and didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he took every available opportunity to feed him.

“Chill out, Parrish. You could use some more meat on that skinny ass anyway,” he teased, making a big show of eyeing him up and down.

Adam leveled him with a look. They both knew exactly how he felt about Adam’s ass. It was just about the same way Adam felt about his.

Ronan cleared his throat. “Want more coffee?”

“God, yes, please,” Adam moaned, dropping the staring contest. (Which may or may not have been exactly what Ronan was after. When trying to distract Adam, coffee was almost always effective.)

As Ronan went to the counter and started making a fresh pot of coffee, he spotted a plate by the sink, covered in pieces of toast. They were arranged in shapes that resembled nothing known to the human eye, but were very clearly intentional nonetheless.

“Opal?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Adam replied wryly. “You really need to teach her not to play with her food.”

“What makes you think she listens to me?”

“It’s more of a blind hope, really,” Adam sighed. “She’s got to listen to someone.”

“She listens to you, for some reason.”

Adam looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue and reopened the book instead. Ronan was fairly sure he knew what Adam had almost said: I’m not always going to be around. Which was true, but Ronan did not like to think about it, if he could avoid it.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asked, trying to change the topic.

“Out in the fields? I guess? She told me to tell you she wasn’t gonna be around for lunch. Probably gonna eat more sticks or something,” Adam smiled, amused.

Ronan clucked his tongue. “Look at her, all emancipated already. They grow up so fast.”

He moved back to the table, bringing the fresh pot of coffee and some buttered toast for himself (and for Adam, despite the fact Adam had ostensibly eaten already).

“Anyhow, before you decided to make a crass sexual innuendo,” he started, in his best Gansey voice, “I was just saying that you’re very still when you’re asleep. That’s all.”

Adam snorted at the impression. “Yes, well, I’m not used to moving around much in my sleep,” he said, predictably reaching a hand out to steal a corner of Ronan’s toast (to Ronan’s part-smug, part-endeared satisfaction). “Haven’t exactly had the most luxurious beds. If I rolled around too much, chances were I’d be sleeping on the floor.”

Ronan had spent enough nights at St. Agnes, either beside Adam’s bed or inside it, to know that was true; and he’d only been inside Adam’s parents’ trailer once, when he’d helped him move out, but the bed was even smaller there.

“Well, better get used to it, Parrish,” he grinned, reclining back into the chair and crossing his arms behind his head arrogantly. “You’re living the high life now. That good ol’ king-sized bed life.”

Adam looked at him with the same weird hesitance as before, but this time, he actually said the words. “Well, until I leave for college, at least.”

Ronan stopped leaning back into the chair and planted his elbows on the table instead, mock-arrogance and grin both gone. He started tearing a piece of toast apart with glowering concentration, and realized belatedly it was exactly what Opal had done with hers, and what Chainsaw did with anything she could get her beak on. Maybe it ran in the family.

“Ronan,” Adam said quietly, gently.

“Why do you have to say shit like that?” Ronan said, staring at the table.

“Because – it’s the truth? And because I don’t want you to – I don’t know – forget that it’s happening, and then be disappointed when it’s time for me to leave.” Adam sounded genuinely regretful, which did nothing to ease Ronan’s bad mood, because Adam was also, in some ways, completely right. Ronan did try his best to ignore that this newfound bliss was only going to last until the end of the summer. But just because he tried to bask in denial, it didn’t mean he was successful.

“You think I can actually forget that? That I don’t think about it every damn day?” he spit back despondently, but it came out sounding more forlorn than biting, which perhaps was for the best.

“Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Adam’s voice was quiet, but earnest. “I just want us to be okay. And I think about it too, you know.”

Ronan looked up at him, with all the skepticism he could muster. “Please. You can’t wait to go to college.”

“Well, yeah,” Adam acknowledged, simply, meeting Ronan’s eyes head on. He had never compromised on that, and never would, and if Ronan was being honest with himself, he loved him for it. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna miss you every day.”

“Smooth-talking bastard,” Ronan replied. He knew Adam knew that was what he needed to hear, but he also knew that Adam meant it, and that was enough to dissipate his bad mood. “Eat your toast.”

“It’s your toast.” Adam poked Ronan’s bare foot with his socked one, a tentative peace offering.

“Then eat my toast,” Ronan drawled. “I’m gonna make more anyway.”

So they ate toast, and they drank coffee, and Ronan told Adam what he had dreamt, and Adam told Ronan what he was reading about. It was all so utterly domestic, it made Ronan’s heart ache in all the best ways. This is it, he thought to himself. Whatever happiness is, this is it.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Chainsaw coming down from her perch to peck at the cold remnants of toast. Ronan got lost in the hypnotic motion of stroking her feathers, like he used to do when she was just a fledgling. When he looked up, Adam was gathering the dishes and mugs and taking them to the sink, but not before Ronan had caught him staring with unabashed fondness at him and Chainsaw.

“What,” he deadpanned.

“I keep telling you,” Adam shrugged, slightly embarrassed at being caught out, “you look like a supervillain petting his familiar. Pretty darn cute.”

“Supervillains aren’t cute, Parrish.”

“Well, I guess you’ll be the first one, then.” And there it was, that cheery smile, all cheeky uncomplicated happiness. Ronan sometimes wondered if his heart would ever stop accelerating when he saw it. So far, the odds weren’t in his favor.

Restless, he got up and joined Adam at the sink.

“You don’t have to do the dishes, you know.”

“I know. I don’t mind.”

“I can do them,” Ronan insisted.

“You made breakfast.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “I put bread in a toaster.”

“And made coffee.”

“Whatever. You’re supposed to be taking it easy, remember? You’re the one who insisted he still needed to work two jobs through the summer, not me.”

“Well, aren’t you glad you have such an independent lover?” Adam joked.

It was a joke, Ronan knew. They’d only recently gotten used to the idea of referring to each other as boyfriend, and Ronan suspected Adam was riffing on an unfortunate joke Henry had made when they’d moved in together, something about Adam becoming Ronan’s kept mistress, which had resulted in Gansey wincing, Blue making an indignant noise, and Ronan chewing him out furiously (Adam, curiously, had been silent; as he later explained to Ronan, not because he agreed with it, but because for once in his life, he didn’t feel like he had something to prove to anyone, and he had five different Ivy League acceptance letters on his desk to testify for it).

So. It was a joke. Which really did nothing to explain why Ronan’s mouth went dry and his stomach flipped in a funny way at the word lover.

“That what you are, Parrish?” he heard himself say in a small, rough voice before he could stop the words from coming out. Oh God, what. The fuck are you doing.

Adam looked at him curiously, wrist-deep in soapy water. “Um. I guess? Wait.” He looked up at Ronan more closely, eyes slightly narrowed. “Do you… like that?”

Ronan’s cheeks felt very warm. “Uh, no?” he scoffed, disdainfully. Too obvious. Try again.

“Like what?” he shrugged, the motion not at all natural.

Adam turned off the tap. He’d caught on, and there would be no shaking him. “Y’know. That word. Lover.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Parrish,” he said, trying for haughty and missing by a mile or two. His cheeks definitely felt even warmer now, and Ronan could feel, with horror, the blush creeping down to his neck.

“You do,” Adam said, delightedly. “Oh my God.”

“I don’t,” Ronan insisted, then remembered he didn’t lie, huffed, and glowered at the ceiling instead. “So what?”

“Oh, nothing. I just think it’s adorable–”

“Fuck you, Parrish–”

“--and that if I’d known, I would have used it sooner and more often–”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but takes one to know one, right?” Adam grinned, unrepentant. Ronan had definitely been a terrible influence on him. Or maybe they’d just always been more similar than he’d been willing to contemplate. He chose to storm out of the kitchen anyway, cursing his fair complexion and ignoring the fact he could definitely still hear Adam chuckling in the kitchen. He could wash a hundred dishes for all Ronan cared.

He threw himself on the couch in a manner he hoped conveyed at once annoyance and superiority, and pretended to be very invested in the latest dream object he’d produced, a small painting of a landscape where the weather conditions changed if you shook it.

After a few minutes of sulking, he saw out of the corner of his eye Adam coming out of the kitchen and heading for the desk where Ronan’s computer was hooked up to the speakers. Ronan almost asked what he was doing, but Adam already knew his password anyway, and to acknowledge him was to give up the moral high ground, so he just shook the painting again, ostensibly very interested in the pictorial representation of hail.

Apparently, Adam had been fiddling with his Spotify account, because moments later, the sound of a guitar riff filled the room, and of course.

Ronan threw the painting down. He had hung out at Boyd’s during Adam’s shift often enough to have gained more than a passing knowledge of classic rock.

“Oh, extremely funny, Parrish. Really, extremely fucking funny.”

Adam evidently thought so too, because he laughed and then started to seriously, honest-to-God lip-sync to the song.

Right, that was the last straw. Ronan got up from the couch, ready to storm out of another room, but Adam quickly caught up with him and grabbed him by the wrist, then ran his fingers along his forearm, and okay, maybe Ronan could stay a couple minutes. Whatever.

“You getting your kicks out of this, Parrish?” he asked, trying to sound as bored as possible.

Adam grinned and casually rested his arms on ronan shoulders.

After you’ve had it, you’re in an awful fix, the song crooned, talking about love. Ronan was inclined to agree with the singing duo, because obviously he was as fucked as them, as evidenced by the way his arms decided of their own accord to snake around Adam’s waist.

Were they– swaying? Was this what high school proms were like?

And really, what the fuck was this morning?

Feeling equal parts surreal, foolish, and contented, he readjusted his loose hold on Adam, letting his hands rest at the small of his back. Adam’s hands, he could feel, were laced behind his neck, making him conscious of every point of contact.

Your sweet loving is better than a kiss, Adam lip-synced, half-humorously– but only half, Ronan couldn’t help but notice. Somehow, he felt much more inclined to forgive him now – and even more so when Adam quickly caught his lips in-between lines, gently tugging at his bottom one.

When you leave me, sweet kisses I’ll miss, the song went, and Ronan swallowed hard, refusing to even pretend-sing that line, but still feeling it in his chest.

They swayed along the next riff, the motion somehow incredibly awkward and oddly satisfying at the same time. He cringed. He knew what was coming next.

Sylvia?, Adam mouthed, directing his flirtiest look at him.

Yes, Mickey, Ronan mouthed back, rolling his eyes as far back in his head as he could to convey his spite.

How d’you call your loverboy? Adam asked, undeterred, doing his best impression of a smooth 50s blues singer, which wasn’t very smooth at all. It was kind of adorable, really.

Come here, loverboy, Ronan relented, getting into it a little more, because really, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he let Adam make a complete fool of himself all on his own?

And if he doesn’t answer? Adam mock-demanded, delighted to see Ronan playing along, eyes lighting up with amusement.

Oh, loverboy...? Ronan mouthed back, smiling and fluttering his eyelashes, because honestly, two could play at this game (and he was reasonably sure Adam had a thing for his eyelashes; he’d brushed his lips over them too many times for it to be a coincidence).

And if he still doesn’t answer? Adam insisted with a smirk, but Ronan was close enough to see his ears go pink, even under the tan.

I simply say–

Without entirely meaning to, Ronan found himself lip-syncing this part with more conviction than the teasing warranted, looking directly at Adam.

Baby, oh, baby

My sweet baby, you’re the one.

It was meant to be just playing along, but Ronan could feel the truth of those words heavy in his chest, the way he always did when he allowed himself to think about his feelings for Adam. To think about how he couldn’t ever imagine being with anyone else, hadn’t ever imagined being with anyone else; how Adam really was the one. He felt exposed, and breathless, and weirdly vulnerable, considering they were still just clumsily swaying in the living room to cheesy 50s rock. Suddenly he wanted very much to be staring at the ground, his ribs feeling too tight for his heart.

But Adam seemed to pick up on it, because he held Ronan’s eyes, stopping him from looking away, and sang the last line out loud. “Baby, oh, baby,” he crooned quietly, slightly off-tune, Southern accent mellowing out every sound, “my sweet baby, you’re the one.”

It could have been a joke – certainly it could be easily passed off as one – but it didn’t feel like one. The final strains of the song died out around them, and they were still swaying a little, arms wrapped around each other.

You’re the one.

Ronan swallowed. “Will you really miss me when you’re away at college?”

“Of course I will, lover.”

“You little shit,” Ronan laughed. Adam’s eyes were shining with amusement and fondness and something else that Ronan was not quite going to name, but felt reverberating in his chest, pounding against his ribcage.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said, instead of those more dangerous words, words better left for the summer nights, when he didn’t have to worry if he was blushing all the way down to his chest.

“I know,” Adam said. “So let’s make the most of the time we have.”

That, like many of Adam’s plans, was a smart idea. Ronan sat down on the couch, tugging on Adam’s hand to make him follow.

“Come here, loverboy,” he called, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Adam laughed, and went.

[gorgeousdan]

notdanhowell

summary: Dan has a guilty pleasure: phan blogs. It’s a mixture of conceited arrogance and morbid curiosity, really. And really, it’s a mixture of these two things that lead to him catfishing members of his phandom and becoming a headcanon blog. After all, what harm can one headcanon do? word count: 1323/20,000 (why’s it so short?) warnings (this chapter): mentions of sex (dan writes a dirty hc)

LAST CHAPTER |  NEXT CHAPTER

Three a.m rolls around again and Dan finds himself in notdanhowell’s inbox looking for something to write. It’s like a monster has been unlocked in him since he wrote that stupid kissing headcanon, like a bad upgrade in a video game. All he can think about is kissing Phil, touching Phil, doing frankly inappropriate things to someone who’s supposed to be his best friend.

But it’s fine if he writes about it, okay? Then it’s not a fantasy, it’s fanservice. He doesn’t have a problem. It’s fine.

Dan scrolls through a few of the prompts. There are some that make him laugh, like him and Phil using glitter lube in a public washroom, a few that scare him, like one where he’s Phil’s slave and he’s locked up and that might actually be illegal?

superpaperclip said:

hc about what d & p are like in bed? love your blog, dani!

Meg stares him down in their profile photo. Dan lets out a resound sigh.

Why not?

notdanhowell said:

dan’s probably loud. the neighbors probably bang on the walls to get him to shut up. dan’s favorite position is riding phil, where he gets to be in charge while still getting fucked, because lbr we all know that dan’s a whore for cock. he also likes when phil’s on top of him so that he can scratch up phil’s back, leave red marks that mark phil as his.

phil probably has more control than dan does in bed. he’s not loud, but he enjoys it anyway. the noises phil makes are probably deep and go right to dan’s dick. his favorite position is either reverse cowgirl, so he can watch dan’s ass as it moves because dan’s ass is noice, or missionary, because phil’s probably a romantic little shit who likes to stare into dan’s eyes.

Dan tags the ask appropriately and presses post. He can’t help but think about it, Phil hovering over him, kissing down his neck, telling him what a good boy he’s being.

Dan’s door squeaks open. Dan jumps, slams his laptop lid shut. Phil’s standing in the doorway with his duvet wrapped around his body. He stands there for a minute. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says, and his voice sounds tired. “Can I come sleep in here?”

Dan puts his laptop to the side. He doesn’t say anything, but lifts his duvet in invitation. Phil gets under, puts his own over the two of them.

“What’s up with the lack of sleep, Mr. Lester?” Dan asks. He scoots over a bit so that Phil will have room to sleep next to him.

Phil sighs. His eyes are closed, but Dan can tell he’s awake. Years of being someone’s best friend means you know these kinds of things about them. “I was worried about you,” he says.

Now it’s Dan’s turn to sigh. Despite the conversation they had on the tube, he knew Phil wasn’t going to drop it. It just wasn’t like his best friend. “I told you that you don’t have to be.”

“I know.” Phil opens his eyes and turns so that he can lean his head against his hand. He uses his free hand to grab Dan’s, laces their fingers together. “I just don’t like the idea of you being lost in your head.”

Dan pulls Phil to his chest at that. Phil tangles their legs together, and despite the fact that they’re both tall, lanky guys, it’s nice. Phil sighs a little bit and Dan can tell that he thinks so too.

They fall asleep twinned together like this, and Dan can’t help but feel a little bit bad.

-

Dan wakes up the next morning to his phone ringing. It somehow doesn’t wake Phil up, the heavy sleeper he is, but Dan groans at the loud ringing. He turns onto his side to look who it is. His mum. Great. This should be fun.

Don’t get him wrong, Dan loves his mum. It’s just that every time she calls, Dan can expect the same “got a partner, yet?” talk. Honestly, it’s kind of aggravating. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to have a partner, it’s just that getting one would require going outside and talking to people and meeting people. Dan much prefers staying inside with Phil and watching anime or the Great British Bakeoff.

Christ, he’s got it bad, hasn’t he?

Dan answers it with a soft, “yeah, hello?” so as not to wake his best friend.

“Dan!” calls his mum. Dan can’t help but smile at her voice. He truly does love her. “Did I wake you?”

Dan runs a hand through his hair. He grabs Phil’s phone so he can check the time. Half past nine. “Yeah,” he answers truthfully. “But that’s probably for the best. Millennials like me will sleep until one in the afternoon.”

Dan’s mother laughs. “Don’t I kno-”

She’s cut off by a groan from behind Dan as Phil blinks awake. “Dan?” he says, and his voice is so thick with sleep that Dan knows his mother won’t be able to miss it. “Who’s that?”

“My mum,” Dan mouths. Phil nods his understanding and motions that he’s going to the kitchen. As soon as Phil leaves, Dan’s mother is talking his ear off.  

“That was Phil, right?” she asks. “Why was he in your bedroom?”

Dan sighs. “He just fell asleep in here last night, mum.”

“Are you two dating?”

“No. We’re just friends.”

“Do you want to be more?”

Dan takes a deep breath at that. Does he want to be more than friends with Phil? Of course he does. He wants to be Phil’s boyfriend and kiss him and have lazy sex with him in candlelight. Well, that sounds a little dangerous but. You know.

But he can’t tell his mother any of this, because she wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be an angsty twenty something with an online personality where he writes fanfiction where he’s fucking his best friend. “I gotta go, mum. Phil’s made breakfast.”

Dan’s mum sighs, and he can tell this isn’t the last he’s going to hear of it. “This isn’t the last we’re going to talk about this,” she confirms. “Love you lots. Be safe.”

“I will. Love you too. Bye.”

Dan hangs up the phone and throws it onto his bed. He stretches out his back, which is knotted from sleeping with Phil on top of him all night.

Not that you’re complaining, Dan’s brain supplies unhelpfully. Dan resists the urge to slap himself.

Dan walks into the kitchen, where Phil is currently pouring a second bowl of cereal. Dan takes the first, bites into it. “Morning,” he greets his best friend.

“Morning,” Phil replies. He puts the cereal and the milk back, leaves the cabinet open. Dan pushes it closed with a fond eyeroll. As soon as he does, Phil’s looking over at him. “How gay does your mum think we are for each other?” he asks.

Dan laughs. “Pretty god damn gay,” he answers. “Just like all of our friends, basically.”

Phil scoffs. He puts his bowl down on their counter and gives Dan a look that means it’s time to be serious.

Dan sips his tea and braces himself.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Phil asks. At Dan’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “I mean, it’s stupid that everyone thinks we’re dating. Because we’re not. Just because we’re secure in our friendship and sexuality and like to cuddle doesn’t mean we’re anything other than friends.”

Dan swallows his tea. “Right?” He says. “Like, if we wanted to date,” he swallows. “Like, we just would.”

“Right?” Phil asks.

“Right,” Dan confirms.

The two of them stand in a silence that’s vaguely awkward for a moment. Then, Phil says, “I’ve got an episode of the Great British Bakeoff on DVR.”

Dan accepts the peace offering. “Cool,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Dan ignores the texts from his mother.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Thank you to all the people who signed up to be a part of notdanhowell! It was actually so many people that I don’t know if I’ll manage to get everyone (I’m sorry!) but I’ll definitely give everyone a thanks in the final author’s note.

I actually really like this chapter for no reason. Hope you do too.

Please reblog to spread the word about my blog! Also, a thanks to @superpaperclip for letting me use their URL and sully their good name lmao. I hope I did you justice, Meg. 

Thanks y’all 

-Seb