#but man i really wrote a whole fantasy novel as a fic and went 'what if i do that again?' like an idiot

[freetobeeyouandme]

The fact that I'm way more than halfway in my initial word count projection for this fic but only more or less at the halfway point of what I think will happen plot/chapter wise is...just a little bit worrying lol

[cmishwrites]

FO4 Fanfic thing pt 1

This is just the intro, setting up the background for the mc (who is NOT the ss, and in this bit not the pov character.). And it's sorta really long.

some things;

~ I wrote this originally back in 2019, it's a touch rough, I apologize. brain bleach is available on request if you feel you need to scrub after reading it XD ~ It's going to be multiple parts, the intro is a big chunk. ~On the whole I write novels (fantasy/sci-fi etc), so when I dabble with fan fic, I write it as a novel too. Long and wordy in spots. ~ The main character is not the SS. And her history is a touch complicated. ~ On the whole the thing is unfinished. I do have my notes, but with some of it, I'm not sure exactly where I was going with it. ~ It has no title and I am still a touch clueless on what the title would be. ~ Because of it's length I might have to move it to wattpad, or another platform and link to it here. I... apologize? ~ I am procrastinating.

WARNINGS: not in this section.

Intro: Year 2274 north of the commonwealth.

"I cannot condone this action." Rugur snarled. His voice silenced the gathered crowd, all eyes went from the woman silently weeping to the old man who leaned heavily on his walking stick. In the woman's arms was a girl, small for her age, her large blue eyes dull, her dirty face tear-streaked. "We've made changes." The grim-faced man beside the woman said. His face pockmarked and scarred from years of heavy chem use. Rugur shook his head. "That's what we see, that's what you say, but what happens behind closed doors? The other children don't see fit to visit you. Putting Calisto in your home will not end well." Rugur glared around at the crowd. "Don't forget the state the child was in when she and her siblings were removed from their home." "With all due respect," The Mayor, a slim man with a high pitched voice stepped over. "They have made great efforts to improve their living conditions. I see no reason why the child can't return to her mother and father." Rugur looked around, his shoulders shaking in contained fury. "HE would be disgusted." "He is dead." The weeping woman said, her high pitched voice on the verge of hysteria. The child in her arms made no move, no sound. Poor thing is in shock. Rugur shook his head slowly and stepped over to the woman "If I find you mistreat her," "Rugur! It's decided." The Mayor snapped. The woman shot him a smug look and she, followed by her husband, left the circle of murmuring villagers, heading up the pathway to their small little shack in the woods. Rugur shook his head and glanced at the Mayor. "This won't end well, you know." "They've made the changes we demanded." "Did you see Calisto's face? Her eyes?" Rugur leaned against his walking stick. "That child needs a gentler hand than what those two will provide." "Rugur, stop. It's decided. Go home." The Mayor scowled at him, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "You'll see, it'll work out fine." Rugur snorted and turned, making his way not back to his home, but to the small house where his best friend had lived. He stopped at the doorway, the lingering smell of the cigars giving the illusion that the old man was still there, pouring over his maps, trying to devise a way to return home. "Rugur?" The soft spoken Chani was behind him. He sighed. "Before anything happens to this stuff, stash it away." He motioned the jumbled set of power armor, the box of mementos from a squad lost in ambush decades past. There were several boxes of papers and a few black journals, carefully crafted for the old man. "Give it to her when she gets old enough to appreciate it." "Are you going to be all right?" Chani asked. Rugur snorted. "No. Not while that child is in the hands of those chem heads." He whirled on her, almost tipping over to one side. "What the hell is everyone thinking?" He raged as she helped him steady himself. "I don't know." Chani leaned against his shoulder, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's like he's still here." She swollowed and patted his arm. "I'll make sure nothing happens to these things. I'll have Murlo give me a hand." "You trust that synth?" Rugar scowled. Chani nodded. "I find many synths to be more human than actual humans." Rugur snorted. "Just get it done today, please." His gut twisted. He was afraid something would happen to these things. Chani patted his arm. "Of course."

~*~

He was woken in the middle of the night by the smell of smoke and yelling. It was a struggle to get old bones working, and by the time he made his way to the porch of his small shack, he could see a glow of flames in the distance and villagers rushing in that direction with buckets of sloshing water. He followed, forgetting his walking stick and swearing at himself for his stupidity. It was the old mans house, and it was completely engulfed in flames. He slowly leaned against a tree staring in disbelief as years of memories went up in black oily smoke. A hand touched his shoulder and he found himself looking into the stricken eyes of one of the old man's grand-daughters. Jenna, like her mother, Chani, was soft-spoken. "Are you all right, Rugur?" She peered at him. At her side was her tall, lanky son, almost as tall as she was, even though he was barely ten years old. "Everything… gone." He whispered, guesturing the house "Did your mother..." "She got the power armor and boxes out." The boy said in a low voice. "I helped." Jenna nodded. "There were other things, I think those are gone, but the things from his squad are tucked away and safe." "Good." Rugur sighed. He glanced around, seeking and failing to find, "They're not here." Jenna said flatly. Rugur looked at her sharply. "I think if I saw them I may resort to violence." "The rest of the family?" He looked back at the flame engulfed house. "Did they hear about Calisto?" "Most of us heard yesterday afternoon, after it was all decided. She should have come to me. She and Leo are very close." Rugur nodded and jabbed a finger at the boy. "You keep a close eye on her, you hear?" "I will, I promise." Leo peered at him. "Do you want me to get your walking stick, sir?" Rugur nodded. "Aye, it's next to my door." The boy darted off and Rugur looked at Jenna who was watching the efforts of the villagers. "You have a good one, there." She looked at him, surprise melting into a proud smile. "He's a wonderful boy." She linked her arm with his. "Come on, there's nothing for us to do here." He cast one last look at the house, the villagers started to edge back from it as the roof caved in sending sparks towards the uncaring stars above. It was a loss. He sighed. The end of an era. He took his walking stick from Leo and allowed Jenna to 'help' him back to his shack. ~*~ He slept fitfully, his dreams sliding from one confusing scene to another. He found himself standing in front of a familiar door. He hesitated before opening it and stepping into the small, neat space beyond. Familiar, though strange. This space had burned just hours ago, yet his dear friend was sitting at a small narrow table, a cigar in his lips, papers spread out in front of him. He looked up, smiling around his cigar, eyes bright as they'd been fifty years before. "It's time, you know." He said around his cigar. Rugur frowned and started to protest when he noticed his hands. No longer wrinkled and gnarled, his skin was tight as it had been in his youth, hands steady. He looked at his friend confused. "Time for what?" He realized it was no longer the old man sitting there, but a younger man who stood on two good legs. "It's time to go home. Time to see the Lost Hills again." He smirked and motioned at Rugur with his cigar. "Wanna come with me?" "You really have to ask?" Rugur grinned, feeling better than he had in years. His smile faded a bit. "What about Cal?" "She's tough. She's steel." The former Paladin grinned. "She's going to be just fine." Rugur nodded and took the rifle leaning against the wall. "Lets go then."

~*~

Jenna and Leo stopped by Rugur's shack in the afternoon, Jenna wanted to let him know that all of the old man's things had been moved before the fire, Chani and Murlo and managed to clear everything important to the old man out before nightfall. She hoped it would soothe his nerves. It was hard enough for Rugar, losing his best friend, knowing his special things hadn't burned with the house would give him some semblance of comfort. But it was silent, eerily so, and old Rugur wasn't sitting on the porch like he usually did in the afternoons. She frowned and glanced at Leo. He was poking around the shed, looking through some of the boxes of junk Rugur had collected for his 'inventions'. "Leo stay out here, will you?" She called, rubbing a hand over her stomach. Her unborn child kicked at her hand. He looked up sharply, blue-green eyes narrowed. "Something wrong?" "I don't know." Jenna forced a smile, though her gut was twisting and it had nothing to do with the baby. "I think Rugur may have gone somewhere, I just want to make sure." Leo nodded, but didn't look away from her, didn't move from his spot. His expression serious. Jenna turned, pushing the door open and hesitantly stepped into the tidy, clean shack. The stove was on one side, tucked against the other was the bed, with a table and rickety chair in between. The window shutters were still closed, casting the one room in dim light. Laying on the bed, prone, was Rugur. Jenna swallowed, tears filling her eyes, making it hard to see as she went over to the bed, kneeling beside the man who was like a second grandfather to her and her siblings. She took a shaky breath and straightened, looking down at the face, often angry in life, yet peaceful now. She reached over, closed half open eyes and patted his hand which lay on his chest. "Couldn't go far without him, could you?" She whispered. From the day Rugar had pulled the injured paladin from a slaver camp, the old man's death, they'd been near inseparable. She wiped her eyes quickly and made her way out. It was time to get the doctor, to prepare the tell the rest of the family. ~*~ Thanks for reading so far. It went long, longer than I realized it was. Hope you enjoyed it. I need to tidy up pt2 before posting it. With christmas around the corner, it might be a few days before I get that up. Feel free to let me know what you think. (needy author is needy)

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

[nautilusopus]

do you have any favorite books?

Coraline by Neil Gaiman is the obvious answer lol. Still my favourite book to this day, obviously hugely influential in my own bullshit. Seriously check it out if you can find a copy, it’s pretty short and absolutely worth your time.

The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt and its sequel (The Devil’s Other Storybook) are more of an anthology of short stories starring the Devil, who occupies every role from vague background presence to put-upon protagonist that are funny and thought-provoking and genuinely clever and that pissed enough people off that it was a banned book for a while. “The Imp in the Basket” is the kind of short story I wish more people knew about and wanted to sincerely discuss what actually happened at the end.

ugh i haven’t read a book i actually enjoyed in over ten years at this point uhhhhhh

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I think potentially the only classic I had to read in school that I genuinely liked and actually finished in one sitting on my own time. And I think the first time any themes a book had for me actually clicked and I was able to do any kind of meta analysis of it completely unprompted. Baby’s first literary comprehension. Slaughterhouse-Five is a semi-autobiographical piece set during the bombing of Dresden in WWII, and also some period in the “future” (the 80s lol), and ALSO on an alien planet as the protagonist is abducted and taken to a human zoo. The story is told achronologically, and I feel is hugely influential to my own shit where it skips around, building a narrative almost entirely by juxtaposing specific moments in time against one another. It's surreal and thought-provoking, and if you only ever make yourself read one classic, it should be this one. *

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. Bear in mind this thing has fuck-all to do with the movie, and while in retrospect I now am able to enjoy the Don Bluth movie as its own thing, I remember being fucking furious when they busted out a goddamn magical amulet. It’s a different kind of story, but is more magic realism than outright fantasy, and the titular rats get a lot more backstory, as does the late Mr. Frisby iirc.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. God that book fucked me up. It is about a snotty porcelain toy rabbit that gets dropped overboard a ship into the ocean one day, and the various owners he has over the years as he changes hands, and the impacts they have on him, and it makes me fucking cry every time and is to date the only book to ever do so so fairly warned be ye. Fucking shit I wish I could dish out gut-punches half as good as that book could.

The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman, which in and of itself is an angry rebuttal against everything the Chronicles of Narnia has to say, as well as Christianity in general. You’ve probably seen shit floating around about the HBO series, which I have not watched. Lyra is a horrible gremlin child running wild around a parallel universe Oxford until she accidentally stumbles onto a conspiracy that goes all the way to the Church which unofficially runs the government and eventually starts an interdimensional war against God. The first two books I think are better than the last one, which really drags in spots (and in a twist of irony had Lyra’s sexual awakening censored from the North American release which like... come on man). Absolutely worth checking out though, especially if you’re an angry pedant like I am.

Tales from the House of Bunnicula, by James Howe. Honestly the entire "Bunnicula Expanded Universe"(???) is great, but in particular I'm mentioning this sub-series because I think it actually kind of taught me to write. The framing device used is that they're being written by Howe's pet dog and sent in to him to publish by proxy. On top of having just a lot of good storytelling tips for beginners (how to create a plot! how to create character motivations! how to write female characters like actual people!), they're also fun little satire pieces of various kinds of genre fiction. Like, the third book is a riff on Harry Potter and making fun of all of JKR's worst writing tendencies, like her compulsion to phonetically write out everyone's fucking accent.

these days i'm just too picky to enjoy books anymore idfk. you have no idea how fucking disheartening it was growing up with actual taste (snooty snooty snoot) and watching everyone go nuts over stuff like divergent and eragon and maximum ride and fuckmothering twilight and shit. like, yeah misogyny absolutely played into why people shat on it because teenage girls aren't allowed to like anything, but lest we forget they were still shitty books guys. that never stopped being true or anything. and you were a social pariah if you didn't like them and that sucked. and then a couple ostensibly good series, like harry potter and artemis fowl and hunger games just dropped the fucking ball for one reason or another as they went on and never picked it back up. i think the mid 2000s almost singlehandedly just killed any real enthusiasm i had for reading altogether (this is not even getting into the fact a lot of really fucking bad "grown-up" novels came out around that period too. whole era was a baaaad time for books). so here i am writing, i guess, because i've decided you fuckers can't be trusted to make anything good yourselves. if you want something done right...

(*I like to think if Cloud wrote a book he’d write something like Slaughterhouse-Five. I think at one point I was even working on a fic along those lines -- a fictional story vaguely based off the burning of Nibelheim and the fall of Shinra that was written, in-universe, by Cloud several years later. Abandoned it just because of how fucking complicated it would be to do. Might come back to it one day.)

[musings-on-bucky-barnes]

Q&A Part 3 with Owlet about The Infinite Coffee & Protection Detail series

Here is Part the Third of Owlet answering questions about The Infinite Coffee & Protection Detail series and also about her other writing. Some of the questions are from readers of the first Q&A, and some come from a Tumblr post of suggested questions for writers.

Warning for discussion of rape.

OWLET'S NOTE:

Thanks for all the cheers and good wishes on part 2! I'm glad people think the behind-the-scenes stuff is interesting and not just me being a windbag.

I was delighted that so many of you seem interested in my novel! It's not available anywhere yet: I still have to find an agent, and who knows how the heck long that's going to take? (I am NOT cut out for self-publishing.) But I certainly hope it'll find a home. If you want to keep up with me on tumblr (vmohlere) or twitter (virginiamohlere), I assure you that when such time comes, I will scream about it a LOT.

Pink floaty hearts, y'all.

  Reader questions:

From EssayOfThoughts:

 I know that you say that you like to imagine AOU doesn't exist, but I will admit (because I find Wanda deeply compelling and the twins story as a whole very interesting) that I've wondered a lot about how your Bucky would deal with the Maximoff twins? Like, on the one hand there's Wanda's ability to mess with minds, which he'd hate, but simultaneously (at least according to the AOU prelude comic) the twins was effectively radicalised by HYDRA while they were pretending to be SHIELD and expected to be their weapons which is not wholly dissimilar to Nat or Bucky. So if you're willing to acknowledge AOU just enough to ponder this I'd really like to know your thoughts! If not, of course, I understand.

Wanda’s not a character I’ve given much thought to. You’re right that her abilities would freak Barnes out. But he has a strict policy of observation before reaction, so he would give them a chance. And they’re so young (and so broken) that his protective instincts would kick in. I think they could probably count on some wary kindness, along with a dose of irritation at Pietro’s shenanigans.

From Ev42:

 Thing I can't stop thinking about today: babies. Specifically, Bucky + baby = ???

 I personally am a sucker for "Steve knows nothing, Bucky's a pro" thing re: babies. Mix that up with the Mission and the Briefing and what would we get? I keep think about, idk, maybe Sam has a niece or nephew, or one of the Olds has a grandchild or grandniece or something, and I just really want your thoughts on Bucky + baby... Please?

Barnes would be too worried about inadvertently hurting an infant to be willing to touch one, though he likes the directness of slightly older kids.

If in the presence of Steve trying to deal with an infant, the Briefing would definitely have a lot of commentary about everything he was doing wrong.

From Fred1085:

 I guess if I had one question though it would be: Do you always see Bucky existing as Barnes, the Briefing, and the Mission, or do you see a time in his future in which those aspects of him would be more integrated. Not through the magical Asgaridan science, but through his own force of will/healing?

  He definitely does become more integrated over time. The Mission is a protective identity, and as he needs it less, it recedes. The Briefing is literally his memories, which he does recover many of over time, though that’s a long and painful process. There’s a lot of regression throughout the long-term forward progress. But he keeps some of the habits, like “confirm” and “deny.”

 MusingsOnBuckyBarnes:

 After “This, You Protect”, the Mission went to ground so to speak for a bit and Bucky was distressed at its loss, at it not communicating with him. But over time as he heals and it recedes, he wouldn’t be so upset?

Exactly. When the Mission’s going quiet is part of the organic process of healing, he misses it but isn’t upset by its loss.

From stentorian_lore_n:

 Did Bucky and Steve ever make a donation to Sam's VA?? :)

Yes, of course! But Sam had to be bullied into buying a better chair for himself, because he wanted all the money to go to programs.

There’s a lot of red tape involved with how much money the center can receive in donations, so Steve & Bucky give that much each year, even much later, when Sam does in fact move to NYC to become an Avenger.

From englishghosts:

 Also, since you're taking questions, I'd like to ask you something. (TW RAPE)

Although Bucky suffering sexual abuse and torture "for fun" during his time with HYDRA makes perfect sense in my head (70 years in the hands of powerful white men who had complete control over him, it's difficult to imagine nobody got ideas), especially with the imagery of the bank scene, it's something we don't see that often in fics outside certain areas of fandom. I'm really glad you included this, because for me it not only makes it more realistic, but also it brings an extra layer into Bucky reclaiming himself and being comfortable with touching and his feelings for Steve. So the question is what made you decide to include it in this fic?

Like you say, powerful men with a powerful man under their complete control, over the course of 70 years – to me, it’s a given that among the many abuses he suffered was sexual abuse. It was always part of the character, for me, one of the many layers that he needed to work through to reclaim both his body and his self.

I started to think that the romantic-physical relationship with Steve was an inevitable part of Barnes’s healing process, because he and Steve really just do love each other SO much. The more I thought about it, the more I could see that given the style that I’d set up, writing Barnes’s reactions to things kind of obliquely, would be SUPER FUN for writing about bodies and sex. I cackled my whole way through writing that section.

And, you know, there were a lot of commenters who were like “hey man where’s the smut?” – a few of them NOT SO NICELY. I’m glad I stuck it in its own section, though, because I know there are also a lot of people who like to only read the gen parts.

From Selkieinthesea:

How did you come up with the curses? My favorite is “Lenin’s pickled scrotum.” It makes me laugh every time I think of it. I’d use it, but I have toddlers so then I’d have to explain what pickling is, what a scrotum is and why you’d pickle one.

That is a mystery and a blessing from the part of my brain from which jokes arise. Every one of them delighted me. “Lenin’s pickled scrotum” hearkens back to college jokes in Russian History class about how they embalmed Lenin with a mixture of Twinkie filling and maraschino cherry juice, and of course scrotums are always hilarious, I don’t know how people who have them even deal.

from Ev42 (about the fic “Love Is for Children”):

 Nicholas. Anything to do with Nick Fury? Bc I think that'd make his faking-my-death-without-telling-Natasha sting that much more. Ouch.

 I'm trying to imagine how Nicholas meeting the gang would go. I... have no idea? Barnes would bake, of course, but what? The Olds would be happy. Barton already knows. I guess I'm just trying to figure out what the hurt/happy ratio for the rest would be

I actually have a tiny bit of this written out – it was originally going to be another piece of ICaPD, but I couldn’t get it to have any kind of arc to it, and the pacing was just BALLS.

Anyhow, yes, Nicholas is named after Nick Fury. His sperm donor is no one of import, and the only one of the Avengers who knows about him is Clint.

The snippet I never wrote involved Bad Guys kidnapping Nicholas & Steve/Barnes/Nat/Clint/Sam going on a rescue mission.

In this universe, Nat & Clint have a couple of Barton-Romanoffs, of whom Nicholas is the first (Clint adopts him). Tony & Pepper likewise have several kids in this universe.

  The remaining questions are from a “Fanfiction Writer Asks” Tumblr post by criminal-minds-fanfiction:

Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I haven’t written a reader-insertish kind of thing since I wrote a Duran Duran scifi AU when I was 14 years old. Original characters are where it’s at.

What is your favourite genre to write for?

Fantasy, for sure. Tho romance tends to worm its way into most of my stuff.

If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

I think This, You Protect has better pacing than The Long Road Begins at Home, and writing it helped me fall back in love with writing.

If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

Um. Maybe my Loki poem? Tho I don’t think it’s necessarily bad.

When is your preferred time to write?

First thing in the morning, tho I’m grateful to be able to write almost any time. In the past couple of years, I've gotten into writing into the notepad on my phone, so I literally write any- and everywhere.

Where do you take your inspiration from?

Absolutely everywhere.

In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote? [Any of your Bucky fics]

The chapter of Team-Building Exercises where Barnes & Pepper go to France is something I’m so proud of. I think I did pretty well with the action and the pacing in that one, and I love writing Pepper.

Their first Thanksgiving, with the Sandwich of Suffering, is also a favorite.

In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind? [The Long Road Begins at Home]

It was always going to go Thanksgiving to Thanksgiving.

If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names?

ARGH NAMES. What a pain. Second only to titles in terms of terribleness. I try to roll a few names around and chew on them until I find the one that feels right.

Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I have notes for 3 more sections of Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail – one that’s pure fluff, one that’s an action scene, and one at the very end of their lives. But I dunno. For one thing, the last one is unbearably sad. And I don’t really have Barnes’s voice in my head anymore. I think it’s time to be done.

More about the action scene is answered in response to a reader question in the previous section. The Sad Ending is just too far off in tone that it doesn’t fit the series at all, so let’s leave it in a dark drawer. But Barnes & Steve live for a very long time and remain faithful to the successive generations of their Avengers family. And when they go, they reach the end of the line together.

The fluff scene is CAT JACK and will post on Friday, June 7. (it's not a full story, just a snippet)

Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

The epilogue chapter of This, You Protect has some cute jokes, but it’s pretty weird, and I kind of wish I’d left it off.

Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

Depends on the day. I definitely like music when I’m Pondering, though.

How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

LOVE IT

Do people know you write fanfiction?

People know about my MCU fic, yes.

What’s your favourite minor character you’ve written?

That’s like asking about my favorite child!! Hill is definitely up there on the list, though. Hair Club in general was fun to have around.

Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

I wish I could remember what it was, but yes. That was really fun.

If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Smut, because I think the best smut is also really emotional, so it’s not like cutting out angst, fluff, or anything else.

xXx

The link to the full list of questions for fanfic writer is here:

http://criminal-minds-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/172926526725/fanfiction-writer-asks

(EDIT: link appears to be maybe-broken?)

[maunderponder]

My BooOOOOOK??

Laughter Lines recently got a ton of new love (AND IT WAS REC’D BY ONE OF MY FAVORITE ARTISTS??? AHHHHHH THANK YOU!!!) and I realized I really owe everyone an explanation for where I’ve been and why the story hasn’t been updated in so long.

While there have been a few medical reasons (had issues with a gallbladder and needed to have surgery earlier this year and now we have baby #2 on the way! Pregnancy is exhausting LOL), the biggest contributing factor is I WROTE A NOVEL!!! With finishing the first draft, editing, and now preparing to self-publish, the book has completely occupied all my writing time. 

A young adult fantasy, the book is about a seventeen-year-old named Alvis who possesses a gift of inexplicable strength. Raised in the slums by his genius-mechanic father, Alvis wants to use his strength to help people, but his temper gets in him in trouble instead. Level-headed Rae is a half-dragon, half-human hybrid called a Guardian. A wanted criminal, Rae carries with him the trauma from his time as a gladiator, when he was forced to fight against (and kill) other Guardians for the entertainment of the wealthy. Despite their differences, Alvis and Rae can agree on one thing: they fight best when they’re fighting alone. But when faced with the corruption in their homeland, Zen, one thing becomes clear- they’ll have to keep each other alive if they want to survive. 

It’s got magic, white-haired dragon boys, and a gay MC who has a thing for guys with biceps and strong jawlines, and is really bad at flirting with them. I wanted to share it today because I’ve gotten so much support for my Klance fic and thought it might be something of interest for those of you who enjoy my writing :)

The book will be released in summer of 2019. You can look at the indiegogo campaign here! I’ll also include a sample from Chapter 1 under the cut, and you can read the full first two chapters here!

I’m currently working on the next chapter of Laugher Lines in between writing book 2 of WtLDD. My goal is to have it up before VLD’s final season’s premier date (SOBBING) and then the final chapter up by Christmas, so keep a look out! :)

Alvis Witt was trouble.

He was almost always at the center of it, and when he wasn’t it was always close behind him. He was a dangerous boy. He would break your nose, perhaps your jaw, maybe even a few limbs for good measure, if you simply looked at him the wrong way. He grinned at the sight of blood, made deals with shady folks in dark alleys at night, and was once seen bullying a child to the point of tears.

At least, that’s what the gossiping old ladies in the neighborhood would have you believe.

Even though it was all complete bullshit.

(Okay, mostly complete bullshit.)

First of all, Alvis did not “grin” when he saw blood. In fact, it kinda made him gag sometimes, and it was annoying to get out of clothes.

Second, his dad would, without a single doubt, most definitely kill him dead if he caught a glimpse of Alvis hanging around with “shady folks”.

Oh, and that whole making a kid cry thing? That was one, big misunderstanding because- well, yes, Alvis did make that kid cry, but what actually happened was he accidentally knocked the kid’s ice cream cone out of his hand. Then he replaced the cone with the last of his paycheck, but of course that part conveniently gets left out of all those dumb rumors constantly spread through the neighborhood about his reputation.

As for the rest of the snarky gossip surrounding him-

Well, that stuff he had a much weaker defense against.

Still, Alvis Witt wasn’t dangerous; he didn’t get into all those fights because he wanted to (… most of the time). Whether it was because people believed those rumors and sought him out for a fight, or because some snotty rich dude thought he could treat someone like trash, he always attracted trouble. His dad kept trying to teach him about restraint, that he didn’t need to rise to every taunt or challenge someone tossed his way, but the lessons never really stuck.

Maybe one day they would, but, right then, all Alvis could do was dodge the oncoming fist, then respond with one of his own.

“You son of a bitch!” The beefy guy pushed himself up to his knees from where he’d slammed onto the ground, his bleeding nose dripping red into the disrupted snow. “You’ll pay for that!”

“Dude, you’re the one who attacked me for no reason,” Alvis said as he shook out his fist and smirked down at him. “Which is weird, considering what a weakling you are.”

The man let out an enraged cry and lunged forward, his movements sloppy and disoriented. Alvis sidestepped, then grabbed the man by his hair. He yanked his head down to not so gently meet Alvis’s rising knee.

The man fell limply to the ground.

Alvis watched the man’s stilled form for a moment, pausing to see if the fight was really over or not. When the man didn’t move even after Alvis nudged him with his foot, he heaved a sigh. He stepped over the guy to grab the lunchbag he had abandoned the instant he sensed a fist coming at him. Alvis’s hands shook as he picked it up, adrenaline flowing through him, making his fingers itch for more and setting his nerves on fire even through the biting cold. He glanced back, hopeful to see if the beaten man was still conscious- maybe even ready for a second round…

Okay, fine. Alvis did enjoy the fight a little bit. He was good at fighting. Probably the only thing he was good at. Sure, he could paint okay, and he was the most efficient worker when he wasn’t, you know, getting fired. But throwing punches, reading opponents movements, and knocking people onto their asses? That came naturally to him as breathing.

Because fighting was his heart pumping adrenaline into his veins. Fighting was knowing how to smile.

Fighting was a curse.

He really couldn’t call it anything else. Not when he dreamt of using his hands to create, and maybe help people, or even improve the world. But Alvis wasn’t good at fighting simply because it was a part of him; he had a gift life so graciously granted him since he was a child:

Incredible strength.

Maybe to others, his goals sounded simple and cliche, but for him, his strength made them unattainable no matter how hard he tried. He always went in with good intentions in mind, but somehow he failed, and then another rumor would start about the son of that genius mechanic who was tainting the family legacy.

Which… Alvis didn’t particularly disagree with, but he didn’t enjoy thinking about.

The morning bells in the distance pulled him out of his musings, reminding him he was about to be late for work. All need for a fight drained from his body as he took off sprinting, leaving his opponent behind in the snow.

[proserpine-in-phases]

@nachttour tagged me in a writing question thing!

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

uh yeah there’s like, several. some of them are better developed than other but a lot of the reason I’ve been holding off on writing them just comes down to feeling inadequate due to my own limited experience with relationships and feelings of complete inadequacy. it’s hard to write an epic romancu when I’m aromantic as fuck and have a hard time conceptualizing what those feelings might be like to experience, for example, or like, I want the story to be funny but I feel like I’m not actually a very funny person?

also I always feel like I need to do more research. I get stuck on the research phase about 85% of the time haha

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

man I am embarrassed by MYSELF existing, so  idk probably all of it when you get right down to it

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

it seems to vary a bit. sometimes I just power through start to finish, but sometimes I need to write the ending first to remind myself of what I’m shooting for. sometimes I just gotta write some random scenes in the middle before I forget what they are and have to figure out where they’ll go later.

considering the longest thing I’ve managed to finish comes in at about 12 k  I don’t know if I have enough data to really come up with a firm answer for this one though. from what I can tell, it really does seem like I start at the beginning and go for a bit, write the end, and try to connect the two with occasional random middle bits getting written out of order and a general feeling of “I’ll fix it in post” carrying me through

4) favorite character you’ve written

probably Samantha Traynor. she’s such a fucking nerd and I love her. it was surprisingly easy to write for her once I got started. at least I THINK I did a good job writing her, I have no actual idea haha

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

I’ve written TWO mass effect fics featuring Samara as a main character and I have no idea how this happened or why because she’s about in the middle when it comes to my most to least favorite mass effect characters list

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

there’s a couple of fics I wrote for fic exchanges that I kinda wish I could take back and turn into something else because I love the concept but feel guilty about idk, using as a springboard because the original is a gift, or something. it feels ehhhhhhhhh disingenuous to continue them when the gift is supposed to be a singular and self contained unit

for example, oh man I would love to take that vrisrezi space pirates au someplace, but I don’t know if I should because the fic itself is a gift, complete, and so forth. 

plus I hate the way I run out of steam about 4 chapters into everything. I would like to not run out of motivation please

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

considering my output is so low I barely consider myself a writer at all tbh.

but yes, embarrassed. I hope to god the three people I know irl who follow me just like. never see those posts haha

8) favorite genre to write

space adventure! and lately? mysteries even though I have no FUCKING idea why or even how to write them, which is why I have at least three projects stalled out on me haha

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

I read a lot, mostly. sometimes I stare at a wall. or play minesweeper. 

also when I’m doing something fairly mindless sometimes my mind wanders and I hit something. 

oh and music. music is great

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I usually need music, mood music preferable, instrumental so the lyrics don’t distract me. generally I prefer to not be around people when I write, though a public setting is also fun to write in. I’m too distractable to actually get any done though, so I usually end up just looking like a tool with their notebook out if I try to write in a coffee shop or whatever tho, haha

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

I think writing fanfic has really helped me figure out what it means to write in character. also I think I’m starting to get better at balancing dialogue versus narration? at least a little bit

12) your weaknesses as an author

the inability to actually finish shit. 

unwillingness to approach emotions that make me feel uncomfortable. 

the fact that I often approach writing a character with the thought of what I would do in a situation rather than what the character would do (which is why writing fanfiction is helping me with that haha)

coming up with plots that lend themselves well to longer stuff

13) your strengths as an author

pretty good at dialogue

when it comes to my own shit, pretty good at coming up with interesting fantasy worlds (I think they’re interesting at least)

I’ve got a pretty firm grasp overall just the nuts and bolts of writing: I mean I tutored English in college for fuck’s sake I know how to write a grammatically correct run on sentence when I want to 

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

not really

15) why did you start writing?

I wanted to know what happened next

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

not really? I mean, there are specific character TYPES that’ll get me every time, though, like the happy go lucky person who has to learn what pain is but still come out the other side a LOT worse for wear but not completely broken (think Tasslehoff Burrfoot, or perhaps less obscure Vash the Stampede) but I wouldn’t say they haunt me, per say

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

don’t be afraid to be self indulgent. you’ll enjoy it more and who the fuck cares, anyway? people who’ll make fun of you for doing what you love are ass holes

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

If I’m honest I can’t really say what influences my writing style, if I even have one. Mostly all I can do is list off my favorite authors because I’m pretty sure they all have something to do with it. 

so let’s just do that I guess.  when I was a teenager I tended to find a single author and just read through all their works before moving on, and these are the big ones that stand out:

Connie Willis, Anne McCaffrey, Steven Brust and Ursula K. Le Guin. Connie Willis for the humor she includes in almost all her writing, Anne McCaffrey because I STILL spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about Pern. She had a real skill for coming up with both great characters and great settings, even if what she did with them, and also her inability to keep continuity were less good. Steven Brust introduced me to the idea of relating to morally reprehensible characters at an alarmingly young age. Ursula K. Le Guin, I just love her. No idea if it’s actually done anything GOOD to my writing but she gives me something to aspire to.

I read just. a ridiculous amount of fantasy and science fiction as a kid, the genres as a whole without a doubt influence the type of shit I end up writing. also in seventh grade I mainlined dragonlance, just the whole damn thing

later in college I got really into Margaret Atwood. her focus on female characters and narrative just is really great.  

then I went through a depressive phase in my late 20s and just exclusively read Julia Quinn, Joanna Lindsey, Sabrina Jeffreys and Eloisa James, and that was IT. so I’m pretty sure my foray into the romance genre is what makes me honestly prefer povs limited to two or three characters  hey, reading romance novels also lead me to the realization that I’m aromantic so \o/ I guess

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

I outline and then give up lol

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

little spurts until something grabs me and makes me marathon. usually that’s a deadline, but sometimes it’s also inspiration 

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

mostly just holy shit I can’t believe I wrote this! sometimes that’s bad, sometimes it’s good. I can’t really tell if I’m good at divorcing myself from my writing enough to give me perspective on it, to tell the truth, because for a good lot of it, I still think it’s pretty good so ???

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

it’s hard for me to let a character be embarrassed by the dumb shit they do. I don’t want them to do dumb shit because of it, which makes it hard for the character to have shit to grow and learn from.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

I’m pretty sure my own issues with having and experiencing some emotions makes its way into the stuff I choose to write about, especially when it comes to the original stuff (I have. at LEAST three different plot outlines that involve characters literally losing the ability to experience emotions and having to find a way to heal or gain it back haha)  

also the fic I wrote about the box ghost is literally just about what it’s like to work in a factory haha

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

listen. 

yes.

I fucking. LOVE. research. 

honestly this is the stage where I most often get lost in the weeds, distracted by my own need to know more

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

“He was not the knight Casey taught him to be, but he was close enough for government work“ remains the single best pun I’ve ever written

tagging: @anthropwashere @inktail @manicpixiesdreamdragon if you guys are up for it!

[billyharris]

☼ Underneath The Same Sun ☼

Chapter two y’all !! It’s time to get real. Once again, this is inspired by the amazing @t0ziers​. Mel wrote their own fic, and I highly recommend you check it out !! Also, this got real long. So I think I’m going to need to do a chapter three. Otherwise, this would actually be a novel. Whoops!! I think three would be a perfect sum of the story, but we shall see.  Hope y’all like it !!

✧ Chapter One ✧ Chapter Two ✧ Chapter Three

Words ;; 3,122 ･ﾟ Pairing ;; Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak  & some sprinkles of Stan Uris / Bill Denbrough (It)  ･ﾟ Warnings ;; ANGST BOYS, strong language, plenty of penis talk, and some 18 y/o boys phone sexing it up

❝ — Eddie Kaspbrak was Richie’s first ever boyfriend. In the past, any relationship the trashmouth had was simply a hookup or summer fling. Nothing remarkably close to how he felt now. Even though they still have yet to touch, Richie knew he was in love. His soulmate might be 2,806.6 miles away, but he’d be damned if he let that effect their now two month long relationship.

The boys were constantly messaging one another. They gave each other play by plays of their day in such detail that Richie felt like he too was freezing his ass off in New York.  Richie had limited minutes when it came to texting, but UCLA had free wifi, so Tumblr was their best way of keeping in touch. That meant that Richie’s face was now permanently glued to his screen. 

↪ trxshmouth - Send Nudes ?

↪ pastelgazebo - Richie It’s 2am !!

↪ trxshmouth -  you’re roommates must be asleep

↪ trxshmouth - more of a reason for you to send nudes 

↪ trxhsmouth - ;)

↪ pastelgazebo - Richie, I’m not going to do that. We’ve discussed this. I’m just not comfortable yet. I will be soon. I swear. I just need time.

↪ trxshmouth - [ Attached Image ]

↪ pastelgazebo - Richie I am literally  a couple of feet away from Mike and Ben !! You can’t do this to me again !!

↪ trxshmouth  - [ Attached Image ]

↪ pastelgazebo - BEEP BEEP

↪ trxshmouth -  [ Attached Image ]

↪ pastelgazebo -OMG STOP !!  I’m going to have a fucking asthma attack !!

“Must you do this right in front of us, Richie ?!” Stan was standing in the doorway of the dorm, staring down his roommate, who in one hand was holding out the fabric of his boxers and the other taking a picture of the contents. Richie honestly didn’t see Bill and Stan walk in, but it wasn’t like it mattered. He’d do it in front of them anyway. Bill wasn’t the biggest fan of his own roommate, so he practically all but moved into casa Uris/Tozier a few weeks back.

“Privacy went way out the door when Big Bill began using this dorm like a nudist colony, Stanley” The boy took his huge duvet and pulled it over his aroused state. “Not all of us live in the same state as our boyfriends, and it’s a little rude to call me out for my and Eddie’s long distance predicament.” Bill was cracking a smile now. He always did find Richie to be funny. Even if he often took it too far. He immediately saw Richie’s appeal when he began dating Stan. They bickered, and fought like a married couple, but they really cared for each other, Bill thought it was adorable. “And after I reinstated you as my best friend...tsk tsk Stan the Man.”

“I did not ask for this. Believe me. I was happy when you gave my title away. And what did I tell you about that dumb nickname. It was one time, Trashmouth. And he wasn’t even fully naked.” Stan and Bill were now sitting next to each other on the opposite bed, holding hands, their phones in the others.

“Actually I saw him come out of the shower last week.” Richie was smirking and when Stan shot his boyfriend a look all the boy could do was shrug. “It’s not my fault there is not enough fabric in the world to cover up your boyfriend’s massive penis, Stanley. You really should just embrace it.”

“I hate you both !”

“You love me.” Richie retorted, sticking his tongue out to the other and his boyfriend, before falling over on his side and getting right back to messaging Eddie and scrolling through his dash.

“You fucking wish, Tozier, you fucking wish.” But Stan was smiling, giving Bill a shove for his lack of input on the conversation.

❝ — Richie and Eddie had now been an item for around three months. They helped one another study and proofread essays for each other. They skyped everyday - sometimes for hours and hours, talking about anything and everything. Richie always woke up to a  ‘good morning’ message from Eddie and a ‘good night, babe’ before he went to bed. Everything seemed to be a mirror to their previous friendship. Just labeled with a different title. It hurt that Richie couldn’t take Eddie out on a proper date. He wanted to go see a scary movie with his boyfriend. He wanted to pay for the tickets and hold the smaller boy’s hand as some killer scared the audience. He wouldn’t jump though, because he would be too transfixed with rubbing his thumb on Eddie’s soft recently sanitized hands. He craved to lean over and make out with the the boy while the plot finished up on the projector and the credits began to roll. He wished they were too wound up with each other to see the theater was now empty and some pimple covered worker was trying to get their attention to leave - so he could clean up the popcorn covered floor. They would stumble out of the cinema, a tangle of limbs, until they huddled in the back of Richie’s car and finished what they started in the closing act of ‘Scream 54.′It wasn’t too much to ask for from your boyfriend. But those 2,000 miles that separated them made their love a little hard to maintain. And that tore Richie up inside.

It was now their official three month anniversary. An Eddie had promised Richie a very special present for the occasion. He was awoken with a message: ‘↪ pastelgazebo - Good Morning, babe !! Tonight I’m ready.’ Richie nearly popped a boner right then and there. He breakfast club style fist pumped the air. “Mazel Tov to me !! Tonight I become a man !!”

“Shut up Richie.” Stan and Bill chimed in unison from their usual spooning position across the dorm. Stan would’ve thrown his pillow at his roommate, but he learned from experience it didn’t change anything. And it was just a waste of a pillow.

Eddie got Mike and Ben to evacuate their room. Stan took Bill out to some GSA club event and the two boys were finally able to get their privacy. Richie of course wanted to Skype so he could see his boyfriend’s gorgeous face as he pleased himself. The thought alone was making Richie unable to concentrate on anything else all day. But Eddie was cautious and they settled on just good ol’ phone sex. Richie sat in his boxer-briefs (The ones Bill highly recommended, but cracked that Richie wouldn’t quite be able to fill them out like he did. Richie was too proud to even be mad at the statement. ) They were both nervous. Eddie was a virgin and Richie had never sexed through the phone before. So the call was quiet for a solid minute. They two boys lying down on their beds on either coast of the country, debating on how to start the whole ordeal. “What are you wearing ??” Richie finally decided on to break the silence. 

His eyes were closed to help picture Eddie’s description. “I’m naked. Aren’t you ??” Richie bit at his lip. His boyfriend never ceased to amaze him. Just when he thought Eddie was this little, nervous, innocent boy - He would sweep Richie off his feet. “Where are we, in the fantasy I mean ??”

The two stumbled around on technicalities for a little while. Eddie would correct Richie on the fact that in their current fantasy state Richie would have three hands or they would forget who was on top at the moment. But after a little while, those minor details seemed to be moot. Once the boys got going - nothing seemed to exist except for them. Richie was so lost in the fantasy, he swore he could feel Eddie’s breath on his neck and his nimble fingers pulling on his hair. Word’s alone got the thought that Richie wasn’t holding onto to himself, but Eddie’s hands or mouth was around his hard-on instead. Eds was gasping on the other end and it was making Richie’s insides come undone. The slight muffled moans through the phone were driving the boy crazy. He flipped over to bury his face into his pillow - no longer able to form actual words. The sounds Eddie were making were caused Richie to forget how to properly function. He was a mess of thrusting down into his hand and gripping onto the phone as if it were his boyfriend’s hand. At the end of it all, Richie was just tickling his pickle like he usually did. It was standard procedure when your boyfriend lived so far away. But with Eddie in his ear - everything felt super charged. It felt so real. It honestly felt better than any physical sex he had with a past partner. At some point he forgot about the fantasy they built, and Richie just focused on the fact that somewhere in New York City, his boyfriend was pleasuring himself thinking about him. It was unbelievable, almost. He couldn’t believe he was so lucky to have such an amazing partner. It was driving him wild. So wild, he ended up finishing far before Eddie. He stayed face leaned on the phone and pillow, just listening to Eddie take care of himself, the largest smile he could possibly fathom plastered on his face. Eddie called out his name when he was done and Richie almost proposed it sounded so beautiful.

After ; the same awkward silence from before returned. The two sat just breathing into the speaker of their phones, waiting for the other to speak up. Eddie took over that job. And right before he spoke, Rich could of sworn he heard him take a hit of his inhaler. “So - that was nice.”

“Eds, my dear. That was fucking fantastic.”

❝ — Classes and roommates ended up messing with the boys future attempts to repeat what they did on their anniversary three weeks ago. He was pretty hungover after Bill’s birthday party last night. Not having Eddie there was pretty hard for the boy. He usually drank, but decided getting wasted was a much better option. It helped make up for the three week long blue balls stent he was going through at the moment. After their anniversary, doing it fully alone just wasn’t enough. Nothing could come close to how good he felt that night. But Richie figured a combination of rum and weed would work for a little. Around 4am, Stan had to drag a very plastered Bill and Richie up three flights of stairs - complaining the entire time, of course. They all passed out and Richie was lucky enough to have the earliest class out of the three. It was 7am, and Richie was dosing off at his tiny desk.

But the notification pop up on his phone was enough to wake the boy up . It was a snapchat from Eddie. Most of his boyfriend’s snaps were blurry pictures of himself or some screenshot of an inside joke. So Richie thought nothing of opening it in the lecture hall. “What the fuck.” He nearly fell out of his seat, only a few people looking back at him after he whispered to himself. He didn’t even notice. How could he when instead of some fuzzy picture of math notes, Richie was looking at a beautifully framed mirror shot of his boyfriend’s bare chest, briefs pulled down, with his dick in hand. The small text on the top of the snap read ‘Fourth month anniversary soon!’ As soon as the actual work of art was there, it was gone. Richie replayed it and screenshotted it. Having a feeling he would never get another snap like that from Eds again.

The lecture ended and Richie nearly sprinted to bathroom to repay the favor. Since they started dating, the dick picks had always been one-sided. Richie didn’t mind, really. Sure he teased his boyfriend about sending him nudes all the time. But only because he thought he would never get them. Richie couldn’t stop looking at the photo. It was glorious. But he knew that Bill and Stan went through his phone all the time. They would clog up his camera roll anytime he left his phone unintended. And Richie was not going to let his friends see Eddie like that. No way. But he couldn’t just delete this once in a lifetime opportunity. He decided to draft the picture to his tumblr and then delete it. He could always look back on it this way. Plus see it on even bigger screen when given the chance. The only problem was that he didn’t draft the snapchat. Too giddy over the days events added with his insane hangover, the trashmouth accidentally queued the post instead. It ended up posting midnight California time.

Richie was awoken by ping after ping on his phone. Tumblr messages from his followers asking if it was real and hundreds of reblogs of some photo Richie had posted. But the worst was a text, not a message, but an actual text from Eddie. ‘SKYPE ME NOW!!’ That was twenty minutes ago. The brunette boy was so confused to what was going on, he threw his phone to the side of the bed and quickly flipped open his mac to skype Eddie. As it rang, he fished for his glasses and put them on. Now not blind, he was able to see the boy answer. Eddie’s cheeks were stained with tears, a consoling Bev standing behind the common room chair Eddie was sitting in. Stan and Bill were still asleep - also out of the loop of the night that just occurred. “Eds. What’s wrong ??”

“Don’t fucking call me that, Richie. Why the fuck would you do that ?! For fucking what, FAME ?! A JOKE ?! What would ever make you think that was okay ?! I just - I just wanted to be a good boyfriend and make you happy. Fuck !! What was I thinking !?”

“Eds - Eddie - I have no clue what you are talking about ?? I just woke up. Just calm down. Speak to me. We’ll get through this.” Richie was wracking his mind to what he could of done. But he had no idea.

“Check your fucking phone, asshole.” That was the first time Richie had heard Bev’s voice. Although it was distant, it felt like a punch to the face. Richie grabbed his phone and opened the tumblr app to see were all the reblogs where from. His hands shook so much he dropped the phone into his lap.

He looked up at the screen, tears of his own forming on his waterline. “Eddie - I had no idea. I swear I meant to draft that -”

Eddie cut him off, choking on his own anger. “ Delete it !! Delete it now !!” He was livid, sucking into his inhaler and matching Richie in the shakes. Richie deleted the original post - but didn’t know what else to say. He just stared at his boyfriend through the screen. “What if my mom saw, Richie ?! She doesn’t know I’m dating you - or that I’m having sex or whatever. She doesn’t know my tumblr. She’s going to kill me !! She’s going to make me drop out !!” Richie wanted to interject with the fact that maybe no one saw it. But the post already had 3,000 notes. Pings were still going off in Richie’s hand. It didn’t matter that the original was gone. It was out there. People could of saved it, re-uploaded. No matter what, it wasn’t going away. “This is so fucked !!”

“Eddie. This was a huge accident. I swear I didn’t mean to do this to you. I would never do this to you.” He was sobbing now. Liquid flying down his freckled cheeks as he weeped. Bev was shaking her head in the background and now Bill and Stan were awake and looking across the room to Richie. Both had there phones in their hands. They knew.

“People are messaging me on tumblr, Rich. They’re calling me a slut,a whore. I don’t even know what a thot is - but I assume it’s not good!! All because they know we’re dating through you. I wanted to keep our relationship private. But you had to go and talk about it on your dumb blog.” People loved how adorable Eddie and Richie were. He sometimes would get anons asking how their skype dates went or comments about how cute they were when Richie posted photos of Eddie to his blog. People were invested in some retired viner’s long distance relationship because it was 2017 and apparently this is what the world is like now.

“Eddie - I don’t know what to say. I can’t - I didn’t even think this would happen....I just...At least your face isn’t in it ?? Right ??” He sighed, not being able to see through his tear blurred eyes anymore. But he didn’t need to see. Eddie was hysterical. Choking on his own sobbing, taking hits from his inhaler every few seconds. He was falling apart and it was impossible not to blame him. “I promise we will get through this. A couple weeks from now - people will forget this ever happened and we can move on. We might even look back when we’re old and gray and laugh at it. Right ?? ‘Ha. Remember when I uploaded your dick to tumblr, Eds ?? Ha. Wasn’t that hilarious - Right, Eds ??”

“Don’t fucking call me that !! - You know what ?? Don’t fucking call at all !! I never want to hear from your trashmouth ever again !!” Eddie slammed his laptop closed and the call dropped. Richie’s head fell into his hands, loud cries muffled through his fingers filled the dead air in the dorm. All he wanted to do was savor in his boyfriend’s beauty. He thought he was protecting Eddie from anyone seeing the picture. He thought he was doing the right thing. But Richie Tozier was nothing but a fuck up. His parents made that very clear to him. Someone so amazing like Eddie didn’t deserve such a fuck up like Richie. He should of saw it coming. He should of been able to see that the best thing to ever happened to him wouldn’t last. Maybe he just deserved to be alone. This way he couldn’t fuck up anyone else’s life.

I’m going to tag all the people who asked for this chapter. Hope that’s cool - I don’t really know the protocol and I don’t want to leave anyone out. Also let me know if you want to be tagged in chapter three !! @my-son-richie-tozier ​ @liohprincexx @rememberingtozier @lukemybieber @cupcakeatl @richie-n-eds @im-not-psychotic @dianathehorrible @fangirl-and-proud4 @aestheticlly-indie @makelovegood

[seungkwanslowqualityenglish]

Vampire!Donghan

[this started as a bullet fic then transformed into a normal fic so some parts are a bit odd]

You were new to the area, your great aunt had died and having no children, she left you her house in her will. It was quite a large house, and a lot better than the little dingy apartment you lived in, so you couldn’t help but accept it and move in. You were a writer, you already had three books published under your name, quite popular teen fantasy romance novels at that. Who knew that teenage girls loved stereotypical vampire and human love stories with a side of fairy, vampire, and human love triangle; you did, and you easily cashed in on that stereotypical market. After your third book, you hit a standstill, unable to write and finding nothing but writer’s block every time you tried to write. Maybe that was why you said yes to move here, a change of venue, a new place and new ideas may come of it.

The neighbors were sweet, a kind little old lady on your right, a sweet elderly couple across the road; yet, there was one neighbor you had yet to meet, the one on the left of your house. All anyone knew of him, was that he was a shut in, he occasionally had an assistant come by with food and stuff, but he never went outside himself.  A recluse according to sweet little old Joyce, who brought you over some of her famous homemade chocolate chip cookies, a twenty time award winner at the local county fair, a county fair she was now banned from participating in from winning so many times. Joyce had told you about how she had been living in this town almost eighty-one years, and she had only seen the recluse once in all those years, and that was sixty-three years ago, when he first moved in. “He was maybe about nineteen, twenty, around the age you are now, when he moved in. No one really knows him, all we know is his surname, Kim.” Joyce told you.

You had yet to meet him, you even heard rumors that he might not even live in the house any longer, that it might be vacant and the assistant was the one fully taking care of it; yet, you didn’t know what to believe. Well, you met his assistant, or whoever that guy was once, and he told you it was nothing you needed to worry about, whatever that means. All you wanted to do was greet your neighbor, yet apparently the only person he sees is his assistant, or whoever.

Yet, you put that out of your mind, and finally began to write again, you starting and finishing the fourth and last book of your fantasy series, nothing could compare to the feeling as you wrote the last lines: ‘Natalia found herself unable to care, four years of trials and triumphs, just for Benjamin to leave her for Tyler at the first moment’s notice. Relaxing back against the couch, Amethyst’s arm laying on her shoulders as Amethyst kissed her cheek, before she opened the ice cream she bought just hours before, she thought to herself; ‘who needed him anyways, as long as I have Amethyst, everything will always work out perfectly’. And as she had thought, everything did work out just perfectly.’ Maybe it was the new location, yet everything seemed to be doing that for you too, working out just perfectly.

Honestly, everything was working out a little too perfectly; usually writing a book would take upwards of three or four months, this time it only took two weeks, which had left you with a lot of down time, before you needed to start working on your next one. You felt like one of those retired seniors, trying out different things until you found something you liked. Crocheting wasn’t for you, neither was quilting, or sewing. Painting wasn’t any good, you hated running, and you just sucked at photography. Writing was your only outlet, yet it was your job, you didn’t want it to be your hobby also. That’s when it hit you, while you were cleaning out some old boxes of your great aunt's, you found it, a box of seeds. Gardening, that’s what you would do, it couldn’t be that hard right. As cliche as it may sound, you quickly found out, you had green thumb. You managed to bring back the dying rose garden, in addition to get the other flowers you planted to start growing.  You had finally found your thing, and it was gardening. That’s how you found yourself at the neighbors house, the old man’s dying and literally dead garden saddened you, so you decided to do something about it.

Unknown to you, he watched you, every day you worked in your garden, and now every day you worked in his. He still didn’t bother to introduce himself to you, finding no need to, thinking you’ll just leave before long like most young people in the neighborhood do.  It started with a note, he left a note on the window he knew you always worked under, while in his garden. It just said a simple, “Thank you.” It shocked you when you saw it, the handwriting was somewhat regal, could writing be regal, since you seriously felt it was. You simply replied with a, “You’re welcome.” and that is what started it.

Before long the daily note was something you were looking forward too, not just helping an elderly man care for the garden he had neglected, but the kind little notes thanking you for what you are doing, telling you what the plants are, and the sweet little notes about how nice it was to have a neighbor that cared for once. For some reason he felt like more of a friend, than a father or grandfather figure, which most would expect seeing how many assumed him to be quite up there in the years. The sweet little old man wasn’t a sweet little old man as she thought, he was actually quite a strapping young man to be honest.

It alarmed her when the notes stopped coming, the assistant hadn’t been by in a few weeks, and her last note she received was nine days ago, he had collected her note but hadn’t put another one out on the window like he usually did. That persuaded her to enter his house, the front door was locked of course, yet luckily the back door wasn’t. You feared he had fallen and couldn’t get back up, if so then he needed to get life alert. Entering his house, the first thing that hit her was it didn’t look like a stereotypical old person’s house does, it was modern, honestly more up-to-date than your house is.  You couldn’t hear a single sound through the whole house, maybe there wasn’t anyone here, maybe he had left. Yet, you stayed, looking around. “Mr. Kim!”, you yelled out, thinking it might help something.

You were startled, hearing a groan coming from another room, rushing towards it, thinking that you may have been right, that the old recluse neighbor had fallen and couldn’t get back up. The groaning got worse as you neared the hallway, that lead to the bedroom, and before you knew it you were standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Opening the door you saw him, not the frail old man you thought lived here, a man maybe your age, badly badly sick and horribly pale. You couldn’t help but rush forward in shock, looking at him, wanting to help but not knowing how. “What happened?” You asked him, only to hear more groaning in response. He tried to push you away, you didn’t understand why, why he would push away someone that was trying to help him.

He couldn’t stand it, the scent of her blood coursing through her veins was almost enough to make him snap; yet, he controlled himself, knowing if he did succumb to his desires, she would no longer be here.

She stood up, as he pushed her away, thinking he may need his assistant, luckily his phone was sitting on the desk across the room. To say his assistant was shocked when he heard your voice, was an understatement, the poor man started freaking out, telling you to leave and go your house and stay there, that it wasn’t safe for you here, which you found odd. You didn’t want to leave the sick man, but after his assistant assured you he was on his way, you finally left returning to your house. The whole situation worried you, badly, he was sick and yet instead of letting you help him, he pushed you away. His assistant weirdly freaked out when you called him, starting to tell you to leave and don’t look back. You stared out your window, on the second floor, peeping between the curtains trying not to be seen. You watched as the assistant rushed from his car into the house, carrying bags of red, that looked like blood bags. That’s when it all hit you, he must have a medical condition, he needs transfusions and they wanted you to leave so you wouldn’t catch anything, if it was contagious.

You resumed your schedule as usual, gardening both your gardens, just this time the notes resumed. He thanked you, and your notes grew from that. He wasn’t the homebound elderly man you had thought he was, he was a homebound young man that you honestly thought was quite attractive from the few times you had seen him. As you grew closer, the notes stopped, instead him standing at the window to talk to you as you gardened. He told you something about being allergic to sunlight, and how he’d love to work his own garden if he could, in addition to his name, Donghan.

The face to face meetings started to fade, notes returning instead, and then before long they stopped once more. It prompted you to investigate again, as you had before. At least, by now you had grown close enough he had trusted you with his assistant’s phone number, which you called before going over to see what had happened. “Donghan?” You called out, upon entering the house, thinking maybe he was sick like he was before again. Unknown to you, he was sick, just not the sick you thought.  Looking around, you found yourself unable to find him, checking all the rooms that were unlocked, you still found no one. “Donghan?” You called out one last time, thinking maybe you should just leave.

As you turned to leave, you saw a figure standing in the doorway of one of the locked rooms you couldn’t get into. Gasping, you wanted to rush forward to help him, but found yourself unable to. “Do you always make it a habit to break into your neighbor's houses?” Donghan asked, as he lurked towards you, something in the darkness of his eyes should have scared you, but you didn’t feel scared at all. You didn’t even realize you had been backing up until your back hit the wall, and then his hand hit the wall by your head, as he leaned down to look at you. Something was enticing you to kiss him, yet, you couldn’t move.

His mouth was by your neck, his breath warm against your neck as he intertwined his other hand with your hair, pushing your head to the side giving him more access of your neck. His lips were only inches from your throat, then centimeters, and then right on your neck. “I could easily drain you right here and right now.” He murmured just before you felt something sharp grazing your neck. “No one would ever know.” He continued, grazing your neck with his fangs. You stopped breathing, scared for once since meeting him, vampires weren’t real and this couldn’t be happening, was all you could think.

Standing completely still, you felt his lips moving against your neck, as he spoke again. “You smell so good.” He muttered, inhaling the sweet scent of your blood, tempting himself more with each sniff. The primitive part of him wanting to do it already, drain you of your oh so sickly sweet smelling blood, but the refined part was telling him to back off, he was lucky he had managed to keep the two sorta under control. They stood in that position for almost five minutes, his fangs grazing her neck, but not enough to cut it, as he was torn between sinking his teeth into your neck or letting you go, before his assistant stormed in carrying bags.

The assistant couldn’t push Donghan away from you fast enough, and then shoving you towards the door, trying to get you out of the house. As soon as Donghan was away from you, you ran, leaving the house and going into yours. You suddenly regretted coming to check on him, but with that things fell into place, the blood red bags, the allergy to sunlight, and why he seemed to be your age despite the ther neighbors saying he moved in decades ago. It was shocking, the things you had written in your books, vampires hundreds of years old living off blood, it was all real.

You avoided his house for days, ignoring his garden afraid of what might happen if you did go over there. What if the unable to be in the sun thing was just a lie, what if he said it so he wouldn’t attack you or something, what if everything he said was a lie just to get another victim. Yet, one thing kept coming back to your mind, why didn’t he. He could have easily, easily, killed you but he didn’t. Something kept him from doing it, and what exactly kept him from doing it was something you wanted to find out. As he said, he could have easily killed you and drained your blood, but he didn’t.

It was a week before you were back in the garden, fixing your garden and his. It was another week before the notes returned, at first they were all different forms of apologies, then they changed to more serious things. He was sorry for scaring you, he really liked your company, and he was afraid you were afraid of him. You knew you should be afraid of him, you knew you should want to avoid him and never come back around here again; yet, you couldn’t.

He wanted to tell you to leave, leave and never ever come back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do that. He was selfish, wanting you around, knowing at any second he could snap and you’d be dead. You were the reason he started doing it anyways, depriving himself of human blood, drinking from animals and sparsely at that. Who knows why he thought that was a good idea, he honestly didn’t even know how he thought that was a good idea. The idea that if he stopped drinking human blood it would cause him to no longer need it was ridiculous, if anything he should have known it would just put you in more danger. You were so kind and forgiving, he didn’t deserve someone like you, in his over three hundred years on this earth he had never met someone that made him feel the way he does.

It was a few more weeks of just receiving notes before you had had enough, deciding if he wasn’t going to come to the window to talk almost, you would just go into his house and see him. You knew he didn’t lock his back door, everyone thought a scary recluse lived there, so why would he need to lock it. Walking in, not much looked different from the last time you had been in his house, it was just as clean as always, which wasn’t that surprising. “Donghan?” You called out, hoping this wouldn’t be a repeat of last time.

He was alarmed, when he heard someone calling out his name, it was you. He had wanted to see you so many times, but feared you’d run, he feared you’d leave. You knew enough to put together the pieces, you knew what he was, and if you didn’t, then he’d honestly be surprised. He watched from the doorway of his study, watching as you looked around, luckily he hadn’t been depriving himself or this would have ended horribly. “Why are you here?” He asked, as he kept his eyes on you. He wanted nothing more than to pounce, to put his lips on our neck or to put his lips on your lips, he wasn’t sure, he wanted both, but he also didn’t want to scare you off again.

Seeing him, you couldn’t help but storm your way over to him, looking up at him. “Why are you avoiding me, I’m not afraid of you, you could at least acknowledge me or something.” You said, speaking quickly as you walked towards him, not noticing how he backed up as you did. His back hit the wall and there you stood in front of him, looking up at him, wanting an answer. “You’re a vampire, so what, I don’t care.” You said, just wanting him to answer you.

“I could so easily kill you, I could snap and you’d be dead in a minute, and that doesn’t scare you?” Donghan started, as his hand rose, touching your cheek gently. “I’m not always so in control, I could hurt you badly, I’d never forgive myself if I did.” He said, letting his hand drop, before he used it to easily flip the both of you. Hovering over you as he pushed your back against the wall, he looked into your eyes, before baring his fangs. “I could easily, easily, kill you. Does that not scare you?”

Shaking your head, as you brought your hand up, placing it against his cheek. “I don’t care, I know you wouldn’t do it deliberately.” You told him, watching as he still stared at you with his fangs bared, trying to scare you off, but it wasn’t working one bit. “You don’t scare me, I’ve gotten to know you these months, and if you thought baring your fangs and growling at me in that deep sexy voice would scare me off, you are horribly wrong.” Was what you said to him, before your hand moved and your thumb just hovered over one of his bared fang, not making contact but close enough you could if you wanted.

He was startled by how you seemed to disregard his worries, like they were nothing, which that’s what they were to you, nothing major. As his fangs sunk back into his gums, he looked at you, still confused at how nonchalant you were about this, like it wasn’t a life or death situation. “I don’t think you know what you are getting into, you don’t understand this all, it’s not as black and white as you think.” He said, sighing as you shook your head at him.

“I understand perfectly fine what I am getting myself into, I’m not some child being lured in by something I don’t know. I know what is luring me in, and I don’t want to stop it.” You told him, before moving your arm that was resting at your side, to behind his neck. You tried to pull him down, and then tried to raise yourself enough to kiss him, however, you were far too short and his refusal to move didn’t help any. It was enough to irritate you, and his laughter when he noticed you were struggling didn’t lessen your irritation.

A pout began to form on your lips, just moments before you felt his face even closer to yours than before.. “I’m dangerous.” Donghan whispered, his lips hovering yours as he spoke. “And I don’t care.” You whispered back to him, before raising up to claim his lips, your hands tightening around his neck as his founds your waist, picking you up so he didn’t have to lean down as much.

He had thought that something bad would come of the two of you, yet nothing had. He had started feeding properly instead of starving himself, and you had new inspiration. Writing had never been so easy for you, especially when you had someone in your ear telling you when you misspelled words or didn’t write a proper sentence. His lips were against your neck as he looked over your shoulder, reading what you had written. “Don’t forget the male lead is a sexy vampire with a six pack, and hips that move so fluidly they should be illegal.” Donghan said, giving you his input on what you were writing. Smirking you typed a boring vampire with a one pack that can’t dance, as Donghan pouted against your neck. “That’s not what I said.” He complained, before starting to kiss your neck repeatedly, his fangs grazing against the spot on you neck where he drank from earlier that day, before his lips were back at work attempting to give you a hickey. As you leaned back, letting him wrap his arms around you, all you could think of was how this would make a perfect book, yet, no one would believe it was based on a real life event.

@ukulelewrites

@smols-n-tols

[worksofphiction]

(leprompt if u wanna write pwease)tired,underrated&worried fantasy-authorphil struggles to maintain his happy&bubbly personality as his very low book sales are no longer enough to support his dying mother. imagine dan's surprised fangirling as his favauthor just walks into the cafe & becomes his coworker one rainyday but he quickly discovers theres more to the man then well-crafted words/Phil falls slowly into hopelessness,lonelines & despair as his loving mum fades away& Dan? Dan falls in love.

You Can’t Tackle Your Demons on Your Own

Read on Ao3!

Summary: Dan is obsessed with a series of books by the amazing author, Phil Lester. He spends his time at the coffee shop he works at reading the books over and over again in the closet. When he meets a new co-worker who is also named Phil, they go on a date. Little does Dan know, he’s sharing a cup of coffee with the author he’s considered his best friend for years.As he gets to know Phil, he finds that Phil is housing a destructive secret. Why did Phil apply to work at The Brew Bean in the first place and what happens when Phil starts breaking away, piece by piece? Can Dan save his beloved author or is Phil going to fall slowly and hopelessly into loneliness and despair? All the while, Dan is falling in love.Genre: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Sex, You’re Gonna CryWord Count: 21,897Reading Time: 01:20:43Disclaimer: Characters are works of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended. I do not own Dan or Phil and as far as I know, this never happened.

This was certainly one of the hardest fics I’ve ever had to write. It’s really sad and I’ve cried so many times writing it.I hope you all enjoy my pain and suffering.

…and nothing made Striker happier than slaying the dragon he sought out to tackle. He made sure to wipe off the blood from his sword before returning it to its sheath and he faced his lover on the left. Embracing him and passionately planting a kiss on his lips, Striker felt whole again. That is, until his next quest.

Dan Howell shut the novel he had read at least 15 times already and took a sip of his coffee. His shift was almost over and it was dead. The coffee shop he worked in never saw a lot of foot traffic and when it rained, the business always slowed. He figured out pretty quickly that bringing a book was always smart. Especially when the sky opened up like this.

“Howell, go pack up all the lemon cakes, would ya?” His boss, a lovely woman named Louise, chirped at him. “I don’t think we’ll need anymore today and I’d rather not have to make more in the morning if they spoil.”

Dan stood up straight and tucked his book under the counter as he went to do a task he’d done more times than he could count.

Dan had worked at The Brew Bean for nearly three years now. He moved to Manchester for school and when that didn’t work - because Law was never really his thing - he dropped out and picked up a full-time position at the coffee shop he used to only work at a couple days a week. The tips were good, it paid rent and he could live in the city that he had fallen in love with. Manchester was his second favorite thing. His first favorite thing was Phil Lester, a novelist that wrote fantasy and supplied Dan with a book a year since he was 17. Now he was 23 and the most experienced worker at The Brew Bean where he could serve the city of Manchester while reading his books all day long.

“Please tell me you’re doing something interesting this weekend,” Louise came up beside him, nudging him as she began to put plastic wrap over a lemon cake.

“I told you, I’m not doing anything. I don’t know why you gave me the whole weekend off,” Dan groaned, suddenly remembering that it was Friday and Louise had ‘blessed’ him with two days off. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in tomorrow and help you-”

“Howell, I gave you those days off so you could go do something fun for a change! When’s the last time you looked up from those little novels you always have your nose in?” Louise teased. “I swear you’ve read the same book more times than I’ve seen my husband naked.”

Dan cringed and shook his head, letting the hair fall into his face and hide the blush.

“Besides, I have an interview this weekend. Wouldn’t want you to scare them off. It’s the first application we’ve had here since last year!” Louise collected the lemon cakes that she had wrapped and a few from Dan’s hand, putting them into the fridge behind them. “And you remember how that went.”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t scare her off! She came on to me and I told her I wasn’t interested! It’s not my fault she can’t take a hint,” Dan scoffed, remembering the bubbly chick that worked with him for four days, conveniently disappearing after Dan rejected her confession of attraction. It wasn’t Dan’s job to date his heterosexual co-workers. He didn’t even feel bad when she came in a month later to apologize to Louise and pick up a paycheck. “Second of all, don’t you think I should be here? You know, to train them or something?”

“Nice try, Sweetie. He doesn’t start until next week. I’ll need you then,” she chirped. “Consider it a vacation. You’ll be training next week.”

“Ugh,” Dan groaned. “I hope this weekend doesn’t cost me my ability to pay rent, because-”

“Oh, hush. You have worked plenty of overtime. You can’t possibly buy enough Mario Kart expansion packs to make a dent in your rent money.”

“Mario Kart doesn’t have-”

“Howell.”

“Okay okay.” He might as well give up. Once Louise was set in her ways, it was like her mind couldn’t be changed. He decided to change the subject. “So you said it was a he? What’s this new guy like?”

“I don’t know. He only called. I’ll meet him this weekend,” Louise answered. Dan nodded. “Sounds nice though. A tad northern. But I couldn’t tell over my cell.”

“Interesting. I wonder how old he is. We could use a little grunt around here,” Dan flashed Louise a wicked grin and she hit him in the arm.

“Go sweep up and then I’m sending you home.”

“Sick of me, are ya?”

“Quite.”

Dan hugged his book under his jacket as he darted for his apartment building. Luckily, he made the last bus just in time and now he had to endure the rainfall for a few minutes while he trekked the last two blocks. He didn’t mind the rain, especially when he was headed home. At least his hobbit hair wouldn’t be revealed to anyone but him.

He wasn’t angry at Louise because most of the time she was trying to do the right thing, but he honestly had no plans for the weekend. He didn’t have much of a social life - considering he wasn’t in school and it was just Louise and him at work. He hadn’t been home to see his parents in a while, however, sometimes he felt like they didn’t really want him to visit. Once he dropped out of Law school, he was afraid to go home because he wasn’t sure what their reactions would be. He knew it was the right choice, but that left Dan on his lonesome for most nights and days off. Luckily for him, he rarely was at home, which would also explain the mess.

He kicked off his wet shoes and headed for the bedroom to strip and shower. All the while, thinking about how he would spend his weekend.

Phil Lester usually released his new novels at the end of November and that meant Dan still had a month left to wait for the next in the series. This also meant that Dan had spent nearly a year with the last one. He had read it more times than the others, probably because he thought it was the best one. The perfect balance of adventure, romance, and mystery. Phil was good at that. Leaving people on the edge of their seats.

Dan did not understand why more people didn’t read Phil Lester’s novels. He wasn’t terribly popular and it was kind of by chance that Dan found his novels in the first place. He was hanging out in the library after his A-Level exams, helping the librarian organize a few of their shelves when he stumbled upon a box of books that had never been checked out and were being sent to the local thrift shop. Dan remembered thinking that no book belongs in a thrift shop and he dug through the box in search of a few he could save from their eternal dusty shelf life. Phil Lester’s first book sat at the bottom of the box underneath the rest. The cover was green and blue and there was a gnarly picture of a dragon. He flipped it over and read the back, instantly intrigued.

Striker is in danger, but nobody will believe him. What happens when you’re being hunted by a killer that nobody can see? Battling an invisible force, tackling an unexpected dragon and possibly sparking a romance with his partner Samuel, Striker leaves home and does his best to survive. Will he convince people that he’s trying to be a hero, or is he destined to be a flop who’s imagination runs wild?

Phil’s books were always so action packed and interesting, laced with a little bit of humor and dorkiness. Not to mention, Phil’s characters were always gay, which was hard to find in the library in 2008. As expected, he read the whole thing in one night and absolutely loved it. The day after, he spent hours trying to learn about the author. Sadly, Phil was quite shy about his appearance and he never let himself behind a camera. Nobody knew what he looked like or what his life was like. Aside from the obvious speculations from his writing that perhaps he was gay, there wasn’t much out there about him. Dan was thrilled when he found out there would be a new novel each year, essentially falling in love with an author for one reason and one reason only - his novels seemed to speak directly to Dan Howell.

As he stood under the water in the shower, he thought about spending the weekend re-reading a few of his novels. Maybe revisiting the first, just in preparation for the new one. God, how lame was Dan Howell? Rereading the same series of books over and over again.

That’s what you get when your best friend is an author you’ve never met.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, preparing for a weekend of hot cocoa and Phil Lester.

“You mean to tell me, that you did literally nothing this weekend? You just read some stupid books?” Louise teased. She always told him that he took a healthy thing and turned it into the most unhealthy hobby in the world. Reading was supposed to expand the mind, however, by rereading the same novels and practically memorizing their entire plot line, he was only turning his mind to mush. Or so Louise said. He knew she was kind of right, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He was Phil trash number one and nothing could change that.

“I had fun. Is that what you want to hear?” Dan mocked as he tied his black apron around his waist. “You told me to have fun and that’s exactly what I did.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“I know,” Dan admitted, not even trying to argue.“You were the one who gave me the days off. I didn’t ask for a weekend out on the town!” He playfully pushed her and she sighed. “Now if you’re done judging my social life, then how about you tell me about the new guy?”

Louise looked at him with slitted eyes, clearly not finished with the conversation they were having, but her eyes softened a moment later when it seemed she remembered their new employee.

“Oh, he’s a sweetheart. He was very nice. I’m sure you two will get along,” she praised, wiping down the counter they stood behind, getting the surface ready for some snickerdoodles.

“Ah, he’s nice. So is my mom’s dog,” Dan rolled his eyes. “Come on, Louise! How old is he? Is he tall? Does he have purple eyes and a seven-foot beard? You have to give me something here!”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see. He’s coming in at 11:00,” she teased, sticking her tongue out. So this was revenge for the wasted weekend. Dan knew Louise’s game. Dan glanced at the clock. It was 7:30.  “Besides, I’ll leave the getting to know each other part for you to figure out. As long as he can make coffee, sweep the floors and work a register, I don’t care what he does in his spare time. I didn’t ask.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m your boss.”

“I know. And every day I’m getting closer to the day I quit.”

“You’ll never quit Howell. I think you would die if you had to leave this place.” Louise’s tone was laced with a tone that wasn’t there before. She was a mother to a child named Darcy, a beautiful young girl who had golden locks like her mother. Louise was used to being protective and protective she was. She mothered Dan as much as she mothered her own kin, so sometimes, when she talked about his future and he mentioned he wanted to work at The Brew Bean for another ten years, she always tried to convince him to do something else. Something more worth his time. But Dan, as usual, would roll his eyes and tell her that it didn’t matter. Money is money and he liked serving coffee. He was more at home in this coffee shop than he ever felt anywhere else. “Now go take the chairs off the tables before we open at 8:00 or I will make you quit today.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The hours inched by slowly. The usual morning rush hit them a little earlier than they were used to. Mondays were rough for everyone and usually, a cup of Joe will do the trick. Dan was making pot after pot while Louise worked the register. Once business slowed, Dan cleaned the tables for the next lunch rush as he prepared another pot for himself and the new guy, who would be coming in any minute.

“I’m gonna go sit in the back and read. Let me know when I’m needed for training,” Dan announced, once all of the post-morning rush chores were done. Louise raised her eyebrows while she counted their tips for the morning in an effort to tell Dan it was fine. It’s not like he didn’t do this every day or anything.

Dan cracked the weathered spine of the book he’d read at least 30 times over, skipping straight to his favorite scene in chapter 13. It was his favorite after all.

Striker’s blade had dulled and the wind was picking up. Most would say that he was at a disadvantage, however, he knew that nothing could stop him. He was being fueled by something impossible to dull. The feeling of a full heart and the ghost of a pair of lips on his own. He sat beside a tree that was twisting up to the heavens. Something about the knots in the trunk told Striker that this tree was ancient. His grandmother, a rumored psychic, told him that old trees were good luck on an adventure. Stroking it gently, he looked at his reflection in the sword. His own blue eyes seemed rather dull, like his blade, in comparison to the brown eyes he was just looking into. Even though Samuel was worlds away, it was like he was right beside him on this quest for-

“Dan!” Louise called from the front. Dan startled a little, admittedly getting into the book as if it were the first time he’d ever read it. “Get out of the closet.”

Dan cringed. He knew it was a joke, Louise knew full well that he was gay and already out of the closet, but every time she needed him, she said the same five words. He only hoped that nobody heard her.

He closed the book, not needing a bookmark because he knew exactly where he was, and slid it on the shelf next to the pile of boxes he was just sitting upon. He stood and stretched his arms above his head, sighing and pulling his lanky body from the quiet of the storage closet. As he walked towards the front, he heard a chipper Louise talking to someone.

He rounded the corner and tried not to gasp.

His new co-worker was tall. Nearly as tall as Dan himself. Nobody was as tall as Dan. That was a feat. He walked slowly as to not draw attention to himself and observed from afar for a moment. The boy had black hair, styled exactly like Dan’s but flipped, the most striking blue eyes he’d ever seen, a baby pink mouth with teeth that were only a little crooked when he smiled and a little endearing hunch that made him look like he was always ready to greet you. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he nodded along to whatever Louise was saying.

Whatever Louise was saying, was actually about Dan. “…he always just sits in the back and reads his stupid novels. That boy is obsessed with this one author, I don’t remember who-”

Phil’s eyes turned and met Dan’s, who’s mouth quivered up into a smile. He wasn’t nervous, just a little shocked that someone this pretty wanted to work for The Brew Bean in the first place. Louise turned around and her smile brightened.

“Ah! The man himself! Dan, this is Phil. He’s your new grunt,” She winked and referenced the word he used yesterday and Dan’s cheeks went a rosy pink. Great. Now Phil thought he was an asshole. He extended his hand for a shake and Phil’s soft warm one found it.

“Hi. I promise I said that in the most loving way possible,” he tried to claim. “And your name is Phil? That’s funny. One of my fav-”

“As much as I’d love to witness the construction of you two’s friendship…” Louise started, receiving Dan’s little smirk and the roll of his eyes clearly, “We have a lunch rush to prepare for. Dan, why don’t you show Phil where everything is?”

“Sure.” Dan smiled and nodded, giving the new guy a look of ‘I swear you’ll get used to her’.

He watched Louise walk away and Phil’s eyes land on his own. He considered finishing his little fun fact but then realized that this guy wouldn’t care that his name was the same as some random author of Dan’s adolescent years. He silently thanked Louise for interrupting him in the first place.

“So it’s all pretty self-explanatory. The coffee machine is there, we have different roasts so as long as we rebrew one when it’s out, we should never really run out of coffee.” He pointed to the two coffee makers on the left with the green lids. “These are decaf. Make sure not to mix the two up, because trust me when I say Mr. Jenkins will be angry if he doesn’t get his morning caffeine.” Dan laughed a little at his own joke, thankfully Phil followed and chuckled as well. “This is the register, I’ll teach you how to use that later. It’s pretty simple. You just basically punch a bunch of numbers and hope the drawer will pop open.”

Phil followed him back towards the storage area and opened the closet door.

“This is where we have extra bags of coffee, cups, dishes, and anything that can be stored without a fridge. Then the cold stuff goes in the fridge up front,” he closed the door and walked around to the dish station. “And that’s where we clean shit. But hopefully, they won’t make you do the grunt work today. Despite what I said.” Dan smiled and crossed his arms. “That will be my job tonight.”

Phil laughed and looked at his feet while nodding.

“That is the floor. We clean it once a day,” Dan smirked. “Don’t look at it too closely though and definitely don’t eat anything that drops on it.”

“Noted,” Phil said, removing his eyes from the floor and meeting Dan’s. Dan looked around to see if there was anything else he needed to show Phil, eventually leading him back up front.

“So I guess you’ll be shadowing me today then.” He looked around for Louise and saw no sight of her. She was most likely in the office sorting out schedules. Now that there was another human on board, she would have to remake their usual schedule. “Have any questions?”

Phil looked contemplative for a moment and then he shook his head.

“Great! Making my job easier,” Dan said as he slumped back against the counter. “So.” He pushed his lips into a straight line, giving his dimple a cameo. “What brings you here, Phil?”

For what seemed like no reason, Phil’s face fell and it looked like he was struggling with something to say. Dan’s eyes expanded slightly as he tried to figure out why that question would warrant such a response. He was good at small talk because that’s what he did all day. Nobody has ever made a face like that when he asked that. Usually, the answer is “a cup of Joe” or “I have some time to kill.” He supposed that Phil’s answer would be different because he was an employee and not just someone coming in to buy a coffee.

“Sorry, you don’t have to-”

“I have another job. But it doesn’t really pay well. And I have some…personal affairs that require a bigger paycheck,” the guy said, his eyes finding Dan’s again, the light somehow lesser than before. “But not to worry! I’m kind of almost done with my other job. It’s not really working out.”

Dan frowned. “Well that’s a bummer, what do you do?”

Phil looked like he was about to answer when the sound of a string of bells signaled the presence of a customer.

“Hold that thought.” Dan swiveled and faced the register, his mouth turning up into a smile as he greeted the young lady. “Hi! Welcome to The Brew Bean. What can I get you?”

After paying for two coffees and insisting her date was on his way, she went to sit down by the window.

“Not sure why everyone who shows up alone needs to insist their date is on the way. I don’t care,” Dan laughed, directing this comment at Phil who also chuckled. He got a mug from the cart beneath the machines and poured the woman her coffee. “You want to bring it to her?”

Phil nodded and took the coffee. Just before Dan let go, Phil’s arm wobbled a little and he almost lost the cup completely. Thank goodness Dan was still holding on.

“Woah. You got it?” His eyes crinkled with the question, his teeth showing in a friendly smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn to balance like five cups at a time. It doesn’t take long to become a coffee juggler.”

Phil flashed him a worried glance, something Dan read as ‘I’m too clumsy for that’ and as Phil walked slowly to the table with the coffee, Dan knew he read right. This guy was going to break some mugs. Dan could tell.

Surprisingly, he made it to the table no problem, smiling at the woman and striking up a little conversation. Dan couldn’t hear much but he admired the boy’s charisma. He seemed to really like to chat, especially with strangers. Maybe having him around wouldn’t be so terrible. Maybe Louise would finally get off his back about the reading thing if he could make a little work friend while he was here.

“He’s a cutie, isn’t he?” Louise popped out of nowhere and made Dan jump. They were both watching Phil explain something to this woman who was laughing hysterically as Phil waved his arms around in front of her. Dan didn’t even register that he was nodding. “Don’t think I missed your little heart eyes. Something tells me you find him attractive?”

“Shut up…” Dan said, but he didn’t mean it. She was right. She was always right.

“It’s a good thing he’s single,” Louise piped in. Dan’s eyes widened and he looked at her.

“How do you know?” he asked as Louise just smiled.

“What kind of questions do you think I have to ask during an interview?” She said, a mischievous tone in her voice now. “I need to know if there are any outside factors that might affect a work schedule.”

“You’re terrible! Who let you open this place in the first place?” Dan asked, his cheeks returning to the normal shade after a dangerous thought he had about his brand new co-worker.

“I don’t know. But don’t tell me you didn’t want to hear that,” Louise waggled her eyebrows at him and he shook his head, turning away from her and towards the coffee maker, checking to make sure it was still hot. “Maybe you should ask if he wants to get coffee sometime.”

Dan shook his head.

“Mmhmm, yeah, sure. Hey, Phil, I know we both work in a coffee shop but how would you like to go get some coffee with me sometime?”

“I would love to,” a voice that was certainly not Louise’s answered behind him. Dan spun around and his wide eyes met Phil’s dazzling blue ones. He blinked a couple of times, forgetting the question he just asked and then smiled, trying to cover up how startled he was. “Unless that question was meant for another Phil…in which I’ll just leave you to it.”

Dan huffed out a laugh and nodded. He thought about the other Phil in his life and bit his lip as he imagined what it would be like asking that Phil out. This Phil was far less scary.

“No, no. You’re the right Phil,” he smiled brighter, promising to kill Louise later, putting his nerves aside. “I have to close tonight. Why don’t you stick around and we can do coffee before we both leave?”

Phil beamed and he nodded.

“Not gonna lie, I thought it would take at least a few weeks for you to ask me out,” Phil smirked, his tooth finding his own lip and his cheeks flushing a little. “Plus, I’d love to get to know you. All I know is that apparently, you’re a giant nerd.”

“Louise…” Dan cursed, his hands landing on his hips. “It’s true. I am. But she makes it sound so lame.”

“She said something about Mario Kart expansion packs…?” Phil teased. “Please tell me she’s not direct quoting here?”

Dan rolled his eyes and let out a familiar laugh.

The rest of their shift ran pretty smoothly. Phil stuck to Dan’s side like glue, his eyes intently watching as Dan did everything. Lucky for Dan, he was rather confident about his barista skills. He’d been doing it for long enough anyway. Phil or no Phil, he always did his best to please every customer.

He kept himself talking about the job, explaining to Phil what his duties would be once he actually started, giving him instructions as he went about his daily tasks. He also shared some stories about some of the customers he’s had to deal with in the past. He warned Phil about the regulars, telling him that some were a nightmare and would be able to tell if their coffee didn’t have exactly four sugars.

Louise left around 5:00 pm, leaving Dan and Phil to close the store at 8:00. Usually, on a Monday, they didn’t get many people after 7:00 and Phil was a huge help with the closing duties. They pretty much put everything away except for one coffee machine that they left up and running and one table that they planned to sit at for a bit after they closed.

“I think we can probably flip the sign now. I don’t think anyone else is coming in,” Dan said as he checked the clock on the register. “Will you do that for me? Lock the door and all that?”

Phil nodded and saluted him, his eyes bright and his smile warm.

Dan hadn’t really thought about the ‘date’ he was about to go on, but he smiled when he realized how cute this man was. His mind was on training, not romance, but now that they were nearly done, he was starting to get nervous. He hadn’t been on a date since secondary school and although this was usually something he would be stressing out about, there was something about Phil that seemed so familiar and bright. Comforting to the degree that Dan wasn’t really scared at all. He had the confidence to train the man, how hard could going on a date really be?

When Phil skipped back up to the counter, instead of going around it to where they had been standing all day, he put his elbow down against the wooden bar and leaned against it. “Hello. I would like to place an order for two coffees, one for me and one for my date who…” Phil turned and looked towards the door. “Is on his way.”

Dan tried not to smile, but he couldn’t not laugh at that. He raised his eyebrows and tried really hard to give Phil a look of disappointment for doing exactly what that lady had done before, but it just looked fond.

“Sure thing,” Dan responded, sighing and getting out two mugs from beneath the counter. “But for future reference, I don’t care that your date is on his way. That’s none of my business.”

Phil frowned playfully.

“Excuse me sir, but I am a customer!” Phil role-played. “I deserve your full respect. In fact, who’s in charge here!? I’d like to speak to them, please!”

Dan couldn’t believe he was going through this right now. Not even Louise would pull this little game and Dan was loving it.

“I’m in charge here. And unless that date of yours is coming from inside the building, it seems the door has been locked,” Dan teased. “Looks like you’ll have to drink both coffees by yourself.”

Dan placed the two fresh coffees on the counter in front of Phil and he smirked down at them.

“Well…” he hesitated and gestured toward their soon-to-be table. “Now that I don’t have a date, care to sit?”

Dan grinned. God this man had a way with words. No wonder Dan found him so attractive. He loved a man with a fanciful imagination.

“I guess you’ve left me no choice.” Dan gave in to the fake argument and nodded his head once to signal the win. “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll bring you your drink.”

Phil stared at Dan for one more moment with a touch of light behind his eyes, only to turn and stride towards the last table that was set up in the dining room. Dan watched him for a second before grabbing the two cups and following him over to the seat that Phil had kindly pulled out for Dan.

“Why thank you,” Dan played along, sitting his ass down and waiting for Phil to sit across from him. When he finally sat, their eyes made contact and the two just broke into laughter.

For a whole minute, they laughed, Dan’s head ending up on the table. This guy was amazing! They got along so well it was almost unbelievable. Here’s to hoping the date goes as well as their shift did.

“So Dan,” Phil said, sipping his coffee with tentative lips. The coffee was hot and Phil was no doubt doing this for comedic effect.

“So Phil.”

“Tell me. What is a man like you, doing in a place like this?” Phil asked, Dan’s threshold for cheesy questions was usually pretty low, but for Phil, he’d allow it. “Maybe I should start with asking how old you are?”

“Twenty-three.” Dan got the easier answer out of the way while he thought about a better answer for the first question. “And I’ve lived in Manchester for about four years now, I’ve worked here for just as long, and I like it here so I see no reason to leave.”

“That’s fair,” Phil added. “It’s a nice place.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to lose your job,” Dan guessed, smirking as he did. He wasn’t touching his coffee just yet, knowing how hot it was when it first came from the pot.

“No seriously. I could have chosen anywhere to work and I chose this place for two reasons. 80% of the reason was that I love coffee more than life itself, but I can assure you, 19% of the reason was for the aesthetic,” Phil said proudly.

“And the leftover 1%?”

“The barista was pretty cute.” Phil’s tone deepened when he said it, his eyes flashing Dan with a little bit of mischief.

“Is that so?”

“Yup.” Phil nodded.

“So you’ve been here before?” Dan asked, curious how he missed such a beautiful man. The place was small. He worked every day. He was sure he would have noticed someone like Phil.

“Months ago…” Phil traced circles on the table in front of him. “I have been kind of stuck at home the last few months…working.” He sighed. “I used to come here with my mother. But she hasn’t…made it down here in a while.”

“Well maybe now that you work here, she’ll stop by!” Dan smiled, finally reaching for his cup and taking a sip.

“Maybe…” Phil looked like the little touch of sadness had flooded behind his eyes again and Dan wished only to make it go away. He changed the subject.

“So you know I’m a nerd. Am I looking at another nerd or is it just me?” Dan asked, hoping to lighten the conversation. It seemed to work as Phil kind of chuckled.

“Are you asking if I have any Mario Kart expansion packs you can borrow?”

“I’m asking for a friend.”

Phil laughed.

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd,” Phil admitted. “Okay…maybe I’m a huge nerd. But don’t tell Louise because I see the way she talks about you and your ‘reading’ hobby.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Oh, what did she say, that I’m turning my brain to mush with all the books I read?”

“Well, not those words exactly, but yes. Something of the like.” Phil smiled compassionately at Dan. “For the record, I don’t think reading is a waste of time. It’s a great way to escape.”

“Exactly!” Dan was glad that Phil wasn’t going to judge him for his reading habits. He didn’t need another person to criticize him for his one and only hobby. “I don’t have a lot of-” Friends. “…social obligations. So I spend a lot of time reading.”

“I totally understand. I’m the same way,” Phil’s eyes were soft and understanding. Dan wondered what kind of books Phil liked to read, but he felt like that might be a strange question to ask, especially when he didn’t know Phil all that well.

“Well, I hope you won’t find it offensive if I’m off reading while we wait out those slow days. I would bring a book too if I were you. You’ll probably need it and Louise doesn’t like us using our phones on the job.”

“But she lets you read?” Phil gasped. “Shocker.”

“She’s a strange one…if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have,” Phil nodded. “But she seems sweet.”

“She is.”

There was a moment of silence while they both sipped their coffee, enjoying the sound of an empty coffee shop. Dan looked out the window and noticed how dark it had gotten and he fought a yawn. He wasn’t tired, but usually, he was well on his way to his own apartment by now. With very little friends, he didn’t have much of a reason to stay up late. He was generally in bed by 12:00 am at the latest. After having a cheeky scroll through the internet or playing a bit of Guild Wars by himself, he clocked out rather early.

“Do you live far from here?” He asked while he was thinking about his apartment.

“Are you asking me to take you home? And on the first date as well?” Phil pretended to be appalled at the boy’s forward question. Dan’s cheeks became flushed and he hoped the low lighting would hide the color.

“N-no, I just didn’t know if you lived far or-”

Phil seemed to realize his flustered behavior and corrected himself gently.

“Sorry. I was joking,” he laughed it off. “Yeah, I live a couple blocks away.”

“Oh. You’re closer than I am. I have to take a bus. Or else I have to walk about 30 minutes,” Dan said, suddenly realizing that he had missed the last bus and he was going to have to do that walk tonight. He didn’t mind as it was pretty nice out, but he wasn’t necessarily planning on having to account for that this evening. “I was closer when I went to school at Manchester.”

“You went to Manchester?” Phil’s face lit up. “What for?”

“Law.”

Phil’s eyes widened. He didn’t need to say anything else for Dan to get it.

“I know, I know. I don’t look like a lawyer.” He put his head in his hands and shook it. “That’s why I dropped out.”

“Ah.” Phil nodded, without following the one syllable reaction with a question like why or will you ever go back? That was nice of him.

Dan could feel this conversation going in a direction he didn’t want it to go to, so he changed the subject again by asking about Phil.

“So how old are you, then? Because if I had to guess, I would assume like, 24.”

“Wow! Thanks!” Phil exclaimed, his hands clasping together. “I’m 27. But I hope I stay looking young forever!” He leaned in closer to Dan. “I’ll tell you a secret if you want.”

“Shoot.” Dan leaned in to meet him. Their noses were only inches apart and Dan’s eyes flicked down to Phil’s lips. He hoped Phil hadn’t noticed.

“My grandmother was a psychic…” Phil started. “And she looked young until the day she died. She always said that her psychic powers transferred down to me. I’m hoping the ‘looking young’ thing also runs in the family.”

He leaned back in his chair and Dan slowly leaned back into his. His eyebrows furrowed. He swore there was something familiar about that secret, but he didn’t quite know where to pin it.

“That’s pretty cool,” Dan said. “That your grandma was a psychic, I mean. A lot of people don’t believe in that stuff.”

“I do.” Phil said, far too quickly. “Most say I have quite the imagination.”

“Me too.”

“You must. Especially if you read as much as I’m getting the impression you do,” Phil assumed, giving Dan a shrug. “Let me guess. Fantasy is your genre?”

Dan’s smile grew.

“How did you know?”

“It’s written all over your face.” Phil was slipping the last of his coffee into his mouth, tilting his head back to get it all from the mug. “Plus, I know fantasy. Fantasy and I are great friends.”

Dan laughed at the way Phil phrased that. It’s funny because he always said the same thing.

It was then that he decided it would be worth sharing a little about his hobby. He could trust Phil, right? He wouldn’t make fun of him. Not if they shared the same friend.

“You know what’s funny?” Dan asked, anticipating that Phil would want to know what he was silently chuckling about a moment before.

“Hm?”

“I have this author. One that writes this amazing series. And at this point, I’ve read his books so many times, that I would consider him a friend,” Dan laughed at himself. Saying it out loud made it seem so childish. Like he fostered some imaginary friend in his mind that he talked to when he was alone. “His writing just speaks to me. As if it were written directly for my ears…er…eyes.”

Phil was looking at him with curiosity.

“God, I wish I had readers like you…” Phil said quietly, his eyes going to his lap.

“Huh?”

Phil paused for a moment and then returned his gaze to Dan, his smile not quite as full as it was only moments before.

“I dabble a little in the writing department,” Phil spoke slowly like he was being careful with his words. Like he was embarrassed to admit this secret. Dan’s eyes lit up.

“You do?”

“Yeah…but I don’t have nearly the following as it seems your favorite has,” Phil said sadly. “That’s actually why um…” He cleared his throat. “Why I had to get another job. My books aren’t selling as much as I wish.” He laughed a little at himself. “But who’s books are, right?”

Dan was looking at Phil with concern. He looked like he was hiding something. Something deep beneath the surface. Something behind the blue eyes and the pristine personality.

“To be fair, the series I’m into isn’t even that popular. I just…really love the writing and the stories are just…” Dan looked up to find the words. “So captivating.” His cheeks felt warm as if his body was rewarding him for praising his favorite. “I can’t stop reading his books. Over and over and over again.”

Phil nodded and looked at his empty cup. Dan hoped he wasn’t making him feel bad. He didn’t want Phil to feel like his books weren’t good enough. He didn’t want Phil to think that Dan wasn’t interested. Instead of changing the subject this time, he decided to ask what he thought might brighten Phil’s mood.

“What uh…what’s your last name? Maybe I can check out your books sometime. I’m sure you’re a really great writer! I’ve been reading the same books over and over again. So maybe it’s time I find some better material,” Dan joked, knowing inside that nothing could ever come before his favorite author. But if it made Phil feel better, if it made Phil’s smile come back, then it was worth the trouble of at least peeling back a cover.

“Oh, uh, Lester,” Phil mumbled, his eyes darting out the window as if he was embarrassed to speak his own name.

Dan’s face paled.

His heart stopped beating in his chest.

There was absolutely no fucking way.

Not a chance

The Phil sitting across from him, the Phil he had been training all day, the Phil he was currently on a date with…was the Phil that he had been gushing over since he was 17.

No fucking way.

This Phil was the same Phil who invented the most captivating series Dan had ever read.

This Phil was the same Phil that built a world of dragons and demons and all sorts of creatures that Dan only dreamt of learning more about.

This Phil was the same Phil that had been his best friend when nobody else had wanted to be.

This Phil was the same Phil that was now looking at him with concern written all over his face.

“Dan?” He asked, probably noticing how pale Dan had gotten and how his hands were shaking as they held the mug.

“Uhhh-…I uh…I need to…hangononesecond,” Dan muttered, getting up and scooting his chair with a loud screech. “Berightback.”

Phil looked alarmed as Dan darted back behind the counter and out of sight so he could have a moment to breathe. This was certainly not how he expected to meet his idol. Not this casually at least. He opened the storage closet and sat on the box that had dented from his earlier sit. He took a number of deep breaths as his eyes landed on the little blue and green book that was tucked onto a shelf beneath the spare cups. His shaky hand reached for the tattered book, the first book he ever owned of Phil’s, and he flipped through the first few pages.

He could not believe this was happening.

But at the same time, it made so much sense. Phil was actually the spitting image of his character. Striker was described as tall and raven-haired, his skin pale and his eyes blue. Dan had always assumed that Phil modeled the character after himself but it didn’t click until now how much Phil looked like the character he had fallen in love with.

He felt stupid now.

However, as much as he wanted to sit and hyperventilate until Phil eventually left him, he figured it would be rude to leave him with zero explanation. So with eight more deep breaths, he hugged the novel to his chest and left the closet for the second time that day. This time, with much less confidence.

He reappeared behind the counter where he could see Phil slumping in the chair and stirring Dan’s coffee with a spoon. He looked confused and possibly a little offended. Dan’s heart hurt knowing that he had done that to his favorite author.

He walked over and sat back down, the book falling into his lap where Phil couldn’t see it and he watched as Phil looked up at him with the most confused expression Dan had ever seen on another human being.

“I don’t know much about you Dan, but does that happen a lot because if it does I need to be prepared for next time you-”

“Phil.” Dan’s words came out so quietly. He was saying Phil’s name. Phil Lester’s name. Holy shit. This was a lot to handle. He was surprised he was even able to speak at all. In his dreams, the ones where he met Phil, he could never talk. Not even in his dreams did he had this opportunity.

He decided that words weren’t even his best plan of attack. He had no idea what to say or how to explain, so he just got a firm grip on the book with his one hand, pushed his coffee cup out of the way and then slowly brought the book up to the table. He placed it down gently, watching as Phil’s eye actually twitched.

He stared for a long time. A longer time than Dan had taken to himself in the closet. Dan wasn’t going to question it, but Phil looked like he was concentrating very hard. He seemed to be piecing things together in his mind. He was most likely taking in the age of the book, the weathered condition, the many many doggy ears on the corners, the coffee stains on the sides, the destroyed spine and the book’s presence in the first place. All these things could tell you one thing and one thing only. Dan fucking loved that book. If this was the same Phil that Dan had grown up reading, he was getting that impression and Dan was so damn nervous.

Then Dan froze. He had been subtly watching Phil watch the book and Phil, who was sporting a rather blank expression, was now tearing up and a drop of salty water hit the table. Dan would have gasped if he didn’t think the noise would break the man before him.

Phil’s tears only multiplied and suddenly, Dan was staring at a 27-year-old genius who was crying on a date. Who the fuck knew Dan’s evening would go like this?

After a significant period of time, Dan spoke up. If only to make this less awkward.

“Phil…are you uh…okay?”

Phil slowly raised his eyes to Dan and a smile formed on his quivering lips. “Yeah…yeah, I’m sorry I’m just thinking…” His voice was weak and trembling, his eyes filled with light once again. “…thinking about the things you said about-” He pointed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my books.”

Dan blinked. No way. Phil was an amazing writer.

“Do…do you really do that? R-read my books over and over again?”

Dan nodded like it was second nature. He couldn’t believe that was a question that Phil even dared to ask. Of course, he did. Phil Lester was his absolute favorite.

Phil nodded and he sat for a moment more before standing up abruptly and staring at Dan. Dan blinked up at him and smiled. The best smile he could. Before Phil came at him with a hug. He practically pulled Dan out of his seat and up into a standing position where Phil could embrace him into a warm and appreciating hug.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Phil mumbled into Dan’s shoulder, his lips moving against Dan’s collar bone. “You don’t have any idea what that means to me.”

Dan didn’t know what to say, so he mumbled an “of course” and rubbed Phil’s back gently.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that fate worked out this way!” Phil’s smile was back and he was gripping Dan by his biceps, his whole entire face glowing. If Dan hadn’t just seen the tears, he would have assumed that none had been shed that night. He blinked a few times and he nodded. “I have met my biggest fan!”

Dan blushed.

“Imagine how I feel…” he stammered, glancing down at the book on the table. Phil’s smile fell from his face, but not in a bad way. He just seemed to realize the gravity of this situation from Dan’s eyes. Then he broke out into a laugh.

“Oh my Gosh! You’re dating your idol!”

Dan blushed even more.

“That is…” Phil’s cheeks colored. “That is if I get a second date?” He bit his lip. “Usually, when people cry on first dates, they don’t get a call back…”

Dan tried to glare at Phil but it just turned out to be a look of fondness, one he’s been shooting Phil all day.

“I don’t know…a chance to spend more time with Phil Lester?” Dan pondered aloud. “Not sure if it’s worth it…”

Phil playfully pouted.

“I know how we can find out if it is worth it!” Phil grinned, his face up to no good.

Dan was about to ask when Phil stepped closer, his body flushing up to Dan’s front.

No.

No way.

Then Phil did the unimaginable. He leaned forward and connected his lips to Dan’s and Dan felt like his whole body exploded. He had no idea what happened. His eyes shut and bright colors filled the black that he usually stared at when he closed his lids over his brown eyes. Phil’s lips felt like an escape, much like the pages of the books he wrote. Dan was lapping up the warmth when Phil gently pulled away, a smile reforming on his perfect lips as he touched his nose to Dan’s.

“I knew I’d find a Samuel one day…”

Dan’s stomach dropped to the floor and Phil laughed.

“Come on, we have a coffee shop to close!” He gave one last glance at the book sitting on the table, smiled brightly and then he picked up the coffee cups. “I’ll go wash these. Why don’t you clean off this table and we’ll lock up.”

Dan could only nod and he picked up the book, his mouth still open with delight.

He was not convinced that the past 12 hours had actually happened. He was not convinced that he was actually ‘dating’ the Phil Lester he had wondered about when he was young. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t had dreams like this. Granted, he didn’t know what Phil looked like, but the version in his head was modeled from Striker and it was scary how close to the real thing he had gotten. Weird images of past dreams flashed in his head and he couldn’t express how long he had wanted to be Striker’s Samuel.

But now…now he had it better.

He was Phil Lester’s Dan.

He could not even fathom what kind of luck he must have had to achieve his one and only dream. Not only to achieve it - meeting Phil Lester - but surpass it - dating Phil Lester.

What a world he lived in.

“You ready?” Phil asked as he broke Dan from the spell he was under. He was staring out at the dark street in front of the shop while Phil ran and made sure all the lights were off. Dan nodded and reached for the key that Louise had given him a few year back so that he could lock up without her. He locked the front door behind him and turned to face Phil.

“So…” Dan started, it suddenly dawned on him that he’d have to leave the boy here and walk in the other direction. Not to mention, he had about 30 minutes to walk by himself and he was kind of dreading it. All he wanted was to lay down on his cheap twin bed and think about the evening he had just had. “I guess I’ll see you…next time you work?”

Phil blinked back at him, as if tiny little cogs were spinning in his head.

“How far did you say you lived from here?” Phil asked, glancing up the street.

“Oh uh…like 30 minutes. I usually take the bus but…” Dan’s voice trailed off as he gestured to the abandoned street and the flickering street lamp.

Phil was silent for a moment and then Dan was watching as he stepped closer.

“Call me crazy…but I don’t really like the idea of you walking all of that way.” The words tumbled from his mouth as he didn’t break the eye contact that Dan was holding so dearly. “I know it’s only the first date, although you have technically known me for years, what do you say about coming home and spending the night on my couch?”

Dan blanked.

“It’s only a couple blocks and I have plenty of room…” Phil convinced, bumping his shoulder into Dan’s.

It’s not like this night could have gotten anymore fantastical. He might as well. Phil could have said anything at this point and Dan would have blindly followed him. So he nodded and Phil’s face lit up for the millionth time that night.

“Swell! Well, let’s get going then!” Before Dan could say anything else at all, Phil clutched Dan’s hand and started dragging him in the direction of his place. Dan blushed severely and listened to Phil talk about the how much he loved the city at night.

When they arrived at Phil’s place, Phil unlocked the door of the tiny townhouse and he creaked it open. He turned to Dan and his face went very somber, if only for a moment.

“Make sure you’re quiet. I don’t want to wake anyone. I’ll explain once we get into the basement,” Phil instructed. If this was some stranger, Dan might have considered this sentence as a red flag. But this was Phil. Of course, this would be completely normal.

He followed Phil through the house and when the basement door shut and they were officially downstairs, the light flicked on and Dan could immediately get a peek at Phil’s life. The life he knew nothing about until today. It was surrounding him. The blue and green sheets on the bed matched the blue and green on the cover of Phil’s first book, his desk in the corner was exactly what a writer’s desk might look like - with crumbled pieces of paper littering the floor and everything, the walls were covered in posters of great movies and awesome music, and there was even a little lounge where it seems Phil liked to sit and play various video games on the systems that Dan could see sitting pretty under the TV.

“You like my bachelor pad?” Phil laughed, walking over to the tiny fridge and getting Dan a bottle of water.

“I do…” Dan responded, not even considering that Phil’s question was most likely sarcastic.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Phil exclaimed, flopping himself down on the couch and patting the spot next to him. Dan could feel his feet moving to go sit next to him as he looked around the giant room some more. “I was going to move…but some uh…some plans changed and now I’m kind of stuck here for a little longer.”

Dan didn’t ask because it didn’t seem Phil wanted to explain, but he nodded in response and took a sip from the water bottle he was given. His eyes landed on the Wii that looked to still be on and he nudged Phil.

“Wanna play some Mario Kart?” He wasn’t even considering how late it was or that he was going to have to be at work the next day at 7:00 am. He just wanted to play Mario Kart with Phil and if he was tired tomorrow, he would just have to deal. Not to mention, he’d be waking up on Phil Lester’s couch.

Phil agreed and confirmed Dan’s theory about the Wii still being on when he turned on the TV and a screen full of characters appeared before them.

“I was playing before I left for work today,” Phil admitted, laughing when it showed that he was about to select Bowser. “But I bet you already assumed that.”

They started a race and Dan kicked Phil’s ass. But Dan could admit, Phil gave him a good fight. Dan was just really really good at Mario Kart. With all his ‘free time’, he played plenty and he was unusually savvy with a Wii remote.

“Alright, alright, you beat me fair and square,” Phil gave up after playing about 17 rounds and losing each one. After every single round, he begged Dan for a do-over and insisted that it was “all or nothing.” Dan was too good though and each time, he made it over the finish line before Phil could even catch up.

It wasn’t until Phil switched off the TV and there was silence in the room that Dan realized how close they were. Dan was leaning up against Phil - leftover from when he was trying to mess up the older boy with a jolt to the arm, and Phil’s arm was overlapping Dan’s shoulder. Dan wasn’t complaining and when Phil turned his head to face Dan, it seemed he made the same realization.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Phil said, his cheeks getting pink. “I really needed someone like you in my life right now.”

“Th-thanks?” Dan said, hesitant to take a compliment. He’s the one that should be thanking Phil.

Phil was silent for a moment while it looked like he fished around in Dan’s eyes. Then his eyebrows went up and there was a small smirk resting on his face.

“Okay. Clearly, we are going to have to talk about the elephant in the room. I don’t want you throwing those googly eyes at me every second. Please, ask me what you want about my books now so that we can put this weird little fangirling thing we’ve got going on behind us,” Phil said, his words dripping with fondness, yet Dan was totally caught off guard. He wasn’t staring at Phil like that because he liked his books - even though that certainly played a part in it - he was staring at Phil because he couldn’t believe that a human could be this perfect. Let alone a human that was sitting with him on the couch right now. “I’m sure you have questions. With as many plot holes as there are in my books, you’ve got to have at least something that bothers you.”

Dan hadn’t thought about it much before, but it was dawning on him that Phil wasn’t really a fan of his own writing. He wasn’t as confident as the Striker in his books and he didn’t think very highly of his own talent. To Dan, this was ridiculous. Phil Lester was the best author he knew. He was the only author Dan would read and his words were like magic as they peeled off the page and into his brain. It saddened him that Phil didn’t even consider his own writing beautiful enough to promote.

Then the conversation he had earlier with Phil hit him like a brick to the face and suddenly it didn’t matter how close the two were sitting or how perfect Phil Lester was, a sentence smacked him in the front of his brain.

“I have another job. But it doesn’t really pay well. And I have some…personal affairs that require a bigger paycheck…But not to worry! I’m kind of almost done with my other job. It’s not really working out.”

Dan’s eyes widened and he could tell that Phil was about to ask what was wrong.

“You aren’t writing another book?” Dan blurted out, his heart stopping for a moment while he waited for an answer.

Phil’s bubbly smile melted from his face and he looked at Dan with confusion, as if he couldn’t quite figure out how Dan had guessed that. But his shaky hand reached for his collar, adjusting it with the lightest touch.

“I don’t think I can…” Phil answered slowly, not even realizing the heart-shattering news he was delivering to the boy sitting in front of him. “It’s just…I don’t think there’s another book…in me.”

Dan’s mouth had fallen open and he was just watching Phil’s blue eyes fade to gray. His face void of all color.

“So you haven’t written a book for this November?” Dan asked, not even stopping to think that maybe it was insensitive to ask such a question.

Phil sighed and his face read that it was complicated.

“Dan…I…” He avoided all eye contact. “No.” His voice trembled. “No, I haven’t.”

Dan was beyond shocked. He wasn’t mad, because how could he be? He didn’t know what Phil’s life was like and he wasn’t trying to pressure the boy, but he was really looking forward to that next novel and now that he knew it wasn’t even in the works, a part of him started to wilt.

“I’m sorry…I just don’t think I can do it,” Phil whimpered, his hands now wringing together and his eyes starting to glisten. He looked like he had just realized something while he was admitting this fact to Dan. He looked so small all of a sudden. “You’re not like…mad or anything…?” He looked down at his hands. “…cause I didn’t know that people…” He corrected himself. “…that you liked my books. And I just haven’t really been feeling up to…” Phil spoke the last word so quietly as if he didn’t want to say it out loud in the first place. “…writing.”

Dan stared at Phil and there was clearly a backstory that he was missing. He kept having to remind himself that he’d only met Phil today an that everything he knew about the guy he was looking at, was through a character that Phil had created. Although it was somewhat based on truth, Dan couldn’t just ask a near stranger why he couldn’t write another novel. It just wasn’t polite. That, and Phil looked like he was about to break. Any second.

So Dan took something out of Phil’s book, although not literally, he went out on a whim and scooted even closer to the wilting boy and reached to caress the side of his face.

“Phil…” Dan started. “I don’t care about the book. I mean…I do…but I understand. I like you. I like you a lot. And I know it’s only been like 12 hours and I know it might be crazy, but something tells me that this has to be fate…” He swallowed a comment about how cheesy he knew he sounded and kept going. “I want to know you. I want to know everything about you. And not just because I like your books, but because I-” He knew sharing this next part was going to be hard, but he didn’t realize that it was going to be the first time he’d said it out loud. “I’ve never really had a best friend before and something about you just makes me feel like you’ve known me forever.”

Phil was staring at him, his eyes bouncing between Dan’s own twinkling orbs and his moving lips.

“Phil, please believe me. I was attracted to you before I knew you were the amazing Phil that I knew you were,” Dan blushed. “And if it’s any consolation…I thought you were amazing before I found out.”

Phil was no longer on the verge of tears, but his eyes were full of mirth and something that Dan had never seen on a person up close before. Something specific that he had only ever read - in Phil’s books that is. Love.

Dan knew he was bordering crazy and certainly, his wildest of dreams never unfolded this way, but he took a moment to breathe in his last sane breath and then leaned forward to kiss the boy who looked to be begging for it.

Kissing turned out to be the gateway to something more. Dan had never trod this territory before but Phil was gentle and somehow a little awkward, and about 45 minutes and a hefty amount of heavy breathing later, they were lying beside each other in Phil’s bed with little to no room between them.

Even though it was only a short walk to The Brew Bean, it felt like eons. Dan was reeling about the night before, going over it a million times and then all over again. He had spent nearly the whole night beside Phil in his bed, wearing nothing but a grin and a pair of borrowed briefs. They had talked about everything under the sun. Dan finally got to ask a few questions about Phil’s books and where he got his inspiration, and Phil asked him about Uni and why he left. They were tender subjects but between kissing and kind words, the topics didn’t seem so scary for either of them.

In the morning when Dan’s alarm went off, he woke in a startle when he realized he had fallen asleep on the chest of another man. When he looked up and saw that no, it wasn’t a dream, Phil Lester was actually asleep below him, he nearly passed out again out of amazement. Dan could still feel the way the older boy stirred beneath him and wrapped his warm arms around him as he begged the younger not to leave. But Dan was opening today and he had to get the shop before 8:00 to open up. So Phil got up and stretched his naked body in the patch of sunlight that made him look angelic and then wandered off to make them both a pot of coffee. It’s not like Dan couldn’t have waited until he got to work, but Phil seemed to need it more than he did.

Dan arrived at the shop at 7:20 which was later than he’d ever been. He usually showed up early to make sure he had time to sit and have a cup before he opened the store for others, but today he would miss that. Thank goodness Louise wasn’t here to tease him about it. At least not yet.

Of course, the girl didn’t miss anything. The moment she walked it, Dan could tell she knew something he didn’t. Maybe Dan was giving off the post-coitus vibes or maybe his face said it all, but when they had a slow second, she sauntered over to Dan and gave him an all-knowing look.

“So…” Her teeth were scraping her bottom lip as if she was refraining from saying something but Dan was clearly in trouble. “How was your night?”

A docile question for the all-knowing Louise to ask.

Dan turned to her and grinned, not even trying to mask his excitement with a sarcastic comment. There was nothing about this that screamed Dan Howell. Nothing cautious or bitter. His relationship with Phil was completely out of character. In fact, it reminded him of a different character altogether and it only made since when he realized it was Striker.

“How do you think?” Dan asked, turning away to hide the blush that was flooding his face.

“I think you need to spill because I know that blush isn’t coming from nowhere,” Louise pestered, her lips turned up in a smirk. “Phil isn’t that charming. Why are you so smitten?”

Dan wanted to argue because yes, Phil is that charming, but he decided he’d rather cut to the chase and tell Louise why Phil was especially perfect for him.

“Remember those books? The ones I read all the time?” Dan asked Louise who looked positively bothered by the fact that they were coming up now, of all times, but she nodded and listened. “Well, Phil’s the one who wrote them.”

Louise looked confused for a moment as if she were doing math in her head and trying to figure out how that was statistically possible. Dan knew that it wasn’t but it happened anyway and here he’s gone and slept with the guy. But Louise could probably read that right away.

“Oh God,” she muttered. She looked actually quite horrified.

“What?” Dan asked, worried there was something Louise hadn’t told him about Phil.

“I’m going to have to hire someone else, aren’t I?”

Dan blinked at her.

“What?”

“Dan…if he really is the love of your life, as he obviously is, then I’m gonna need another person to come in for the days you both want off,” Louise explained, thinking purely as a boss and less as a mother right now. Dan opened his mouth as if he were going to argue but because it was Phil, he didn’t want to. He knew deep down that she was right. If he was later than usual this morning and this continued on like he’d hoped, he would need a few days off in the future. For both of their sakes.

“What happened to ’you need to take more days off?‘” Dan asked, teasing the woman who stood before him. She rolled his eyes.

“Well I hired someone to take your place but now you’ve gone and seduced him.” She huffed, her fists on her hips. “I meant you needed more days off with people who didn’t work here!”

Dan found that hard to argue with. Technically, she was right, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Ugh, it’s fine. I’ll find someone.” She hit a few buttons on the register, going back to work. “So I’m hoping you were safe when you-”

“Louise!”

“What? I’m just making sure…” She shot him a loving glance and then walked off. He didn’t know exactly how she could tell that he had that kind of night, but if it was written all over his face, he assumed she of all people could read it. And because Phil wrote it in the first place, it must have been good.

“You’re saying you want an entire weekend and a Monday off?” Louise asked, her mouth open and her eyebrows up higher than Dan had ever seen them. “The both of you?”

It had been two months since Dan had met Phil and things were going more fantastical since the beginning. After their first night together, Dan went home after his long shift and took a shower, starting to worry that maybe he was moving too fast. But when he got a text from Phil telling him that he missed his presence and that he wished he had someone to play Mario Kart with, he knew he hadn’t made a mistake. Phil was just as into Dan as he was into Phil and it happened rapidly fast. Soon, Dan barely saw his flat and by the second week, he knew that after a long shift with or without Phil, he would end up over at Phil’s anyway.

Now, at two months, they knew each other better than they knew themselves - save for a few things. Things that Dan never tried to pressure for and thank goodness Phil didn’t push for his own skeletons in his closet. Their relationship was synonymous to an adventure novel - or so Dan thought. Phil swept him off his feet and kissed him passionately whenever he got the chance. He romanced Dan’s socks off and had a way with words that only his favorite writer could possess. Their sex was passionate and loving and every time Dan looked into Phil’s glistening eyes, he knew that Phil Lester was a wonder of a man. He single-handedly helped Dan take the simplicity of his plain life and spice it up into a novel of its own.

And that’s why Dan thought he’d return the favor.

For weeks, Dan has been talking about taking Phil away, somewhere he could think and possibly get back into the hobby that made Dan fall for Phil all those years ago. Even though Dan was falling faster everyday, dare he say in love, he still longed for Phil’s writing and now that it was almost Christmas time, he wanted to give Phil the gift of a lifetime.

“It’s just three days Lou. Come on. Didn’t you just hire that new guy, PJ?” Dan nudged her side. “And plus, when have I ever asked?”

“That’s why I’m appalled,” She shook her head, but a smile was fighting its way through her pursed lips. “I hate to say I told you so but…” She looked him right in the eye. “I told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah, so can we have off?” Dan asked again, pulling Phil closer to his side, having nearly forgotten he was standing right there in the first place. Louise looked at Phil who was no doubt grinning beside him, his sunshine of a smile sure to work wonders. With a sigh and the roll of her eyes, she nodded.

“Consider it an early Christmas gift,” she grumbled, looking back down at the task she had been doing before Dan and Phil had come up and asked her. “Where are you going anyway?”

“That, I can’t tell you,” Dan teased, glancing at Phil who crossed his arms and pouted because Dan had been very clear, he was not to know where they were going until they got there. “I’ll tell you all about it when we get back.”

She looked at the two of them and shook her head once more. “You guys make me sick.”

Dan just grinned and went back to work with Phil at his side.

“I’m sorry I’m running late. I’m just figuring a few things out. I’ll be there in an hour. Sorry Sorry!” Phil said over the phone to Dan who was literally sitting on his suitcase by his front door. Excited was an understatement. He hadn’t been on a real vacation in so long. Even though it was a week before Christmas, he was excited to spend the holiday with his boyfriend.

“That’s okay. I’m keeping myself busy anyway,” Dan lied.

“No, you aren’t. Stop waiting at the door like a lost puppy. Go read a book or something,” Phil said, probably regretting it because every time he said that, he knew Dan would listen, picking up one of the few novels he had written in the past and re-reading it. “One that isn’t mine.”

Dan whined but he agreed and went to find something a little less interesting. No book could be as interesting as Phil’s.

When Phil finally arrived, he was still a half hour later than he had mentioned being on the phone. When Dan went down to meet him on the sidewalk he was prepared to playfully scold the boy but instead he was greeted with a very grim face on his beloved who seemed to be a bit out of it.

“Hey…what’s wrong?” Dan said, first thing, getting it out of the way before they even started to walk to the train station.

“Nothing…it’s just been a rough day. I’m ready for this vacation though,” he smiled, pulling Dan into his side. Dan let the warmth of his own body comfort his boyfriend who was drooping a little more than usual today.

Here was the thing about Phil Lester. Everything about him was adventurous and spontaneous, except there was this one thing. This one thing that he never told Dan about. Dan never asked but when Phil described the thing that made him late all the time or that kept him occupied for more than one day at a time, he never gave Dan the full story. He just said it was important and that he would explain later. Phil was the kind of person that would tell Dan anything but he wouldn’t tell him this. Dan knew that must mean it was a big deal. But what could be so terrible that Phil would want to hide it from Dan? Phil knew he could trust Dan with anything. It’s not like Dan had ever judged him before. Did he have another job? Some sort of illness he needed to take care of? Another boyfriend?

Dan always made sure to stop his train of thought before it got to that point because he knew that Phil was faithful to him. There was nothing wrong with secrets. Especially if they’re painful to talk about. So Dan respected Phil’s space and didn’t ask whenever Phil showed up with the sunken-in eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept or the shaking hands that suggested he had been fidgeting a ton. He just pulled Phil close and told him it was okay, understanding that when Phil was ready, he would share that part of his life.

They walked down the pavement in silence as Phil pulled himself together and Dan swung their laced hands to cheer up his partner.

He also told Phil to wait on the platform while he went and bought their tickets, just so Phil wouldn’t know where they were headed. Phil was usually the one that decided where to go, but this weekend, Dan was calling the shots. He wanted to show Phil something he’d never shown anyone. Something almost as personal as Phil’s writing was. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince Phil to start writing again.

They shuffled on the train, Dan making sure Phil couldn’t see any signs revealing their destination, and then they were both leaning on each other while the train moved away from the city of London.

“Dan…is this Manchester?” Phil said as he looked out the window. They were almost to the city and he started realizing that his surprise was going to reveal itself pretty soon. Dan shifted in his seat and nodded when Phil’s blue eyes were on him. “Like…your hometown?”

“Yeah…” Dan said, a smirk on his lips. “What other Manchester is there?”

Phil chuckled and looked out the window again.

“I just mean…like…why Manchester?” Phil asked.

“Because you’ve shown me so much of your past through your writing. I want to show you mine.”

Phil turned and looked at him with his favorite glance. The one where his eyes lit up and it made Dan’s heart flutter.

But then his face changed to one of worry and Dan panicked. Had he made the wrong choice? Did he say something too forward?

“Where are we staying?”

“Um…just my house. I don’t live too far from here I-”

“Dan!” Phil’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t tell me I was going to meet your parents. Oh God…” Phil looked like he was panicking and as flattering as it was that Phil was nervous about the possibility of making the wrong impression, Dan’s laugh flicked him out of his little attack.

“They aren’t there. They go on holiday every year the week before Christmas to see my Grandma. My brother is on holiday as well. Even the dog is away. It’s just us.” He reached out and grabbed Phil’s hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it. Phil took a sigh of relief and he allowed himself to blush. “Come on, Phil. We’ve been dating two months. It’s a little weird for me to bring you home just yet. I’m sure you’ve thought the same about your own parents.”

“Yeah…I guess you’re right,” Phil said, the dark and gloomy cloud falling over him once again. Dan hoped it wasn’t because he had insulted Phil or something. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of their relationship, he just wasn’t sure how his parents would feel about him bringing someone home after not seeing them for so long. He really had to get over that. Some people were far less fortunate and couldn’t see their parents all the time. He told himself then that he would put more effort in the relationship. Maybe he’d call them on Christmas and wish them happy holidays.

The train stopped and Dan ushered him and his boyfriend up. They were to get on one more bus and then they will have arrived at Dan’s childhood home. No person, not even some of Dan’s ‘friends’ had been to his childhood home. It was something he was rather protective about. It was where he spent a lot of time holed up indoors reading or playing Final Fantasy until he had enough and fell asleep. His brother was far too young to be a proper companion and when he really thought about it, he kept mostly to himself for a majority of his life there. Hence why the place had so much history for him. This house was his sacred place and his room was his best friend - before he started reading Phil’s books that is.

“Thanks for taking me here, Dan,” Phil said as they were approaching Dan’s front door. “I know how much of a big deal this is for you.”

“That’s okay. It’s really nothing,” Dan lied, constantly flabbergasted that Phil somehow knew exactly what he was thinking before he even had to say a word. He unlocked the door to the house and they stepped inside.

As expected, it was empty and Dan started up the stairs immediately, heading for his bedroom where he would put their stuff. Phil followed of course and instead of Dan’s innocent plan of exploring the house and showing Phil the things of the past, Phil kicked the door closed and pushed Dan into his twin bed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” Phil said from above him, sharing a kiss with Dan’s eager lips.

“Oh yeah? And what else did you want to do?”

Phil smirked and their clothes were on the floor in an instant.

Their Saturday was relaxing. After their little escapade in the bedroom, Dan finally got to show Phil around. Although a lot of his things were no longer there, he explained every little detail to Phil. He even showed Phil the patch of carpet that he had his first existential crisis on. Phil laughed and they both laid down to try it. It didn’t end in crisis, however, it did end in a tickle fight.

Phil knew Dan’s other motive for bringing him here. He knew that Dan wanted Phil to get away from that big scary thing that he knew nothing about and focus on his own brain. Dan had suggested to him millions of times that perhaps the reason he couldn’t focus on his writing was that he was dealing with all the shit that came with this huge secret. So at the end of the night, when they were happily sitting inside beside a fireplace that held so many Christmas memories for Dan, Phil pulled out a spiral notebook and started jotting a few things down. Not a lot, but enough that Dan could tell Phil was making headway. It warmed Dan’s heart. So he curled up beside Phil with his little mug of hot chocolate and watched the fire in the company of his favorite person in his childhood home.

Sunday was a whirlwind. It started off nice when Dan made Phil a rock star breakfast. He found eggs and bacon and toast, brewing coffee and cutting up some oranges for his dear Phil who was still in bed and planned on being there for the rest of the day. He piled everything on a tray and they had a three-hour breakfast in bed that they always talked about. Phil looked so happy, munching on his toast and forking through his eggs. Dan couldn’t believe he was sharing this moment in the tiniest of beds with the person with the biggest heart. He was so incredulously happy.

That is until Phil’s phone rang. Dan reached over and grabbed it from the side table, handing it to his boyfriend who had a mouth full of bacon, and he squinted at the caller ID. Without his glasses or his contacts, his eyes were useless.

He picked up the unknown number and his face went pale.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand…I uh…yeah, I can…” Phil’s hand had gripped his fork in a painful manner before it dropped to the tray. “Sure thing. I’ll be there in four hours.” Dan’s eyes went wide and he looked at Phil with a piece of toast hanging from his lip. Phil was already scooting past Dan and putting pants on. “Thank you so much….yeah I’ll be there…okay bye.”

There was a moment of silence as Phil held his phone in his hand and he looked at Dan. Dan knew this had to do with that huge secret that Phil never mentioned and this wouldn’t have been a big deal if this wasn’t Dan’s first holiday since he’d dropped from Uni.

Phil looked like he didn’t want to explain but that wasn’t going to cut it this time. He couldn’t just promise whoever was on the phone that he was going to take a train back immediately without telling his boyfriend what was going on.

“Phil…” Dan took a stab at being calm and collected, even though he was beyond irritated. His bubble of bliss had just popped and now they were at a standstill.

Phil’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes getting slightly watery, but he hung his head and nodded. “I really have to go.”

Dan blinked. No other explanation. Not even an apology.

“I’ll come with you.” Dan hopped out of bed and started looking for his own pants that had somehow ended up being thrown last night. He had to admit, his tone was pretty bitter, but it was important that Phil knew he was kind of salty. Especially because he had been looking forward to this getaway for weeks. It was Dan’s Christmas gift to Phil after all. He wanted Phil to enjoy it.

“No, Dan, it’s best you didn’t.” Phil was now shoving things in his suitcase and his hands were shaking.

“We said we’d spend the weekend together! I’m coming with you,” Dan insisted, packing his suitcase as well. Phil zipped his up and took a second to stare at Dan who was furiously scrunching clothes and pushing them into his black suitcase.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Dan stopped packing and he stared at the shirt that was crumpled in his hand now.

“I can just meet you back in London,” Phil tried. “I’ll explain later.”

What the hell was so important that it turned Phil into this vague mess that just left during their personal holiday?

“No, you won’t.”

“Excuse me?” Phil turned around and his grip on his suitcase handle tightened.

“You won’t tell me later. You never do,” Dan said, his voice laced with some form of hurt that Phil certainly detected. “When will you tell me what’s going on?”

Phil looked overwhelmed and maybe Dan shouldn’t have pushed him. On a regular day, this didn’t bother him. On a regular day, he was sympathetic. But today, he had taken off work for this holiday and Phil should have taken off from whatever it was he did in his spare time. This was time he should have been spending with Dan.

So when Phil gave Dan one last glance of sorrow and turned around to leave, Dan waited until he heard the front door shut before he threw himself into the pillow and cried. He knew he was dramatic but this wasn’t fair. He loved Phil and he knew Phil loved him back, just not enough to keep him from leaving.

He ended up going back to London early. He couldn’t bear the idea of sitting in an empty house alone. Not again. It was just too quiet. So with his tail between his legs, he called Louise and told her that he was available to work on Monday. She didn’t ask any questions but he was sure they were coming when she told him he could come in and work his usual Monday shift. He was glad that she at least offered him a means of distraction.

He arrived at The Brew Bean with a frown and Louise shook her head, leaving the new boy - PJ - at the counter so she could chat with Dan in the back. She wasn’t interested when Dan was happy, but suddenly she wanted to know everything.

“…and he just left. He didn’t even offer an explanation,” Dan explained the whole story, his head in his hands as he sat on a cardboard box in the back. “I don’t know what to do. I love him but if this thing is more important than me, I don’t know if I can continue dating someone who leaves me so quickly for something else. Let alone someone who won’t share everything.”

Louise was strangely silent. She looked sympathetic but didn’t offer any advice until he was done moping. His eyes were dark and red-rimmed. He was on the verge of tears.

“I offered to go with him this time and he flat out told me he didn’t want me around,” Dan cried, his voice quivering. He noticed Louise’s silence and he looked up through his shaggy haircut. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

She fiddled with her yellow dress.

“I may or may not know where Phil’s always off to…” Louise spoke softly and gently, much like you would to a child. “But I don’t think I can tell you.”

“Louise!” Dan looked up at her with desperate eyes. “You have to tell me! Come on! He’s known you for two months and I’ve known you for years! Please!”

Begging was unbecoming but it didn’t matter. Not right now.

She looked unsure of herself like she was about to spill something that was bigger than both of them.

“Please, Louise…please.”

After another short moment of silence, she sighed and nodded, looking up to meet the desperate eyes that blinked back at her.

“Phil’s mother is dying.”

Dan’s brain short circuited.

“She’s what?”

Louise knew that Dan had heard her and she didn’t repeat what she had just said. She could tell that it was hitting him.

“During the interview I asked him if there was anything that might get in the way of a job like this and he mentioned that his mother was in pretty bad shape, cancer I think, and he said that he has been taking care of her for a good while now,” Louise explained softly. “I think that’s why he needed the job in the first place. To pay for the medicines and hospital visits.”

“Wait…how sick is she?”

“I don’t know. I never asked. I haven’t talked to him about it since that day. I think he’d prefer nobody to find out.”

“But…but why didn’t he just tell me that?”

Louise shook her head. “I don’t know but listen, you should cut him some slack. I’m sure it’s really hard.”

Dan nodded and watched as his boss got up and pat his shoulder before walking off. He stayed where he was and reflected on everything that had happened in the past few months. All the times that Phil was late, all the times that he had to quickly run out from a date, all the times he had mentioned that things had changed a lot in recent years. He never explained the roommate that lived upstairs, he never explained the phone calls he always had to take in the morning, and he never ever talked about his parents. This must be why he was so afraid to meet Dan’s.

Part of him felt horrible. Like he had made the biggest mistake in his life. He had been rude to Phil when all he was doing was caring for his mother. He should have trusted Phil. But the other side of Dan felt hurt. Why wouldn’t Phil want to mention something so huge to his boyfriend who proved that he cared immensely? He would never judge Phil for something like this, even if it meant that Phil had a more important place to be some of the time. He wished that Phil had told him so he could have been more understanding than he was.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. He was the asshole who yelled at a man who’s mother was dying.

Something he didn’t expect was to see Phil that day. He was working the counter, handing some old man his change when the bells jingled and in came a person that looked a lot like Phil, but was clearly just a mess of tears and worry. As soon as Phil caught Dan’s glance, he looked terrified. As if he expected Dan to be in Manchester still, by himself. Dan wanted Phil to know that he wasn’t mad at him and that it was an honest mistake, but he wasn’t supposed to know about what was happening with Phil, so he couldn’t explain. He just smiled and watched as the boy hesitantly walked up to the counter.

“Hey,” he started, his eyes wavering with contact.

“Hey,” Dan answered, his hands fumbling with the edge of the counter.

“I’m sorry…” Phil said, his voice broken and battered. He had done a lot of crying, clearly, and with the urgency in which he left Manchester, something terrible must have happened. Dan wanted to tell Phil that it was all okay and that he was totally right for leaving, but instead he just untied his apron, walked around the counter and to where Phil was standing, engulfing him in the tightest hug that he could manage. Phil’s conscious brain might not have understood why, but his body did. It folded when Dan’s chest hit Phil’s and the older boy was now racking with sobs. Last week, this would have been startling behavior, but this was completely okay and Dan knew he needed the support. Even if Phil wouldn’t admit it to him.

“Hey…shhh…it’s okay, Phil,” Dan hushed, whispering in the older boy’s ear while he combed his fingers through his hair. “How about I take you to my place and we cuddle for a while?”

Dan had never invited Phil back to his place. He had no reason to. Phil’s place was much closer and the bed was comfier. But Dan had the inclination that Phil might not want to go back to his own place and when the suggestion was made, Phil stilled before nodding slowly.

“Let me just let Louise know, okay?” Dan said, gently breaking them apart and finally taking in the full vision of Phil standing before him. He was wearing the same outfit he had worn the day before, his shirt wrinkled and his hands hanging lower than usual. Dan was careful not to jostle him as he stepped backward. He flashed him one more glance that told him to stay put, and then turned rather quickly to find his boss.

“We’re almost there,” Dan mentioned as he stroked Phil’s shoulder on the way to his flat. The bus was a lot quieter in the late afternoon than it was around lunch time and Dan was secretly thankful they missed the rush. Phil did not seem together enough to handle the chaos that was London during break hours. In fact, he was getting startled by every little thing. He clearly hadn’t slept and his nerves were acting up.

Phil nodded in response to Dan’s mention, but his head barely moved. Dan thanked the Universe that he even noticed.

They got off the bus and Dan led his boyfriend up to his flat, not even thinking about the state it was in. He hadn’t cleaned in ages. Granted, he never really stayed long enough to make much of a mess. He was sure that aside from the clothes on his bedroom floor and maybe a few books out on the coffee table, his place was in perfect order. The layer of dust over everything wasn’t visible and Phil probably wouldn’t notice. At least not today.

“Here, I’m going to get you some water and you can go lay down…” Dan said as he locked his front door. Phil was silently taking in the place he had just entered but he turned to Dan with thankful eyes. “My bedroom is the door at the end of the hall…” He pointed and spun his broken love around. “I think I made the bed…”

Phil shuffled back to Dan’s bedroom while Dan fixed him a glass of water. He probably hadn’t had anything proper to eat in the past 24 hours so he snagged a granola bar as well before heading back to see Phil.

If not under these circumstances, he probably would have taken a picture of what Phil looked like right then. Even at his worst, Phil was still beautiful. He was curled in on himself with his head on Dan’s pillow. His eyes were shut and his hands were delicately resting beside his face. Dan wasn’t sure what the protocol was for a situation like this, but he placed the glass of water and the granola bar on the side table and he walked over to the other side of the resting boy. He climbed into the bed and like a big spoon, encased Phil into his arms. Phil was awake enough to shuffle himself into Dan’s embrace and Dan took that as a good sign. To Phil’s knowledge, Dan knew nothing about where he had gone.

Even in the state he was in, Phil could still read Dan’s mind. He had been quiet for so long that his voice pierced the air like broken glass on a concrete floor.

“My mum has Metastatic Pancreatic Cancer…”

Dan’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t a medical professional but he didn’t need to be a doctor to know that the words metastatic and cancer were bad news. His arms tightened a little around Phil but he said nothing, letting the other boy continue.

“…at the end of July the doctors said it reached stage four and that means she only had…” Phil swallowed. “…only had six months left and-” He nearly swallowed his own words. “They called yesterday and said she might not make it through Chri-”

Phil couldn’t finish. His breaths were shallow. His heart was beating so fast that Dan was sure it might explode there in his arms. Dan was shocked. He knew cancer was bad and that it was painful for everyone involved, but this seemed impossible. Phil was a hero. No wonder he hadn’t written anything in so long. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it.

They laid there in silence for what felt like hours. It could have just been minutes but Phil’s body never stopped trembling. Dan was letting his hand run through Phil’s black hair and his chest was pressed as close to Phil’s ribcage as physically possible. He hoped that his heart could beat strong enough for the both of them.

They fell asleep like that, Dan thought, because a few hours later he was being awoken again by a meek voice that was no louder than a whisper.

“Dan?” Phil was right next to his ear and Dan blinked his eyes open.

“Hm?” He instinctively hugged his boyfriend tighter and smiled into his hair.

“I love you.”

Dan was definitely not expecting that string of words right now but he didn’t care. He had been dying to hear them. Ever since they’d met. Call him crazy, but Phil was the one.

“I love you too, Phil,” he responded quickly, knowing how scary those words could be sometimes. “Are you okay?”

Phil nodded and he cuddled himself into Dan’s embrace just a little bit more. Dan wouldn’t let go until Phil was ready to be let go. And if that was never, well, then the two would rot here on this bed until his landlord dragged them out himself.

Dan called out of work for the both of them that next day because he wanted to be with Phil and Phil clearly couldn’t be anywhere else. He had gone on to explain how painful it was to be at home when his mother was in the hospital. Apparently she was just admitted, right before they had left for their vacation. That was why it had taken so long for Phil to meet Dan that day. Phil had to fill out more paperwork than he thought. Poor Phil was probably thinking about it the entire time they were away.

Phil also explained that his mother had progressed into her illness very rapidly. She was apparently just fine only two years ago. This made Dan’s heart lurch, especially because he didn’t talk much to his family. If anything made him feel guilty, it was hearing that something like this could happen, and quickly too.

He sat with Phil in bed all day, listening to him talk out the things that were probably trapped in his own head for months and months. Phil was spilling out the details of the treatments and the words doctors had thrown his way. He spent some time telling Dan about his mother and how kind and loving she was. He told Dan about all the great things she had done and all his childhood memories. Dan didn’t even know the woman, but he was sad to lose her. Apparently his dad had died a long time ago and Phil didn’t remember much about him. He explained that he was glad because he really couldn’t handle two premature parent deaths.

Once Phil was all talked-out, Dan was feeling rather sleepy. This was partially because he had stayed up much longer than Phil the night before, making sure that he was okay. Dan was still curled up next to Phil when his eyes started to flutter. He just barely got a glimpse of Phil pulling out a little notebook from his jacket pocket and clicking his pen before he drifted off into a comfortable sleep.

“Dan!” Phil woke his boyfriend with a bigger smile than Dan had seen on Phil all week. This alarmed him as he jolted awake and into awareness, looking at the boy before him with big, red, crusty eyes. “Dan I did it!”

Phil looked like he hadn’t slept a wink but he didn’t looked pained. He actually glowed. He looked like he was actually proud of something. Like he had done something that Dan would be proud of.

“Did what?” Dan rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking into Phil’s lap where he found a little notebook that held at least twenty pages of scribbles. The corner of Dan’s mouth went up when he realized what Phil was about to tell him.

“I have an idea for my next book! I wrote out an outline…” Phil gestured to the many pages of scribbles that Dan didn’t want to read because he genuinely didn’t want spoilers, but he did look up at Phil’s sparkling eyes that had regained a little light, and he let the crinkles next to his show.

“I’m so proud of you!” Dan praised, meaning every word. This must have taken a lot of creative energy but as Phil had explained, writing was his outlet and maybe because he let out some of the stuff that was floating around his head for so long, he was able to make room for the creative flow. “I get to be the first to read it when it’s complete, right?”

Phil nodded, understanding that he was dating his biggest fan and of course he wouldn’t be allowed to release it without his boyfriend’s blessing.

“I really like this one actually…I think…” Phil blushed. “I think you will too.”

Dan gave him a glare that meant 'of course I’ll like it, you wrote it,’ and then grabbed the proud boy in his arms, attacking him with kisses.

“Did you stay up all night to write this?” Dan asked after kissing Phil at least 23 times, a lick of concern leaking out of his tone.

“Yeah, and you’re really cute when you’re asleep, did you know that?”

“Shut up…” Dan tried not to smile but it came through. Phil was acting like Phil again and he couldn’t help but feel grateful. He knew that Phil struggled to keep his bubbly personality, even through everything that was going on, but this seemed genuine. He seemed like he was being himself – for the time being at least. “Want some breakfast?”

“Sure. What are we having?” Phil asked.

“Well, unless you want to eat moldy toast and expired jam, I think we have to go out,” Dan stretched his arms above his head and Phil took advantage of the slight sight of tummy, tickling it and blowing a very sloppy raspberry. Dan giggled and in retaliation, he ended up blowing a raspberry on Phil’s lips, only leading to a very heated make-out session that ended in morning sex.

Pancakes always did the trick, or at least for Phil. Phil had had bad days before and Dan knew the remedy was always pancakes and coffee. Although it wasn’t really the healthiest meal to eat after barely eating anything, it was something and it would keep Phil’s tummy the way it was – nice and plump – for Dan.

“So tell me about your new book.” Dan put his chin in his hands and leaned over the table like some lovesick puppy. “Does Striker go on another adventure and take down an evil horse-lord.”

Phil laughed and shook his head. He had a chunk of pancake in his mouth so he held a finger up and told Dan to wait.

“No, no. Not another horse-lord. Horses freak me out, remember?”

“Yeah. I do. That’s why it was evil,” Dan answered, smirking. “Duh.”

“You really are Phil Trash #1.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Phil, we’ve been over this. I probably know your books better than you do. Come on, spill. What’s Striker doing next?”

“Well if you know my book better than I do, then you should know,” Phil teased, pointing his fork at Dan. “And you don’t really want to ruin the surprise, do you?”

Dan sighed. Of course he didn’t. But getting Phil to talk about his passions was one of Dan’s favorite things and since he’d met the older boy, the passion had not been writing. This was the first they had talked about it in weeks. Dan wanted to know everything he could if Phil was willing to chat about it.

“Okay, fine, just tell me this. Is Samuel in this one?” This was a very cheeky question and Dan asked it with a knowing smile. At this point, Dan knew that he was Phil’s muse for Samuel. Even though the books were written before Phil met Dan, it was like Samuel was perfectly molded to be Dan. Not to mention, at the end of the last book, Samuel was officially invited to join Striker on his newest quest. So Dan and Phil both knew Samuel would have to be a giant part of Phil’s next book. And if Striker was Phil, then Samuel was Dan and if Dan was being honest, he was excited to read how Phil wrote Sam in the next novel.

“You’ll just have to wait and see…” Phil alluded, his smile revealing it all.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too.”

But they both knew that’s not what they meant.

They were walking back from their little breakfast place when Phil’s phone rang in his pocket. As soon as Dan heard the ring, he tensed up. The last time he got this call, Phil left him without any explanation. He hoped it wasn’t the same kind of call but at the same time, he hoped that if it was, Phil would at least fill him in.

They stopped in the middle of the pavement and Phil dug the device from his pocket, his hand visibly shaking as he answered it.

“Hello?” He stared at anywhere but Dan as he listened to the person on the other end. His face gave nothing away as he nodded and released a few quiet 'mmhmm’s, Dan nearly dying of curiosity. But then Phil hung up and he finally looked at Dan with tears in his eyes.

So it was that kind of call.

“Phil…if you need to go, you ca-”

“Come with me,” Phil said, his voice breaking.

“What?”

“Come with me,” Phil said again, stepping closer and grabbing Dan’s hands. “Please. I…I don’t want to do th-” He stopped, looked at his feet and then back into Dan’s eyes. “I can’t do this alone.”

Dan nodded and suddenly they were briskly walking down the London street. Thank God they were within blocks of the hospital and Phil wasn’t subject to an entire bus ride of anticipation. It was still rather early in the day for Dan to be walking this fast, but for Phil he would do anything.

They arrived at the hospital in under ten minutes, the nurse at the desk giving Phil a nod of understanding when he walked right past. This made Dan sad because that must have meant that Phil had been in here an awful lot for the nurse to recognize the man.

Phil walked the white hospital halls, Dan trailing behind, as Phil navigated the place like it was his home. Another thing that made Dan’s heart clench. He could see the way the staff looked in Phil’s direction, a glance of sympathy here and there, every now and then a nurse would mutter a “hello” or a “good to see you.” This made Dan very uncomfortable. He wanted to be there for Phil but he wasn’t sure he was built for a place as grim as this.

Phil finally stopped at a door that was closed, taking a deep breath and swiveling on his feet toward Dan.

“You uh…don’t have to come in…if you don’t want,” he offered, but his eyes told him he did, so Dan shook his head and smiled.

“If you’re going in, I’m going in.” Dan was already here. He might as well commit.

Phil responded with a weak smile and he nodded, letting go of Dan’s loose grip and reaching for the handle.

There was no experience, movie or book, that could compare to what he saw in the room they entered. Phil walked in slowly and carefully and Dan did his best to mimic his partner’s steps. When he finally got a glimpse of the hospital bed and the woman in it, he almost cried himself. The woman was frail and thin, something you would expect from an older lady, but this was Phil’s mum. She couldn’t have been older than 60 and yet she looked like she had lived ten lifetimes. Her closed eyes had sunken in and turned purple, the bone of her nose nearly poking through the weathered skin, and her lips barely had any color at all. Dan was sure that if this woman had any resemblance to Phil, it was long gone now. Her fingers laid still on her chest and her breathing released a slow hiss when it left her nose. Tons of little wires went from one device to another, some spitting liquid in and from the body on the bed. It looked like she didn’t even notice, her somewhat peaceful sleep was deep and most likely medically induced.

Dan shot Phil a glance that meant more than comfort. He tried to tell Phil that he was so sorry. So sorry that this was happening. So sorry that Phil had to go through this tragic process.

“M-Mum?” Phil’s voice shook when he spoke, as if he would break her fragile ears with his tender tone. He sat himself in the chair that was clearly there for him and him only, grabbing his mother’s hand with the softest of touches. “Mum can you hear me?”

Dan wasn’t about to say anything at all, but he wondered how conscious his mother actually was. Phil hadn’t told him much about her state and how lucid she was at this stage of the cancer. He watched and was actually a little startled when his mum’s darkened eyes opened slowly in Phil’s direction.

And that’s when Dan saw the resemblance. She had the same eyes. Blue and bright and full of life. Dan’s heart sank when he realized that Phil had once seen her when she mimicked this trait all over. Her heart monitor beeped, signaling a change in pace.

“Oh Phil…honey…” Her voice was like rust on glass, painful to listen to but impossible not to hear. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Mum. I’m really good,” Phil answered, his voice broken and his lip was quivering.

“You look like you haven’t…” She took a breath. “…slept.”

“I have. Don’t worry. I’m okay.” Phil looked down at the hand he was holding, the frail and boney one that was nearly half the size of his own. “I’ve brought someone today that I’d like you to meet.”

Dan froze.

“His name is Dan and I work with him,” Phil explained, reaching for Dan who was standing as far out of the way as possible. “Come here, Dan. Come meet my mum.”

Dan smiled and inched toward’s Phil and his mum who was now turning her head an inch so that she could see him. Her face that was looking so dearly at Phil, mustered an expression of joy when her eyes landed on Dan’s features.

“Why he looks just like Sa-” She coughed, nodding and letting it pass. “Samuel.” Phil laughed a little, the blush on his face prominent. “Are you sure you didn’t write him yourself?”

Dan didn’t know why it hadn’t dawned on him before. Of course Phil’s mum read Phil’s books. She was probably a bigger fan than Dan was. And she most likely knew that Phil was Striker. So this was not just a reference to Phil’s novels, his mother was calling him out as his boyfriend.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lester,” Dan bowed his head a little and she seemed delighted. “I’ve heard so many great things about you.”

“Are you taking good care of…my son?” She asked, her breath running short towards the end of the sentence.

“I sure am. Don’t worry,” Dan nodded. He wasn’t lying. Phil was in the right hands. At least Dan hoped he was.

Phil’s mum turned back over to Phil and she closed her eyes.

“Phil…” She breathed, the monitor alerting everyone that her heart was slowing. “Phil I like him.”

Phil was smiling but there were tears rolling down his cheeks and he was wiping them as fast as he could with his other hand. The blue of his eyes seemed to pop when the rest of his face was so red.

“Me too, Mum…me too.”

“I love you so much, Darling…” She coughed. “I lo-” She coughed again, her hand grasping at her chest.

“I love you too, Mum…I love you so much.”

Dan felt like he shouldn’t be here for this moment. Like he had walked in on an extremely intimate scene that he was not supposed to witness. But then Phil glanced at Dan with eyes brimmed with tears and he knew he had to be here. Phil needed him now more than ever so he sat in the chair next to Phil’s and rubbed Phil’s back as he talked to his mother.

“Promise me…” She breathed. “…you’ll keep writing.”

Phil nodded, his thumb rubbing over his mother’s withering hand.

“Don’t cry, Dear…” She reached up with her shaky hand, wiping a tear from Phil’s cheek. “I want to see you s-…” Her hand dropped to the bed. “…smile.”

“Mum-” Phil started, his voice breaking.

“Please, Philly. Smile for me?” Her voice was barely a whisper. It sounded like a gust of wind that could be words if you really listened.

Phil could do nothing but wipe his tears with his jacket sleeve and he smiled for his mother who watched with a faint smile of her own.

“You have such a beautiful…” A cough escaped her lips and it was barely a puff of air. “…smile.”

And that’s when it happened. Phil’s mum’s heart monitor screeched with a signal of what Dan assumed was the end. Phil’s mum’s eyes had closed and her hand fell limp in Phil’s grasp. Phil’s smile, as forced as it was, was long gone. All that was left were heart-wrenching sobs that filled the room while the nurses came rushing in. It was obvious that there was nothing to be done and Dan could only watch as Phil broke down on top of his incredibly beautiful mother.

Wearing a suit and tie was usually reserved for fancy events. Events that required a little sultry and grace. But a funeral was the only event that made a suit look drab. Dan fixed his tie and glanced at his appearance in the mirror. Most joked that his wardrobe was much like a walking funeral but when it came time to actually mourn the death of someone close, it never felt that he was comfortably dressed.

He left his apartment and took a cab to Phil’s. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with strangers asking why he was dressed up. It wasn’t even his mother and he felt like it was too personal.

Phil had cried for hours after they left the hospital. He was a wreck and Dan couldn’t blame him. He had been close with his mother and losing her was probably the most painful thing he could have ever imagined. But Dan was there for him, if not only because he promised Phil’s mum, but because he loved the boy and it hurt him to see Phil this way.

But Phil’s brother had flown in to be with Phil before the funeral and Dan hadn’t seen Phil in two days. Phil had explained how his brother was a very busy man who ran multiple companies and four separate websites. He didn’t have a lot of time to come visit their mother, but apparently if he had known she was in such bad shape, he would have come sooner. Phil didn’t blame Martyn for any of it, he just needed someone there to talk him through all the paperwork. Someone who might know what to do more than Dan would. Martyn sounded like he was collected and organized – the perfect man for the job.

But today was the funeral and of course, Dan was going to be next to Phil the entire day. He couldn’t imagine the pain that Phil was going through. If he and his presence at a morbid event cheered up the love of his life, then he was there in a heartbeat.

Funerals always felt like they lasted forever and with Phil sobbing on his shoulder during the entire ceremony, it was a wonder he had the energy for the post funeral reception that was apparently occurring at Phil’s house.

Dan had learned that Phil’s mum did indeed live with Phil. Her room was on the main floor and that’s why Phil was pretty much secluded to the basement. Unless he needed to cook or leave the house, he had everything he needed down there. It made perfect sense that the reception would be held around all of his mother’s objects. This way, the family members could all gather and collect what was most important to them.

Dan, however, did not expect to lose Phil halfway through the party, only to find him curled on his bed, much like he had been curled on his own only a week and a half prior.

“Phil…” Dan said, his softest voice activated, his tone no harsher than a child’s. “Phil are you okay?”

Phil shook his head and Dan swallowed.

“Aw…come here.” Dan collected the broken man into his arms and he could feel his heart pound woefully in his chest for the weeping man. “I’m so sorry, Phil. I’m so so sorry.”

Phil cried into Dan’s leg for some time, his tears threatening to ruin Dan’s suit, but that was the least of his worries. His one goal was to give Phil everything he needed today. Today and forever.

But hiding in the basement could only last so long when you’re hosting a reception. Eventually, the two were called up for a family meeting that Dan was allowed to sit in for. It was basically just Phil, his brother and a few of his cousins, there to discuss the contents of Catherine’s will. It was extraordinarily uncomfortable for Dan, and Phil didn’t look like he was enjoying it any more. But Dan was there for him and that was what mattered.

When it was time for everyone to leave, Dan said goodbye to Phil and trusted that Phil’s brother would take care of him for a couple days. His brother was staying for a little while – or only until Phil felt like he could handle himself. Dan didn’t want to leave, but he figured it was best. Phil needed the time with family.

But that proved to be one of the biggest mistakes of Dan’s life.

He kissed Phil goodbye and then headed back to his own flat where he got a good night’s rest. He sure as hell wished he had known that would be the last one for a while.

“He what?” Dan asked Louise as she stood before him a couple weeks later. “Did he tell you why?”

“He called and quit. That’s all he said. Dan, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t seen him,” Louise said, her voice full of sorrow.

Dan had been trying to reach Phil for two weeks now and the boy hadn’t even turned on his phone. Christmas had come and passed and the new year had begun. Phil’s phone had gone straight to voicemail each and every time. He messaged him on Facebook and got nothing. He even tried contacting Phil’s brother who told him he had left a day after the holiday. Phil was MIA and Dan was starting to get worried.

He wasn’t proud, but he ended up going to Phil’s house that night and he knocked for a full hour. He got nothing. Not even a shuffle from inside. He even went down to Phil’s window in the basement and knocked on that for a while. But there was nothing.

Dan sulked back home, walking the entire way with a sinking feeling.

With updates every now and then from Phil’s brother, telling him that yes, Phil was still alive, Dan went a month and a half without seeing him. He continued to work at The Brew Bean because he needed the money for rent, but he would go home with a frown each and every day.

The worst part about all of this, was that he couldn’t even read his favorite books. Even Striker was no comfort to a loss like this.

Dan understood why Phil needed his time away. Mourning someone was an excruciating process that Dan couldn’t even begin to understand. He had never lost anyone so dear in his life. But Dan was a person as well and even though his pain was nowhere close to Phil’s right now, he felt as though he was mourning a Lester as well. Phil had left his life so suddenly and with every ounce of his being, he wanted to comfort his soulmate from the destruction he was surely facing.

Their relationship was like nothing he had ever experienced. Such passion and adventure was something he only read in Phil’s novels and now that he had a taste, it was painful to think he might never take another bite again.

“With passionate romance came tragic heartbreak.”

A quote that Phil had coined himself in his third book. The only one Dan could bear to read right now. It was all about Striker’s struggle with being away from Samuel. If only he could read the other side. The one where Samuel is left at home while the love of his life is battling demons.

Much like Phil was doing now.

One month turned to two and one day while he was running a very simple yet important errand, his eyes caught a beautifully decorated gold and black book that rested on the “New Releases” pile of Dan’s favorite bookstore. It wasn’t every day that a book actually fit his aesthetic. He sauntered over to it and his eyes nearly popped from his spinning head.

This was a new novel written by nobody other than Phil Lester.

Dan had never bought a book that fast. He contemplated stealing it but that wouldn’t be good for Phil’s sales. He practically ran to the nearest restaurant, he didn’t even care that it was a fancy one that only served wine and overpriced cheese, he ordered the first thing he saw on the menu and turned the book over so he could read the back.

Striker gears up for his next adventure, this time with his trusty companion Samuel. But when disaster strikes in his own backyard, Striker finds that first he must slay the demons inside him before going out and tackling everyone else’s. How will Samuel help Striker on this more than personal adventure of the heart and soul? Can Striker save himself and Samuel from what dwells beneath the skin of his own flesh? What happens when Striker is taken over by the hideous monster inside? Will Samuel be able to save him or will the job prove too much?

Dan could not believe what he was reading. Not only had Phil produced a book in only two months, it had a much different vibe than the rest of his fiction. This one was dark. Even the book itself screamed it’s morbid nature. Phil was crying for help and this book was the start of Dan’s ability to help.

So he cracked the spine of the book and started to read.

Once the book was finished and he tipped the confused waitstaff an enormous amount of money for sitting at the same table for 5 hours, he was out the door and running. Dan couldn’t even remember the last time he ran. It must have been back when he was still in school and his teachers had forced him. But as his hair flopped about and his desire to reach the author of this stunning book increased, he let his pace match. He ran past people and objects and couldn’t even care that his legs burned from the use. He must have ran two miles at least, his forehead beading with the sweat he shed.

When he reached Phil’s residence, he was out of breath and clutching the novel to his chest. He didn’t care how long it took Phil to come to the door, he was coming outside and they were going to talk. Dan was not going to give up that easily.

“Phil!” He knocked loudly with a strong fist. “I know you’re in there! Please! Open up!”

There was nothing, as expected, and Dan just kept knocking.

Soon, he was sitting on the stoop like some sort of crazy human being, knocking at the bottom of the door like it was life or death.

When night fell and dark had cascaded against the London city, he sat clutching the book and contemplating everything. He opened the book to the last page and read the last paragraph again, gaining some comfort from Phil’s words - as always.

Samuel took a breath and cut the head from the last demon, saving Striker once and for all. His lover lied beneath him with a breathless gaze. Samuel had saved his life. He owed everything to the man that was now collecting him in his arms.

“Thank you…” Striker mumbled, his heart beating faster and his lips drawing closer to Samuel’s.

“You can’t tackle your demons on your own, Striker…” He spoke softly and kindly, his brown eyes sparkling with wonder. “But don’t worry. I’ll be here and we can tackle them together.”

Dan hummed in appreciation and he let a few tears fall from his eyes. He knew Phil was miserable without him. If this book was anything to go by, he needed Dan more than Dan thought.

“Please, Phil…” He knocked at the foot of the door a few more times with his swollen fists. “Please, Phil. Let me in.”

As if Phil sniffed Dan’s desperate pleas, the ones right before he would inevitably give up, the lock on the door shifted. Dan was a fool and jumped, getting startled by the sudden change. He scrambled to his feet and kept the book tight against his pounding chest as if it would contain his beating heart.

And when Phil finally opened the door, Dan’s heart melted. He was just as beautiful as Dan remembered – not like that could ever change – but the blue had mellowed from Phil’s eyes and there was something so foreign about his gaze. Dan couldn’t tell if it had changed or if he just couldn’t remember. But either way, Dan wasn’t ever leaving Phil’s side again.

“Hey…” Phil said, his voice quiet and his glance pleaded for Dan to forgive him. If Dan knew anything about Phil, it was that he felt bad about the pain he caused anyone. He probably knew how painful it was for Dan to stand here and see Phil for the first time in two months. He probably knew how painful it was to leave Dan. Because he was dealing with the same pain right now. Dan could see it in his eyes.

Wasting no more time, Dan unclenched the book from his chest and held it out for Phil to see.

“Will you sign my copy?”

Not even he recognized his quiet voice and when Phil saw his hesitant smile, he let one escape his lips as well.

“I’ll do you one better…” Phil reached inside and grabbed something from the table next to the door. “How about the original draft?”

Dan’s chin quivered and the tears were rolling down his cheeks when he saw what Phil had done. On the front of the stack of papers, Phil had taken a red pen to the title: “Samuel and Striker’s Adventure Within” and replaced the names to Dan and Phil.

He stepped inside, not even waiting for an invitation and he grabbed Phil by the waist, connecting their lips. He didn’t even care when he tasted the salt from their tears combined. This was where he belonged. Right by Phil’s side. No matter what.

“Phil?” Dan pulled away, still merely inches from his boyfriend’s lips, his brown eyes sparkling with wonder.

“Hm?”

“You can’t tackle your demons on your own.”

[scifrey]

Improbable Press put out a call asking fan fiction authors how they went from Free to Fee. Here’s my response. Happy reading!

The Story of How I Started Selling Stories

My parents, teachers, and acting/singing coaches will all tell you that I've always been a story teller. For the first twenty four years of my life, I was determined to do so through musical theatre, though I had always secretly harbored the desire to write a hit stage play. My early writing consisted of plays for my friends and I to put on, interspersed with prose that I supposed would one day become a novel, but which wasn't my passion.

I was a big reader, but where this habit came from, I'm not certain. While my mother always had a book on the go - whatever crumbling paperback law thriller or murder mystery she'd been handed by the woman down the street when she was done it, which was then passed on to the next neighbor - my father and brothers preferred sports (either on TV or outside in the yard) over reading. I stumbled into fantasy and science fiction because Wil Wheaton was hot, and his show was on every Friday night, and from there I consumed every Star Trek tie-in novel my tiny rural library carried, then started following the authors of the novels into their other worlds and series.

So you won't be surprised to learn that this was how I found fan fiction for the first time. My "I love this, gee, I wonder what else there is?" muscle was well developed by junior high, and before the internet had come to The Middle Of Nowhere Rural Ontario, I had already gotten quite adept at search keywords and codexes to track down more books to consume.  Imagine my shock and joy when, in the middle of my Phantom of the Opera phase (come on, fess up, you had one too), the internet in my school library told me about not only Fredrick Forsyth and Susan Kay's stunning re-tellings, but of something called fan fiction.

I wasted a lot of the librarian's ink and paper printing out these books and secreting them into binders and pretending to do school work at my desk or backstage between scenes. A lot. And yes, I still have most of them.

And as we all well know, the jump between reading and writing is a short when one is submerged so fully in communities of creators. Everyone else's "What If" rubs off on you, and it's just a matter of time before you find yourself playing with the idea of coaxing a few plot bunnies over to spend some time with you. Not everyone loves to write, but gosh darn it, if you want to give it a try, then you couldn't ask for a better, more supportive community. It doesn't matter how new you are to it, everyone reads, everyone comments, everyone makes suggestions. People beta read. People edit. People co-write. People cheer, and support, and recommend, and enthuse. Yeah, there are the occasional jerks, flammers, and wank-mongers, but on the whole? There's literally no better place to learn how to be a writer than in fandom, I firmly believe this.

So, of course, born storyteller that I am, I had to give it a try.

I started writing fan fiction in 1991 for a small, relatively obscure Canadian/Luxembourg co-pro children’s show called Dracula: the Series.  I used to get up and watch it on Saturday mornings, in my PJs, before heading off to whichever rehearsal or read through or practice I had that year.

1995 brought the English dub of Sailor Moon to my life, (and put me on the path to voice acting), and along with a high-school friend, I wrote, printed out, illustrated, and bound my first “book” – a self-insert story that was just over eleven pages long, which introduced new Scouts based on us.  From there, I didn’t really stop.

1996 led me to Forever Knight and Dragon Ball Z, and from there to my friend’s basement where they’d just installed the internet. We chatted with strangers on ICQ, joined Yahoo!Groups and Bravenet Chat Boards. (Incidentally, a friend from my DBZ chat group turned out to be a huge DtS fan, too. We wrote a big crossover together which is probably only accessible on the Wayback Machine now. We stayed friends, helped each other through this writing thing, and now she’s Ruthanne Reid, author of the popular Among the Mythos series.)  In 2000 I got a fanfiction.net account and never looked back.

In 2001, while in my first year of university for Dramatic Arts, I made my first Real Live fandom friends. We wrote epic-length self-insert fics in Harry Potter and Fushigi Yuugi, cosplayed at conventions (sometimes using the on-campus wardrobe department’s terrifyingly ancient serger), and made fan art and comics in our sketchbooks around studying for our finals and writing essays on critical theory or classical Latin.  I was explaining the plot of the next big fic I was going to write to one of them, an older girl who had been my T.A. but loved Interview with the Vampire just as dearly as I, when she said, “You know, this sounds really interesting. Why don’t you strip all the fandom stuff out of the story and just write it as a novel?”

You can do that? was my first thought.

No! I don’t want to! Writing is my fun hobby. What will happen if I try to be a writer and get rejected by everyone and I end up hating it? was my second.

But the seed was planted.  Slowly at first, and then at increasingly obsessive pace, I began writing my first novel around an undergrad thesis,  fourth-year  essays,  several other big fanfics that popped me into the cusp of BNF status but never quite over the tine, and then a move to Japan to teach English. From 2002-2007 I wrote about 300 000 words on the novel that I would eventually shut away in my desk drawer and ignore until I published on Wattpad under my pseudonym on a lark. It was messy. It was long. It was self-indulgent and blatantly inspired by Master of Mosquiton, Interview with the Vampire, Forever Knight, and anything written by Tanya Huff, Laurell K. Hamilton, and Charlaine Harris. This was fine for fanfic, but in terms of being comfortable with presenting it to agents and publishing houses, I felt that it wasn’t original enough.

By this time I was teaching overseas, and in my spare time (and boy, was there a lot of spare time while sitting in a Japanese teacher’s office for 40 hours per week when one only actually teaches for 11 of them) I started applying to MA programs (where I eventually wrote my thesis on Mary Sue Fan Fiction). I also spent it researching “How to Get Published”, mostly by Googling it and/or buy/reading the few books on the topic in English I could find at the local book store or order from the just-then-gaining-international traction online bookstore Amazon.

What that research mostly told me was “Write and sell a bunch of short fiction first, so you have proof that a) you can do the work and b) you can finish what you promise you’ll finish and c) you have proof that other people think you’re worth spending money on.”

Short fiction. Huh. Of course we’d studied short stories in school, and I’d even taken a short story writing class in university, though nothing I’d written for the class was indicative of the kinds of stories I preferred to tell. But I felt pretty confident about this whole writing short stories thing… after all, I’d been doing weekly challenges for years. Drabbles. Flashfic. Stories and chapters that were limited to the word count cap that LiveJournal put on its posts. I’d written novellas without knowing that’s what they were called; I’d written whole novels about other people’s characters. All I needed was an idea. Short fiction I could do.

Unfortunately, everything that came to me was fanfic inspired. It frustrated me, because I didn’t want to write a serial-numbers-filed-off story. I wanted to write something original and epic and inspiring. Something just mine. I started and stopped a lot of stories in 2006-2007. I’d been doing NaNoWriMo for years by then, having been introduced to it in undergrad, and I was determined that this would be the year that I wrote something I could shop. Something just mine. Something unique.

While I adored fanfiction, I was convinced that I couldn't make a career on it.  What had once been a fun hobby soon because a source of torment. Why could I think of a hundred ways to write a meet-cute between my favorite ships, but come up utterly blank when it came to something new and original and just mine?

It took me a while to realize that my playwriting and short story teachers had been correct when they said that there are no original stories in the world, no way you can tell a tale that someone else hasn’t already tried. The "Man vs." list exists for a reason.

The unique part isn’t your story, it’s your voice. Your lived life, your experiences, your way of forming images and structuring sentences. Your choices about who the narrator character is, and what the POV will be, and how the characters handle the conflict. In that way, every piece of writing ever done is individual and unique, even the fanfic. Because nobody is going to portray that character’s quirk or speech pattern quite like you do, nobody is going to structure your plot or your imagery like you. Because there is only one of you. Only one of me. Even if we're all writing fanfiction, no one's story sounds like anyone else's,  or is told like anyone else's.

That is the reality of being a storyteller.

And strangely enough, the woman who opened my eyes to this was a psychic from a psychic fair I attended, who told me that Mark Twain was standing over her shoulder admonishing me to stop fretting and just get something on the page – but to never forget character. My strength, she said that he said, was in creating memorable, well written, well rounded characters. And that my book should focus on that above concerns of plot or pacing.

Well, okay. If Mark Twain says that’s what my strength is, then that’s what my strength is, right? Who am I to argue with the ghost of Mark Freaking Twain?

An accident with a bike and a car on a rice patty left me immobile for six weeks in 2006, and I decided that if I was finally going to write this original short story to sell – especially since I would need income, as the accident made it obvious that I would never be able to dance professionally, and probably would never be able to tread the boards in musicals – now was the perfect time. I was going to stop fighting my fannish training and write.

I cherry picked and combined my favorite aspects of Doctor Who, Stargate: Atlantis, Torchwood, The Farm Show/The Drawer Boy, and my own melancholy experiences with culture shock and liminal-living in a foreign culture, and wrote a novella titled (Back). It was a character study of a woman named Evvie who, through an accident of time travel, meets the future version of her infant daughter Gwen. And realizes she doesn’t like the woman her daughter will become. It was a story about accepting people for who they are, instead of who you wish they would be, and had a strong undercurrent of the turbulence I was going through in trying to figure out my own sexuality and that I wouldn't have the future in performance that I had been working toward since I was four.

Deciding that I would worry about where I would try to publish the story after it had been written, I sat down and wrote what ended up being (at least for me) a pretty standard-length fanfic: 18,762 words. It was only after I had finished the story that I looked up what category that put it in – Novella. Using paying  reputable markets, like Duotrope, the Writer’s Digest, MSFV, Absolute Write, SFWA, my local Writer’s Union, Writer Beware, I realized that I had shot myself in the foot.

It seems like nearly nobody publishes novellas anymore. SF/F and Literary Fiction seem to be the last two bastions of the novella, and the competition to get one published is fierce.  The markets that accepted SF/F novellas was vanishingly thin I had to do a lot of Googling and digging to figure out who I could submit to with an unagented/unsolicited SF/F novella. If I recall correctly, it was only about ten publications. I built an excel database and filled it with all the info I found.

I put together a query letter and sent it off using my database to guide me. Most of the rejections were kind, and said that the story was good, just too long/too short/ too sci-fi-y/not sci-fi-y enough. Only one market offered on it – for $10 USD. Beggers couldn’t be choosers, even if I had hoped to make a little more than ten bucks, and I accepted.

It was a paid professional publication, and that’s what mattered to me. I had the first entry on my bibliography, and something to point to in my query letters to prove that I was a worthy investment for a publisher/agent.

And energized by this, and now aware that length really does matter, even in online-only publications, I started writing other shorts to pad out my bibliography more.

I tried to tailor these ones to what my research told me the "mainstream industry" and "mainstream audiences" wanted, and those stories? Those were shot down one after the other. I was still writing fanfiction at the time, too, and those stories were doing well, getting lots of positive feedback, so why weren’t my stories?

In 2007 I returned to Canada and Academia, frustrated by my lack of sales, desperate to kick off my publishing career, and feeling a creative void left by having to depart theatre because of my new difficulties walking. I wrote my MA, and decided that if (Back) was the only original story that people liked, then I’d try to expand it into a novel.

Over the course of two years I did my coursework, and  read everything there was to read about how to get a book deal, started hanging out in writer’s/author’s groups in Toronto and met some great people who were willing to guide me, and expanded (Back) into the novel Triptych. I kept reminding myself what Mark Twain said – character was my strength, the ability to make the kind of people that other writers wanted to write stories about, a skill I’d honed while writing fanfic. Because that's what we do, isn't it? Sure, we write fix-its and AUs and fusions and finish cancelled shows, and fill in missing scenes, but what we're all really doing is playing with characters, isn't it? Characters draw us to fanfic, and characters keep us there. Characters is what we specialize in.

Fanfic had taught me to work with a beta reader, so I started asking my fic betas if they'd like a go at my original novel. Fellow fanfic writers, can I just say how valuable editors and beta readers in the community are? These are people who do something that I've paid a professional editor thousands of dollars to do for free out of sheer love. Treasure your beta readers, folks. Really.

“It reminds me a lot of fan fiction,” one reader said. “The intense attention to character and their inner life, and the way that the worldbuilding isn’t dumped but sprinkled in an instance at a time, like, you know, a really good AU. I love it.”

Dear Lord. I couldn’t have written a better recommendation or a more flattering description if I’d tried. Mark Twain was right, it seems. And fanfic was the training ground, for me – my apprenticeship in storytelling.

Of course... what Mr. Twain hadn't explained is that character-study novels just don't sell in SF/F. They say Harry Potter was rejected twelve times? HA. I shopped Triptych to both agents and small presses who didn't require you to have an agent to publish with them, and I got 64 rejections. Take that, J.K.

At first the rejection letters were forms and photocopied "no thanks" slips. But every time I got feedback from a publisher or agent, I took it to heart, adjusted the manuscript, edited, tweaked, tweaked, tweaked. Eventually, the rejections started to get more personal. "I loved this character, but I don't know how to sell this book." And "I really enjoyed the read, but it doesn't really fit the rest of our catalogue." And "What if you rewrote the novel to be about the action event that happens before the book even starts, instead of focusing solely on the emotional aftermath?"

In other words - "Stop writing fanfiction." There seemed to be a huge disconnect between what the readership wanted and what the publishing world thought they wanted.

Disheartened, frustrated, and wondering if I was going to have to give up on my dreams of being a professional creative, I attended Ad Astra, a convention in Toronto, in 2009. At a room party, complaining to my author friends that "nobody wanted my gay alien threesome book!" a woman I didn't know asked me about the novel. We chatted, and it turned out she was the acquisitions editor for Dragon Moon Press, and incidentally, also a fan of fan fiction.

I sent her Triptych. She rejected it. I asked why. She gave me a laundry list of reasons. I said, "If I can address these issues and rewrite it, would you be willing to look at it again?" She said yes. She was certain, however, that I wouldn't be able to fix it. I spent the summer rewriting - while making sure to stay true to my original tone of the novel, and writing a character-study fanfiction. I sent it in the fall. I do believe it was Christmas eve when I received the offer of publication.

From there, my little fic-inspired novel was nominated for two Lambda Literary Awards and a CBC Bookie, was named one of the best books of 2011 by the Advocate, and garnered a starred review and a place on the Best Books Of The Year at Publishers Weekly.

The award nominations led me to an agent, and further contracts, and even conversations with studio execs. It also made me the target of Requires Only That You Hate, and other cranky, horrible reviewers. But you know what? I've had worse on a forum, and on ff.n, and LJ. It sucked, and it hurt, but if there's one thing fandom has taught me, it's that not everyone is going to love what you do, and not everyone interprets things the same way you do. The only thing we can do is learn from the critique if it's valid and thoughtful, and ignore the screaming hate and bullying. Then you pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and go write something else.

 Because a screaming hater? Is not going to ruin my love of storytelling.

But for all that... the day someone made me fan art based on Triptych is one etched in my memory. It means far more to me than any of the emails I ever received inquiring about representation or film rights, or wanting meetings to discuss series.

The lesson I learned from publishing Triptych  - now sadly out of print, but we're looking for a new home for it - is that if I chase what the "mainstream" and the "industry" want, I'll never write anything that sells because my heart won't be in it. I have to keep writing like a fanficcer, even if I'm not writing fanfic, if I want to create something that resonates with people. And if it takes time for the publishers and acquiring editors to figure out what I'm doing, and how to sell it, then fine - I have an agent on my side now, and a small growing number of supporters, readers, and editors who love what I do.

Do I still write fanfic? Very, very rarely. I’ve had some pretty demanding contracts and deadlines in the last two years, so I’ve had to pare down my writing to only what’s needed to fulfill my obligations. Doesn’t mean I don’t have ideas for fics constantly.

Sometimes the urge is powerful enough that I do give into it – I wrote To A Stranger, based on Mad Lori’s Performance in a Leading Role Sherlock AU recently, when I should have been writing the second and third novels of The Accidental Turn Series. And even more recently, I cleaned up To A Stranger  into something resembling a real screenplay and started shopping it around to film festivals and producers because I love this story, I love what I did with it, and I’m proud of the work. If To A Stranger is only ever a fanfic, that’s fine with me. I poured my heart into it and am so proud of it. But I figure that if there’s one more project I could possibly get into the real world, then why not go for it?

The worst thing the festival heads and producers can say about the work is: “No, thank you.” And being an online writer has taught me not to take the “no, thank you”s personally. Applying the values of Don’t Like Don’t Read or Not My Kink to your publication/agent search makes it much easier to handle the rejections – not every story is for every person.

Maybe once every producer in North America has rejected it, I might think about working with someone to adapt the screenplay into an illustrated comic fanbook? Who knows?

That’s the joy of starting out as a writer in fandom – felixibility, adaptability, creative problem-solving and cross-platform storytelling comes as naturally as breathing to us fan writers. It’s what we do.

You may not think that this is a strength, but trust me, it is. I was never so shocked at an author’s meetup as when I suggested to someone that their “writer’s block” sounded to me like they were telling the story in the wrong format. “I think this is a comic, not a novel,” I’d said. “It sounds so visual. That's why the story is resisting you.” And they stared at me like I suddenly had an extra head and said, “But I’m a novelist.” I said, “No, you’re a writer. Try it.” They never did, as far as I know, and they never finished that book, either.

As fans, our strength isn't just in what we write, or how we come to our stories. It’s also about the physical practice of writing, too. We’re a group of people who have learned to carry notebooks, squeeze in a few hundred words between classes, or when the baby is napping, or during our lunch breaks, or on commute home. This is our hobby, we fit it in around our lives and jobs, and that has taught us the importance of just making time.

We are, on average, more dedicated and constant writers than some of the “novelists” that I’ve met: the folks who wait for inspiration to strike, who quit their day jobs in pursuit of some lofty ideal of having an office and drinking whiskey and walking the quay and waiting for madam muse to grace them, who throw themselves at MFAs and writing retreats, as if it's the attendance that makes them writers and not the work of it.

We fans are career writers. We don’t wait for inspiration to come to us, we chase it down with a butterfly net. We write when and where we can. More than that, we finish things. (Or we have the good sense to know when to abandon something that isn’t working.) We write to deadlines. Self-imposed ones, even.

We write 5k on a weekend for fun, and think NaNoWriMo’s 50k goal and 1667 words per day are a walk in the park. (When I know it terrifies some of the best-selling published authors I hang out with.) Or if we fans don’t write fast, then we know that slow and steady works too, and we’re willing to stick it out until our story is finished, even if it takes years of weekly updates to do so. We have patience, and perseverance, and passion.

This is what being a fanfiction writer has given me. Not only a career as a writer, but tools and a skill-set to write work that other people think is work awarding, adapting, and promoting. And the courage to stick to my guns when it comes to telling the kinds of stories that I want to tell.

This is what being a fanfiction writer gives us.

Aren’t we lucky, fellow fans? Hasn’t our training been spectacular?

*

J.M. (@scifrey) is a SF/F author, and professional smartypants on AMI Audio’s Live From Studio 5. She’s appeared in podcasts, documentaries, and on television to discuss all things geeky through the lens of academia. Her debut novel TRIPTYCH was nominated for two Lambda Literary Awards,  nominated for a 2011 CBC Bookie, was named one of The Advocate’s Best Overlooked Books of 2011, and garnered both a starred review and a place among the Best Books of 2011 from Publishers Weekly. Her sophomore novel, an epic-length feminist meta-fantasy THE UNTOLD TALE (Accidental Turn Series #1), debuted to acclaim in 2015 and was followed by THE FORGOTTEN TALE (Accidental Turn Series #2) this past December. FF.N | LJ |AO3| Books | Tumblr

[librarified2004]

Here we go again...

This looked like fun. Hijacked from the amazing @the-random-fandom-one, so the actual title of this should be “@dammittmarie, you made me do another survey!”  Reblog with your answers! I want to get more communication going in the writing community here. Answer one, answer some! Answer whatever you want to! 1. What was the first character you ever created? I’ve been writing stories since I could pick up a writing utensil. I think the first character I ever really put a ton of thought into, though, was this character I played in an MMORPG during undergrad. Her name was Lindarian, and her past was tragic: the half-elven child of an illegal union between a mortal and an elf princess, she was basically raised in seclusion only to watch her three older half-brothers and her parents be brutally murdered on her eighteenth birthday. Man, even before I knew what fanfiction was, I knew how to whump a character. 

2. Is there a specific thing that made you want to start writing more? The MMORPG I played as an undergrad and grad student went down for good in about 2005, and after that, I stopped writing stories because there was no reason, really, to further develop that character. I got a job and started doing some professional writing--blogs and reviews and that kind of thing. Then I reconnected with an old friend who had written an entire book, and he started pushing me to do fiction again. I played around with some ideas, even published a short story, before I discovered fanfiction through a professional development class that I had to take. I can’t go back to school for my MFA in creative writing at this point, but I think writing fanfic is saving my sanity as well as giving me a sort of ad hoc, DIY MFA where I work at my own pace and set my own curriculum. Plus, some days it really saves my sanity. In the wise words of Lin-Manuel Miranda, I can pick up a pen and write my own deliverance.

3. Favorite character you’ve ever created? In the short story I published, “Swan Song,” I had this side character who existed simply to be my villain. I didn’t pay him much attention until very late in the creative process, when the editor said the big reveal was too abrupt. (He was right.) So I took that character out to coffee--literally, I took my laptop and a notebook to my favorite coffee place so I could have a distraction-free conversation with him--lit him a smoke (funny thing, I don’t smoke, but literally everyone in that story does and my smoker friends say I got that exactly right), and really, for the first time, tried to get to know him. I knew only the basics, but it turned out he had this whole past (tragic) and motivations that I’d never even seen. Knowing all this didn’t just change the reveal, it pivoted the entire story, and when I sat down to rework that reveal, the words just poured out. It turned out that he was rather an anti-villain and he ended up in an awesome place--if I ever write a sequel to that story, it will be his to tell. Nik, the villain of “Swan Song,” is my favorite because he taught me to look deeper, love harder, and never have a character unless you’ve taken the time to know them all the way down to their shoe size. 

4. Do your stories tend to have only a few characters or a lot?

As few as possible. In fact, I kind of freak out a little bit when I realize I need another character to serve some purpose. 

5. Do you sit down and plan out your worlds or just let them build themselves as you write?

Some of both, really. I tend to write a lot of fanfiction exchanges (or at least, that’s what gets published), and I always do a thorough canon review before I start plotting so I can get voices and world-building details right. My one published original short story is set in Moscow during WWII, and I did a bunch of research on that setting and time period before I went in, but I never really tried to force anything to fit. Interestingly, during revisions, I was able to go back and add date stamps to certain plot points based on my historical research. But  that story also has a magic twist to it (it was for a fantasy anthology) and the magic part just came to me, no building required. 

6. Do you ever meet people and want to write about them? Fictional characters, all the time. I love writing missing scenes. I don’t put much of real-life people into my characters (but I totally could--I work in a public library. Public libraries are literally the last remaining free resource in this country and my job is madness.)

7. What kind of environment do you do most of your writing in? Music or no music? Loud or quiet? In private or wherever? Depends on the day and the story. I have a novel in progress (which will never be finished, probably) and for that I have entire playlists of music for each character. But if there’s music, there can’t be words in a language I can understand, because I will end up singing along. No TV or movies, because I end up watching instead of writing. I like my backyard, and even better, my parents’ backyard. But when all else really fails, I’ll jot out whatever in the notes on my phone. I’m picky, but not picky at all. And if I’m on deadline, I will make that deadline come hell or high water or plague or fire or mass destruction.

8. Do the people in your life ever read what you write, or do you tend to not show them? Not fanfiction. I’m very, very protective of my writing in general. My mom was an English teacher (in fact, she was MY English teacher in tenth grade), and even when I was an undergrad getting my B.A. in English comp, she read all my essays with a red pen (after they’d been graded--and I graduated with a 4.0 in my major!). When I published my original short, she was so proud--and then she pointed out a glaring continuity mistake I had missed in about nine million rounds of editing. When I read my own stuff, I only see the mistakes, so I’m also shy about showing it to anyone else. That said, I have about a million partial fics rotting on my hard drive, phone notes, and Google docs, so someone might want to go after them if I ever shuffle off this mortal coil. 

9. What inspires you? Oh my, so much. Music, other people’s stories, history, walks in the woods, the way the lights in the children’s room at the library change color. Literally everything. Probably the better question is who pushes me, and the answer to that is @dammittmarie, who got me into the school’s Dead Poets Society in undergrad (we met at midnight in the basement of the library and damn, we were cool) and the beautiful @rain-and-roses-in-the-city, who puts up with my crazy ideas, my headcanons, lets me play in her sandbox, and sometimes has even seen the partial stories I talked about earlier. 

10. What’s the weirdest character you’ve ever created? Don’t really have one.

11. What’s the most boring character you’ve ever created? All of them, it feels like sometimes :)

12. Do you name your background characters? Do you even have them? I learned a hard lesson about knowing my characters, so now, if I can’t flesh them out, they don’t appear. 

13. Are you one of the writers who writes in symbolism and specifically thinks about things like the color of a hat or that kind of thing? Or do you just pick those things at random? Sometimes. Not always.

14. Are there any authors you feel have influenced your style? Published authors, fanfic authors, ect. I learn things from everywhere. My gold standard for plot twists is the end of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, which made me screech out loud on an airplane years ago. I think the Hamilton fandom in particular is full of talent, and the WhamFam especially (you know who you are). And going back to @dammittmarie, she’s the one who made me unashamed of being a whump writer. 

15. Were you a story teller before you could write? Yes! I devoured books as a kid, and handwriting came super hard to me. You couldn’t read my penmanship until I was in junior high, so I learned storytelling in the oral tradition first. 

16. How many characters have you created? Not too many. I tend not to write OCs in fanfiction for fear of them coming out like total, obvious Mary Sues. There are maybe a dozen characters in “Swan Song.”

17. Do your stories tend to take place in the real world or in a fantasy world? Both? Neither?

That depends on the story

18. Do you tend to set your stories in the present or the past or the future? Do you think about when it’s set or does that not factor into the story?

Whatever works on a given day for a given story, I guess. I love, love, love the canon era of Hamilton, but I also like modern AUs if they’re done well. So yeah, whatever works. 

19. What kind of things do you like to write? Poetry? Short stories? Novels? Fanfiction? Children’s Books? Nonfiction? Something else entirely? Fan fiction for pleasure. My professional life includes writing book reviews, blog posts on various topics, and newsletters, so fan fiction is escapism for me.

20. Do you like to do events like NaNoWriMo or the Three Day Novel, or do you prefer to do things at your own pace? Yes and no. In my professional life, I’m a volunteer blogger and reviewer on top of the demands of my day job, so I’m almost always on deadline for something. (Right this second is actually an exception--I wrote two articles this weekend and I’m deadline-free until at least April 1.) I tend to write fan fiction at my own (snail on a strong sedative’s) pace, but I have signed up for NaNoWriMo a few times, and I might do Camp NaNo in April because I have a 5k exchange piece due at the end of the month. And the one piece that I’ve published that wasn’t fan fiction actually got finished because I went to a signing where there were like six people and ended up pouring my heart out to this poor author. I told her I had a story and no idea how to start, and she told me to write 100 words a day for 100 days and tweet her my word count every day. If I missed a day, I had to start over. I made it to 100 days, just over 11,000 words, and that piece is good--you can even buy it on Amazon.