#gonna say the life lesson here is that I shouldn’t be allowed around the public in any capacity

[desceros]

this got longer than i meant it to, so tldr is these young men need to increase their experience bars to catch up to vi, nobody's maxed ??? i guess?? i rambled. uh. ANYHOW; gentle reminder that the boys were not in fact raised like typical humans, they have a very tight-knit social circle that very rarely grows or changes and their outside social interactions tend to be limited to yokai and other mutants just as bizarre as they are. Vi was raised presumably pretty standardly as a human in human society, regardless of the perceived pro-mutant thing given her some flavor. Her expectations are already set, she learned all this socializing biz growing up around other people learning probably around the same time, assuming she had like-aged peers as a kid- doubt that's been considered but if she's written to be neurotypical-coded then that's probably a fair take on her formative years. The boys did not get this social interaction with humans in public spaces and navigating relationships; even homeschooled children get outside to play with the neighborhood kids. They didn't even have yokai until they were 15. April was it until then. She's not exactly typical herself, either, so that's not much opportunity to learn how to treat people properly. all this to say, Leo and Donnie are both making the sort of mistakes you tend to make as kids, when it's less consequential because there's no predetermined expectation. I saw in another ask, Des, you said the bar couldn't be lower and I feel like that was true from the get-go with these boys; Vi's not just the best friend or love interest, she's also probably one of the, if not their very first human friend since adulthood (and no I do not count the Jones pair; one's feral ninja crazy and the other is apocalypse boy wonder, neither raise that bar, i will die on this hill). The boys are both learning character-building life lessons here. I for one am gonna be rooting for Leo to bounce back just as much as Donnie because these are not bad people, just inexperienced dum dums and I for one enjoy watching character growth in progress.

i'm really in a glass house about the Wow This Got Long tirade so you'll have no slings nor arrows from me, lmao

so, in symphony, i've tried to show that there's kind of a. hm. sliding scale of socialization that's happened with the boys. allow me to ramble on in detail since i know it's one of those things i've been perhaps a bit too sneaky about:

on one end of the spectrum, you have mikey. he's the one that goes out to the grocery store while dragging donnie along when he can, he makes friends that come to the party, etc. he's basically integrated at this point, as much as one can be as a ninja turtle that grew up in the sewer.

next you have leo, who i suspect talks to people and interacts with them as the face man, but he's still very sheltered. his sheltering, however, is by choice. hes not very interested in getting to know them. he's very closed off and protective of the hamato secrets, so he doesn't let people in. not unless they're useful.

next comes raph. i think early on, after krang, he probably tried to integrate. but he's, yknow, a huge-ass alligator snapping turtle mutant. he looks scary, and he's aware of how it comes across. he has a lot of encounters where people assume the worst of him. there's one line in chapter 14 that illustrates his stance on the situation, and how he's basically given up hope on the idea of integration:

“Honestly? I dunno. For years, we always lived in the shadows, never lettin’ humans see us ‘cause we didn’t know how they’d react. And now that we know, I wonder sometimes if we shouldn’t just stay down here.”

and finally, at the far end, we have donnie. if it weren't for his touch-aversion, i think he actually would have been next after mikey to integrate. we see him in the show going to april's school in the daytime in just his hoodie, talking to humans easily, and he's comfortable wearing pretty shitty disguises to go topside. but in symphony, because of his trauma (some of which we haven't explored yet i am so, so sorry to tell you), he self isolates so he doesn't have to Deal With People. crowds in particular are a No No, and the boy lives in new york. crowds are kinda hard to avoid. and you are correct! this has been detrimental to his socialization. he doesn't know how to communicate his needs to people. he never had to learn how.

but that's what's so... delicious about writing this fic for me. donnie having to grapple with the fact that he has to meet viola-chan in the middle, and viola-chan grappling with having to meet him in the middle. he needs direct, specific language. she needs authentic, affirming language. they're not mutually exclusive. but they are something that needs to be practiced, and hhhhhh. it's just so much fun to iron out!

[someone-worth-racing-for]

I've made friends here that I really like but they hate Carlos and I can't be openly excited for him it makes me so sad. They keep wishing for him to crash etc I hate it 😔

Well, your message shocked me, anonym. I'm not gonna lie. I have already seen posts about where people discuss that some people here wish drivers bad things to happen, but I have never seen such hate posts before and in my "little, safe world" I have always wanted to believe that this can't be true, people just can't be that stupid. Yeah, I was teached a lesson here from you..

I'm really, really shocked and sad to hear about this and that you are trapped in between your favourite driver (or at least you seem to like Carlos) and your internet friends.

Listen, anonym - if you should feel strong enough for it, then tell them about that you actually like Carlos and even when it's okay that they don't support him, it's still NOT okay that they wish him bad things to happen, like crashing. It's one thing to not like a driver (we all do that - we all like one driver more than the other, you just can't like everyone, it's the same like in life), but it's another thing to wish someone to get injured or even worse. That's really not okay! So, you should better teach them a lesson about that, call them out for their behavior, tell them it's very wrong what they are saying and grow up!

If they are real friends, they will understand your support for a driver they don't like and hopefully they will also stop to say those statements/say less hurtful stuff about Carlos when you are around and maybe they also let you talk about him when you are thrilled about something or also sad, when you want to share something with them.

But if you shouldn't feel ready for that yet, I want to let you know that this right here is a safe place for Carlos' supporters. My inbox is always open for you! You can send me anonym asks about Carlos/your thoughts/fears/feelings/excitement whatever you want any time. You can also send me a DM, when you don't want me to reply to your messages public. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody about your identity nor what we write about.

But most important - don't let anyone tell you who are you allowed to support and who not!

It's your choice, not their and if they won't accept it - maybe it's time for new friends. I know, it sounds harsh, but I also had to get through that last spring, but I would do it again, I don't regret anything.

Just do whatever makes you happy and don't listen to what other people say!

You are not alone ❤️

[soundofseventeen]

Happy Ending Pt. 2 (Lee Seokmin)

So I don’t know when I’ll be able to post part 3 atm, because this is going to be a long week for me, but I figured I’d get part 2 up! I also determined this is going to have 8 parts and then a lil epilogue part (the last part I don’t think will be long enough for a whole part, so it’s gonna be a .5) -Erin

Masterlist

Jun looked up as the door opened, eyebrow raising when he saw who walked into the kitchen. 

“Hello, Your Highness.” He said, catching Seokmin’s attention. “What brings you down here?” 

“Oh, I just uh…” Seokmin looked around the kitchen, walking over to the table Jun was working at. “I just wanted to go over the menu for dinner tonight.” He said, giving Jun a smile. 

“Your mother already did that this morning…” Jun said, Seokmin raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes but… She sent me down to double check for… practice.” He said, glancing at the other side of the kitchen. Jun raised an eyebrow skeptically, but sighed. 

“Okay.” He said, pulling a sheet a paper over and handing it to the prince. “This is what she has approved for dinner tonight.” Jun continued to prep as Seokmin read the paper, nodding his head. 

“Yeah, uh… That looks good.” He said, handing the paper back to Jun. Jun smiled at him, continuing his work. After several seconds, he looked back up at the prince. 

“Is there something else I can help you with?” Jun asked, causing Seokmin to look at him, a little wide eyed. “I don’t mean to kick you out, but there’s a lot to be done here and I’m sure you have a lot to do yourself.” 

“Oh uh… Not really I was just… I was kind of…” Jun raised an eyebrow at the prince, who then let out a sigh. “Okay, I was coming to check on the maid.” 

“The maid?” Jun asked, Seokmin nodding. 

“The one who was in the dining hall today for lunch. She kind of… had an accident today and looked really upset about it so-”

“Oh! You mean Y/N?” Jun said, going back to prepping. 

“...Um… Yeah. She looked upset so I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” 

“Oh, yeah she’s fine. She was really embarrassed about it but she should be okay, so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.” Jun assured the prince, who just nodded. 

“Okay well uh… Okay then.” He said, patting the table. “I guess… Thanks.” He said, waving at Jun before exiting the kitchen. Jun simply shrugged and went back to what he was doing. 

Outside, Seokmin stopped in the hallway, exhaling. “Y/N… Hm.” He said before continuing back to his lessons. 

*

“Well, I’ve officially been moved to general cleaning duty.” You announced that night, walking into the kitchen. Jun looked up from the table, his book laying open in front of him. “Also, I don’t think the head maid trusts you anymore.” 

“Wow, way to ruin my in with her. How will I get to meet the cute new maids now?” You grabbed a grape and threw it at him, which he somehow caught. “Nice try.” 

“You suck.” You laughed, eating a grape yourself. 

“Hey, how’s your brother doing?” Jun asked, raising an eyebrow to you. You shrugged, tossing a grape between your hands. 

“As well as he can be. I’m starting to wonder if he’ll ever be okay again.” You sighed, picking at the skin on the grape, slowly peeling it off. 

“He will, he just needs to adjust to his new life.” Jun said, giving you a smile. “At least you’re done with today.” You exhaled, rolling your eyes. 

“Today was long, and I want to go to sleep, but it’s not done. Now I get to clean.” You said, starting to walk towards the exit. 

“Oh, real quick, the prince was looking for you today.” Jun said, turning back to his book. You stopped and looked at Jun, not sure you heard him right. 

“Who was looking for me?” 

“The prince.” 

“...Yeah, okay. Real funny Jun.” You said, starting to walk again as he turned to you. 

“I’m serious. He wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Wait, really?” You asked, Jun nodding his head. 

“He was down here a couple hours ago.” 

“Why would he do that?” You blinked at him, Jun just shrugging. 

“Beats me. Maybe your incident was more embarrassing than you thought.” 

“Jun.” You sighed, rubbing your head. “Look, I have to go do cleanup from dinner.” 

“Don’t trip and spill the leftover soup on yourself.” Jun looked back at his book. “It’s tomato, it will stain.” 

“Noted.” You shook your head, leaving the kitchens and heading back towards the dining halls. 

*

“No, you go ahead.” You smiled at the other maid in the dining hall with you. “I should be able to handle the rest of this, it’s not that much. You still have other chores tonight. Go.” You grinned, nodding your head towards the door. She nodded her head, leaving with a set of the dishware to bring to the kitchens. 

You sighed to yourself, setting up the rest of the dishes for the next day. You couldn’t believe you only lasted a day actually being in the public of the castle. Not even a day. You last a total of what, 5 hours? You shook your head, setting the dinner plates back in their case. How could this happen? You were so confident and you couldn’t believe that you managed to not only embarrass yourself in front of your boss and coworkers, but in front of the royal family themselves. 

You went to pick up the dishes for breakfast, nearly dropping them when you heard an unfamiliar voice. 

“Do you want some help with that?” You jumped, managed to get a grip on the plates and turning. Your eyes widened as you saw who was standing in the doorway. 

“Your Highness! I-” 

“Here, I can take those.” He smiled, walking forward and taking the plates from you. 

“Oh, I can handle this-”

“But this a dream of mine. I have always wanted to know how exactly the dishware is set up and in what order.” He said, walking towards the table. You gave him a confused look, causing him to chuckle when he looked back at you. “Don’t judge my dreams. Every time I come in here they’re already set. Can you blame me for wanting to know the secrets of the dishes?” You looked over at the hallway, almost positive that if literally anyone walked by and saw the prince setting up the table, you would get in massive trouble. 

“I really can’t-” You started to say, the prince still looking at you. 

“You could though.” He said, nodding towards the door. “Don’t worry, if anyone comes by I’ll take the fall. You won’t get in more trouble.” You sighed, looking at the plates in his hands as he set them on the table. 

“...You have to put a mat down first, Your Highness.” You huffed, grabbing the table mats from the cupboard, holding them up. The prince just blinked at you, looking back at the table. 

“And I’ve already messed up. Excellent.” He laughed, starting to pick up the plates he already set down. 

“It’s not too big of a deal, but these protect the table from scratching.” You walked over to him, setting the three mats down in their respective places. “Forgive me, but shouldn’t you be asleep?” He just shrugged, picking up the remaining plates. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Now, do you have a certain mat for a certain person or just random every day?” He looked at you, a grin on his face. “Like, is there a mat that I get every day?” 

“Not really. We just kind of put them out.” You said, looking over the mats. The prince looked at each of the mats, examining each other. 

“This one has a tear in it.” He commented, holding up the mat that was seated in the queen’s spot. 

“Oh no, I can-” 

“Can this be my mat? You could know it was mine because of the tear.” He said, already switching the mat with the one at his place. 

“...Uh, sure.” You said, putting the plates down. “You know, I can fix that really quickly and then it really would look much nicer.”

“Then how will you know it’s mine?” He looked at you, eyebrow raised. You didn’t have an answer, so you just stared at the prince. “So, what’s next?” 

You walked the prince through how you set up the table, including which forks went where. He kept putting things in the wrong spot, which led you to believe that he really didn’t pay that much attention. After a while though, you started to think he was doing it on purpose, considering the large grin that would be on his face when you would look at him. 

“Well,” The prince said, putting his hands on his hips and looking at the table. “That was very educational, thank you.” He smiled, causing you to chuckle. 

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You shook your head, still very confused. 

“You know, you can use my actual name. It’s not voodoo or anything.” You blinked at the prince, mind blank. 

You didn’t know his name. 

The flipping prince of your kingdom, the future king, the guy who would eventually be in charge, your technical future boss, and you didn’t know his name. 

You just spent a half hour setting a table with him, and you didn’t know his actual name. 

Seeing you stare at him, the prince let out a chuckle. 

“You don’t know what to call me, do you?” You opened and closed your mouth, eventually letting out a huff. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I unfortunately don’t know what to call you otherwise.” To your surprise once again, he just grinned. 

“Seokmin. My name is Seokmin.” 

“I’m still not sure I’m allowed to call you that…” You said, Seokmin just shrugging. 

“Well, it’s up to you then, whatever you feel the situation calls for.” He said, turning to leave the room. “See you around, Y/N. Go get some sleep.” He said before leaving the room, leaving you standing there dumbfounded again. 

How did he know your name?

[obeymematches]

🥀Could I request a matchup? 🥀I’m both an outgoing person but also not an outgoing person, it depends on my mood. Sometimes I love socialize with people and making new friends, cracking jokes with people and making them laugh. Other times, I prefer to keep to myself and stay far away from anyone else. In general, I’d say I’m a decently kind person. Although I’m very keen on saying “overthrow the government” and “anarchy” at least once a day. I’m very opinionated and have very strong opinions, I’m always willing to hear the reasoning for the opinions of people who don’t have the same opinions as me. I find it fun to hear the other sides of a story. I think I’m quite self-aware. I’m aware of my negative personality traits and always try to fix them. I’ve been described as having multiple personalities by my family. Sometimes I’m very loud and childish. Always shouting and always running around to get attention from people. Other times I’m sophisticated and quiet, maybe even pushing up my glasses like an anime character. My mood changes quickly and my persona changes with it is the best way to explain it. I’m quite a friendly person. I like making friends and having friends around most of the time. But I’m also quiet at first, like a mystery. Then people befriend me and I’m just a very lonely and depressed but hyperactive giant that wants to cuddle. 🥀I don’t think I have many hobbies or interests. I think one of the only hobbies I really have is writing. I’m writing a book online with my friend at the moment. It’s set in a medieval-European fantasy world which has always fascinated me. Additionally, I read tarot cards which are surprisingly accurate if I can read them correctly. Most of the time during my readings, my cards are just calling me out on the bad things I’ve done which lowkey hurts but I appreciate it. Speaking of tarot cards, I practice witchcraft. I’m an eclectic witch but I mainly dabble in divination. I also dabble with kitchen witchcraft, candle magick, and deity work. I can play some of the ukulele but I’m self taught. I can play a few songs on it such as “Sweater Weather,” “Can’t help falling in love,” and “Sweet Home Alabama.” 🥀As a romantic partner, I’d say I’m very affectionate. My love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch. I say “I love you” very frequently and I’m very willing to just shout “I love you” to my partner at random times throughout the day even if we’re in public, as long as they’re alright with it. People have boundaries and I respect that. Before going into a relationship, I always ask them questions. “What are some things you want me to know?” “What are some things that make you happy?” “What are some things that make you unhappy?” Sometimes I’ll just ask simple questions like “what’s your favorite genre of books and/or movies?” I’m very keen on getting to know my partner. I like cuddling and would want to stay in bed all morning with my partner if they allowed me to so we can just cuddle. 🥀There’s only 5 main traits I want in a partner and that’s loyal, kind, respectful, responsible, and patient. Someone who’s loyal because I don’t want them to have someone else. Someone who’s kind because I want them to be a good person and maybe make sure that I’m not so negative all the time. Someone who’s respectful because I have my boundaries and they should respect that. Someone who’s responsible because I’m their partner, someone they love. I’m not there to take care of them like a parent, I’m there to love and support them. Someone who’s patient because I have anxiety attacks sometimes. I want someone who understands what they have to do when I’m losing touch with my senses. I want someone who understands me. Most importantly of all, I want someone who loves me and will remind me of that every day. Especially if they have the same love language as me. 🥀Overall, this was really long. Sorry, haha. As a side note, I’ve been a simp for Simeon since the beginning of time so there’s that. Have a good day/night!!🥀

Hii anon!! 

Thank you for sending in a request!! 

I’m gonna keep it real with you, i didn’t know anything about witchcraft and what you mean by some of the expressions used in your request so i did a little research for myself on contemporary neopaganism and some of the other expressions i had no clue about 

 anyways since its a long post see more after the cut!

Ok I have great news, the only person on my mind was Simeon the entire time I read your request so this escalated quickly!

Okay so the fact that you like going out is nice, what’s even better is that you don’t do it all the time. This would be great with Simeon as he isn’t the most out-going, life-of-the-party type of person either so don’t worry. He gets it. 

However sometimes you just have to go somewhere, right? Fortunately or not Simeon has an interesting taste when it comes to picking dates - you would think a bookstore or a picnic would be the ideal date for this man... but the reality is that he likes to go to dangerous places, apparently. So here your knowledge might come to use. 

See, Simeon is great because he gets along with many - like you, he likes to know both sides of stories, so I don’t think you practicing witchcraft would be a deal breaker? i found out that celestial witches exist so i guess this is fine

Simeon would probably be fine regarding your range of personality as well - he is great at reading people, so he will know when he needs to be concerned about you keeping a distance. Though open communication can solve any issues that might arise regarding this, which is highly encouraged to practice in case your first impression came off as opinionated, funny and sociable. 

The fact that you are trying to be your best self is great!! A person who can grow is always the best partner. Something a man like Simeon really appreciates!! You don’t have to be flawless, but being aware of your weaknesses are a good thing. 

^ it shows that you are a mature person and honestly I can’t imagine him with an immature partner 

So anyways befriending the other is going to be easy as both of you are super friendly! things will happen after that just as smoothly

I mean he is also a writer, so you have something in common. The two of you could inspire the other, read each other’s stories, maybe write a story together in the future, etc. 

I’m not sure about his love languages being PA and WoA but we will see about that very soon as the new lessons are coming out. Though love languages shouldn’t be an issue if you have a conversation about the topic. Though I think his love language is also words of affirmartion, if anyone then he is good woth words! Though I think he could probably get used to PA on the long run as well. (not much angel lore is going on in canon yet so this is just my hc) 

oh i see you have questions! these seem like decent and reasonable ones which can make a first date more interesting. (my questions are usually about how much they value a committed relationship so i know how much time and energy i should spend on them. though i ask indirectly, creating hypothetical situations ((like... “lets say hypothetically i just want something physical, like no emotional connection, commitment, whatsoever. would that be an issue?”)) or like “what do you do for growth” because that tells a lot about how we could out-grow the other on the long run) 

Simeon is indeed loyal, kind, patient, respectful and responsible. The number of candidates that have all these traits are low but he is indeed one!! 

These traits are rather self-explanaotry and you explained their importance as well. I think Simeon is definitely patient enough to deal with anxiety attacks. Not just that, but he probably also has knowledge on it. 

It’s also important that you mention that you want to be their partner, not their parent. Sure, several characters can take care of themselves just fine - but it’s important to mention that you wouldn’t have to baby Simeon either. 

[ladymelissaduthe]

challenge #3.5

aka the animal shelter (jackson #4)

a/n: i must say-- writing has been tough for me the past few weeks what with school but I bring yall this fic before stuff goes down at the ball. enjoy this fic yall, IT’S ADORABLE.  @jackson-graham ;) Bri you know ily, thank you for this RP AS ALWAYS. Doc link is in the title. ENJOY, I also have some a/ns in the notes because Missy is too dumb a bitch to notice certain things and I can’t help but mention them . this is also my longest fic so far LMAO (9346 words)

An independent community engagement proposal.

Oh gosh, it was exciting to really have the chance to try and make a difference. Try to do something big and grand to really help people. It was a way for me to show everyone that maybe I didn’t constantly have weddings and parties on the brain. If I was somehow still here in the palace, even if my disastrous first date with Arin, I guess I needed to show everyone that I had more to offer than just being Missy the Wedding Planner. Something a little more princess material, yesiree!

Still, finding a cause close to my heart was more difficult than I actually planned. ­

I mean… it was difficult… to really figure out a struggle to help with.

One day, it just struck me though, while I was talking to my Grammy on the phone. Reminiscing about the long days we spent together at the Oncology center in Orleans. For all my years, maybe the worst struggle I’ve seen up so close to was having to go see my Grammy go through the Big C.

A part of me wanted to think of a way to help local oncology centers, and I had to think for a couple of good days until I realized something while sitting in the greenhouse. Somehow I was reminded of a previous conversation here.

This is going to sound weird but, what’s working in an animal shelter like?

It’s hard. Lots of animals, easy to love, but not easy to see what’s been done to them. Or witness how plenty of them are looked over for other animals.

A program that helped train shelter animals to be therapy animals for public spaces.

It was perfect, and I got to work with it as soon as I got back to my room.

Maybe I was a little way over my head initially, but after a couple of days, I was able to Joogle and contact who I needed to call, which is something not entirely new to me.

It was like calling a bunch of vendors for a party, except it wasn’t vendors and the party was a community project that wasn’t really a party.

The beneficiary partners of the project were going to be the East Angeles Oncology Center and one of the city’s main social centers. Convincing them was initially tough if it weren’t for the fact that I mentioned that I was a Selected. Talking about the project and how they could benefit from it was pretty easy after that.

The possible animal trainers were a quick reference thanks to a previous client of mine apparently being on its board of directors. No wonder their dog was their ring bearer.

 I needed a couple of them to help make a course that would allow the animals,

I just needed an animal shelter partner. Luckily, I was just waiting for another chance to see the right person to help me with that.

----------

“Jackson! Oh my gosh!” I wave over and try to run over to where he is.

It was a couple days of waiting, sometimes seeing an empty hallway and hoping I would see his face when I would turn a corner. I really just spent most of that time preparing my proposal, writing things down while hoping to get a chance to talk to him and ask for his help. Most days to no success. Today, however, was my lucky day.

Jackson seems to turn when he hears me call his name, stopping in his tracks with a wave back at me. I was careful not to trip in my heels as I ran over to him down the hall.

“Hi Missy.” He greets with a signature warm smile.

I catch up to him, though needing a moment to catch my breath. I raise up my hand for a quick moment. Ooo wait give me a sec to breathe. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Okay, good.

“I was hoping to see you again around here.” I push some of my hair behind, hoping it would let me catch the air better. “How are you?”

“Not too busy.” His brows raise as he eyes my stance. “You okay?” he gestures to my breathing.

“Oh yeah, I’ve just been… running around doing some errands.” I laugh it off, straightening myself.

Jackson was the person I needed to onboard if I really wanted my independent community engagement proposal to be real. Convince him, and it could all fall into place.

“So I was thinking, um... I’m working on this project. I mean— all the girls are working on individual projects for... community engagement. AND! I— I was thinking of... asking for your help on this one.”

Mayhaps explaining it all in one go was a poor choice. Nonetheless, all Jackson does is blink, his smile not vanishing.

“I’m happy to help, Missy. What’s up?”

I suck in a breath. Mayhaps asking this huge favor was a little too much.

Hmm... nah.

“I was hoping that I could ask you to take me to the animal shelter, the one you’ve told me before.” I look to him, trying to contain my excitement. This was the last piece of the huge puzzle.

Jackson looks pleasantly surprised. “You want to use the animal shelter for your project? Really?”

“I mean, why not use the shelter for my project? It could be the model for what I want to propose.” I feel my smile soften at that thought. I really wanted this to happen. “It could give the critters a second life and purpose beyond just waiting for someone to adopt them.”

That was something I definitely remembered from my last conversation with Jackson. Broke my heart to think about that again. Maybe that’s why I was so determined to get Jackson’s shelter to be the partner for my project rather than any other shelter I could call up in Angeles.

“Yeah. It really could.” His smile softens. After a beat, he shakes his head and looks down. Odd. “Um, are you allowed to leave the palace?” He looks up once more to me.

“Well—” I trail off, my own eyes falling to the ground. “I don’t think it would hurt if I was gone for one afternoon.”

As my Grammy always said, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission.

I tuck my hair behind my ears. Asking for favors was a little more difficult than both of those.

“What do you say Mister Jackson Graham?”

((ALRIGHT A/N: LEAVING HOW BRI PHRASED THE REPLY BECAUSE MISSY CAN’T PICK THIS UP BUT…. *CRIES* I WISH SHE DID

*AH HER SAYING HIS NAME THAT WAY. how could he not agree? finds himself nodding* Yes, of... of course))

Jackson seems to nod, “Yes, of… of course.”

I feel my smile grow at his agreement. It’s all falling into place! It just wasn’t going to be some things I wrote on paper!

“Thank you thank you thank you!” I step a closer to Jackson and—wait.

Okay.

Mayhaps… I shouldn’t give him a hug.  

I quickly tuck my hands behind my back, hoping that I didn’t look as awkward as I already felt. Um, say something Melissa.  

“You have no idea how much this means to me. I promise it’ll be worth your time.”

From the look on his face, he seems to know where I was initially going with my hands, but thankfully, he doesn’t seem to bring it up. All he does is chuckle.

“You don’t have to promise. I know it will be.” He then makes a gesture to a certain direction for us to start walking.

Oh, I didn’t think we were gonna go ASAP… but, the idea of getting to go to the shelter right away was something I wasn’t opposed to.

“Thank you so much again.” I nod a couple of times, smiling as we begin walking. I guess Jackson was wondering why I wanted to go. I should explain myself, or at least try.

“I just... I just want to know, understand, what it’s like.” I start off. Trying to find the right words to put it. Looking back at my life in Orleans, it felt like living in a nice little bubble where everyone seemed to protect me. Mama especially since she never wanted me to even see the hardship she faced when she was still a Six. “It seems easy to just write about a place on paper but, I feel like I should personally know what it’s really like in shelters. You know?”

A part of me knew that I never got to see a part of the world before, but being in the Selection. All those princess lessons. It all really could make a girl wonder about… well the world out there and the not-so pretty fairytale type of situations.

“I think that can apply to most issues like these.” Jackson’s head bobs slightly. “But I do understand. I’m glad you... you want to witness it all.”

I nod again a couple of times, “It’s a place to start, seeing things as they are currently helps you understand what they should be or could be in the future.” I eye him, wanting to tease him. “Lucky for me, I had the right person in mind to help me with that.”

Jackson laughs bashfully, looking down at his feet while we still walked. “Right. I’m just glad I can help.” He smiles in my direction before we take a couple of more steps and opens a nearby door, gesturing for me to go in first. Warms my heart to see that chivalry wasn’t dead, at least not with Jackson.

“Are you sure, it’s not too much trouble on your part? For all I know, you’ve got some important work today at the shelter.” I ask while stepping through the door, waiting for him to step through before we start walking down a narrower and less fancy-looking hallway.

“I have a light load today. And they’re always looking for new people to show around, they think it’s fun.” He sounds amused saying this.

“I hope they wouldn’t mind showing me around,” I say, my eyes scanning the hallway. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the palace. It all looked so ordinary compared to where we were a couple of seconds ago. It still matched some of the accents of the hallway we came from, but it looked more normal, like a nice hotel hallway. I turn my attention back to Jackson. “How long have you been working there again?”

“Four years. Started working after I graduated from high school.” Jackson answers me right before we reach the end of the hallway and Jackson opens another door for us, one that lead directly to what seemed to be the garage.

“Guess you’ve become quite the regular there, huh?” I smile to him as I let him guide me, turning to the garage. Wow.  

It was like seeing the parking lot of some debutante’s 18th  birthday and all her crazy rich relatives were attending. Was that an Audi I saw? Plenty of nice cars lined up, a motorcycle at the end of the line. It was funny how the luxury of living in the palace still amazed me.

“I lucked out in that area. They’re good people too. You’ll like them.” Jackson leads me to where I assume he parked his car. I smile at the sight of him opening the passenger’s door of an ordinary-looking silver sedan. It reminded me of the one we had back home.

“The real question is: will they like me?” I joke before a grateful smile for his gesture, going inside—feeling my head bump against the frame in process. I let out an ow, before letting myself mumble that I was okay.

“Oo.” I see him grimacing, “Sorry, it’s a bit low. Sure you’re alright.”

“Yeah, totally fine.” I give him a quick thumbs up from the inside of his car, laughing to myself at how silly I am. “I’m just prone to accidentally hitting my head in cars.”

“I’ve been prone to much worse.” He flashes a crooked smile as he shuts my door. I laugh as I watch him head to the driver’s side, climb in and buckle up in a steady pace, setting his phone in the cup holder. I remember to buckle up too.

He starts his car, then holds out a cable out to me, “Do you… want to play your music?”

I look at the AUX cord he’s offering, and I offer him a polite smile.

“You don’t want to know the kind of music I like listening to.” I curl my lips in, trying to suppress the awkward smile creeping up my face.

Jackson raises both of his brows, with a chuckle. “You seem awfully sure about that.”

“You’re the first person to offer me the A-U-X cord in the longest time.” I shake my head, though maintaining a smile. “I think that says a lot already.”

Means my friends hate my taste in music, or are just really tired of hearing Show Tunes.

He shakes the cable a bit. With a small smile he says, “The offer is still out there for a few more seconds.”

His friendly smile was enough to convince me. I suppose I can’t quite say no to a friendly gesture like that, especially with someone already doing me a favor.

I let out a light laugh as I take the cord from him and slip my phone out of my dress’ pockets. “Please don’t make fun of me for this.” I give him a word of caution as I hook it up and tap over to my Dotify, picking the first song off of my morning playlist.

I glance up to Jackson, hoping he wasn’t going to groan at my choice.

RENT – RENT Live Cast. 

https://open.spotify.com/track/5ZFx5WIlDGbx2rJ2XZ9dQa?si=ChVHl9ljRUGj-Mi2-In8yw (yes the one Jordan Fisher was in)

The music suddenly fills the car with the loud percussion and electrifying guitar rifts of the show’s opening number, and I look over to Jackson gauging his expression while he starts reversing out of the garage and onto a driveway that probably would lead us out of the palace.

His smile grows the music plays, and I’m slightly relieved that he doesn’t seem to hate what I picked. Relieved enough to let myself take in the view of the coast to our right. I never noticed that the road followed the coastline when I first came here.

There was so much blue, as far as the eye could see. It was a view you could see from the terrace of my room, but seeing it move pass you while you were in a car… it was definitely something else on its own.

“This is Rent, right?” Jackson’s voice steals my attention back, and I find myself nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes! It’s,” my eyes glance down to my phone on my lap, “one of my favorite musicals.”

Probably my third favorite musical, right before Dear Evan Hansen and Waitress.

“I’m a Mamma Mia fan myself.” He half jokes in my direction, though his driving still impeccably smooth.

“Really? You strike me as more of a Hamilton fan.” I return the joke with a teasing look his direction, letting myself lean back and watch us drive more into a small winded hilly area.  

((get it,,, cause Jordan Fisher played Philipp/Laurens in Hamilton BJSNKD))

“Hamilton’s definitely  a close second.” His smile seems to widen at that, and I notice the car finally reaching a highway. That was fast. The car turns right and I find our car starting to merge with a dozen other cars on the highway. “But musicals are more my second choice of music anyhow.”

I turn to him curiously at that, “So what /is/ your first choice in music, Mister Graham?”

Another RENT song is starting to play, and I turn the volume down while we talk, wanting to hear him clearly.  

“More singer/songwriter material. Or the classics. Songs I can learn to play myself.” He glances to me, most of his attention on the road while our car started to merge with more traffic on the freeway.

“Oh,” I reply, not having quite pegged Jackson to be a musician too. A veterinarian/ animal shelter volunteer, and now: a musician. He was full of surprises, huh.“What instruments do you play?”

Jackson’s eyes still stay trained on the road. “Piano and guitar. My mother was a musician and I was the kid that managed to get it to stick.” He says, a half smile on his face.

I keep my head still turned his way, finding myself smiling at his reply. “Did she teach you how to play?”

He nods twice. “In the beginning yes. I progressed by myself throughout the years.” He answers before glancing over to me, “Do you play any instruments?”

I wish.

“Nope, I didn’t have anyone to teach me back in Orleans. No one in my family was interested enough in music for me to pick it up…” I answer, shaking my head with a light laugh. Just one of those things I wished I had picked up when I was younger, instead I had dance classes and competitions, kid pageants, and the occasional tag-along to a wedding.

Still, music was something that I wish I could have picked up if I had someone to teach me since the neighborhood I grew up was filled with little house parties where people would invite each other to listen to a mini concert. I only had a wedding planner, a former seamstress turned wedding planner, and a baker at home with me in the family.  

I laugh at that idea before adding a question for Jackson.

“So is your dad a veterinarian?” It would make sense if Jackson picked up his love of music from his mom and his love for animals from his dad.

“Lawyer, actually. We all went down different routes.” He answers, an amused lilt in his voice. So that makes his mom a musician, his dad a lawyer, his sister was an interior designer if I remember correctly, and Jackson: an aspiring veterinarian. Those were all very different routes indeed.

“Guess catching up with each other during family dinners would never be dull what with everyone doing their own thing.” I remark, imagining what conversations they’d have—definitely different from my own family’s, where Grammy, Mama, and I would be talking about the same things happening at DDW HQ. Not much variety, really.

“Absolutely never.” A short laugh escapes him, “Especially when I used to bring in little animals and hide them in my room as a kid.”

I cover my mouth, trying to stop myself from laughing too much at that mental image.

“Are you serious?” A snicker escapes me, feeling only more laughter bubble up from my stomach to my chest. “You’d try to hide little animals?”

He seems bashful about that admission, “It didn’t work out very well. Animals make noise and I didn’t know how to hide them without being noticed.”

“I’m still trying to imagine it,” A fit of laughter takes over me as I sit up straight in my seat and close my eyes to picture it even more clearly.

The mental image of a younger, much smaller version of Jackson hiding a baby bird in his jacket pops into my head. The bird making way too much noise as he creeps up the stairs, Jackson trying to go unnoticed. 

“You… probably trying to hide a little critter in your jacket.” I say with my eyes still closed, feeling myself smile at that image. I let out another laugh before opening my eyes to catch Jackson looking over to me. “It’s a no brainer you eventually grew up to become a vet.”

Jackson’s attention seems to linger in my direction half a second longer than he should take his eyes off the road before he turns forward again. I should probably stop trying to distract him from driving.

“I ruined plenty of clothes that way, actually.”

“A minor trade off.” I tuck some of my hair behind my ears, having been messed up while I was laughing probably too hard a while ago. “As long as you don’t hide animals in your jacket anymore.” I eye him suspiciously, obviously just joking.

His smile seems to grow, “Can’t show you all my tricks off the bat, now can I?”

“Guess I’ll have to keep an eye out for you in a jacket from now on.” I maintain my suspicious gaze over to him, trying to stay serious for a few seconds… and failing at that when another bubble of snickers escapes me.

“Not afraid of spiders are you?” He pats his pocket, sounding like he was just teasing.

But I could never really be sure if he was…

“You’re not serious…” I look over to his pocket for a second, before my hands instinctively go up and I move away to the edge of my seat close to the window.

Jackson laughs before putting his hand back on the wheel. “No, sorry, bad joke. I’m spider free for now.”

“Okay, great.” I relax before falling back against my seat and let myself laugh it off. “The last time I saw a spider, I shrieked.”

“Fairly standard reaction.” He sounds amused, “Although as a veterinarian, I have to care for and love all creatures.”

“Ehhhh, the shrieking was partially because of the location too.” I chuckle thinking back, shifting to make myself more comfortable in my seat. “Do veterinarians have one of those ‘do no harm’ creeds like doctors do?”

He hums, “You know I think they do. Seems like a necessary standard.”

It does sound like one.

“Where were you that a location made you shriek more than a spider?”

“You’re not gonna believe it but I…” A flashback of me accidentally falling through a bookcase’s earlier during the Selection. Remembering it all, it seemed more funny than scary, so funny that a laugh of disbelief escapes me. “I fell through a secret hallway back in the palace and I didn’t know how to get out.”

Jackson seems bewildered to hear this, “How’d you manage to do that?”

“Alright so,” I toss some of my hair back and get ready to share the experience.  

“I chose this one,” I hold a finger up, wanting to tell this story as animatedly as I can right now, “book on embroidery and I'm reaching for it and leaning against the shelf because it was pretty high up. Then, suddenly the shelf I was leaning against moved and I fell through it into this dark and dusty hallway, obviously home to a couple of spiders and a colony of dust bunnies.”  

A short laugh comes from Jackson. “Those secret passageways will really throw you for a loop if you’re not careful. You survived intact, I’m assuming?”

 “Intact but in a great need of a shower and change of outfit.” I laugh it off, jokingly squirming at the memory of the gross feeling of all that dust sticking onto me. “Arin was the one… who,” I pause, sometimes talking about Arin was more difficult than initially talking to him. “…got me out of there.”

The smile on Jackson’s face seems to falter after I bring up Arin. “Ah. That was… lucky then.” He pauses for a considerable time before asking, “How’ve you been? After everything.”

I try to find the right words to say.

I clear my throat once I think I’ve figured what was the right thing to say.

“Ah, well, definitely less crying.” My left hand seems to fidget with my ring on my right. “We went out on another…date…? I mean if that’s what you can really call it.” I try to laugh.

“Oh? How did that go?” Jackson’s voice sounds hopeful.

It was sort of an apology date in a way, about the last time. But doing things with Arin, well- they didn’t really feel like dates. Maybe I just… need time to get to know him better.

“Oh…” I look to him, hoping that none of my overthinking about it would show up on my face. “He taught me how to swim. I never really knew how to but I guess I can float and tread water like a normal person now.”

It was very kind of Arin to try and help me with that. Safety first.

“Despite anything else, I think you could call that a personal win.”

“I think so too. Anything next to normal is a win compared to last time.” I try to laugh again, this time wishing it would help with my nerves. A thought crosses my mind. The last time Jackson and I saw each other in person, I was crying over my disastrous first date with Arin. Did I ever thank Jackson for being there? Hmmm… I should probably thank him again just in case.

“Listen… thank you again for that night. I know I’ve thanked you before but—” I turn to smile in his direction, truly grateful for having him there. “it meant the world to have someone to talk to.”

Jackson seems to sit up a tad straighter, his attention going from the road to me. He nods once, “I um—well, I offer that as long as you’d like. Friendship I mean.”

He turns his attention forward to the road again, a small smile on his face.

The words Jackson and friendship seems to just make sense. I mean, being friends with the girls was amazing—especially with having girls like Itzel to talk to, but the idea of being friends with someone outside of the Selection was more than easy to agree to.

“Having a friend around is something I’d like very much.”  I smile over to him. “You’re the nicest person I’ve met since I got here.”

It was usually very rare to find the sort of genuine kindness Jackson had these days.

Jackson’s expression seems to become more bashful, “I’ve seen what this royal life can be like when you meet new people. I just… I’m glad I can provide some more normalcy for you.”

“Getting thrown into the royal life can really change a part of you.” A small laugh of agreement escapes me. “It’s good… to have people around to keep your feet on the ground. Maybe that’s why y’all seem to be a close bunch… I mean… your family and Uh… the Schreaves.”

“I don’t know.” Jackson seems to focus more on the road, switching lanes as I see an exit close by. “By now the familiarity has sort of blurred any kind of jarring reality checks.” he chuckles softly.

“I guess the jarring reality check can come along whenever you get out of the palace.” I laugh, looking out to my window. “This still looks so… different compared to what I’ve been seeing for the past two months.”

It was nice to see the city like this instead of just seeing the skyline from the palace rooftop. Angeles was so different compared to Orleans. Even their residential areas looked different compared to what I usually saw back home.

“Compared to the glittering walls and dresses?” Jackson asks in a teasing way.

“Definitely different. I can do away with the glittering walls.” I think, not being too in love with the idea with living in a place as big as the palace. “You can get so scared to walk around in those hallways since every single decoration looks like they’ll cause you an arm and a leg if you break ‘em. But the dresses?” I hum, smoothing the skirt of my yellow mini dress. “I can get use to this.

Not gonna lie, I loved my dresses in the palace the most among the Selected perks.

“They’re quite pretty.” Jackson says so as our car exits off the freeway. I feel myself smile at that comment, not sure why my face feels warm every time I hear something along the lines of that.  

Jackson stops at a red light, waiting if he can make a turn and doing so when the light turns green. I haven’t really noticed it but my playlist was playing another song from a musical, You Will Be Found from Dear Evan Hansen, the song softly playing in the background while we drive. I hum along with it as we drive. In the area that we are going through, it looks like a shopping center was nearby. It was bigger than most malls I’ve usually frequented in Orleans.

Oh gosh, I missed going to malls.

Unfortunately, Jackson drives past it, telling me that it’s not much longer until we reach the shelter.

Maybe another time.

“Anything I should know about the shelter before we get there?” I ask, looking over to him.

A knowing smile tugs at his lips, “I hope you won’t mind getting fur all over that dress.”

I chuckle at his advice, scrunching up my nose with a light nah.

We stop at a nearby intersection, and Jackson makes a right where the shops grow further and further apart the more we went down the road. In fact, there were more trees now. Before I really knew it, Jackson makes a left into a parking lot. Taking in the shelter from my window. It was quite big actually, bigger than I imagined it initially. A light blue sign with a paw print with the name:

Angeles Friends for Life Animal Rescue.

I push my hair out of my face when the car comes to a stop at a spot close to the front of the shelter. My hand finds the release button of my seat belt as I say, “Looks like you guys have a fine operation out here.”

A fine operation seemed like an understatement.

He hums pleasantly at that, “We’re lucky to have wonderful management.”

Jackson looks at me, “Ready to meet everyone?”

I unplug my phone from the AUX cord and hold it in my left hand, before looking back to Jackson with a smile.

“I’m always ready.”

Jackson seems like the sound of that answer, unbuckling himself from his seatbelt. E nods and gets out of the car and waits for me to follow. Once I’m at his side, he leads the way into the building’s main entrance into a lobby area. It was as welcoming as the shelter did look on the outside. There was a blue theme going around the room, matching the sign outside. On the walls of the lobby were pictures of what I assumed to be of owners with pets who I assume were adopted from this shelter. My eyes go back and forth between that wall and the huge fish tank behind to be what seemed to be the front desk.

As Jackson leads me to it, a head pops up from below the desk, one belonging to a young man our age. I almost jump at that.

His dark hair looked like it needed a comb.

He smirks at Jackson, then his eyes shift to me, his expression shifting into a beaming smile.  He stands, looking tall, lean, and well— handsome, but not quite my type.

“Jackson, my wonderful friend, now who would this be?”

My eyes go to look at Jackson, letting him reply first and I’m careful to not talk over them.

Jackson’s brows raise at that question. “Wonderful friend. Milking it, aren’t you?”

The young man clear his throat, “Come on now, I’d hate to be rude to your friend here. She’s—” he blinks and slowly points a finger between Jackson and I. “How.. what?”

Oh he must have…. Right.  

I was kind of famous now, famous by association, I suppose.

The conversation seems to go silent, so I take it as my opportunity to segue and step into the conversation. I’m mindful to make my tone friendly, trying to make sure that this isn’t awkward in the very least.

“Hi there! I’m Missy Duthé.” I extend my right hand out to him over the desk. “I’m interested in workin’ with the shelter for a certain project!”

He shakes my hand, his face still looking dazed. “Missy. It’s… wow. Great to meet you.” His smile seems kinder, but still looking slightly stunned. “I’m Merrick.”

“It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance Merrick.” I maintain my smile before taking my hand back.

“I’m going to give her a full tour. Is Julianna swamped today?” Jackson asks, and my brows raise at that.

“No no, slow afternoon. There’s a couple looking at the dogs but other than that the place is yours.” Merrick says, his eyes shifting to me, still looking surprised.

I still don’t quite understand the weird fame that being Selected afforded me, but what I do know is that people shouldn’t really be treating me any differently. I try my best to exude a calm energy to put Merrick at ease that I was normal as any Illéan girl could be.

“I was just telling Jackson how you guys have such a fine operation over here.”

“That’s kind of you.” Merrick chuckles. “It’s been years in the making. Family business.”

Jackson gestures to Merrick, “Julianna’s his mom.”

So Miss Julianna, Merrick’s mom, must be the head. I take note of that. I also take note that the shelter is actually a family business, adds to its charm in fact.

“The one and very scary only.” Merrick gives a small glance to the next door, probably scared that Julianna was going to come out.

A chuckle escapes Jackson, “Careful or I might tell her you said that.”

I make sure to nod along their conversation, “So… I suppose Miss Julianna’s the one I’m supposed to talk to about my project?”

“Her or Jackson. He knows how to run the place better than I do and I grew up here.”

Her or Jackson. I smirk over to Jackson at that.

Jackson smiles at the ground before looking to me. “Yes, she is. She can answer anything I can’t.”

I push some of my hair back, still keeping my attention on Jackson. “Well, I didn’t know what my friend was so influential over here.”

“It’s the animals. They outvoted me.” Merrick says, I catch him half-smirking over to us.

Jackson rolls his eyes and mumbles. “Sure, alright.” He clears his throat before turning to me, “We can head back now.”

“I’m sure we can trust the critters’ judgment.” I giggle before nodding to Jackson, feeling my smile grow. “Where to Mister Jackson Graham?”

“We can start with the cat room, then work our way around the building.” Jackson says, and I follow him as he leads the way, clasping my hands in front of me.

“See you later.” He calls back to Merrick.

I hear a beep from the door and see Merrick wave over to us. “Have fun!”

“Nice meetin’ you!” I say turning to Merrick’s direction for a quick second, then turning my full attention to Jackson. “How many rooms are we talkin’ about?”

“We have four.” Jackson’s voice seems to almost be accompanied by the sounds of the barks and scurrying on the ground from the rooms around us. “Two dog rooms and two cat. One’s for the older animals and the other for the younger ones, but there’s a room in between where they can play with another. Outside for the dogs well.” He gestures around the hallway as we walk together.

There’s more pictures of animals on the walls actually, like in the lobby. More stories of adoption. I try to remember the info Jackson is telling me, trying my best to make notes. I find myself getting more distracted by the pictures in the hallway. One of the pictures almost makes me stop for half a second.

A boy my age, with blue eyes hugging a Siberian husky with eyes like his.

He reminded me of Daniel and Jewel.

I wonder if Daniel took Jewel with him to Waverly.

I shouldn’t think about this anymore, letting myself continue walking with Jackson.

“So you guys mostly accept cats and dogs ‘round here?” I ask, trying to push those other thoughts away.

Jackson hums a yes. “We’d like to have more animals, but we’d need a bigger facility. That’s Julianna’s dream.” A small smile appears on his face.

We seem to approach a door with a small window that Jackson peeks inside with.

“Looks like they just finished up their lunch.” Jackson says as I try to peek through the window too, not catching a glimpse as Jackson opens the door for us. I feel myself bouncing on my heels at the sound of all the scampering inside.

The door reveals a small area with a half wall that reached my hips, dividing the room between the small area and a much larger area. We walk over to peek over the wall to see a couple of staff members in the area, more than a dozen of little kittens playing with a few bigger cats, toys scattered around the area.

If there was one thing that could make my heart melt other than weddings, it was a room full of tiny little kittens. I look over the half wall, my eyes shifting from one cat to another cat.

Oh my gosh, there was a kitten rolling a little ball around. Oh my gosh, there were a pair wrestling with each other. I feel my smile only growing as I watch them play with each other.

A thought crosses my mind.

I turn to Jackson, a little shy to ask this.

“Can I pet some of them?”

Jackson smiles back at me. “Absolutely.”

YAY.

He opens a lower door attached to the half wall, telling the other employees that we were coming in. He leads me over to a sink close to the wall, where we wash our hands before we get to hold the cats. I let Jackson go first and follow right after he finishes.

Once we finished washing our hands, Jackson goes over and kneels with two employees and chats with them. I stand close to one of the walls, trying to go unnoticed, letting myself watch Jackson talk from afar.

This was Jackson’s element. It was actually really nice to see him in it. I don’t think there wasn’t a better job for someone as kind as he was.

After a few moments, he picks up a kitten with a grin and brings her over to me. I make sure to receive her and hold her tenderly in my hands, making sure to be gentle as I held her up. My cheeks are already starting to hurt from how much I was already smiling.

“Hewoooo, what’s your name sweetie?” I ask the kitten, before looking up to Jackson and mouthing how can they be this cute?

Jackson seems to laugh at that, “That one’s Ginger.” A couple of kittens purr around Jackson’s feet and he seems to pick one up, pressing a kiss to its head.

“Ginger! Ain’t that a darlin’ name!” My smile can only grow from here, while the kitten seems to purr as I hold her close to my chest and smiling over to Jackson and the kitten he picks up. She was a pretty kitten, with pure white fur. “Jackson, what’s the name of your friend over there?”

“This here is Lucinda. She has quite the spirit.” As if to prove his point, Lucinda opens her mouth to lightly nip at Jackson’s finger.

“Hello Lucinda!” I giggle, smiling down at Ginger trying to move as I held her, making sure to give her feet some needed support. It takes me a moment to remember my purpose for coming here to the shelter. Gotta balance this play with some more work. My hand starts to stroke Ginger’s head.

“So uh… all of these kittens are rescues?”

Jackson nods. “Some have been dropped off by people who can’t find homes for them, others have been found. They usually don’t last very long as people like to adopt younger animals.” My brows raise at that statement, then Jackson gestures to Ginger, “She’s getting picked up tomorrow by a nice family.”

My hand is lightly stroking Ginger as Jackson speaks, and I smile down at Ginger.

“Isn’t that exciting Ginger? You get to have a new family!” I scrunch up my nose when my smile grows, before I look back up at Jackson—still concerned with what Jackson said. “I take it that the next room of cats has a larger population then?”

Jackson bobs his head, “Not much, thankfully. Lately there’s been an uptick in older cat adoptions, to our pleasure.”

His smile at that is different than his usual smile, happier if that was even possible for Jackson.

I like it when he smiles like that, it made his handsome face light up even more. I think I was looking at him without saying anything way longer than I should.. I try to think of something to say. Staring was rude, now just say something. Quick.

“That sounds good!” I smile down onto Ginger, and she looked like she wanted to head over to the other cats. I then place a quick kiss on her head before I set her on the ground watching her scurry to the other kittens.

“Would you like to go see the older cat room? It’s about the same layout, but I don’t mind giving you a peek.”

“Of course!” I stand up and dust some of the fur Ginger had left on my dress. “I wanna see the whole place!” I think I sounded way too excited, laughing to myself to get a hold of myself. “I just... I wanna know what I’m writing about... who I’m writing about better.”

Jackson seems to let my words sink in and his smile changes from that bright smile to something softer, still a nice smile.

“I understand. I’m… I’m glad.” He says and I wait for him to say something else as his gaze seems to linger on me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he guides the two of us out and into the next room.

((One of the things that I can’t add because MISSY IS A DUMB BITCH: The two of them not noticing the employees in the area looking at the two of them like 👀 as they leave))

We spend about an hour going through the other three rooms, mostly me just playing with all the critters and giving them the attention they deserved.

Jackson and I walk down a long corridor, feeling myself smiling as we exit the older dog area.

“I don’t understand how not a lot of people would want to adopt the older dogs!” I laugh, thinking that room probably was my favorite. “Oh Daisy almost tackled me, but gosh! She was so sweet!”

“She really was.” He smiles, “Puppies tend to be popular in this area. Lots of families. We take care of the ones that aren’t adopted anyhow.” He says fondly before his eyes glances to my dress. “You really don’t mind all that?”

I look down and notice the tons of fur sticking to my yellow dress and shake my head as I try to dust myself off.

“Nothing a lint roller couldn’t fix.” I chuckle before running a hand through my hair and noting some pet hair flying away. “Besides, I can’t exactly do the work right without getting a little messy with the critters.”

He nods, “You um..” he gestures to my hair, “have a little clump caught there.”

“Oh?” I turn to Jackson fully, trying to shake it out and comb it out. “Did I get it off?”

Jackson bites his lip and shakes his head with a small smile. He reaches over to me and I stand still, keeping my eyes on him as I feel his hand tug the fur and flick it away. He smiles to me after he does and I can’t help but smile back.

“Thank you very much Mister Jackson Graham.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch some fur sticking to his shirt, on his shoulder to be more specific.

I decide to return the favor, simply brushing it off his shoulder before we start walking again.

“Now where are we headed next?”

Jackson clears his throat, “Well, I was going to take you to Julianna if that’s alright. I figured you might have some more questions.”

“It’s more than alright!” I look over to him as we walk, “There’s the background on the shelter, current problems y’all are facing, current numbers on a lot of things going around here. Of course there’s a lot of things to ask permission about too! I wanna make sure I can let the proposal really help around here... for real.”

“Really?” Jackson asks, looking surprised.

“If there’s one thing I know how to do right, it’s executing a plan.” I smirk to him, though believing with my entire heart that my plan should really be executed. “What’s the point of planning something if you don’t see it through?”

What’s the point of a proposal if you don’t plan on executing it?

What’s the point of a proposal if you don’t plan on marrying the girl? Whoops.

I push that thought away again.

Jackson’s voice helps with that.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He looks, well—it looks more like a stare now, seems hopeful. I hope I could really help with what he’s told me about with this proposal. He seems to really listen to my words, and it’s a comfort to know that he is.

I try to mirror his expression, happy to have Jackson’s attention. “Ya know, there’s more to here,” I tap my temple. “than knowing how to plan weddings and parties.” I chuckle lightheartedly as we reach a door and stop by it.

“Is this Julianna’s office?”

Jackson nods.

“It is.” He pauses, looking like he’s about to knock at the door, but instead he turns to face me.

“I’ve always thought you’re more than planning weddings and parties, Missy. Thought you should know.”

I blink a couple of times, feeling my face warm. Well, not just my face. Everything felt warm as his words echo in my head. I don’t think he knew what those words meant to me. I’m thankful that Jackson had turned his attention away as he knocks on the door. I try to get a hold on myself.  

Julianna calls out at Jackson’s knock and he enters first before I do, the two of them sharing a friendly greeting before Julianna looks over to me. Jackson then introduces me to Julianna.

I snap myself out and hope that the warmth I felt on my face didn’t show in a blush.

I move forward and extend my hand out to Julianna.

“Hi! Um, I’m Missy.” I wince, knowing that Jackson has already said my name but I try to remain calm. “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

Julianna seems quite friendly as she shakes my hand from where she’s standing in front of her desk.

“Not at all. What can I do you for today?”

“Well, Miss Julianna, I’m currently working on a community engagement proposal—it's uh, a project for every Selected girl, you see-- and I was thinking of partnering up with this very shelter to be ground zero for operations.”

I look over to Jackson, silently hoping for him to tell me how I was doing. I don’t know why I’m suddenly tripping over my words.

Jackson nods once in my direction, an encouraging look on his face. I could hear him say you’re doing great with the way his eyes looked at me.

Julianna’s brows raise as she asks, “Really? What would your project entail?”

His reassurance seems to help me try to ground myself and focus on communicating this better, standing up a little straighter as I smile over to Julianna.

“I’m glad you asked.”

I take my phone out of my dress’ pocket and go through my Joogle Drive to open up the presentation deck I prepared, waiting for it to load.

“I call it Operation: Empawthy. It’s a training program for shelter animals to become therapy animals for local hospitals and community centers.” I explain as I hold my phone out for Jackson and Julianna to see. The little logo and everything I made popping up on screen, a little paw with the project title surrounding it in a circle.

“It’s been brought to my attention that... a lot of older animals that call the shelter home, and I was hoping of helping them find a purpose... beyond just waiting for adoption.”

Both Jackson and Julianna lean in to look at the presentation I made. I try to gauge their reactions. Jackson’s face seems to light up as I go through the initial slides.

Julianna seems to instantly smile, asking, “And you’d like to follow through with this? Long term?”

“Of course!” I smile at that question, excited about my plan of execution for this program. “Most of the operations and plan can be executed within the next few months.” I tap the screen and move onto my timeline slide.

I continue, “It could be executed I already have a nearby local oncology center and a social center who are willing to partner too,  and well—” My brows furrow at the next thing I say, “even if I'm no longer a Selected, it's still possible to execute, even without mobilization from the Schreaves.”

Even if I did get eliminated, at least one good thing would come from me being a Selected.

Julianna moves to walk around her desk over to where I am, and I’m surprise to feel her wrap her arms around me in a meaningful hug. I glance over to Jackson while she does, catching an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“You’re the answer to so many of my questions on how to provide for these dogs.” Julianna leans back with her hands on my shoulders, smiling. “We’d be incredibly happy to have you with us.”

I smile back at Julianna, taking both of her hands in mine.

“I'll send you the primers and plans I currently have. I'm more than happy to help in every way I can!”

Julianna’s reaction seems to give me a whole new understanding for generosity and kindness. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I got to plan something meaningful and grounded in something beyond weddings or parties.

I wasn’t going to lie, it felt freaking good.

“You’ll have to thank Jackson too for bringing me all the way here though.” I turn to Jackson as I say that. I definitely wouldn’t have thought of this fully without remembering what he had said to me.

Julianna waves a hand, “Jackson has my eternal thanks. Bringing you here only goes to show his incredible judgement.”

Jackson looks down with a smile at Julianna’s compliment, before looking back up at Julianna with amusement.

“Kiss up.” He says.

She reaches out and gives Jackson a side hug across his shoulders. “And not ashamed of it.”

I don’t get why Merrick would ever call her scary.

I can’t help but laugh at the banter between them, tucking my hair behind both of my ears.

“Incredible judgment indeed!” I nod a couple of times, clasping my hands in front of me. “Thank you for letting me loop the shelter into this. I promise you both this project isn't gonna disappoint. That's a Duthé promise.”

“I have a feeling that’s a promise never broken.” Jackson says softly, his smile very soft.

Julianna seems to pause briefly at that, her smile not faltering.

“Once we receive all your information, I’ll keep close touch with you. Everyone will be so thrilled.”

I turn to Jackson, looking to him with an amused expression.

“You’re right, it’s never broken.” I punctuate that with a wink to him before I nod over to Julianna and quickly slip my calling card out of my phone’s card holder.

I always kept copies of it in case I met a potential wedding client but, it would work for now what with all my contact details on it. Let’s hope Julianna would just ignore all the wedding planner details on it.

“This is my card, I'll be probably contacting you through the email and number here. If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know. We'll definitely keep in touch.”

Julianna takes the card from me and sets it on her desk with a thank you, then mentions to us that she needed to get back to work and Jackson excuses us. He mentions that he’ll be back in the evening as we leave her office before Jackson leads me back into the hallway. I don’t forget to say a quick thank you before we leave.

“That was… wow.” He says once we’re outside of Julianna’s office. I try to eye Jackson’s reaction before I let myself smile and do a little happy dance, unable to control how happy I felt.

“OH MY GOSH!” my voice seems to go up another octave before I reach over and give Jackson a hug. “Thank you so so much for bringing me here and helping me make this happen!”

Jackson seems to laugh as he catches me, and I feel his hand going to my back.

“You were the one with the incredible ideas. It was wonderful, Missy.”

((Another thing I can’t write BUT I SCREECHED: */like you/* he thinks))

I pull away from him, still grinning but feeling a little shy with Jackson��s compliment. My face starts to feel warm again. I try to ignore it this time. I’m probably just too happy with getting the shelter as a partner.

“I’m so happy that you think so. I just thought—” My phone suddenly starts to ring, an alarm going off as I quickly reach into my pocket to snooze it.

5:30. Prepare for Dinner. I see on the screen.

Jackson still watches me as I handle it, “Everything alright?”

I stuff my phone back into my dress’ pocket and nodding, not letting the alarm dampen the mood.

“Yeah! I just... have alarms for whenever I probably should change or get ready for dinner at the palace.” I explain with a little laugh. “As I was saying, uh...” I’m trying to remember what I was going to say a few seconds ago, but I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

“Okay honestly, thank you for the moral support.” I decide to thank Jackson again for being there, then I lower my voice jokingly, “Julianna... kinda did scare me.”

Hmmm, maybe that’s why I was stumbling over my words initially.

Jackson chuckles at that, “She’s a bit intimidating at first, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. She loved you.” I laugh lightly and try to shrug it off.

Then he gestures to the phone in my pocket.

“I guess I should um, be getting you back now?”

I nod slowly, feeling a little sad that I was already leaving the shelter. I think I’ve enjoyed myself here way more than I expected.

“Are you sure it’s too much to ask from you?” I wanted to make sure that he was alright with it, knowing that he was going to come back here anyway. He’s already done so much for me already.

He tilts his head. “Driving you to the palace? No, of course not.” A growing smile appears on his face.

“I’d love to.”

His smile seems to put me at ease, so I loop my arm around his and smile to him.

“Then I guess we better get going, Mister Jackson Graham.”

Jackson doesn’t say anything, only keeping his smile to me and leading the way back. 

[glasyasbutch]

8, 14, 25, 27, 37! d10 option, but do 2 per question if you wanna answer w all your characters!

finally i have time on my laptop to type this out ........ thank you morgan for my life ................ (i had to roll this d10 so many times cause it refused to pick anything but 5, and while i have a lot of thoughts about gildy, other characters need love) 8.  If they were given 1000 acres of land with no strings attached, what would they do with it? Gildy: obvious answer here is build her own forge from the ground up. like hello. how sexy of her to do this. but like, she misses the bustle of being around people all the time so it’d be open to the public for demos/lessons. are teaching forges a thing? they are in my world and she runs it and its full of tiny little dwarven babies who probably shouldn’t be allowed access to burning hot metal but like she’s a cleric so its fiiiiiiine Ezra: this is a toughie for him but the dice are forcing me to think. My first thought for him would honestly be give it away to some farmers or something, since he’s never really been the kind of guy to have personal possessions or things entirely his own. like. he grew up in a temple and then spent the next large chunk of his life doing 24/7 hospice care for someone, he’s never owned a house, or had things just for him. his whole life has been about community and sharing, he’d feel bad using it for any of his own desires. 

however, for the sake of the question, if he has to take it and do something with it himself. big fat library. (where will he get the books from? don’t worry about it.) he only has 8 int but he thoroughly understands the value of knowledge, and you know, little selfish bonus. a huge collection of books like that is his best shot at finding something out about cate

14.  What’s a personality trait they wish they had?

Ebbie: Confidence. Not necessarily in the sense that he doubts himself, though he does a fair amount, but mainly what he wants is the ability to make other people believe him when he Does think he can do something. He doesn’t want to be “trying to make something of himself” in everyone’s eyes forever. He’s already made something. 

Nissy: Absolutely nothing he’s perfect how he is how DARE you insinuate that he could need ANYTHING added to his finely manufactured personali- (Patience. He has so, so many years to go ahead of him and he doesn’t know how to make things last. He’s worried that if he keeps letting people and interests slip through his fingers like sand he’ll have nothing left to hold before he even reaches his final lifetime.)

25.  If there was a day held in their honor, what would people have to do on that day? Craving: ooooooooooooooooooooooohohohohohohoho. Oh boy this is ,.... this is tasty. I’m thinking a sort of mardigras crossed with the purge but less murder in which the vibe is “fucking anything goes, you’re the tits so damn well act like it”. extravagancy, over-dressing for the occassion, blatant gluttony, open container alcohol, if you think it’s pretty its yours kinda attitude. tons of costume jewelry on your body and trinkets in your pocket with the expectation that you’ll swipe some and others will swipe yours, and you’ll come home with a new selection of “finery”. the nice things stay locked at home. restaurants offer free food and stores have huge sales, card games and county fair style side shows in the middle of the street. an excuse to indulge recklessly. Udoora: so like, there’s Kind of already a day in their honor cause the whole town has their yearly festival where they pray to the goddess and go yo whats up lady is your champion stepping down or are we re-blessing the one we already have!! but that’s not specific to doora. one Just for her... country town festival. think bilbo’s 111th birthday minus the magic fireworks. whole city comes out to party, tons of food, music and dancing, the streets lined with wildflower garlands. stories and laughing around a bonfire as the sun leaves the sky, reverence for the people around you and the place you call home.

27.  What makes a person beautiful to them?

Stella: Gentleness. Now you may read this and go how the FUCK did she end up with craving, and the answer to that is: this question said ���beautiful” not “extremely sexy”. she got together with craving because she was horny and THEN she fell in love with craving’s soft side. (Her favorite physical aspect of craving is her hair. she loves to run her fingers through it, because it’s always inexplicably soft, in comparison to the horns and the barbs)

Stella grew up in the woods though, learning to tread light so as not to scare an animal or disrupt a nest. Her favorite place to be as a kid was calf-deep in the slowest part of the river. She knows the soft kiss of the sun on shoulders and the cushion of moss under toes. She was raised in the gentleness of nature, and she longs to see that gentleness reflected in humanity.

Hedja: Now this is an interesting one bc I’d explicitly decided against romance if I ever play them (not that if they don’t pursue romance they’re incapable of seeing beauty but it’s not something i’d thought much at all about). I’d say humor, levity, optimism. The ability to find any speck of brightness you can and kindle it. They don’t care much for physical looks or appearances, but that belief in happiness around every corner is what makes them continue to serve their god, because they find it to be the most beautiful part of life.

37.  What do they think is a conspiracy? Tov: so. a conspiracy that he believes is true is that rowan and sloan are fucking to make him and moos jealous. we know this. but a truth that he believes is conspiracy ... you know i’m gonna say that there’s several warlock patrons who are definitely real in d&d canon but he refuses to believe that they exist because he had such shit luck trying to contact them with rax. (don’t ask me which ones i don’t know enough d&d lore for this) Roona: my god. she’s the perfect one for this holy shit ... she’s about 30% convinced that every thing that’s been said to her for her entire life is fake and she’s part of a really fucked up social experiment, so there’s that. she’s also a strong believer in the “we’re all in a simulation” theory, as well as “i’m the only one who’s alive and everyone else is a simulation” theory. she waffles on and off as to whether all the gods are actually just one guy. there’s one town she passed through where she’s sure the king has been dead for years and is being puppeted around by a necromancer group running a shadow government. there’s no fucking way math is real, everyone’s bullshitting numbers bigger than 100. not really a conspiracy but since getting the ass spoon she doesn’t believe in the societal value of forks cause she’s been doing just fucking fine with her spoon and her hands only thank you VERY much.

[butter-egg-toast]

Hi!!! Can I have father hc’s with Rin,Sousuke,Sei,momo,Natsuya

✌Enjoy

SOUSUKE

🍀May want to have one kid if it depends.

🍀When he found out when you were pregnant he was anxious but still a little excited

🌟"....my heart is really beating fast... I'm gonna be a father."-Souskue

🍀Old school type of dad

🌟"kids these days.."-Souskue

🍀He will be sorta strict on rules.

📝Rules:

📝Bed at 9:00pm

📝Eat a good amount of fruits and veggies.

📝Stay hydrated

📝No disrespect

📝Clean up after your self

📝Brush your teeth.

🍀Very very protective over his kids but not a helicopter dad.

🍀 If they get a scratch on their knees or even fall off their bike, he WILL have a first aid kit prepared and ready.

🌟"you'll live (kid name)..see it's all better"-Souskue

🍀Encourages his kids to do better for themselves and don't think failure is an option but he dont want push them to much (he doesn't want his son or daughter to experience what he had to go through)

🌟"It's okay we'll try next time"- Souskue

🌟"It's okay to take a break"-Souskue

🍀He is extremely patient.

🍀When his kids are learning/exploring something new or just asking ALOT of questions he would gladly answer them without hesitation

🌟"Trees gives off oxygen"-Souskue

🍀He is always willing to listen/help to his kids when they need advice. It doesn’t matter how busy he is.

🌟"no I'm never to busy for you, what's wrong"-Souskue

🍀When they make a mess he would be sure to give them a lecture on mannerism

🍀Very honest and blunt with his feelings

🍀Encourages his kids in every subject that they show interesting.

🌟"You're really good at this!!"-Souskue

🍀Always cook and make their lunches

🍀At the end of the day he tries to be the best dad and role model for his kids

RIN:

🌷May have 2 kids

🌷When he found out you were pregnant he cried. (Really hard)

🌟"W-what... I'm gonna a dad?* cue Waterworks*.. I'm really happy"-Rin

🌟"I have to call my mom and Gou, the good news!!"-Rin

🌾"(kid name) has Rins shark teeth!!"-Gou

🌷Also would cry when his kid say their first word.

🌟"(y/n)!!! Look (kid name) said their first word!!! And it was dada!!"-Rin

🌷Wants to be A good father like his father.

🌷Teach his kids how to swim. Holds their hands while they doggy paddle around the pool

🌟"That's it (kids name)!! You can do it"-Rin

🌷He's pretty chill, laid back dad most of the time.

🌷Wouldn't call him too strict but he does not tolerant bad Behavior at home, school or public

🌟"If you keep acting like that we will go back home"-Rin

🌷Gives his kids valuable lessons on life

🌟"You shouldn't take stuff that's not yours, now give it back"-Rin

🌟" Apologize"-Rin

🌷He'll allow his kids to think for themselves and choose their own path.

🌟"If that's what you want to do, then I'll support you."-Rin

🌷He doesn't like back talk

🌟"I said NO!! And that's my final answer"-Rin

🌷He’s not the type of parent to be constantly breathing down their neck

🌷Makes sure to be there for his kids.

🌷Even though he didnt have a father figure growing up he wants his children to look up to him like he did with his father.

MOMO:

🌼May have more than 2 kids (because of his family)

🌼When he found out you were pregnant he practically bounce all over the house with joy.

🌟"Ahh!? You're serious!! REALLY?!"-momo

🌼Playful dad constantly plays with his kids.

🌟"Sure I don't mind taking you to the park"-Momo

🌼Even making up games himself for them

🌼Family Game night (can get intense)

🌼I feel like all of his kids will turn out exactly like Momo boy or girl.

🌼If his kids are crying, he’ll hug them and tell them that it’ll be alright and offer to get them some ice cream and candies.

🌟"Hey it's okay..look, guess what I got 🍬🍨"-Momo

🌼Gives the best hugs and kisses to them (sloppy wet kisses)

🌟"Come here *mhwaa*"-Momo

🌼If his son or daughter has a nightmare he will happily sleep next to them and keep them company till they fall asleep

🌟"Don't worry I'm here there's nothing to be scared about"- Momo

🌼Hates being the bad guy at times, but he knows it's the right thing to do

🌼Tell his kids to clean up after themselves

🌟"I nor your mother will not clean up your mess, you need to learn from your mistakes."-Momo

🌼Still does his stag Beetle hunting as his hobbies, gladly if his children were doing with him too.

🌟"*Kiss* Love you!!"-Momo

SEIJOUR :

🌺Seems like the type to have more than 2 kids (because of his family)

🌺When he found out you were pregnant he picked you up off the ground and spun you around.

🌟I'M GONNA BE A DAD??!!-Seijour

🌺Seems like the type to brag about his kids

🌟"(kids name) is becoming an amazing swimmer!"-Seijour

🌟"Did you see their grade, we're raising a little genius"-Seijour

🌺Tries to be the cool dad He might embarrass himself or the kids right in front of their friends and family

🌺Corny dad jokes like:

🌟"Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? Great food, no atmosphere"-Seijour

🌟"I just watched a program about beavers. It was the best dam program I've ever seen"-Seijour

🌺Wants his kids to learn from their experience good or bad

🌺Loves asking about his kids day.

🌟"What you learned at school today"-Seijour

🌟"Was school fun today??"-Seijour

🌺One of those dad's not to get angry, he takes school and education very seriously, papa don't play.

🌺Doesn't like back talk neither.

🌟"Go to your room"-Seijour

🌺Wants his kids too succeed.

🌺Wants what best for them

🌺 He wants to guide them in the right direction.

NATSUYA:

🌻He doesn't want to make the same mistake he did with Ikuya, so he tends to be really close to them, maybe a little overprotective but he still wants them to think for themselves

🌻He was both excited and nervous when he found out you were pregnant

🌟"Woah really..wow that's a lot to take in"-Natsuya

🌻Spoiling his kids whether if it's boy or girl.

🌻Plenty of toys for them ( Christmas, birthdays or anytime)

🌟"hmm? This is cute, I bet (kid name) would love this"-Natsuya

🌻Bed time stories when they sleep.

🌟"ok I'll read you one more story then you have to sleep"-Natsuya

🌻He loves spending time with his kids, playing video games with them, helping them with their homework, participating in school activities or sporting events

🌻Type of dad to cheer for he's kids as loud as he can.

🌟"That's my (boy or girl)!!🎉"-Natsuya

🌻He's the Type to have family vacations EVERY summer.

🌟"where you guys want to go this summer?"-Natsuya

🌟"I'm thinking about going to Canada."-Natsuya

🌻He is a very responsible father.

🌻Never forget important dates for his kids

🌻Lectures of life lessons for days.

🌻Words of wisdom. (Just like he did Ikuya)

🌻Tell them stories about his travels when he was young

🌟"I went to a lot of places.."-Natsuya

🌻When traveling on business trips he will bring back a souvenir for kids

🌟"I got this 🎮 for you from America"-Natsuya

🌻Tries his best to cook for them.

🌻He won't hesitate to raise his voice at his kids if they do something bad or disrespectful.

🌻He wants his kids to grown up with respect and confidence in themselves

[alicepink-me]

The New Guardian

Story Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is an adult in the real world, guarding the Miracle Box in Master Fu's place. She's in love with Chat Noir, but refuses to tell him her feelings. New holders appear to fight the duo and shake up their lives. Marinette makes a tough decision about her future as Ladybug.

Chapter 9: History

Marinette's alarm went off, waking her. She rolled over and hit her clock, looking over at April. April laid in her bed with a book and reading light. She was wearing round purple glasses and more comfy clothes like yesterday. Marinette rubbed her eyes.

"You know, it's not polite to stare." April said, turning a page.

"Why are you awake?" Marinette blinked, breathing in. "It's five in the morning."

"I'm reading." She answered. "What's your excuse?"

Marinette threw her covers over and hopped off her bed. "I have a 6 a.m. class."

"Oh, say hi to the munchkins for me." April laughed.

Marinette rummaged through her dresser. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." April turned a page.

Marinette rolled her eyes before grabbing her clothes and a small bag. She opened the door but stopped to see a blonde standing right there, smiling.

"Good morning, Marinette." The woman greeted, holding her hand out. "My name is Rebekah and I will be your tour guide for your first week."

"Uh . . . nice to meet you." Marinette shook her hand, awkwardly. "But my first class isn't until six."

"I know. I'm just waiting for you." Rebekah cheered. "I'll give you a tour at anytime and I'll be ready to take you to your class in . . . " She checked her watch. "Exactly fifty-eight minutes."

"Okay . . . sounds great, but I'm gonna get ready first." Marinette carried her stuff past her.

April rolled off her bed and moved to the door.

"Hi April!" Rebekah squealed

April gave a fake smile. "Hey Rebekah."

"I haven't seen you since last year. How are your classes?"

"Great." April slammed the door in her face.

. . .

"Alright, Marinette, first things first . . . I need all of your completed paperwork." Rebekah turned around in her tracks.

Marinette handed over the giant stack of papers before grabbing her bag. "Anything else?"

Rebekah flipped through them. "No . . . I think you're all set. I'll drop these off by Master Mantis later, but I'll show you to your first class now." She started walking.

Marinette followed. "Yeah what exactly is the first one and . . . basically all of my other classes?" Marinette asked. "My schedule was two pages, labeled day 1 and day 2, and they just included times and locations. There wasn't any other information."

"That's because we have one day of school/studying classes and one day of action/fighting classes. Neither are easy to begin with, but if we had both in the same day, students would only focus or excel in one." She admitted. "The study days are mostly history based while action days focus entirely on sparring and the miraculous." Rebekah explained, rounding a corner of the building. "You have four history classes today, all two hours each plus one one hour math class at the end of the day. Tomorrow you will have two two hour fighting and action sessions with your assigned group. I will look into your files tomorrow to give you more information on that." She turned left.

"Why would I need eight hours of history today?" Marinette asked, trying to keep up with her tour guide.

"Because you're here for a shorter time than the rest of us. You will only receive a crash course, yet a sample of each." Rebekah stopped by a door that a bunch of kids were going through. "And we're here."

"We are?" Marinette panted. They were walking really fast. Marinette watched the crowds of kids walk by. They couldn't be any older than thirteen. "These are my classmates?" She raised her eyebrows. "Why aren't they . . . more . . . my age?"

"Most people start training at the academy when they are eleven or twelve years old. You obviously have been here for like ten hours, so you don't even have the beginners level of information." She said. "Which is why you have four. You have one class for each age group."

"I didn't think I drew enough attention to myself already." Marinette said sarcastically. "This should be fun."

"I'll leave it to you then." Rebekah grinned before prancing away on her high horse.

Marinette inhaled. She walked inside and looked around the classroom. It might be best for her to sit in the back, away from everyone, and luckily there were still some empty seats. Marinette slid into a desk, waiting for class to start. There was probably one hundred twelve year olds in the room with her. Either they'll think she's the same age because of her height or Marinette's gonna get made fun of by a bunch of prepubescents. Luckily they hadn't noticed her yet.

"Alright class." The professor walked in and set his briefcase on the counter. The class immediately silenced. "Today's lesson is about the most important event to ever occur at this temple. A temporarily fatal day that permanently changed our lives and futures." The class stared at their teacher with curiosity. "Does anyone know what this time was?" No one answered. "It may be mid-semester, but I think now is the right time to introduce this unit." His eyes locked with Marinette before picking up a piece of chalk. He wrote on the board. "This event was known as The Great Massacre by Wang Fu or The Temple Buried in Time." He turned back to the class. "And since all of you are our newest pupils, none of you were born yet. It's recent yet decades old." He breathed in, pondering. "This Massacre lasted 166 long years . . . and was only cured six years ago."

The class began to murmur. One kid raised his hand "Why haven't we heard about it before?" He asked. "166 years is a long time, but it wasn't even mentioned back in my hometown."

"I'll answer that only because you all are beginners." The professor sighed. "No one, unless they have attended this academy, knows about the existence of us, so our history is hidden as well. News stations will report on heroes, but no information about their origins or identities will be released. If we allowed our secrets to be known, our safety as well as this temple would be in peril. There would be no order and all power could be stolen."

"Actually." Another girl started. "I heard about a story whenever I was seven. The news mentioned a mysterious temple reappearing."

"Yes, that is correct." The professor continued. "But once the story was released, we used some of our miraculous holders to convince every news station that discovered the incident, that nothing unusual or interesting was here. After all, they already had two heroes in their city to focus on. We made the reporters believe that there was no need to ever come back. After that, there weren't anymore stories reported and the general public completely forgot as if it never happened."

Marinette adjusted in her seat, recrossing her legs. Every ambitious child in the room whipped out their notebooks and aggressively took notes on the astonishing information. Marinette didn't really need to since Master Fu had already taught her about his past years ago and she was present for the temple's reappearance. This class seemed more like a refresher course than a complicated history class.

"So this is where the problem started." The professor began, turning back to the chalkboard. "A young guardian in training named Wang Fu made a horrible mistake that cost us dearly. He was assigned the regular training assignment that required guarding the Miracle Box for a measly 24 hours, but . . . the man's hunger got the better of him and he misused this task by stealing the peacock miraculous. Fu then used the miraculous to conjure up a creature that would bring him food, but because of his lack of training with that power the monster turned on his creator. That monster devoured every other miraculous and later the people here as well, including me." The class gasped. "The temple burned and all was lost, but Wang Fu never looked back. He grabbed the Miracle Box that he misused and ran, leaving his mess behind and that monster raging. It wasn't until 166 years later that two of his own uneducated students defeated the monstrosity." The professor turned around. "That man left everything to ruins and never bothered to finish his mess. It required two unqualified tweenagers to do it instead, bringing such shame to our group." The professor sighed. "And to top off his crimes, he lost two miraculouses after that fateful day, the peacock and butterfly. Both were found and used for evil purposes, which we will discuss in tomorrows lesson about Paris."

These kids shouldn't be brainwashed like this. Master Fu wasn't a criminal. Marinette raised her hand, even if it meant outing herself.

The professor glared at her. "Yes, Ms. Dupain-Cheng?"

Oh, he knew her name. "I'm sorry, but . . . some of your facts are wrong." Marinette said.

He squinted. "How so?"

"Well . . . one of the council members actually told Master Fu to run. He didn't leave without looking back. He tried to fix it, but before he could, everything was desiccated in destruction." Marinette continued. "And Master Fu did not leave the monster. He had believed it was destroyed in the fire, but it was later discovered in a rock formation by Mayura. Mayura was a villain, which I'm sure you already know, and she brought the creature back to life. Master Fu's pupils took down the monster that was believed to be indestructible and the temple was restored." Marinette paused, smiling. "You'd never know how happy Master Fu was when he found out that everything had returned. He wasn't some sort of villain who prayed for death and destruction."

"Hmm." The professor's eye twitched. "I suppose your view is slightly distorted since you were taught by him rather than at the temple. Maybe it's only opinion rather than factual."

"I guess the same goes for you." Marinette suggested. "The lesson would be a little biased if it's taught by a survivor of the incident."  

"Seems fair." The professor nodded, turning back to the board. "Now, class, your assignment for the week is to think of your argument." He wrote as he spoke. "How guilty or innocent is the man? What are your thoughts and if Wang Fu was still alive . . . how should the matter be dealt with?" He turned back to the class and looked at Marinette. "I'll be interested to hear your thoughts."

The rest of class was boring and frustrating for Marinette. She had heard everything before and lived part of it, yet every detail was distorted. That professor taught from his point of view, which clearly despised Master Fu. And she can almost guarantee that all the other professors are sharing from their point of views as well. Now, every child that trains at the temple will grow up believing them. They have no reason not to.

. . .

Lunch:

The temple's café was set up like a buffet with several different lines leading to different types of cuisine. Ninety percent of the food was healthy and the only weird thing here was the entire corner for protein bars and drinks. There was a huge crowd around that section. It was probably included since there's so much training at the temple. Marinette did overhear something about a wellness class, so everyone else is apparently trained for that specifically. They're specifically in tune with their diets and understand exactly what they need for their own bodies to maintain their powers at a maximum.

Marinette entered a smoothie line. She figured it might be best to start out with something simple for her first day. She didn't want to spend too much time looking at all the options, seeming like a lost puppy. Marinette might be new, but she didn't want to look like a sad freshman. It was hard to see around the hoards of students anyway.

She stepped up in the smoothie line. There was a tablet to design your smoothie and order it off of. Marinette reached for the tablet after the next girl, typing in her name and picking out ingredients. She put the tablet down as the girl behind her squinted.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" She questioned. Something about her tone was off.

"That's me." Marinette turned to her.

The girl picked up the tablet to punch in her order. "I heard about you. You're that girl." Her tude was ripe. " The one who just walked right in, demanding special treating."

Marinette's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't-"

"I heard enough." She interrupted. "I know what you are, I know all about your past, and I won't let you believe you're better. You don't deserve to be here in the first place."

"I know." Marinette nodded, taking a step down in the line.

The girl's eye twitched as she set the tablet down. "I'm Priya, last name not assigned yet, and I have been here for eight years. You have been here for eight seconds, yet you have an enormous amount of power over me. And did you train for it? No. Did you earn that right? No. And why are you here? To make up for the fact that you cheated the entire system that has been in place for centuries and don't want the guilt to eat away at your soul anymore. Please, don't plead innocence."

Marinette's mouth hung open. "I'm just trying these classes out. I can leave anytime with my miraculous, but I've chosen to stay here for now to understand the history better and to receive partial training. I'm sorry that I wasn't raised with the same lifestyle as you."

"And that's the problem." Priya moved down the line. "You can leave." She glared at Marinette. "I have worked day and night for eight years . . . and I don't have a miraculous. So I don't want to hear your self-centered sob story about how you've changed your path and you want to fit in with the world that never picked you just because you feel destined to be a part of all the magic. It's kind of sad really. If you really felt bad, you would've given up that power and left it behind because you shouldn't have it and there is no way you can start over from the beginning to earn it."

Marinette scooted down the line, standing in front of the barista. "I guess we're just going to live with it. I can't change my past, but I can alter my future here."

"Oh I'll live with it." Priya smiled. "We're in the same class tomorrow after all. There's no way you'll win against us. Once you step into that classroom, you're just prey to the wolves."

Marinette smiled. "We'll see."

"Marinette?" The barista asked.

Marinette took her large smoothie and sipped it. "Class should be fun and you can crush my experience all you want, but even if I get my butt beat . . . I can't feel anything worse than I already have this week."

Priya watched her strut away, Marinette slurping her smoothie with a grin.

. . .

Later that Night:

Marinette reached her dorm room and unlocked the door. She walked in and saw April sitting on her bed, reading. Marinette stopped and stared at the book, her eyes widened.

"My diary . . . " She mumbled. "You're reading my diary?!"

April sprung off the bed and held it behind her back. "To be fair, you are pretty sketchy." She admitted.

"I'm sketchy?!" Marinette threw her bag on her bed.

"You are a cheater, whether you accept it or not." April shrugged. "What am I supposed to believe?"

Marinette took a deep breath. "Just give it back." She held out her hand.

"I won't be so harsh anymore." April handed it over. "I think I understand you a little better now."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed. I only publicized my entire life inside that journal." Marinette said sarcastically. "But I can forgive a fraction of it if you aren't so bitter all the time."

"Oh please, everyone here is bitter." April snorted. "It's survival of the fittest. Any kindness can be taken advantage of. It's how we are." She leaned against the bed. "And people don't lie in their diaries because they don't plan to show people, so I've learned the real you by reading your secrets."

"Well that's great." Marinette hopped on her bed. "I'm glad my life story and miserable love life brings you reassurance."

"It's not that bad." April walked to her closet. "At least I don't have to kill you in your sleep because of my debilitating trust issues."

"Would you actually do that?" Marinette shoved her diary under her pillow.

April smiled. "Why do you think I didn't already have a roommate when you got here?"

[listentotheshityousay]

these wordless longings

from the siren!jeremy au

There are so many things Jeremy doesn’t know how to say. Even after he gets his voice back, he has trouble stringing together the thoughts he wants to balance on his tongue. Words are foreign in his mouth. Sometimes he chokes on them, unable to spit a single syllable through his teeth.

It doesn’t bother him, really. He’s lived without his voice for five years, can articulate himself just as easily through his hands and facial expressions, and he could live without saying another word for the rest of his life.

But there is Michael, who lived in a silent world of Jeremy’s making, who now lives in a world of otherworldly sounds whispering in the silence. Michael, who somehow loves Jeremy despite everything he’s done, who lights up with delight whenever he hears Jeremy’s voice.

There are so many things Jeremy wants to tell him. So many things that Jeremy doesn’t know how to say, neither with his voice nor his hands.

-

“You’ve been staring,” Chloe remarks as she closes her locker. Her tone is mild, without a single trace of accusation, but Jeremy flinches all the same.

Sorry, he signs, and she recognizes it easily enough. He’s been signing that a lot in the past month.

She shrugs, and Jeremy’s eyes follow the movement from her bare shoulders down to the burn scar stretching across her right arm, from collarbone to elbow. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Then she gives a deliberate smirk. “Your boyfriend is going to be jealous if you keep ogling me, though.”

Jeremy sputters at that, which makes her cackle, the delighted sound soothing away the jittery guilt under his skin.

“At least you’re subtle about it. Rich keeps looking at me like I murdered his puppy.” She pauses. “Or more like he murdered my puppy and he expects me to make him pay for it.”

Jeremy grimaces. He knows the feeling, from both sides of the situation. Rich had brushed off Jeremy’s apologies, saying how it wasn’t Jeremy’s fault, he was okay, they were still friends. But it doesn’t change the fact that Rich flinches away whenever Jeremy comes within a foot of him, that he never really smiles as wide as he used to.

“I mean, I electrocuted him pretty badly.” Chloe doesn’t express any guilt about that, which Jeremy is oddly grateful for. “His scars are worse than mine. He should know that we’re even on this.”

If only it were that easy. Then maybe Rich would stop leaving the lunch table in a hurry every day. Maybe he would stop making excuses to avoid hanging out with their friends after school. Maybe he would actually mean the words when he’d laugh, uneasy, and say I know it wasn’t my fault.

Jeremy can’t blame him. The only person to blame is Jeremy himself, after all.

-

Everybody makes way for Jeremy at school nowadays. People avoid his eyes, giving him a wide berth, and don’t even dare to say his name when he’s around.

Michael likes to joke about how it’s nice that they never have to force their ways through crowds anymore, but Jeremy can tell that it bothers him, the way Jeremy is treated like a threat. Like a criminal.

Jeremy thinks they have the right idea. Everybody should be scared of him. It’s safer that way.

He thinks Michael should be scared, too.

-

“Do you want Michael to be scared of you?”

Jeremy chews on his lip, fidgeting under his therapist’s calm gaze. Over a month into his state-mandated therapy, he still feels uneasy talking about Michael. He can talk about anything else—the nauseating sensation of having something else possess his body, the lingering resentment over his mom’s abrupt departure, the guilt over Rich and Chloe and Jake and everybody else at school who is going to mandatory counseling for three more weeks. But when it comes to Michael, Jeremy doesn’t know what he wants to say. Doesn’t know how to express this craven need to never let him go, this desperate compulsion to push him away.

No. Jeremy hesitates. Yes. He lets out a frustrated huff. Both. I don’t know.

“What do you think will happen if Michael were to be scared of you?” She asks.

He raises his hands to say he’d be safe, but he pauses, because that’s not true. Michael would stay by Jeremy’s side regardless of how scared he was, because that’s the kind of stupid, reckless, loyal person he is. Nothing. It makes Jeremy want to cry. Nothing would change. He’d still be with me.

She scribbles something on her note pad. “Do you want him to be with you?”

Jeremy always wants Michael to be with him. He almost fucking caused the apocalypse because he was scared of Michael leaving him. He shouldn’t be.

“But what do you want?” Her tone is gentle, but the question makes him ache all the same.

What I want isn’t important, he signs.

“Jeremy.” She puts her pen down. “You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to say that you want them.”

Michael says that too, sometimes. You’re allowed to be selfish. Whispered clumsily against Jeremy’s mouth in the dark. Scratched onto a post-it note slipped inside Jeremy’s biology notebook with skinny hearts surrounding the words. Signed in rapid gestures for Jeremy to see right before he enters his therapist’s office.

Sometimes, Jeremy can almost believe it.

-

How did it go? Michael asks.

Excruciating as always. Jeremy climbs into the passenger seat and buckles in. Thanks for waiting.

I was doing math homework anyway, no biggie. Michael turns the ignition in preparation of the forty-five minute drive home. It had sucked, initially, to discover that the nearest therapist who was both qualified for dealing with demonic possession and fluent in ASL was so far away, but the long drives are now Jeremy’s favorite part about going to therapy: inside an enclosed space, with the car’s stereo volume turned up high and the audio jack plugged into his phone, blasting music that Jeremy sings along to the whole way home. He messes up the lyrics sometimes and can barely rap, but he gets to be as silly and loud as he wants, and Michael smiles through every minute of it.

-

He doesn’t talk verbally with anybody but his dad and Michael. And even with his dad, it’s sporadic and fleeting. With Michael, he makes more of an effort, because Jeremy’s voice is one of the few sounds he can truly hear, and Jeremy wants to give Michael everything that is within his power to give.

And now that there is an incredible amount of power laying dormant in his soul, the possibilities terrify the ever-loving shit out of Jeremy. This entire mess started with the idea that maybe he could give Michael’s hearing back, and honestly, the knowledge that he could do that—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to make use of the power sleeping within him.

(He won’t. He promised Michael. But the temptation will always be there.)

And just the fact that he hasn’t learned his goddamn lesson when he brainwashed forty people and almost killed his friend’s Ancient mom and screwed over his friends forever, it makes Jeremy want to scream. To take a shard of glass to his throat and sever his vocal chords so he can do no more harm. More than anything, he wants to find the words that are clawing their way out of him, to give shape to the guilt and fear and greed roaring inside him.

-

You should’ve let me break his nose. Michael throws himself onto the couch at the back of his basement. He’s been fuming for a while. I could’ve just said he ran into me by accident.

People don’t run face-first into fists, Jeremy signs in exasperation.

Who said it was gonna be my fist? Michael responds with a grim face. I have perfectly serviceable elbows.

Jeremy snorts at that in spite of himself and Michael cracks a grin, but it slides off his mouth after a moment, replaced by a furious scowl.

I should have punched him.

You can't drive me to therapy if you have detention, Jeremy jokes, but it falls flat. The words that he's been swallowing down rattle in his ribcage, and he wishes he knew how to say them without being ripped apart by them, without forcing Michael to make a choice. Unbidden, the words Dustin Kropp said earlier come back to him. A danger to society like you shouldn't be allowed to be in public. It's surprising that Jeremy doesn't hear that one more often, to be honest. "It's not like he was wrong."

He doesn't realize he's said that aloud until he hears the sound of fingers snapping twice and his attention automatically refocuses onto Michael's pale, outraged face.

What the fuck? Michael stands up and walks up to Jeremy. We went over this. You can't blame yourself for everything.

Something about the way Michael advances on him—like it doesn't even occur to him to fear being close to Jeremy, like Jeremy isn't a fucking danger to everybody around him—douses Jeremy with white-hot anger. I'm not blaming myself for jackshit, he signs aggressively. I'm saying that he's right; I'm dangerous. People have every right to be scared of me.

I'm not scared of you. Michael is standing only inches away, and Jeremy wants to drag him in and kiss the stubborn line of his mouth, wants to scream until Michael can hear what the whole world is saying, wants to tell Michael never leave me and force him to listen.

"You should be!" The words scrape against his throat as he yells them much louder than he intended, but he can't be quiet now. Can't stop the flood of words that rip their way out of him, the things he doesn't know how to say but needs to say anyway. "You shouldn't want to be with me, not after everything I did. I almost killed people—hell, I almost killed an Ancient. I almost ended the whole fucking world. And yeah, that wasn't what I wanted, it was the demon, whatever, but I chose that. I was the one who made the choice to let the demon possess me, to hell with the rest of the world, as long as I got what I wanted. And you know what?" 

And here it is, the ugly truth that he can't deny: 

"I'd do it again. If it came down to choosing between you and the rest of the world, I'd burn down the world in a heartbeat." He covers his face with both hands, unable to look at the stunned look on Michael's face any longer. "I'm not safe, Michael, and I don't think I'm really sane, either, if I'm saying shit like this."

For the longest moment, there's nothing but the ragged sound of his breathing and a voice deep in his soul, chained and trapped, hissing he’ll never feel safe around you again, knowing how deep your twisted obsession of him runs.

He can’t help but think, good.

And then warm hands curl around his wrists, tugging his hands down, and Michael’s forehead presses against Jeremy’s, forcing him to tilt his face up, and then Michael’s kissing him, hard and insistent, licking into Jeremy’s gasping mouth with a hunger that makes Jeremy’s knees nearly buckle. He kisses back on instinct for about five seconds, whining into Michael’s mouth and shuddering at Michael’s responding growl, then regains his sanity and pulls away, trying to tug his wrists free. But Michael holds on tighter and chases his mouth, and in the ensuing struggle Jeremy trips backwards onto a beanbag chair, Michael following him down.

“Ow,” Jeremy complains about his sore ass. Michael echoes the sentiment as he rubs one of his knees. “What the fuck, Michael?” One of his hands is free now, but Michael still has one of Jeremy’s wrists in a vice-grip. “Let go of me.”

Michael twitches, his grip loosening for a second before it tightens again. He raises his free hand to respond. No.

“Michael.” A thread of desperation creeps into Jeremy’s voice. He needs Michael to get away from him, because if Michael keeps holding onto him like this, Jeremy’s going to fool himself into thinking he could keep Michael forever. “Did you hear a single word I said?”

Yes. Michael glances down at the hand he’s keeping around Jeremy’s wrist, then looks back up to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “I love you too, asshole.”

Jeremy blinks, then makes a pained noise. “I literally just said I’d sell my soul and the rest of the world to the devil for you. That is not supposed to be your response.”

“It was the most romantic bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Michael says, slow but firm.

“That’s not romantic; that’s crazy.” A slightly hysterical despair seeps into Jeremy’s chest. Michael is making no move to get away from Jeremy, and he isn’t sure if he should be relieved or chagrined. “Also, was that a deaf joke? Because it’s not funny.”

“Fuck you,” Michael says, signing it with his free hand. “I’m hilarious.” He lifts Jeremy’s captive hand to his face and kisses Jeremy’s palm slowly, gaze fixed on Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy swallows a whimper before it can escape, but he can’t hide his shudder at the contact. “And you love me.”

Jeremy curls his hand around Michael’s jaw, slides it back to cup the back of his neck, and Michael lets him. Lets Jeremy pull him in so that he’s half-hovering over Jeremy, their noses brushing, his knees between Jeremy’s. Even after everything Jeremy’s done, after everything he’s confessed, he’s still so unafraid of Jeremy.

“You should run,” Jeremy whispers against Michael’s mouth. “Or I might never let you leave.”

Michael laughs, low and breathless. “Sounds perfect.”

Something breaks loose in Jeremy at that, the inside of his chest flooding, hot and all-encompassing. He pulls Michael in for a bruising kiss, hauling him closer with both hands, tangling fingers into hair and hoodie, trying to press into Michael, leaving not even an inch of space between them. “You idiot,” he mouths against Michael’s skin, kissing up Michael’s cheek, nipping at the shell of his ear. “I love you. God, do you even know how much I love you?” Everything is spilling out of him—the want, the desperation, the fear—poured into his words so that Michael can feel every single part of this love of his, twisted and deep and true. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“ I know.” Michael pushes closer; doesn’t flinch away from the raging current, this flood of emotion that Jeremy cannot contain, overflowing in his words and voice and magic. “I hear you.” Instead he trails kisses down Jeremy’s jaw and neck. “I know.” He brushes his lips against Jeremy’s, his words hot and sweet as they’re breathed into Jeremy’s mouth. “How could I be scared of you, when you love me just as badly as I love you?”

-

I’ve thought about it, Michael tells him the next day as they sit in the waiting room of Jeremy’s therapist. And I think you shouldn’t worry about making stupid choices.

Thought you said it was romantic? Jeremy snarks, and Michael swats him.

In theory! Didn’t work out in practice, remember? Michael gestures around them. One more consequence of Jeremy’s obsession. But back to my point. You don’t have to worry about making shitty decisions, because I’m not leaving you. Ever.

That’s not something that might be entirely within Michael’s power to guarantee, but Jeremy wants to believe it anyway. So my crazy possessive stalker-y declaration doesn’t scare you, huh.

Like I’d ever be scared of you. Michael snorts, but his smile is soft and fond.

And that’s okay, really. Michael doesn’t need to be scared of Jeremy. Jeremy’s going to be scared for the both of them.

Besides, Michael adds, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mischievous grin, it’s kinda hot.

Jeremy can’t help the shocked, scandalized laugh that bursts out of him. You have some really questionable kinks, dude.

Michael flips him the bird. I’m just saying.

What, you want me to tie you to my bed and never let you leave? Jeremy jokes, but the way Michael flushes a dark red all the way to the tips of his ears makes him realize he’s hit pretty close to home. He feels his own face go hot at the image of it. Seriously? You’d let me do that?

I’d let you do anything to me, Michael signs, going impossibly redder.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy says aloud, unable to help himself, and he catches the way Michael shivers, responding to the sheer lust in Jeremy’s words. He takes a moment to shut down the ideas springing up in his hormonal teenage mind, focusing on the terribly sobering prospect of facing his therapist in the next two minutes instead of the incredibly hot prospect of Michael trusting him so much. We’re kinda crazy, aren’t we.

Crazy for each other, hell yeah. Michael makes a kissy face at him.

Jeremy shoves his shoulder. My therapist is going to have a fucking field day with me.

And speak of the devil, his therapist is poking her head out of her door and calling his name now. Michael follows Jeremy’s gaze, sees that it’s Jeremy’s time to face the music, and grins at him. She can be buddies with my counselor. He thinks we’re a hot mess.

Jeremy grimaces as he stands up, and Michael laughs.

But he also thinks that we’re going to be okay. Michael takes Jeremy’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, then nudges him towards the open office door. And I think so too.

Maybe Jeremy’s therapist will agree, once she hears the words Jeremy has finally found to talk about Michael. As he steps through the doorway, he realizes that there’s so many things he wants to say. Things he wants to tell his therapist, his dad, his friends. Michael. And he thinks, for the first time, he might know how to say them.

[twowritingdisasters]

Take Me There (Take Me Home): Arthur

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Don’t catch me don’t catch me please don’t catch me--

Arthur darts in and out of the legs of his father’s employees, heart pounding with terror as he chances a glance over his shoulder. Maybe he shouldn’t have run from his tutors--I’m gonna get punished so badly later, they’re gonna hurt me, please don’t hurt me--but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle being stuck in that room, too scared to do anything but listen and try not to mess up, too scared to be anything but perfect. He dives into a cubicle as his math tutor’s voice echoes down the hall-- “Young Master Pendragon”, they say, as if he’s master of anything, and he tucks his legs to his chest with an involuntary whimper. He clutches the small notepad and pencil he managed to get against himself, pressing himself into a corner as he curls beneath a desk, shifting behind a chair to hide better. 

His tutor’s shoes clack on the impeccably clean floor, passing him by, and he stiffens, biting down hard on his palm to stifle another whimper of fear. Please don’t find me please please don’t find me please--! “Young Master Pendragon, if you don’t come out...” There’s a sigh, before they change tactics. “If you come out now, you won’t be in trouble, I promise.”

Liar, liarliarliar leave me alone I don’t wanna learn taxes and economics I wanna draw please... He bites down even harder to keep himself from making noise, fighting back a shudder as his teeth manage to break the skin. The sound of shoes on polished hardwood fades out, and he dares to close his eyes--only to open them as the sharp, clear sound of heels draws closer, terror washing over him anew. A woman, probably, and he watches a pair of sleek, elegant black heels pause in front of where he’s hiding next to someone he recognizes as one of Father’s assistants; his tongue starts to taste of iron, the icky tang familiar to him now, and he feels like crying. 

“What’s all the ruckus about?” The voice is unfamiliar, warm and soothing, like honey and sunshine and things he only gets if he’s very very good, very very obedient. There’s a scary edge to it, though, and he feels tears well up as he tucks his legs closer to his chest. 

“Ah, Ms. Ljon!” someone responds, their voice dripping false cheeriness. “So good to see you! Mr. Pendragon’s meeting with you won’t be hindered, I assure you.” He recognizes that voice, it’s one of his father’s aides, Miss Iolanthe--one of the nicer ones, who sometimes doesn’t tell Father when he’s been bad. Still, running from lessons and work is Really Really Bad and she’d have to report to Father and then he’d be locked up and hurt and thrown out and no one would ever love him and--

The choked whimper escapes him before he can stop it, and he clamps his hands over his mouth in horror, shaking. The first voice--Ms. Ljon?--doesn’t react, though, simply shifts her stance as the aide’s shoes shift toward the desk. “That’s not what I asked.” The scary edge is definitely there now. “I wanted to know why Uther’s right-hand man is parading through the halls calling for a ‘young master’, and why the fuck there’s a frightened child hiding underneath this table--and most importantly, why the hell no one seems phased by it.”

Arthur’s lip wobbles--this Ljon person is scary, and once she finds out how bad he’s been she’s gonna bring him to Father and Father would punish him in front of everyone again--and he bursts into silent tears, crying quietly. The aide stammers something, but Ljon must do something, because he sees her feet move and a noise like a wildcat’s snarl comes from her, and the aide tells her everything, just how bad he is, how many times he’s been punished, how willful and disobedient he is. His entire body shudders as she says helplessly, “I try to keep him safe as much as possible--but Mr. Pendragon’s other aides and the tutors he hires, they all believe the same stuff. It’s like they want to break him so they can mold him into the perfect heir, the stuff I’ve seen some of them do, it’s--”

“And this happens in front of his employees?” Horror chases away the scariness in Ms. Ljon’s voice. “They know, and they haven’t called--they haven’t done shit?”

“You think people haven’t tried?” The aide’s voice shakes as she speaks and Arthur trembles at it, trembles at the fury there. It might not be addressed toward him, but it’s still terrifying when grown-ups get mad. “Mr. Pendragon is highly respected and incredibly wealthy. People have tried to break contract, to involve the police, but he buys them off, them and the lawyers, and ruins the lives of anyone who tries to stop him. He could beat the poor thing in court and no one would say a word because of how powerful he is.”

“I want to see Uther.”

“Ms. Ljon--”

The growl that comes from the woman is petrifying, and Arthur sobs aloud as the aide, similarly frightened, spins on her heel and hurries off. A sigh follows, the woman slipping off her heels--and she sits, and he gets his first good look at her. Her eyes are bright gold, her hair sleek and black, a scarlet tattoo inscribed on her pale neck. Father said that only delinquents and hooligans got tattoos, but the aide had said that he wanted to meet with this lady, which means that he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. He knows the light in her eyes--anger, rage, hurthurthurt--but her lips are curving into a gentle smile. “Hi, baby,” she whispers, and her voice doesn’t have that angry, frightening edge anymore. “My name’s Merlin.”

He stares at her, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he hiccups, before shaking his head, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes. “N-o-o-o-o...”

That angry light flashes in her eyes again--he can tell without even looking--but the honey-warm tones of her voice don’t change. “I’m not going to hurt you, darling, I promise. I’m just going to stay here with you until you feel a little better okay?” Despite himself, he peeks through his fingers at her. She’s still smiling gently, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him. She’s not yelling or hitting or pinching or grabbing, she’s just...watching.

He nods. Her smile widens a bit at that, soft and warm. “Can you tell me your name, darling?”

Name. He’s “Young Master Pendragon” to the tutors and aides, “Sir” to the workers, “brat” or “boy” or “Heir” to his father. He doesn’t want to be any of those, has wanted to be anything but those for so very long. All he wants to be... “A-Arthur,” he whispers, his voice trembling and making the words shake too. 

Her eyes soften, the light in them almost tender, and he lowers his hands slowly, sets his notebook down. Merlin’s eyes dart to it and she tilts her head at him. “Do you want to tell me what that’s for?”

If she finds out she’ll take it drawing is bad drawing is useless not allowed-- He shakes his head wildly, a soft “uh-uh” escaping him as he scrubs at his eyes. She makes a sympathetic noise, soft and warm. “Okay, baby, you don’t have to. Can I give you a hug?”

A...what? He’s been hugged, of course, but just for cameras, and it was always too tight and a little frightening. Merlin’s gaze is warm, though, and she’s not standing to try and make him quiet or forcing him to do anything, so he shifts a little closer. She pats the ground encouragingly, and bit by bit, Arthur finds himself inching close enough for her to reach. He lets her loop an arm around his shoulders, steadying him as he trembles violently before pulling him against her side. The warmth feels...good, and he huddles against her side, feeling safe for the first time in ages.

Then his father storms in and it all comes crashing down.

Father is a big man, with wide shoulders and sharp eyes that always seem like knives, piercing whatever he decides to turn his gaze upon. Terror washes up and over Arthur as his sharp eyes flick to him and then back. “What is the meaning of this, Merlin?” His voice is That Voice, low and pleasant like he always makes it right before he hurts him, and Arthur whimpers, pulling free of Merlin’s grasp. He inches back toward the safety of the desk, but Father’s gaze pins him in place and he shudders, bringing his hand toward his mouth subconsciously to bite down on his palm. Good boys don’t cry in front of their betters, after all, and bad ones get punished and Arthur doesn’t want to get punished again. 

Merlin stands, all slinky and graceful like a wildcat, and despite the fact that she’s shorter than Father, she seems bigger--the first person he’s met who doesn’t bow her head or move away from him. “I was hoping you could tell me, Uther.” Her voice is equally low and pleasant. “Miss Iolanthe was kind enough to inform me of your actions toward a six-year-old.” She began to circle him, her eyes drifting to Arthur’s own. 

“I am a believer in corporal punishment, yes, but I have never--”

“Shut. Up.” And Merlin halts in front of him, her teeth bared in a snarl. “Emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation, neglect, public humiliation, and enough physical punishments that he’d rather hurt himself than draw or write or do whatever it is he wants to do with that notebook. People treat their pets better than this, and here you are, abusing your own son freely in your own. Damn. Office.” He watches in awe as Father opens his mouth, only to be cut off by Merlin’s hand. “Don’t. As if that wasn’t enough, you’re teaching him how to manage a company at six fucking years old. Six. He doesn’t even have a decade’s worth of life on him yet and you’re pushing this shit like it’s the end of the fucking world if he doesn’t learn how to balance a checkbook, physically fucking abusing him if he messes up.”

Father’s eyes glint with rage, as they always do when he perceives a challenge. “It’s not abuse if will make him and the company stronger.”

At that, Merlin laughs, and Arthur stares at her in shock. “Stronger. Yeah, right--I’ve seen what abuse--and that’s exactly what it is, you delusional nutbag--can do to someone. I see the traces of physical abuse every day in my sons, verbal abuse in my daughter and child. And yes, they’re resilient and strong, but kids aren’t like swords. They don’t get stronger when you shove them through the fire, they burn, because they’re flesh and blood and too young to know that you’re a complete and utter FUCKWIT!”

Father snarls at her and he bites down harder, the iron tang of blood filling his mouth again as he shuffles backwards. “Even if all this was true--” It is, Arthur thinks, wants to say, but the pressure of that terrifying gaze is too much-- “you have no proof.”

“She has my testimony.” Miss Iolanthe’s voice trembles, but when Arthur whips around to look at her, her eyes are bright with anger. “I’ve watched you hurt that child since he could walk. No more.”

“No more,” one of the employees calls in agreement, another echoing the sentiment, and Arthur stares in blatant shock as nearly the entire floor starts chanting together, slowly and raggedly at first before speeding up. “No more no more no more no more--”

Father growls as Merlin lifts her chin, the light in her golden eyes smug. “What do you want, Ljon?”

“No more no more no more no more--”

“Don’t you get it, you imbecile?” He stares at her in awe as she steps closer, her eyes flashing. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what he wants.” Abruptly she turns, and he flinches back in surprise as she kneels in front of him, extending her hands. “I can get you out of here,” she tells him softly. “I can get you away from him--from them. Permanently.”

“Arthur, I forbid it!”

“No more no more no more no more--”

The look in her eyes is warm, hopeful, trusting, and he hesitantly takes her hand, flinching as Father roars in protest. Merlin smiles, warm and gentle and bright, bringing his attention away from the angry monster of a man behind her and back to those kind eyes. “What do you say, baby?”

“Don’t you dare,” Father hisses. “Arthur--”

But Arthur doesn’t want to be like Father and he doesn’t want to be strong and he just wants to feel better than this, so he nods. “Y-yes,” he chokes out, and she smiles, and--

A hand clenches around his arm, pulling him violently back, and his father’s voice hisses in his ear, something about how bad he’s been and how ungrateful he is, how dare he--and the painful grip suddenly vanishes with a shocked yell. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s screaming, wails of terror coming from his throat. In front of him, Merlin draws her fist back before shaking it out, teeth bared. “If you’d let him go, I would’ve let you sign over custody quietly and fairly,” she says, and her voice is back to low and pleasant. “But I’m glad you didn’t, because now I have an excuse to tear you to shreds.”

She picks him up despite his sobs, strokes the back of his head gently before kissing away the tears. “I’ll see you in court,” she purrs to Uther Pendragon, satisfaction dripping from her voice at the sight of the steadily-forming bruise on his face. 

The destruction of Uther Pendragon is a court spectacle talked about for months afterward. Merlin’s accusations revealed a host of corrupt dealings, harassment charges, bribes--nearly everything a person could think of when it came to the words “corrupt CEO”. Still, the Ljon family ignored it all as Uther’s world came crumbling down, their eyes fixed on the sweet violet-eyed boy with a sunbeam smile.

“Arthur, careful you don’t get crayon on the rug,” Merlin admonishes; her youngest son looks up at her and beams shyly, the picture he’s been steadily coloring balanced on a lap-desk in front of him. Already he looks healthier, happier, a new light in his eyes and a bouncy cheeriness to him that hadn’t been there before. Next to him, Meliodas gives her a thumbs-up, flipping through shows on Netflix before settling on Big Hero Six; the others had all taken to Arthur immediately, adoring the boy as much as she and Escanor did and doting on him utterly. He’s latched onto the rest of them as well, slotting into their family with the greatest of ease.

Arthur Ljon.

She likes the sound of that.

[cdc1345711]

My Hero Academia/Vigilantes Crossover Story

(Class 1-A students Midoriya,Uraraka,Ida,Todoroki,Bakugo,Mina,Kirishima,Sero,Mineta,Hagakure,Tsu,and Yaoyorozu took a trip to Higashi-Naruhata at the request of Ida,since he said his family has a spare house in the seemingly slum-like neighborhood)

Midoriya:Not gonna lie Ida,it’s surprising your family has a spare house in a place like this.....”

Ida:Technically it’s my family’s company retreat,which I thought would......”

Bakugo:Cut the crap ‘Class-Rep’ you obviously invited us here for a reason so spit it out.....”

Kirishima:Jeez Bakugo you shouldn’t expect Ida to have a secret purpose,not his style”

Sero:Though he did try to hunt down the Hero Killer Stain”

Kirishima:Actually you got a point there”

Uraraka:Come on guys Ida learned his lesson the last time”

Ida:No-Bakugo is right......(everyone looks at Ida in surprised looks)”

Midoriya:Ida what do you mean?”

Ida:The main reason I invited you all here was because Higashi-Naruhata is plentiful of ‘Impromptu Villains’ as well as.........Vigilantes......”

Hagakure:Vigilantes?......”

Sero:I didn’t think they were still around?”

Ida:My brother was fighting a villain with a bat quirk near this area,he found him but beaten to an inch of his life and saw 3 figures on a rooftop-no doubt the illegal heroes”

Midoriya:Yeah you’re right Ida-Naruhata is protected by 3 super-heroes,so far the 2 I know of is ‘The Hauler’ and Pop-Step......”

(The girls all scream in unison-except Yaoyorozu)

Girls:SQUEEEEEEEEEE”

Mina:We get to meet Pop-Step”

(The guys are confused)

Uraraka:She is a freelance singer,who shows off her singing skills for her fans for free”

Hagakure:She is so awesome”

Mineta:(Having a creepy perverted fantasy)And she has such a sexy ass(he’s smacked upside the head by Tsu)”

Tsu:You’re such a perv Mineta” 

Yaoyorozu:But we mustn’t forget she is blatantly using her quirk in public therefore breaking the rules our quirk filled society has created”

Ida:You’re absolutely right”

Bakugo:(Scoffs)So that’s why we’re here? to take some wannabe villains and a couple of wannabe heroes clinging to a fossilized idea”

Todoroki:I’m sure the school wouldn’t allow it”

Ida:That is why I said this would be a ‘scouting mission’ but Mr.Aizawa said we’re allowed to fight IF needed”

Midoriya:So what’s the game plan,we just ask around the streets in case we spot a Impromptu Villain or one of the vigilantes?”

Ida:Precisely Midoriya-we split up into teams of 3 and patrol the areas”

Mineta:Remind me-why am I here?”

Ida:We’ll need your sticky ball quirk to capture our targets,as well as Asui’s tongue(Tsu:Just ‘Tsu’ please”),Todoroki’s ice,Sero’s tape and whatever capturing device or tool Yaoyorozu will created with her quirk”

Yaoyorozu:I great strategy Ida”

Kirishima:So whose gonna end up with who”

Ida:Me,Midoriya and Uraraka are a team, same for you Kirishima,Bakugo and Todoroki,Sero,Hagakure and Mina and Tsu,Yaoyorozu and Mineta”

Mineta:Hell yeah I get the best babes(Tsu smacks him again)”

Bakugo:Doesn’t matter whose with me-I see those damn wannabe villains or those dumb fossil I’ll kill them dead”

Todoroki:Same as always huh Bakugo”

Bakugo:WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY ICY-HOT?????”

(And as soon as they put their costumes on they start to patrol the city asking anyone if they’ve seen or heard of any villain or vigilante news-so far nothing-they all meet back at a park)

Yaoyorozu:We regret to inform that we’ve found nothing”

Kirishima:We tried to talking to these guys,one with freaky eye-glasses and one short burly faced guy who said they know them but haven’t heard from them recently-and then Bakugo tried to fry their faces off”

Bakugo:I WOULD’VE GOT MORE INFO IF YOU BASTARDS STAYED OUT OF MY WAY!!!!!!”

Todoroki:How about the rest of you”

Mina:It’s a dead end”

Uraraka:Us too”

Midoriya:They said there hasn’t been any new villains in public for a while-same for the vigilantes”

Kirishima:Maybe you got some bad intel from the teachers Ida?”

Ida:Impossible-Mr.Aizawa clearly stated that Hbarashi-Naruhata had 3 vigilantes-he would never lie to us(they all look at him in somewhat ‘really-did you just say that’ expressions)...........maybe he did”

(Before they called it quits a loud yell was heard)

‘AAAAAAAH IT’S A BUNCH OF VILLAINS’

Midoriya:Did you hear that?”

Kirishima:Villains?,we got to help them

Bakugo:Finally-something to fight(uses his explosion quirk to fly to the scene)”

Midoriya:WAIT UP KACCHAN!!!!(but he’s too far to hear)Dammit Kacchan”

Ida:Our priority is to scout but innocent lives would get hurt so we have no choice but to help fight them”

(They make it to the scene where 4 villains have just surfaced)

Kirishima:Whoa........”

Sero:I’ll tape up the little one if you guys can take down the big ones”

Bakugo:Screw that-i’ll kill all 4 of them without......”

(But before Bakugo could fire one explosion a buff shadowy figure jumps down and punches one of the villains knocking him out)

Kirishima:HOLY CRAP-did you guys see that dude’s punch? so manly......”

(Another villains attempts to attack Midoriya and Mineta-but in a flash they’re both saved)

Midoriya/Mineta:Huh????”

Koichi:You kids shouldn’t be here-it’s too dangerous”

Pop-Step:He’s right you know(the girls look in awe of her)

Knuckleduster:Yeah-leave this to us......”

Bakugo:(Completely pissed)LIKE HELL YOU FOSSIL(fire his explosion at both the second villain and Knuckleduster)”

Koichi:MASTER!!!!!!!????”

Knuckleduster:(Seemingly not affected at all)Nice shot kid”

(A third villain-a rock-like skinned one charges at Knuckleduster and Bakugo only to be frozen by Todoroki)

Bakugo:I DON’T NEED TO BE SAVED BY YOU ICY-HOT?”

Todoroki:Yet it seemed like you did”

(But the villain breaks free from his icy prison......only to be punched by Midoriya)

Midoriya:DELAWARE......SMAAAAAASH(punches the villain square in the lower jaw)”

(One villain remained and he was a giant one)

Koichi:How do you plan on getting to that guy Master?”

Kirishima:Hey Old Man-why don’t you try throwing me?(hardens his entire body)”

(Knuckleduster just smiles as he picks up Kirishima and with a might thrust throws the hardened boy and sees him double fists the giant villain square in the face)

Kirishima:Hell-Yeah,always wanted to be a ‘Fastball-Special’”

(They tie up the villains with Sero’s tape-as the UA Students finally meet the famous ‘Vigilante Trio’)

Midoriya:Holy Crap,is that a genuine limited edition All Might Hoodie????”

Koichi:Yes it is.....it’s the 2013 edition”

Midoriya:So cool.....I only got the 2016 edition”

(Mina,Hagakure and Uraraka all 3 talk to their favorite singer)

Hagakure:OMG it’s so nice to meet you”

Mina:We’re huge fans of your work......”

Uraraka:Mind signing my notebook?”

Pop-Step:Sure,no problem”

Kirishima:(Talking to Knuckleduster)That was one manly punch Old-Man,you must have some super strength quirk or something?”

Knuckleduster:It’s ore something.....because I don’t have a quirk”

Sero:Seriously????”

Bakugo:Bull-Crap no one a quirkless loser can land a punch like that?”

Knuckleduster:Kid I stopped giving a damn about what people think of me years ago-especially from a violent animal who had to be muzzled and chained when he won the UA sports festival.......and yeah I know you’re UA students”

Bakugo:(Livid beyond comprehension)Wild......animal.........?(gritting his teeth)”

Koichi:Yeah-we also know about those League of Villain guys-more experienced than the guys we deal with on a regular basis”

Knuckleduster:Still-bet one of those punks could put up a good fight?”

Pop-Step:You’re so stupid old man”

(As the Students and Vigilantes express pleasantries-Ida writes notes on pieces of paper and gives them to Koichi,Pop-Step and Knuckleduster)

Koichi:What are these?”

Ida:Tickets-one for illegal use of quirk in public(Koichi)..........excessive brutal force(Knuckleduster)......and one for.......”

Pop-Step:INDECENT EXPOSURE???????”

Ida:Precisely-that outfit of yours show out parts of your boosum and your posterior  a very inappropriate attire to be seen in public”

Pop-Step:(Looking at Yaoyorozu)What about her?,she looks more skimpy than me?”

Ida:Her costume allows her to use her creation quirk and is approved by UA standards,yours is not”

Pop-Step:WHY YOU LITTLE ROBO-NERD I OUTTA......”

Koichi:Hey you’re Ingenium’s brother right?”

Ida:(Shocked he knows his brother)How do you?????”

Koichi:I met him once-I’m sorry to hear what happened to him,but i’m glad he’s okay and that you and your friend were able to put his attacker behind bars”

Ida:Thank you for those kind words”

Knuckleduster:(Hearing sirens)CRAP it’s the police-let’s go......”

Ida:WAIT A MINUTE-YOU 3 ARE UNDER ARREST FOR VIGILANTISM........STOP!!!!”

(And as the 3 illegal heroes retreat to the darkness the UA Students head home-one in particular wondering if they’ll ever see them again)

THE END

[tenderdnp]

we’re already each other’s, yet you aren’t mine

beta: @star-crossed-phan​

artist: @just-another-phanfic​ + a pt. ii of her art is here!

word count: 26.2k

rating: PG-13; genres are romance, fluff, and angst

warnings: mild language, homophobia (internal and external), mild homophobic slurs, alcohol, hints at sexual intimacy

summary: in a time where tattoos bloom upon the skin out of nowhere - dan is a boy who paints watercolor roses in his backyard and has a single hidden marigold behind his ear, all while phil, who has tattoos of daisies around his ankles + shoulders, writes poetry on the front porch next door. (a high school, art student au)

author’s note: aaaa my first pbb fic!! :’)) thank you so much to kayla for betaing this! you are so sweet, and we talked more than just about editing which was so lovely. bless you for sticking with me even though the word count went from what was supposed to be 5k straight to 25k; you’re a real one! and thank you to kat for being a great pinch hitter artist, your moodboards make my heart go !!!!!

and a p.s. —  this fic was inspired by @demonphannie​’s post and @audaw​’s art. ty for existing

moodboard by @just-another-phanfic

. . .

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing the dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls, the ones that would convey the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, an elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

<<>>

It’s the sound of lips on skin and lips on lips that makes his shoulders tense and his hair stand on end. He can’t ignore them, they’re only three lockers down after all, and his peripheral vision just happens to be especially keen. Dan Howell has the new girl -new as in she had literally transferred into their art school several days ago- pinned against the locker’s cold metal, his lips pressing against hers again and again. It isn't a shock, really. She is likely his latest rendezvous, i.e. the new girl in both the real and alternative sense.

The probable truth of that fact makes his gut twist.

His thoughts are confirmed by gossipers in the hallway, their ringing giggles unintentionally piquing his interest. Their conversation automatically separating from the bustle of bodies and hallway sound, he listens in on their eager chatter.

“Did you hear who it was this time?”

Her friend squeals —was that necessary?— in response. “No I haven't! Who?!”

“It was Erin—”

“Erin? The new girl who came in and started here last week?”

“Yes! Well, she came in a totally different way last night,” he could hear a smirk and a wink in her voice. The if you know what i mean was a little more than heavily implied, making him internally cringe. “Everybody’s saying that they just locked eyes across Chris’ living room and like, totally fell in love. Or lust. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” the friend laughs knowingly, “Not a single girl has ever lasted too long.”

From there, as the conversation topic shifted, his attention followed. Suddenly irritated, he shuts his locker with a slam, not loud enough to gain the passerbys’ attention, but enough to snap Dan and Erin (she has a name now) out of it. By the time he turns around, Erin shoots a mildly peeved glance his way. Familiar words of it's always cloudy except for, when you look into the past, one night… flow from his worn earbuds to hit his eardrums as he makes his way to class, clearing his mind and relaxing his annoyance.

He shakes his head to himself, and puts a little smile on his face. It happens all the time, so he shouldn’t be bothered. Today is gonna be a good day.

He can feel it.

<<>>

As per usual, he is the first one in the classroom. It is a basic english class, because despite being at the art school for written work and thus having several writing and literary classes under his belt, he is still required to take a “basic” class for the english language.

His efforts to convince the principal to change his situation (that other students have voiced to have as well) otherwise was, needless to say, futile.

The class bores him a bit, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. More often than not, he keeps to himself and simply chooses to not actively participate in class. Besides, being one of the teacher’s favorites due to having a particularly advanced grasp of the material is not necessarily the worst thing in the world (plus it gives him time to write rather than pay attention).

Several minutes pass before Dan enters the classroom. As per usual he is the last to enter, with Erin in tow. Her blonde curls are even more all over the place than they usually are and his typically perfectly straightened hair is a little less than perfect; to add even more to that, their clothes are crinkled, leaving little to nothing to the imagination as to what their shenanigans were. The teacher makes no comment but a slight disappointed exhale and a passing gesture of the hand for them to take their seats before he opens up the class for the lesson.

“Now for the past two weeks we have been talking about poetry…” Mr. Lamansi begins, clapping his hands together. “And for today in particular, we will be focusing on Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road.”

The class proceeds by his calling on various students in a random fashion to take turns with reading stanzas, his choice sometimes falling on the ones with their hands raised and other times upon those who were purposefully remaining quiet and avoiding eye contact. Phil allows himself to take advantage of this time to freewrite, allowing his pen and mind to wander.

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives...

“Phil? Could you read these few lines for us?”

At the teacher’s interruption, Phil looks up and nods, proceeding to put down his pen and stand up from his seat as every other student had. His hands hold his textbook as he prepares himself to speak, but the moment he opens his mouth, Mr. Lamansi stops him.

“Actually Phil,” Mr. Lamansi begins, “Can you come up and read in front of the class? This is one of my favorite parts.”

Phil bites his lip. “Y-yeah. That's fine.”

Everyone’s focus is on him as he strides towards where the teacher directed him to go. He’s not a fan of this kind of thing you know, being the center of unwanted attention that is, and each stare only seems to be encouraging the swirls that are slowly appearing on his lower back. Once he reaches his spot in the front, each set of seemingly judgemental eyes causes buttercups to rapidly pop up on a concentrated spot on the inside of his wrists, mapping the places where he feels anxiety and unease.

An awkward cough to clear his throat and break the stillness of the room comes first. Then, he begins.

And it's captivating.

“The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road—the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to me, Do not leave me? Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are lost? Do you say, I am already prepared—I am well-beaten and undenied—adhere to me? O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you—yet I love you; You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more to me than my poem.”

His voice pulls at the heartstrings of everyone watching him, or at the very least, grabs their gaze so that they don't look away. Other students were bored and monotone in vocal delivery, but his take on it is deep and rich. It's lovely, and all the students (okay, except maybe a select few, but you can't win them all) are listening. Breathtaking is definitely the right word to describe it, for the full classroom of rowdy adolescents are nearly completely silent.

Unbeknownst to him, when he's finished, Dan’s lips are parted oh so slightly in a sort of soft awe.

As Phil sits back in his seat, his face burns red, a murmur of applause going through the room. His teacher praises and thanks him, but he pays it no mind. His eyes shift down at his desk as he brainstorms and works on a poem for the rest of the period, until the bell eventually rings.

Now mind you, Philip Lester was usually very observant. His eyes were open, all the time— as a poet he had to take inspiration from every facet of the world around him. However, perhaps if his mind didn't force itself to replay the most anxious of moments, and he wasn't so distracted by his writing, Phil would have caught how peculiar it was for a certain Dan Howell to throw a fleeting gaze at him just before leaving the room.

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age four.

Life was pretty nice when one’s age was still a single digit number.

While his mother was cooking, Phil was sat in the chair at the dining table. Legs swinging in the air because he was far too short to reach the floor, with a face of curiosity he pointed a small finger at what was on her bicep.

“Mum, why does your skin have different colors there?”

She briefly stopped her stirring upon the stove, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion a little before she saw what he was pointing at and laughed in understanding. “This?” she clarified while she smiled, pointing at the tattoo of a concert ticket that lay on her upper arm.

“Yeah!” young Phil exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “And Daddy has one too!”

His mother hummed in agreement and continued to make supper. “Indeed he does,” she laughed, “And that's on purpose you know. The first time I met him was at a concert.” Her voice became wistful as she continued, “I was sold a counterfeit ticket and because of that was absolutely devastated, with tears in my eyes and all, and was on the way to being sent home. On my way out, I had bumped shoulders with your father. We were completely knocked down to the floor! And then…” Her hand stopped once more as her words trailed off.

“And then he noticed my eyes and asked me what's wrong. Once he heard about what had happened, he told me that his friend became sick and that he had a free ticket. Only if I wanted it of course. I accepted it, we ended up having a great time, kept contact, and eventually started dating. I got one half of a concert ticket on my left arm, and your father had a concert ticket on his right.”

“Wow! Now you two are matching, right mum?”

“Yep! They say that nothing’s been proven but if anything,” she turned towards her son and made a pointing gesture to emphasize her words. “This appeared out of love, I’ll tell you that.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Phil’s cheeks beam with a smile. “Love sounds so nice.”

As she sets a bowl of Phil’s favorite soup in front of him, an easy reply comes as a response. “Oh it is, dear. It really is.”

<<>>

“Just milk and a bag of crisps? Again?”

Phil places his tray down with a playful eyeroll. “Peej, you know it's because I’m not hungry.” He sits down next to his best friend, unzipping his backpack to take out his phone and aimlessly scroll while they’re chatting.

With his mouth still full, PJ says pointedly, “Yeah sure.” He swallows his food. “I’m just worried sometimes, you know.”

“I know,” Phil laughs, “And I appreciate it.”

PJ does a cheeky little grin and wave with a jokingly bashful, “Aw you’re making blush and all Philip, but let’s cut the sap.” He takes another bite of his lunch. “So how are you? How’s your day been so far?”

“Ugh,” Phil groans. He stuffs his face with practically six crisps at once, annoyed. He had nearly forgotten about how his day started, and now PJ had reminded him. He chews rapidly before he swallows so that he may continue talking.

“Dan was making out with some girl this morning at the lockers… It was obnoxious. Annoying as hell.”

PJ just smirks. His body leans in closely, accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows and reply in a teasing tone, “Are you sure annoyed is how you’re really feelin’ Philly? No jealousy because of ‘ol pretty boy—”

“How are things going with that film project?” Phil quickly interjects PJ’s sentence with his cheeks suddenly red, making PJ immediately drop both his smirk and the topic. Ooo ouch, how touchy.

“It’s good! It’s going. I hope to actually start the filming part soon.”

Pride for his friend swells in Phil’s chest. “That’s great!”

“Yeah I guess, but I’m stuck with the script. I’m really lacking inspiration,” PJ mutters, his eyes looking back down to his food.

“Oh, I totally get that,” Phil nods with a wave of his hand. “It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

The other laughs, immediately dismissing the comment. “Pff, yeah right! Coming from the guy who never stops writing ever.”

“Peeeej! Trust me, I’m serious! Okay listen—” Phil’s voice softening, almost as if he was revealing a big secret. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Or to look for inspiration in unlikely places. You have to have a muse.”

“Aw Philly, are you saying that you have a muse?” PJ smiles.

Before he can answer, Phil catches a glimpse of Dan walking to join his group of friends, and in doing so, Dan passes by he and PJ’s lunch table. Phil only lets his eyes linger for a moment more before he turns to look back at PJ, and gives him his response, letting out a low hum first. A cheeky hint of something is playing at the edges of his lips.

“I guess you could say that.”

<<>>

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun    when it touches every bit of soil and soul of the earth a sign that even angels admire from afar, a bronzy glow of the ages - p.l.

<<>>

“Now creative writing has a key word: creative. And what does creative mean?” implores freshly graduated teacher Miss Caroline (who, at the beginning of the year, refused to be called Miss Alabang due to it apparently being “too formal”). A resounding lack of feedback comes from the class. Rolling her eyes in response, she shoots them all a you guys are useless look, accompanied by the typical seriously you could do better eyebrow raise.

Not many people are in this particular class, so theoretically, there should be more student engagement. But oh, on the contrary, it was not working out that way.

Throwing her hands up in the air with a passion, she exclaims, “It means to think outside of the box of course! Which is why there will be an interesting new project for the midterm. Never before done, never before seen by this institution.”

She begins to pace around the room, her voice rising and falling in a way that seems to soar over students’ heads and then capture their attention, while her gaze creates eye contact with each and every person to guarantee their engagement. “This project,” she says with a pause for dramatic effect, “will be a collaboration with the art students.”

“Exactly right.”

Art teacher Miss Land enters the scene. Her chin is raised with a sort of delicate poise and her hands are held behind her back, a contrasting yet pleasing juxtaposition that is a great complement to Miss Caroline’s own casual stance and posture. While Miss Caroline has a voice that projects itself as much as her eccentric presence, Miss Land’s is a bit more subdued in the sense that listeners had to concentrate more to hear her.

“The idea is to bridge together visual art and written art…”

“...essentially taking words and bringing them to life.”

“Both pieces must be able to both stand on their own, yet inspire one another. A mix of two mediums that are strong individually, yet when put together, fabricate something that reaches beyond what one could achieve as a solo piece,” Miss Land elaborates.

“Any questions?” asks Miss Caroline. The students helpfully provide her the deafening silence that fills the room in response.

Miss Land nods. “Good. My students, please don’t crowd around the door. Line up against the front, please.” She gestures to the front board, each art student awkwardly shuffling to their own spot, standing expectedly as the creative writing students sat and looked upon them with neutral expressions. Most are calm and collected except for a select few, who shift in their seats at the thought of working with unfamiliar people and a medium they didn't know. Among the art students is new girl Erin who couldn’t care less, and she has a hand on Dan’s arm while she whispers into his ear. He chuckles, and makes playful a face back at her as if saying, “Shh, we’ve got to listen now.”

Miss Land then glances at Miss Caroline, sharing an exchange of the eyes before coming to a silent understanding. From there, Miss Caroline addresses the group as a whole.

“So I’m going to randomly choose a student from my creative writing class, while she,” placing emphasis on the last word and looking pointedly at Miss Land, “will randomly choose an art student of her own. Okay? Sounds good. So first off: Eli Romano.”

“...Louise Pentland,” completes Miss Land.

“Andee Steiner with…”

“Erin Romer.”

“PJ Liguori.”

“Chris Kendall, you’re up.”

“Philip Lester…”

“...Dan Howell.”

As partnerships are created one by one, it is so interesting to see the reactions of each couple (couple used for the lack of a better term here, of course). For example, Eli, Andee, Louise, and many others seemed like the type to not mind whomever they were to be assigned to. Erin on the other hand? No one missed the huff she let out and the scrunch of her nose when she heard that she was not assigned to Dan. Chris Kendall stuck his tongue in his cheek with a smirk then let out a big grin when he sauntered over the PJ’s desk, while PJ himself held a soft smile.

In regards to Phil, he kept it together. If together meant his leg started bouncing at a great speed, that is. As long as no one looked below the desk, no one would notice. His fingers start picking at the ends of his sleeves. Buttercups were starting to appear.

And Dan was just an enigma. Nothing in the eyes, nothing in his stance, only a polite smile.

Once the partner assignments are completed, papers are handed out, and a direction is given for everyone to go with their respective other half of their duo, the art students disperse and fill the empty seats. Immediately, chatter begins to diffuse throughout the previously quiet room.

Squeaks come from the moving of chairs and desks, along with slight oomphs of backpacks being tossed down to the linoleum floor and pushed to the side in order to be out of the way. Phil bites his lip as Dan sits in the desk next to his own, and with every ounce of effort in his body he tries to make sure his voice is steady when he breaks the ice between them.

“So, I guess we have to exchange info right?”

“I guess,” Dan replies simply, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really know, but I guess there’s not really any other option. I mean, what else can we do.”

Not too far from them is PJ, who leans back in his chair and sends a questioning glance over to Phil, who then does a small shrug in reply. Turning back to Dan, he purses his lips a little before continuing. “Okay, so uh, my number is…” Phil lists the memorized numbers with ease, then repeats it once more. “You got that?”

Before Dan can even nod, the bell rings, and out of nowhere Erin grabs Dan’s hand right for the two of them to immediately bolt out the door.

<<>>

Dan is reading over the paper that the art teacher gave them earlier. He wants to start brainstorming, the concept of combining two different art forms seems really interesting… It would probably be best to discuss it with his partner, though.

His partner: Phil Lester. Dan knows him, he lives next door to him so how could he not, and they have gone to school together for a while now. Yet despite having known him all these years, he only knows of him. Dan has never spoken a word to Phil, to his knowledge.

Although he never paid mind to him before, when Phil read Song of the Open Road in his english class today, Dan admits that he was surprised. He never expected something like to come from him.

Dan takes out his cellphone, tapping the screen to reach the number that he put in earlier. Because Erin pulled him out before he could tell Phil his own digits, he is forced to be the one to text first. He types a quick message, and hits send. Better now than later.

from dan, to phil:

hey it’s dan. meeting in the library after school tmrw sound good?

He doesn’t expect a reply, but for some reason it’s like he’s waiting for one. When he thinks about it, Phil seems like someone he would want to get to know better. He seems interesting.

This project may actually be kinda fun.

A reply comes a minute or two later, and it’s like Dan has something caught in his throat when he rushes to see the message.

from phil, to dan:

Okkie dokes! :D

Aw. Dan can’t help but smile to himself. Heh, how cute.

<<>>

Phil ends up arriving first. In his defense, he spends most of the time in the library anyway, and extra time gives him the chance to pick the perfect spot: one with a lot of sunlight, and where not a lot of people are studying. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with wanting for today to go well, right?

Dan arrives about ten minutes following the school’s ending bell, and Phil doesn’t even notice him walking through the door. He’s got his head in his notebook, as usual.

“Bye, see you later,” bids Dan, giving Erin a quick kiss on the cheek. Although he begins to head off, he remains facing her, walking backwards, giving a little farewell salute and a quick wink to match.

Erin calls after him. “Goodbye baby, have fun with the project!” She accompanies it with a chippery wave back, and blows him a kiss right before orients his body forward so that he could see where he is going.

Phil looks up from his work, disturbed by the noise. Dan has spotted him, eyes lighting up in recognition, and he is starting to make his way to the table. When he gets there, it is a moment when first impressions are made.

For Phil, it’s like an up close confirmation of everything he has admired from afar. Everything is so lovely, and the way the sun hits Dan is so nice. His eyes aren’t just brown, they fit every descriptor that Phil has wrote with— caramel, golden, earthy, warm. Choosing this spot was the right choice.

As for Dan, he is taken aback by the scribbles of sentence fragments and various adjectives and lines that cover the pages of Phil’s notebook and Phil’s hands. They’re like stories that others want to read, but won’t understand, because Phil is the only one that can tell them.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he is one of the few willing to listen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Dan grimaces, feeling guilty that he was the second to show despite being the one to set up the meeting in the first place. When he grabs the seat next to Phil to sit down, he misses the edge of the chair and the sound of his bum hitting the hardwood floor echoes through the library, making Phil laugh and Phil’s heart swell.

Embarrassing. Still grinning, Phil holds a hand out, helping him up. Dan lets out a laugh as well, Phil’s attitude spreading to him.

“Don’t worry about it Dan, I was willing to wait for you.”

<<>>

His car purrs as it rolls into the driveway upon his arrival home, having just come from hanging out with friends after school. Dan loves going out with them, but to be frank, it gets exhausting sometimes.

Right now, he kinda wants to take a nap.

A chirp comes from the car as he hits the buttons on his keys to lock up the thing, and the moment he unintentionally shoots a glance at the house next door happens to be the same moment that Phil looks up from his spot on the porch.

Phil looks down at his feet right when their gazes meet, before choosing to raise his head once more and give Dan a little wave. “Hey,” he mouths.

A moment of hesitance, then Dan smiles and takes a step forward. As if it’s an invitation, Dan walks over and sits next to Phil, joining him. The last time they had talked had been over text a day or two ago, and they have only met up once more since their initial meeting at the library. The steps creak a bit at their weight and their legs nearly touch, but not quite.

Slowly but surely, they are warming up to one another.

“So what are you working on? Are you working on our project?” Dan leans a little into Phil’s side to get a better look at Phil’s notebook, while remaining careful as to not be too invasive of his space. A writer’s notebook is like an artist’s sketchbook: a secluded place for the expression of thought. The cover is worn and the pages are messy, Phil’s writing ranging from neat print to rushed scrawls. Anyone could tell that that little notebook was the receiver of a lot of love. Dan’s heart skips a little at that thought; it always makes him happy when a creator is passionate about their own work.

“Yeah actually,” Phil replies, not looking up. He keeps writing as he completes his thought. “Just brainstorming about various ideas.”

“Is it okay if I stay here?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

A few minutes pass of comfortable silence, and Dan even took out his own sketchbook from his backpack. He keeps making a few strokes then erasing, feeling the urge to do something as Phil is sitting beside him seemingly within an endless river of creative flow. He breaks the silence as he wonders in a whisper out loud, “You know, people always see you writing in that thing.” Dan then pauses, attempting to formulate his question before he voices it. “How do you… How do you constantly have something to write about?”

Phil is quiet, thinking before he comes up with a response. “It’s about being honest I think.”

“Honest?”

“Yep, honest.” Phil affirms. His pen stops writing for a second, and he makes a motion towards his body, looking forward rather than directly addressing Dan. “Let whatever is in you tell the story you know? They don’t have to be complete ideas, you just need to let them exist. Like how our tattoos appear on their own, but still tell our story to others, in a way.”

As Phil rambles on, without realising, Dan is sketching Phil’s profile. Glancing up to look at him while he speaks to give an occasional sign that he’s still listening, his wrists make little flicks and strokes across the page, while his hands are especially careful with shading. Dan spends quite a bit of time on Phil’s cheekbones, for he can’t seem to get it right.

He grins softly. Phil seems to be all angles and sharp edges, and it’s kind of enticing.

“...And most of all, with honesty, you know what is real.”

<<>>

“You know Phil, this is a bit clingy.”

“Clingy? May I remind that you were the one calling me at two in the morning for the past week and a half.”

“Pbbbt, but you said you didn’t mind!”

“Yeah, you’re right—”

“Damn straight I am.”

“But anyways, you didn’t call me tonight, and I was still awake, and now here we are.”

“I don’t need your excuses, Lester. So what do you wanna talk about? Because we’ve got all night.”

<<>>

According to Dan, working at a Starbucks coffee shop is ‘too corporate,’ and that is why they are at a local cafe now.

Chris and PJ are here as well. They’re doing a cute little “study group” thing, but instead of studying they are discussing their projects. It’s always good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and brainstorming is better when one is able to hear feedback from other people.

They’re all casually chatting, as friends of friends all together.

What’s strange though, is this: Chris is being particularly touchy towards PJ. It was playful touches at first, to his arms and to his sides, but then all of a sudden he put his arm around PJ’s shoulders. PJ didn’t acknowledge it at all, but the expression on his face was one of someone who was definitely flustered.

Dan raises an eyebrow at Chris upon seeing this, the other only responding with an eyebrow raise back as if in a challenge of, what? Something wrong?

And as for Phil, his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he has a shit-eating grin, simply amused.

It becomes a source of small unacknowledged tension, but no one brings it up and they all continue their relaxed chatter. Each of them grab several pastries and a coffee each, scones and croissants and the like, “brain food” being the excuse for all of the sugar in their purchases. They then head towards a table by one of the cafe’s huge windows that overlook the London street.

PJ speaks up about their projects first. “So, what’s your guys’ idea?”

“We’re going for a kinda… like… nature-y? Is that the right word?” Phil looks at Dan, who just kinda shrugs. “Theme. Something with the forest, or the ocean… We don’t know for sure yet.”

Chris nods, and looks at Dan. “Colors?”

“Earth tones, I would guess,” Dan replies, taking a bite from his scone.

Chris hums in approval. “Some cooler undertones would work nicely with that, I think.”

“How about you guys?” asks Dan.

“Something with a whole lot of bold color. That’s kinda all we got.” PJ shrugs.

“We’re just rolling with it,” Chris barely manages to add, mouth full.

Phil points his question towards PJ. “And how’s the writing?”

“Well I haven't had too much time to really develop it, I've been working on stuff for the poetry slam…” PJ says sheepishly, momentarily preferring to watch himself stir his coffee over looking up.

“Spontaneity is the best kind of creativity!” Chris exclaims defensively, yet mostly excitedly, He lists descriptors as he counts them off on his fingers, voice all sass and eagerness, making everyone laugh. “It's gonna have a lot of color, it's gonna be bright, and it's gonna be cool as heck!”

“Poetry slam?” Dan inquires. “Our school has that, PJ?”

“Yep! It's open to all the students but mostly english students enter, I’ve been bothering Phil to join for ages—” When PJ moves his hand to point at Phil, the porcelain of his coffee mug hits the table and his drink  becomes a brown puddle of a mess out of nowhere. It had narrowly missed his crotch, and thank goodness, not a drop fell upon the notes of his that were scattered on the table in front of him.

Chris’ eyes widen, and he reacts quicker than all of them. “I’ve got this,” he assures PJ, immediately rushing off to grab napkins, but not before leaving PJ with a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine!”

When Chris is out of earshot, Phil immediately gives PJ a look.

PJ’s face only gets redder, and he folds his hands in his lap. “Shut up he didn't mean anything by it…”  

But Phil is relentless, and he’s not buying PJ’s denial at all. He doesn’t stop giving his old friend that look that is all smiles and muffled laughs. Eventually, PJ breaks and bursts out with, “Okay, I admit it, he might’ve maybe asked me out yesterday…!” Phil smirks, and finally lets out the laugh he was holding in. “But to be honest I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

Throughout the past few moments of Phil and PJ’s exchange, Dan had remained silent, gaze bouncing between Phil’s knowing grin and PJ’s not-at-all-subtle blush. It is for that reason that when he makes a comment it catches them both off guard, even though it was more of an observation to himself, if anything. With his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on the table edge, Dan murmurs, “Huh, that's why Chris looks so happy. He's probably the happiest I've ever seen him.”

“Yeah,” says PJ after hesitating a little, addressing Dan’s words. He bites his lip, the corners of his mouth hinting at turning up as he admits the truth. “He makes me really happy too.”

“Happy enough to write about?” asks Phil with a smile, referring to their conversation from way back when. Dan sits, listening still.

PJ doesn’t look at Phil directly, but his hand unconsciously reaches up to his face to briefly touch where Chris has left a quick kiss earlier. If you looked closely, a little tattoo of a planet was beginning to fade into view.

“We’ll see.”

Chris finally returns, a wad of napkins in his grasp. Carefully he begins dabbing at the mess, nudging PJ’s papers aside so that they would be out of the way, all while PJ has a look that is entirely of affection all over him, as Chris pays no mind.

Very casually, PJ throws a question into the air. “So, what time and place?”

Chris crumples up the napkins, the coffee mess finally cleaned up, and heads towards the nearest bin. “For what?” he calls, throwing the trash away.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about our date already.”

Standing in place a couple feet away, Chris is frozen and his jaw goes slack, and PJ can’t help but giggle. Chris is simply beaming now. He rushes to the table to directly talk to Dan and Phil, words rushed and excited. “Sorry to cut it short lads, but we’ve got a date to plan,” Chris says matter-of-factly, adorned with an adorable little salute. After that his hands move to help PJ pack up his things, and in a matter of seconds everything is put away.

When they head towards the cafe door, PJ flashes a sheepish expression to Dan and Phil and mouths a “Sorry about this,” followed by a sincere, “Thank you.” Before they disappear, Chris then grabs PJ’s hand in his— holding it up to his lips to place a quick kiss on the back of PJ’s hand.

Cute.

As for the left-behind-two, an hour and a half more passes before they make any real effort to go. The company is lovely even if they aren’t talking. They are simply working in silence, both lost in their own creative worlds, and it is only when a worker comes up to them and asks if they would like to order anything more (to which they politely declined) do they begin to clean up their space.

“They’re cute together,” says Phil, a comment that breaks the stillness between them.

“Yeah,” Dan replies nonchalantly. He closes his bag after putting away his sketchbook and pencils bag, and slides the strap on his shoulder as they both head towards the door. To no one in particular he adds, “They’re really happy together, aren’t they?”

The edges of words seemed to be tinged with a bit of longing, if you listened hard enough.

When they step out of the cafe, Phil immediately rubs his arms, his breath forming a small cloud with each exhale from the oxygen in his lungs and the brisk air. “Heh, I didn’t expect it to be this cold today…”

Almost hesitantly, Dan places his own jacket upon Phil’s shoulders. The gesture isn’t acknowledged at all, and he just keeps walking, ignoring the fact that the chill was now getting to him. He refrains from rubbing his own arms, and just shoves his hands into his pockets. He only did as any friend would do.

In the meantime, Phil just stands there, not knowing how to react.

Steps ahead now, Dan merely waves his hand before quickly putting it back into the pocket of his jeans, beckoning Phil to walk a little faster.  “C’mon Phil, let’s go home.”

<<>>

phil: <IMG_0981 is attached. View image?> phil: LOOK AT THESE DOGS!!!!! phil: IT’S A DOG WHO HAS A GUIDE DOG

dan: asagAFGAAJHLHFW dan: THAT’S THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER S E E N

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age eleven.

He stood outside, garden hose in hand. His mother had told him to water the plants around the front porch, and that is exactly what he did. Although the job required focus, it did nothing to prevent him from becoming lost in thought.

The age of him and his peers was one where crushes were all too common. Girls were talking about cute boys; boys were talking about cute girls. However, no one really made Phil feel the way that other people claimed they felt— Samantha from maths lent him a pencil once? That was kind of her. But he would only want to become friends with her and nothing more, he was sure.

A yelp of surprise escaped from him when he suddenly realised that the water had begun to pool around his feet amidst his musings, which formed a damp patch of grass that was well on its way to becoming a muddy puddle. Quickly, he ran to the side of the house to turn off the hose, and started to make his way back inside.

Before he crossed his driveway to head towards the small path that led to his front door, out of the corner of his eye he noticed something roll across the road.

  It was a piece of white chalk. The neighbor’s, to be more precise, who appeared to be outside as well. A rare occurrence it was: Phil had only seen them a handful of times before.

Tentatively, he took the chalk piece into his hand. Heading towards who was kneeled in the driveway next to his own, in front of a house with freshly trimmed grass and no garden, but did have a single weeping willow. As his steps drew him closer, more details about his neighbor, a somebody about his age, came into view.

And honestly? Phil couldn't help but be left dumbfounded.

The pretty boy in front of him had equally pretty hands. With those hands of slightly tanned skin he was creating art out of seemingly nowhere; slender fingers fabricated gentle strokes, images of flowers and stars, along with daisies and planets and angels amongst them stole Phil’s breath to allow for only awe to remain.

Phil was almost nervous to disturb him. If he did, it would be like catching a doe in a forest clearing— one moment peaceful, until a slight sound frightens them away. So because of that, he made sure to be careful.

His voice of “Um, this yours?” was a whisper full of gentleness that seemed mindful of the delicate flowers that the boy in front of him seemed to be growing out of the pavement.

Immediately, the boy looked up, revealing brown eyes that perfectly matched his brown curls. “Yes, thank you,” the boy replied quietly, carefully taking the chalk piece from his extended reach. His fingertips lightly grazed against Phil’s, which left Phil’s hands tingling.

In the three days that followed, Phil had fireworks tattooed upon his fingertips (and more often than not, from then on, one could catch him writing poetry on the front porch in an effort to catch a glimpse of the boy again).

<<>>

Dan throws a bag of McDonald’s on the library table, the sound of its impact resounding through the quiet studying of students. And if that’s not enough, he follows up with a loud, “Eat up babes, let's get to work!”

Laughing, Phil does an exaggerated fake gasp. “Dan! Watch your volume!” Reaching over the the table, he grabs the bag off the table, still noticeably hot. When he opens it, a little whiff of steam comes up, caressing his face. “Besides, why'd you buy this anyway?”

Dan shrugs, taking a chicken nugget and shoving it into his mouth. While he’s chewing he responds, “I’ve been noticing that you never have food when we work on school days, and we usually work during lunch. It's always just a drink and like, a bag of chips.”

Phil shrugs back, head tilting as his words trail off. “I just find eating to be a waste of time…”

Dan holds up his hand, cutting his words short as his voice trails off. “Don’t even give me that bullshit Phil, it’s because you’re always writing and you think you have no time for eating, so just eat a little bit or so help me.” He nudges the bag closer to Phil so that it hits Phil’s chest. Dan’s eyes shift to the side a little, and his voice becomes a bit demure. “Just… Take a break from that carpal tunnel catalyst, and dig in, alright?”

Phil opens the bag reluctantly and sighs, taking a bite of a french fry. His lips are pursed into a pout, for what Dan said was pretty much on the nose. He doesn’t mean to avoid eating, honest, it just… happens that way.

He smiles. The fact that Dan noticed and bought him food is such a sweet gesture, and the more Phil chews, the more Dan looks satisfied. Dan claps his hands together right as Phil swallows.

“Cool, now let’s get started.”

Today is final drafts day.

In order to proceed with the final production of their project they have to refine their drafts, and that is what today is dedicated to. For their work to not go to waste, everything has to be absolutely perfect (but to be fair, a poor outcome resulting from the two of them is actually quite doubtful).

“I’ve got these so far,” indicates Phil, pulling out various disheveled papers. They’ve got red ink that make it look like his writing went through a bloodbath, with elegantly chaotic black scrawls to match. He holds them out to Dan and is a bit sheepish about it, kinda embarrassed by how messy it is. “You can look through them right now if you want, but they’re not that great…”

Dan shakes his head, automatically dismissing Phil’s putdown of himself. “I doubt that, Phil. I absolutely doubt that.” He accepts Phil’s writing from Phil’s outstretched hand, and exchanges it with a few ripped out sheets of his own from his sketchbook, graphite smeared and all. “And here’s mine, they’re really sketchy and not as refined as they could be, but you should get the idea.”

When they’re looking over each other’s rough pieces, Phil’s fingers linger over the calculated strokes of Dan’s drawings, all while Dan is floored by Phil’s words.

Dan has never gotten the opportunity to see Phil’s work like this before. He’s taking in everything, soaking every word and descriptor in, and he makes sure he does not miss a single stanza. He never was someone with a way with words, that’s why he stuck with visual arts. But he is thankful that he was given the opportunity to read rawness such as this.

Then suddenly he notices a little something. A little bit that doesn’t seem to quite fit in with the rest catches his eye, a little snippet of a thing that was barely legible and had the last word cut off.

‘n ‘ol brunette has got that teasing grin skipping class and hands that have likely committed sin that ugly little shit messing with my h

When he reads it he snickers, and when he points to it and holds it up to Phil, he can’t keep his laughter in and he justs bursts into a giggling fit. “Aw, Phil,” his tone entirely both sing-songy and teasing, “Guess now I know that you think that I’m an ‘ugly little shit.’” Dan does a little pout. “Do you not think I’m cute?”

“Pfff! Please,” Phil sputters, realising what exactly Dan was pointing to. “Who says that’s about you?”

“I mean we could just address the ‘hands that have likely committed sin’ part…”

At the sound of that, Phil interjects quickly. “Fine, you’re adorable!” Barely processing the thought, Dan thinks, “Pbbt, so are you,” and Phil suddenly puts his index finger in front of Dan’s lips in a shhhing motion.

“What’s going on—”

“No no no, shush!” Phil holds a finger up, as if motioning “Hold on,” and Dan takes the hint and complies. Phil’s eyebrows are scrunched, clearly thinking.

“What?” Dan asks, after a few moments pass.

Phil takes both sets of their work from their respective spots and lays it upon the space in front of them, spread out but distinctly separate. He purses his lip, unsure at first then proceeding to rearranging a few. “Why don’t we… write about...” Phil picks up a sketch from Dan’s side and a page or two from his own. He hands the chosen ones to Dan, who takes it with a raised eyebrow. “This?”

Dan slowly nods, shifting through the papers and ultimately agreeing with the choices. He turns his body, his eyes looking up to meet Phil’s. “So that’s it? That’s our theme?”

Phil answers his question with an affirming hum, and when he starts explaining it just to clarify they find that they were on the same page all along. “It’ll be about humanity in its rawest form—”

“With earthy elements and other aspects of nature—”

“How we all have stories—”

“...and what makes a human human is emotion.”

Phil’s grin reaches from ear to ear. “Perfect.”

“Fuck yeah!” yells Dan, pounding a fist on the table. He holds up his palm for a high five, which Phil happily reciprocates.

When he hears a loud SHHH! come from behind him, Phil’s eyes widen, for it is most likely the librarian telling them to politely shut the hell up. He looks at Dan and silently scolds him, mouthing “Language!” to which Dan merely giggles, his laughs muffled as he tries to keep quiet.

“Fuck you,” Dan mouths back.

Phil rolls his eyes and smirks. His reply comes with a chuckle: “You wish.”

<<>>

Forget about Monopoly being end-all be-all relationship ruiner. With the way the game was currently going, Mario Kart should be the holder of that title.

“EAT MY ASS,” yells Dan. With every turn, he turns as well, because he insists it ‘helps me play better!’. His body rams into Phil’s side as he mimics the motion of the kart on the screen.

A breath leaves Phil’s lungs with an oof as Dan nearly knocks him to the floor. He automatically bursts into a laughing fit, pressing into the buttons of his controller even harder. “NEVER!!”

At this point they’re practically sitting on top of each other, and seem to have ignored the whole concept of sitting on the bed rather than the floor. Legs crossed, his knee touching his knee, the room is filled with giggles and playful banter as they keep jabbing each other in the side as they play.

When one shouts, and the other pouts— the game is officially over.

Dan crosses his arms, and presses his lips into a thin line. He withholds himself from bitterly throwing the control to the ground, but he does cross his arms. “Good game,” he mutters.

Shaking his head, Phil rolls his eyes at Dan’s dramatics. He gives Dan a pitiful pat on the back, and gives his reply all-too-knowingly. “Oh just let it out, we both know you’re a sore loser.”

A sharp inhale through the nose, and a slow exhale through the mouth.

Followed by a swift headbutt by Dan to Phil’s shoulder.

“OW!”

Dan jokingly starts to lightly punch Phil in the back, sides, and shoulders, shouting,  “YOU WERE THE ONE THAT HIT ME WITH A FUCKING SHELL AT THE END I THOUGHT WE WERE PLAYING RELATIVELY NICE!!” He pushes him down, Phil chuckling at Dan’s sad attempt to push him over (noodle arms are not that effective, Dan has learned). “I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

They land on the ground, the punching turning into tickling. Phil rolls around in an effort to avoid Dan’s attacks, but each attempt is futile, and instead his stomach hurts from the laughter and his face aches from the grin on his face that reaches from ear to ear. “See,” Phil laughs in between breaths, “What an incredibly sore loser you are.”

Dan finally sits back up, smug at Phil’s ‘defeat.’ “Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” He holds a hand out to Phil, and they pull each other up so that they are both standing. “I still totally should have won though.”

At a suggestion to take a snack break, the two head downstairs towards Phil’s kitchen. They continue to chat, and as Phil moves towards the pantry, he makes a gesture for Dan to take a seat at the dining table.

When Phil turns around, he not only has various food in his hand, he has a smile on his face. He walks over to the table and sets a plate of cookies in front of Dan, making Dan look up from his phone and eagerly move to grab a cookie of his own.

“You know, where you're sitting right now, is where my mum told me about what tattoos were.”

With a mouth full, Dan manages a, “Really?” Phil nods, and Dan swallows the last bits down his throat. “Was it like, a serious talk?”

Phil is at the counter now, he has decidedly chosen to make hot chocolate for the both of them. He mulls over Dan’s question as he gets the hot chocolate mix out. “Hm, no? Not really. I was like five or something. How about you? When did your parents tell you?”

“Oh, uh…” Dan grimaces, suddenly feeling awkward. “They— they never really told me? I kind of just found out on my own. From classmates, and the internet, and stuff. They never brought it up, and I never really asked…”

“Oh.” For a moment, Phil stops moving. “So they didn’t even tell you where they come from?”

“What do you mean? No one knows where they come from. Isn’t there still no confirmation from scientists about their origins or whatever?”

“Yeah, but my mum told me.”

Phil hesitates a little, the tiniest bit embarrassed.

“She told me they came from love.”

Dan sputters, laughing, nearly choking on his food. Phil doesn’t say a word and continues to prepare the drinks. “No offense Phil,” Dan chuckles. “But really?”

“I know, I know. But at the same time, there’s no harm in believing in things like that, don’t you think?” Phil hands a mug to Dan, who takes it gratefully. They clink their mugs together and drink a bit at the same time. Phil laughs when Dan makes a face at how hot it is, and Dan rapidly starts blowing on the drink to decrease its intense heat.

“Love though? Quite doubtful.”

“Are you not a believer in love? How about you and Erin?” Phil takes another sip from his hot chocolate. When a little residue is left on his upper lip, his tongue easily leaves and licks it away in a moment. “How are you guys doing?”

Dan’s eyes don’t quite meet his, sounding distracted. “Oh we’re great.” When he looks back up at Phil, Phil’s expression is expectant, waiting. Dan quickly rushes to elaborate on his previous sentiment. “She’s lovely, and so sweet!  Every date I’ve been on with her has been amazing. She’s incredible. I like her a lot.”

Phil nods. “I’m glad.”

After that, he says nothing more.

He takes Dan’s now-empty mug from his hand, and washes it after his own. Dan’s eyebrows are scrunched in thought, he’s staring at his phone again, but he’s not really processing what’s on the screen at all.  

Phil finishes up rinsing their cups in the sink, and puts their mugs into the dishwasher. He dries off his hands with a hand towel. Once he’s all done, he asks Dan, “You wanna go back upstairs and keep playing?”

Dan’s phone vibrates.

from erin, to dan:

Hey babe! I’ll be finishing up work soon, you wanna come over?

Rather than unlocking his phone, he reads the message as it is on his lockscreen. He ignores it, and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

Dan smiles up at Phil. “Yeah. Let's go.”

Phil grins back, and as he leads them back to his bedroom, he has his hand on Dan’s back. The atmosphere is nice and easy. Uncomplicated.

He makes a comment about how Dan is ‘totally going down’ again, but to be honest, Dan isn’t really listening.

Later at night, in his own room, Dan takes off his shirt before he goes to bed. He always sleeps shirtless (that is nothing new), but it’s different this time: for if he had looked in the reflection in the mirror behind him, he would have noticed that there were dandelions on his back exactly where Phil had touched before.

By the morning though, they are gone.

<<>>

phil: I remember you saying you had a test today, good luck! phil: The universe may test ya like this but I believe in ya

dan: oh shush go pay attention in class dan: but ty that’s v nice dan: u’re too good for me

<<>>

“Aw, they’re so cute together!”

These are the words that seem to be just about everywhere: in the comment section of various social media, in the giggles of the hallways, in the not-so-subtle gestures and points of the cafeteria crowd. They can't seem to go anywhere without encountering what seems to be a fan club around the two of them.

But don't get him wrong. Because there is nothing wrong in the first place.

Erin is a lovely girl, and they have been together for a while, three weeks almost four weeks now. And that is far longer than any previous girl of Dan’s. With a wild head of curls and an even wilder personality, she is a whole lot of fun, and he loves to admire the beautiful ink upon her arms. She has these beautiful gradients of rising suns around her arms along with clouds that often change in hue.

Each and every time she goes on her tiptoes and she wraps her arms around his neck to place a kiss on his lips, he can’t help but be reminded of the idea of them, both in regards to the tattoos themselves and of him and Erin as a couple. Of all things though, he is reminded of Chris’ party especially.

Additionally, as if that isn’t enough, there are whispers of new ink starting to bud on her hands. Rumors that the new ink matches his own spread like wildflowers, even though so few have seen the hidden marigold to the extent that there are doubts of its existence. The possibility of Erin’s budding flowers being identical to his still makes his own blossom burn at the thought.

Because even though he did say that there was nothing wrong, there is an issue. And that issue is that nothing has happened to his own skin.

Besides the common flare ups of ink that happens to most people including himself, the only thing constant that he has is the single flower on the spot behind his ear, and that has been been on his skin for years.

Maybe he could— No. He couldn’t.

Could he?

It wouldn’t hurt —it couldn’t hurt— if nobody found out.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to fake tattoos for a while, right?

He ignores the prickling of stars appearing on his ribcage, and takes some skin-safe ink to his own arms to mimic what Erin has on her own body. When the prickling starts going around his abdomen and begins to reach his shoulder blades, he still pays no heed to it.

He just continues on.

With each mark and movement of his nimble fingers, his stomach turns once more, even more so as he recalls the words that Phil mentioned before. What he said about honesty, about truth. This thing, what Dan is doing right now, he knows is the exact opposite of that.

He shakes his head in an attempt to shake the words off his mind. Phil has nothing to do with this. Phil has nothing to do with the state of Dan’s feelings for Erin. Why is he thinking of him at a time like this? For that matter, why is Dan doing it in the first place?

To be brief, he does not want to be rude. It’s not like Erin isn’t a nice girl anyway, so it’ll be fine. It will only be for a little while until those typical boy-girl feelings become stronger, because that’s how it works. That’s how it should work. And it will. There’s no reason to not reciprocate what Erin evidently feels for him. Naturally, it will all work out.

Yet if he were to take Phil’s words to heart right now and be honest, in reality, Dan was actually pushing certain feelings away.

Dan touches up the final details of clouds on his forearm, and presses his lips into a straight line, shoving the spiraling feelings that were welling up in his chest far deep into the ground below his feet.

If he were to be honest, he was actually just pushing certain feelings away… And with regards to other things, he was simply burying them further.

And covering them up.

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age thirteen.

“...NOW AS A RESULT THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT IS CURRENTLY HOLDING DISCUSSIONS IN REGARDS TO THE POSSIBLE LEGALIZATION OF HOMOSEXUAL MARRIAGE. THERE IS NO FURTHER INFORMATION AT THE MOMENT, BUT RADICAL ADVOCATES FOR THE LGBT COMMUNITY ARE CURRENTLY LINED UP IN FRONT OF THE GOVERNMENT HALL—”

A harsh, snarky tch came from Dan’s father, his blatant irritation had jarringly interrupted the newscast that came from kitchen radio. In his hands the steak knife threatened to start shaking with his tight grip, his knuckles whitening to nearly match the teeth he was gritting in anger. “Those homosexuals,” he spat, while he slammed the table with his fist at the same time, “Those homosexuals need to get the fuck out of our country, or better yet off our planet, or I will BEAT THEIR ASSES!!”

His mother simply took a napkin to her lips and daintily dabbed at her mouth, taking a breath before she added input of her own. “Now honey, some of them may be nice,” her tone calm and even. With a voice tinged with what seemed like genuine concern she continued, “I just don’t understand, they can’t have children, so why even bother if they can simply choose a lovely lady or a strong man?” She reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s tense fist. “If anything dear, I think it’s just a trend.”

The entire “discussion” only progressed from there, all while Dan remained silent. His shoulders hunched in as if he was going to fall into himself, he ate his food with minimal noise whether it be chewing or cutting into it for a bite, merely taking everything, every comment— “It’ll blow over, for this it just sounds ridiculous”, retort— “Ridiculousness has wrongfully made it’s way to the law of the land!”, and remark— “To put it simply, the gays need to know their place”, in.

Eventually he asked if he could be excused (he was given permission by a grunt of acknowledgement from his father and a nod from his mother).

Dan’s room was his sanctuary. Constantly he would go there for escape, or to remain in solitude with his thoughts, and this was one of those times. From the back of his closet he revealed his unfinished painting, taking it from its resting spot and placing it upon the floor so that he could resume his work. The canvas was one that he left alone but kept coming back to—maybe he would finish it one day. A year or two had passed since his work on it began.

His paints were in his lower bedside drawer, and he took those out as well. Every movement was routine, a relaxing habit, and essentially his mind was a step ahead of his actions. But perhaps the ease of not thinking only gave way for other, bad thoughts to come.

The harsh tongue of his father as he spat out the words “those homosexuals” could not leave his ears and only further buried itself in his mind. The comment made his hair stand on end, even though he didn’t know precisely why. Dan knew that he couldn’t like boys. Liking boys was wrong. Boys like girls, and girls like boys. Nothing else. And why would Dan care about liking boys anyway? Dan liked girls.

why would he care why would he care why would he care—

His chest was heaving. He only snapped out of his train of thought when he realised his breathing had become erratic, his chest heaved and his hands were shaking and his heartbeat was far too rapid for it to be normal. At an attempt to relax he tried to breathe, he inhaled and exhaled in time as he closed his eyes.

Darkness came.

Darkness came, and colors followed. Shades of blue, green, and yellow. His painting was actually composed of only that particular color palette, a set of hues that seemed to be set in not only his subconscious but also within the motions of his brush. They reminded him of someone’s eyes, but no one he knew. They reminded him of the ocean, of waves he wasn’t used to.

They were always comforting. Those colors never failed to ease him.

Through his open window, he heard the neighbors’ garage open, and he opened his eyes. The sounds of their laughs made their way into his room, which made him smile a little. Those laughs eased him too. The family next door must have arrived home.

Within his own house, dinner had presumably ended. He could hear his parents’ footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom door, their bickering anything but quiet. “I don’t want him drawing, I don’t want any of that sissy shit.”

That was his father.

“He is super talented and we should be supporting our son!”

And that was his mother.

He put on headphones to drown out it all, and dipped his brush into his paints. This time, he focused on blue. As his strokes hit the paper, shivers went up his spine as a tattoo of tree branches spread out across his back, and as its roots went down to his hips; the only signs of life that the tree’s branches held was the idea that it used to be budding once.

<<>>

In basic english, the poetry unit is coming to a close. For the past couple of days, the students have been presenting their favorite poetry pieces to the class, an assignment that the teacher thought would be a fit way to wrap up the unit.

“Dan, you’re up,” calls Mr. Lamansi.

Finally, now he can get this done. He is the last student that needs to present.

Although he isn’t nervous, his heart is pounding incessantly in his chest. He definitely has jitters, a finite flow of energy that is coursing through his veins and he can’t seem to calm it down, and everyone can definitely tell. Who couldn’t? His hands are trembling so much.

The amount of anxiousness in his body makes this whole ordeal feel like confessional.

Before he actually starts, he awkwardly coughs to clear his throat. “Um, I picked a part from that poem we read a long time ago? Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road?” Mr. Lamansi then nods and jots the title down, and makes a motion for Dan to begin.

When he makes an attempt at a taking a deep breath, he hears a whisper. Turning his head slightly he sees Erin, who makes a silly face at him, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing a little. Instead, he opts for a simple smile.

And then he (he couldn’t help himself) casts a glance at Phil, who's beaming at him, all warmth and encouragement and support. Dan’s small smile widens just the littlest bit more. What did Dan ever do to deserve a friend like him?

With that, his shoulders relax, and he breathes.

Swallowing his worry, Dan feels ready now.

“I will recruit for myself and you as I go; I will scatter myself among men and women as I go; I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them; Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me; Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me; Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d, it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth.”

When he finishes, he does everything in his power to not completely rush back to his seat. He tries to keep it cool, but he can feel his face burning, and if anyone looked hard enough they could see little leaves and thorns popping up along his collarbone.

A couple seats away, Phil’s heart is swelling. For some reason he feels like this poem has an underlying importance to Dan, and if he were to reread the lines to himself perhaps he would even realise what its significance even was. For now though, that was something that Dan could keep all to himself. Phil is proud of him for standing in front of the whole class like that (Lord knows that Phil’s confidence in his own public speaking is quite mediocre at best).

Small moments like these only fuel Phil’s admiration for this boy, and this time he can't help but feel pride and a sense of wonder all at once.

In Dan’s pocket, Dan’s phone vibrates. Before sliding it out, Dan quickly glances at the teacher to check whether the coast is clear, and upon ensuring so, he reads the notification under his desk.

to dan, from phil:

You did so great!

The small gesture is so sweet, and although it isn't much, it makes Dan undeniably happy. He has this expression of light, a grin reaching from ear to ear. While he can't see it himself, he swears the marigold behind his ear is tingling for the bud of another golden flower.

As they are leaving class, Dan comes up to Phil’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder to catch Phil’s attention before Phil has the chance to head off in the other direction.

“So, see you later?”

Cheeks red, Phil replies shyly, “Yeah, see you.”

<<>>

Soft taps are hitting metal, and Phil knows that Dan doesn’t even need to look to see who it is. He already knows it’s Phil. When Dan shuts his locker and he pokes his head out, saying “Heyy!” with a huge grin and the cutest dimple, Phil can’t help but to match with a smile that’s equally as big.

If someone told Phil that he and Dan would be friends one day, he would doubt them. But right now, he’s chatting with his crush, they’re face to face, laughing and shining with ease and happiness. Phil is on top of the world.

But Dan reaching up to close his locker door placed Dan’s arm at Phil’s eye level, and for a moment, Phil saw Dan’s tattoos up close. When his hand eventually falls back to his side, Phil’s eyes linger over them for a moment more. He has forgotten something important, something more prominent than the dimple in Dan’s soft cheek that Phil adores. The tattoos are a reminder: Dan isn’t his.

The wings on any of the butterflies Phil has in his stomach rapidly frumple, suddenly shy and abashed, and his smile can’t help but falter a little.

<<>>

Even though they don’t have an audience or anything because everyone has already headed to class, when Erin is kissing him, he’s not really kissing back. At all. The hallways are pretty much empty and the only sounds that remain are her lips on him. But even then, he can’t focus on her. If anything he is much more interested in absentmindedly playing with her hair.

Erin pulls away from him, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. She places a kiss on the marigold behind his ear, a tender thing, but to him it just burns. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Dan only brushes the question off, the ringing of the first tardy warning bell easily makes it so he doesn’t have to answer much. “Nothing, I promise.”

The expression in Erin’s face shows that she doesn’t buy it. “Oh Dan,” her voice sympathetic, one hand rubbing the space on his back between his shoulder blades.“Let’s just ditch class and go to my house? I can make you feel better and get you out of this funk.” She ends that last sentence with a wink.

As gently as he can, he pushes Erin off of him, politely giving her a cordial smile. “Uh, maybe next time?” His eyes not-so-subtly look away from her, and he just scratches the back of his neck, with his shoulders hunched stiffly. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but abruptly, the second late bell rings this time. “Let’s just head to class, alright? We’re gonna be late.” From there, he attempts to make his leave.

Erin hastily grabs his arm before he can make it too far. Her grip is firm.

“What has been with you lately?”

Despite sounding tender, she definitely comes off as confrontational. All the little things she has been noticing about him for the past few weeks begins to spill out of her one by one, in the form of pent up evidence supporting a suppressed argument.

“We’ve barely hung out, you rarely approach me first, and don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you hardly ever text me back anymore,” her voice cracks, just the slightest bit, but it is not vulnerability, it is only irritation. When she looks at him, she makes perfect, dead on eye contact, as if daring him to look away.

She starts getting louder. Her face is getting more red and more frustrated, the emotion further emphasised in her tone. “I thought I had it. I really did! I thought I was in one of the most important relationships of my life— here I thought I was different, and that I changed the ‘unattainable Dan Howell’…!” In a flash, it all shifts and she suddenly becomes a bit reserved. A bit meeker, wishful. Regretting and inhibited. Her voice is quieter. “…And that I found a really, really sweet guy.” She smiles the smallest bit, but her eyes are dull.

Her fingers start fiddling with the ends of her hair, and she looks down at her feet. “Instead, you just seem disinterested.”

“Look Erin, it’s not you it’s me—”

At that, her glare rises up once more, red lines suddenly appearing in wings at the ends of her eyes, further emphasizing her vexation. “Stop.” Her index finger threateningly pokes his chest with nearly every word that she says. “Don’t you even dare give me that load of bull. shit. I had to have done something.”

“You didn’t do anything, I promise,” Dan tries to reassure her, but he can tell that in the same way she didn’t believe him when he said was fine earlier, she absolutely does not believe him right now.

“Dan, don’t lie to me,” Erin huffs. She then furrows her eyebrows and kinda tilts her head and frowns, but it’s not directed at him, not really, and Dan knows that it means she’s thinking. When the corners of her mouth turn up a little and she shakes her head and laughs to herself, that is when he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to react. And he certainly does not anticipate the words that would then exit from her lips.

“I bet it’s that boy. It’s that boy, isn’t it?”

Dan bites his lip, his words are caught in his throat, and for some reason he can’t make himself reply.

A moment passes. One that lasts a beat too long for it to be salvaged.

“Oh.” Her voice and face suddenly falls and softens. It’s evident that she did not expect her ‘revelation’ to actually ring true. “Oh, Dan. I’m right aren’t I?”

Dan’s brows raise and his eyes widen, his hands waving frantically in an effort to convince her of the truth. “No!! No no, no way. We’re just friends, plus, I think that you’ve forgotten that I’m straight.”

Erin sighs. “But straight boys don’t look at other boys —well, just a single boy in your case— like you have, Dan. It makes sense now that I think about it, and honestly why didn’t I see it before, and I don’t care about the whole ‘gay thing’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She turns away and opens her locker, packing a few things into her bag, then slides one strap on her shoulder. “Love is love, and who am I to deny that?” Instead of then moving her body to face him, she bites her cheek. Her head tilts to the side a bit as she looks down. “I just hate that I had to find out like this.”

“Erin, I’m telling you!! We’re just friends!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” she waves, brushing him off. She doesn’t move, hand still on the locker door. She only turns her head so that he can look at her when she makes her point. “But baby, it’s obvious. And if you still can’t see it, then maybe you should stop and take a good look at what you’re missing.”

“You’ve got it all wrong—”

“Look…” Erin lets out a low exhale and lets her eyelids fall over her eyes, slamming the locker hard enough to both make the sound echo off the walls of the now empty halls. To her relief, it also  effectively shuts Dan up. She sounds tired. “I’m gonna head home alright? I don’t really feel like being here anymore. You can go back to class.”

After beginning to walk off, she stops after only taking a few steps.

Her back remains as the only thing facing towards him.

“Dan?”

He hesitates before responding. “Yeah?”

Before she speaks, she takes a second to articulate what exactly she wants to say. Even though it’s not a goodbye, it sure as hell feels like one.

It’s like a final admission.

“You… You were a good time. Even if you ignore me after this, since we’ll just be classmates, say hi once in awhile, yeah? And consider who’s important to you. Really, really consider it,” she then angles her body a bit to look over her shoulder, so that their eyes may meet one last time. Her lips tilt upwards a little bit at the corners, but even that is twinged with a hint of sadness. “That Phil boy… He really does make you smile.”

<<>>

They’re walking home, and the warm tones of the sky perfectly complement the warmth of the caramel macchiatos in their hands. Phil had treated them to the delicious drinks once school was over, despite Dan’s protests, and the late afternoon sun showed that they definitely ended up spending a little bit more time at the coffee shop than originally expected.

Oh well. Becoming lost in a sea of conversation of topics they could no longer remember gave them a much needed break from thinking about anything —or anyone— at all.

When they reach Dan’s house, Dan fumbles for the key and unlocks the door. Noticing that is Phil hesitating at the welcome mat still, Dan laughs. “C’mon,” he invites Phil in warmly, as he starts removing his shoes and places it next to the front door after closing it. Dan motions for Phil to do the same. “Let’s get started.”

Tonight is the night they finish their project. With only visuals remaining, and their use of a different type of surface for their piece, they only have the next several hours to complete it.

Dan grabs blankets for them to sit on and he tells Phil where to find the paints they need, and together they make their way towards the backyard. With perfect weather accompanied by a lovely sky, it is no wonder as to why it is their work space of choice this evening.

Outside, the air is quiet. The only noises come from the soft hum of suburbia and the chirping of crickets. “I work here often,” Dan says, his voice casual and not as loud as it normally would be.

Phil nods. “I understand why. It’s peaceful out here.”

They start setting up, picking a clear spot in the grass. Dan tosses the blankets to the ground and they both slide their backpacks off their shoulders, and Dan leans down to take the supplies they need out of his bag. As he is getting situated, Phil asks if he should get ready now. Although Dan just passively gives him a “Yeah, yeah,” he can’t seem to resist looking up when Phil turns around to slip off his shirt.

Phil isn’t the most fit person in the world, but he is certainly a bit toned, and the movement of his shoulder blades and back do something to the heart beating in Dan’s chest. The first thing he notices even before that though, are the daisies that seem to go all across Phil’s shoulders. They are admittedly quite hard to miss. That too, gives Dan this tingling feeling that starts in his chest and spreads through his arms. He can’t put a name to it, but it’s just that the flowers seem so endearing. Because oh, how lovely is that?

When Phil turns and faces Dan again, he catches Dan looking at him. Quickly, Dan looks away, but by then it’s too late, and Phil is standing there flustered, hints of pink coming off like paint splatters and freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly self-conscious, Phil shifts the moment’s attention to something else when he quickly moves to pick up one of the many blankets that Dan brought outside. When he hands one end of the blanket to Dan, Dan takes it with a sheepish smile.

For a split second, their fingers graze each other’s, before parting so that they may set the blanket down upon the grass together. After they put the blanket on the ground, Phil rubs his fingers together. A reaction, he can’t help it: last time there were fireworks, after all.

And even though his hands show no ink this time when he checks, by God does it feel like the moment was electrically charged.

“So, where do you want me?” asks Phil, the question effectively gently breaking the comfortable silence.

Dan laugh cuts through the thick air between them. “Pff, Phil,” He teases, “You know that anywhere is fine as long as we’re together.”

Phil shoves him playfully in response, making Dan grin, and the pink in Phil’s cheeks becomes just the tiniest bit redder. “Oh, shut up!”

“Lie down on your stomach here,” Dan gestures to a certain spot right by Phil’s feet, “Just relax okay?”

Phil follows Dan’s orders, and underneath him, he can feel the rustling of the grass. He rests his head on his arms, closing his eyes, his voice muffled by his mouth being covered. “Don't worry about me. I trust you.”

Dan chuckles. “I would hope so.”

The scenery around them seems unreal. The setting sun’s light gently lays a golden cast upon everything in the backyard, as if graced by Midas’ touch. Flowers and plants of every color grow here: a personal rainbow, a trove of jewels. Even the grass is a true to life representation of ‘the grass is greener on the side,’ for Phil knows that the grass on his side of the fence is wild and unkempt.

The atmosphere of it all is airy and seraphic.

Dan awkwardly squats down while muttering an apology, for in order to begin the actual painting process, he doesn’t really have any other option besides straddling Phil’s back. Of course he could just sit down next to Phil…  But then he would have to work sideways, and that would simply not be optimal.

He shifts in an attempt to make himself as comfortable as he can, and he makes sure that Phil is okay too.

Next to Dan lies the sketches of what he wants to achieve for the piece. Their idea is to demonstrate and illustrate what the definition of humanity, with an emphasis on the relationship between man and earth. The execution of Dan’s vision involves painting upon Phil’s back, sort of as a way to mimic the concept of tattoos and tell the story of man.

It is now time to work.

Underneath him, Phil’s skin is clear, pale, and soft. Like a blank canvas would, it invites him to have his way with it, a call to let his hands take over his mind. When Dan does any kind of art, he doesn’t like thinking at all due to its hinderance on creative flow. He takes a deep inhale, counting the seconds that pass as oxygen comes in, and lets a deep exhale pass his lips.

His fingers lightly trace the flowers upon Phil’s back, taking in the detail of each and every one of them. The intricacy of it all is so pretty, and almost delicate.

Finally, Dan starts.

The coldness of the paint makes Phil shiver.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil laughs awkwardly, “It’s cold, that’s all.”

Dan can’t help but laugh a little too. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’m gonna need a steady surface though so…”

“What should I do?”

“Hmm…” Dan starts, trying to think. He makes a long, broad stroke with his brush. “Maybe you can like, I don’t know. This might sound dumb. But maybe you could recite some poetry to me?” Dan dips his brush into the water, cleaning it off so that he could change colors. “It’ll distract you from the cold. It can be from the project, your own stuff, whatever. Tell me anything on your mind.”

Phil thinks it over, taking about a minute to contemplate over what he wants to share.

While he thinks, the sun finally finishes setting, and the moon eagerly moves to replace it. No longer is the sky burning ablaze with oranges, vermillions, and magentas; instead it’s all dark. Only a star or two glimmers. Everything is void except for the light of the moon that only seems to shine on them two alone.

“Yeah okay,” he agrees. “Alright.”

Another breath. “This is one of mine,” Phil adds.

Then a beginning.

“in a field of forget-me-nots, he’d try to forget them a lot the one who made his heart bloom from freckles that were like seeds, and smiles like sunshowers: pulling handfuls of grass out of the ground beneath him and picking petals of any flower he touched, choruses of ‘like me’ and ‘like me not’ in a golden air

there was something about them, who with hands made soul out of oxygen of every color and texture and medium who made his knees shake and his cheeks redder

Dan’s breath hitches. Phil continues, seemingly not noticing, and Dan shakes his head to shake the ridiculous thoughts out of his mind.

So what if the story seems to tell of a boy in love with an artist? It doesn’t mean anything.

“for although they was a mere windowpane away, their red threads seemed to be nothing more than fishing lines leading them to a separate sea and him to an empty shore

The brush in Dan’s hand has completely stopped moving. His arms have goosebumps, and although he can see that Phil has goosebumps across his skin too, Dan is sure that his own are not from the brisk air.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s reading too much into it. Maybe it’s not even about him.

But is it too strange to say that Dan doesn’t seem to mind at all?

Before, Dan wished that Phil could see what he’s making while he was making it, but he is very thankful that Phil can’t see him right now. His free hand reaches to cup the side of his face, and under his palm he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Although he can’t see it on himself, his suspicions are basically confirmed, and he has a good guess as to what is there.

Because at this moment, only visible by the moonlight, Dan has a fierce blush— a coalescence of roses and carnations on his neck that reach and bloom upon the apples of his cheeks (along with a few freckled stars).

More stars that could be seen in the night sky, to be precise. Side-by-side a whole garden that rivals the one that is blossoming around them.

“so from the coastline, he would admire them —this caramel boy— and he would watch the boy pull in the many fish of the sea as for he, he would merely sit writing words in the stand with a tidal wave heart that consumed him and stole the air from his lungs”

The chill of the night is starting to set in, but he feels like he’s on fire.

<<>>

They finish incredibly late. The idea of time is lost to them, and honestly they can’t tell the difference between the the evening’s final hours and the earliest hours of the next day.

Phil fell asleep towards the end, and Dan finds it endearing. The rise and fall of Phil’s back, along with the faint sounds of his breathing, are the only things keeping Dan company in this standstill of a night.

“Wake up,” Dan murmurs. He nudges Phil gently. “Get up, Phil.”

Begrudgingly, Phil sits up. He yawns and ruffles his hair, and as Dan begins packing up the supplies, Dan makes sure to keep a watchful eye on Phil to make sure that he doesn’t ruin the painting. Ultimately, he tells Phil to sit on his hands to ensure that no excessive movement leads to crackling in the piece.

Once Dan has returned everything inside, he comes back out to see that Phil is still sitting there, and the sight makes Dan chuckle a little. Phil has his eyes closed, clearly he dozed off despite sitting up; how he managed to do it, Dan doesn’t know.

He first lifts up Phil’s right thigh, then Phil’s left, sliding his hands out from under his legs. He keeps his hold on Phil’s palms and pulls Phil up so that he can stand, then picks up the last blanket that is left on the ground so that he can sling it over his shoulder.

With Phil’s hand in his, Dan carefully guides him inside, to a seat right beside a window.

“Dan…” Phil is still incredibly sleepy, his voice groggy. “Dan, what… What are we doing…?”

“It’s okay, I’ll handle it. You’re alright,” He assures him. “I’ve got you.”

Dan proceeds to sit Phil up in a chair. He makes sure to be gentle. Phil’s eyes keep going back and forth between either being open or closed, his eyelids eventually settling for the middle ground of being drowsily half-open; his body is simply too sluggish for him to stay completely awake. He is doing his best, though.

While Dan does have a soft yellow light lit up so that he can properly operate the camera, he had picked this spot next to the window so that the light of the moon could hit the piece just right.

What a good choice that is.

He snaps a couple photos. He takes some shots that are up close, in addition to others that showcase the big picture. The ones that are closer show all the detail; they show every single one of the strokes and the way the colors seamlessly blend into one another. Those are his favorite, for they caught what the eye wouldn’t normally catch.

The paint doesn’t completely hide the imperfections of the skin and Dan loves it. Humans aren’t perfect, and it only further emphasizes their project’s theme, but it also makes the piece uniquely Phil as much as it is uniquely Dan’s.

Click. And that one’s nice too.

This photo frames everything perfectly, it is one of the far-away shots: showing how Dan’s depiction of a skeleton matches exactly where Phil’s own bones would be. Amongst the rungs of Phil’s ribcage, Dan weaved an entire garden of flowers, blossoms come in azure, olive, and honey, and all of the other related shades.

Where the veins would run through, instead of being where the blood would run its course, it is red thread intertwined with vines, and it even leads all the way through Phil’s arms and hands. Where there is empty space, Dan filled it with a mix of daisies and stars, along with the colors of a midnight sky, the sky’s colors are a contrast almost as striking as Phil’s hair to his pale skin.

It isn’t a physical manifestation of the poem Phil recited to him, no. But if Dan said that he didn’t think about doing that, he would be lying. Dan ended up completely disregarding his original drafts and ended up giving into what his hands and mind seemed to want to do, and this was it, a portrayal that was a likeness to the relationship between nature and man, with a subtle hint at man’s idea of a red thread fate (perhaps Phil’s poem had more of an impact than he originally thought). And it turned into something lovely, he thinks. He hopes.

It almost resembles how Phil makes him feel inside.

How Phil seems to make everything bloom in color.

Softly, he taps Phil on the shoulder. “C’mon, wake up, Philly,” Dan whispers. “You did great.”

Phil rubs his eyes. They’re fully open now. “Oh hi Dan…” he replies, “I know I’ve been awake, but I think I can actually think… Coherently now.”

Dan smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” He holds a hand out to Phil, to which Phil accepts, and he pulls Phil up so he can stand. “I handled it. It all turned out fantastically.”

Phil stretches, and yawns. Then his eyes widen, face suddenly full of worry. “Wait, what time is it?? I never told my mom what time we’d finish—”

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Dan suggests. Phil looks at him and tilts his head, thinking it over. “It’s so late anyway, and my parents won’t mind, they’re out on a business trip anyway.”

Phil nods, “Okay. Alright, I’ll just let my mom know.”

Then they go to the bathroom upstairs, and Phil follows. While they are walking, Phil sends a quick message to his mom: I’m still at Dan’s, just right next door. Staying the night. I would’ve told you sooner but I fell asleep. Love you ❤❤

Upon reaching the bathroom, Dan gets a hand towel from the closet, and runs the towel under the sink. Out of nowhere, Phil laughs, and Dan turns to look at him, eyebrow raised, perplexed and wanting an explanation.

When all Phil says is, “Heh, Howell with a towel,” Dan smacks Phil in the shoulder playfully and can’t help but laugh too.

Dan then adds a bit of soap so that it will wash better. Before he starts to clean the painting off, Phil sees the piece in the mirror and loves it. “You’re so talented,” he whispers, and Dan’s ears flush with pink, he’s positively bashful. “It really is a shame that we have to wash it off.”

“Yeah,” is all Dan can reply. “It is.”

He finally starts washing Phil’s back, watching the colors smear together into something incomprehensible. Abruptly, Dan hesitates, really taking in the situation. “This isn’t weird, right?” he asks.

Phil doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you’re just helping me. I wouldn’t be able to do it properly myself.”

Dan can’t seem to argue with that, and so he finishes. When he’s done, he tells Phil to wait a moment. About a minute or two passes by, and Phil is humming to pass the time, and when Dan returns, he tosses Phil the clothes of his that he grabbed. Then he shows Phil how to use the shower.

“So those clothes are just some of mine that you can borrow,” Dan finishes. “My room is just across the hall when you’re done.”

Dan’s hand is on the door handle already when Phil stops him. “Oh wait, hold on! Before you go…” Phil pulls him back to the counter, and takes a new towel from where he saw Dan take one from earlier.

He does just as Dan did, and runs the towelette under water with a bit of soap, and he cups Dan’s cheek with his hand. He dabs at Dan’s cheek gently, cleaning up paint that had somehow made it’s way to Dan’s chin and other miscellaneous parts of his face.

“I didn’t know you had freckles,” Phil whispers, continuing to tenderly clean Dan up. “I love them.”

The comment automatically makes Dan flustered. His cheeks threaten to flare up, as they usually do at words like that, but he wills every atom to his body to refrain from doing so in that moment. He can only hope that it works out like that, though.

He barely manages to utter the two words. “Th-thank you.”

Eventually Phil finishes, and Dan subsequently leaves and retreats to his room. He uploads the photos from the camera to his laptop while he waits for Phil to shower. Once they are uploaded, he is pleased to see that they did indeed turn out as great as he thought. He starts editing, retouching them a bit here and there, just overall playing with the exposure and sharpness of them.

Fifteen minutes go by, and he’s still editing. That’s when Phil comes in, having lightly knocked on the door before entering, with his hair damp and Dan’s t-shirt and pajama pants on. In response to the opening of the door, Dan spins in his chair to watch as Phil comes in.

And there is just something about Phil in Dan’s clothes that makes him look so incredibly cute, that Dan has no other option but to smile.

Phil walks over to look at the photos that Dan has pulled up on his laptop. He asks if he can see the others, and Dan turns back to the screen to watch Phil scroll through the rest of them.

“Oh, Dan…” Stunned by the photographs, Phil is breathless. The lighting is spectacular, and the attention to detail is amazing, and none of it goes unnoticed.  “These are beautiful.”

He says some more things, but to be honest, Dan stopped listening. He’s just looking at Phil instead. That is, until Phil turns his face too.

Their faces are so near.

And their lips are so, so close.

Phil pulls away though, and Dan feels strangely empty. But why does he feel like that? he asks himself. He instantly shakes off the thought, getting up from his seat and heading to the closet to grab some pajamas. “You can just sleep on the bed Phil,” he states simply, “I’ll just take a quick shower.”

In the shower however, the thought of Phil can’t seem to escape him. Yet again, he pushes it away.

Nothing happened, and besides, it’s just Phil, he thinks, but it’s like he’s reassuring himself.

Nothing more.

When Dan is done, he heads back to the room, in far comfier clothes. As he opens the bedroom door, Phil cracks an eye half-open at the sound. Dan walks over to the bed, leaning down so he is looking at Phil at eye level.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil yawns, and pulls the covers up a little. His eyebrows scrunch up, and his eyes squint a little, questioning. “You have curly hair?”

Dan grimaces, a bit embarrassed. “Mmm, yeah. I always straighten it though.”

Phil reaches over, taking a curl in between his two fingers. “It’s like a little pig tail,” he giggles, “Why do you keep getting more and more damn adorable, whenever I learn more about you?”

This time, Dan doesn’t even acknowledge the comment, except for the playful hint of the corners of his lips turning up. He then stands up straight, and heads towards his desk. “I’m gonna edit a little more before I hit the sack. Good night you little shit.”

“Goodnight,” Phil calls.

Dan is editing for another twenty minutes more before he decides that it is time for him to finally sleep. He makes his way over to the bed, and he would lie down, but Phil is in the middle, looking cozily wrapped up in the black-and-white duvet.

Dan smiles softly. As he adjusts the covers so that it covers Phil’s feet, followed by tucking him in a little more, he mutters and laughs under his breath, “And I am the one that looks more and more adorable? Has he even seen himself?”

When he’s all done, he takes one of the extra pillows on the bed and tosses it to the ground. He then goes out and grabs one of the last clean blankets, and tosses that to the ground as well.

He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor tonight.

<<>>

phil: We definitely did great on that project! :D

dan: hECK yeah i hope they grade us soon

phil: alhfdlhls What if I told you that they did already??

dan: W H A T dan: but they usually take ages??

phil: It’s been a couple days materino phil: Plus like, my teacher told me that she graded ours first sooo,, phil: In THEORy it should be up by now! ;P

dan: omgomgomg i just checked and it’s uP

phil: And??

dan: WE GOT AN A

phil: YAY!! All thanks to your amazing art!!

dan: pbbbt your writing is the loveliest thing ever don’t even come for me dan: like shakespeare who?? i don’t know her

phil: Oh shush asdfgjjhg phil: That’s so sweet I hate you

dan: nooooo don’t hate me

phil: Don’t worry Danny boy phil: I don’t think I ever could.

<<>>

The rain outside is dreadfully heavy, and Dan is late. Usually, that wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but he had been doing so well with being on time these past few weeks. Since there is no point to alarms if they don’t even work as they should, alarm clocks are dead to Dan now.

When he runs in, he looks so scattered. Sleeves are three-fourths rolled up, creating a look that lies somewhere between rushed and on purpose, and to add to that his hair is frizzy, he has mismatching socks (well, one is black and the other is dark grey, but still). A white umbrella that has baby pink ribbons all over it completes the whole ensemble.

Honestly? A fashion icon.

Phil sees him on the way to his second period class, and he has to cover his mouth to keep from giggling at the sight of Dan looking completely frazzled from the rain. One little laugh does escape him though, but he can’t help it: what is likely Dan’s little sister’s umbrella makes Dan look cute as heck.

Yet when Phil begins to lightly run towards him to give a quick hi, something doesn’t seem right.

Dan’s tattoos seem… Blurry?

At first glance, the ink seems to be what Phil expects it to be. That being, what Phil knows to be on Erin’s own arms: grey, stormy clouds. Yet at the same time— it seems to have changed?

Phil is just standing in place now, stopped in his tracks, a fair distance away from him still. He isn’t looking up close, the exposed skin on Dan’s forearms show it all. The texture is off and that the colors are melding together in an unnatural way, and overall it is just wrong.

Phil continues to stand by and watch.

Dan rolls up his sleeves more, revealing his whole arm. When he reaches into his locker, he takes out a variety of art supplies, of various mediums and hues and purposes, and begins to mess around a bit with the tattoos. As if he’s touching up.

Why would he need to…? Oh.

They’re fake. The tattoos are fake. And scratch what Phil said earlier— they are not blurry. They are smeared.

Dan finishes his work relatively quickly, and by that time, Phil has already begun heading to class, asking himself whether or not the scene he just watched unfold in front of him was real. Whether the sight of Dan amending the ink on his skin was true, or if it was a sleep-deprived induced dream. Yet no matter what he tells himself, he can’t deny what he saw.

Eventually Dan looks up and sees Phil’s distant figure. When he lets out an, “Oh hey! Phil!”, a moment passes that seems like a reluctance to greet Dan back. But Phil turns around, because that’s the kind of person he is, and he waves. Dan swears that it seems a bit stiff, though.

After that, Phil doesn’t acknowledge anything else.

He simply bites his bottom lip and keeps walking.

<<>>

(2) missed calls from Danny Boy.

<<>>

“Hey Phil! Let’s head to the library for lunch?”

Phil forces a smile. “Maybe another time, Dan? I have to… uh, go to a teacher.”

<<>>

You missed (5) Skype Video Calls from Daniel Howell.

<<>>

dan: hey why rnt you replying to me? dan: phil, did i do something?          ✓ read 9:22 PM

<<>>

Rumors are spreading all across campus. The hallways are littered with whispers and gossip of the school’s proclaimed ‘It Couple,’ and even teachers are chatting about it in the teachers’ lounge. Everyone seems to be aware that Dan and Erin had a falling out, but to be fair, it wasn’t necessarily hard to guess. No one needed to hear it from the source.

It is evident from how they no longer walk together, sit together, or talk to one another. Even more apparent, Erin’s arms no longer displayed the sunrises that everyone believed (she, included) to represent new beginnings and the birth of something new. Instead, it is now rain. It is stormy clouds on a setting horizon, the sunset for the sunrise, to match the end to the beginning.

Even the flowers she had, the precious flowers that convinced even the doubters of her and Dan’s love (if you could call it that), are wilting.

There are claims being made; there are those who are attesting to seeing Dan leave parties early with people on his arm while he has his hand on their waist, as he leads them out the door and to his car. Some said it was Dan whose neck and chest was splattered with purple from what the night had entailed, others said it was his company who adorned the marks. People told of the moans that would come from bathrooms, bedrooms, and even in one instance, a closet, where sounds of ecstasy made passerbys envious and left his partner of the night a pleasured mess.

Amongst all of Dan’s hookups, there is one thing they all have in common: they are all boys.

And that common fact makes Phil’s heart go from skipping a beat at even the mention of Dan’s name to sinking six feet below the floor.

Girls? That he can handle. He can handle it because he is used to it, he has been used to it for years. But Dan being with boys puts Phil on an even playing field— Phil isn't different from any of those boys. He has gone from watching on the sidelines to being an average player on the losing team.

When it comes down to it, these are the truths: he is in love with someone who, until the project, hadn't spared him a glance for years. He is in love with someone who —he was sure of it— had tattoos that were ingenuine and painted on. He is in love with someone who is known for playing the game, for having issues with commitment, for being someone who picked up people then dropped them like flies.

He is in love with someone who lies.

And so now Phil sits on his front porch, writing, restraining himself from going beyond the brink of tears. For someone who treasures honesty, the truth hurts. No matter how much he tries to hold himself back, two or three droplets still manage to escape, smudging some of the words that were written out of a mix of anger, disappointment, and emptiness.

They were words written by a heart who lost the game, a game rigged by a player of the most gut-wrenching emotion.

<<>>

skin of freckled honey and a body of clouds, sweet and soft— in the same way that only thoughts could fabricate the idea of how your lips taste. fabrication does not compare to the reality of it all though and no one ever warned me, for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you - p.l.

<<>>

Everything is white noise. His surroundings are a blur and his head is pulsing intensely from the conglomeration of far too much alcohol and far too loud music. He can barely feel himself existing within his own body. The bustle of people dancing around him, the sounds of the DJ and the people singing and screaming at the top of their lungs, and the scent of sweat and booze: it’s all much more than he wants in that moment.

But to be fair, he does not really know exactly what it is he wants.

Whoever he is kissing is much more into it than he is, for he isn’t into it at all. He’s barely there, just a shell of a kiss upon the person’s lips. A disappointment for anyone sober to be honest.

Yet the other one couldn’t care less.

“S-so do you wanna, like,” the boy, probably two years younger than him, stammers as they separate for a breath, “Take this somewhere else?”

Numbly, Dan nods. No harm in going along with it, right? “Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”

On the drive to Dan’s house, the boy (Justin? Jake? Josh? Oh forget it, just calling him J will be easier) is texting rapidly. The entire drive is silent except for those keyboard clicks and the nervous tapping of J’s foot, and from the light of J’s phone screen, Dan can see that J is sporting a huge grin on his face. Dan doesn’t even have to see the texts to know what they are about.

If he were to guess, it would be J bragging to his friends about how he is getting to sleep with The Great Dan Howell™ and how “OMG HE CAN’T BELIEVE IT.” Or you know, another statement that is equally as dumb.

It makes Dan feel sick.

When they actually arrive, things escalate from Dan leading J into his home with his hand on the small of J’s back, to rapidly making out on the couch. The way J kisses him is incredibly zealous. Dan tries his best to match his passion, but his efforts fall short. It’s just different, for Dan’s kisses are intense in a different manner; his lips press against J’s lips and skin in a way that is almost forceful, as if trying to forget about something.

But regardless of how fervent they both currently are, it all stops the moment the boy reaches to unbutton Dan’s jeans.

Immediately, Dan breaks away.

The boy, Jared, Jace, whatever his name is, looks confused. He leans in in an attempt to just restart where they left off, but Dan only shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says quietly, pushing him off. “I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”

He gets up, and the younger one awkwardly follows, the way the boy carries himself shows that he is definitely disappointed. When they reach the front door, the boy takes a second to send a quick message, letting his friend know that he needs a ride, knowing what Dan will say next.

“Go home,” Dan tells him, his voice gentle as he opens the door. “You’re sweet, but go home. Please.” A nod from the other passes as a silent “Alright then, goodbye,” and Dan knows that he’ll never see the boy again. When Dan shuts the door and locks it, he runs his hand through his fringe, letting out a groan that comes from deep within his chest.

He makes his way upstairs eventually. When he gets there, he sits upon the edge of the foot of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands, pulling at his hair. His knuckles are white when he forms a fist, fiercely punching the bed once. And that’s the point where he just yells.

Dan yells so loud that it genuinely scratches his throat, it is of such volume that it bounces off the walls of the empty house.

Next, he just allows himself to fall onto the bed. His body sprawls out in the center, amongst all of his sheets that should seem familiar, yet somehow don’t smell like home at all. His eyes are squeezed shut. One hand reaches up to rub his one eye, the other arm rests in place and remains outstretched.

After some time, breaking the quiet, a soft gravelly whisper finally leaves his lips. “Dang, she might’ve been right all along…”

<<>>

chris: i heard from pj that u + phil aren’t on the best of terms right now chris: you okay mate?

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age sixteen.

from chris, to dan (and 63 others):

party tonight. my house (u should know the address, lmk if you need it tho) until whenever u wanna leave ! gon be lit be there or be square lads

He only had a little bit of time before Vanessa —well, because she insists he actually calls her Van— arrived. Chris Kendall was having the party of the summer to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of vacation because his parents were out of town, and he and Van agreed that they would go together.

As a casual thing of course, nothing serious.

The party started in about half an hour. Black skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees and a shirt he knew he looked good in was the look of choice for the night. He nearly chose to leave his hair in waves, but after he ran his fingers through his fringe he ultimately decided against it. His hair looked stupid if it was anything but straight.

Right when he was straightening the last curl, the doorbell rang. How perfectly timed, and even their arrival at the party was perfect too: not too early and not too late. As soon as they got there, they were greeted by the mob of people who were bumping along to the music. While they gave quick greetings to their friends, they quickly made their way into the center, amongst all those who were dancing like it was the night of their lives.

Van had her hands on his chest, her moves sensual and easy. She’s dancing with him, and Dan doesn’t hate it, because any onlooker could tell that she was very attractive. She’s pretty, and admittedly they have had fun together before, but Dan had realised for a while that he hadn’t been actively interested in her for quite some time.

But who was he to decline her company when they should be having fun?

“Let’s go grab some drinks,” Van commented, as she took his hand to drag them both out of the cluster of partying bodies. Even before she reached the drinks table, people started to hand her drinks as if they knew exactly what she wanted. She grabbed two, nudged Dan with her elbow, then held out the one cup out to him. “Drink some, Dan!”

Dan made a face, unsure. “I dunno, I don’t usually drink much…”

She gave an ‘ol pbbbt and a playful eyeroll that clearly meant that she didn’t want no for an answer. Van gestured towards the cup in her hand once more, and with her eyebrows raised up at him, she follows up with a plead. “C’mon! Take a fuckin’ sip babe.”

Giving in, he took the drink from her, downing it all in a matter of gulps. Van laughs, and they went right back into partying.

However, whether he realised it or not, one sip had quickly turned into multiple sips. And sips turned into finishing the cup, and one finished cup turned until multiple finished cups, and then he completely lost count. He’s completely, he thought as he hiccuped, he’s completely —as his friends would say— tabled.

If he’s honest, he had no idea how much time had passed. He just knew that he was currently all over the place, dancing one moment, chatting the next, then suddenly beer pong or something after that. When the music got softer, that’s when his drunk high started to diminish too, and that’s when he started to get tired.

He terribly needed a bed.

It was at this time that he started to head towards the stairs (anything after that however, he couldn’t recall for the life of him).

<<>>

Why is Phil doing this?

Dan knows he’s not imagining it. Dan can feel Phil distancing himself away from him more and more with each passing day, and he just wants to know why. It’s not just ignored texts, Phil won’t even glance at him. And that’s what really hurts about it all.

At lunch, he goes to “their” spot in the library, but Phil isn’t there. He brings food and everything, but even if he waits, Phil never shows. As a matter of fact, he isn’t in the library at all. To add more salt to the wound, when Dan goes to the cafeteria to check out the lunch table where PJ, Chris, and Louise sit at, Phil isn’t with them either.

Even when it is time for class, Dan is determined. He shows up first rather than last in an effort to try and sit by him. Dan will get him this time he’s sure, because he knows that Phil likes having time to himself in the beginning of class. Dan knows Phil. Dan is positive that he is right in this notion —there is no way he wouldn’t be— and when Phil walks in through that door, Dan will just talk to him and everything will be normal again.

But as if he’s aware of Dan’s plan, Phil ends up arriving last. Every time.

<<>>

“Please Chris!” his tone is embarrassingly pleading, but Dan doesn’t care. Anyone could be listening in on their conversation as they’re strolling the halls, but Dan doesn’t care about that either, he just grabs Chris’ arm and begins shaking it violently as he keeps begging (these are clearly some great persuasive tactics he’s using, perhaps he should consider becoming a lawyer).

“Pleaaaseee!! Talk to your cute boyfriend for me!”

Chris stops in his tracks, nearly making Dan stumble. He stares at Dan dead in the eyes. “Okay first of all, only I can call him cute, back off. And second,” he says the last parts slowly as he takes a couple tentative steps forward. “I don’t think it would be smart. If anything, you can talk to my cute boyfriend yourself.”

Dan lets go of Chris’ arm, letting out a small reluctant exhale. “Okay. Fine.”

It takes a while. Dan has to wait until the afternoon finally comes to an end in order to talk to PJ, and even then, it takes a good chunk of time to convince him. Dan’s proposition is for PJ to somehow provide Dan with an opportunity to talk to Phil.

At first, PJ declines. Right away.

But then he manages to go from “Oh, I don’t know Dan…” to “Alright, okay,” after a little over an hour of persuading. After Dan explained the circumstances, and with a bit of begging, PJ changed his mind. He makes it clear that he’s not the most supportive of Dan right now due to Phil’s current state, but that he is appreciative of the fact that he did make Phil so happy before.

And above all, there is one thing that PJ can’t deny, and that is that Phil deserves closure. If anything.

PJ looks away from Dan, not able to directly meet his eyes. He scratches the back of his neck, before turning to face him once more, voice firm. “He’ll meet you in room 109, alright? Tomorrow, fifteen minutes after school ends. I’ll tell them there’s a meeting for a club he’s in or something. But if you miss it… That’s on you. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

<<>>

The clock on the classroom wall shows that seven minutes have passed since their supposed meet-up time. Not that he was counting or anything. Understandably, Dan can’t help but to feel on edge, for what if PJ changed his mind?

What if Phil never comes?

Out of nowhere, words start coming from the other side of the door. “Yeah, this is the room. Text me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks for letting me know about this meeting Peej.” That one is Phil. That’s definitely him. “You’re a great friend.”

The door then opens with a flourish. Phil closes it behind him.

Dan coughs, making Phil turn around. He does a small wave and says meekly, “Hey, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes widen and the color drains from his face. “Oh no. Oh no no no…”

“Phil, please listen to me—”

“But I don’t even want to talk to you…” Phil’s firmly points out. He is looking all around the classroom, at every place and every thing except for Dan. Annoyed, he mutters, “I knew that something was up when PJ said there was a meeting for a new writing program. It just seemed sudden, and I never heard anyone talking about it or anything…”

“Phil, please talk to me?”

“And why should I?”

“Please.”

Instead of responding right away, Phil walks over to Dan, and gets all up his face. He nearly spits at him, and to be honest, he kind of wants to. Inked images of flames are flickering from his bottom of his neck, threatening to reach his chin. He entire demeanor is radiating with bitterness. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you take a hint?” He crosses his arms. “You’re with her, and I’m a total idiot, and you can just live your happy lie. Ignorance is bliss, right?”

“What are you even saying, I don’t understand…” Dan’s voice trails off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Brashly, Phil grabs Dan’s arm, hastily rolling up the sleeves. His lips are pressed into a straight line as he takes out his water bottle from in his backpack. Proceeding to pour a bit of water onto Dan’s forearm, he then takes his hand and rubs across Dan’s skin.

The ink smears, as Phil expected.

A sharp intake of breath comes from Dan. His eyes widen, and suddenly it’s like something has lodged itself in his lungs. Frantically, he waves his hands, crying, “Phil, whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t believe it! There’s more to the story, I promise you…” Phil doesn’t respond, he simply twists the bottle cap closed and slips the water bottle back into his bag. “Can we just talk? We need to talk, Phil!”

Phil’s voice is hard and stilted. He doesn’t acknowledge what Dan is saying, not really, but his words speak directly to him. “Dan, if anything, you have to understand this: the project is done, so there is no logical reason for us to talk anymore—”

This is where Dan attempts to shut Phil up. Hurriedly, he had leaned in to close the space between them, with the aim for a chaste kiss on the lips. Just so Phil would stop talking and calm down. That kind of thing works in the movies, right?

But Dan misses.

He misses because Phil turned his face, so that instead of his lips, Dan would hit his cheek instead. A futile attempt overall. When they return to simple eye contact, Phil is anything but pleased. Dan grimaces. He’s worried now.

“Art students,” begins Phil bitterly, “are the worst.” He moves his head so his fringe is out of his face, and all of his focus is on Dan. He shakes his head, a forced chuckle almost escaping his lips.

“Just so you know,” Phil’s eyes are like steel. Unbearing, unyielding, a disclosure with resolve. His words are steady. “I was pretty damn close to falling in love with you.”

Dan’s expression has become a mess of emotion, his voice laced with a desperate want for Phil to stay. Yet Phil is already for the door. “Well I’m pretty damn sure—”

Phil cuts him off one last time, his fingers lingering on the door handle. His face turns so that Dan can see his profile, but can’t see his expression. To be fair, he doesn’t need to, for the impenetrable accusing, disappointed tone of his voice is undeniable.

“Do you tell that to everyone you sleep with?”

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age fifteen.

Apparently this party was supposed to be a big one. More so than usual anyway, and that was why James had forced him to go— and that was why he was here. People seemed to be filling up the house to its brim, and the scent of sweat and alcohol blended into what Phil guessed to be whatever Nirvana imagined teen spirit would smell like. When Phil and James arrived, they were greeted with the same chorus of “heyyy!”s that all the other houseguests probably had to endure.

They had only stepped through the entrance moments ago when James had nudged him in the side with his elbow. “I’m just gonna go and mingle, yeah?”

Phil just passively nodded him off in reply, and turned around to head towards the living room. Before he makes his leave, James patted him on the back with a brief, “‘Kay mate, I’ll be back in a minute.” Phil rolls his eyes, because he highly doubts that. Yeah, yeah. That’s what he said every time.

An hour and a half passed on by. To elaborate, an hour and a half was how long it took for Phil to finally look up from his phone, get up from his spot on the couch, and go to the kitchen for a change of pace, and maybe a drink perhaps. His journey to the kitchen was mildly ruined however, when he realised James had been preoccupied —and was still preoccupied— with making out with someone in the hallway.

Phil simply pursed his lips, blatantly ignored it, and headed towards the drinks. Despite being close, the two were never actually close. As evidenced, that guy was never really a good friend anyway.

Life sucks sometimes, you know? Phil grabbed the nearest drinkable-looking liquid. but before he could pour himself anything, he was stopped. Someone else was offering a red solo cup to him.

“Are you looking for something harsh, or you just want to let loose?” The person says.

“Let loose,” Phil affirmed, with a shrug. “I just want to have less of a crappy time to be honest.”

“Well then here you go mate,” he replied, as he handed him the drink. “I’m PJ by the way.”

The conversation took off from there. Introductions were made, and so were jokes and banter; overall they were having fun getting to know one another. PJ was a film-video major, and was studying directing, writing, and special effects. It turned out that they both attended the nearby arts academy, and that they were in the same lunch period. Numbers were exchanged, and agreements to hang out were arranged.

It seemed like a friendship was to start. One already far better than the one with James.

“It’s been great talking to you Phil,” PJ grinned as the conversation came to a close, patting Phil on the shoulder. “I gotta make my way out though! The party host is a past friend of mine, and I just wanna see if I can give a cheeky hello.” With that, he turned and headed off with a little salute.

“See you!”

And with that, the night went on. The party dwindled down, and as early morning approached, people transitioned from either quietly chatting or leaving, to being completely knocked out or sleeping. The sleeping ones included Phil amongst them, who had succumbed to that heavy-eyed feeling on the stairs. It was one of the only places left that was free: his peers littered the couches, the floors, and the hallways. Along with all of these people, there were cups, half-eaten pizzas, and a whole lot of other trash that were haphazardly left upon every surface and within every possible nook and cranny of the house.

The music that had previously been blasting loud enough to vibrate the whole block had now been turned down to a lower volume, presumably by someone who did so out of the courtesy of others. A simple light pulse could be felt through the floor, and it stood as the only sound left to resonate through the house.

Well, except for the footsteps of one person. A person who, in their completely hammered state, had decided that he wanted to sleep in the comfort of a bed, and was thus attempting to trudge their way to a bedroom. That was before they tripped on Phil.  

Who was on the stairs.

Blocking his way.

Phil’s eyes kinda squinted and fluttered open, eyebrows furrowed as he half-woke up from the sound of whoever fell near him. Once he realised that someone was helplessly lying face down upon the steps, he made the effort to help them up. Even though he himself did stumble a couple of times.

He placed an arm around the person’s shoulder, and the other did the same back at him. In their matching hazy, sleepy states, they made their way to the bedroom together, nearly tripping on more than one occasion as they attempted to hold each other up on the way up the staircase.

A couple fumbles, and they were finally at the top.

“Are we nearly there?” The guy asked, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah,” Phil replied quietly, as he pushed open the first door he came across. “Yeah, nearly.”

When he opened the door, it was easy to tell that it was probably the master bedroom, for it had a bed fit for kings. The duvet looked silky to the touch, and the pillows looked fluffed to homey perfection. It just seemed so, so inviting.

The music from downstairs could still be fairly heard from where they were. The boy Phil was holding onto sorta hummed along and tried to spin them around the room in a dazed dance.

A laughably graceful spin, an uncoordinated dip. “Mmmm, mmm mm mmm…”

It all quickly went downhill though. Expectedly, rather than dancing, they instead clumsily fell onto the bed, the covers being as soft as they looked. Phil giggled as they fell down.

One person on one side, and the other person next to them. They laid down together, back to back, not touching and ready to fall asleep. Phil’s eyes began to close once more. Both of their breathing patterns were becoming slow and even.

Rustling all of a sudden came from the other side of the bed, the shifting of sheets were followed by a genuine, dazed slur of question. The guy spoke at a volume that hardly goes above a hummingbird’s whisper. “Hey, doyouthinkit’sstrangethat… I don’t know. That society is simply made, made up of concepts that are in… inherently real and. And not real?”

Reluctantly, Phil turned on his side to face him so he could reply. He yawned, and shrugged. His voice is gravelly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Some people see marriage as just being a piece of paper.”

The stranger nodded, seemingly accepting his answer. “That’s, that’s true...” He paused for a moment, taking a second to think before he voiced his next thought. “Hmmmm, next question: why are we here?” His voice was more stable now, despite all the alcohol in his system. Probably because he was more awake due to holding a conversation.

“If this is an existential question, that’s too much thinking.” Phil’s face scrunched up as he attempted once more at a better response, but inevitably gave up. A mostly-tired tipsy brain is only capable of so much at two am. “It’s too early for that, mate. Sorry. But if you’re asking for why I’m at this party? Then it’s because,” Phil moved his body so he could be more comfortable, resting his head on his arm. “Well, my friend forced me to come.”

The other one’s body mirrored Phil’s, moving in the bed as he did in order to better situate himself. He replied with a nonchalant shake of his head. “I did mean it as existentia-whatever, but eh, you’re right. Too much thinking. I’m here because of a friend too.”

Somehow, they began to talk about everything. And by everything, it meant just that: worries, fears, existential thoughts, random animal facts. They became so relaxed yet so awake, because if they closed their eyes they would miss these fleeting moments of an almost trance-like unreality. There were no holds barred. Everything left was raw.

After a while, there was a lull. It’s either that or they have fallen into a comfortable silence, Phil truly didn’t know. They were both still lying face to face —but also not really looking at each other— in an absentminded stupor. The stillness was broken when the guy reached over, almost as if he wanted to play with Phil’s hair. He hummed and muttered, “You kinda look like my neighbor, you know?” Phil’s eyebrows only raise slightly in response, like a silent question of “Oh really?”

Dan pursed his lips with an mmhm, decidedly rubbing the black locks in between his fingers and brushing Phil’s fringe out of his face. “You are the prettiest boy I have ever seen, you know...”

After hearing those words, Phil took the other’s hand into his, away from playing with his hair. He brought their hands down to rest in between the both of them, fingers interlocked. Chrysanthemums quickly bloomed on the boy’s face in a blush, which then faded as fast as they appeared. “And that is you, to I,” said Phil.

The boy laughed, the flowers reappeared on his cheeks for several moments fiercer and brighter than before, right before they faded again once more, slowly this time. A soft rosy patch of red on the apples of his cheeks was all that was left behind upon his flushed face. “What are you, a poet?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” Phil smiled.

Whoever made the first move after that moment wasn’t relevant. It was just that at one point they were no longer at an arms’ length away from each other, but yet they somehow had moved closer to one another. Close enough for Phil to see that this pretty boy had the prettiest eyelashes and the softest brunette hair, and for the other to see his three favorite colors within Phil’s eyes. They were simply lying down amongst shared bedsheets face-to-face, alcohol on their breath; two boys with no care in the world.

Phil moved forward just the slightest bit more, letting go of the guy’s hand to move and kiss him behind the ear first, where a tattoo of a marigold immediately began to bloom. Then Phil continued and left soft kisses down the male’s neck.

In response the boy sighed with the quietest ah, nearly moaning from the slightest touch. With the utmost tenderness, he ran his hands across Phil’s shoulders and down Phil’s arms, letting one hand rest on Phil’s waist before he leaned in and gave him a peck of a kiss, making the both of them smile.

“Your touch is so gentle,” Phil says to him. Echoing the other’s words from earlier, Phil continued in a teasing tone, “What are you, an artist?”

The boy only winked, with a hint of a knowing smirk. “Maybe.”

That portion of humanity’s daily twenty-four hours in which the ongoing evening merged with the early day, and when the stars met the morning sunrise, was not only comprised of only the physical world that night, but also of the whispers of yes between strangers and the unspoken confessions between two people who had somehow already met. Perhaps through a past life, or unknowingly, a connection even closer than that.

Because even acquaintances can be something more.

In the morning, it’s skin against skin, amid silken bedsheets and marks from the night before. Their legs were entangled with one another— leaving daisies around Phil’s ankles, while the boy’s arms around him left daisies upon Phil’s shoulders.

When Phil awoke, sunlight had only begun to trickle in. Reluctantly he moved to break away from the guy’s hold, careful to not wake him up, and groggily, Phil grabbed for his phone that was on top of the nightstand.

Four missed calls. Seven texts. His mother must be worried sick.

from mom, to phil:

Where are you Philip???!!!! I’ve called you so many times!! I trust you to be alright, but please contact me to ease your old mother’s heart. Come home as soon as you can, dear. Call me.

Phil sat up on the edge of the bed. Cellphone in hand, he immediately dialed for his mother. As it rang, he began to shuffle around the room to pick up his clothes off of the floor. Pants here, shirt there. Boxers somewhere. The phone rang five times, to which afterwards it then went to voicemail, accompanied by the traditional “Please leave your name after the beep!”. While he struggled to put his jeans on, Phil pinned the phone in the nook between his shoulder and ear.

“Yeah, mom? Sorry I didn’t answer or come home right away, I fell asleep at the party from last night. I’ll be heading there now. Don’t worry, I’ll take a taxi or uber or something.” A quick message and then he hung up, it was just a sign to let her know he was okay. Finally, he slipped his shirt on over his head.

Before he left, he took one last glance at the boy in the bed. It was only at this point does he realise exactly what happened last night. He wasn’t a stranger at all, in fact Phil knew him, he knew him much more than he would like to admit.

The boy was Dan. Dan, the one Phil admired from afar, the one he wrote about in secret.

Phil bit his lip, feeling a twinge of something twist his insides. It’s a mix of guilt and some other emotion. His stomach did not contain butterflies, oh no; right now his ribcage swelled with bumblebees. Stabbing the inside of his chest, filling his lungs so he couldn’t breathe.

But perhaps that was only fitting. Because that couldn’t stop him from confessing the fact that this sight of Dan left Phil a bit breathless.

A state that left Dan looking so vulnerable, while at the same time, looking so damn gorgeous.

Leaning down, Phil’s fingers grazed Dan’s forehead so that he may push those adorable curls aside, and his lips left a light kiss on Dan’s forehead, just above the space between his eyebrows. A farewell that would have to suffice, for after that Phil went back home.

When Dan awoke, he woke up to strewn sheets and duvet, and a slight tingling of where someone had left their mark— literally. There was a small red heart where Phil unknowingly kissed him, along with even smaller ones splattered along his hairline. When he touched them, they gave him a pleasant feeling, but at the same time he was just confused.

On Monday, when he went back for the last day of school, he hid the hearts under his fringe. If anyone were to catch a glance at them, he’d say they were freckles.

The matching redness of his cheeks and his glance towards the floor alluded to otherwise, though. And the way he picked at his shirt collar that hid a hickey or two showed that he was a bit unsure as to where exactly they came from.

<<>>

It has been almost three weeks since he first started avoiding Dan. At first it wasn’t on purpose at all, it was simply a reaction. He felt like he couldn’t help it— he just didn’t want to be around Dan for a while. Being around Dan felt like a confrontation.

But now, Phil is well aware that he has been purposefully distancing himself from him. From ignoring Dan’s texts and calls, taking a different route to classes, and turning the other cheek when Dan attempts to catch his attention. He has been doing it all.

And each and every time he does it, it hurts him. The feeling of contrition makes his insides wrench.

A new tattoo appeared on his thigh a while ago. It’s a clock. Every time he avoids Dan’s persistence, another crack appears on the clockface.

Needless to say, the clock is very close to being completely shattered.

People say that time heals all wounds, and at this point, Phil is praying that the saying rings true. The very idea of disingenuity tears him apart, because if something is built on falsehoods, does it even have any true worth? The answer is no, it doesn’t.

If he were to consider the amount of time he has spent on Dan, Phil has worn his heart on his sleeves for years. Dan was never his, but yet Phil feels like he lost him.

So much of himself, more than he’ll ever want to admit, has gone into this boy. It’s too much. Putting more of himself into someone who does not seem to value him to nearly the same extent is exhausting, and ultimately emotionally draining. Letting it continue on isn’t right.

This is the right choice. Phil is making the right decision, for he is considering every element of the bigger picture. So what if he didn’t hear Dan out back then? That he didn’t listen to what Dan had to say? He’s sure that Dan will just try to cover up his tracks, and move on. He’s sure that Dan’s just that kind of guy, the one who sees everything as temporary, ultimately forgetting about Phil in a matter of months. Dan will just be dishonest because it benefits him somehow. Phil is positive about that.

Because more than anything, Phil doesn’t want to be in love with a liar. And that’s what Dan is.

He needs to put everything behind him.

Phil needs to end it all tonight.

<<>>

pj: Are u sure

phil: I’m sure.

pj: Alright. I let her know. She says you can be the last performer so you should be ready by then

At the last moment, Phil took into consideration what PJ told him about the slam poetry night, and he asked PJ to let the teacher know that he wanted to participate in the school-run event taking place at the local cafe.

Phil decides to do it because such a great number of his poems are about this boy. PJ was right about Dan being his muse; Phil would write stanzas upon stanzas based on him in messy scrawls in the margins of his school notes and frantic jots on his hand.

If he mentioned eyes, the color would always be brown. If he wanted to create a particular atmosphere, it would almost always be one of warmth. And if they were about love…  Phil wrote from experience, because that was an emotion he was all too familiar with.

That is why this performance tonight needs to happen. He needs to get all of this pent up emotion out of his heart and into the world, rather than keeping his feelings restrained to the confines of himself, wishful thinking, and paper.

Phil glances at where the current poet is standing. Whoever is at the microphone right now is doing great, and it is only making him more anxious. The audience is clearly affixed to their words, eating it all up, and clearly enjoying the show.

Remember, tonight is not about the actual performance, Phil whispers to himself.

His palms are laying flat against the table in front of him; an abundance of the poems he has written are scattered all over the surface. There are scribbles in various pen colors and the worn papers are even ripped in some places. Any onlooker could see that these pieces were nothing but the tangible forms of pure amour.

After tonight, the burn he feels in his chest at the thought of him will stop, and the ashes of discarded literature will be its only remains.

Itwillstopitwillstopitwillallstop.

A vibration sends a tremor through the table when his phone screen lights up.

from dan, to phil:

where are you?

Phil picks up his device and shuts it off. Although it could be said that this night was about Dan, it is mostly about Phil, it is about Phil’s feelings, it is about Phil putting it all behind himself. He needs this.

Because it’s justified, right?

Two taps are hitting on his shoulder. It’s PJ, who actually ended up becoming a spur-of-the-moment volunteer to manage the behind-the-scenes for tonight. He leans in to whisper to Phil. “You’re on in a minute or two.” And almost as if he could sense Phil’s worrying, he continues and reassures him with, “You’ve got this, you’ll be great. I believe in you.” PJ clasps his hand on Phil’s shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. At that, he corners of Phil’s lips turn up slightly. He really is grateful for having a friend like him.

“Thank you.”

The supposed minute or two passes by quickly, and soon enough they are introducing Phil’s name. “The final poet of the night,” is what they say. Phil takes a deep breath and goes under the spotlight, the cool metal of the microphone in his hand is doing its best to calm him. He holds onto it tightly. With the spotlight in his eyes, and the cafe lights dimmed, he can’t see the audience at all.

Perhaps that’s for the best. For more reasons than one.

Because right when Phil opens his mouth to begin, someone quietly enters into the cafe. Despite the fact that the slight little twinkling of bells signaled his entrance, no one pays any heed to him.

He chooses to sit in the back.

And Phil notices nothing at all.

“brown is all sorts of golden, in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun…”

After a few poems, some cafe patrons swear that they see a shadow move from the back of the cafe to the front, as if to listen to the poet better.

“...for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns, blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you”

With every line, with every poem, with every eloquent sentence having their origins rooted in enclosed secrets, each word that leaves his lungs also lifts a small weight off of his shoulders and manages to carry it over to listening ears. Everything is on the line tonight. Every emotion is on Phil’s sleeve, not just his heart, and every person in the room is hanging on to each otherworldly wordy confession that falls from his lips. And speaking of confessions, Phil’s biggest one is coming up. He wrote it last night, so it’s fairly new.

His final poem. About everything.

Including the night from two years ago.

“young days are of bubbles and bubble gum little girls are so kind, they are so soft that little boys can’t help but fall for them with their small smiles and neat handwriting from tentative hands for a crush and descend

however, i never took the plunge for i saw a boy who was softer: with a subtle cotton candy blush who grew daisies from concrete and carnations on flushed cheeks

a mirage, admiration from afar became inkstained fingertips and etched scrawls on every surface imaginable

(he had freckles that were far more than just constellations, they were made of stardust)

adolescent times; time stopped for one drunken night when only the moonlight was sober, an evening full of whispers and kisses and care that faded when faced with the sun

artists are known to create somethings out of nothings with elements derived from the earth, they turn strokes into paintings clay into sculptures a-and unspoken promises—”

He coughs, his voice caught up in his throat.

“and unspoken promises into h-hope”

Phil’s voice is wavering. His eyes aren’t on the audience anymore. Instead, he’s staring at the floor.

Hands shaking.

“poets are known to write about tragedies and this is no exception there is red on those hands: is it from the words of my pen, your paint on my skin? or perhaps from the thorns from the flowers that bloomed, with your smile that could make the heart grow fonder

perhaps he truly loved her but his smile could tempt a lover

and my dear, even the lawfully good fall into temptation.”

He’s out of breath now. By the end, he was just rushing to get the last few words out, and he was straining his throat. His eyelashes are wet, he can feel them, and he knows that he’s probably on the brink of crying.

Phil bites the inside of his cheek. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t know what will come next. He stays standing there for a moment more, doing a small nod and awkward bow. Barely registering the trickling of applause, his shoulders curl in and he crosses his arms, one hand reaching to rub the place where the all too familiar daisies bloomed.

Would they still be there?

When Phil steps out of the light, it is an unexpected sight. Dan is there, right in front of him: one of Dan’s hands is all tremors while the other is reaching up to his face, desperately wiping away his salty tears. Dan’s hair, in those beautiful curls Phil loves, are in disarray; Dan’s lip trembles; Dan’s eyes are red and looking up at him through wet eyelashes that match his own. It is a state of vulnerability that only God should see. And seeing that? That is the breaking point.

A truth revealed. Barely louder than a bumblebee’s hum, that Phil almost misses it, but good thing that he happened to be great at reading lips.

“I love you,” Dan whispers.

Now that is true the breaking point. At that moment, Phil breaks into sobs, and they both reach out to one another to each other into a bone-crushing hug. “A conversation between us is long overdue,” one of them mumbles into the other’s neck, and the other one just nods, unable to respond with words.

They’re in tears.

<<>>

“I wrote poems about you, you know. Mostly on my front porch. I would never see you, but I always hoped that I would catch a glimpse of you.”

“I would paint in my backyard, among all the plants. I loved painting roses in watercolor, they were my favorite, but so many paintings of mine were made with three particular hues: blue, green, and yellow. My favorite colors. And they just so happen to be the colors of your eyes.”

<<>>

Out on a sidewalk curb, two boys sit with a cup of local coffee. “It’s good to support local businesses,” one says, “and Starbucks is overrated.”

“Yeah I know, you’ve told me,” the other replies. “I remember everything you tell me.”

He puts his head on the other boy’s shoulder. The other boy lifts his hand to gently wipe away the tear stains on the boy’s cheek with his thumb, while the boy softly places a kiss on the other one’s  neck.

<<>>

You have (1) voice mail from Philly-delphia.

“I’m sorry for distancing myself from you. Call me back? Let’s meetup and talk. Bye bye.”  

<<>>

“I’m sorry for not telling you the whole truth. But please know that I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t even being honest to myself. I don’t think I have been honest to myself for a long time now.”

“Dan, it was immature for me to assume. To be frank? Out of line. It was stupid for me to be upset over what you were doing with your own life. What you do isn’t my choice, and I shouldn’t have been so personally affected by it.”

“We’re our own people, of course. I know you know that. And besides, I get where you were coming from.”

“What do you mea—”

“If I lost you, I probably wouldn’t be thinking rationally either.”

A pause.

“...I shouldn’t have acted like you were mine, when you weren’t mine to own.”

“A fair point. And you’re completely right. But I think you’ve had me since the beginning, Phil Lester. I feel like I’ve finally found something that I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

<<>>

dan: let’s take it slow?

phil: That sounds perfect.

<<>>

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls that conveyed the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, a sort of elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

There are two people though, who have it all figured out. No matter how many times you ask them, they will always give the same answer: if anything, they appear out of love, they’ll tell you that.

They have graduated now. They are at a graduation party right now actually, and their time at their high school art academy has finally come to an end. Blood, sweat, and tears have been spilled all over the canvases and films and publications and music at that institution, and now every student can only rely on hope that their work does not go to waste as they move on to pursue the rest of their future.

But for now, that kind of worrying does not exist.

There are no drinks this time around. Okay, maybe one or two, and perhaps they are a little tipsy as well, but they are definitely not drunk. They are, however, definitely on a bed again.

Dan and Phil are lying together on a bed again.

Phil throws a question into the air between them. “You know, this is how we met?” Although the words come out in a way that sounds like a rhetorical question, Dan nods.

“I wish I remembered more,” admits Dan. Phil squeezes his hand, and this time, it’s Dan’s turn to ask a question. “Do you regret it?”

Phil thinks for a moment. “I regret how it happened. So in that way, I do, a bit. Maybe even a little more than a bit. Even though I remember that night, the details of it all are hazy, and we weren’t really in the best state of mind.” Dan curls into Phil’s chest, looking up at him as he listens to him speak. Phil affectionately looks back at him. “But then again? I don’t regret that it took place. In some ways, I feel like that night was our starting point.”

With Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist, they are only a breath apart from one another. “And now we’re here,” whispers Dan. His lips pepper a few soft kisses upon Phil’s skin.

Phil echoes Dan’s words with a fond smile, placing a kiss on top of Dan’s head. He absentmindedly runs a hand through the brunette’s waves, Dan finally confident enough to adorn the curls after all those years.

“Yeah, and now we’re here.”

When Dan then comments on how far they’ve come and Phil marvels at how much they’ve grown, it is to be noted that their growth is not just a growth of spirit, or of themselves as people. It’s also evidenced, it’s also proven that is, by their skin.

The single marigold behind Dan’s ear is now a small gathering of flowers. Its stem winds down his neck, its petals and leaves falling to meet the leaves of the tree that grows on his back. The tree on his back is grand, absolutely lovely and absolutely bountiful. Its signs of life are held within every branch, and where the roots end on his hips, are a freckling of small hearts. According to Phil, it is because it thrives off love (“that’s so cheesy,” dan always says. laughing, phil always replies, “it’s supposed to be cheesy!”).

In the meantime, Phil has a whole garden on his shoulders, with flowers of every hue and type. If he ever took the time to search up the meanings, they would not only mean love, but forever, and admiration, and warmth, and together. Upon his ankles are the cutest little succulents and cacti, pretty little plants that are hard to kill. They remind him to remain grounded, and who it is that helps him do so, a representation of how hard it would be to forget the one who is such a big part of his life.

They are kissing slowly now, every touch between them is an embodiment of care and devotion that would put the bond between the moon and tides to shame. Nothing else exists around them. The future is unknown, but as said before, worries don’t exist here.

Because if they are being honest, they are ready for anything.

<<>>

“Mon enfant! I give you my hand! I give you my love, more precious than money, I give you myself, before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?” - Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

(and also, those would happen to be the same lines that dan would propose to phil with a couple of years later.)

[productivelyfe]

Taylor Swift

Greatest hope is: As I grow/change, my music will change as well. I love a great song, I don’t care what genre it is in.

Have a lot of epiphanies- this would be a good idea so I had epiphany I’d be a novelist. Career path.

Writing-writer 1st. Favorite things how you can convey a thought or story or completely describe a character or situation through words/right combination of words. The whole process of editing/re editing/rethinking/imagining/get these little mini epiphany ideas that come to you. You have to love it more than anything else and you have to love it for more than what the end result could be. Like you don’t make an album so that you could get a platinum record to hang on your wall and you don’t go on tour so that you can hang the sold out plaques in your bedding. It’s so many little stepping stones/so many people have this idea that it’s like you get discovered/then you get the record deal/then you record the song/then the song goes #1 and then, you know, and it’s like, it’s never like that. Very rarely is it like one thing leads to another which leads to another/another and result. It’s so many dead ends/switching directors and going back/replanning/rethinking/so many interviews/strategy meetings/management meetings/PR meetings and so many things that are outside of music that you have to…

Shows - might be the same looking crowd but there’s a different feeling behind them all. There’s magical shows that stand out, where you were on point, we were all in it, looking back those magical shows are what make you want to continue doing what you’re doing for the rest of your life.

Record everything right away.

When you’re trying to fit in with everyone sometimes you learn who you are/who you’re not.

I always thought I’d go to college but somethings happened and I ended up getting to pursue this crazy dream.

Still get nervous? - Just focus on being alright/rolling with it and realizing you play shows every night/this should be no different.

Song writing - So unpredictable/spontaneous, what’s gonna hit me first. Whether it’s a general thought, experience, just got in my head. You were Romeo you were throwing pebbles/the song expanded from there. THe fastest songs I write just happen in just a surge of idea/inspiration. Something I’m going through at the time. Hard to come up with metaphors of something I haven’t gone through or recently just gone through. Starts as idea/feeling/emotion.

Metaphor - something you’re going through but relate/connect it to something completely different.

4 or 5 lines “ooo, oooh that’s the one, yes!” Before I put it on record. Writing process never turned off.

Making record - Here, allow this into your life takes about 2-2 ½ years of writing. That way, know have best songs. Have 40-50 songs about 14-15 make it.

Obsessed with the latest songs I’ve written, but discovering old stuff possibly being good enough to put on the albums.

Very impatient if I don’t have song finished. I’ll obsess over it, won’t sleep at night, edit constantly. Conversations around me get ignored. Working on an idea but stop and can’t figure out where chorus is going if my hunch is right-bring it to writer I trust/admire. Best co/writers really great at giving advice.

Adapt to a million different places to write. Awakened by song ideas all the time. Wake up at 0400 with idea. Write wherever/whenever you can. Writing a story/characters/you can only write about a character if you know them, if you went there.

Go through emotional rollercoaster on stage, in songs fully feeling all of it. Completely feeling all sadness, anger, frustration and hurt, then crowd starts screaming/everything is right in the world.

Reach out 2 new people challenge yourself creatively/change up influences. Easy to remain the same. Be inspired by things you’ve never been inspired by before.

Think of topics you haven’t covered. New ways to present old emotions that everyone feels.

Throw shoulders back/be friendly.

Fans - Large group of people but expect individual contact. Look at each other something simple feel really connected to the fans. They get me, they show up. There for me/understand me.

Saying right thing at right moment shouldn’t change who you are based on the room you’re playing in.

Insert into online communities, be in on their wide jokes, talked to them, not just posting industry crap like ‘vote for me’ or ‘this is coming out.’

Love how the internet’s given people ability to express who they are, express sense of humor.

Being comfortable letting people know I’m awkward, not that cool, not edgy. Be self. Don’t try to be something you’re not.

I don’t think anyone has a solid stance on an way that they feel it’s like saying are you happy everyday?

Fame, paparazzi: Mental exercise, how many years did you want this, how many years did you dream of this, how many times did you say that when you got famous you’d walk up to people in restaurants/introduce yourself if they were trying to take a picture of you?

Used to say as little kid: If I ever got to do this I’d make the most of it/I’d try to do good things instead of doing weird things/get affected by it.

Age gracefully without anxiety - with time gain more wisdom/use it for good.

To people who are going to understand it/get it/say I feel that too. Reveal life/the emotions. To people who want to take you down/make fun of you.

Having fun. Discovering self.

Make the joke first/better. It’s not as funny when others. They’re the same kind of weird as me. I like to put time into it because it usually starts very different than the way it ends up.

Knew I had to change things up, knew I had to explore different things, go a completely different direction. Go for phone, journal. Write down as soon as you get in your head. “Running to airport bathroom to write on a paper towel.”

Dreamed high pitched “Stay.” All that was coming out of mouth in social humiliation dream. Went to study/wrote a song about it next day.

Very excitable. Get excited about things as they happen to me. Enjoy things when they’re happening to you. Enthusiasm protects from everything.

Create new challenges for self. New genre, new sound.

Try everything then you’ll notice you’ll naturally start to grow/write towards one style.

Following impulses, don’t want to predict where I’ll be. Implement as much spontaneity as you can if life is planned. (Tour a year from now).

This actually is really fun, so just try to enjoy it as much as possible. There’s nothing to stress about.

Stay vulnerable/open/true to emotions/what I’m feeling/how to translate that into song.

Song writers - feel the pain/feel it intensely but as a celebrity you’re supposed to put up wall/block it. So trying to navigate the mixed messages walking a tight rope.

Come from place of storytelling.

Don’t want people to tell me what I want to hear all the time, that doesn’t thrill/excite me at all. They’re all passionate about their own jobs, lives, own things. Keeps me realistic.

Stay realistic. Want to have normal mindset, attitude, priorities, friends-treat me normally, say somethings stupid, guilt trip, etc.

When I listen to album I think about moment that inspired the song, the time he first played it for me, when he went into studio/recorded it for me/all the different mixes he played forme. It’s most amazing thing to have all those memories with someone/then to have piece of art connected to it. It’s like a photo album.

Sometimes not able to calm down. But allow yourself to be okay with that. Feel insecure, overwhelmed, or sad, depressed then feel guilty for feeling those things so it compounds it. So = most amount of negative emotions you can possibly be feeling. Some of greatest lessons I’ve learned and some of best songs I’ve written have come from when I didn’t feel good. Allow brain to work through it on its own/sometimes write song about it/makes me feel better.

Don’t feel manipulated creatively so no regrets. Continue to fulfill that creative need or there’d be a void.

Like to let life happen rather than have a plan for it. If you have plans, you’ll force life to take that course/might not end up with right person/circumstance!

Cover - makes me feel happy

Body language - she’s turned away from me is that inviting?

Convincing members of team switch was a good idea.

Biggest struggle turned into the biggest triumph when it worked out.

You’re going to have thousands of decisions to make on daily basis that will end up depicting your image, sound, all the things that will shape you as a public image let those decisions be yours. You steer the ship creatively. You pick your battles-fighting the neon top, that’s not a hill I wanna die on.

If you win an award-isn’t that crazy?! How do you just sit there and be like “oh another grammy.”

Puts you at ease when you’re around her, everybody full of youthful spirit. Really inspiring.

Huge success: Never felt like a huge weight. Go back to that place where it feels balanced.

[fortheloveofcringe]

//Songs of Crimes

The last time I heard a complete album from Taylor was late 2014. It was trying year for me. Like every year is. Things just unfold every time and sometime that year I concluded that I have no energy left for anything that consumes me negatively. That early morning felt like a sacred ritual where I had to see the black turn to blue in the sky as her songs progress and explained my drafted journals about what I was going through. I have never been drunk, but I feel like it’s a sobering experience listening to her. I love how I feel whenever I read Taylor’s notes on the album booklets’. I love how I remember listening to her past albums when it’s a gloomy weather out and I can still feel my heart beating. This might be an over statement, but she makes me want to get up in bed and take a bath, put my face on and continue fighting. Her stories make me. Her words converted to scenes in my head, stopping my irrational introspection about how cruel life is to me.

Reputation was a very apt album for me at the moment.

One day I was an Editor at our School Publication and the next thing I know I’m transferred to a different college, hoping to get that degree I have always dreamed of. When I was at that school, I remember how Look What You Made Me came out of nowhere and I was having a hard time dealing with people who I shouldn’t be bothered about. Something I’d like to call “business talks” consumed me because for the very least, I just never want to be involved in anyone else’s story, I’m very protective now of my own space and life because not everyone deserved a seat on it.

I was terribly bullied still at this age, which is hysterical to me because those people who have made me quit called me names like a “Manipulative, motivated, snake” or just simply were being rude in front of me all the time and I had to take it because I was under a scholarship and I couldn’t bear to give it up because I don’t want my mom to spend too much on me given that I feel it’s weird since I’ve worked my ass off from one job to another. What hurt me most were the people who said the nicest of things in front of me and I fell for it, and I just see myself at our school in our office at 9 p.m. doing someone else’s work for them because I had to be thankful and obliged to return the favour of me being the Editor. I had the feeling I was being exploited with everything that they saw I could do. I had to make this and that, I was beyond pressured, I had to be a role model because I was one of the top students of the school, my professors, magically were nice and appreciative of me because truthfully, and sadly, I had the entire school in my hands. It just felt heavy though. Plus, I had to pass 16 subjects in a semester. I couldn’t even imagine how I got through it or how I was gonna get through it.

People, however were not having it. With me being the center of attention every time (which I hated by the way, it’s rather exhausting). It was always me hosting a function or publishing about what I think about with terrorist attacks from Ariana’s Concert to the Marawi Seige in my country or simply being called up by my teacher for having the highest grade. At some point I was happy getting all the compliments from my peers and instructors but it made me feel uncomfortable knowing one bitch whispers in my other ear with this and that. Making me say this and that, and then secretly recorded me to make people skeptic about my “true identity”. They had to attack me this way and question my very diplomatic approach with everything because truthfully, I just didn’t want anyone too close to me and then fuck me up when time comes. Thing is, it is very time consuming to be played by people who want your attention with dirty tricks. We can NOT bear to lose time because it just, never comes back, it’s the one thing money can’t turn around. I cannot stress this enough.

So if someone came up to me and had to confirm if I was fake, or what not, I say it to their face and make them contented. If you think I’m fake, then think all the way hunty’s.

But I was over it when one person threatened to kill me. It was such a dry expression of how scared they were because I had this urge to speak fierce truths the moment I was labelled snakey or whatever and I serve whatever bullshit they had to me back at their faces. They did not see me being this upfront and jumpy about it because I was always “playing nice”. I went to a breaking point and asked myself, “Are you willing this give all of this up? So you can remove yourself from the equation?”

I wrote a resignation letter, I fixed my papers, transferred, and before I know it; I was out of that mess. What’s funny to me now is I get to sleep more than the hours required for a human and when one person contacts me (which can be hardly arranged because I don’t do phones for real, it’s just music and photos that I use it for) they speak about the songs of my crimes and I’m out here laughing about the hysterical fact that they are still buzzing their asses about me when I’m long gone and moving on from yesterdays accusations.

I can’t be sad because one person said this and that, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I allowed them, but this is one of the biggest lessons I have learned, I really need to respect my time. I have so much respect for my time now that I can’t bear to lose it with anyone who never contributed anything positive to my growth as a person. I always think I’m dying every day, too. Sounds ominous but really, it’s the only way I can be more productive with what I have left with my life. I’ve been torn by physical and mental storms (shoutout to Haiyan) and the least that I wanna do is sulk over the past and the things, situations and people that I cannot control.

And do you know why Taylor Swift deserves my time? Especially today that she released her new album? Because she made me take a bath. That’s why!

She, amongst all the other artists that I listen to, is very special personally, because she makes me feel contented and expressed. I have to even clean myself and everything around me hard like going out on a date before I played her new tracks because that’s how much I respect her for helping me get through my rough and shady days. Like I said, listening to her albums are a ritual to me, I’m not even joking. This maybe nothing to most people, but the fact that she channelled my recent experience, even if she doesn’t even know who in the seventh hell I am, makes me so fulfilled that I just do not even wanna bother about what happened to me, it’s like she’s saying “Gurl, we’ve gone through it so, not today!” she’s subliminally asking everyone to actually just laugh about it and see how ridiculous these comments about us take us over. Our reputation is actually just a small pinch of what we have in life and maybe that’s why she did not capitalize the title, it’s not that important.

I’m happy despite the burns and the wounds that were casted upon me. I feel relaxed. It feels weird, to lose and yet be happy about it. I can’t wait to see how this album takes me far in my own stories.