#my university? i was in a weirdly white class compared to like. every other course and every other year group on my course

[thedreadvampy]

here is a situation I would like you to consider. Imagine a charity, right?

This charity has a staff of 207, of whom around 5-8 are people of colour

This charity works in poverty and homelessness reduction, an area which disproportionately affects Black people, Asian people, and non-EU migrants.

This charity operates in Scotland, a country which is considered extremely white with a population who identified as 96% white in the 2011 census

This charity operates in Edinburgh, a city with a population that's still pretty overwhelmingly white, with 91.7% identifying as some form of white in 2011 (5.5% Asian, 1.1% Black or African, 1.6% other/mixed) (the 2022 census numbers aren't out yet so this is real outdated)

The charity has an Inclusion and Diversity staff working group

Despite operating in a pretty white country, this charity is still managing to limbo under the line of 'less white than Scotland as a whole in 2011' by having a staff body which is under 4% people of colour, despite operating in the capital.

All staff of colour in the organisation are below junior management level

All but 2 people of colour in the staff team have, at some point, joined the staff working group then left. Several have mentioned feeling like they're being expected to take on extra diversity work because of their race, and one spoke to feeling like there was no room or interest in discussing racial equity.

There has never been any concerted data gathering or analysis on the racial picture of applications vs successful recruitments in the organisation

When asked, the general take from management is 'people of colour prefer to work for BAME organisations'

When asked about racial equity in recruitment, managers in the inclusion and diversity group repeatedly deflect to talking about reaching BAME client groups by co-working with BAME-focused community organisations.

When asked about putting budget underspend behind scoping the reasons for racial inequity in hiring and retention, managers in the (entirely white) I&D group said, and I quote, "obviously it's important but it's never come up as a priority and we don't need people to come in and tell us what we already know"

"ok what do we already know"

fucking nothing as it turns out because it's "never been a priority"

we don't even know if it's a recruitment or hiring issue

except I do

because I've talked to multiple people of colour who applied and went through the hiring process and were not hired

so people are fucking applying aren't they

anyway I had a very angering day yesterday, how are you all doing?

It's not, in fact, that "they don't want to work here for some reason"

[juiceastronaut]

Okay so. I watched Q-force. And I have no idea what I think about it.

Imma just be rambling so I'll break down the characters and my likes/dislikes about them before giving my plot breakdown at the end. Only the main/prominent ones because I don't have time.

Steve Maryweather-Easily the best character out of them, with Deb being a close second. He could've very easily fallen into the trope of being someone who was incompetent but expected the world anyway, but he doesn't. He graduated top of his class, and despite his quirks is a genuinely competent team leader, and wants the best for his team. He wants to prove that he and his team are competent enough to get recognition, and has a genuine faith in the people around him. It was refreshing to see him hold his team in a genuine high regard, where a lot of times it's like "We're shit but lets do this thing now" He's a genuinely well-rounded character, and (and forgive me if this isn't the best way to frame this) it feels like being gay is an important part of his character, without encompassing the whole thing. I thought Benji and his relationship was super cute and I was sad when they broke up. I was afraid he was going to be, like a second but worse Twink with the stereotyping but gladly fell away from that.

Deb-I thought her and her wife were super cute (though I hate how the wife is designed ngl adjafkldajfd). I liked Debs character, but I feel like she had a lot of racial stereotyping that wouldn't be inherently obvious unless you were looking for them, her being the strong one, and also the "mama" type at the same time. No one treated her with disrespect, and her lesbianism seemed to be more authentic but I feel like there wasn't a lot of thought put into what these tropes were and why they were bad. Her being black and making her the mama type, as well as the big strong type could be read as tasteless. Again, I really liked her character but these were some things I noticed while watching.

Twink- You know, I didn't really like him at first, I thought he was the epitome of all the bad stereotyping (though I'm just glad him and Mary didn't get put into the same category). His humor isn't my taste, and it just kinda seemed like someone for half of his lines went "what twitter stan language can we put in here?" And sometimes it was a bit too random for my tastes. However! I do like that his drag was considered important and was an integral part to a lot of missions they went on, and not just "Ah look at that dumb gay trying to find reasons to dress in drag." His talents and expertise were both respected and, save for Buck (which his whole point was supposed to be offensive anyway) no one undermined Twink for his femininity. His back story is also kinda random but did play a role in the missions as well. Still, personally think he's the worst character. Plus, he's French so minus four-twenties amount of points.

Stat-You know, in a show where everyone was stating what letter they were every few seconds I was surprised that I had to look up that Stat was trans. I...liked her character for the most part, except the part where she was fucking a robot. Kinda weird ngl, outta left field, and with her being trans I wonder if her having that sort of relationship is problematic for her. Love her design tho, love me a hacker girl. She's also listed as "ambiguously gay" tho showed to have mostly girl love interests but, okay.

Buck-He's the straight guy, emotionally repressed haha and he's bigoted. Did think it was funny later on when he was more "accepting" but managed to be even more infuriating about it. Tied with Twink as worse character but you know they tried to do stuff with him.

Vee-Really liked me a boss lady, but kinda weird how they bait-and-switched us with her actually being a lesbian, then go "no she's straight tho" in regards to Karen. I thought her and Mary's relationship was cute, wish I saw more of it. But she did feel like a random plot device in later seasons, what with her disappearing and reappearing when it was plot relevant. (Tho she HOTOHOTHOTHOT bikini episode WOOOWEEEE)

....

Okay, so now the plot....which. it had one?

It felt like it was flip flopping back n forth about whether it wanted to take itself seriously or not, and it seemed to decide on serious more towards the end, but then it would have this random plot element that would be so out of left field it would pull me out of my suspension of disbelief. See the whole "Back cracking to unlock memories" plot point. This back and forth on whether it would be a comedy or not I think weakened both categories it tried to play into.

If I had to compare the show to anything it would probably be Futurama, but the thing with Futurma is, its set in the future, so you're suspension of disbelief is allowed to stretch a bit more because all the wacky quirky stuff can be attributed to future shenanigans. Q-force, to my knowledge, is set in the modern day, which makes the wacky stuff that much wacker, because it's set in our modern times, which you apply the rules of everyday life to.

A lot of the problems that I had with Q-Force is, in the attempt to write specifically about the "gay experience" revealed that the writers have really only had a very specific experience of interacting with gay ppl, what I call the "Urban Gay" experience.

The fact they're in West Hollywood, and all the things that were listed as "universal gay experiences" but were only things that you'd be exposed to if you were in the city. I think a flavor of "white gay" can be implemented here too, which Q force has exactly one black woman, who manages to be the only lesbian.

That coupled with the fact that, there's a difference between having Twink naturally being a drag queen, the whole team being gay to some degree, and the fact they interact with the gay community often without Drawing Attention to all of those things and self-congratulating itself on concluding it. Funnily enough, Q-Force had examples of doing this right and doing this right. Right way: In the second or third episode where Mary found that guy with the flash drive to the uranium in it and seduced him in the gay bar. Relevant that it was gay without overtly drawing attention to it. Wrong-Way: Having Pride go on while Girl Boss was trying to take over the world.

And, for the show that promoted itself as representing the gay experience, there were...two gay men, one lesbian, one trans person, one straight guy and...no bisexual people. Also no nonbinary people. Like of course it's unrealistic to include every single identity but you're one bisexual person who appeared for one episode and was promptly blown up. And also showed to be...more off than the other characters, what with the stealing of silverware and all. Just, bisexual people are already forgotten enough as it is and not including them in the show, but you include two gay men just kinda reads as tasteless to me (as a bisexual person, obviously).

Which makes it so weird that Stat was left "ambiguously gay" when she could've easily been bisexual (which still would be problematic because of the robot-fucking but at least you got the B in there somewhere in the main group)

Overall, it tried to market itself as the "be all end all" of what it was like to be gay, but ended up excluding the exact people that get excluded in real-life lgbt spaces. This combined with the indecision with what kind of show it wanted to be managed to make it fall short. If you arent the very specific type of gay person who lives in a city environment and doesn't fit the stereotypes showed you're not going to feel "seen" by the show.

Weirdly though, I didn't hate watching it, and I would probably watch another season if they managed to make one. The parts that did work, I think worked really well, and even the bad parts just read as tasteless, and not actively terrible. If they focused less on making "hey I'm gay" jokes every three seconds and just let each character be what they are I think the show would be stronger for it. And I think they'd find less problems overall if they did that too. In the mean time I'll just be here side-eyeing the whole thing.

Edit: I forgot to mention, and this is a problem a lot of adult TV shows fall into, that because they got the clear to show nudity/sex they felt like they *had* to show nudity and to a lesser extent sex every episode. So just that whole "Haha adult=sex obviously."

Oh! And this generally goes for the whole "shove it in your face" part, but a lot of the characters who are bigoted were shown to be. Very blatantly so. And not to say there isn't blatantly bigoted ppl of course they are but I don't think that's where you see a lot of bigotry nowadays. This was sort of touched on during the show but more of a jokey manner, but I think it would've been more realistic if we had more "girl with a gay best friend" kinda bigotry as opposed to the "I'm literally hurling slurs at you" bigotry, especially since they're in Cali.

[weirdochick56]

Mr. Evans- Chris Evans AU Chapter Six

Teacher!Chris Evans x Student!Reader

Warnings: TeacherxStudent relationship. Slightly Underage reader x adult teacher Disclaimers: I don’t own CE or you. I don’t condone any relationship of this kind. This is for fictional and entertainment purposes only. Word Count: 5, 240 words

Read Chapter Five Here!!

(Gif isn’t mine!)

You couldn’t look him in the eye no matter how hard you tried. You wanted to be nonchalant about the whole thing. You wanted to seem unaffected. To let him know that if that kiss was a mistake for him, it was a mistake for you as well. 

What, that kiss? It meant nothing to you. Absolutely nothing.

But it did.  It fucking did and that was the hardest admission to make to yourself. 

It meant so much more than you were expecting and now you didn’t know what to do with all these feelings brewing within you. The waves of boiling hot emotions crashing against eachother so strongly they were creating an inexplicable turmoil within you, and sometimes one would knock the other down enough so you felt it sharply through you and vice versa. Embarrassment, shame, guilt,  giddiness, warmth, and ecstasy to name a few.

So to say it was hard to focus in class that day would be the understatement of the century. Especially when Mr. Evans insisted on looking over at you constantly throughout today’s lesson.

It was like he had an uncontrollable urge to glance in your direction every few minutes and that beautiful blue gaze was putting your nerves even more on edge.

You could feel him looking at you. Of course, you did. You always did. 

Your body always reacted weirdly when the heaviness of that gorgeous gaze landed on you. 

You refused to make eye contact with him though. Simply refused.

The truth was, you were scared. Of what you’d find in those eyes of his. Regret. Disgust. Pity.

Gosh, you were absolutely petrified to find him looking at you with pity. Like you were some charity case to him. Merely a little girl who’s struggling because of her dead mom and asshole of a father and was therefore in dire need of accolades and attention from an older man to feel better about herself.

And what was worse? He wouldn’t be wrong. 

To be honest, you weren’t expecting to have to face the music so soon. You’d expected to have to at some point, sure, but not this soon. Not first-period-class-next-day soon.

Yet, here you were and you swore it was like the universe was conspiring against you because there was absolutely no way that the lesson today just so happened to be about love poems, right?

Walking into his classroom, your head had been bowed low and your eyes trained strictly on the floor as you flooded in with the bulk of the class.

You made sure to use your hair as a protective curtain to hide from his searing eyes when you passed his desk and practically ran to a seat in the back of the classroom.

See, normally, you’d be the kind of student to be first in class and sit in the front where you could get a clear view of everything, and this had been particularly true for English class. Except now the last thing you wanted was to be seen by Mr. Evans.

His gaze not only made your body react weirdly, but it also made you feel incredibly vulnerable. The fact had never really bothered you until now, though.

And it wasn’t like your hiding had made much of a difference anyway because his eyes still somehow found you. You hadn’t seen them find you, but you sure as hell felt it. Your hairs rose on your arms and a small shiver passed through your spine that left you trembling just a bit in its wake.

Which was why you had resorted to shrinking further into your seat puffing your cheeks out to mask the blood rushing to your face. You focus on writing notes as he speaks to distract yourself.

“Love poetry is one of the most beautiful forms of writing you’ll ever read.”

His voice is masculine and raspy but equally velvety smooth and fuck if it didn’t just make you crave to hear him speak all day long. 

Preferably in your ear, whilst you cuddled in bed.

His hands were casually shoved into the pockets of his jeans and you can’t help but think that the most beautiful painting in the world could never compare. 

“It’s beautiful because it speaks of the purest part of the human soul in a form that is not straightforward. It’s sort of cryptic thus what you can find in a poem often times varies depending on who you are and how you view the world. Now, if you look in your books on page twenty-three, you’ll find one of my favorite love poems of all time.”

Papers crinkle around you as you all turn to page 23 in the small class poetry book. Only then do you notice your terribly shaky hands and hold back a gasp at how truly nervous you are.

Fuck. How did he manage to do this to you without even touching you?

At the thought, you can’t help but look up at him. He isn’t looking at you which you’re extremely grateful for because it gives you a chance to really admire him. 

Leaning against his desk, he flips through his own book in search of the correct page.

You’re suddenly breathless. He was truly beautiful. Your eyes slowly trailing over him from top to bottom. His hair seemed lighter than before, the tousled locks shimmering a lighter blonde than you last recalled and his skin seemed tanner, the shade somehow making the blue in his eyes more prominent. It was probably from being out in the sun too much. 

You wanted to let your mind wonder why it’d be like that, but you knew that those thoughts would eventually lead you to far-too vivid images replaying behind your lids. Images of Mr. Evans...shirtless....chopping wood in his backyard with the sun shining down on his God-sculpted body and the sweat giving his skin a slight sheen that caught in the natural light and made him look completely photoshopped. His arms would be raised high over his head, ax in hand, his face set in a sexy determined frown, and strong muscled body flexing as he brings it back down, smashing the wood apart. 

Okay, so maybe you’ve daydreamed about this before and knew that that’s exactly where your mind would wander if you went down that road, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t admire the rest of him.

Today, he wore a tight black Guns N Roses band tee, jeans and a pair of sneakers that looked ridiculously good on him. I mean c’ mon! Can’t the guy not rock anything? He looks good in literally everything and the fact was making you inexplicably irritated. 

It’s really hard to remain irritated at it for long though, especially when he was all muscle and the shirt gave you a full outline of those perfectly-sculpted muscles which flexed every time he moved. 

The book was absolutely minuscule in his big hands and the veins of his strong forearms became obvious as he flipped through the pages, causing your mouth to go even drier. 

You soften a bit as a thought strikes.

He held you with those same arms not too long ago. He held you for even just a second like you were all that mattered to him. Like it was just you and him against the world. Like who you were to society didn’t matter when it was just you two. 

You watch him scratch his beard with hindering fascination when suddenly the memory of those hairs scraping the skin on your chin and cheeks as he kissed you with the kind of want you couldn’t have imagined anyone -much less him- feeling for you floods back and transforms into a hot white ache that goes straight to your core.

Before you know it, you’re left a breathless, flushed and trembling mess once more.

And as if that wasn’t enough already, it seemed as if Mr. Evans could feel you looking at him, because in that exact moment, he looks up.

If you thought you were breathless before, nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to coming face to face with your biggest fear because truth be told, you had never been more scared about something as you were the look in his eyes right now.

And when you said that nothing compared to what you found in those beautiful blue eyes would be an understatement.

Because what you found there wasn’t disgust or regret or pity. No. What you found there was understanding and a warm soft emotion you really couldn’t put your finger on. But most shocking of all...fear. You found fear. 

He was scared. Not for you, but for him. He was scared of you. But...why? If anything, you were the scared one here. And rightfully so, with the effect, he had over you and all.

Your heart races a hundred miles per hour and you lick your lips in order to moisten them because your entire mouth felt like the fucking dessert.

His eyes catch on to the movement, following the trail of your tongue suspiciously close. You can see his chest rise then fall back down a bit shakily as he takes in and releases an unstable breath.

Could it be....? No. No. He couldn’t possibly...Someone like that couldn’t possibly be affected by you. That was nearly impossible.

And yet...there was that darkness in his eyes that you’d seen when he kissed you pushing to be at the surface of those kind eyes. That darkness that seemed like second nature and completely inevitable. That darkness that grew and swayed from underneath that gorgeous outer layer and was wild and untamed. That darkness that he couldn’t seem to control around you...

And before you can scrutinize him further, his head snaps away and he regains his composure. Clearing his throat, he directs himself to the rest of the class, deliberately avoiding eye contact with you.

“Alright, this poem is a bit complicated to understand because of the language, but I trust once I’m done reading it out loud, you guys can come up with some ideas and opinions of your own on it.” He smirks a little. “You’ll also see what I mean when I say that it’s the most beautiful form of writing.”

You try to ignore the stab of pain that small action gives you. Him avoiding having to look at you shouldn’t hurt this much. 

“Oh, hell yeah! A hot piece of ass like Mr. Evans reading sonnet 18 is exactly what I signed up for in English class this year.” Some girls in front of you giggle quietly.

“I know right?! Gosh, he’s really fucking dreamy.”

You can’t help when you roll your eyes at them, anger bubbling inside of you instantly. 

He’s not a piece of meat, jeez! 

To be fair, though, you treated him the same to some degree. But still, it didn’t mean hearing other girls talk about him like that wasn’t just absolutely...ugh!

Without thinking it, you lean forward and tap them on the shoulder. They turn to you, startled. 

“Sorry to break it to you girls. But I’m pretty sure you’re not his type.” You pain a fake-sympathetic smile on your face. 

They frown at you and one of them raises an indignant brow at you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she hisses.

The other one grins wickedly, looking at him like he’s a meal she can’t wait to get her needy claws on. “Yeah! What do I not have that he would want? Need.” She gestures “subtly” to her breast.

You fight back the urge to gag.

Smirking a little you lean back in your seat, shrugging. “Nothing personal girls. But I’m assuming you’re kind of lacking in the penis area, am I right?”

Both girls look confused for a few seconds before it dawns on them what you mean and like magic, their faces light up with realization. They gasp, horrified, and with suddenly red faces, awkwardly turn back to their work.

You snicker quietly to yourself and turn back to your own work. That’s when Mr. Evans begins speaking.

His voice is soothing as hell. And if hearing him talk was fascinating, hearing him read out loud was for sure like hearing angels sing into your ear.

The words rolled so easily off his tongue that it was hard to imagine he wasn’t the one who wrote the poem instead of Shakespeare.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

You’re completely entranced by him reading this poem, your head resting on your hand and your elbow on your desk as you subconsciously lean in closer.

It was like the poem was made specifically for him to read...to you.

 The words and his voice danced and twirled beautifully into the empty space of the classroom, creating a fluid and swift execution of an intricate tango. The picture of grace and perfection before they completely dance into your ears, blessing them.

Your heart skips a beat as he briefly looks up, probably feeling your utterly obvious gaze on him and causing your gazes to clash against eachother.

He keeps reading the poem softly but you can’t be imagining his voice dropping just a bit when your gazes met. His eyes intensifying, locking in on you. Only you. And he doesn’t stop looking at you throughout the entirety of the poem. It might sound nutty, but...it’s almost like he can’t.

It would seem neither of you can look away. Hell, you couldn’t even move a muscle. It’s as if his eyes were keeping you trapped in place with their inex-fucking-plicable power over your everything. Unwavering, magnetic, and far too bewitching for you to even attempt to look elsewhere. 

Nowhere to hide, nowhere to go.

Vulnerable. He made you feel vulnerable without doing much of anything, really. 

Dangerous. It was dangerous,

You didn’t think you minded either way. The intense magnetism between you two was undeniable and exhilarating and you wanted more of it. More of the high he offered as your very own drug. More of him.

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

You’re so dazed by the intensity of the moment that you barely notice when the class begins clapping, ruining the moment as he finally looks away. You instantly deflate at the loss of the weight his heated gaze offered, releasing a big breath of relief or disappointment. It’s hard to tell.

Your heart is thumping so loudly, you hear it pounding in your ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Loud and clear and constant. A bold reminder of the power a mere glance from Mr. Evans has over you much less that combined with him reading you a love poem.

You really were screwed with this crush.

The rest of the class period drags on torturously long. The more he talked about how love was “the purest part of the human soul” the more pain you felt stabbing you in the chest. It was simply a constant reminder that you could never have him. 

You just wanted to escape from there as soon as possible.

Which is exactly why when the bell rung, you didn’t hesitate to shove all your things into your bag messily, hoist it on, and get up to leave with the rest of your classmates.

You were not going to face him. Not today. Not tomorrow and certainly not the day after.

In fact, you were going to successfully avoid him the rest of the-

“Ms. Y/l/n! Can you hang back for a bit please?”

Shit.

You pause your quick advances toward the door abruptly at the sound of his voice and wince, squeezing your eyes shut.

There was no longer a doubt in your mind that the universe really was conspiring against you today.

The rest of the class finishes flooding out and the door closes. The room is silent for a few seconds before you turn around slowly, eyes trained on your old worn-out converse.

His shoes come into view as he approaches you and you suck in a sharp breath, instinctively stepping away from him. When you hesitantly look up at him, he seems a bit hurt at your reluctance to have him close.

Guilty, you smile at him, your voice soft. “Mr. Evans. You needed something?”

He purses his lips. “Can we...talk about Friday?

Oh no. Your stomach drops. You’re a bit taken aback by his straightforwardness at first because you thought he'd beat around the bush a bit before actually saying it, but apparently, you were wrong. 

The mere mention of the kiss brings memories of it flooding back and you can't help but blush aggressively which instantly reminds you of how much he said he liked your blush and that only causes your blush to intensify even more.

You suspect what he’s going to tell you and before he can get a word out and you’d rather spare yourself the pain. 

Forcing a small chuckle, you shake your head lightly at him. “What is there to talk about Mr. Evans? I know was a mistake and I won’t tell anyone about it so you don’t have to worry about a word coming out of my mouth. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened Friday.”

He sighs heavily at your words, puffing his cheeks frustratedly. 

You’re a bit confused by the initial reaction he’s offered because isn’t he supposed to be relieved that you’re offering to forget it? He seems...upset. 

But that confusion completely disappears and is replaced by itself, only a thousand times bigger when he abruptly throws his head back and begins to laugh hysterically.

...What the fuck? 

You’re startled at first but also just fail to see what’s so humorous about this very serious topic. You frown up at him. “W-what’s so funny?”

He laughs a full-blown belly laugh for a little more before taking a deep breath and bringing his gaze at level with yours.

“Nothing. Everything. You. This.”

And then he throws his head back again and laughs even harder than before, his entire body shaking with the loud rumbles of that beautiful but bewildering laugh of his, his smile wide and his eyes screwed shut in delight. 

You’re so confused by his reaction if not a little offended. Why was what happened between you two...funny?

You awkwardly wait until he’s calmed down again. 

He smiles a little at you and despite yourself, you can’t help it when your chest grows warm at the sight. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t think I’m making light of the situation, it’s just...” he sighs heavily through his nose and his smile unexpectedly falls, his handsome face scrunching into a small frown. 

“Do you really think it was a mistake?” 

His voice is significantly lower than normal as he asks this question and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he almost looks...disappointed. But why? He couldn't possibly care that you’d practically said that kiss was never meant to happen, right?

Again, where was that relief he was supposed to be feeling?

At the question, you shrug lightly and gulp down the painful lump in your throat.

“O-of course. We were both very emotional and it was a heat-of-the-moment thing, r-right?” 

You mentally wince at how doubtful of your own words you sound. You’re supposed to sound like you mean it.

Although in your defense, he was making you very unsettled with the scrutinizing look he was giving you. It was like he was watching out for something from you. Words that he’d been hoping to find if he dissected the ones you did give him enough. 

Something he apparently didn’t accomplish because in the next second he begins to slowly step closer to you, his strides slow and cautious, like he was scared you’d bolt if he made any sudden moves. His eyes are trained steadily on your own and your breath hitches at the sheer force of his gaze. It’s shifted from scrutinizing to straight up piercing. 

That darkness from before, it was back and swaying like live flames inside those eyes you absolutely adored.

He looked wild and untamed. Absolutely feral. 

A look you hated to admit you missed on him.

Your stomach churns with anticipation when you feel his breath warm and cinnamony fanning across your flushed cheeks and lips. 

He tilts his head slightly to the side so that his nose brushes softly against your neck, caressing it, and then he smirks against the sensitive skin a little. 

You barely stifle a gasp at the sensation as your eyes snap shut.

“Are you sure that’s all it was?” he rasps so desperately and quietly, you have to fight against your own rapidly beating heart to hear him. 

“Yes,” you breath so embarrassingly out of breath that you can’t help but blush insistingly. 

He hums. “Mhm.” Then he lifts his head so that he’s looking directly into your eyes again and your noses are brushing against eachother. His eyes are darker now, but somehow sharper in their focus. He’s watching you like you’re prey and he wants to eat you. And this time you don’t feel unsettled at all, just...turned on. 

You really liked this part of him. This animal-like nature that came to the surface when it was only you two alone. He was always so in-control and calm. Seeing him lose that made you aggressively throb in places far too filthy to be mentioned. 

Your lips are a mere centimeter away and you’re softly panting on him. You’re also sure he can hear your heart going crazy, as the tips of your breasts brush against his muscular chest just enough to give you a taste of his warmth and have you craving more.

His scent is as absolutely delectable as you remembered and you’ve never wanted to do something as bad as you wanted to kiss him right now. 

“Mr. Evans...” you almost whine against his soft lips. 

He smiles knowingly, his long lashes fluttering against your skin. “Yes?” 

The thing you wanted to claim so badly was right. In. Front. Of. You. Willing. Soft and pink and wet and warm and right there, less than an inch away. His lips were practically already on you, you just had to make that one little move and scratch the itch that’s been tormenting you endlessly. 

You close your eyes tightly and press your forehead to his just a bit, inhaling his scent deeply and just staying close to him, feeling his warmth radiating on you. Reveling in the peace and equal adrenaline rush being this near him gave you.

You let it sink into you. The storm brewing in the calm. You and him standing in the eye of the hurricane whilst chaos reigns all around you. 

Neither of you makes the move to kiss the other though. Neither was daring enough to do what you wanted to so badly. 

“I want to do it again,” he finally whispers, his voice straining. Almost like it physically pained him to say it.  

You almost forget you have a voice, too lost in the moment. 

“Do what?” 

He smiles a bit coyly, breathing the words to you like they were a secret no one but you was meant to hear. 

“Kiss you.” 

You stomach curls up and you swear you pant even harder. 

“Shit,” you release defeatedly against him because...shit!

He wanted to kiss you again. The kiss from before wasn’t a mistake to him and he wanted to do it again. 

Kissing those perfect plump pink lips of his was the only thing you wanted right now and perhaps forever. God, you really fucking wanted it. More than you’ve ever wanted anything. 

...But it was wrong. And shit. You couldn’t do that, no matter how much you fucking ached for it.

It takes all your goddamn strength but you manage to break away from him, stepping back and creating considerable distance between you two. 

Immediately, every atom in your body screams in protest at the loss of warmth.

“We can’t,” your voice cracks and even though you know it’s fucking wrong, a small part of you hopes and prays that he’ll refuse. That he’ll kiss you and revive every fiber of your body that’s been dormant since he’d last done so. That he’ll intoxicate you with his lips and give finally give you your fix of him.  

Opening his eyes at your words and blinking slowly, he releases a big breath. He pauses for a second before forcing out a small, strained laugh that tugs at your heartstrings in the worst ways possible. He rubs his face harshly then runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Fuck I- yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That was way out of line. I just-” 

You cut his flustered explanations off softly, hoping the pain in your voice doesn’t become apparent to him. 

“It’s fine Mr. Evans, really. What happened Friday will never happen again and we don’t have to talk about it. Now if you’ll excuse me...” 

And then you turn on your heels and walk away before he can respond.

*

This was wrong. All wrong.

You were sitting at lunch, as per usual, a big plate of fries and ketchup sitting in front of you, but you weren’t eating. Just twirling the sauce you’d poured aside with a golden fry around.

Your thoughts were focused solely on the events of this morning. He’d wanted to kiss you again and if you were being completely honest, your very reluctant turning down of the idea didn’t mean that you weren’t only a mere centimeter away from doing exactly what he was asking. 

The thought that the door wasn’t locked and anyone could catch you any second hadn’t even occurred to you until after you walked away which only proved how obscured your senses became when you were near him. How much he made you forget your own fucking name without even putting a finger on you. 

Your legs were wobbly and your breath came in short pants, hear racing inside your chest. 

It was pathetic and ridiculous and you didn’t mind it one bit. Not really. 

He seemed to only like this with you. 

Or at least as far as you could tell. I mean, it wasn’t like you knew much about his personal life aside from what the gossipers in your small town whispered amongst themselves and the stories he’d told you from his college years, which only made you even more curious about him. You had so many things you didn’t know about him and it was driving you crazy. 

 Maybe there was someone else he was like this with. Maybe he was like this with his ex-wife.

Your mind reels at the thought and you wonder what he might’ve been like before she died. What did she look like? How did they meet? 

It hadn’t occurred to you how before who he was when he was with someone he loves- loved.

As far as you knew, she’d died in an accident in the place Mr. Evans was originally from. Illinois, if you remember correctly. You had no idea what kind of accident it was that’d tragically taken her life, but he must’ve been utterly devastated.

Just thinking about him mourning someone he loved so much made your chest squeeze painfully.

“Hey,” Margo mumbles, her hand abruptly pulling you from your thoughts as it taps your own.

You look up at her, startled. “Huh?”

She smiles a bit concernedly. “You okay hun? You seem a bit distracted.”

You force a small smile, simply hating having to lie to your best friend. “Yeah..yeah! I’m good, just a bit tired.”

She raises an unconvinced brow at you but doesn’t probe you further which you’re eternally grateful to her for. 

“Ok, then...” she sing-songs, clearly not buying your lies.

Then her expression completely shifts and she grins excitedly, practically bouncing on her seat. “You heard about the party this weekend?” 

You nibble on your fry distractedly, raising a brow at her. “What party?”

Margo rolls her eyes, looking at you incredulously. 

“I swear to God- dude! Legit everyone knows about the pool party at Jenna Miller’s freaking mansion this weekend!” 

You snort, shrugging. “Not me.” 

She facepalms, shaking her head disappointedly before raising her head to the heavens. “God? Why did you make such an oblivious human being my best friend?” 

You laugh and lean over, playfully slapping her arm. “Hey!”

She chuckles but then turns stern. “No, but seriously, you need to come out of that rock you live under every once in a while, dude. A bunch of people were invited. Us included.” She grins widely. As if the fact was utterly the best thing ever. 

You snort again, popping another fry into your mouth. 

“No,” you drag the word out, looking at her with a smirk. “You were invited and I’m just your baggage.”

Her grin falls and she clicks her tongue. “That was once!”

“No, that’s every time because you actually go out and socialize and are pretty and popular. I, on the other hand, am a socially-anxious, under-cooked potato,” you deadpan. 

At that, she doesn’t respond. Even though you can practically see her straining to  You smirk triumphantly. 

“Exactly.”

She purses her lips sassily. “We’re going.” 

“No, we’re not.” 

She raises her brows and speaks as if to a toddler. “Yes, we are.” 

“Nope,” You retort easily. 

“Yes.”

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No!” 

“Yes!”

“No!” 

She slams her hand on the table and you practically jump out of your own skin, startled. 

“Y/n,” she growls. “We’re going to that party or so help me God I will run to Mr. Evans’s room right now to tell him exactly how much it is you want him to insert his you-know-what in your you-know-what!” 

You gape at her for a few seconds, observing her sharp glared, tightly pursed lips, flared nostrils, and flushed cheeks. 

“O-okay,” you finally squeak out. 

And just like that, ecstatic Margo is back. She squeals loudly and you wince at the shrill sound as she leans over, gripping your hand tightly in hers and shaking you harshly back and forth. 

“Omg! Yasssss! We’re gonna get us some DICK!” 

You can’t help it when you burst out in laughter at her antics. 

“Oh my-” you wheeze. “What the fuck?” 

She smiles innocently, even though the mischevious glint in her eyes contradict that smile completely. “Just kidding.” 

Before the conversation falls off-track completely and goes straight into an entire sex-talk thing, you decide to steer clear and move it elsewhere, choosing to mention the fact that you had nothing to wear. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Margo with it, but you weren’t a big fan of “sex talks”. It was weird for you, a girl who was surrounded by girls who only wanted to talk about sex but had never even masturbated.

Not because you couldn’t or because you were raised in a really religious setting that forbade you from doing so or whatever, but because you were saving all of that for someone special. 

And yes, people made fun of you for it. Constantly. Especially Margo. 

For a really long time, she teased you about you wanting to save yourself for the right guy. It took a while for someone as sexually liberated as her to understand that your virginity meant a lot to you, more than it did to her at least. She lost it at fifteen and had been sexually active since, like many girls you knew. 

The thing was, Margo had admitted that she rushed into it, wanting simply to be devirginized and begin exploring her sexuality as soon as possible. Which was completely okay by all accounts, and she didn’t seem to mind all that much that that was how it went for her, except it sort of deromanticized the whole experience and something about that terrified you. 

It wasn’t even about getting married to do it, (although if that’s what it took for you to be sure, you’d be willing.) it was simply about who you were doing it with. You were always taught to cherish your virginity because it was a gift and you don’t just give gifts away. 

You’ve heard so many girls that, unlike Margo, aren’t as unbothered by losing it to some stranger or asshole because they were in a rush to get it over with and it breaks your heart because they’ll have to live with that for the rest of their lives. 

You didn’t want to regret it the same way they had. 

You want the guy you have your first time with to value that it was your first time. 

But now having done anything didn’t mean your imagination was anything short of huge and filthy. No. Because the things you dreamt about Mr. Evans and you at night alone in your bed were extremely....creative. 

Your mind ran wild with fantasies that involved him climbing through your window and- no. Nope. Not going there here. 

It was like he could invade every aspect of your life without even being in it and slowly but surely it was driving you crazy. 

“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!” Margo ceases your dirty train of thought with a loud squeal. “I can’t wait!”

You smile a bit nervously but doubt she notices in the daze of her own excitement. “Yeah. Me neither...”

Read Chapter Seven Here!!

***

I can’t wait either!! 

Also, I know I said shit was gonna go down in this chapter, but I kinda lied...IT’S GOING DOWN IN THE NEXT ONE AND OH MY GOD IS IT GOING TO BE FANTASTIC!!!

A Special Thanks To (if you’re in bold I couldn’t tag you. Please message me if I’ve made a mistake or otherwise): 

@bombsandsparkles

@meowsekai

@godohammers

@sp2900

@multifandom-foreverx

@missbosstown

@supernaturalyloki

@jungkooksbowlingskills

@spettrocoli

@woodworthti666

@tshollandlove

@weirdvishy

@buckysrcse

@doritoevansxwinterschildren

@superwholockwannabe  

@emmiejames

@rissamonique97

@zofty15

@sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack

@sydneynix8305

@badkatthings

@pinnedandneedled

@taliarosej00

@lowkey-love-loki

@tomoyaevaans

@dontstopfreddienow

@notbexmader 

@celestiial-angel

@primavera-nymph

@littlecherrydoll

@panic-naran -my gorgeous MR. E peeps 

And of course my Incredible forevers!

@jessikared97

@sherlockedtash88

@lilypalmer1987

@mogaruke

[danfanciesphil]

Phan Teacher AU (Part 3)

(Part One)

(Part Two)

It’s Friday evening, finally, and Dan is in his kitchen making pasta, reflecting on the ups and downs of his first week in his new job. He stirs the penne in the saucepan, staring down into the bubbles.

The pasta does not, unsurprisingly, provide him with any insightful comments. 

Being a TA is not as bad as he thought it would be, he eventually concludes, considering everything that’s happened to him at the school so far. The children don’t tease him like he feared they would; mostly they barely even register his existence. The faculty, whilst occasionally irritating or dull, are just normal people for the most part. It’s obvious that none of them are living their dreams, but aside from making them a little snarky, that doesn’t seem to matter to them. 

None of this applies to Phil, of course. 

Dan stops stirring pasta, the tips of his fingers tingling as a wave of admiration sweeps through his body. Phil Lester is an unexpected, but very welcome, perk of this job. 

Dan had never even considered the idea that he might develop a crush when he accepted this position. Teaching has never appealed to him, so he has never found teachers attractive in the past. But, as he mentioned to Phil on his first day, Phil is not like any other teacher that Dan has ever met. 

He switches the hob off, and finds a colander in one of the cupboards. It’s not his, obviously. Dan would never be organised enough to buy a household item as obscure as a colander, but his housemates won’t mind. Probably. 

He drains his pasta, and scoops it into a bowl, then mixes it with some pesto. He adds some chopped cherry tomatoes and a sprinkle of cheese, then takes the bowl through to his bedroom. 

He’s glad he has the house to himself tonight. His roommates are out on a date together, being an excruciatingly cute couple, as always. 

He blames the exhaustion of first week in a full time job when he climbs onto his bed to eat, opening up his laptop. Facebook is open where he left it this morning, and out of nowhere, Dan gets an idea. 

He pauses mid-chew, wondering if it would be crossing a line. 

Then, before he can think his way out of it, he clicks the search bar and types ‘Phil Lester’. 

A hundred Phil’s pop up at once. Dan scrolls through them, peering at the tiny display pictures, searching for dazzling blue eyes and a mop of jet black hair. 

He’s about to give up, but then he sees it. As soon as he notices Phil’s photo, he wonders how he could have missed it amongst the sea of other Phil Lester imposters. 

He clicks the image, heart speeding up a little. Phil’s profile fills the screen, and Dan’s eyes widen, skimming over the scant information like he’s trying to soak it all up at once. 

Phil Lester  [Image]

Intro:

💼 History Teacher at Rawtenstall Secondary School 🎓 Studied History and Philosophy at University of York 🎓 Studied French History at Université Paris-Sorbonne  🏠 Lives in Rossendale, Lancashire, United Kingdom 🏠 Lived in Paris, France 🏠 Lived in York, UK 🏠 Lived in Manchester, UK 📍 From Rossendale  ❤️ Single

His eyes are drawn to the ‘relationship status’ part of his bio before he can stop them. Embarrassingly, he smiles into his pasta, as though it changed anything at all. 

His photo is the most distracting part of the whole page. Dan stares at it as he chews, taking advantage of the opportunity to study Phil’s immaculate face. There’s something different about the photo-Phil, Dan thinks, trying to work it out. Belatedly, he realises that he’s never seen Phil dressed in anything other than a shirt.

The Phil in this picture is wearing a t-shirt in vibrant blue, covered in rows of white stars. There’s a red hemline around the neck and short sleeves too. It looks a bit like he’s low-key cosplaying as Captain America on his off-day, but somehow it suits him. 

The picture-Phil is staring into the camera with that familiar intensity Dan recognises from the times he meets Phil’s gaze in real life. He’s smiling slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the way his beaming fills the classroom. 

He clicks the photo, unable to resist seeing Phil’s face larger on his screen. He really is rather unnervingly attractive, Dan thinks, staring unashamedly at the pixels doing their best to replicate the swirling galaxies of Phil’s blue eyes. 

He shovels more pasta into his mouth, sighing to himself. Just then, his phone buzzes. Reluctantly, Dan drags his eyes away from the screen, fishing it out of his pocket. 

18:54 Unknown Number Hey Dan! This is Phil (Mr Lester)

Dan chokes on a tomato. 

He reaches over to put his bowl of pasta on the bedside table, coughing, and turns back to his phone. Phil’s face continues staring out of his screen, those all-knowing, laser-eyes burrowing into his skull. Dan flushes, feeling caught out, and slams the lid of his laptop closed. 

His phone buzzes again. 

18:55 Unknown Number (the dorky guy who makes you  wear capes and help children to  build precarious structures out  of tables and chairs)

Despite feeling as flustered by this unexpected text as a yanderé schoolgirl encountering her senpai, Dan snorts at the joke. 

Fingers trembling a little, Dan adds Phil’s name to his contacts, and spends around three minutes typing and retyping a response.

18:58 Dan Howell did i forget giving you my number in a cringey attempt at gaining friends in my new job or something 😅

18:58 Phil Lester 🌠 hah! no i actually got it from the  school office 😳 

Dan frowns in confusion. 

18:59 Dan Howell Is that even allowed?

19:00 Phil Lester 🌠 Not sure. But I’m very charming, so it wasn’t an issue 😉

19:01 Phil Lester 🌠 I told them I wanted to ask you something important, related to class

Dan’s heart immediately sinks. That makes sense, he supposes, reaching for his pasta again. Phil’s just messaging him to discuss something work-related. Nothing to get excited about, after all. 

He types out a quick response, then places his phone aside, filling the disappointment-void opening inside of him with mouthfuls of pasta. 

19:02 Dan Howell Oh cool. Do you need me to do something for Monday’s class?

19:03 Phil Lester 🌠 I just need to ask you somethng in preparation

19:03 Dan Howell Ask away Mr Lester

19:04 Phil Lester 🌠 Do you think the Year Nine’s will laugh at me if I wear this in class (Attached: 1 image)

Dan stares at the message, uncomprehending. He scrolls down, laughing in surprise as he sees the photo Phil has included. 

It’s a picture of him, close up, with his chin raised, exposing his neck. Around his shirt collar is a bowtie, white with black polka dots. 

19:06 Dan Howell Without a shadow of a doubt, yes, they will laugh at you. Sorry bud. 

19:07 Phil Lester 🌠 Perfect! Thanks. 

Dan waits expectantly, glancing at his phone every few seconds as he finishes up his pasta. After he’s scraped the bowl clean, he picks the phone up again, wondering vaguely if he’s hallucinating this entire conversation. 

19:13 Dan Howell Is that it???

19:14 Phil Lester 🌠 Your TA duties are complete. Pls feel free to go forth and enjoy your weekend, Mr Howell

Dan blinks at the text, very confused. He’s about to shove the phone in his pocket, when another text comes through.

19:15 Phil Lester 🌠 And enjoy a cool photo of ur new favourite teacher, now saved to your camera roll free of charge

19:16 Dan Howell How do u know I won’t delete it

19:17 Phil Lester 🌠 Uh, you’d better not. I don’t hand these selfies out to just anyone Daniel

A little thrill shimmers through Dan’s veins at the sight of Phil using his full name. 

19:18 Dan Howell dw I’ve got it as my wallpaper already. I might even print it out, frame it for my wall

19:20 Phil Lester 🌠 Beats stalking through my Facebook albums I bet 😉

Dan’s heart actually stops for a moment, he’s sure. No, he thinks, feeling cold sweat pearling on his brow. There’s no way Phil could know something like that, surely.

He decides to try laughing it off, still terrified. 

19:21 Dan Howell Pfft as if m8

19:22 Phil Lester 🌠 tbf if you had stalked me I’d be super miffed you didn’t friend request me

Dan’s muscles melt of tension, the relief flooding out of his pores. Phil had just been stabbing in the dark with a weirdly accurate aim. 

19:23 Dan Howell aw u wanna be my fb friend? Cute.

Dan opens his laptop again, clicking determinedly off Phil’s profile, feeling his cheeks heat like he’s being watched. He’s just about to click off of Facebook altogether, when he gets a notification. 

Phil Lester has sent you a friend request!

Dan blinks at the message, gawping. 

His phone buzzes. 

19:26 Phil Lester 🌠 yes please

*

Dan spends the weekend wishing for it to end, which is an entirely new experience for him. 

His housemates invite him out for drinks on Saturday night at their local pub. Dan doesn’t bother attempting to refuse; Teddy and Tyler are not the sort of people who can be successfully argued with. 

They fail to mention, however, that they have invited a bunch of other people to join them for drinks, including Stephanie, Dan’s ex-girlfriend. As a result, the evening turns into Dan downing more pints than he is able to handle in order to deal with the glares from the girl he dumped a few months ago. 

At the end of the night, Tyler and Teddy have Dan’s arms over their shoulders, and are merrily singing The Phantom of the Opera as they drag him home. They take off Dan’s shoes and trousers for him and lay him in bed, laughing away at Dan being a lightweight, and then promptly climb in either side of him. 

Dan groans, feeling nauseous and irritable. He loves his housemates in many ways, but they are really annoying. 

“Unngh, get out,” he says, half into his pillow. Instead of obeying, Tyler and Teddy wrap Dan in their arms, squeezing him tightly. 

“Aw, Dan’s a grump because he had to face Scary Stephanie,” Tyler teases. 

“She was more terrifying than usual tonight,” Teddy muses. “Have you spoken to her since... y’know?”

Dan doesn’t reply; he’s too focused on trying to pretend he is currently alone in this bed. He has his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out all evidence to the contrary. 

“Since he callously ripped out poor Stephy’s heart?” Tyler supplies, giggling. “I’d say he’s prrrobably been avoiding her since then, right Danny?” 

In the hopes it might get him some peace and quiet, Dan nods. 

“I still don’t get it,” Teddy says with a shrug that jostles the bed. “She’s pretty, and she isn’t a complete bore. Why chuck her?”

“Ted, you know why,” Tyler says, his voice mocking. “Dan’s a big fat gay now.”

Dan groans in frustration, elbowing Tyler in the side. “‘M not!” 

“Okay, that is bi-erasure, Ty.” Teddy admonishes, though there’s a smile in his voice. 

“Bi, gay, whatever.” Tyler says. “The point is, Dan’s ready to embrace his twink side at long last.”

Dan sighs, rolling his eyes despite them being shut. “Hate you both.”

“Um, no...” Tyler corrects, sounding affronted. “You love us to bits. Especially ‘cause we’re gonna take you to the hottest gay clubs in town and find you a big, beefy bear to help you transition to the dark side.” 

Tyler tickles Dan in the side, making him shriek. Teddy joins in then, laughing uproariously at Dan’s reaction. 

“No, stop, I’ll throw up on you both!” Dan cries, feebly attempting to fight back. 

“Say you love us, Dan!” Tyler cries over Dan’s agonised laughter. “Say it!”

“I’ll say it if you fuck off!” 

“Deal!” Teddy shouts. 

Despite this, in the morning, as predicted, Dan wakes up with his two terrible excuses for housemates still snoring in his bed. 

*

As soon as Dan’s alarm sounds on Monday morning, Dan hops out of bed, eager for the day to begin. 

He showers and brushes his teeth in lightning time, then spends twenty minutes sorting out his hair and changing his outfit. He tries not to think about why he’s so obsessed with his appearance today. 

After his fifth change of shirt, Dan checks the time and realises he’s about to miss his bus. Swearing loudly, he bolts out of the door, just about managing to grab his bag and coat on the way. Tyler snorts with laughter at him as he goes, blowing a kiss, and Dan just legs it to the bus stop. 

He makes it, just, but only because the bus is a minute late. Luck must be on his side today, he thinks as he struggles to get his breath back on the jolting bus, sweaty and already exhausted, his stomach rumbling. 

Forty minutes later, he’s wading through the swarms of schoolkids up the front steps, heart beginning to pound as he thinks about what lies ahead. 

He doesn’t need to check his timetable to know which class he has first today.

He gets to Classroom Nine ten minutes early, unable to dissuade himself from seizing the opportunity to spend a little bit extra time talking to Phil. 

This plan backfires a little when he opens the classroom door to find it empty and dark. 

He debates what to do, dithering on the spot, and then decides to just come back in a little while. He turns to leave, and bumps straight into Phil’s chest, spilling the mugs of coffee he’s holding in either hand. 

“Ow!” Phil shrieks, and Dan plunges feet-first into the hole opening beneath him in the earth. 

“Shit, shit, sorry!” Dan cries, taking the mugs from Phil’s hands as he flaps his hands in distress. 

“Ah!” Phil hisses, shaking his sleeves as they drip with hot coffee. “No, it’s cool don’t worry- crap, that was hot.” 

“I’ll get some napkins or something- ” Dan says, at a loss for what else to do. 

Phil chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Dan, I’ll live.” He straightens up, smiling at Dan in reassurance. “So, I brought you a coffee!” 

Dan stares at him in dismay. “I am so sorry.” 

Phil laughs. “I know. It’s fine. I just hope there’s some left in the mug.” 

Dan turns his attention to the cups in his hands. “Yeah, there is. Um, thank you.”

“No problem.” Phil says with a smile, then takes one of the mugs from him. 

He steps carefully around Dan and through the open door of the classroom, sipping as he goes. 

Dan takes a moment to internally scream at himself for being such a prat, and then follows him inside. Phil flicks on the lights, then goes to put his coffee down on his desk. 

“So, you’re keen.” Phil says to Dan, grinning as he rolls up his coffee-soaked sleeves. 

Dan notices for the first time that Phil is wearing that stupid black and white spotty bow tie he’d sent Dan a photo of on Friday. 

Distracted by the sight of it, Dan takes a moment to process what Phil said. His eyes widen. “Um, sorry?”

“You’re here early.” Phil points out, one eyebrow raised. “Not often that you see TA’s getting to class before the first bell.”

“Oh!” Dan says, relieved. “Yeah, well... I just thought...” He scrambles for a reason that might not sound weird, coming up blank.

Phil chuckles. “It’s okay! I’m glad. Setting up for first period alone is always boring.”

“I’ll do my best to entertain you.” 

Phil giggles, then goes to one of the cupboards at the back of the room. He pulls out some unreasonably large rolls of craft paper, along with several bundles of bamboo sticks. 

Dan sets his mug down immediately, going to help him haul everything out. 

“Oh, thanks,” Phil says, surprised, as Dan takes some of the things from him. “Just put them on one of the tables.”

“What are we doing with these, then?” 

Phil laughs, glancing at him. “Wait and see.”

Dan rolls his eyes, smirking. “Such an enigma.”

“It’s all part of the experience.” Phil says. “I’ve got to be mysterious and keep the kids questioning everything. Their curiosity makes them more receptive, I find.”

Dan nods thoughtfully, considering this philosophy. “But I’m not a student.”

“True.” Phil allows. He places the rolls of craft paper down on a table, turning towards him. “Maybe I'm just trying to impress you.” 

Dan laughs awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He fiddles with the sticks of bamboo, swallowing. 

“How was your weekend?” He asks, deciding a subject change is probably for the best. 

“Good!” Phil says brightly. “It was my brother’s birthday. I baked him a hummingbird cake.” 

“A hummingbird cake?” 

Phil chuckles. “Yeah! It’s pineapple and banana flavour with cream cheese frosting. Also I made it into the shape of a hummingbird, because why not?”

“Right.” Dan says, at a loss for what to say. “Why not?” 

“Wanna see?” 

Dan smiles, nodding, and Phil walks over to him, digging his phone out of his pocket. Dan stares at the device in Phil’s hands as he scrolls through his photos. 

This is the object he’d used to message Dan on Friday. Dan’s number is now saved into it. He is, in some small way, more intimately connected to Phil through this rectangular slice of technology. 

“Sorry, I took lots of photos of my brother.” Phil says, laughing, swiping through several pictures of a grumpy looking man in a glittery party hat. “He hates having his picture taken. Oh, here it is.” 

Phil moves closer, his shoulder pressing into Dan’s. He’s deliciously warm compared to the chilly, early morning air in this room, and he smells strongly of the coffee Dan covered him in a few minutes ago. 

He tilts the phone for Dan to see. The cake is astonishing to behold. It’s been moulded into a 3D hummingbird, complete with a chocolate pocky stick for a beak, and covered entirely in a pastel rainbow of frosting. 

“Okay, wow,” Dan says, not bothering to hide how impressed he is. “I was expecting a half-hearted attempt to shape a flat cake into the Twitter symbol... but that’s incredible.”

Phil giggles, looking bashful. “Thanks! It was tasty too, which is a bonus.”

“What do I have to do to get you to bake for me?” 

Phil turns his head to face Dan, still just a little too close. “Hm, I can think of some things.”

Dan can feel it as Phil leans a little more into him, his shoulder pressing slightly harder. He holds his breath, feeling like a rabbit caught in the path of a devious fox. 

And then the bell rings, of course. 

Phil leans away again, still smiling, just as the first students begin to bowl through the door. Jonah happens to be one of them, and he lets out a low whistle as he walks through strolls into the room.

“Oi, sir, you givin’ Mr Howell your number?” 

Phil laughs, pocketing the phone in his hand and moving swiftly away. “Nice to see you too, Jonah. How was your weekend?”

Dan tries to hide his furious blush by going to retrieve his coffee from the desk where he left it. 

The rest of the students file in, and Phil welcomes them all in his usual chipper way. For the first fifteen minutes, Phil does a brief recap of the last lesson about the Algerian War, then introduces the topic they’ll be looking at today, following on from it. 

Today they’re going to start studying the failed revolution of May 1968 in France. 

To emulate the frustration of the liberals taking part in the revolution, they’re going to make pickets and signs with anti-capitalist slogans out of craft paper and bamboo. 

Phil gives them an entertaining rundown of all the issues the left-wing majority of French society had in 1968, and then he tells everyone to get into this mindset, and begin crafting. 

It’s a bit of a madhouse from that point on. The students, despite being in Year Nine, seem to love being let loose with the art supplies. They’re excessive with their use of paint and glitter, creating huge, garish signs with aggressive messages. 

A few of Dan’s favourites read: 

‘We stand, we march, we dab’

‘Marx’s favourite bitchez’

‘Communism ftw’

‘Destroy France’s capitalist infrastructure u cowards’

Phil is loving the enthusiasm so much that he even lets a few curse words slide, though he does insist that Jonah change his sign to ‘We are unTRUCKable’, for the sake of his reputation as a teacher. 

Once the signs are more or less completed, Phil claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Right! Ready to get out there and protest?” 

The class look confused, a hush falling over them as they look at one another blankly. 

“Protest what, sir?” Jonah asks.

Phil tuts. “Haven’t you been paying attention? If we don’t protest, then nothing will change! Workers and students will forever be bottom of the ladder! We have to push the change! We must make Marx proud!” 

Dan stares at Phil like he’s gone insane, as do most of the students. 

“But...” A shy, timid girl Dan thinks is called Anita, pipes up. “This is all in the past, right? They already protested this in France in 1968.” 

Phil beams at her, winking. “True. But tell me, gang, has the fall of capitalism come to pass?”

The students shake their heads, looking unsure. 

“Exactly, Anita!” Phil cries. “So, did the effort these French liberals put in have any effect?”

“No,” Anita answers, her eyes round as she gazes at Phil. “They failed.”

“So we should continue what they started.” Phil says, picking up a nearby bamboo stick and raising it high. “Who’s with me? For the revolutionaries of ‘68!”

The class cheer suddenly, finally catching the glint in Phil’s eye. They grab their pickets, and follow Phil as he strides to the door of the classroom. Not knowing how else to respond, Dan hurries after them, a little panicked as the crowd of fourteen-year-olds pour out into the hall. 

If only his deadly strict advisor from teacher-training could see him now. The Health and Safety of most of Phil’s activities would absolutely not pass regulations. 

“What do we want?” Phil cries, oblivious to his own rule-breaking as he marches the gaggle of teenagers down the corridor. 

“Revolution!” Jonah shouts, laughing. 

“When do we want it?” 

“Uh, 1968?” Someone calls out, and Phil chuckles.

“Ideally, yeah, but forty-nine years later works too.” 

Marvelling at the boldness of this man, as usual, Dan jogs to the front of the pack of students, marching along beside Phil. 

The rest of the class begin a chant of their own, their signs waving above them in the air as they walk determinedly through the school. 

Several classroom doors open, and students and teachers alike poke their heads out into the corridor, laughing and pointing as they pass by. 

“You’re nuts,” Dan says to Phil, feeling breathless with the adrenaline of this mad activity. “Won’t the other teachers hate you for this? You’re probably disrupting a few classes.”

Phil laughs, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He grins at Dan as he veers unexpectedly to a nearby door leading to the playground. He holds it open for the students as they march through; several of them high five he and Dan as they go. 

Dan smirks at Phil. “I think you might be some other people’s favourite teacher too.” 

*

Dan tries not to be too gloomy as he helps gather up all the students’ pickets at the end of class. There are now just under three and a half days separating him from his next chance to assist Phil in the classroom. 

Sure, he might be able to snag some of Phil’s attention during lunch and break times between now and Thursday, but it’s not the same as having a full hour with him. 

“Guys, before you leave!” Phil shouts as the students pack away their things. “I thought that, as we’re studying the ‘68 revolution, it’d be cool for you to see a French film from around that time! Cinema is really important in French history, as a lot of the prominent left-wing figures were filmmakers, and they produced some really cool stuff about this period.” 

Dan looks up in interest, wondering where Phil is going with this. 

“So basically, as there isn’t enough time to show a whole film during class, I thought it’d be fun to have a little film night this week!” Phil tells everyone, beaming. The class squeal in excitement. “I thought Wednesday evening would work. I’ll bring a film in, and if you’re free that evening, stay behind after school and we can all watch it together!” 

The class all begin chattering at once, the excitement evident in their voices, even if it’s difficult to distinguish exactly what they’re saying. 

“Sounds like you’re all keen!” Phil laughs. “So if you can make it, I’ll start the film at about four on Wednesday.” 

“Have you invited Mr Howell, sir?” Jonah calls out, turning to wink at Dan. 

Dan glares at him, trying to suppress his own urge to blush. 

Phil chuckles, turning to Dan. “Is Mr Howell interested in coming along?”

Dan reaches up to rub the back of his neck, feeling awkward. At least twenty-six pairs of eyes glue themselves to him, eagerly awaiting his response. 

“Um... sure.” Dan says at last, shrugging like it isn’t the most exciting thing he’s been invited to in months. “I’ll try and make it.” 

The class laugh, and Jonah chucks a ball of leftover craft paper at him. “Oh, got something better to do, sir?” 

Dan chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” Phil says; Dan catches his eye, and has to keep himself from grinning. 

*

“Hey, we’re going to the pub tomorrow.” Tyler tells Dan on Tuesday, falling face first onto Dan’s bed. 

“I’m never going to the pub with you and Teddy again after last time.” Dan tells him, kicking Tyler with his foot in a vague attempt to push him off the bed. 

He’s been scrolling through Tumblr for an hour or so now, but just because he’s been holed up in his room since he got in from work, does not mean that Tyler gets to just wander in and annoy him. 

“Aw, come on, that’s mean.” Tyler says, pouting at Dan. “Stephanie won’t even be there this time, I swear.” 

Dan swallows, shaking his head as he turns back to his screen. “Nope, sorry.”

“Dan, you know we’re not gonna let you mope about the house while we go out.” Tyler says, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, you don’t need to worry.” Dan says, feeling awkward. “I won’t be here.”

Tyler is quiet for a moment, then perks up, catlike, catching the scent of some gossip. “Oh?”

Dan just presses his lips together, saying nothing. He reblogs a photo of a cute panda, trying to stay calm. 

“Teddy!” Tyler yells, making Dan jump. “Dan’s keeping secrets!”

Dan looks up at him with scorn. “Tyler, don’t be-”

Teddy bursts into the room, wearing an apron with a naked man’s torso on the front, a spatula in one hand. 

“Secrets?” Teddy asks, wide eyes darting between Tyler and Dan. “What secrets?”

“Dan has secret plans tomorrow night.” Tyler informs him, grinning. 

“Plans?” Teddy repeats, acting shocked. “But Ty, Dan doesn’t have any friends apart from us!”

“Wrong.” Dan says gruffly. “You two are not my friends, I hate you both.”

“Is it a date?” Tyler asks, sucking in a gasp. 

Teddy leaps onto the bed beside Tyler, squealing. “Oh my God, is it a date, Dan?!” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, no. It’s not a date.” 

He could never, in a million years, be that lucky. 

Just then, his phone pings. Ignoring the probing eyes of his two housemates, Dan plucks the thing out of his pocket to look. 

18:34 Phil Lester 🌠 excited for some french cinema tomorrow night? je suis trés  joyeux que tu viennes! :)

Dan’s heart flutters, registering who the text is from, and then his phone is being plucked out of his hand. 

“No!” Dan cries, lunging for Tyler. “Wait, don’t-”

“Okay, who is Phil?” Tyler asks, holding the phone out of Dan’s reach; Teddy grabs hold of Dan by the waist, restraining him. 

“Ooh, Phil!” Teddy repeats, giggling. “I knew you were looking for a man.”

“I honestly loathe you both.” Dan grits out, struggling uselessly against Teddy’s grip. 

“French cinema?” Tyler asks, tilting his head to one side. “Is that code for something?” 

“Give me back the phone, Tyler.” Dan says, going limp in Teddy’s arms, defeated. 

“We’re just taking an interest in your personal life, Dan,” Teddy says soothingly, patting Dan on the head. 

“Phil’s just... he’s a guy I work with.” Dan says, feeling the redness spread over his cheeks and neck, betraying him. 

“Hmm,” Tyler says, throwing Dan’s phone aside at last. “A guy who is ‘very happy you’re coming’ tomorrow.” Dan blushes harder, not having worked out what the French bit had meant just yet. “Is ‘Phil’... how do you say, un beefcake?”

“Is he a teacher?” Teddy asks excitedly, releasing Dan in order to cover his own mouth with both hands. 

“He’s a teacher, yes.” Dan confirms, snatching up his phone and pocketing it. 

“God, that’s hot.” Tyler sighs, looking wistful. “And he speaks French. Think of the roleplay opportunities.”

“Aw, we can try some schoolteacher roleplay, babe,” Teddy assures Tyler, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Fine, but I get to wear the cute schoolgirl outfit.” 

Teddy rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“I’m pretty sure I can smell burning,” Dan says, sniffing the air in distaste. 

“Shit!” Teddy exclaims, grabbing his spatula and jumping off the bed. 

As he bolts out of the door, the fire alarm begins to shriek, making Tyler scream with laughter. 

“Everything’s fine!” Teddy calls from the kitchen. 

Despite the irritation sitting under his skin, eventually Dan finds himself joining in the laughter too. 

*

Dan is half an hour early to the film screening. 

He would have come straight from his last class, which ended at 3pm, but he decided to make a quick trip to the grocery store round the corner from school. 

He returns with two enormous bags, shuffling through Phil’s classroom door with some difficulty. Phil looks at the bags in surprise, coming over to help Dan haul them in. 

“What’s this?” Phil asks, clearly intrigued. As he takes one of the bags from Dan’s hand, he looks him in the eye. “Hi, by the way. Haven’t seen you all day!” 

Dan chuckles, setting his own carrier bag on Phil’s desk. “Hi. I brought popcorn!” 

“Oh, God,” Phil moans unexpectedly. “As if you could get any more amazing.”

Dan chuckles awkwardly, a warm glow spreading through his gut. “Uh, you like popcorn?”

“It’s literally my favourite food of all time,” Phil tells him seriously. “How did you know?” 

“Damn, I need to be more subtle with my stalking.” Dan says, making Phil laugh so much that he drops one of the bags. “Anyway, it’s not all for you.” 

“In that case, the kids better hurry up before I inhale it all.”

Dan laughs, watching fondly as Phil flits around the classroom, closing blinds and straightening chairs. The projector is on, currently throwing an image of Phil’s desktop background onto the smartboard. Behind his jumble of icons, there’s a picture of what seems to be a large, photoshopped capybara taking up an entire paddling pool. 

Dan decides not to question it. 

“So what film have you picked for us all?”

Phil beams at him. “It’s called Les Quatre-Cents Coups. Have you heard of it?”

Dan shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost smile. It’s obvious to see how passionate Phil is about this subject; he talks animatedly, looking eager and focused.

It’s adorable.

“Wow!” Phil exclaims. “I’m kind of jealous. I wish I could go back to a time before I’d seen it.”

“What’s it about?” Dan asks, mostly in an effort to keep Phil talking.

“Oh... well, it’s about a little boy mainly. An underprivileged boy living in Paris. But it’s about much more than that really. It’s about the oppressive structures of French economy in the fifties, classism, the bourgeoise... and it’s about growing up, y’know? How even if we all experience it differently, there’s a certain relatability about puberty too.” Phil pauses, reddening a little. He chuckles. “I mean, that’s what I take from it, anyway. I studied the history of French Cinema for a while, so I’m a bit of a geek about it. But you can form your own opinions, obviously.”

“Me?” Dan says, laughing. “I dunno. I don’t know the first thing about film. Apart from that I like going to the cinema.”

“Well that’s a good place to start.” Phil tells him happily. “There’s all sorts of theories about spectatorhood, and why audiences enjoy the activity of going to the cinema, watching films as a collective experience...”

Phil trails off again, shaking his head.

“Okay, you have to stop me if I start rambling, Dan. I get carried away.”

“I think it’s cute.” Dan says before he thinks about it.

Phil’s eyebrow lifts in surprise, but he seems to take the comment in his stride. Dan, on the other hand, blushes furiously, cursing himself for being so transparent.

“I think you’re just too nice to tell me to shut up,” Phil jokes, but he lets his eyes linger on Dan’s, warm and fond.

Luckily, before Dan can shove his foot any further into his mouth, a couple of girls from the class wander in, looking trepidatious.

“Hi, uh... can we come in yet, sir?”

“Of course, Joanna!” Phil says, jumping down from his position on the desk. “Hi Bethany! Would you guys mind helping me and Mr Howell to set up?”

They jump to the tasks Phil gives them happily, chattering to him about the petty dramas of their day, complaining about their homework and the fallouts they’re having with friends.

Dan watches with amusement, marvelling - as always - at the ease with which Phil converses with his students, giving each one his undivided attention while they’re speaking, never replying in a condescending tone.

He’s such a rare gem of a teacher, Dan thinks. Phil sends Joanna to the staffroom to collect bowls, and they put one on each table, filled with popcorn.

Soon enough, the other kids begin to arrive, all wearing the thrilled grins Dan remembers from when he used to stay behind after school. There’s something about being in the building outside of the mandatory hours that just seems a bit naughty. It doesn’t matter that they’re here for what is essentially an extended history lesson - the students are excited to be involved in this extra-curricular activity.

Dan hasn’t asked them, but he’d bet a lot of that excitement comes from having Phil here, providing his ever-shining rays of brilliant, sunny exuberance.

The kids take their seats, restless at first, but settling in once Phil dims the lights and presses play. Dan finds a seat on one of the empty tables at the back, and is all prepared to expand his cultural knowledge with some French Cinema. Then, once he’s sure the film is running, Phil walks to the back of the class and slides into the seat right beside him.

Immediately, Dan releases any hope he was holding onto of immersing himself in the film.

“Ready?” Phil asks in a low, quiet voice that pierces straight through Dan’s gut. 

He’s leaning in close, eyes sparkling as the light of the opening credits reflect in them.

All Dan can do is nod silently, and try not to let the squeak out of his throat.

Phil’s one of those people who doesn’t shut up during a film. Dan hates those sorts of people usually, but he can’t seem to find Phil’s inability to keep his comments to himself anything but ridiculously cute.

His musings vary from the way in which the cinematography emphasises certain aspects of the narrative, to the strange dress sense Parisians had in the days of the 'nouvelle vague’, as he calls it.

He talks so much that he is shushed by the students more than once, but he just giggles and apologises in a stage whisper, to which the students roll their eyes.

“See that?” Phil says at one point, basically pressing himself against Dan’s side in order to point at the screen. “The photo of the man Antoine is putting on his shrine? That’s Balzac. He’s one of the founders of realism in literature.”

Dan smiles. “How meta.”

The responding look Phil gives to Dan is something so warm and proud that Dan wants to melt it down and spread it on a thick slab of toast.

“Exactly.”

Their hands meet in the popcorn. It’s like something out a cringey teen TV show. Phil just laughs and winks at him, but Dan about faints from how fast the blood rushes to his cheeks.

Phil seems to have no issues about personal space, and allows their legs to rest comfortably against each other beneath the table. He’ll grab Dan’s shoulder during his favourite scenes, eyes shining, breath held as he watches the screen.

Honestly, by the time the final shot (apparently an incredibly famous moment in film history) appears, Dan is not totally sure whether he’d be able to say what the film had been about. He’d spent quite a lot of it staring at Phil, and the rest of it thinking about how it felt - elating, blissful, drug-like - to sit beside him in the darkness, in a room where everyone else was steadfastly facing the other way.

Phil turns to him as the image fades to black, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Did you like it?”

Dan stammers out something that isn’t really words, and nods emphatically to make up for it. Phil grins at him, tongue slightly visible through his rows of teeth, and then he stands up, much to Dan’s dismay.

“So that was Les Quatre-Cents Coups!” Phil says to the class, climbing up to sit on the desk at which he and Dan had been sat. Dan cranes his neck upwards, leaning back in his chair to watch as Phil crosses his legs underneath him on the table. “Could someone get the lights, please? Thanks Bethany.”

The lights flash on, garish and bright, and the class groan, rubbing their eyes.

“What did we all think of it, then?” Phil asks, beaming.

“Awesome!” Someone shouts.

“I thought I hated black and white films, but that was cool.” 

“I loved it! Paris is so beautiful.” 

“That kid was well sick at acting, sir.” 

Phil nods encouragingly as students call out their opinions. 

Jonah snorts loudly. “I couldn’t concentrate on half of it. Kept gettin’ distracted by Mr Lester and Mr Howell flirting in the back!”

Phil laughs, shooting Jonah a disapproving look. His smile stays in place though. 

“I’m sure Mr Howell has far better options, Jonah.” Phil teases, and Dan just tries to pretend he’s somewhere else. 

He might kill Jonah at some point, he considers. 

Then, someone sticks up their hand. Phil points at the kid, smiling. 

“Yes, Matt?”

“What’s the title mean in English, sir?”

“Well, the English version of the film is called The Four-Hundred Blows.” Phil answers. “Which is actually an inaccurate translation, as it doesn’t mean anything. The original title comes from a phrase that people use a lot in France - ‘faire les quatre cents coups’ - which kind of means ‘to raise hell’. It suits Antoine, don’t you think?”

“Suits me, sir!” Jonah calls out, making everyone chuckle. “I’mma start sayin’ that. What was it again? Fair lezzer cooper?”

Phil laughs, hands holding his ankles as he leans backwards. It’s such a sweet action, so innocent and playful, that Dan can’t help smiling.

“Faire les quatre cents coups,” Phil corrects gently, enunciating each word. “I think it suits you as well, Jonah.”

Joanna is sat at the table in front of theirs, her chin in one hand as she gazes up at Phil, marvelling.

“Do you speak French, sir?” Joanna asks, obviously smitten. Dan can relate.

Phil beams at her. “Yeah, I do! I spent a year studying in Paris.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He’d suspected that Phil knew a few phrases, but the fact he speaks fluent French is a surprise. Why is that such an attractive quality?

He imagines Phil speaking to him in that low, quiet voice he reserves for when he wants to tell Dan something the class or another teacher shouldn’t overhear, but in French. A warm trickle runs teasingly up his thighs, like light, tracing fingers. A full body tremor comes over him. 

Phil throws a glance towards him, presumably having seen that peculiar reaction. Dan doesn’t miss the way his mouth twitches in a smile.

“That’s so dreamy,” Joanna sighs, retrieving Phil’s attention. She sits bolt upright, blushing. “I mean! It’s a dreamy language.” The rest of the class chuckle, and she reddens further. “I wish I could speak it is all!”

“Well, you’re in luck!” Phil announces suddenly. “Because as you may or may not be aware, our Year Nine History trip is coming up in two weeks time!”

The class immediately descend into loud, excited chatter; students grab at each other, squealing.

“Hey, come on, guys! Calm down, we’re here after hours, remember?” Phil calls out, but he’s grinning, evidently pleased by their enthusiasm. The class simmer down gradually, their buzz of excitement still palpable in the air. “So, yeah! We’re off to Paris for a weekend! If you can make it, it’s only fifteen pounds per student, and if you can’t stretch that, come and have a word with me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Dan’s eyes soften as he listens to this last part. This man really is one of a kind.

Again, the class begin talking animatedly about the trip, discussing outfit choices, places they want to visit, room sharing, and other trivialities.

“Are we going up the Eiffel Tower, sir?” Someone asks.

“I’m scared of heights!”

“Where are we staying?”

“Are we sharing rooms?”

“Are we going by coach, or ferry?”

“Ooh, maybe we’re flying!”

“Can I bring my dog?”

“Hey!” Phil interrupts, hands held up in surrender. He’s laughing at them all. “All questions will be answered in class on Monday. I’ll also be sending out permission slips tonight via email, so get your folks or guardians to print them off and sign them, then bring them to me when they’re ready.”

“Sir, I just have one more question!” Jonah cries out, sticking up his hand and waving it. “Just one, sir, please?”

Phil sighs, clearly debating it. Eventually though, he rolls his eyes and nods, smiling. “Go on then. Just one.”

Jonah grins, eyes flicking to meet Dan’s. “Is Mr Howell coming with us?”

Phil lets out a low chuckle, his vivid blue eyes sliding to Dan’s, questioning. 

“I don’t know,” Phil says in a voice that surely isn’t appropriate for the situation at hand. Dan swallows, feeling singled out by the gaze. “Is he?”

(Part Four!)

[thotyssey]

On Point With: Elizabeth James

Sporting a diversity of glam looks and a stage presence that’s both weirdly funny and seriously smart, this queen has been turning the party in both Brooklyn and Manhattan for a few years now. And with her “always look ahead” attitude, she’ll be evolving and conquering our venues for years to come. Let’s get into Elizabeth James!

Thotyssey: Hello, Miz Liz! How’s the week been so far?

Elizabeth James: Good morning love, my week has been great. Oh, the promise of spring! This has been a pretty mild winter so far, only that one blizzard that turned out to be kinda meh. Did that one ruin any of your gigs that night, or plans? No, I was actually off that night so had a great dinner and watched old movies. Perfect! As a way-booked queen, do you get to have a reasonable amount of downtime, or is your life like 93% drag-related? I work a lot, whether it's on stage or not. Liz is somewhat all-consuming. But my days off are usually Monday and Tuesday, and I really make it a point to disconnect and put my focus on things outside of my career. That keeps me fresh, but it took a while to earn those days off.

I bet! You certainly put a lot into Liz. How long have you been doing drag now?

It's been four years now, New Year's Eve is my drag anniversary. That's interesting! What made you want to try drag on NYE? I lived in Nashville, TN at the time, and a guy we knew asked my friend Kaleb and I if we would host his party in drag. When my first song ended, I remember running back stage and telling my friends “Something special just happened.” I was hooked. I heard that you named yourself “Elizabeth James” after a certain photograph.

Yes. One of Elizabeth Taylor taking a nap in James Dean’s lap. But that was long before drag; I thought I would name a puppy that, or maybe an adopted daughter. Never thought I would do drag. Truly.

I love that her face is on the gossip mag he is reading:

That is adorable! Human, but still glamorous.

'Human but still glamorous' I think that maybe the perfect description of Me. Absolutely! Mostly glamorous, though. 

You've spoken about how you had to cut ties with your mom and stepdad at a young age because they didn't accept your sexuality. Do you think they'll ever be able to get over that hump? No, I don't. But I also don't think I'm missing out on anything by not having a relationship with them. Things happen in your life that may seem wrong at the time, but end up being such a blessing. If they hadn't done that, I would still be living in Kentucky trying to make them love me. And now you're in NY and everybody here loves you... it's their loss! Having a Trump in the White House validates people who have intolerance towards “alternate” lifestyles, of course. Everything is validation to the ignorant, because they don't understand the true meaning of their choices. And very little chance getting through to them. Gilda Wabbit is also from Kentucky, is it possible that there are more Kentucky-born drag queens in New York than there are in KY? So funny to think about how I thought of it then. Drag, like being an artist or dancer or something, isn't a thing you realize is a possibility. I imagine there are just as many drag queens in every location of the world; they just don't see the possibility.

I'm sure that's true. So what brought you to NY specifically: did you want the lifestyle, or were you maybe looking for a career in performing in some capacity?

I was offered a job as Liz, and things literally just fell into place, so I did it. Best decision I have ever made! Where was that? Sugarland, of course! I worked with a blogger at the time in Nashville name “Holly Hollywood,” and her publisher sent us around to interview different people in nightlife across the northeast. New York, and more specially Sugarland, was our last stop. I was offered a job on the spot and a free couch. I arrived in Chinatown October 15th at 11am with a suitcase and $35. It was [originally] $75, but I paid my phone bill and got a bag of Cheetos at a gas station on the way up.

The first time I ever saw you perform was at the old Boots & Saddle on Christopher Street. You did lots of guest spots at first, and eventually hosted your own weekly show there.

Boots was a hell hole, but It did teach me how to carry a show. Sink or swim, you are there for two hours. After sinking a few times, you make it a point to swim.

I will also say that [”head” Boots queen at the time] Victoria Chase was always so good to me, and taught me so much about the business. And I miss her directness. 

I always liked your sense of humor as a performer, kind of warm and kooky, but smart. Untitled Queen compared you to Goldie Hawn. Is that your natural state, or does that have to be turned on when you're on stage? 

I'm fully myself. I love performing, and I love making jokes. And the only way for me to be good at either one is to be me. The thing that Liz does for me is give me the freedom to put my mind in the shoes of different people. And of course, my life is what I talk about on stage and in my comedy. My look informs my performances, and my performances are informed by my life.  You certainly do not have a specific look; I've seen you go very high glam and very downtown chic, and everything in between and beyond. People tell me all the time I should be one look. But the people who enjoy what I do enjoy change and diversity. I love to push things and try new ideas. It doesn't always work at first, but I always find it. 

Do you have style icons?

It's tough to give a name. But I think my style is more so influenced by inspiring personalities. One well-written line of dialogue or lyric can give me weeks of visuals to play off. Interesting! You hosted a Rocky Horror screening back in October.

Yes, for Pace University.

That movie must've been an influence style-wise, right? Even that... I was sort of a hybrid of different personalities from that. I'm not an impersonator, I don't have that level of self control. I will never directly copy. There is no point to it. I bet you could do a mean Cher, though. Oh, I love her! Do you know, in 5th grade when “Believe” came out, my teachers would pull me out of class into the empty halls of my small town Kentucky elementary school to do my Cher impersonation!? They loved it! I laugh about that all the time. Drag was my destiny!

I can see that! So, I imagine you must miss Sugarland and another now-closed Brooklyn venue where you performed, TNT, quite a lot. No, I really don't miss them. I had a blast there, and those times in my life were important, but I don't hold on to things in that way. No point, just slows you down. I love my shows much more now. I had worked at those places from the time I arrived in New York, so I was a different person, and it was time to move forward. Things don't close because they are doing well. And nostalgia is boring.

I know what you mean about nostalgia. It's especially boring, I think, when people just try to recreate something that was successful in its time. I'm thinking right now of all these live action remakes of classic Disney animated films, which I don't see the appeal of at all. 

But you wouldn't, because you have your set of memories about those works. So the “new” isn't necessarily for you, it’s to inspire the young ones who don't care about the versions we grew up loving. (This is clearly the proverbial “you” and not pointing directly at you.) But I think it's weird that a live action version would be more appealing to today's youth than animation. I figured animation would be timeless.

I think the energy of live action feels fresh to people. That’s why Reality TV is so big: it feels in the moment, when done correctly. But animation: come on, I love colors! whats your favorite classic animated film.... classic meaning anything before the glory and awe of Pixar?

As far as Disney goes, probably Pinocchio? Creepy and beautiful and sweet and devastating, all at once.  Pinocchio is amazing.... the color stories through it are really special. What's  your favorite? Peter Pan... But [as far as characters go] I liked Cinderella the most, because i felt she had a quiet sass. But the pixie dust is beautiful!

Okay, let's gab about gigs! I actually wanna start with Manhattan. You and your partner-in-crime Ruby Roo are the toast of the borough! In the West Village, your Sunday night show at the Duplex with her, "Two For The Show," just turned three years-old, and you have quite a following there. What's the best part of doing this show for you?

Duplex is such a special baby. We were so new when that show happened for us, and we have grown up with that show. So it’s now finding a solid ground of success three years later, and Ruby and I both seeing our past dreams come true is incredible. And the staff there, including Tony our manager and the venue’s owner, have let us figure it out and learn our craft through it. That doesn't happen in entertainment very often, where you either HIT or you’re out.

You two have the longest-running drag show there, and all the other queens on the roster also happen to be Lips girls. Do they ever try to recruit you into that fold?

No, I think everyone understands that’s not a good fit. But those girls work hard and are 100% professional, Ruby included. You and Ruby are now also lighting up Hardware in Hell’s Kitchen with SLAY Saturdays! I imagine that's a pretty different scene from the West Village and Brooklyn. How well do you mesh there--or do you not think about it in those terms? You have to think about it in those terms--because this is a business, and one size does not fit all. Hardware is a different thing, but from Night One we had people coming out to say how much they loved coming to Brooklyn to see us. We unknowingly already had a great following in that area. 

Plus, everyone in HK has dreams in their eyes, they sparkle when they walk in. Its fun to see. All the Broadway babes! Yea they’re glittery! But Brooklyn is my home, and nothing beats home, and all the charming people in it.

Which brinks us to BK! Your long-running Wednesday party and show at Metropolitan Bar, CAKES--starring you, DJ Horrorchata and Untitled, is fun--and there's bare butts, so it's even more fun in my book. Is it usually a chore to get guys to enter the Best Butt contest?

Not at all.... I hate audience participation in most cases, but that’s so much harmless, sexy fun. And you tell a room of cute guys and girls they can win $50 for showing what they just shared on Instagram, they are always down. It amazes me how every Wednesday is such a blast, great way to start my work week! We have also added Hannah Lou as our DJ, alongside Chatta. Oh, nice! She seemed to be DJing every party in Brooklyn now. She’s a hard worker and talented-- I like her a lot!

You also host a show called ”Air Play” at Metro’s sister bar, Macri Park, right?

It's the first and third Friday at midnight. I do two sets and I keep it low-key. It's like my living room, and I love it.

And now: RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 9! Is hosting a Drag Race viewing party, and the whole culture of the show, a necessary evil for you--or do you get into it? Its a cute time. I’ve hosted at a new place each year, just because, why not? This year i am at a place in Bushwick called The Well, and I believe it’s the best venue for a viewing in Brooklyn. The setup, the sound: it’s right. And it’s a great stage for a good follow-up show, hosted by me of course. Do straight or mixed audiences get just as in to the show as a room full of queens? That show is for everyone. I’m happy to see it on VH1; I think it’s only going to grow the audience.

So this is a dangerous question maybe, but who's team are you on, queen-wise? Aja. Nothing against anyone else, but the girl deserves every bit of good fortune given to her. She is so incredible, and has worked her ass off for everything she’s ever had. Special person, true discipline. Shes amazing!  Anything else to mention? I work 4-5 nights a week. Follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook--I post everything! And I really am proud of all my shows. So come to the one that works best for you!

By the way, I like the video you put together awhile back to Echo Friendly’s “Same Mistakes.” It’s very stylish and bittersweet. Any more projects like that in the future for you?

I am currently working on a few projects... TBA.

And I caught an old clip of Misty Meaner joking on the mic that you hate everybody. Were you in the room when she said that? I wasn’t there, and I don’t hate everyone. I’m just not available to everyone. I would never think you hated anyone, you're always lovely! So, lastly: what’s your favorite part of drag?

Knowing people believe in you.

Yasss. And what's least favorite thing about drag in NYC, or in general? Drag in general: being hot. And in NYC, it’s taking the subway in heels. But I have to live that fantasy through, so don’t tell me to put on a flat. Like the prostitute once said, "it’s not the work, it’s the stairs."

Keep climbing, gurl, and thank you!

Elizabeth James co-hosts “CAKES” with Untitled Queen and Horrorchata at Metropolitan Bar on Wednesdays (10pm), and hosts “Air Play” at Macri Park monthly on first and third Fridays (midnight). With Ruby Roo, she co-hosts “SLAY Saturdays” at Hardware (10pm) and “Two For The Show” at the Duplex (Sundays, midnight). This season, she hosts the “RuPaul’s Drag Race” viewing party at The Well (8pm). Check here for other scheduled appearances. Follow Liz on Facebook, Instagram & YouTube.

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