#pronouns are they them thank you very much i appreciate it if anyone calls six she/her one more time i will spontaneously combust | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chincilla-on-the-moon · 4 years

Text

“I like you too idiot.”- Connor Murphy X Reader

Request: can u do a connor x reader where reader is being pretty annoyed with Jared on the first day (like when he calls him a school shooter) and he steps in and defends her leading timo a nice friendship and a love confession from Connor at the end? I’m sending love, and if u can’t it is really ok, everyone’s mental health is important, pls don’t feel overwhelmed 💕✨🦋- Anon

Word Count: 2,542

Warnings: A couple swears and Jared Klienman being a dick. (also Connor is probs written ooc but whatever)

Authors note: Hi everyone! First of all I just want to say thank you to everyone who requested something! I am trying to work on them but I recently fell into a really bad place mentally but I’m working on making it better. I hope to have the other requests out soon but please be patient with me. Also anon I used they/them pronouns for the reader as those are my pronouns and I want to make sure everyone can I enjoy my writing regardless of gender so I hope that okay. As always thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day/night! :) <3 (Also any feedback is very appreciated. )

First day of senior year. To say you weren’t excited would be the understatement of the century. Sure you were excited to finally get out of your hometown but you had to get through the school year first and if the previous years were any indication of how this year was going to go, well lets just say it's going to be a long year.

You pulled into the student parking lot in your shitty car and saw there were a couple extra minutes before you actually had to be in the building, With that in mind you decided to just put your head down on the steering wheel for a few minutes to prepare yourself for the day ahead.

That peace was short lived though because not even 30 seconds later did a dark truck pulled up next to you. Before the car could even come to a stop Zoe Murphy flew out of the passenger seat. She flipped off the driver, who you presumed was her brother Connor, and slammed the door before storming off into the school. “Jesus” you mutter to yourself. Then another door slammed and Connor Murphy appeared in front of the truck, talking and gesturing wildly to himself. You could only make out bits and pieces of what the boy was saying before he went into the school like his sister. You heard him say something about his mom and his bitch sister and not even wanting to be there. Well at least you weren't alone in the feeling. Following the Murphy siblings you begrudgingly went into the building. The friendly secretary greated you and handed you your schedule which had your locker number on it. After searching for a few minutes you found it and just as you were starting to put things in your locker you heard his voice, Jared Klienman. He was talking to Evan Hansen and you prayed to whatever higher being that could hear you that he would leave you alone. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t L/N.” You could practically hear the shit-eating grin he had on his stupid face. You were about to turn around and tell him to go away but before you could someone comes between the two of you blocking Jared from your view.

“Fuck off Klienman” says the last person you expected, Connor Murphy.

“Woah calm down Murphy, I’m just trying to have a conversation with Y/N here” Jared says starting to back up and putting his arms up as a way of showing his surrender.

“Well they obviously don’t want to talk to you. Now get out of here before I punch that stupid smirk off your dumb face,” Connor says squaring off his shoulders in an attempt to look even more intimidating than usual. It worked quite well because Jared was practically running off but not before making a dig at Connor.

“Yeah whatever you fucking freak.”

You saw Connor’s shoulders tense and his hands clenched into fists. You didn’t know what to do but figured it would be best to leave the boy alone, so you just fidgeted with your hands. He took a deep breath then turned to face you.

“Uhm thanks for that. You really didn’t have to,” you say avoiding eye contact with him, which was quite easy considering how tall he was compared to you.

“No problem, I know how much of a dick Klienman can be.”

“Yeah he’s the worst,” you say scoffing lightly. Then the bell signaling you were supposed to be in homeroom rang.“See you around Connor. Thanks again,” you say before turning to shut your locker and rush to class.

“Yeah see you around,” Connor says to no one because you were already down the hall.

The rest of the day wasn’t much better, nothing happened in particular but it just still wasn’t the best. After what felt like an eternity it was finally the last bell of the day, creative writing. You weren’t particularly interested in writing but you had a bell to fill so you figured why not. When you walked in you did a scan of the room and saw Connor, he had an empty seat next to him at the back of the room so you decided to sit it in. “Hey,” you say, startling the boy who was previously staring into space.

“Oh hey.”

“Thanks again for this morning, I really appreciate it dude,” you say making eye contact with Connor so he would know you actually meant what you were saying.

“Oh yeah, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he says, giving you a small smile. You smiled back just as your teacher walked in which caused the conversation to end.

“Good afternoon class! I hope all of your days have been tolerable,” says your teacher Mr. Davidson. He was a younger man in his early 30’s which meant everyone liked him including you. “Instead of doing an ice breaker where you all lie about how interesting your summers were I want you to get to actually get to know someone in this class a little better,” he says from behind his podium at the front of the class. You were starting to panic a little, who were you going to partner up with? None of your kind of friends were in this class! Then Connor cleared his throat grabbing your attention.

“Hey Y/N, wanna be partners?” The nervous energy was practically radiating off the boy. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sure Connor.” The two of you then got up and turned your desks to face each other like the other pairs were doing. “So Murphy what’s your deepest darkest secret?” you say, smirking.

“Woah L/N, not even going to ask me my favorite color or anything?” he says chuckling.

“Okay, okay, fine,” you say playfully rolling your eyes. “What’s your favorite color Connor?”

“Dark green. What about you L/N? What's your favorite color?”

“Y/F/C,” you say. “It’s been my favorite since I was younger,” you say shrugging.

“I respect that. It’s a good color.”

“Yeah whatever, now can I hear your deepest secret?”, you say almost like a child.

“Wow you’re still on this?”, he says with amusement evident in his tone.

“Yeah I am!” you say in a mock seriousness. “Mr. Davidson says we are supposed to actually get to know each other and that’s what I’m trying to do Murphy!”

“You’re absolutely right Y/N,” he says suddenly very serious.

“Okay fine I’ll tell you but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone.

“Not a soul,” you say staring at him intently and sitting at the edge of your seat.

“Well, here goes nothing.” He made eye contact and it felt as if he was staring into your soul. “I’m pregnant.”

You maintained eye contact until you actually processed what he said, then the two of you started laughing which caused the rest of the class to turn and look at you but for once you didn’t even care because you were actually happy for the first time in what felt like forever.

The rest of the class went by faster than you or Connor wanted it to, but the two of you walked out to the student parking lot together and paused when you reached your cars. “Uh see you tomorrow I guess,” you say but it comes out as more of a question.

“Yeah see you tomorrow Y/N”, Connor says very confidently which surprised you both. You waved as a final goodbye and got into your cars. As you were driving home you thought about all the awful things you heard about Connor in the past and how untrue they were. Sure he was intimidating at first glance but he’s six feet tall for goodness sake who wouldn’t be intimidated by that. You could tell from the short class period you spent getting to know him that he was simply misunderstood. Suddenly you were glad you never listened to what all the popular kids said about Connor.

As the school year went on you and Connor developed a sort of unspoken ritual, you would wait for Connor to get to school then you two would walk to homeroom together and then walk to your cars when the school day was over. The two of you became good friends and you found yourself actually looking forward to waking up in the morning so you could see him. The pair of you had hung out outside of school a few times and you had actually met Connor’s mom, granted it was an accident but it still happened.

You and Connor decided to hang out at his house because his family wasn’t home that afternoon, the two of you were lounging on the couch watching some weird movie when you heard the front door open. “Connor dear? Is that you in there?” Suddenly an middle aged woman with red hair appeared with reusable grocery bags in her hands.

“Mom?!” Connor jumped up from the couch in a panic. “I thought you had yoga today?!”

“Class was canceled because Cindy wasn’t feeling well. Oh I stopped by the store and got those snacks you asked for!” she said coming into the living room box in hand. “Oh? Connor, who's your friend?” she said with a small smile appearing on her lips.

“Hi Mrs. Murphy. I’m Y/N,” you said nervously.

“Oh call me Cynthia dear,” she said, shooting you a smile.

After that Cynthia invited you to stay for dinner but you already had plans with your parents that night. She invited you a couple times after that as well. You never actually went cause Connor didn’t want you to but still it was nice to know she liked you enough to invite you to dinner.

As fall came to a close the two of you became attached at the hip, constantly talking to one another whether it was in person or through the phone. Once the holiday season rolled around you guys got each other gifts. You got Connor a signed book from his favorite author and he got you a vinyl you had been wanting for a while.

Once the holiday break was over the end of the first semester came quickly and you couldn’t wait to finally be done with your half year courses and start the new ones. Unfortunately you had to take finals before you could be done. Although you only had two finals you were still extremely stressed out. Sure they were easy classes but the teachers were notorious for giving impossible finals. You spent the few days before the finals studying whenever there was a free moment. Connor knew you were stressed so he helped you the best he could. He offered to have study sessions even though none of his classes had finals, he went over quizlets on video calls, and he even brought you a drink with way too much caffeine on the mornings he knew you didn’t sleep.

Once the day arrived he texted you good luck. You went into the first test and totally nailed it. Before the next testing time there was a break and when you checked your phone you saw Connor had texted you telling you how proud he was of you for studying so hard and reassuring you that you had these exams in the bag. You sent him a quick “thank you :))” and went into the testing room for the second time. This exam was a little harder than the last but you still thought you did decent. There were a couple times where Connor and his stupid mneumonic devices actually came in handy. Letting out a giant breath of relief as you stepped out of the testing room you couldn’t wait to tell Connor about how much he helped. When you reached your locker and got your phone out of it you saw Connor had asked if you wanted to hang out when you were done. Obviously you said yes and told him to pick you up at your house in 15. You drove home and changed out of your testing outfit which was just sweatpants and a hoodie and put on something a little more presentable. Sure you were just going to hang out with your best friend but he also is the boy you’ve been pining over for months. You’ve always found Connor attractive and when he put dickhead Klienman in his place that made him all the more hot. But then you really got to know him and you fell. Hard. He was sweet, caring, smart, and funny. Sure he had his moments but so did everyone on the planet. He had actually opened up to you about his struggles with his mental health and you did everything you could to support him. You encouraged him to ask his parents for therapy, and always made sure he took his meds in the morning. You were there for him and he was always there for you.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard the horn of Connor’s truck outside your house. You rushed outside and got into the passenger seat, “So where to Murphy?”

“I was thinking we could get some food and just chill in a parking lot somewhere. Sound cool?”

“Definitely. I’ve missed hanging out with you. Stupid finals,” you say with a dramatic eye roll.

“Yeah I’ve missed hanging out with you too dork,” he says reaching over the center console and ruffling your hair.

“Connor Murphy! I just brushed my hair and here you go messing it up!” you say while trying to fix your now disbelieved hair.

“Whatever L/N. It still looks fine to me.” Although it was barely a compliment, heat still rushed to your cheeks. He pulled out of your driveway and the two of you were off. On the way to get food you guys caught up talking about everything you missed in the world of Connor because you were too focused on finals. He told you he finished a TV show you recommend and loved it. You made it to the drive through and Connor ordered, already knowing what you wanted from your many midnight outings. Once you got your food you made your way to the plaza parking lot where the restaurant was located. For the first couple minutes the two of you sat in a comfortable silence listening to the playlist Connor had made for this type of occasion. After a few minutes Connor suddenly spoke, “Can I tell you something?”

“Connor dearest you know you can tell me anything,” you say with a french fry in your mouth, not even bothering to look at him.

“I like you.” You choked on the fry you had in your mouth.

“Pardon?” you say through a cough.

“I said I like you,” he says, a little less sure of himself. When you looked over at Connor you saw he was staring straight ahead.

“Hey Connor.”

“Mhm,” he says, not daring to move.

“Look at me.” He just barely turned his head towards you. “I like you too idiot.”

#connor murphy #Connor Murphy x Reader #connor murphy fanfiction #connor murphy x you #connor murphy fanfic #x reader #Broadway #dear evan hansen #Cynthia Murphy #zoe murphy #jared klienman #evan hansen #dear evan hansen fanfic #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen x you #broadway x reader #broadway fanfic #Character x Reader

210 notes · View notes

oaklies-side · 3 years

Text

Intro!

Hi! I’m Oaklie, you can also call me Blue. (Oak is chill as well, preferably no other nicknames unless I know you.) I’m a professional artist and animation hobbyist. (Though I dream of making animation my profession one day.) I’m genderfluid and my pronouns vary by day, but you can use any, I won’t mind. I mainly use he/she/they, but if you’d like, I don’t really mind if you call me neopronouns either. (The only ones I’d rather you not use are it/its or any object/objectself pronouns. (Ex bun/bunself) Nothing against them ofc! Anyone who uses them is hella valid, they just don’t feel right when referring to myself.) Boundaries:

Don’t pry into my personal life. This includes my job, photos of me, my legal name, address/city/state, my irl friends and family members, school, ex. Use common sense. If I haven’t explicitly shared it on the internet, it’s for a reason.

I am a minor. Nothing nsfw please. Don’t be creepy.

You may make animation requests. That doesn’t mean I will make them, so don’t try and force me to. Animation takes time and if an idea doesn’t inspire me, I won’t make it, simple as that.

No threats, unless you make it very clear you are joking.

Don’t repost or trace my art. Reblogging it is fine, and greatly appreciated.

I am a queer person. If you’re queerphobic, get over it or get out. If you don’t support equality in general (Women's rights, blm, Asian rights, plus sized and neurodivergant equality, and all other oppressed/marginalized groups), get off my blog. I don’t support you or your views. Grow up, learn to care for others.

If you have any questions about my boundaries, feel free to ask! I never mind questions, and would much rather you ask if you’re unsure of something than assume, and possibly do something that brings me discomfort.

Not sure if this belongs in boundaries but I feel it needs to be said, if anything I say/do EVER upsets you in any way or is something you deem offensive, please please please let me know. I never mean to upset or offend anyone and I’m always trying my best to make sure I don’t, but I’m only human, and I’m going to make mistakes. With that being said, I always want to correct myself and learn from those mistakes, so shoot me an ask or dm telling me what I did wrong and I will apologize immediately, take whatever course of action is necessary to help fix things, and try and do better in the future.

Interests:

Dream smp/mcyt

D&D (Dungeons and Dragons)

Playing Ukulele and sometimes guitar, singing

Musical theatre (BMC, Mean girls, Heathers, Hamilton, DEH, Beetlejuice, In the Heights, 36 Questions, Wicked, Six)

Digital art and animation

Socials:

Youtube: Oaklie’s Side https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOtU1W_RnxR3mzla9bt_bXA

Instagram: Oaklies_Side https://www.instagram.com/oaklies_side/

Etsy: OakliesShop https://www.etsy.com/shop/OakliesShop?ref=profile_header

Tbh I don’t post here often, and most of the stuff I do post is just repostings of stuff from my other socials, so definitely follow those if you like my stuff cuz I’m much more active there. (And if you’d like to commission me.. check out my etsy. That would be pretty cool of you but no pressure ofc) That’s about all! Thanks for reading this far lol, I’m kinda surprised anyone did tbh.

#intro #pinned post #lgbt artist #small artist #artist #dream smp artist #artist intro #intro post

4 notes · View notes

vbrwrites · 3 years

Text

Hook Ch.1: Oh Reollie?

Summary:

They sang her lyrics, and danced to her music. They thanked her for her work, blushing and fidging as they struggled to convey their appreciation.

Meanwhile, she gazed upon them, wondering if they were really oblivious of their impact on the music she created. Each word was about them.

NCT (All Units) x Reader

Warning: slight “My First and Last” bashing. Nothing too serious though. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, realism be damned.

“I’ll swear upon the rest of my life. There won’t be another you, you’re my last”

You sang the words out experimentally, letting them linger in the stale air of your cramped apartment before scoffing. It was ridiculous really. The paper on your dinner table depicted a glamorized version of infatuation — a kind only seen in romance novels.

That line in particular is completely unrealistic but you wrote it down nonetheless. Because that is what you were tasked to do. Your job was to create a love song that painted relationships as hardship-free journeys of absolute happiness. A song that would be performed by incredibly adorable young boys, and would capture the hearts of all females — particularly the older ones.

And thus “My First and Last” was born.

You have always had a natural proclivity to words. You enjoyed the writing process the most, on average, when it came to making the song, though the difference is marginal. As a song creator, you took pride in your ability to translate abstract feelings into sentences and sounds.

That ability, however, was not very helpful when you weren’t familiar with the feelings you were trying to translate. As far as you were concerned, the affection you were capable of experiencing was not the kind that was appropriate for young boys to sing about.

Thus, you found yourself watching Disney movies; jotting down every cheesy line.

‘Was this really what people your age swooned over?’ You asked yourself, watching as a random Prince kissed the unconsenting sleeping woman. You had to pause the show when the woman woke up and thanked the prince.

Sighing, you leaned back on the plastic chair, relaxing your tense shoulders. Looking down at the paper in front of you, you find yourself stumped. You’ve barely written the chorus -- there is still so much to do, but the entire process felt so daunting. You felt so uninspired.

Knowing you wouldn’t be able to do much at the moment, you pick up your phone, going the browser, and typing in the name of the group you were writing the song for.

“NCT Dream”

Your screen was flooded with images of young boys with curly hair, huge smiles, and dressed in the most obnoxious colors on the spectrum. They were incredibly adorable though, you admitted.

Curiously, you inquired about their age, and the results that popped up called forth a gasp. The youngest member was six years younger than you and the oldest was 3 years younger than you. In terms of the mode, you were nearly 4 years older than most of the members. Only twenty years old, you thought you’d have many years to go before you started feeling old but if you did end up meeting the boys, that might happen sooner than you expected.

Though, all things considered, you might not even be meeting the boys. Instead, you might just be watching them performing your song on TV. If you ever finished it that is.

You shut your phone off, putting it, face down, on the table, and mentally scolding yourself. You really need to focus. This is the chance of a lifetime, you cannot waste it.

Really, getting this gig was nothing short of a miracle. While you viewed yourself to be proficient in what you enjoyed -- you lacked professional experience in song creation, plus you didn’t have any official education beyond high school (not yet at least, but you are planning to pursue one). SM was beyond what you would view as a possible employer.

However, a friend of yours had a relative who was working for SM as one of the managers of their newest group. Amazingly, he agreed to mention your name to the higher-ups in the team. One thing lead to another, and a few days later, you received the news from your elated friend.

YUNA HANGYEOL SAID THEY LOVED YOUR MUSIC!! HE SHOWED THEM THAT SONG YOU WROTE FOR THE SCHOOL DANCE TEAM THEY WANT YOU TO WRITE A SONG FRO NCT OMG YOURE GOING TO MEET MARK\1!!! FNUOWF TELL HIM I LOVE HIM1!!

You received that message exactly three days ago from today, and you had yet to Mark, so the message remained undelivered. However, since then, you have been working on “My First and Last” without any contact with the agency or anyone from the NCT Dream team.

Justifiably, you were starting to doubt the legitimacy of the situation.

Nonetheless, you poured your entire being into the incredibly cringe song. And in two days from now, it would be sent to the NCT Dream team through your friend’s cousin.

And now, the breakdown: - This is a various NCT members x Reader (Y/N) - There will not be one main pairing - I’ll be using female pronouns for the reader - The first couple of chapters will focus on NCT Dream, but eventually, the other units will be included. - No steamy content will be included in this story -- I’m a prude, leave me alone. - This will be extremely self-indulgent and fluffy. - Oh, there will also be slight soft femdom vibes coming from...well, you I guess. That’s all you really need to know for now.

Also, I didn’t edit this. I’m sorry.

This is the most impulsive publication I’ve done so far on the internet. We’ll see how it goes.

But seriously though, do tell me what you think! I’d love to hear your opinions and suggestions!

#NCT #NCT U #NCT 127 #NCT 2021 #NCT DREAM #NCT X READER #nct drabbles

2 notes · View notes

honibee-arts · 4 years

Note

dramatic villain nie huaisang and hero jiang cheng? maybe nie huaisang flirts with the hero while jiang cheng is kinda horny but has a duty to fulfill?

Just a warning this gets a little steamy but its a kind of pan to the window vibe. I will mark this as NSFWish text to be safe though.

"Jie, I don't think I can get all of these people out of here in time.” Jiang Cheng panted into his headset, holding the crumbling ceiling up with one arm, watching the people run out.

He heard his sister sigh, her manicured nails clicking against her keyboard.

“Lightbearer and Moonbeam should be on the scene in the next two minutes.” she replied.

“Jie, I don’t have two minutes. This building is going to collapse in the next thirty fucking seconds.”

“A-Cheng, language.”

“I’m holding up a building, I don’t even have super strength. I’m gonna die like this. Can’t you tell them to hurry up?” He grit his teeth. He’s going to have a fucking hernia and broken bones after this shit, and he was going to make that stoic asshole Lightbearer pay for his goddamn medical bills. He probably had more than enough money.

“They’re going as fast as they can, A-Cheng.”

“And your boyfriend couldn’t come and help?”

“A-Xuan’s taking A-Ling today so you could patrol, remember?”

“It’s hard to remember when I’m being crushed.”

Jiang Cheng widened his stance, pushing the crumbling ceiling back up with both hands, growling in pain. Black spots began to gather in his vision, his static flickering across his visor from the strain on his suit.

“We’ll take it from here, thank you, Violet Spider.” Came Moonbeam’s firm yet gentle tone, taking the weight literally off of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“About fucking time.” He wheezed, taking a deep breath as his arms dropped by his sides, wincing in pain.

“Would appreciate some gratitude.” Lightbearer huffed petulantly as he helped his brother carefully lift the falling ceiling back up, holding it there in an eerie white glow.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes as the remaining people rushed past them, scrambling to get out of there as quickly as possible. Jiang Cheng didn’t blame them in their haste, not one bit. He didn’t like being the one to hold that shit up.

“Are you alright, A-Cheng?” His sister asked in his earpiece, the display on his visor recalibrating.

“Yeah, yeah. Just. Exhausted...” he stood back and caught his breath.

“I’ll make sure to have some lotus rib soup for you when you get home, A-Cheng. I’ll check over your injuries too.”

“A-Jie, you don’t need to do that.”

“Aiya, hush. It’s nothing. I’ll check what the damages are to your suit too.”

“A-Jie...”

“No buts, A-Cheng.”

He sighed and looked down, his hair falling over his visor as he stared at the rubble beneath his feet.

“I’m going to have the longest goddamn nap in history after this.”

“You deserve it, A-Cheng.” A-Jie hummed. “Thank you, A-Xuan.” she said softly, sipping what Jiang Cheng assumed was a cup of tea handed to her by her boyfriend.

In his visor, purple warning symbols flared up in his periphery.

“A-Cheng-”

“On it.” He said as he spotted a flare of green a few blocks away. Gritting his teeth against the ache in his arms, Jiang Cheng jumped up onto the wall of the nearest building, scaling it as quickly as possible and sprinting across the rooftops.

Sometimes, only sometimes, Jiang Cheng hated this fucking job. Sure, he could have a normal 9-5 job and earn a stable income, but no, he just had to be born the son of Yunmeng’s protector and inherit her powers and mantle, along with a load of fucking pressure. He just had to have been trained intensely by his mother, day in and day out from the second his powers manifested at 11. He just had to have had the heroes instinct and the motto of “Attempt the impossible” drummed into him since he was a child.

As much as he wanted to push back against his instinct to protect in favour of his exhaustion sometimes, he couldn’t stop himself.

The blasts led him to the Jin Corporation office building in Yunping, only a half mile from the crumbling building he was just almost crushed under.

“A-Jie, the source is coming from the Jin Corp. offices in Yunping.”

“Mm. I saw. The building that you were just in was a Jin owned business too.” She replied thoughtfully.

“Does your boyfriend know anything about someone that might have been slated by his father? Cousin maybe?”

“Nothing. I know Jin Guangyao had a complicated relationship with Red Blade. There were rumours about him having something to do with his retirement.”

‘Retirement’ had been a delicate way of putting what happened to Red Blade. When Jiang Cheng had first come onto the hero scene, Red Blade had taken him under his wing. He had been something of an older brother figure, despite being the protector of Qinghe rather than Yunmeng.

He had been familiar with Jiang Cheng’s abilities, having also been mentored by Jiang Cheng’s predecessor. Everyone knew and respected Red Blade. His super strength and speed was matched by none, in his prime he could leap a building in a single bound and punch a meteor out of the sky without so much as a single scratch. With all that power however, came a price. Red Blade had been prone to feral rages which were difficult to pull him out of, very few people could. Moonbeam seemed to be the only one beside whoever was in his ear all the time who could do it.

About six months ago, Red Blade had disappeared for three days. Moonbeam had found him snarling and bleeding from his eyes, his right arm severed and his eyes white. How Red Blade had survived, Jiang Cheng had no idea. After a few weeks in a medically induced coma, Red Blade had announced his retirement and hung up his mantle for good. Only Moonbeam was said to know what had happened to him following his retirement. There was sometime unspoken between those two that Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite figure out but stank of probably resolved sexual tension.

“Shit!” Jiang Cheng cursed, narrowly avoiding a blast of green energy, rolling onto the nearest roof and ducking for cover.

“A-Cheng.” A-Jie chided.

“Like you didn’t say worse when you were being shot at.” Jiang Cheng argued, sending a bolt of violet lighting back.

“Back in the day, I didn’t run my mouth like a sailor, A-Cheng.”

“I bet you don’t miss this part of heroing, huh?”

“There are times I am grateful I took a permanent maternity leave, yes.” She replied. “A-Cheng! On your left! Someone’s coming your way, and its not anyone on the Lotus servers. Be on your guard.”

Jiang Cheng nodded and raised his hackles as a a figure cloaked in blinding green energy floated onto the building, their black heels clicking against the concrete roof. As soon as the figure was close enough, Jiang Cheng shot a bolt of lightning in their direction, yet, to his horror, it was deflected easily.

“Come on out little spider, I won’t hurt you.” The figure said.

Jiang Cheng swallowed thickly and stepped out, hackles still raised.

“Aiya, so defensive. Put your arms down so I can see your pretty face. I won’t try anything.” Jiang Cheng slowly lowered his arms but kept his guard up, stance firm. “So stubborn. That’s better though, hello handsome.”

The figure was slender, androgynous with long, dark hair that shone in their eerie green glow and flowed behind them in the wind, their eyes afire with the energy that seemed pulse from their entire being, almost drawing Jiang Cheng in like a moth to a particularly deadly yet hard to resist flame. Their body was wrapped in a skin-tight leather-like substance with mesh panels, leaving even less to the imagination, half of their face obscured by a mask that started at the neck and wrapped around his mouth and nose.

Jiang Cheng swallowed thickly, ready to burst into action whenever necessary.

“And what should I call you?” Jiang Cheng said steadily.

“Well, I go by he/him pronouns, but I do quite like it when sexy men like you call me beautiful.” He giggled, bouncing on his heels a little. “Binary terms are horseshit anyway, gender is a social construct.”

“Not what I meant but. I don’t like misgendering people. Even if they’re tearing up half the fucking city. So. Thanks.”

“Well, I haven’t really given myself a name yet.” The man hummed, snapping open one of the fans in his hand and fluttering it lightly. “Kinda just wanted to do one thing and hang up the whole thing I guess.”

“And you wanted to what, not get caught?”

“Well, something of the sort.”

“And you assumed you could do this tearing up half the city looking like a green lava lamp dressed like a hooker?”

“A-Cheng! Be nice!”

“Yes, listen to your sister, A-Cheng.”

“How do you know that!” Jiang Cheng snapped, his hands sparking.

“Whoa, whoa, easy hot stuff, I mean you and your family no harm. You have your headset on way too loud and everyone can hear you saying A-Jie so. Go figure.”

“Alright... I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

“He seems genuine, A-Cheng. I’m going to log off for now, but I’ll keep an eye on your vitals and see if you seem like you need help.”

“Alright...” He heard the line go quiet, her lotus icon in the corner of his visor going totally transparent.

“Is it just us?” The man asked.

“Yeah. Just us. So. What the fuck is your deal?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“The Jin corporation have fucked plenty of innocent people over, but there are also innocent people in that tower you’re trying to destroy.”

“They’re collateral. I’ve accepted those losses.” The man said, his demeanour turning cold suddenly.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“You wouldn’t understand my motivations.” The man turned around and stared ahead at the slowly burning building ahead of them.

“Ugh, what is it with villains and cryptic bullshit? I can’t let you wreck the fucking building, okay?”

“Watch me.”

Jiang Cheng lunged and grabbed his arm, earning a blast of green energy to his solar plexus that sent him staggering. Today was not his day.

“If you want a fight, then fine.” The man said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m just sorry I’ll have to kick that glorious ass of yours.”

Jiang Cheng felt his cheeks flush.

“Oh please, the spandex doesn’t hide shit.” The man said before lunging at Jiang Cheng.

Yeah, okay. This was a day Jiang Cheng really hated his fucking job. His muscles screamed with exhaustion as the man tackled him to the roof, straddling him and pinning his arms above his head. Maybe he was tired and his resolve was slipping, or maybe he had been rocking a semi for a fair amount of the fight and could admit this man was fucking hot despite his different side of the law.

The tightly coiled strength in his deceivingly slender limbs forced Jiang Cheng down as he straddled his lap. As he brushed his groin, Jiang Cheng let out a slight groan.

“Hold on,” The man said, sitting back. “Are you hard? Does fighting me turn you on?”

“Sh-Shut up! Are we gonna fight or not?!” He struggled under his grip.

Fuck, okay. The man was right. This was humiliating. Why does he enjoy this?

“I dunno, do you want some help with that?” The man purred, his long, thick lashes fanning over his cheeks as he leaned in closer, shifting his hips ever so slightly and earning another groan from Jiang Cheng.

“Are you crazy? I’m meant to be fighting you!”

“I know but, I kinda like this vibe we have going. Do you?”

Jiang Cheng bit his lip and looked away, nodding.

“I need a verbal yes.”

“You care about that?”

“I’m an anarchist not a monster, damn. Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I... I like... this.”

“And is it a yes that you consent to this rooftop encounter?”

“C’mon I already said-”

“Yes or no spider. I won’t take that horseshit for an answer.”

“... Yes. I would like you to. Help me out.”

“Good,” he hummed, hooking a black gloved finger in his mask and tugging it down, revealing soft, pink lips pulled into a suggestive smirk. “I’m glad to be of service.” and he leaned down to press his lips to Jiang Cheng’s.

#sangcheng #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #nie huaisang #mdzs #cql #cheng qing ling #the untamed #mo dao zhu shi #ship prompts #nsfwi-sh text #my shitty writing

72 notes · View notes

sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Six

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

They went down many hallways on the way to the kitchen, enough of them that Roman lost track of where they were. He understood that they were taking the scenic route to avoid his mother, but this still seemed...extreme.

It was all made worth it, however, when Roman and Logan arrived in the kitchen, and Roman was instantly assaulted with the smell of sauces, and spices, and cooking food. Patton came over almost immediately with a smile on his face. “Logan! Nice to see you again! And you brought a guest!”

“Yes, we’re hiding Roman away from his mother,” Logan said.

Patton faltered. “Roman?” he asked.

“That is his name, Patton,” Logan said.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” Patton exclaimed.

Roman waved off his apology. “My mother didn’t want anyone to know, I’m not surprised that she would try to misinform you.”

Patton looked like he might slap someone at any moment. “I’ll give her the overcooked turkey, in that case.”

“Ooh, turkey tonight?” Roman asked, eyes lighting up.

“Turkey as well as spinach lasagna, for the vegetarians,” Patton said.

“That’s rather considerate of you,” Roman said.

Patton shrugged. “I get meal offers all the time that I follow even if they don’t make sense. Following a vegetarian meal plan is easy compared to some of the things I’ve seen in my day.”

“I’ll bet,” Roman laughed. “But I love turkey. My brother Remus and I would eat turkey sandwiches virtually every time we returned from one of our ‘adventures,’ it was by far one of my favorites for a long time, and I still have a soft spot for any sort of turkey because of it.”

Patton smiled. “You seem very fond of your brother,” he noted.

“He’s the best,” Roman said. “Very first person I came out to, and he was super understanding. I love him more than words can say.”

Patton nodded. “Yeah, you show that in the way you talk about him. Can I offer you something to eat before dinner? A sample of what you may have, for instance?”

Roman laughed. “Maybe a little, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all!” Patton chirped. “I’ll get you a piece.”

Patton puttered around the other cooks in the kitchen and grabbed a piece of turkey, returning to Roman with the piece skewered on a fork. “Go on, it’s encouraged to make sure that everything is cooked properly.”

Roman took the offered fork and took a bite, humming as the flavors burst on his tongue. “This is amazing, Patton,” he said with a smile. “Truly amazing.”

Patton grinned. “I’m glad you think so, Your Highness!”

“Are you going to be cooking for the wedding?” Roman asked.

Patton nodded. “That I am! Do you have any requests for food?”

“No requests,” Roman said. “Except that you put as much care into the dishes as you do with this meal.”

“Of course,” Patton said. “I put as much care and love into every dish as I can.”

“Excellent!” Roman exclaimed, beaming. “Then I can look forward to the food we’ll have by the end of the week.”

Patton laughed and shook his head. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re too humble,” Roman said.

Patton offered Roman a grin before one of the doors to the kitchen opened and Damien poked his head inside. “Oh! Roman!” he exclaimed. “I thought you might be here. Everyone is beginning to get settled in the dining room, if you want to come out with me?”

Roman hesitated. He didn’t want to have to hide in the closet so soon after he had gotten out of it. But did he have a choice? Not really. “All right,” he said. “I’m not looking forward to playing the part of a princess, but I’ll walk out with you.”

“Oh, and his mother’s getting the dry turkey,” Patton informed Damien.

Damien got a wicked gleam in his eyes as he smirked at Patton. “You, sir, are far more devious than you let people believe.”

“Part of my charm,” Patton chirped. “Now you two should go before the entire castle starts looking for you.”

“True,” Damien said, offering his hand to Roman. “My good sir.”

Roman laughed and took Damien’s hand, shaking his head. “You’re a mess,” he informed Damien. “You like to pretend to be together and suave, but in actuality you’re a huge mess.”

“I hope that won’t be a problem?” Damien asked.

“No, no problem,” Roman said, shaking his head. He grinned. “It means I get to laugh like a maniac whenever one of your schemes goes awry.”

“I am a prince, Your Highness. I do not ‘scheme,’ I ‘plan’ or more often ‘strategize,’” Damien corrected.

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say,” Roman said, beaming up at Damien.

“Were we not monitored every second of every day I would tickle you in retaliation for that remark,” Damien hissed at him.

“Oh, good thing for me that we are always watched, then,” Roman replied. Damien huffed and shook his head, but he was fighting back a smile. Roman laughed and nudged Damien. “Come on, you know you love me,” he sang.

“Mm. Love is debatable, seeing as how we’ve known each other all of a single day,” Damien said. “I do enjoy your company, however.”

Roman giggled as he stood on his toes and whisper-sang into Damien’s ear, “Gay~!”

“You little shit,” Damien hissed right before they rounded the corner leading to the dining room, where Damien’s parents were waiting.

“It’s good to know you’re comfortable around me,” Roman said, arching his eyebrows meaningfully. “I doubt many people see that side of you.” He glanced over at Damien’s parents and knew that they were within earshot in a second.

“You would be right that not many people know that about me,” Damien agreed. “But those who do know me are aware that I do things such as that, and generally, they don’t care.”

“Mm. Your parents?” Roman asked.

“Don’t care if I swear like a sailor so long as I keep it clean among house guests,” Damien replied quietly and simply. “But being vague is in our best interest since we don’t know where your mother is or if she can hear us.”

Roman sighed. “True. Much as I hate it.”

Damien offered Roman an apologetic shrug. “Just one week, my dear, and then I will ensure no one deadnames you or misgenders you ever. For any reason.”

Roman shook his head. “You can’t guarantee that,” he said.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure that anyone you come into contact with respects your name and your pronouns, then,” Damien said. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Roman said. “I still don’t think you can guarantee that, but it is in theory more feasible and I appreciate the sentiment.”

Damien offered Roman a smirk before turning to his parents. “I found our guest in the kitchen,” he said. “Something tells me Logan took him there.”

“Per my request,” Roman said. “Don’t pin all of this on Logan. And besides! I only had one bite, which Patton offered to me! I didn’t steal any food!”

Damien laughed. “Okay,” he said.

“Everyone’s getting seated,” Damien’s mother said. “Are you both ready for the uncomfortable amount of attention you’ll be receiving?”

“Not really, but we may as well get it over with, right?” Roman asked, adjusting the ends of his shirt sleeves.

Damien’s mother smiled ruefully. “True. Don’t worry, my dear, the tailor has been informed about the change of plans and he will be here after dinner to take your measurements. And he will always be respectful.”

Roman offered her a smile. “Thank you,” he said. He blew out a breath. “Showtime.”

“You’re the most convincing drag act I’ve ever seen, for what it’s worth,” Damien whispered into his ear as they walked into the dining room.

Roman squeaked and smacked Damien on the arm. “Behave!” he warned.

Damien just grinned and walked Roman over to his seat, pushing him in as Roman sat down. There were quite a few dignitaries around his seat, including Mira, one of the ones who he had come out to before his parents found out. “Hi, Mira,” he said.

She offered him a pained smile. “Hi,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Roman nodded. “Likewise. You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve been treated properly by everyone here,” he said, glancing at his mother, who sat next to Mira at the table.

“That’s good,” Mira said, and her shoulders relaxed minutely. When Roman’s mother looked away, she mouthed, “Roman?” And Roman nodded with a smile and a finger to his lips.

Mira’s smile grew into something more relaxed and genuine, and she nodded. “How do you like it here in general?” she asked. “I always enjoy visiting whenever my duties call for it.”

“It’s very nice,” Roman said. “Perfect scenery for painting, when the paint actually comes out of the tubes.”

Mira snorted. “Found another exploding tube, did you?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Damien said.

“Oh, no,” Mira laughed. “I’ve been on the receiving end of those, too, and it’s never fun.”

“No,” Damien agreed. “Can’t say I’m a fan of it either, when the paint wound up on me as well.”

Mira laughed and Roman cracked a grin. “It was fun this afternoon, though,” he said. “I had a fun time.”

“As did I, my dear,” Damien said, smiling at Roman. “As did I.”

“Oh, you two already act like you’ve known each other for years,” Mira laughed. “I love it.”

Roman smiled. He wished he could ask Mira to give a message to Remus, but he knew she’d be flying out tomorrow morning and would be nowhere near the castle, if Roman could even write a letter and slip it past his mother. His father would find it, knowing his luck, and then he’d be in even more trouble. He didn’t want to wait until whenever his parents decided to send Remus over to talk to him, but that seemed to be what was going to happen.

Damien put his hand on Roman’s and murmured, “Everything will be okay.”

“You can’t promise that,” Roman breathed.

“Maybe not,” Damien allowed. “But I won’t allow you to be hurt if it is at all in my power to prevent it.”

Roman offered him a small smile and the two let their hands break apart as cooks exited the kitchen with turkey and lasagna alike. Roman grinned as a large portion of turkey was placed in front of him, almost to the proportions of Damien’s plate. “Wow, they must know how much I eat,” Roman joked. “I can eat huge bags of chips in the span of three hours and not gain any lasting weight. I know that will likely be subject to change later, but for now, it’s nice that I have a plate that can actually leave me feeling full.”

“That is a good thing,” Damien agreed.

They all started to eat, and Roman didn’t fail to notice his mother mutter, “The turkey seems a bit dry,” as he tried not to cackle outwardly at Patton’s antics. As it was, Damien and him shared a glance and nearly burst into a fit of giggles, just the two of them. Roman savored the taste of dinner for as long as he could, as the ambassadors and dignitaries around them congratulated them on the wedding.

Damien fielded most of the questions, a fact for which Roman was thankful. Everything still seemed so surreal, and he couldn’t believe that everyone around him was convinced he was going to be a bride at his own wedding. Even being called “Veronica” didn’t sting as much right now, he was too caught up in his own mind.

What was going to happen after the wedding? Obviously, his parents were going to be furious. Remus would keep in contact if at all possible, obviously, but would his parents ever speak to him again? Would they believe that he was transgender, at long last, and change their tune? Or would he be stuck wondering what had happened to his family for the rest of his life after his marriage?

A hand on his own pulled him out of his musings. Roman realized he had his fists wrapped around the utensils in a white-knucked death grip, and he forced his hands to relax. “Are you feeling all right, my dear?” Damien asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Just thinking, I guess,” Roman said, glancing at Damien and smiling, before his smile faded as he stared at the table. “This still doesn’t feel quite real.”

“I know, I’m still in shock myself,” Damien said. “But if I have to marry anyone, you’re an...ideal candidate.”

Roman laughed at that, once, loud enough that the whole table stared at him. “Oh, yeah, and we both know why that is,” Roman teased.

Damien’s eyes grew softer and he relaxed into a smile as Roman felt a little bit of life rekindle inside him. “I believe the tailor will be arriving in fifteen minutes, which I assume gives you about twenty before he asks after you,” Damien said. “Not really any time for dessert, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” Roman said. “After all, I’m having cake at the end of the week.”

Damien laughed and nodded. “I suppose that’s true,” he allowed. “But if you want to sneak a cookie later, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

Ripples of laughter floated around the table at that comment, and Roman went back to eating with a small smile. Damien kept near enough to Roman at all times that no one could say anything to Roman in secret without Damien hearing, and Roman appreciated the sentiment behind the gesture, even though he doubted he would be having a hushed argument with his mother in the middle of dinner. He finished his plate of turkey right as one of the workers came in and said, “Your Highness, the tailor is here for you.”

Roman sighed and squeezed Damien’s hand. “Try your best to not get eaten alive,” he said. “I’ll be expecting to talk to you soon, even if tonight isn’t available.”

“I imagine Remy will be keeping you for quite a while,” Damien said. “So I think I will probably not see you until at least tomorrow morning. Good night, my dear.”

Damien kissed Roman’s hand and Roman short-circuited quietly as he followed the worker out of the dining hall. “You and Prince Damien are an awfully lovely couple,” the worker said. “Even if you haven’t known each other for very long.”

Roman laughed. “Yeah, I do love to spend time with him. He’s rather charming.”

“I’m admittedly a little jealous,” the worker whispered conspiratorially. She continued, “He seems like such a dashing gentleman, and I would love to spend time alone with him.”

“Are you new around here?” Roman asked.

“First month here,” the worker confirmed. “Why?”

“Oh, just wondering. It seems like a lot of the older workers are used to him causing mischief,” Roman said. “They don’t seem to call him a gentleman as much.”

“The older workers probably remember him as a young child, though. Surely, he’s matured?” the worker asked.

Roman snickered. “Well, he and I went out this afternoon intending to paint the scenery below the mountain and wound up covered head to toe in paint from a paint war. If he has matured, he certainly has some rather large gaps where he relapses into mischief.”

“Oh,” the worker said, somewhat deflating. “I could have sworn he was more mature than that.”

“There are plenty of people out there more mature than anyone in this castle,” Roman said. “And if you want to pursue someone mature, I have no doubt you can achieve that. Just not with Damien. He’s a little too juvenile.”

“Too true, babes, too true!” a voice called from down the hall. The man standing there had sunglasses on and was wearing a nice leather jacket, with a T-shirt and jeans. At the very least, his shoes seemed to be somewhat new and formal, but the guy didn’t immediately strike Roman as someone who would fit in a castle such as this. “You must be my next client, the name’s Remy! Let’s come on, now, after all we don’t have much time before your big day!”

“Don’t remind me,” Roman complained. “My stomach twists in knots thinking about it.”

“Ah, relax, babes, you’ll look amazing when I’m through with you,” Remy said. “I can make anyone look amazing enough to stun everyone.”

“I don’t really care about that,” Roman said, walking into the room that Remy was standing next to, and when Remy closed it behind him, Roman said, “I just care that it’s a suit and not a dress.”

“Ah, yeah, the king called me, babes, told me about the change of plans. I took the liberty of bringing a couple of the binders I’ve made in the past over to see your size and get accurate measurements for the suit tonight.” Remy walked over to a box and pulled out a couple different tank tops. “What’s your cup size?”

Roman crossed his arms and huffed. “That’s hardly any way to treat someone you’ve only just met.”

“Babes, I need to know so I can get the right sized binder, not so I can drool over your measurements,” Remy said.

“C-cup,” Roman sighed. “They’re not huge, but they’re still too big for my taste.”

“Understandable, babes,” Remy said, pulling out a plain white tank and tossing it at Roman. “Put it on like a shirt. Warning, you will get stuck. At least once.”

Roman took off his suit coat and blouse without issue, but he hesitated at the bra, with Remy still standing there and observing. “Uh, you gonna turn around?” he asked.

“I need to make sure you’re not going to die in that thing, babes, and if you get stuck I’ll be the one who has to help you. And anyway, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Remy said. “You have my word that I won’t try anything, m’kay?”

“Okay,” Roman breathed, unhooking his bra and sliding it off. He took the tank top and pulled it over his head, got his arms through the holes...and couldn’t pull it down any further. “Um?” Roman tried to move his arms, weakly grabbing at the bunched up fabric. “Is this normal?”

“It is a newer chest binder, so yeah,” Remy said. “May I?”

Roman tugged and tugged but nothing budged and he was still stuck. He sighed. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t grope anything.”

“Would never dream of it, babes,” Remy said. He walked over, grabbed the bottom of the tank, and gently pulled it down over Roman’s chest, and down to just above his pants. “How does it feel?”

Roman was too stunned to respond. When the binder went on, his chest looked...completely flat. He looked like a man from the torso up. He grinned. “That’s amazing,” he breathed. He tried to inhale but stopped about halfway through what he should have been able to do. “I can’t breathe very well, though.”

“Do you feel like you can’t get air in or does your breath just feel short?” Remy asked. “Because those are two very different situations.”

“It feels short,” Roman said, still struggling to breathe deeply.

“Okay, then that’s completely normal. Binders constrict your whole chest, not just your breasts, so as a result you’ll feel short of breath the first couple times you wear them. You also shouldn’t wear them swimming unless they’re specifically built for swimming in, and you should never exercise in one, clear?”

“Crystal,” Roman said.

“Good. Most trans guys I know tend to wear their binder every day until they get surgery. Not all of them, but enough. And as tempting as it might be to keep it on all the time, your body has limits you shouldn’t cross. Meaning no exercise, no swimming, take it off after eight hours or whenever your body starts to ache, and for the love of god, don’t sleep in it,” Remy instructed.

“Got it,” Roman said. “I probably won’t be able to wear it around the castle, though, anyway, because of my mother...”

“Yeah, I gotcha, babes. I won’t force you to hide this in your room, I might need it when I go to sew everything together, anyway. But I need to know it fits you, and that you know your limits in it, before I can go any further.” Remy moved away and grabbed a measuring tape. He grinned. “Now comes the fun part,” he said with obvious glee.

Roman felt dread build in the pit of his stomach. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to measure you!” Remy said. “And it’s going to take a while to get everything right, which means I have a captive audience of one!”

Roman’s relief only appeared at a fraction of its usual intensity. “What do you want to talk about?” Roman asked.

Remy’s eyes lit up. “Okay, so I have a boyfriend, right? His name is Emile. Sweetest guy on the planet. Also dumb as rocks.”

Roman nodded along as Remy continued, which mostly consisted of this boyfriend of Remy’s trying to earn the trust of a local feral cat in the area. And every time he went to pet it, the cat would hiss, or scratch, or bite Emile. Clearly, Emile just thought he hadn’t built up enough trust in the cat and kept trying, kept continuing to try and pet the stupid thing, only to again, get scratched, or bitten, and get a tetanus and/or rabies shot. And, to top it all off, the man was terrified of needles.

“Why don’t you tell him to wait to pet the cat?” Roman asked.

“I have!” Remy said. “I tell him every time he comes home with a scratch or a bite that he has to wait! And he might never get to pet it because, you know, it’s feral, but he doesn’t care! He just keeps trying, babes, and honestly I worry about him. He has a PhD in Psychology, but he’s got approximately zero common sense.”

Roman giggled. “Hey, my parents are the leaders of an entire country, and they don’t have any empathy to speak of, so maybe that’s just a common thing if you’re an expert at one thing. You’re absolutely terrible at another.”

Remy sighed. “I hope not, babes. I hope there’s at least one competent person out there who can do everything mostly okay, you know?”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Roman said. “But if that one person isn’t in a position of power, then what sort of difference are they going to make?”

“You never know,” Remy said with a shrug. “Someone who’s good enough with people can find those who will be listened to.”

“But if they’re that good with people, then that means they’re no longer a jack of all trades, and therefore they will be incompetent at something,” Roman pointed out.

Remy gave Roman a slightly irritated glance. “Are you always this annoying and determined, babes?”

“Only around people I’m comfortable with,” Roman said, letting Remy circle him and keep humming to himself about measurements.

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13 @sanders-sides-crofters @blushy-gigglee-mess @wannacrymetoo @kaytikitty @magicalspacepanunicorn @bootsinthesun @pricklyfish777 @flowersanddinosaurs @leiasolo77 @birdybabybird @enby-phoenix @luna–28 @justagaygoose @the-prince-and-the-emo @fandomsandanythingelse @randommuffinyt @snekky-boi @thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot @twilight-trix @abby5577 @escalatingtoofast @friendlyfacestabbing @remus-is-stinky @foggybanditdreampeanut @ghostskull300 @sprinklestheditty @canvas-the-florist @askthesnake @samuel-the-gay @determination-saved @sparrowofsong @beyondthestacks @juicy-cashew @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @rjmeta @ambersky0319 @anni-cat-flower @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @nafsbluebery @redisawerewolf23 @voidvirgil

#roceit #sanders sides fanfiction #deceit sanders #roman sanders #royal growing pains #our creations

66 notes · View notes

theaurorfileshq · 4 years

Photo

E M E R S O N Y A X L E Y / A U R O R O F F I C E R

AGE: Twenty-Eight

BADGE NUMBER: U76T43

BLOODSTATUS: Halfblood (No-Maj Mother)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Nonbinary, She/They

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Always Wearing Beaded Bracelets, Always Wearing Something Pink, Slight Scottish Accent, Pierced Nose

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Forensic Psychology Background, Potions, Magical Theory

(-): Lack of Magic, Chip on Her Shoulder, Doesn’t Like to Take Direction

BACKGROUND:

There are two strange things that Emerson Yaxley knows as simple facts of her life from an early age. The first is that she knows that she doesn’t have a mother. At least that’s what she thinks her dad means when he first tries to explain in long rambling sentences to her why so many of the other kids in her class have two parents to draw in pictures, and she only has one. The second is she knows that she probably doesn’t have magic, even though her dad, and most of his friends do. It takes a little while longer for her to realize how both of those things are related, a little while longer still for her to realize she wishes she’d stop hearing about things she doesn’t have that make her life strange, and someone would tell her about secret, strange things she does have that make her life wonderful.

She’s one of the lucky ones, though, she knows. There’s never a point in which her dad makes her feel less for not having magic, and he makes sure she knows from the moment he tells her there’s a whole world of magic, and a whole world without that she can choose whatever she wants, no matter what. There’s never any illusion about things, so she’s in no-maj school from the start, makes friends easily who have no idea there’s another world, and she gets to grow up with them. She’s lucky that there are other people around, her dad’s friends who make it easier to understand, but it’s hard not to wish she could do all the things they can do, especially as she gets older and she’s around more and more people with magic, and realizes that most kids her age who have parents like her dad have magic. Unlike her.

One of the good things about being firmly rooted in the no-maj world is that her last name means nothing to her classmates, or her teachers, or anyone else she meets. It gets questions for its oddness sometimes, but they all end after she tells them her dad is Scottish. It’s different when she’s with her dad in the other world. There are stares, sometimes there are whispers, and it’s another one of those things that she doesn’t fully understand until she’s older, just what her dad’s family had done, exactly why they had had to run to America in the first place.

As all of that is happening, something else is, too. She knows that her mother is in England, knows that she doesn’t remember her or her dad because a lot of bad things happened right after Emerson was born because her mother didn’t have magic, either, and her dad’s family is full of bad, bad people. But she’s observant enough to realize even before her dad has a capital “t” talk with her that even things like that aren’t black and white. She likes having Athena around, and she can tell her dad likes having her around, too. He seems like he’s in a better mood more of the time, and it seems like it’s because of her. So she’s thrilled when she starts living with them, and she’s even more thrilled when they get married, partially because she gets to be the flower girl at the wedding.

But more importantly because everything feels a little warmer with the house fuller. It helps that she loves learning everything that Athena will teach her; she knows more about magical theory than most with magic, thanks to her, has all the helpful little enchantments she wants, could brew perfect potions on her own with her eyes closed. By the time she’s posed the question of if she wants to be a big sister—which, of course, she does—Athena isn’t Athena, she’s already mom to her. And when Jack and Cassandra Yaxley Falconer-Quinn are born, they’re not half-siblings, they’re just her siblings.

Still, there’s a serious conversation with her dad when she’s a teenager about whether or not she wants to try to find her mother. It’s a conversation she appreciates, even more so because she knows what her dad’s choice was once England was safe for him again, and he could’ve searched for her. And she considers it, has been considering it since she could understand fully what had happened and the complicated nature of all of it. How many times has she imagined seeing her mother for the first time, getting to hug her, and tell her just how alike they are? But she knows that’s not how it would go, because her mother doesn’t know she or her dad exist, doesn’t know magic exists. And considering it again, older now, makes her understand why her dad never chose to try to find her. It would be the selfish choice. It’s been years and years, and life keeps going, and it might be safe now to meet her, but her life didn’t stop moving once the memory charm hit her. She could have a family, a whole life that neither of them know about. It feels selfish to consider shaking her entire world to see if someone might be able to undo a years old memory charm, or even worse, to try to explain it all without undoing it. And they have a family here in America, a whole life her mother doesn’t know about, Emerson has her dad, and her mom, and her younger siblings. It leaves an ache in her chest, and she can’t help the tears that come with the decision, but she has no doubt in her mind that it’s the right one.

There are squibs who she knows of, and those as close to squib as the government says, who are happy living in the magical world, and she knows it would be possible, there’s so much innovation that you don’t need magic yourself to do a lot of things, and with her mom being who she is, she’s sure she would have it easier than most others out there trying to live in the wixen world without magic. But she can’t do the one thing she’s had her heart set on since she was little and her dad started introducing her to his friends at his old job, and she knows that she’ll never be fully satisfied in the wixen world if she’s not allowed to work as an auror. So when she graduates high school, and she’s a legal adult in both worlds, she makes the choice to live life in the no-maj world, a world where she could do whatever she wants.

Emerson decides that the best path to finding her own way, without all of the have nots hanging over her head, is to leave, at least for a few years. And leaving is easy for her, oddly enough, because of her dad, when she’s heard countless stories about how hard it was for him to leave because of who he is. Because she has an American passport, and a Scottish one, thanks to her dad, and there’s a manor sitting empty in Scotland with their last name on the deed, and no other Yaxleys left walking free to claim it. Her dad isn’t against it, per se, but she can tell he doesn’t like the idea of it. She wants to make something good of it, though, fix the place up, then get it off their hands so one of the last ties to that part of his life is gone; and she does like the idea of spiting the man who made it so she never knew her mother, and her father had to run. And once she’s made her mind up about something, there’s no use trying to stop her.

She gets into the University of Edinburgh easily, and she lists that address as her residence when she enrolls. And then she flies to Scotland, Kisky apparating ahead of her to help undo the wards around the manor, and make certain it was in a safe enough condition. She takes inspiration from her dad’s job at a private investigation firm, seeing the way he’s been able to keep doing the same good without being an auror on a squad that had put him through so much. They have jobs like that in the no-maj world, so she goes into forensic psychology, gets a degree, gets a masters, then plans to sell off the manor to some historical society or something, then head back to America to find a job.

It’s on a trip to London with some friends from school during holiday of her last year of her masters, before heading back to America for a few weeks until the new term. It’s at a flower stand in Covent Garden that she hears a name in the crowd, and looks around, unable to stop herself, and she sees her. There’s no way to be certain it’s her, and yet Emerson knows in her very soul that the woman in the pink dress looking up from a bouquet of a dozen blush roses at the sound of Sawyer called by a woman at the end of the aisle is her mother. It feels like a movie, everything slowing down and fading away but the moment she’s witnessing. She watches the way she smiles when she finds the other woman in the crowd, and she thinks her own smile looks a lot like hers, she watches her put the bouquet down and find her way to the woman, watches her kiss her cheek, take her hand, and then leave. And she knows they made the right choice. There’s no way to explain to her friends why she can’t stop the tears when she buys the bouquet of blush roses, but that doesn’t really matter.

She takes the flowers home when she leaves, and it feels a lot like closure of sorts. Her dad enchants the flowers to stay fresh forever, she leaves six with him, and takes six for herself, and it feels a lot like permission to keep going.

And it feels serendipitous that as soon as she’s back in Scotland to finish her masters, flowers in hand, she gets word from her dad that new laws were being passed, and suddenly she’s allowed to have the very thing she’s wanted since she was six.

The timing is too perfect, in the time it takes for all the changes to take effect, she has time to finish her degree, rid the Yaxleys of that stuffy old manor once and for all, and move back to America to prepare to do whatever she can to become an auror. And as soon as it’s all up and running, she’s accepted into the academy for people like her, and it’s no surprise she does well, determined to be living proof this should’ve been allowed a long time ago.

Two years later, she’s got interviews with both the Central Squad, and the Pacific Squad. The obvious choice is her parents’ old squad. It would make adjusting easier, still a few of her parents’ old friends around, but it would also make sure that not only would she have her lack of magic working against her, but she would be firmly in the shadows of her parents’ legacies. And she wants to make her own way. Plus, she’s always hated how gloomy Chicago is. She likes to think she was always meant to be in the sun, as cliche as it sounds.

So she moves to California, and starts with the Pacific Squad.

It’s not easy, of course, it was never going to be, but not one person could argue that she’s not excellent at her job. Her background in forensic psychology helps immensely, but so does everything that she learned from her parents. Sometimes she jokes that it’s lucky she doesn’t have magic, because it would be unfair to everyone else if she did on top of all her other skills. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t silently heartbroken the first time someone refused to take a case with her because of her lack of magic, it doesn’t mean she didn’t spend the next two weeks fluctuating between pissed off with the fact that’s even allowed, yet alone that someone would do it, and in tears convinced she should just go back to the no-maj world where she could be an expert with only the normal shitty prejudices, like gender, working against her. But she keeps going. The good people around her outweigh the awful, and she’s too stubborn to give any assholes the satisfaction of thinking they’re right that people without magic shouldn’t be aurors. No, she has every intention of proving those people wrong.

And she thinks she’s done a damn good job of it, so far.

#emerson yaxley #auror #written by roman

2 notes · View notes

just-emotional-trash · 5 years

Text

An Outranked Romance Ch. 1

Pairings: Eventual Romantic Prinxiety, Logicality, and Remile

Story Summary: At Camp Regality, lords, ladies, and royalty alike learn the values of being a member of court in the Kingdom of Animiria. Prince Roman is thrilled at the chance to get out of the stuffy palace! Virgil, the son of a lowly Baron, is ready to leave the moment he gets there, and plans to slip through unnoticed. But what happens when a certain Princely figure won’t leave him alone?

Inspired by this post by @ironwoman359

Chapters: World-building - Next

Chapter Warning(s): Remus mention (please tell me if there are any more I need to add)

Words: 1.5k

-----------------

Virgil hated camp.

No, he didn’t mean camping in the woods (no, that’s a whole other bag of anxieties). Camp Regality is a pretentious, old fashioned camp for stuck up, entitled teenagers. He never wanted to go and resisted it until the moment his father’s butler dropped him off at the front gate. This year he put up less of a fight and was resigned to his fate. At least this time, he knew there was two people he could trust.

Virgil and Remy pulled up to the camp, although “camp” is a humble name for the campus. It is comprised of six mansions, four of which are for dorm purposes. One is for staff, and the other for activities. It was this last, and largest mansion that they walked into to sign in. The siblings walked past the chatting teenagers and the tired butlers toward the table laid out at the back of the room.

Like everything at this camp, it had to be overdone. The long wood table was draped in a gold and red tablecloth, the colors of the monarchy. Overhead of the table was the royal crest, which depicted a castle by the sea, with the sun overhead.

Remy snorted, “Gurl, you weren’t kidding! They really don’t know how to be subtle, do they?” They took a sip of their iced coffee. Virgil just smirked and nodded as he led his sibling to a stiff looking elder lady to check in.

“Name and title please?” she said with a gruff voice as they approached.

“Virgil Insomni, Baron.” Virgil relayed easily.

“Remy Insomni, Baron.” Remy copied Virgil’s response.

The woman typed something into her computer and clicked around until she found what she was looking for. “Cabin Fortune, room 208. You two are rooming together. Have fun boys.” Remy winced at the gendered reference, but said nothing as they took the key presented to them. Virgil took his own key (a bit more harshly than necessary) and they headed toward the smallest building.

Calling Cabin Fortune small wasn’t exactly accurate. All of the buildings were easily mansions in their own right, it was just that Cabin Fortune was the oldest and most in need of repair. Sometimes the toilets wouldn’t flush, and occasionally moths flew out of the closets when you opened them at the beginning of the summer. Because of this, it was the dormitory of all of the lowest class nobility. The sons of barons and viscounts found themselves here over the course of the summer.

Remy and Virgil climbed the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, until they found themselves at room 208. Remy opened the door and threw down their suitcase. “Home sweet home, I suppose!” they called out as Virgil closed the door behind them. Virgil turned around to see them face down on their bed, dark hair mussed and sunglasses thrown haphazardly to the side.

Virgil shrugged, closed the curtains and turned out the lights, and plopped down on his own bed. He proceeded to text Logan to tell him that they made it safely and pulled out his headphones to block out the depressing reality that was this camp for just a bit longer.

-----------------

A soft ding through his headphones from his phone alerted him that Logan had made it. Because of the late time, they agreed to meet at dinner, which was in half an hour. Virgil sighed and took off his beloved headphones. “Hey Remy, it’s 5:30, time to get ready for supper.” A grunt from the other party was their only reply. “Come on, if you’re late to dinner you get the crappy seconds. Get up.” They lifted their head and stared grumpily at Virgil. “Did you get any sleep?” Virgil asked softly.

Remy sighed and sat up. “No, I couldn’t.” Virgil looked at them sympathetically as they put their sunglasses back on so that Virgil could open the curtain. He walked into the attached bathroom and threw on his uniform. He then leaned into the mirror to touch up his eyeshadow, a technique he used quite effectively last year to ward off anyone who might want to approach him. Remy came in dressed pristinely in their uniform and messed with their hair until they achieved the correct level of neat and messy that they claimed was super attractive.

Virgil walked into the room to grab two pins. One that said He/Him for himself and another They/Them for Remy. The tradition of pronoun pins started two years ago with Ex-Crown Prince Remus, who was gender fluid and wore one every day. At first, the headmistress threw a fit about it, until King Thomas showed his support of the idea. Suddenly, it was encouraged. Now, most people only wear them on the first night.

The siblings exited the room just as Logan was exiting his own, right beside them. “Hello again Virgil, it’s nice to see you again.” Virgil affectionately rolled his eyes at his friend’s formal greeting and shook his outreached hand. “And this must be your,” Logan paused as he noticed their pin, ”sibling, Remy?”

Remy smiled crookedly and nodded, noticing Logan’s own He/Him badge on his chest. “The one and only! Let’s get a move on, I don’t want to miss dinner just because of you two slowpokes!”

“Just a moment Remy,” Logan stopped them. “They won’t let you in with those sunglasses, they’re really strict about the dress code here.”

“Oh don’t worry honey,” they called back, “I’ve got an excuse.” They lowered their glasses to show their bright red eyes.

Logan recoiled in shock until something registered in his brain. “You have ocular albinism.”

Remy winked before placing their glasses back on the bridge of their nose. “You hit it on the nose. I’m starving, let’s go!”

Logan turned to Virgil, who shrugged and took up after his younger sibling. Logan shook head to clear his mind of all of the too prodding questions and made a note to ask Virgil about it later. They walked to the main building and into the Grand Ballroom, where dinner was to be served. They had a seat at a table near the wall, but near the front of the room. Waiters milled about, filling water cups and chastising first years for “roughhousing”.

Logan and Virgil were making easy conversation critiquing of the all-too-eager first years and the boisterous, stuffy outfits much of the staff chose to wear for opening night. Remy was all too happy to join in, making his own snide comments about the pompous headmistress and the old-fashioned clothing she wore.

6 o’clock came and went, and just as everyone was getting restless, trumpets sounded and a herald exclaimed, “Presenting Prince Roman Sanders, and his Royal Dukes, Patton and Emile Picani!”

The prince himself enters in a fitting white and gold uniform with a red sash, followed by his two cousins in suits. The Prince waved with a blinding smile. The elder of the two dukes behind him had a light blue tie and a subdued, polite smile, while the younger had a light pink tie and looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

The prince and his cousins made it to the front of the room, and the headmistress began he speech welcoming the royal guests and gushing about this being the “Best year ever!” Meanwhile, the prince started looking around the room, as if getting a feel of the place. His eyes pass around the room, and rest on Virgil. They maintain eye contact for one dizzying second, then Virgil’s brain catches up with his body and realizes he was staring. He whips his head down and away from the amber eyes of Prince Roman.

To distract himself from the heat creeping across his ears, he turns to Remy, only to see them with a red face of their own. Pushing down an uncomfortable lump in his stomach that felt too much like jealousy, he nudged his sibling. “Who’s caught your eye now?” he teased.

“The duke in the pink tie... he’s beautiful.” Remy stared shamelessly at the younger duke. Virgil chuckled at his sibling’s antics and turned to Logan to see his reaction to the overdone introduction of the royal family. He looked amused and impatient, as if he wanted to headmistress to get on with it. And well, Virgil couldn’t disagree.

“Not only is the royal family oh so generous for allowing us to be blessed with the presence of their very offspring, but they also-”

Prince Roman placed a hand on the headmistresses shoulder to stop her. “As much as I appreciate this glowing speech,” he speaks as he leans over into the microphone, “these people must be awful tired of waiting for their food. I know I am!” he finishes with another blinding smile as the crowd of nobility laugh and nod.

“Yes well,” she seemed upset at her speech being cut short, but she was not one to deny the crown prince. “I suppose it would be alright if we went ahead and began dinner. Waiters! Appetizers, please.”

Virgil turns back to his table as dozens of waiters flow through the tables to deposit small dishes, the first of a six course meal, marking the beginning of another summer of uneventful camp.

-----------------

Taglist: @treasureofpriam @ghosttb0y @mostpeopleannoyne @athenashipsthings @icequeenorginal

First chapter- complete! I hope to post every Monday. So far, i have planned for about 18 chapters and a sequel? If all goes well! Feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions! Thanks for reading <3

77 notes · View notes

starsandamorphinetoast · 5 years

Text

Full-Time Restaurant Manager, Part Time Starving Artist

Hey folks, I hate to do this and I hate that I’ve done it a couple times in the past two years, but here we are.

Me too, John, but love ain’t pay the bills 🤷‍♂️

I’m going through a lapse in funds at the moment that is going to make the next few days very trying. If anyone is willing and able to help me out in getting some gas and food for the next few days, I would be unbelievably grateful. I would also be happy to go at it like commissions if anyone is interested. I do photo editing, landscape digital paintings, write lyrics and music and poetry, etc.

If anyone wants to help but also doesn’t want to be out any money, if you want to lend me money instead of giving me money, I can and will pay you back by this Friday at the very latest.

Cashapp is $indy330

Venmo is @Indy330

Dramatic (and relatively interesting?) backstory below:

I work near constantly as one of the managers at a cafe where I’ve been working on and off for going on six years. I started there when I was sixteen, and I’ve left, sought out better employment, tried to go to university, but I keep falling on hard times and having to go back with my tail tucked between my legs at least (3?) times? I’ve lost count.

The owners are scum, tbh, and they take advantage of, manipulate, and screw over the majority of the staff constantly.

Ex: when I became a manager my boss was supposed to give me a raise. It’s a family owned business and they don’t pay much overall. As a regular employee I was still only making $8.50/hr despite being one of two of their longest lasting employees and having the most experience. I didn’t get the raise for a month, my paychecks still had me making the same wages. Four years ago, I knew the manager pay for new managers was $9. So I told my boss I expected to be given a fifty cent raise to $9/hr.

My text message: “I’ve been a manager for about a month now and never received my raise. I’d like to make $9/hr. That’s shift manager wage, right? Can you also adjust the wages for the checks where I’ve been a manager and pay me the difference?”

His response: “yes”.

Come to find out, shift manager starting wage was raised two years ago to $10.50. The boss didn’t lie about it, or at least he can claim that he didn’t, because I asked two questions in my text and he only replied with an affirmative. I suppose it was for the second question, because he raised me to $9, the old wage, knowingly and willfully deceiving me and underpaying me.

On top of that, I’m a trans man. When I started there I wasn’t out and was still female presenting and still going by my birth name. Then I came out and began using my chosen name, Indy. The switch happened pretty seamlessly, nobody seemed to struggle with calling me by my new name and pronouns. The first check after I asked for my raise in early February had my deadname on the envelope. First time this man has written that on something in three years. Pretty shitty.

I was finally able to move back out of my abusive mother’s home, but she wouldn’t let me take some of the bedroom furniture that I’ve had in my past two apartments because she’s the one that paid for the furniture, not me. I don’t think that makes any sense because this is furniture she bought for me back when I was a kid. It’s been mine my whole life but all of a sudden it’s not.

I’ve been able to buy a few things, a small set of plastic drawers for my clothes, a stool for my keyboard, and a closet organizer you know? Just some storage/organization things mostly, to help me keep track of my things and my life. As an autistic person, if I don’t have things laid out in some kind of organizational method, I’ll flounder and get overwhelmed and will usually be late to work or any of my other responsibilities because I’m struggling to find things and/or struggling to leave the house, obsessive over the haphazard conditions.

I’m in a bind now. I only have 23 miles to empty in the tank and I live about 15 miles from work. I won’t even make it there and back once without some gas money, and I don’t get paid until Thursday, 3/12. I work multiple days between now and then. The only option I have is basically to take the few things I’ve bought back to the store and get refunded for them in order to be able to work.

I also have fallen into a bad cycle of not eating for days on end, partly because I don’t take care of myself in general, and partly because I can’t afford to. I’ve been waiting to eat until after work, getting a dollar menu item at McDonald’s to hold me over.

I had already lost some weight, which was mostly due to a crucial medication I take that kills my appetite. At first I was really excited about it. I looked more masculine, more lean, you know. Size 34 pants that had fit me in late 2018 were now too big. I went down a size. Then those were too big, but I kept wearing them because I couldn’t afford new ones all throughout the spring and summer this past year. Once I had saved up some money, around November/December, I went out and got some new pants, size 30. They fit perfect. It’s now March and I’m mostly wearing my boyfriend’s size 28 pants, down two more sizes in less than three months. I’ve gone from being 165 pounds to being more like 125. In less than two years.

I would really appreciate anything anyone can do. Thanks for you time

✌️❤️

#food service #service industry #trans man #transphobia #eating disorder #autism #autistic #art #artist #musician #the beatles #john lennon

11 notes · View notes

dvp95 · 5 years

Text

quiet on widow’s peak (2)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 6.4k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Do you remember the Wilkins place?"

"I'm well, thanks." Martyn's voice is dry, and Phil finds himself grinning at the wall despite himself. "How are you?"

"Good," says Phil. It's mostly true, although he could do without the piles of clothes he's sorting through. He holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he picks up a top of Sophie's and starts a whole new pile that he's calling delicates, aka things he's absolutely going to screw up somehow. "People think the Wilkins place is haunted."

There's a beat. Presumably, Phil's brother is trying to fit the name into adolescent memories to see where it slots in. "Oh, that wreck in Rusholme? It hasn't been condemned yet?"

"Apparently it's still a hot spot for binge-drinking teenagers," Phil says.

"Well, sure. But haunted? Really?"

"That's what I said!"

Phil feels a little vindicated by the skepticism in Martyn's voice, to be honest. His friends hadn't taken his weird feeling seriously at all.

"I mean, it's a dump," says Martyn. "More likely to be haunted by a bunch of rats than anything else. Why haven't we heard this before?"

"According to my sources," Phil says, only feeling a bit ridiculous about referring to a bunch of strangers on the internet as 'sources', "the activity only recently started. Which makes me think that someone's lying, or maybe one incident kickstarted everyone else's imaginations?"

"Both could be true. Why don't you ask Ian to go check it out?"

It's not exactly a sore spot, but something inside of Phil still twinges at the question. "He's a little busy, isn't he."

"So am I," Martyn says in that same dry, familiar tone that makes Phil feel as comforted as his mum's fretting or his dad's bad jokes do. "And yet here you are, on my phone."

"You don't have a toddler," Phil points out.

"I don't? Yet here you are..."

Phil snorts a laugh and drops all of the socks he's gathered into an empty basket. It's as good a place to start as any. "Shut up, Mar. I'm at least six."

There are, literally, enough dirty socks and pants between the four of them that Phil has a whole load of just underthings. He spares a moment to be grateful to Sophie for not including her bras, because he'd have no idea where to begin with those. He sighs and picks up the basket, fitting it against his hip with one hand so he can hold his phone with the other.

"Well, I can ask around," says Martyn. "I think my friends might be past the point of sneaking into abandoned houses to party, but maybe they've heard something from their annoying little brothers."

"Ha, ha," Phil says dryly. "Think I should contact some of the people making these claims?"

"Deffo," says Martyn. "If you can record them, it'd be best."

"Yeah, that way I can use them in the video," Phil hums, setting his basket on the washer and opening every cupboard to try to find the detergent. "I mean, if they're okay with that, obviously."

"I actually meant because your bullshit detector is dysfunctional, so me or Peej will have to tell you if someone's lying."

"Wow, rude. Whose fault is that?"

"Yours," Martyn informs him dryly. "Just because I told you Santa would pull you up through the chimney doesn't mean you had to believe me."

Phil rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. Maybe it's just a big brother thing, or maybe it's their personalities, but Martyn isn't wrong - Phil has a hard time telling when someone is lying to him. Martyn was always good at lying with a straight face and seeing right through Phil's outlandish stories.

"I still blame you," says Phil.

"Alright," says Martyn. "When are you coming to visit?"

"Probably not ‘til after this one," Phil says slowly, glancing at the kitten calendar on the fridge. They'd let one of their milder housemates pick this year's after everyone got tired of looking at Chris' previous choice of nude knitted puppets.

"Yeah? You gonna head up north for this one?"

In the very last cupboard he checks, Phil finds the detergent. He wants to be annoyed about it, but the truth is that Holly's habit of switching around the kitchen when she's anxious has saved many a pack of biscuits from expiring behind some flour. Phil has never once been useful to anybody when he's having a meltdown, so.

Phil absentmindedly loads the washer while he considers Martyn's question. Maybe it would be best to check the place out for himself, see if anything's really going on. He likes being on-site best, trusts his own gut more than he trusts strangers' eyes.

The problem, of course, is that Phil's childhood home is up for sale, he has no money for a hotel, and Ian's gone and got himself a child. The last thing Phil wants to do is impose or, like, get roped into babysitting. A trip to Manchester might be out of the question for him right now.

"Maybe," Phil says, noncommittal.

Martyn sees through him in an instant, like always. "Want me to ask Mum if they've got any viewings next weekend? I'm sure you know not to trash the place."

"Have I ever once trashed the place? Don't answer that," Phil adds, remembering the shaving cream incident.

A huff comes down the line, and Phil feels the same pride at making his brother laugh as he had when he was seven and making weird noises out the car window. Yeah, he definitely needs to go to London soon, the Isle afterwards - he hasn't seen his family in way too long.

"I'll let you know what's buzzing, if anything," says Martyn. "And I'll call Mum for you and all. I know you get weird about asking them for favours."

"I get weird about asking anyone for favours," Phil says instead of a thank you, because if he gets weird about asking for help, then Martyn gets twice as weird about reacting to gratitude.

"Except me."

Phil smiles, watching the rainbow of socks and pants spin. "Yeah. Except you."

Laundry does end up taking Phil most of the day, but he doesn't mind much. It's the least he can do when Chris always does the first draft edit for him, PJ reminds him to take his EMF meter and his meds when he's packing for an overnight, and Sophie sends him pages upon pages of research while she's at work. He's so fond of these people, and he appreciates all they do for him, but being in debt to them - and not in sole control of his projects - makes Phil feel like he's got ants crawling up his arms.

While he waits out the machine cycles, Phil starts putting feelers out into this story. He checks the sources linked to him again and shoots off a couple of direct messages and emails to see if any of the people posting about the Wilkins place are eager to chat one on one.

He's got his laptop set up at the kitchen table and he's on his third coffee of the day when it occurs to him that he's not out of the woods of owing favours just yet. He clicks back into the Tumblr submission that started this spiral.

He decides that he needs to thank this person, at the very least, and maybe offer to buy them a coffee or something when he's in town. They did so much of Phil's grunt work that it feels weird not to pay them back somehow.

"Well, I can't exactly do your laundry," Phil murmurs to the screen. He hopes none of his other housemates are milling around to hear him.

Another click, and he's on the blog. It's minimalist and monochrome in a way that makes things easy to read, but not very interesting to look at. Phil's eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls through, because it's entertaining enough but - well. It's a typical Tumblr blog. That familiar mixture of memes and rants about social issues and some gifs from shows that Phil doesn't have time to watch. There are a lot of familiar walls of text tagged as personal posts, but Phil still can't parse them without really trying.

They do reblog Phil's video posts, though. That makes him grin.

He scrolls back up to the top of the page to shoot them a message and immediately gets distracted by the bio.

winnie. 21. any pronouns.

For someone who sent Phil a wall of text that could be mistaken for copypasta at first glance, it's surprisingly succinct. Phil takes another swig of his coffee and tries not to get caught up on the last part of it.

Any pronouns? What does that mean, any pronouns? What if Phil uses the wrong ones? He isn't exactly a queer theory student, and as much as he supports everybody under his little rainbow umbrella, he's got to admit that a lot of things still go over his head.

He dithers for so long that his laptop screen goes black, and he makes a face at himself in its reflection. Surely he's overthinking this.

Hi!, Phil types, and then accidentally hits enter. He was just trying not to send the fan a paragraph back, but, fine. Oops. So I'm looking into the things you sent me on the Wilkins place and I'm really impressed by the amount of time you put into this? Like it makes MY job a lot easier haha. Is he a triple-texter? He's a triple-texter. The first one didn't count anyway. So thanks!!!!! I'll def give you credit in the video, but is there anything else I can do to pay you back?

Not literally, he wants to add right after he's sent it. Oh, well. He can't just keep spamming this poor person's chat. He hopes it's obvious that he'd offer monetary compensation if he had it.

Phil leaves the Tumblr tab open and works on editing for a little while. It's almost frustrating how bad this video is, how little effort and energy Phil has started putting into these, and he doesn't know how to fix it short of rethinking his entire career.

He could easily keep churning these out for as long as people watch them, but. He's not having fun anymore.

The Phil on his laptop screen is asking questions, wandering around a cemetery just to see if anything will happen, and Phil can't help comparing it to things he did last year, the year before that, the year before that - it feels like his content is declining as his enthusiasm for the topic does, or maybe vice versa.

Phil zones out for so long that the dryer chime goes off from the hallway, echoing through the old, creaky house. He'd given up on sorting the loads after the fifth shirt that could belong to any of them, so he just takes his own things out and folds his housemates' clothes into one basket.

They can figure it out, he's sure. There's only two bedrooms between the three of them, so there's only two closets, and Phil has gone so long without knowing who's officially sharing that it would be awkward to ask now.

Phil swaps the load over and goes back to his laptop, even though the very last thing he wants to do is continue editing and uploading this mediocre video.

The thing is, Phil doesn't need his content to be perfect. He's happy to post things that just make him laugh or have a nicely spooky vibe or whatever, he doesn't need to solve mysteries every month or two. It's just that. He can hear how little he cares about it, lately. It won't be long before people notice, if they haven't already.

Phil sighs and exits the project. Maybe this video is best left unposted. He's not happy with it at all.

Maybe, if this Wilkins place video doesn't pan out, Phil can start redirecting his energy into a different type of creative output. He's got so many stories bouncing around in his mind, he just needs to figure out how he wants to tell them.

It sounds like his father's voice inside his head, telling him you can't chase ghosts forever. He wishes he still had the gumption to disagree with it.

His laptop makes a little noise, and Phil blinks back to reality. He has to click on a few different tabs to figure out where it came from, but then he realises that he's gotten a response on Tumblr.

Phil smiles despite himself and gets ready for another difficult-to-read message.

Sure enough: UHHHHHH hi hello what the fuck i didnt expect you to say anything this is so weird i am being so weird right now um like no problem? i was procrastinating an essay and this was more fun to research so you dont have to thank me or pay me back whatever that means like i was just fucking around its fine but thank you?????

Phil thinks about the four word Tumblr bio again and snorts. Maybe Winnie wanted to seem as cool and minimalist as their theme itself was.

Procrastination or not, I appreciate it!, Phil replies. Would it be ok if I use you as a reference?

?????????????? i mean yeah but what the fuck, he gets back almost immediately.

It's nice to see you know some punctuation! Sorry if it's weird to reach out like this, I just wanted to like acknowledge the work you put in. I don't have to mention you in the video if you'd prefer!

The sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut interrupts Phil's nervous typing. He freezes for a moment, fingers still on the keyboard, but then PJ comes in the kitchen with a little salute and several bags of craft supplies, and Phil can breathe again.

It isn't that the other people who live in this house are bad people. Far from it. It's just that, of the people Phil has opted to share this large space with for nearly two years, only three of them have made any kind of effort to understand Phil. The others are nice enough, he supposes, but sometimes they come and go and new people replace them and - Phil isn't exactly good with change, is the thing.

So he relaxes when he can talk to PJ instead of making small talk with someone who thinks he's weird and too messy. "Hey! How's your day?"

"Better than yours," PJ laughs. He drops all the bags on the table and starts puttering around the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"Please. And it wasn't so bad, I got some work done."

"Yeah? Any new info on the new haunt?"

It's incredible how genuinely interested PJ always is in Phil's work. Phil grins down at his keyboard and shrugs a bit. "Some. Mostly just poking around right now, though. Mar's asking his friends too. Oh, and I thanked the person who sent it in."

"That's good," PJ says. He's putting the kettle on, because that's what PJ does when he comes home. "How'd they react?"

"Mostly confusion," Phil laughs. He glances at his screen to see if Winnie has responded - they haven't - and chews on his lip a little bit. "Hey, Peej? If someone says any pronouns are fine, what does that mean?"

"Generally," PJ hums, "it seems like it would mean any pronouns are fine."

"Oh, shut up." Phil runs a hand through his hair, always anxious about getting stuff like this wrong.

"I'm not joking," PJ says, although his tone is still light.

"Oh. So it just... doesn't matter?"

"Not to some people, I guess." PJ leans against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. At least he's smiling, although Phil can't help but notice that it's a little patronizing. "You do know that I'm not a gender guru, right? I'm barely a gender novice. I failed gender out the gate, buddy."

Phil knows his cheeks are pinking up a bit, but he rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he repeats. "You still know way more than me."

The shrug he gets in response makes Phil huff a laugh. This isn't something they talk about, but Phil has been present for enough of Chris and PJ's conversations that he'd gotten the idea.

He wonders if PJ cares that he's bringing it up. Is he making PJ uncomfortable? They don't talk about this.

"Stop spiralling," PJ says easily. His smile is warmer, now. "I don't hate you, nobody hates you, and the fan who doesn't care about pronouns certainly doesn't hate you. If you're that worried about upsetting them, though, you can always ask."

Maybe he's known PJ too long. He's grateful for it, still, so relieved that he doesn't have to voice the swirling anxiety of doing something wrong when he only has the best intentions.

"I guess I could do that," Phil mutters, embarrassed by how easily he's been read.

Winnie's responded by the time Phil looks back at the chat window, a lmao yeah ofc thats fine i just cant believe you want to, im not trying to b weird ive just been a fan for a really long time?? (used a comma for you too) (and brackets) (youre welcome) that makes Phil smile.

Awesome! And are the name Winnie & they/them pronouns fine to talk about you with, or do you prefer something else for this?

no yeah thats good idc how you refer to me, is Winnie's immediate response. It's stupid how much of a load feels like it's been lifted off of Phil's shoulders at that easy reassurance.

"You were right," Phil informs PJ.

PJ nods, solemn, as he stirs his noodles. "I often am."

"You're annoying, also," says Phil. "Hey. D'you wanna come up north with me?"

"Phil," says PJ dramatically, holding the wooden spoon up to his heart. "Are you asking me to run away with you?"

"No, absolutely not, stop making that joke." There's no way in hell Phil is going to keep putting up with this from both of them, and PJ is more likely to listen to him than Chris is.

PJ laughs. "Yeah, yeah. You going to see the haunt?"

"If my parents are okay with us hanging out for the weekend, yeah."

"Oh, okay," says PJ. "We're just waiting on confirmation that Kath and Nigel want to spend time with you? Might as well pack now."

"Your stuff's folded," Phil says helpfully. PJ throws a noodle in his general direction. It flops onto the floor between them, a sad, wet spiral of a thing, and Phil touches his nose at the same time PJ does.

"Well, one of us has to pick it up," PJ says in his Reasonable Adult voice, as if he hadn't thrown it in the first place.

Phil looks at his laptop, valiantly pretending not to see the floor noodle, and blinks.

and i mean i havent seen any of this shit firsthand but if you need to ask me anything about the stuff thats gone down im always free. like literally always.

#phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #phan #words words words #quiet on widow's peak

34 notes · View notes

bloomtech · 5 years

Text

( Alberto Rosende + NB Man + He/They ) isn’t that Carlos Tavor over there singing? they’ve been in bloom for one year and I didn’t know they did that. somehow i know they’re a twenty-six-year-old stage tech. i’m pretty sure they’re bi with a strong preference for men and i heard they’re into hair pulling + oral fixation they’re staying at bloom court so maybe you stand a chance. ♡ penned by Terry & pacific & he/they/it

mic.off: Hey!! My name is Terry and I’ll be penning for Carlos and another baby ( hopefully ) sdlfkj I haven’t been in a group RP in a while and I'm very excited. I'm twenty-five and I’m an nb trans man as well as being gay sdljkf Carlos is a new muse that I have yet to write for so bare with me if he’s not totally realized. Here’s some info about him! Apologies I’m not the BEST at writing bios. There are two people mentioned in his bio Iris and Iris’ ex-boyfriend, both id’ totally love to see realized here in wanted connections if anybody is at all interested.

Name: Carlos Alvaro Tavor

Age: Twenty six

Sexuality: Bi with a heavy preference for men, he’s not at all opposed to being with a woman and is attracted to them it’s just basically easier for a man/male aligned person to get in bed with him or have a flirty romantic relationship than for a binary woman

Gender: NB man, he’s amab but like what the fuck is gender anyway?

Family and friends: Carlos has four sisters, one mother, three best friends back home and little to no friends at bloom. He tends to focus all his energy and attention into his job so even if you know him, he’s only been there about a year so it’s likely he won’t consider anyone a friend yet. His father passed away in an incident he doesn’t wish to discuss.

Sexually: Carlos is a verse, he tends to prefer being the submissive one but most definitely enjoys dominating the situation as well. Top or bottom is fine real men get pegged and he has an oral fixation and loves giving head to his partners regardless of what they have going on. He’s kinda into dirty talk but if you try and get him to speak Spanish during sex he’s just gonna fuckin leave lskjdhfjsdfg he has no patience for that Latin lover bullshit

Bio: Carlos was born the youngest of five children and the first and only boy of his parents. His father died when he was about two years old and only he, his family and his best friend Iris really know all the details, he really clams up when asked about it.

When he was four he met Iris, an Irish girl who would later turn out to be his very best friend.

They were inseparable and saw each other through so many hardships, their families even becoming very close and Iris’ father and Carlos’ mother even grew closer as well.

Carlos lived a pretty basic childhood if you asked hi. He picked up music from a very young age as a way to stay connected to his Cuban roots, learning the guitar, piano and how to sing. He could never get lessons because his mother was working three jobs to support five children ( his two oldest sisters also had part-time jobs while attending high school ) so he would never even consider asking. He considered it a blessing when he got his acoustic for his fourteenth birthday, crying when his mom told him she’d been saving up for it since he was ten and she saw him dancing around the living room strumming an air guitar to some of his favorite songs. He hugged his mom and promised to keep it safe and loved ( which he has, he still owns it to this day though it’s age is beginning to show a bit he’s never let any harm come to it )

When he entered high school is when things got, complicated. He was still a pretty average guy, he loved comics and videogames and anime, he joined band and theater as a stage tech. There he found his other calling, production. Turns out he was just as comfortable behind the stage as he was on it and was a natural leader with keeping things in check and order. Freshman year was also a big change for him because of Iris’ boyfriend, and not ... why you’d think. Or maybe exactly why you’d think cause he’s a giant gay cliche. He ended up being very attracted to the tall, intimidating heterochromatic jock.

which was, scary. like really really scary because he felt he’d never really been THAT into guys before. Sure he’d thought guys were hot but .. so do most guys right? Yeah no. Throughout his freshman year, Carlos quickly realized he was more in the middle of the Kinsey scale, finding attraction in men, women and pretty much everyone he met depending on the person. Iris supported him fully in this discovery, though never knowing about his massive crush on her then-boyfriend, and even helped him understand his gender confusion and pick up the non-binary label and they pronouns.

Which, is why come junior year when Iris is doubting her own sexuality, Carlos had her back and helped her come to realize she was, in fact, a lesbian. Her at the time boyfriend was surprisingly perfectly okay and supportive and stayed close friends with them both which just made Carlos fall even more smitten with the stupid sexy het jock goddamnit.

Enough about his highschool pining drama, Carlos graduated with honors and worked his ass off to get a full-ride scholarship to a moderately known performing arts school where he honed his skills both behind and on the stage as a performer for years. Graduating with a degree in music production with a minor in stage management.

With the support of two of his best friends he launched himself into the world and was, immediately exhausted and sad. Playing bar after underpaying bar, working low pay low appreciation stage tech and management jobs he was almost ready to quit the music industry entirely were it not for his sisters and Iris especially. Eventually, Iris ex saw an advertisement saying bloomfest was looking for new stage crew and tried to convince Carlos to go saying this would be good for him and help him find a place where his talent and craft are truly appreciated.

After talking it over with Iris, his mom, his sisters he found they all agreed and said he should go so, taking a chance his basic ass never thought he would he packed up his bags and moved to bloomfest as a permanent resident and employee. While he hasn’t been there long he’s made a name for himself as a reliable tech who will go above and beyond to get what you need and get it done even if he’s a bit grumpy about it. While his official job is dealing with stage tech, he spreads himself wherever he is needed in bloomfest and can often be found doing many odd jobs around in bizarre places. It’s just the kind of person he is. Helpful to a fault.

Personality: He’s a bit grumpy seeming when you first meet him, but that’s just because of how little sleep the idiot gets. He’s actually an absolute puppy if you don’t upset him. Loyal to a fault, eager to please and always willing to make friends if it’s not getting in the way of his work. He’s a bit more, bitter towards musicians at Bloom fest simply because he’s jealous, and a bit sick of catering to the needs of over specific spoiled musicians and recieving no credit for his hard work or even a thank you. Don’t take it personal, if you have a good additude he’s likely to warm up fast. He’s always down to play flirt or real flirt really, he’s a fuckign flirt of flirts nobody is safe ( unless they say like hey im uncomfortable don’t do that then of course he’d stop but you get the idea ) He’s got a passion for music and creative arts, and a special love for comics, videogames and anime. Due to his oral fixation you’ll often see him with hard candy or gum or his batman shaped chewey necklace! He’s also FIERCELY protective of women so watch out for that cause he can and will punch you.

Strengths: Loyal, skilled, charming, kind, creative, hard working.

Weaknesses: Too trusting, quick to solving things on his own without thinking, stretches himself too thin, kinda snippy at times, closed off to really falling in love due to emotional traumas from his past,

#bloom.intro #bloomselfie #holy frikoli this is the most iv'e written about a character in a while #mic.off

3 notes · View notes

carnalsociety-rpg · 5 years

Photo

HEY UPPER EAST SIDER, WELCOME TO CARNAL SOCIETY

Cleo, you’ve been accepted as Talia Bellini-Hamill with Benedetta Porcaroli as your faceclaim. Congrats! Please read through our checklist and turn in your account within 24 hours.

THIS I KNOW, THE BEST IS YET TO COME.

WHO AM I?

OOC Information.

Name/Alias: Cleo Preferred pronouns: She/her Age: 21 Timezone: EST Triggers: N/a

THAT’S ONE SECRET I’LL NEVER TELL.

IC Information.

Name: Talia Bellini-Hamill Age: 23 Gender: Cis-Female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Pansexual Faceclaim: Benedetta Porcaroli Occupation: Senior at Columbia for creative writing, socialite/social media influencer Headcanons: - When reflecting on their time in Italy, Talia’s mother Angelica ‘til this day, will claim that “they lived in squalor,” and that she “did what she had to do to keep them fed.” Mamma thought that Talia didn’t remember, and Talia just let her think whatever it was that helped her sleep easier at night. Talia was born and raised in Italy, living with her mother and her aunt Valentina, until their departure for America when Talia was thirteen. Valentina was only six years older than Talia, and even as a child, it was Valentina that mostly raised and was responsible for Talia. They lived comfortably; they had food in their bellies and made ends meet every month. Her mother worked as the maître-d’ of an elegant restaurant in Parioli, one of the wealthier quarters of Rome, where she garnered plenty of attention from the men that dined there and as a result, plenty of tips. Valentina would attempt to put young Talia to bed early so as to not confuse her with the varying men that Angelica would bring home, but Talia was always a curious girl; she’d peek her head out at night to sneak a glance at the men, creep around in the morning to search the contents of their wallets (and maybe snatch a couple of euros, if her mother did take them all). - On Christmas Day 2006, Talia learned that her mother was engaged to a man she didn’t recognize; Gregory Hamill. She had never seen him in their apartment before, and neither her mother nor Valentina hadn’t mentioned anything about this strange, older man. He spoke little Italian, and often said words in English v e r y slowly with very dramatic hand gestures. Talia was always observant; she watched the way her mother’s body would stiffen in response to his affection—cold to his warm, blind love. She saw her mother’s swift hand move to her mouth, dainty fingers wiping the corners of her lips after a kiss before gleefully swiping his credit card. After watching Gregory and her mother, she quickly learned a very important lesson: love has no language barriers if enough money is involved. Shortly after the extravagant wedding, Gregory Hamill had passports made and the paperwork handled for the girls before they moved to New York. This was when she learned who Gregory Hamill was (and why her mother was so keen on marrying him): the Commissioner of Commerce in New York City. - Talia didn’t know her father, and after hearing everything her mother had told her about him, she didn’t care to. She told Talia that he packed up and left one night shortly after they had taken Valentina in, when Talia was around two years old, and left her mother to pick up after his seemingly endless gambling debts. He never called or wrote, never sent her anything for her birthdays—nothing. He wasn’t there to walk her to school in the mornings or to teach her how to ride a bike; he wasn’t there to catch her sneaking her first kiss in her living room, or to help her with her first heartbreak. He wasn’t even there for her to resent him, so when Gregory Hamill stepped up to play the ‘Papa’ role, Talia threw her unsettled anger toward Gregory. She initially refused his extravagant gifts, giving him the cold treatment whenever they spent time together, but she eventually warmed up to him upon seeing how much he loved her mother. He was nice and loyal, and he took care of her and her family—he was like all the dads in the American TV shows she watched. Talia was smart enough to know that her mom didn’t really love him, but as he grew on Talia, she loved and appreciated him enough for the both of them. - Talia knew a bit of English from watching American TV shows with Valentina back home in Italy, but overcoming strange the object-verb placement and suffixes that are spelled the same but pronounced completely differently took some time. Despite being a very promising student in Italy, she took a year off of schooling to fully learn and perfect her English with a tutor before beginning her American education Constance Billard. Even to this day, Talia speaks with a slight Italian lilt and often mixes Italian into her speech when she’s angry or nervous, or just speaking quickly. - During her time at Constance, she was a pretty decent student; maintaining a 3.8 GPA throughout her high school education—not too shabby for a girl who had just learned English a year prior. Talia thanked her time in Italy for her strong multi-tasking abilities; maintaining a solid social life amongst the elite while securing a spot on the Dean’s list at the same time was not too common in her peers. They weren’t dumb, per se… but most of these wealthy American kids simply weren’t disciplined enough to even want to care about success beyond just their ostentatious social lives. Talia knew she had a certain edge that they didn’t, and she knew they could feel it—some were intimidated by the “Italian girl’s” mysterious persona, and others were drawn to it. She didn’t say much, but she found that she didn’t always have to; it only takes a hint of her accent and some bella paroles for them to be charmed—if she cared to play the part. She loved the endless possibilities that the combination of the city and her step-father’s money gave her, and Talia is quite indulgent in her vices (she could be quite the life of the party if there’s enough tequila and weed), but la ragazza è come una farfalla, neither here nor there and yet everywhere. The whole bit grew tiring at times for Talia, often finding herself bored at the same events with the same people—she wasn’t like her mother, enchanted solely by opulence. - Call it what you want—a disconnect between a girl and her peers, daddy issues masquerading as an “inherent coquettish nature,” an overinflated sense of self that calls for the need to acquire the attention of everyone in any room she steps foot in. Talia calls it a craving for more substance, more flavor. That’s why, since she was about fifteen, she found herself feeling the most comfortable within older crowds—elite or not. She didn’t have to deal with the underage anxiety of “getting into clubs or bars” with her step-father’s name and credit in her back pocket, and her precocious European charm made up for her baby face. She was also a hit at the events her parents dragged her to; you know, the ones with the ridiculously expensive dress codes and seemingly bottomless h’or dœuvres and cocktails where the attendees try to one-up each other with their charity donations? Talia was a charming feat as per the newly-debuted Hamills; her parents paraded her around to their cohorts and colleagues, and she thrived in the attention. - Talia’s not necessarily promiscuous, but it’d be easy to assume as much if you didn’t quite understand. There’s a certain thrill in the chase, as she’s discovered in her 22 years of life. She first noticed it as a freshman at Constance Billard—she was freshly imported meat, and there was a particular power that came with baiting the sharks of St. Jude’s. Unchartered territory, unclaimed by man (or at least any man with influence in New York City)—a challenge. There were boys pretending to be suitors for a quick one-and-done, boys that were actually attempting to court her and claim her as their own, and then there were the ones with the lewd comments that thought their money and last name would ensure a warm spot in her bed. As she got older, her male peers ditched the uniforms for suits, trading their alumnus rings for family heirlooms, but their game stayed the same, and so did hers. She was a tease—especially to those that would never stand a chance, and it was all a game to her. People want what they can’t have, and the undying desire is the ultimate prize. Perhaps she learned it from her mother; she saw how quickly men tossed her to the side once they got what they wanted, and she saw just how quickly she’d seek out the next man to get what she wanted. She didn’t want to be like that—gripping all the power in her hands and then watching it slip through the cracks of her fingers to first man that uttered something remotely palatable that evening. Never forget; the power is all in the bait. - After moving to America, Valentina and Talia’s relationship only strengthened; they were the two Italian girls that were learning English and the “American way of life” (or at least, the 1% way of life). If they didn’t have anyone else, they certainly had each other’s backs and when Talia turned eighteen and began attending Columbia University, it was only right that the two move in together. In an Upper East Side apartment funded by Mr. Gregory Hamill, the pair coexist peacefully and maintain their strong sisterly bond. Though sometimes she can get annoyed by her ever-present motherly role, Valentina offers Talia the motherly advice and structure that her own mother never really enforced—like waking her up with a smack of a pillow to the face for her 8 a.m class after a weekend of hard clubbing. In return, Talia insists on bringing that gioia di vivere—having all the fun and enjoying all the beautiful things of life that they didn’t necessarily have the time or money to enjoy in Italy. - Technically Talia doesn’t have to work, nor does she have responsibilities to tend to, she still feels the need to do something more than being an insipid debutante. She doesn’t quite know where her destiny lies, but she knows she’s always had a strong passion for writing, which is why her major is Creative Writing at Columbia. It began with simple journal keeping back in Italy, and that habit followed her to America—but her writings remained in Italian. She wrote the way she spoke; sometimes wrapping her words in pretty little packages like prose, and sometimes her words were raw and stark on the white parchment paper—but every time she wrote she wrote with authentic feeling. Writing was something she never grew bored of, and she only writes when she’s truly inspired to keep it that way; her words will only be written down if they have meaning. Talia’s too harsh on herself to ever write “just to write,” and she never re-works thoughts or ideas because if it has to be re-thought, then it’s not worth the commitment to the page. She also only hand-writes—with the only exception being for classwork for pain-in-the-ass teachers that are too lazy to decipher her slanted handwriting. Keeping it in her handwriting means keeping her work hers—no one can claim it or try to tame it, just as no one can claim nor tame her.

Associations: Sultry eyes catching yours from across the crowded room, a cloud of smoke following accented words. Warm musk and sandalwood lingering on your shirt, and you digging your nose in it for reminders of the night before. The smooth flow of a fountain pen on journal pages, slanted letters curling into doodles. Following the music until it leads to a temporary paradise. Secret:

REDACTED.

Would you be willing to have your character be Gossip Girl? REDACTED. Would you be willing for your character to be the killer? REDACTED.

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME.

Here’s a link to the mockblog I made for Talia where you’ll find all the extra posts I’ll be linking below!

- A general aesthetic (x) - A home aesthetic (x) - A playlist (x) - More information about Talia (x)

#accepted

1 note · View note

imnotinclinedtomaturity · 6 years

Text

Love Yourself (Chapter 27)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 8.8k story words: 219.6k (so far) chapter: 27/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut, some depression genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: thank you to everyone for being the best audience i could hope for. i appreciate how patient y'all have been, how understanding you've been that i needed time time off because of Adulthood and Mental Health. i'm not feeling particularly articulate right now, but know that i love and appreciate you all. back to our regularly scheduled programming now! updates should come every 1.5 weeks-ish again :) also, a massive thanks to @auroraphilealis as always, not just for editing, but also for being a great best friend and a wonderful cheerleader. ily xx

Loud, persistent buzzing pulled Phil sharply from his sleep. It took a few sleepy seconds before he registered that the buzzing was his phone on his bedside table — and it was apparently ringing. Still half asleep, Phil waited until it stopped vibrating before reaching for it. It was too damn early to actually talk to anyone, but curiosity was still getting the best of him.

He pried an eye open and looked at the screen, instinctively flinching away from the bright light. Without his glasses, he was too blind to see who had called, but he could just barely make out the time — half past seven.

Nearly an hour before his alarm was due to go off.

That was nearly an hour of sleep that someone was trying to take from Phil. And after the whirlwind of last night’s date, Phil wanted nothing more than to sleep in. It wasn’t like Dan was here to give him a reason to get up.

With a stubborn, tired sigh, Phil rolled back into his pillow. Whoever had called could wait — at least until he was ready to get out of bed.

Just as he was drifting off again, though, his phone rang again. Grumbling, Phil pushed himself onto his elbows and held his phone close enough to his face that he could just barely make out PJ’s name.

PJ? Why was PJ calling him? PJ rarely called Phil. They skyped, sure, but those calls were usually scheduled and were always in the evening.

No, if PJ was caling at this hour, he must need something. And, unfortunately, Phil prided himself on being the Reliable Friend who always answered when his friends needed him.

Reluctantly, Phil swiped on PJ’s name, immediately putting the call on speaker so that he could fall back into his pillow.

“What the hell do you want, Peej?” Phil grumbled as soon as the phone call connected.

“Did I wake you up?”

“It’s not even eight in the morning,” Phil complained. “Of course you woke me up.”

“Mmm,” PJ hummed dismissively. “Are you with Dan?”

“No, I dropped him off after our date last night.” Phil stretched slightly, his hands reaching up under the pillow and hugging it closer to his face.

“Oh… have you, er, talked to him since?” PJ didn’t sound curious, and didn’t sound like he was trying to get information out of Phil about his date. PJ sounded… worried.

Growing concerned by PJ’s tone, Phil pushed himself back onto his elbows. “No, why? What happened?”

“I take it you haven’t been on the internet yet?”

“No. Get to the point, Peej,” Phil huffed impatiently.

“Dan — well, I thought maybe he’d’ve talked it over with you. I mean, twitter’s — fuck, how —“

“What the fuck happened?” Phil demanded, cutting off PJ’s rambling.

Even through the phone, and on speaker, Phil could hear PJ’s deep sigh, could feel his hesitation, before he finally spoke. “You need to look at Dan’s instagram. He sort of… made a big announcement in the dead of night.”

Phil felt a wave of dread wash over him. He certainly wasn’t sleepy anymore. A jumble of incoherent, panicked thoughts were battering at Phil’s brain, but he did his best to push them aside. Worrying wouldn’t do any good right now.

“Hang on, I’m pulling it up.”

Phil hit the home button on his phone with a bit more force than necessary, and was finally confronted with a frankly obscene amount of notifications given that he hadn’t done anything online since the day before yesterday, really. With a concerned huff, Phil swiped his glasses off his night table and shoved them onto his nose, the red dots on his iphone icons coming into focus.

Four hundred and twelve notifications from instagram.

One thousand, two hundred, and ninety from twitter.

Six emails in his work-only account.

And seven text messages.

Despite PJ’s urging to look at Dan’s instagram, Phil opened his messages first. There were three from PJ, which Phil ignored since Peej had clearly gotten ahold of him. Below PJ’s thread, there was a message from his mother and brother each. And finally below them were two messages from Dan.

The preview of their conversation showed that Dan’s most recent text — and we should probably talk — had come in at 3:34AM. That message alone made Phil’s heart pound against his chest.

“You there, mate?” PJ asked.

“Yeah,” Phil confirmed with a strangled gulp. “He texted me.”

“Oh?” PJ sounded interested.

Phil didn’t respond. He didn’t open the text. He didn’t breath. He didn’t do much of anything, really. He was frozen, trying to process what we should talk might mean, trying to convince himself it didn’t mean something horrible.

“Well?” PJ prompted when the silence drew on for too long. “What’d he say?”

“Right,” Phil mumbled as he forced himself to click on Dan’s message, to see what his previous message said. To see if it could make sense of whatever the fuck seemed to be happening this morning.

Phil’s eyes skimmed over his own four messages — he’d somehow blocked out the fact that he’d quadruple-texted Dan last night — before reading what Dan had said.

Dan [3:31 AM]: before you look at your twitter and instagram and whatever notifications, you should probably look at my instagram

Dan [3:34AM]: and we should probably talk

Together, the two messages did absolutely nothing to quell Phil’s anxiety. In fact, Phil’s heart was just thumping louder and more aggressively.

“He just said to look at his instagram.” Phil swallowed roughly. “And that we should talk.”

A quiet hum was PJ’s only response — another thing that didn’t help to calm the panic in Phil’s veins. Phil didn’t like the thoughts racing around his head, didn’t like that the first place his mind had gone was Isabella — and Dan getting back together with her.

Not that Phil really thought that was a risk, but still. The insecure part of his brain liked to remind him that Dan’s last partner had been a model, even if she was a bitch.

With a steeling breath, Phil tapped on the instagram icon.

It seemed to take a million and one years for the app to load, and when it finally did, it opened to a picture his brother had posted of his girlfriend.

Not helpful.

Not wanting to waste time scrolling through his feed, Phil tapped the magnifying glass. Dan’s name was at the top of his recent searches, a small “one new post” written below his username.

Quickly, but shaking with apprehension, Phil clicked on Dan’s profile.

It seemed to take forever for the page to load, but when it did, the first thing Phil saw was a picture of Dan’s scribbly handwriting, made all the more difficult to read by messy highlighting.

For a second, Phil was annoyed at the highlights, frustrated that Dan had obscured his writing even further than his nearly-illegible handwriting. But then the colors of the highlights sunk in — pink, purple, blue.

They were the bi-pride colors.

Phil knew, obviously, and he was certain Dan’s audience would know that, too.

By this point, Phil knew Dan well enough to know that Dan didn’t do anything unintentionally. Not in his music, not on social media, and not in real life. If he’d gone out of his way to highlight whatever he’d written and posted — well, the colors of the highlights were deliberate.

Phil bypassed the words in the picture and flickered down to the caption, hoping for a quick and easy explanation.

the majority of this album is being written thanks to one person. this is the song that started the whole concept of this album and i think it deserves a bit of an update after he took me out on the best first date of my life tonight. he might not have agreed with the timing of when i decided to rewrite it, though ;) xx

“Oh shit,” Phil muttered, dumbfounded, when the gravity of Dan’s caption finally sunk in.

“Yeah…” PJ murmured, his voice carefully neutral.

Phil glanced back up to the picture and scanned over Dan’s messy handwriting as fast as he could. From what Phil could tell, it looked like it was, well, about him. If the caption didn’t convince him, the let’s stop running from love and the fact that Dan confessed to rewriting something because of Phil last night…

“He came out,” Phil mumbled, unnecessarily pointing out the obvious.

“And took you with him, mate,” PJ grumbled.

Phil cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowing as he read and reread Dan’s post, trying to pinpoint what PJ was referencing. Nowhere did it mention his name or even anything identifying. The most telling piece of information was the he — but that pronoun could apply to a large portion of the world.

“How do’ya figure?” Phil asked.

“Mate, you and Dan haven’t been very subtle. Look at twitter.”

Even without opening twitter, Phil knew what PJ meant. Him and Dan had been, well, flirting for weeks now. There really wasn’t any other way to describe their online banter.

But upon skimming through his twitter notifications, Phil realized just how confident their audience was as they jumped to the albeit somewhat obvious conclusion.

Tweet after tweet had responded to Dan’s instagram post, all tagging Phil, all speculating on exactly who the he in Dan’s post could be.

And every tweet Phil saw guessed it was him.

And every tweet Phil saw was right.

“They all know anyway,” Phil mumbled flatly. He was supposed to be feeling something right now — surely he was. His boyfriend had just come out, his entire audience was — correctly — guessing that he was in a relationship with a famous singer, his own mum had probably texted him about it. And yet, Phil couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was feeling.

He just felt… surprised.

“Yeah. Are you okay with that?” PJ asked gently.

“I…” Phil tried to process all of the new new new as fast as he could. “I guess it was never that secret that I liked guys. I mean, how many times have I mentioned finding male celebrities attractive?”

“That’s true,” PJ agreed. “But I also know that hinting and confirming are two different things.”

“I mean… yeah,” Phil finally relented.

“But you didn’t know Dan was going to do this?”

“No…” Phil chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought through all of the conversations him and Dan had had about their public image. “He made it sound like he didn’t want to come out at all.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know,” Phil responded tersely.

He should know.

“Do you think he wants people to know that you’re the guy?” PJ pushed.

“I don’t know!” Phil snapped

He really should know.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line.“Sorry,” PJ muttered, clearing his voice before he spoke again. “What do you want?”

“I… don’t know,” Phil finished lamely.

Turns out he didn’t know much of anything.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” PJ offered softly.

“I…” Phil tried to think about it, he really did, but his mind kept coming back to why why why. At the end of their date, Dan had pulled Phil into the bloody loo to kiss goodnight, presumably because Dan hadn’t wanted the waitstaff to see, and then just a few hours later, Dan had gone and done that. “I need to talk to Dan. To know what the fuck happened.”

“That’s fair,” PJ agreed. “Can I do anything to help?”

“No, I’m just… gonna call him.” Phil pushed his glasses onto his head and roughly rubbed his face — an attempt to both wake up and alleviate some stress. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ring if you need me, okay? And let me know how it goes.”

“I will. I’ll text you later,” Phil promised. “Bye Peej.”

Needing to cancel his ten o’clock meeting with his manager, Phil opened his work email to send off some excuse, only to find that Marianne had already emailed him. Along with three people from the BBC. And every single subject line contained the name Daniel Howell.

How the hell had all of these people been up and about and reacting to social media already?

Phil ignored the multiple emails from the BBC, but opened the one from Marianne. He skimmed through the message, where she basically just pointed out what he already knew — that his audience had drawn some pretty big conclusions based on something Dan had posted. At the end of her email, she suggested they “review possible responses” during their meeting that morning.

Not fucking likely, Phil scoffed.

Quickly, Phil typed out the most adult version of sorry for the late notice, but I need to cancel our meeting because my brand-new boyfriend went off the walls in the middle of the night and I have no idea what’s happening. He didn’t bother to read it over again — now wasn’t the moment for proofreading — and immediately dialed Dan as soon as the email was sent.

The phone didn’t ring though, and instead went straight to voicemail. “Dammit Dan,” Phil mumbled in aggravation, hanging up before Dan’s voicemail could start recording.

Chewing on his lower lip, Phil thought through his options. If Dan’s phone was off, then no amount of texting or calling or facetiming would do any good. It was frustrating to have no way to contact Dan after he’d dropped such a massive bomb.

Except, well, that wasn’t quite true, was it?

Dan had put Phil on his permanent visitors list, so theoretically Phil could just… show up. Which might be a bit of a rash move but…

But nothing.

Phil was confused and caught off guard and felt like he deserved an explanation. Despite the early hour, Phil threw off his blue and green check comforter and pushed himself out of bed with steadfast resolution.

He wanted an explanation and, goddammit he’d get an explanation.

On shaky, tired feet, Phil riffled through his drawers for suitable trousers while kicking off his emoji pajamas. No human being — especially not his fashiony, hot new boyfriend — needed to see him in those. The first somewhat acceptable option Phil’s hand landed on were a pair of rather tight joggers, but he couldn’t be arsed to care at that moment. They’d have to do.

He kicked all the way out of his embarrassing, yellow pajamas and pulled on the tight sweatpants in their place. His loose Friends shirt would have to do, because he didn’t feel like wasting the time to find a suitable replacement, and it wasn’t that awful of a shirt.

Phil’s hair was probably a right mess too, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with that either at the moment. All in all, this was definitely the least effort he’d ever put into his appearance when he knew he was going to see Dan, but he was growing impatient. Doing anything other than pulling on a jacket and shoes felt like it would waste too much time.

Even the three minute wait for the uber felt like too much time, and Phil had to refrain from just starting to walk over when he got downstairs and the car wasn’t there yet. But the car arrived before Phil could do anything rash, and Phil climbed in with only the briefest of smiles to the driver. His five star rating might take a hit, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment.

On the drive to Dan’s flat, the impatience in Phil’s stomach grew into something… more desperate. The more time he spent longing for an answer, the more he felt like he should already have one — like he should have known about what Dan was doing before he’d done it. And of course, of course, it was Dan’s decision if he wanted to come out — and hell, Phil was downright ecstatic for him — but Phil couldn’t help feeling like…

Feeling like he should have been part of the decision if Dan was going to so nearly pull Phil out of the closet, too.

Not that Phil was hiding in the closet, persay. But as PJ had pointed out, there was a big difference between hinting and confirming, and what Dan had just done was suddenly pushing Phil to confirm. And that Phil couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

He wasn’t against it. Not quite. But — fuck. He really would have liked to have been a part of the decision.

The process of getting into Dan’s building was the easiest yet, this time. All Phil had to do was tell the doorman his name and that he was there to see Dan before he was getting ushered into the lift, the seven button already pressed for him.

The ride up to Dan’s apartment felt shorter than normal — so short that Phil didn’t have time to collect his courage and figure out exactly what he wanted to say. When the doors opened to Dan’s flat, Phil hovered uncertainly in the lift, suddenly worried that it was incredibly rude to just invite himself over to Dan’s flat. Maybe Dan’s phone had gone straight to voicemail because he’d turned it off so he could sleep. Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to tell Phil about what he’d done.

But no, that wasn’t quite right. Dan had texted Phil, had told Phil to look at his instagram and had even said that they needed to talk. So it wasn’t absurd that he was here, now.

The lift doors started closing, the sudden movement pulling Phil harshly out of his spiral of anxious thoughts. Phil’s body, for once, was a step ahead of his mind, because his arm flew out to catch the door before he processed what was happening. He hurried out of the lift and into the foyer before the door could start to close again.

Dan had put Phil on his permanent visitors list. This was fine. It wasn’t insane that Phil was here right now.

Determined, Phil pushed his way further into the flat, walking quietly towards Dan’s room. He only made it as far as the lounge, though, before he ran smack into someone.

Someone much shorter than him or Dan.

“Phil?”

Surprised, Phil’s eyes scanned down and he took in the young woman standing in front of him — he certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone else to be here, and now he really was feeling like just coming over might have been a dick move.

“Louise?” he asked tentatively, nearly positive that he recognized her from Dan’s instagram and pictures he’d shown him of Darcy and her mum.

“Yes!” Louise greeted, her voice hushed. “I’m glad it’s you, when I heard the lift ding I thought —” She cut herself off, glancing back over her shoulder into the lounge. “Well, nevermind. Tea?”

“Oh, er…” Phil glanced over her head, his eyes drifting back towards Dan’s room. As much as he knew that Louise was definitely someone that he should be trying to make a good impression on, Phil really didn’t want to sit down for a cuppa right now. His mind was still reeling from the whirlwind of this morning, and he could barely think straight, much less talk coherently to a stranger.

But regardless, he knew how important Louise was to Dan — and how much Louise’s opinion mattered to him — so Phil pushed back the swirling confusion muddling his head and forced himself to smile pleasantly. “I might just look for Dan if you don’t mind.” Anxiously, Phil rubbed the back of his neck and hoped that his smile wasn’t coming out too much like a grimace.

Louise’s eyes flicked behind her. Her tense shoulders and skeptical eyes gave Phil the feeling that she wasn’t sure if him seeking Dan out was a good idea. “He’s asleep at the moment,” she said, pursing her lips and staring at Phil thoughtfully, like she was trying to figure him out. “You sure I can’t interest you in tea? He’ll probably be asleep a while.”

“I…” Phil’s eyes darted around as he searched for an excuse out of socializing. Much to his dismay, he couldn’t easily find one. He opened and closed his mouth as he desperately tried to find a polite way out of making small talk with Louise — this certainly wasn’t the first impression he wanted to make on Dan’s best friend.

“I’m not really up for tea, right now,” Phil blurted out abruptly, settling on the truth and cringing at his bluntness. Phil shifted his gaze down to his feet, unable to continue meeting her eye. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “This morning’s just been a lot already, and…”

Louise sighed, and shot Phil an unsure look. Phil watched as her arms came up, and she crossed them over her chest. “Dan had a late night last night.”

“I know,” Phil admitted, anxiously shifting back and forth on his feet. “But I need to talk to him.”

“And you can wait until he wakes up,” Louise said with an air of finality, her arms still crossed in front of her.

Phil sighed and tugged on his sloppy quiff, aggravated — not quite at Louise, just more at… the situation in general. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he was hyper aware of all of the emails and texts that he needed to respond to.

Emails and texts that he didn’t know how to respond to because Dan hadn’t fucking talked to him.

“Look,” Phil said, keeping his voice as steady and calm as he could. “I kind of woke up to a PR nightmare this morning and —”

“Oh god, are you not out?” Louise interrupted, her eyes growing wide in panic.

“I — mostly,” Phil hesitated, unsure how to phrase it. The being out thing wasn’t exactly his main problem here. “Never in crystal clear words, but it was out there.” Phil shrugged that particular concern off. “But, like, I hadn’t told my manager — or even my mum — that I was dating Dan yet, and now they definitely both know because they aren’t idiots.” Phil gestured around wildly, his arms trying to convey how absolutely insane the situation was so that he didn’t end up shouting, despite his frustration. “I’m not sure who’s going to be more upset about not knowing. And I can’t even respond to them, because I have no idea what to say because I have no idea what the fuck happened. We haven’t even discussed if we want our relationship to be public or how to handle the media or anything!”

Phil’s arms fell to his sides, limp and useless, as his rant came to a sudden, frustrated end.

His little tantrum must have done some good, though, because Louise looked a bit more empathetic now.

“I get it,” she sighed, sounding resigned. “I’m a manager. And a mum.”

“Thanks,” Phil smiled tersely. “So then you won’t mind if I…?” he gestured vaguely over Louise’s shoulder.

Her eyes traced over him slowly, carefully appraising him. “Fine,” she relented after a minute. “Just… try not to be too hard on him, okay? I’m sure he’ll be in a touchy mood when he wakes up.” Despite her understanding words, Louise still looked wary.

Phil wondered how many stories of hot-tempered, passionate fights Louise had heard over the last year.

“I promise I won’t be a — I won’t be like Isabella,” Phil offered, hoping that the heavy, sincere weight of his voice would convince Louise that he was different.

Louise’s eyes grew wide, her jaw falling open just a hair — she looked surprised, but maybe also a bit… pleased? The tenseness in her shoulders melted — at least some — and she looked less wary. The assurance that not only he knew about Isabella, but was also determined to be different seemed to matter to Louise.

“Good. Because you’ll have me to report to if you hurt him,” Louise threatened, but there was a humorous glint in her eye and a hint of a smile ghosting her lips.

“I won’t hurt him, but that’s a deal.” Phil smiled weakly with an emphatic nod. “So is it okay if I…?” Phil pointed vaguely over Louise’s shoulder, trying to ask her to let him by as gently as possible.

Louise nodded, stepping around Phil towards the foyer. “Yeah, I’m going to nip out then. Tell Dan to text me at some point today, and be nice.”

Phil was tempted to make a sarcastic comment, but didn’t want to risk Louise’s trust. He couldn’t help feeling like he was on a very short leash as it was right now. “I promise I won’t even scream or anything, okay?”

“Good,” Louise said with a smile before heading for the lift. Just before she got to the foyer, she spun around to face Phil again. “Good luck with your mum. And manager.”

“Thanks,” Phil laughed with a genuine smile. “I think I’ll need it.”

Phil waited for the ding of the lift, wanting to make sure Louise was well gone before he sought out Dan, before gathering his courage and carrying on down the hallway. For a split second, he hesitated outside of the closed bedroom door, not completely certain that it was acceptable for him to just burst into Dan’s room and wake him up.

But the memory of the literal thousands of notifications was fresh in Phil’s head, so he pushed open the bedroom door anyway.

The bed, however, was neatly made, and there was no Dan in sight.

Weird. Louise had definitely said that Dan was still asleep. Maybe the guest bedroom?

Confused, Phil stepped backwards and turned back down the hallway, peeking his head into the next room. No Dan in that bed, either.

Phil couldn’t imagine that Dan would be in the music room, and he wasn’t sure where else to look other than the lounge. Phil made his way back, tentatively looking around the lounge entrance before entering.

Curled up on the sofa, still in his tight studded sweater from the night before, was Dan. Despite Phil’s confusion and anxiety, his heart melted. Dan’s hair — and the entire lounge, now that Phil was really looking — was a complete wreck.

There was glass on the floor, both large chunks and shattered shards, that Phil had to navigate around on his way to the sofa. The table — which Phil was accustomed to seeing in a pristine state — was covered in papers and — oh god was that the lube? — on one end. Dan’s notebook was open on the floor, surrounded by a hodge podge of markers. Phil had to bite back the urge to flip through it, to see what else Dan was working on, to pry just a little.

That wasn’t what was important right now, though. Phil turned his back on the mess and properly took in Dan’s lanky body curled up tight on the sofa.

Looking more carefully, Phil’s eyes lingered on where Dan’s trousers were riding down, a soft pale patch of stomach poking out. Dan’s hands were cradled near his face, and his phone was dangling from his fingertips. Phil hovered above Dan, rocking back and forth between his feet as he tried to decide if he really should wake Dan up.

Phil knew Dan had been up late — close to four, at least, and that was assuming he’d gone to sleep straight after texting Phil. Letting Dan sleep a little longer was definitely the nice, selfless thing to do.

But Phil was too anxious and desperate for answers to be selfless right now.

Before Phil could lose his nerve, he reached out and poked Dan’s shoulder.

The poke, however, didn’t seem to be enough to rouse Dan from his sleep. “Dan?” Phil tried, his fingers rubbing into Dan’s bicep a bit harder. “Babe? Wake up?”

“Mmmh,” Dan grumbled. Even in his sleep, Dan seemed reluctant to be roused.

“Please babe? I really need to talk to you,” Phil pleaded. He switched tactics and grabbed ahold of Dan’s shoulder, gently shaking until Dan started stirring.

“Louise?” Dan mumbled, nearly incoherent, without opening his eyes. “Wha’ d’ya want?”

“No, it’s Phil,” Phil corrected.

“Oh.” Dan’s eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting upwards to meet Phil’s.

They were red. Much redder than they normally were when Dan woke up.

The rawness of Dan’s eyes, and the way he rubbed at them, made Phil wonder just how late of a night Dan and Louise had had.

Blearily, Dan’s gaze fell from Phil’s, scanning the room before landing on his phone. Without saying anything else to Phil, he tapped the home button, only to sigh when it wouldn’t come on. “What time s’it?” Dan asked blearily.

“About eight thirty,” Phil guessed without actually checking a clock.

Dan nodded, his eyes drifting back to his phone. “Hang on,” he said, “Lemme plug this s’in ‘nd get some coffee.” Dan pushed up off the sofa, stretching slightly and making his sweater ride up even further. “Want some?” he asked, eyes bleary as he glanced at Phil before turning to leave.

Phil’s brows furrowed, bewildered that Dan was so casually offering him coffee.

As if nothing major had happened since they’d last seen each other.

“Wait—” Phil said as he reached out and caught Dan by the wrist, preventing him from going anywhere. “Are you not even going to acknowledge it?” he asked, annoyance starting to creep into his voice.

Dan raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

Phil blinked back rapidly, baffled by Dan’s lack of… well, anything.

“Oh come on, don’t play dumb,” Phil groaned, irritated. Dan’s eyes grew wide and he held Phil’s gaze for a fleeting moment before flickering off to the side. In the brief seconds that Dan had looked at him, Phil could see entire pools of emotions — emotions that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of. There was sleepiness, but there was also worry and… something else.

Something that Phil really wished Dan would just share with him.

“Your texts? Instagram? The internet?” Phil prompted, his voice growing more and more pointed with each suggestion when Dan didn’t say anything.

Dan ran his free hand through his hair, grabbing at the ends of his curls and tugging. His eyes drifted back to Phil’s, and he stepped minutely backwards, his hand nearly coming out of Phil’s grip. “I know, I know,” Dan finally sighed, sounding defeated “I just really need some fucking coffee first. I had a long night.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a long morning,” Phil countered; his fingers wrapped more tightly around Dan’s arm, his nails insistently digging into the soft underside of Dan’s wrist.

Dan flinched back, his hand yanking backwards out of Phil’s grip and curling protectively against his chest. “I suppose that’s my doing, then?” he asked meekly as he stared down at the space between them.

Phil shot Dan an unamused look, not that Dan was looking up to see it. A part of him was itching to reach out and force Dan to look up at him, but Dan didn’t look like he’d be okay with Phil touching him just now. “No, I normally wake up to thousands of notifications after a nice quiet day away from social media,” Phil quipped, unable to keep a sarcastic edge out of his voice.

Dan’s eyes clamped shut, and he drew in a sharp breath. His arms shifted to cross in front of his chest, his entire body crumpling in on itself. “Just… hang on,” Dan begged softly without looking at Phil. He sounded so small, so young. Guilt washed over Phil — he was responsible for making Dan look so vulnerable. “Let me get a cup of coffee. Please.”

Phil drew his hands back to his side, shoving them in the front pockets of his joggers as a silent promise that he wasn’t going to try to stop Dan. “Of course,” he nodded, trying his best to keep his voice soft and even. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

With a small shake of his head, Dan teetered away from Phil cautiously and backed out of the room without ever turning fully away. At the last second, Dan spun around, narrowly avoiding running into the doorframe as he exited the lounge.

It was an odd reaction, one that gave Phil the sense that Dan was afraid to turn his back on Phil. Self-defensive reactions like that weren’t usually natural — they were learned.

Phil swallowed thickly, suddenly wondering how deep Louise’s fears ran. Dan’s movements were shaky, guarded, and he seemed to be fighting the urge to not look over his shoulder. Not wanting to make Dan more uncomfortable, Phil trailed behind at a distance as Dan led the way.

In the kitchen, Dan went straight to start the coffee and Phil came to a rest at the opposite counter. Dan still wasn’t meeting Phil’s eyes — hell, he wasn’t even looking up — but Phil could tell that Dan knew exactly where Phil was by the wide berth he gave Phil’s spot along the counter.

The entire kettle shook when Dan filled it with water; his hands were trembling, but his jaw was set, rigid. “Coffee?” Dan murmured without glancing over.

“Sure,” Phil accepted quietly. He made an effort to keep his voice as soft and gentle as he could. “Milk —”

“And two sugars, same as your tea. I know,” Dan interrupted quietly. If something weren’t so clearly wrong with Dan’s behavior right now, Phil would have been touched that Dan knew how he took his coffee. Instead, Phil was hyper-focused on Dan’s shaky movements and watched carefully as Dan rummaged through the cupboards, finally pulling out a ceramic soup bowl that was nearly mug-like and — oh. Phil had forgotten that Dan only had one functioning mug.

Because Isabella smashed the rest. In a fight. A fight unlike any fight Phil that had ever had.

Regardless, Dan poured milk and sugar into the proper mug, adding only the smallest spoonful of sugar to the makeshift mug. That was so typical Dan — putting others first, always striving to make others happy. Phil’s lips twitched for a second, nearly quirking up into a smile at Dan’s persistent thoughtfulness.

Phil waited in silence for the kettle to boil, knowing that he wasn’t likely to get anything useful out of a sleepy Dan. Plus, he hoped that a bit of quiet — and space — would help calm whatever Dan’s fears were.

It felt like it took the coffee maker ages to brew their coffee. Phil was growing well anxious, and Dan didn’t seem to be in much of a better state. Eventually, though, Dan was pouring two cups of coffee, passing the polka dotted mug to Phil, and hugging the soup bowl close to himself.

Dan took a large gulp of his coffee, only lowering it a few centimeters when he was done. The mug was held up high, nearly obscuring his face, and his gaze was focused on the black liquid inside. Dan’s arms were tucked into his chest, and his shoulders hunched up. Again, Phil was struck by how small Dan looked.

“Well? Let’s hear it then,” Dan whispered without looking up.

“Hear what?” Phil asked, head cocked, confused.

“You’re mad at me, so let’s just… get the part where you yell at me or whatever over with.” Dan’s eyes flicked up, just barely landing on Phil, and looked back at his coffee so quickly that Phil would certainly have missed it if he wasn’t watching Dan so closely.

Phil’s heart plummeted into his stomach as Dan confirmed his dreaded speculations — all of this, all of Dan’s current behavior, had something to do with how fights had gone in the past. Phil opened and closed his mouth, sputtering stupidly like a fish as he tried to figure out what to say.

“I didn’t come over here to yell at you,” Phil tried his best to placate his boyfriend, even though he didn’t really know how. Not right now, not with this new, scared Dan.They’d only had one tiff since meeting, and then it’d blown over because Phil had dropped it. But it wasn’t a lie — no matter how desperate and confused and frustrated Phil was, yelling at Dan was never his intention.

“But you are mad,” Dan said simply, still addressing his coffee more than Phil.

“I’m not mad, I’m… in shock, I guess.” Phil blew on his coffee, stalling for time as he grappled for a way he could express his frustrations without unnecessarily startling Dan.

“Call it whatever you want, but I can tell you’re not happy with me,” Dan mumbled.

“Okay, fine,” Phil relented, swallowing his trepediations and deciding to speak his mind. “I was shocked when I woke up to thousands of messages on my social media talking about you coming out and speculating about us.” Dan nodded — a microscopic, subtle movement — but didn’t say anything, so Phil continued. “And I’ll admit that I was a bit miffed when I realized that Louise was here but you didn’t even try to contact me last night.”

“Louise is my best friend,” Dan pushed back, a hint of anger in his voice.

“And I’m your boyfriend now!” Phil insisted. “In order for a relationship to work, we have to communicate, Dan.”

“You’re not my fucking boss,” Dan barked. “I can talk to whoever the fuck I want to. And if you’ve got a problem with Louise, you can just leave now.” There was a harsh edge to Dan’s voice, but beneath it, Phil could just barely tell that it was shaking — shaking with what, he wasn’t sure. Anger, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t have a problem with Louise,” Phil argued. “It’s just — I texted you four bloody times last night. You could have talked to me if you needed… I don’t know, help, or whatever.” Phil waved his hand in frustration as his words failed him.

Dan sat his mug down on the counter, a loud clack filling the kitchen as the ceramic made contact with the granite countertop. “Look I just spent a fucking year with someone who didn’t like Louise and hated that I went to her for stuff, and if you’re gonna be that way too, then just fuck off already,” Dan spat out harshly.

If Phil wasn’t already leaning against the opposite counter, he would have jumped back at that. As it was, his lower back dug into the counter as he recoiled from Dan’s words.

“Don’t fucking compare me to Isabella!” Phil snapped, disgust and horror holding tight in his stomach. “I don’t give a rat’s ass that you go to your best friend instead of me sometimes, but when you end up doing something that all but confirms that you and I are dating, yeah, I’d like to be a part of the decision!”

“You can’t control me Phil.” Dan’s shoulders drew up impossibly closer to his ears, his voice growing high pitched. “I can’t take the time to get written permission from you every time I want to say something about my album.”

“And I’m not asking you to!” Phil retaliated. “But couldn’t you have waited, like, a day so that I wasn’t completely blindsided by you basically outing me when I woke up this morning?”

“No,” Dan huffed, an edge of stubbornness cutting into his defiance.

“No?” Phil asked incredulously.

“No,” Dan repeated, his voice even more forceful this time. “You couldn’t have talked me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t have tried to!” Phil exclaimed before he could process what Dan had said — before he could process that Dan seemed to think that Phil would try to control him. In some ways, at least. “I get that given… your album…” Phil trailed off as he grappled for the right words, words that would capture how Dan’s album affected Phil’s life without him sounding ungrateful or overly important.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I get that your album is going to take away some of the privacy and control over my image that I’m used to having online, and that’s fine. But couldn’t this have waited, like, a day so that we could talk about it first? And I could… I don’t know, tell my family we were properly dating first?”

Dan shook his head forcefully, his curls flopping down into his face. “You don’t understand Phil. There wasn’t time. It had to be now.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Phil huffed, his free hand lacing through his hair and pushing it further back.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Dan snapped, his arms crossing hotly in front of his chest.

“I’m sure I would if you would stop being defensive for five seconds and actually explained yourself!” The words flew out of Phil’s mouth before he realized what he was saying. They were harsh, yes, but they were true. It felt like all Dan was doing this morning was be overly contrary for no discernible reason, and he wasn’t fucking listening. Phil didn’t want to be angry right now, he really didn’t. It was just hard when Dan was acting like this.

Dan appeared to have heard that, though, if the way he flinched backwards was anything to go by.

“Excuse me?” Dan challenged. He sounded positively outraged, his tone just this side of livid. His shoulders were shaking, and Phil could see anger flaring in his eyes.

And something else, too. Something like… hurt.

Phil put his own mug down on the counter, dragging his hands down his face in exasperation. This wasn’t the conversation — well, fight, at this rate — that he’d come over here to have this morning. Phil hadn’t been wanting to argue, he’d just wanted to understand.

“I’m just trying to talk to you, Dan,” Phil pleaded, his voice coming out whiny and needy “I just want to know what the hell happened last night.”

“Right,” Dan laughed bitterly. “You want to know all about the part where I almost outed you, but you don’t seem at all concerned about the part where I actually came out.”

“That was your choice!” Phil insisted, voice raised.

“No it wasn’t!” Dan bellowed back.

Phil froze, his eyes snapping up to meet Dan’s again. Dan had pushed off the counter, and crossed almost half of the kitchen. He was standing rigid, his body leaning forward, his hands in tight fists by his sides. Dan’s eyes were blown wide — he looked shocked by his own words.

Phil certainly was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asked slowly, warily. Something happened last night — something big — that much was clear. What wasn’t clear, though, was why Dan hadn’t called Phil last night.

They could have talked about it. Phil could have helped.

“It means — it means —” Dan stuttered, before abruptly giving up. The tension melted out of Dan’s shoulders as he crumpled in on himself, retreating back to lean against his countertop. “It doesn’t mean anything. Can we just move on?”

“No we can’t bloody move on,” Phil huffed, his frustration growing. He’d passed impatient, passed needing answers; now, he was downright desperate. “Can you just tell me what the fuck you mean, already? What happened last night?”

Phil stared at Dan with pleading eyes, silently begging him to explain what he’d meant. For a moment, Dan just stared back at Phil. A loud silence overtook the room, neither of them saying anything else.

Finally, the tense silence was interrupted by a sharp sigh from Dan. Dan’s gaze fell from Phil’s, turning down to his own feet. An agitated hand ran through Dan’s hair, tugging on his curls.

A brief wave of relief shot through Phil, certain that he was about to get an explanation for Dan’s weird behavior. Phil pushed away from the counter, debating whether he should go to Dan, maybe tip his head up and kiss his forehead. Something small to make Dan feel more comfortable talking.

But then, Dan was crossing the kitchen in three big strides, coming to a halt right in front of Phil. Bewildered, Phil searched Dan’s face, trying to figure out what the hell Dan was doing. Dan’s eyes were wild, frantic, a panicked gleam shimmering in them. His cheeks were flushed red, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He was so, so close, so afraid.

And then he was gone.

Phil blinked rapidly, confused and unsure where Dan had disappeared to. One second he was there, and then poof he was gone.

Unsure, that was, until a sudden waft of cool air washed over his upper thighs.

Phil’s attention snapped down, finding Dan again. Dan’s hands were on Phil’s joggers — joggers that he’d managed to tug down to Phil’s knees before Phil had even realized where Dan had gone. He was still tugging, trying to wrestle them over Phil’s knees now.

“Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan,” Phil gasped, his voice coming out rushed and urgent. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dan didn’t look up at Phil. Instead, his hands abandoned Phil’s joggers, leaving them wrapped around Phil’s bony knees, and latched onto Phil’s boxers. His hands pulled insistently, frantically — too frantic to be particularly effective, mercifully.

“Dan!” Phil implored. The shock of the situation finally wore off, and Phil finally launched into motion, his hands flying out to catch Dan’s and prying them away from his hips. His boxers were awkwardly a bit low now, but Phil didn’t risk letting go of Dan’s hands — Phil was worried that Dan would just reach back to pull them all the way over his arse. “Look at me!” Phil ordered forcefully.

Slowly, painfully, Dan’s eyes drifted up and came to rest somewhere around Phil’s neck.

Phil took a deep breath, calming himself down, before he hooked his fingers under Dan’s chin and coaxed his head the rest of the way up. “Dan, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Phil asked, careful to keep a gentle tone to his voice now that he had Dan’s attention.

“Making the fight go away,” Dan responded. His voice was small — so, so small — and he still wasn’t quite meeting Phil’s gaze.

Phil stared blankly, his eyes trailing over Dan’s scared face, as he tried to figure out what was happening.

Suddenly, Phil was assaulted with the image of Dan covered in hickeys and scratches, embarrassed and ashamed as he admitted to Phil that they were from angry sex — angry sex that came from a fight.

Phil’s jaw dropped.

It didn’t shock Phil to know that Dan and Isabella dealt with their problems through sex, but he was a bit astonished to find the effects so lasting, to realize that Dan still seemed to think that angry sex was the proper solution to an argument, even with Phil.

Phil shook his head forcefully — both in attempt to tell Dan no, and also to shake himself out of his head and into action.

“Babe,” Phil whispered. Looking down at Dan’s vulnerable, submissive stance, Phil felt his heart breaking. Desperate to make them feel like equals again, Phil sunk down to his knees, too. He let go of Dan’s wrists, reaching up to brush back his unruly curls from his face. “Blowing me isn’t going to make the fight go away,” he whispered softly..

“Oh,” Dan muttered, voice small. His eyes trailed down between them. Phil couldn’t see his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. “It’s well and truly fucked then, huh?”

Dan sounded so scared, so distraught, that Phil wasn’t sure what to say for a moment. Dan sounded like he genuinely believed that it — they — must be fucked if a blowjob wasn’t going to fix their fight.

Phil’s shock turned to horror when he saw tears leak down Dan’s face.

“Oh, baby. No, no,” Phil cooed. His hands flew from Dan’s hair to cup his cheeks, his thumbs swiping under Dan’s eyes and smearing the tears away. “No, nothing’s fucked baby.”

Slowly, Dan tilted his head up to look at Phil. “It’s — it’s not?” he hiccupped, his voice coming out higher and more crackly than normal.

“Of course not,” Phil promised, rushed and confident. His eyes were wide in horror at the very idea of them, this, their relationship, being over so soon. His brows were furrowed in confusion at the idea of Dan being concerned that this was over — that they were over. “But the way to make the fight go away is to tell me what’s going on, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dan sniffled loudly, his eyes fluttering closed again. He was quiet for a moment, with the exception of a few residual hiccups, but then he nodded slowly, his eyes still closed.

“Yeah? You’ll talk to me this time?” Phil asked hopefully.

Dan nodded again.

“Without getting defensive?” Phil prompted, half teasing, half trying to encourage Dan to act more rationally this time.

“Yeah,” Dan agreed meekly. He fell forward, Phil’s arms wrapping around and catching him on instinct. The second Phil’s arms were around Dan, Dan burrowed into him, melting against his chest. Dan’s hands were smushed between them, crooked at an awkward angle, but Phil didn’t mind.

Silence settled between them as Dan calmed down. Slowly, gently, Phil started tracing his fingers up and down Dan’s spine, his fingers catching on the studs of Dan’s sweater.

After a moment, Dan mumbled, “Can we sit down?”

Phil pulled back and pressed a lingering kiss to Dan’s forehead. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Dan minutely leaned into Phil’s lips, pushing his head into the kiss for a moment before pulling back. He pushed up to his feet, and immediately offered Phil a hand up. Dan’s gaze trailed over Phil as he climbed off the floor; Phil felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he remembered the state of his clothing.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Dan muttered, his eyes meaningfully flicking down to Phil’s half drawn joggers.

“It’s okay,” Phil murmured back softly as he stood up with Dan’s help. Phil’s spare hand flew to his joggers, pulling them back up his hips as he stood. He tried his best to swallow down his embarrassment, to make his cheeks go back to a pale white; he didn’t want to call any more attention to Dan’s rash advances than necessary. Not right now.

For the first time that morning, Phil was thankful that he’d only been able to find the tight joggers that morning — anything looser would likely have slipped straight down Phil’s thin legs and likely made the whole situation more awkward.

Dan dropped Phil’s hand to turn and collect their coffees from their respective countertops while Phil fixed his pants and joggers,. “Come on,” Dan muttered, cocking his head out of the room.

Phil obediently followed Dan out the kitchen and towards the lounge, nearly smashing into him when Dan came to a sudden halt in the middle of the hallway.

“What?” Phil asked, alarmed.

Dan spun around to face Phil. “I don’t wanna be in the lounge.” His words came out rushed, his voice high. “It’s a mess.”

“I don’t mind,” Phil assured him, “But we can go wherever you want.” Phil stepped backwards, moving closer to the wall so that Dan could navigate around him and lead them somewhere else.

“I need something from in there, though,” Dan insisted; his words were vague, but his tone was determined. He thrusted their coffees at Phil without much more of an explanation. Phil grabbed the coffees in silent shock, his fingers barely wrapping around the mugs and steadying them before Dan let go.

“I’ll meet you in the bed,” Dan said with a note of finality.

Dan only made it a few paces down the hallway before he stopped and spun back around to face Phil. “If that’s okay, I mean,” he said quickly, his voice high and rushed. “It’ll be more comfortable than the music room and I swear I won’t, like, try anything again. Like, I promise I’ll talk, I’m just really tired and I —”

“Dan,” Phil interrupted gently. “The bed’s fine. Get whatever you need. I’ll be there waiting for you.”

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #phan au #au #coffee shop au #barista!phil #singer!dan #iminclinedtowriting #ly #love yourself

109 notes · View notes

momestuck · 6 years

Text

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim - volume 14

We’re getting close to the endgame now, enough that the writers have started dropping some hints about What’s Going On. But before we can see where this road leads, there’s a good 11 trolls left to befriend!

This time... ‘Of Cleanliness and Clownliness’. We open with a little bluster about how edgy and grimdark Alternia is.

The narrator then calls themselves out for using Godwin’s law. Yeah, ‘feeling dramatic’ huh.

Our trolls today are...

...on almost the far ends of the hemospectrum! (Curiously, no sea trolls seem to feature in this game at all. Sure, that might be because they all live underwater, or because they are generally violent and cruel, but the latter hasn’t stopped our protagonist and I’m sure they could overcome the former with a little creativity...)

Marsti

Marsti is the last creation of Aysha before the epilogue! She’s got a pretty fun theme with a bass guitar which kicks in immediately on his route.

We find her in the process of trying to clean off some graffiti, arguing with a ‘purpleblood boy’. Curious... judging by the cans of what’s probably spray paint that Karako is carrying, does that mean that these two trolls are encountered together in this episode?

...is that what that purple bit up there is supposed to be?

Anyway our first decision is fairly straightforward...

Let’s quickly go down the ‘mind your own business’ route, which I’m expecting to be short.

...despite our decision, the narrator can’t resist the urge to intervene, by tripping up the clown. Luckily, Marsti saves us by taking us into an alley.

Her quirk seems to just be... the -_- emoticon. And she’s not pleased that we intervened. She tells us that if we keep this up, we’re going to end up dead. “What’s your deal? -_-” she demands.

We ask her if she really needs to retrieve the cleaning bucket she left behind. Ahh, bucket jokes. Never get old.

Presumably this has a different troll name, other than ‘bucket’. Apparently a cleaning bucket is called a ‘scourdray’.

That one seems like kind of a stretch...

We ask if this is like... her job, but then remember that nobody has jobs. Honestly, how the economy of Alternia works is a total mystery to me. They run an imperial economy based on endless expansion and extraction like ancient Rome, but how are resources worked into useful forms? Is it... robots?

Anyway, Marsti seems to be doing this just on a whim.

But a lot of her whims concern cleanliness. She comments on our strange ‘magnetism’, which she is also feeling.

Magnetism or not, she mostly seems to find us very annoying as we ask her random questions like why she likes cleaning so much (she doesn’t, she just does it), and so on. She seems to suggest it has something to do with being a rustblood, and pushes the narrator to think about whether other rustbloods they know have hobbies.

Anyway we end up helping her clean this wall. Thrilling activities here in Hiveswap friendsim. We very smoothly ask Marsti if she’s doing anything later...

We get the choice of ‘uptown’ or ‘downtown’. Since my gf Elaine was next to me and saw the choice and started singing ‘Uptown Girl’, I guess we have to pick ‘uptown’. The narration immediately also makes an uptown girl joke.

We get in our stolen scuttlebuggy and head uptown. Marsti starts cleaning up crumbs in our car.

Apparently Alternia has scanners that read the driver’s blood colour, but Mallek helped us scramble it.

We briefly get the false impression she’s homeless. The narration draws comparisons for the reader with Diemen and Boldir, which the protagonist turns out to have spoken out loud, as is often the case...

It turns out, however, that she just got tired of cleaning the same hive.

We learn where we’re taking Marsti... Zebruh’s hive!? Really, protag? Of all the people?

To put it mildly.

We decide not to go to Zebruh’s hive, thank god. Marsti’s getting a bit fed up of the lack of mess, and we offer to make a bigger one...

Genuinely not sure what Marsti is parodying. The well known “obsessive about cleaning and kind of grumpy” subculture?

Instead we head to Galekh’s hive. We’re greeted by the goat, but no Galekh.

D’aww.

Luckily, Galekh’s messy library is exactly what the doctor ordered. Marsti gets to work. Attempts at conversation don’t go so well...

She doesn’t care what a we think... and calls us a ‘condescending alien with no blood colour to speak of’. Oof!

Anyway, at that point the route abruptly ends, with the goat eating some of Galekh’s writing, and Marsti making a break for it out the window. Welp.

All right, let’s try some other approaches...

Let’s try explicitly opting to intervene against the purpleblood troll. The narrator decides fate must be on their side thanks to their conversation with Boldir, and gets involved.

That is not particular ironic. I think you should have a word with Dave. That’s like... not even ‘like five or six my dude’ levels of irony.

So that leaves... downtown.

Which is to say pretty much where we were standing.

It’s mentioned that the drones mostly clean uptown. The protag ponders Zebruh’s whole ‘getting lowbloods to clean for him’ thing.

There’s a weirdly 4th-wally moment.

Speaking of which, the narrator tries offering some places to clean, and gets surprised Marsti doesn’t like us.

Marsti picks up on the whole ‘been killed’ thing. I guess our character does have explicit memory of all the branches where they died? Though that still doesn’t explain things like... having an umbrella from a non-friendship branch. Or remembering things we did in those branches.

The narration tries to brush over it. Uh-huh.

We end up at an empty lot - one we can recognise as where Boldir died, on a branch that got erased. The narration mentions deja-vu...

But it’s not Boldir here, but someone we haven’t seen in quite a while.

The protag tries to get Folykl’s support in ribbing Marsti for her weird cleaning habit. Instead, Folykl and Marsti have a go at us... and we keep digging.

It just gets worse and worse...

You’re not even a member of this whole caste system, narrator! You’ve picked up the whole ‘space racism’ thing remarkably quickly.

Marsti calls us on it. We start going over the fact that like... most of the lowbloods we know are very constrained in their aspirations and hobbies, etc.

Meanwhile,

OK then??

Apparently Marsti has noticed Folykl’s voidrot. And general dirt.

Apparently like... being dirty makes the energy transfer harder? I guess Marsti knows a thing or two about voidrot.

(Recalling that in Homestuck canon, an army of dead Aradias were flinging planets about from outside the universe...)

Our protag helpfully suggests medicine as a field. I don’t even know what their deal is at this point. Marsti doesn’t seem to either.

If she applied to be a medic, she’d get laughed out of the room of course. And the narrator finally gets the hint.

So we... back off a bit, with some uncharacteristic maturity. After a bit, we head off. The protag actually makes a (fairly) genuine apology!

And... yeah I guess we mostly make up.

I actually kind of appreciate such an ambivalent ending. A nice change from the pattern to meet someone who finds our whole... thing super annoying.

The achievement for this chapter says ‘you cleaned up your own attitude’.

These chapters are getting increasingly meta, huh.

Karako

Now for... the second purpleblood in the game! Karaka is the creation of someone only credited as ‘Geezey’, who has not written anything before now.

We get a new, and very pretty backdrop immediately.

That palette! Curiously the narration doesn’t really seem to be acknowledging much of what’s happened so far - that we have a car, for one.

We’re in a relatively sparse area of the city. Unfortunately, the vegetation is not very accommodating for a gentle stroll...

As we pick our way through this, we meet a stranger on the road...

The soundtrack has like... ‘bwmm’ noises with a bunch of reverb, and clown horns. Usual disclaimer that I don’t know shit about music. This track’s title is, impressively, a Unicode drawing of Bowsette.

Surprised by the use of ‘it’ pronouns - usually the narration gets in there quick with gendering.

Anyway, we get a foot sprite. That’s unusual.

We go to help them down from the tree. The narration in this episode is doing the ‘unnecessarily formality’ joke but it’s not really working for me.

They have a nametag, which tells us to call Bronya ‘if lost’. Conveniently, someone we know! The narration supplies an interpretation...

Hmm.

Anyway, this guy’s dialogue consists entirely of the word ‘honk’.

The narrator fills in the conversation - the usual I’m an alien, etc. etc. I guess the joke is that the narrator is really wordy today in contrast with Karako’s one-word lines.

Here’s a sample.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we make some friend overtures along those lines, and then stand about for a bit, until a drone shows up!

The artist is at least making some very expressive drawings in this episode!

We get a choice: help or run. Let’s try to help.

We shield Karako from the drone by leaning on a rock for a bit, and that... makes him happy I guess. He smiles, at any rate. We get back to the whole... weirdly obsessive about establishing Friendship(TM) affect, but then some sea trolls show up.

They laugh at us a bunch, to Karako’s chagrin. Well, it would have to be sea trolls for anyone to be able to laugh at a purpleblood, I guess.

We get some very strained fish puns.

The jabs get a bit much for Karako and he goes for the seadwellers with knives.

This will not end well.

If he wants to throw down... let’s let him. Comfort and support? OK.

We use the dangerous plants to back up Karako’s rampage, impaling some of the violetbloods. But unfortunately for us, they’re pretty much invincible or something.

Curiously there is at least one circumstance where a violetblood has to answer to a purpleblood - the Grand Highblood and Dualscar. But in this case, the hemospectrum seems to rule.

Poor little Karako ends up dead.

And it’s time for the end of this route. But for once, we’re not just getting a death screen!

It’s time for some LORE. Behind the portal is... some kind of carousel?

Well what do you know, the Dark Carnival is real. It’s being ridden by various troll mannequins (or as they spell it here, ‘manikins’... is that a UK/US difference I didn’t know about?)

The mannequins come down and raise Karako into the Carnival.

This religious experience prompts the narrator to get a little introspective about their total insignificance.

We’re sick, we decide, of highblood bullshit. In fact we get quite a lot of philosophising done while bleeding out on the ground here.

The protagonist resolves to do something about this. We get some strained physics metaphors...

We ‘take on the aspect of Clown-sarker’, whatever that means. Taking up some of the soft drinks that Karako was carrying, we... start spraying soft drinks on the sea trolls. The effect of this is... limited. They kill us pretty much immediately. But by dying in battle...

...we seem to have earned our own place in the Dark Carnival!?

Which means... a friendship ending?

Honestly what? Is the next episode gonna start with us in the Dark Carnival?

I certainly didn’t see that coming.

...let’s check out the other branches, I guess.

First, let’s see what happens if we run away from the Drone instead of pretending nonchalance. We make good our escape, more or less, and get a new background:

But Karako is gone.

All right, that was more or less what I expected. Well mostly I thought the drone would kill us, but same difference.

Now, if we try to restrain Karako from fighting the sea trolls...

We try to calm Karako down as we restrain him, but he’s just getting more and more berserk. Given what Gamzee pulled in a state like this... not promising.

He lets off some kind of... rage bomb?

The only thing in canon I can compare with is the Vast Expletive uttered by the Sufferer.

Whatever this is, it nicely does for the sea trolls, and we wake up still with Karako. And... that’s the very quick end to the arc.

OK, that’s a friendship ending too? Huh.

However, this ending does not give an achievement, while the other one did. “You ascended to the Dark Carnival... or did you?” is the achievement text.

What a strange chapter! I’m very curious to see how the next one will begin now.

#momestuck #lets read hiveswap friendsim

4 notes · View notes

daniellesimagines · 7 years

Text

Into the Spotlight (Calum Hood)

word count: 2951 requested by: @ballet-bm (x) and anonymous pronouns: she/her warnings: none fandom: 5 seconds of summer au type: you work for the band, best friends summary: you and calum always act like a couple; calum’s hoping to make it official inspired by: none authors notes: i don't really specify this in the imagine so zoe is vocals/guitar, melody is vocals/bass, and nick is drums other parts: none

❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀

"Y/N!" you heard someone shout your name.

"Yeah, Luke?!" you called back, looking over your shoulder and finding him on the second level of the venue from where you were at your merch table.

"Do you know where Zoe is?! We have to run through Waste the Night and I can't find her!"

"Check the bus lounge! I'm pretty sure she and Mikey are at each other's throats again playing video games!"

"Thank you!" he smiled, trotting away to find her.

"It's really fun to watch those two play together, you know," you heard another voice. You spun around to find Calum smiling at you. "You should have been there when they were playing Call of Duty," he sighed dramatically, "I actually thought she was gonna kill him."

"He keep killing her?" you chuckled softly, finishing putting the shirts on the wall.

"He did it the moment the missions started!" he laughed loudly, "I don't blame her for getting mad!"

"You'd think he'd learn."

"Come on, Y/N – this is Michael Clifford we're talking about; He never learns."

"He stopped grenading her in Rainbow Six though!"

"That's because she threatened to release Southy into the woods behind our house while he was sleeping when you guys were visiting LA," he reminded you, "I'm pretty sure anyone would have stopped grenading her."

"To be fair though, Southy is a smart dog; He'd find his way back home in under an hour."

"I think he was more concerned with the coyotes getting to him first."

"Are you suggesting that Southy couldn't take them down?" you cocked an eyebrow.

"No," he smiled again, "I know he could take 'em down. I don't think Mike would appreciate him being put in the situation of having to though."

"That's because he is a caring father who loves his son very much," you sighed dramatically, making Calum laugh again.

"Anyway," he teased, "Take a break from merch duties for a while – I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," you stated seriously, "Why don't you go with someone less busy?"

"Luke and Zoe are soundchecking, Mike will play Xbox with Nick when Zoe leaves, Ashton and Melody are Skyping their girlfriends, and I'm lonely," he pouted.

"We've had this discussion before, Cal," you said, "I can't drop everything just because you're bored. Venue will let fans inside in a couple hours and I want to be set up."

"You're practically set up already though!" he whined as you were putting up the last shirt. You were about to protest again when Calum came around the table and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

"Calum Thomas," you warned with a roll of your eyes.

"Please," he pouted again, his chin on your shoulder, "We'll be back in an hour." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, making you sigh. You felt him smile and he knew he had won.

"You're helping me finish when we get back," you said sternly.

"Always," he beamed, releasing you so he could grab your hand and pull you toward the exit.

Two hours later

After Calum had gone back to the bus after helping you finish with merch setup, you wanted to take a quick nap before the show that night. You got on the bus and headed to the back lounge where you could hear Calum and Nick talking as they played video games, wanting to ask them to wake you up before they went back inside. But you didn't get that far.

"Dude, just tell her," you heard Nick groan, making you stop just before you reached the door.

"If you were in my shoes, you wouldn't tell her either, so I don't wanna hear it," Calum barked back. The drummer groaned again in response, a little louder this time.

"You're being ridiculous, Cal!" he insisted, "This isn't like the movies! Even if she doesn't feel the same, she's not gonna ignore you for the rest of her life!"

"So you're a psychic now?" he scoffed.

"I'm just saying," Nick rolled his eyes, "It's getting embarrassing to watch you stare at her whenever you're in the same room."

Not wanting to hear any more of whoever Calum had a crush on, you quietly tiptoed back to the bus door, opening and shutting it as loudly as you could with it still sounding normal. You didn't want to raise suspicion that you'd heard their conversation, so you decided to pretend you'd just gotten there instead.

"Nick?! Cal?!" you called out, "You guys still on?"

"In the back, Y/N!" Nick returned, knowing your voice. You made your way back to the lounge, opening the door as Nick and Calum looked over at you. "Hey, beautiful," he greeted you, chuckling when you rolled your eyes, "What's up?"

"I'm gonna take a nap before doors open and I was wondering if one of you would wake me up before you go back inside," you mentioned.

"Sure," he nodded, "Need me to sing you to sleep too?"

"There's a reason you're the drummer, Nicholas," you replied without hesitation, making Calum snort softly as he desperately tried to keep himself from smiling. You grinned innocently when Nick glared at you, but you could tell he was playing with you about actually being mad. "I love you, Nicky," you sang.

"Uh-huh," he grunted jokingly, "You'll be lucky if I wake you up now." You stuck out your bottom lip, now looking at Calum. He let out another breath as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"I'll wake you up," Calum assured you.

"Thank you," you grinned back before closing the door and climbing into your bunk, hoping you could calm your racing heart due to Calum smiling at you enough to fall asleep at all.

An hour and a half later

"Y/N," you woke up to someone's hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently, "Time to wake up." You grumbled in response, hearing the person chuckle under their breath. "Come on, Y/N," Calum said, "Doors open soon; You asked me to do this, remember?"

"Yeah, well, now I want you to go away," you murmured, hearing him laugh again.

"If you get up now, I'll give you a ride," he bargained, finally prompting you to turn onto your back so you could look at him. He had a smile on his face, the expression getting even bigger when you made a motion to get out of your bunk. He knew you never said no to a piggyback ride, and he definitely used that to his advantage almost every single day.

You grabbed your phone and put it in your pocket, shoving it as far down as you could so it wouldn't fall out on the way inside, before hopping on Calum's back. Your arms wound around his neck and he made sure he had a secure hold on your thighs before he started walking. You leaned down to open the bus door for him, and he kicked it closed when you were outside. You laid your head on his shoulder after doing the same with the venue door on his way to your merch table, but you yelped softly when you felt Calum bounce you.

"Not falling back asleep, are we?" he asked you.

"Not when you give me a heart attack," you frowned, making him chuckle again.

"Hey, you would have yelled at me if I hadn't woken you up and you know it." You simply sighed, knowing he was right.

When Calum reached your merch table, you were reluctant to hop off of his back. You enjoyed time spent with Calum without everyone else around and it seemed like you never got alone time as long as right now. So when you returned to your feet and he went to leave, you kept him there for just a little bit longer.

"I heard you have a crush on someone," you mentioned casually as you started some last-minute straightening of the CDs and accessories on the table. Calum froze in his spot, turning back to face you.

"Where-" he cleared his throat, "Where did you hear that?"

"Heard you a Nick talking on the bus earlier." Calum apparently decided to ignore the fact that you'd called out as soon as you got on – as far as he knew, anyway.

"Did you... Uh... Did you hear who?"

"No," you shook your head, finally making eye contact with him, "But I think I figured it out."

"Who do you think it is then?" he swallowed nervously.

"Well... It can't be Melody because she has a girlfriend," you thought out loud, "It's not Zoe because she's very vocal about not wanting a relationship while on tour... Everyone else in our crews is either dating or engaged to someone... The only person it could be is Janelle."

"Your tour manager?" Calum raised an eyebrow, "What about you?"

"What about me?" you asked.

"You're not dating or engaged to anybody, you always say you'd like a relationship... Why didn't you list yourself?"

"We're just friends, Cal – it would be weird to date," you shook your head, "What if we broke up on tour together or something? Then it would be really awkward. Plus, I don't date friends – you know that."

"You're still an eligible bachelorette," he shrugged, making you laugh loudly.

"Maybe I should go on TV looking for love then," you teased.

"Hey, if you wanna be another divorce statistic, go for it," Calum mentioned as he playfully pushed your shoulder before walking away, hearing you giggle again just before the door to where the buses were closed behind him.

Calum's POV

"Hey, Cal!" Ashton chirped once the bassist entered his dressing room, "What's with the sour face, man?" He was silent for a moment, looking at all his friends – both bands were hanging out in the same room before the show – before plopping down on the couch beside Zoe.

"She said we're 'just friends'," Calum sighed.

"You finally told Y/N how you feel?!" Melody grinned widely.

"No," he grumbled, only making the smiles on his friends' faces disappear, "She said she overheard Nick and I talking about me liking someone and she named people it couldn't be and ended it with her..."

"What?" Nick shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"She said 'it has to be Janelle' and I asked why she didn't include herself as someone it could be and she said we're just friends and it would be weird," he swallowed, chewing on his inner cheek.

"Janelle?" Melody scrunched her face up, "Since when do you like Janelle?"

"I don't!" he groaned, throwing his head back against the cushion, "But she thinks I do!"

"So why not just tell her?" Luke finally chimed in.

"Were you not listening to anything I just said?" Calum rolled his eyes, "She's said she wouldn't date me because she doesn't date people who are already her friends."

"Then she's lying," Zoe stated with a shrug, making everyone look at her.

"Zoe..." Nick trailed off with a warning tone, making her huff.

"I know I shouldn't say anything because it's not my business, but I'm so sick of her whining about being single!" Zoe insisted before turning back to Calum, "She's liked you since the moment she started listening to your band and she talks about how cute and talented and sweet you are whenever you're not around!"

"Then why would she say she didn't want to date him?" Ashton furrowed his eyebrows while Calum just stared at Zoe in shock. The other girl sighed that time – since your secret was out, she might as well comment on it too.

"Isn't it obvious?" Melody asked, "She's scared."

"Scared of what?" Michael wondered.

"I don't think I need to remind you that when one of you guys starts dating someone, fans can get a little...intense..." she said.

"You're telling me," Luke grumbled, more to himself than to everyone else.

"Clearly, she doesn't want to be thrown into the spotlight like that," Melody went on, "She's just a merch girl – she's not part of the band. She feels weird when people even ask to take pictures with her after buying a shirt or something."

"But she still does it," Calum reminded them.

"She's not gonna tell them no, Calum!" Zoe rolled her eyes, "You of all people should know that!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he scoffed.

"When's the last time she's said no to you?" she went on. Calum was silent for a moment, causing Zoe to exclaim, "Exactly!"

"It's like she's physically incapable," Melody rolled her eyes, "You could ask her to jump off a cliff with shallow water and sharp rocks at the bottom and there's no doubt in my mind that she'd do it."

"I'm sure she wouldn't do that," Ashton insisted.

"You don't know her like we do then," Nick shook his head, finally interjecting.

"Just go talk to her," Zoe stated, putting her arms on Calum's back and pushing him to his feet, "And don't be surprised when we say we told you so."

Your POV

"Y/N..." you heard someone say, making you look up.

"Hi, Cal," you smiled softly, your eyes following him as he stopped beside you. You were still standing at your merch table, but you'd just finished straightening everything right before Calum came over to you. "You okay?" you asked, noticing he seemed a little off since the last time you saw him.

"I just...have been thinking for the past few minutes..." he trailed off, "Thinking about how you said it would be weird to date because we're friends..."

"Okay...?" you cocked an eyebrow.

"Well... I, um... I don't think it would be, really... I mean... We already act like a couple... I don't think it would hurt to try it out..."

"I don't want to be in the spotlight, Calum – you know that," you reminded him.

"Well, it's a little too late for that, Y/N," he grumbled, "You're already all over our Instagrams and Twitters."

"That's different," you insisted.

"How is that different?!" he exclaimed, finally sick of you brushing off the idea of dating him.

"I'm not dating any of you!" you threw your arms up, "We're just friends!"

"Then tell me you don't like me and I'll drop it," he demanded.

"I'm not doing this," you mumbled to yourself, going to walk away but you were stopped before you even reached the door.

"No!" Calum stated loudly, coming up behind you. He grabbed your arm and turned you back around, his other hand gripping your chin so you couldn't look away. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want me!" he said firmly.

"This is childish, Calum!" you huffed sharply, "You're being ri-"

"Tell me, Y/N!" You finally swallowed the lump in your throat, looking him right in the eyes.

"I don't want you!" you practically shouted, desperately trying to ignore the fact that your voice cracked.

"You don't mean that," he called your bluff, his voice much lower now, "You do – I know you do."

"You wanted me to tell you, Calum, and I did," you said, "Now let me go."

"Like hell I will," he growled, pulling your face to his. Your squeak of surprise was immediately muffled by the kiss, but you weren't about to push him away.

You'd obviously been dreaming about this moment and you knew that it would be pointless to try and take yourself out of that situation. And, since Calum clearly knew about the feelings you'd been repressing, he wasn't about to let you leave either. So, despite all the fears you had and all the nightmare scenarios you'd created in your mind, you finally listened to what your heart was telling you and kissed him back.

When he felt you ease into him and knew you weren't going to run away, he moved his hands from your arm and chin to your cheeks. You felt him smile when your own hands moved to his sides, just under his ribs, and pulled him against you. The smile grew until he had to pull away, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. His forehead landed on yours as he watched your eyes flutter open, your chest rising and falling against his as you breathed heavily.

"I know you're scared," Calum mumbled, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, "I know you don't want to be thrown into the spotlight – especially mine-" He swallowed thickly. "-but no one has to know about us... We're already been acting like a couple for so long... No one will know the difference as long as we're not kissing each other in public... We don't have to make anything official until you're ready..."

"I know," you whispered just as softly, your own thumbs rubbing his ribs through his shirt.

"So you'll do it?" he asked hopefully, "You'll give me a chance?"

"Yeah," you replied so softly, you nodded as well just in case he hadn't heard you. You squeaked again when he brought your lips back, finally grinning into the kiss.

"So..." Calum trailed off cheekily as you pulled away for air, "I hear I've been your favorite member of my band since you became a fan..." You furrowed your eyebrows, confused as to what he was talking about, before your eyes widened in realization. You suddenly pushed yourself away from Calum, stomping toward the door.

"Zoe Mariah Christiansen!" you shouted as you entered the hallway leading to the dressing room with Calum following giddily behind you, excited to see what was in store for Zoe for spilling your secret.

❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀・・・❀

master list / master list for mobile users

you can also check out my last imagine here, my to do list to see what’s coming up, and click here to go to the page for my calum fic :)

Other “you work for the band” AUs: Jamie / Tony / Cody / Cody / Luke / Ashton / Ashton / Zack / Calum / Calum

Other best friend AUs: Ian / Jamie / Jamie / Josh / Ryan / Ryan / Tony / Ryan / Ryan / Cody / Jamie / Ashton / Cody / Michael / Luke / Ryan / Jamie / Calum / Ashton / Jamie / Cody / Calum / Calum / Jamie / Maxx / Michael / Luke / Luke / Michael / Ashton / Cody / Maxx / Jamie / Calum / Ashton / Luke / Michael / Cody / Calum / Ashton / Ashton / Ashton / Maxx / Luke / Calum / Ashton / Marshall / Maxx / Ashton / Ashton / Marshall / Luke / Calum / Luke / Michael / Calum / Ashton / Ashton / Luke / Calum / Luke / Ashton / Ashton / Michael / Ashton / Calum / Trevor / Luke / Calum / Luke / Michael / Zach / Ashton / Michael

112 notes · View notes