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dontfeeltoohot · 8 months

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I wrote some Chase fic and it's @softsicknose 's birthday!!!

This is written in a different POV- Martha Masters' from season seven. I really love her, and I enjoyed stretching my writing comfort zone for her. I hope you enjoy!!!

XXX

Chase is late. Late, she’s found, is based solely on when House arrives (unless they’ve been given a time by Cuddy). Chase is usually always early. Early is determined by the time at least two of the team are in the diagnostics room. Out of all the times she’s walked through the glass doors and into the room in the early morning, he’s only been absent four times. All four of those times have also seen him strolling in before their boss. The fact that she, Taub, Foreman, Doctor Hadley and even House are here and Chase isn’t is odd. Martha likes routines, likes things to stay the same and this disruption in the day to day has her feeling anxious. Her prefrontal cortex is telling her that the blonde is probably just stuck in traffic and there’s nothing to worry about, but it doesn’t stop her from fiddling with the pen she’d borrowed from the man earlier that week.

No one else mentions that the intensivist is missing, and maybe they all know something she doesn’t? It wouldn’t be the first time- she’s becoming used to being left out of things or being cast aside as an inside joke is told. She’s never gotten the courage to ask what some of the things they say mean, because when it comes down to it she’s here to learn about medicine and science, not about Foreman’s brother or the reason Doctor Hadley was in jail.

Seventeen minutes after they start the differential, Chase pushes through the door, looking minorly rumpled but otherwise fine- attractive as always. The realization that she’s just called the blonde attractive sinks in. Objectively, she’s aware he’s much more pleasing on the eyes than anyone else on the team; except maybe Doctor Hadley, and that statistically blonde hair and blue eyes tend to lend themselves to what the world has deemed beautiful. His accent doesn’t hurt either.

Get it together Martha, it’s Chase. Chase, whose password is password, who sleeps with three women in one night only to forget their names. Chase, who does crosswords instead of listening to their boss. Chase, who is also an amazing intensivist and who has gotten more correct diagnosies than anyone else since she’s been here. Chase, who always looks just a little put out when House doesn’t latch on to one of his jokes or praise him when he’s found the correct answer.

“Chase! How kind it is of you to grace us with your presence.”

The words snap the brunette out of her trance.

As House snarks, a dark blue folder is thrown at the man who tries to catch it but fails. Instead it hits his shoulder and flops onto the table. Taub and Foreman are reading through their own copies, seemingly unbothered by the disturbance, that or they’re tired of House’s antics. Doctor Hadley is glancing up at Chase with a furrowed brow but he gives her a shrug and sits down, leather messenger bag swaying on the back of his chair.

With how close he’s sitting, Masters can smell his cologne- something aquatic and airy, no doubt to remind him of Australia and its beaches. As the team bounces ideas off one another, she notices Chase pressing the back of his pointer finger against his right eye- closed. The structure of his jaw tells her it’s clenched, which indicates he’s either annoyed or possibly in pain. Annoyed seems much more likely.

“What about you, Captain Kangaroo? Any ideas in that pretty head of yours? Or did the one too many drinks you had last night impair its functioning?”

“Actually, the effects of alcohol wear off in usually six hours unless your metabolism is slow. Even then, it’s likely to be around eight or nine hours,” she offers.

“I didn’t drink last night, and that insult was sub par,” Chase says as if he’s been waiting for some kind of accusation. “Could be a DVT that traveled to her lung.”

Something about his voice is different today, it’s lower, maybe? She’s not sure which adjective goes best, but she watches as he swallows and his adams apple bobs unnaturally slowly. He goes to automatically grab a mug that’s not there, hand halfway outstretched before he drops it and rubs the lower half of his face. House’s eyes drag over him like a cat stalking his prey but the older man doesn’t say anything, instead he just sighs, then twirls his orange expo marker in his hand, staring at the list of symptoms on the board.

“DVT was checked for, next.”

As Martha wracks her brain for different causes of the new patient's afflictions, she hears rather than see’s Chase shift in his chair, then a breath being inhaled and snagging.

“h’ihnGgkt! HnGXxt! hh-NgXTtuh!!”

The sneezes are far quieter and less obtrusive than she’s imagined. She’s thought since starting that the blonde’s sneezes would be loud and harsh, slightly dramatic. These are small and very obviously meant to be quiet. Interesting.

“You shouldn’t stifle like that, you can burst your eardrums from holding a sneeze in,” she comments after his last one, watching him raise his eyes from the folder, one eyebrow quirked upwards. She flushes, unsure if the comment was appropriate. She just wants to help! What if Chase blew out an ear drum from being careless? She’s simply doing a kind thing, she tells herself.

“I’ve done it my entire life, Masters, think I’ll be alright.”

As Foreman suggests an alternate cause, Masters nods and writes down both ideas, wanting to keep up with the details of the case, even if they turn out to be wrong. A sniffle breaks her concentration and as subtly as she can; feigning looking at the clock, she glances at the doctor next to her, noting the barely visible shadows under his eyes. Not enough sleep, then. The rest of the DDX goes as usual, with House giving them all assignments. She gets put with Taub to go break into the patient's house.

“Do you really think this is a good idea? She can’t keep her holier-than-thou mouth shut when it comes to this type of stuff. Wouldn’t it be better for me and…anyone else goes?”

The med student frowns and twists at her cardigan, headband feeling suddenly too tight. Her cheeks feel warm and she knows her capillaries have opened and blood has rushed to show her emotions whether she wants to or not. Foreman gives a low laugh, rolling his eyes. Chase looks like he might say something but Doctor Hadley beats him to it.

“If you’re so worried, then do the labs and I’ll go with her.”

Surprise drives out the embarrassment of feeling like an unwanted dog at the pound. Didn’t Doctor Hadley dislike her too? Why was she rushing to her aide? Was this another joke she was going to be the butt of? She chances a look at the older woman and sees her smiling.

“Us girls have to stick together, right?”

“R-Right.”

Taub blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks and nods, saluting her.

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Alright children, play nice,” House calls from where he’s hobbling through the door to his connected office, tone indicating he doesn’t actually care what’s being said to one another.

The car ride to the patient’s house is filled with an awkward silence. Martha’s unhappy she has to go at all, it’s unethical and illegal. No one else cares and she wonders if it’s because of House or their own morals. Her mother taught her right from wrong at a young age- what did everyone else’s mother teach them? As she watches trees go by, Doctor Hadley fiddles with the radio and then looks over when they stop at a red light.

“So, how’re you liking it on the team so far?”

“It’s been, uhmm…interesting? Definitely seeing more than what I’ve been exposed to in my own world. A lot of it’s for the worse,” she trails off, her last sentence barely audible, but the other woman must hear it.

“You know, this team has been through a lot. And a lot of things have changed all of us, but when it comes down to it, we’re here to do our job and save people. If that means breaking rules, well.” A pause. “Is it better to watch someone die while keeping yourself pure or save an innocent life and do something risky?”

For once, Martha’s unsure of the answer. Both are morally wrong- is there an answer that’s better than the other? It feels like some kind of perverse test so she crosses her arms against her chest and tries not to act like a petulant child.

“Is that why you’re all so codependent?” The words tumble from her mouth before she can stop them. She wants to smack herself.

Doctor Hadley- Thirteen, as the boys call her for unknown reasons, laughs and a smile appears.

“I wouldn’t say codependent. We just work well as a team. We also work well individually. Chase was first to work with House, then Foreman joined. After they left, Taub and I were hired. Foreman came back, and then Chase. We all fell into an easy team who can communicate pretty well.”

“House likes you all. Was that, did he-“ she sighs and tries to reign all of her thoughts together. “Was he like that with everyone who’s been part of his team before? Or were there others who were treated like me?”

“I think that that’s a question for him, even if he won’t answer it. He doesn’t hate you. If he did, you wouldn’t still be here. He obviously sees something in you that he wants to cultivate.”

Martha isn’t sure what to say to that, so she nods and let’s the silence fall around them again. She’s never been good with small talk, and now it’s apparent she’s not good with any kind of talk.

They get back to the hospital two hours later, when the clock is about to hit noon. The women head to diagnostics but it’s empty, so they reroute and take all of the plastic baggies full of their findings to the lab to start working. As they approach the large room, Martha notices a familiar figure sitting in the corner with his back to the door. He’s got his lab coat on now, and from what she can tell he’s got his chin leaning on his hand, posture screaming ‘I’m bored’. He must be waiting for a test to finish up.

“Hey, why don’t you go find House or Foreman and let them know I’m about to run the tests,” Thirteen suggests, taking the large bag full of items and holding it. “Otherwise, House will bust in and scare the hell out of us.”

Martha gets the feeling she’s being deliberately shooed away. There’s more than enough things that need to be tested for them to both be running them at the same time, but the inflection in the woman’s voice indicates a finality attached to her words.

“Okay, uhm, I’ll let him know. You’re not going to do some crazy illegal test are you?”

“No, I just think he should be updated,” the woman says in an almost trained voice, calmness radiating from her sudden tone.

“Right. I can do that.”

The brunette gets half way down the hall when she realizes she has no clue where their grumpy boss might be. Not wanting to explore the entirety of the hospital, Martha turns around and starts to walk back to ask her coworkers. When she gets close enough to see into the dimly lit room, she freezes. The two seem to be arguing. Chase is still on the stool in front of the microscope, looking up at Thirteen with a petulant, almost defiant look on his face. Feeling like interrupting might not be a good idea, she goes off in search of House, feeling more out of the loop than she has all day.

XXX

“Tests were negative.”

“Same with ours.”

Thirteen and Chase walk in; a much needed interruption to whatever the other three men on the team are talking about, to inform them of their findings. House sighs and stares at the board again, twirling his marker. Taub looks up from where he’s munching on his hospital-prepared sandwich from the cafeteria. She’s already finished her own salad, but Foreman is still working on his. They nabbed sandwiches for the other two, now sitting in the middle of the large glass table.

As expected, Thirteen grabs hers ravenously, having not eaten for hours. Chase, however, sits and doesn’t so much as look at the last wrapped up sub, instead grabbing the folder to look at once again. Foreman and Taub look at the Australian, confusion written on their faces.

“You’re not eating? You always eat. You eat more than me and Foreman combined,” the eldest of the four questions.

With a frown, Chase grabs the sandwich and opens it, not breaking eye contact with the neurologist. He takes a bite and swallows, keeping his face impassive.

“Better?”

“Loads,” the man deadpans, rolling his eyes.

Throughout the new round of ideas, Martha notices Chase hasn’t touched his sandwich since the initial bite. He’s procured a water bottle from his bag, sipping on it every few minutes, but the food goes untouched and unnoticed by everyone else. She thinks she sees House’s eyes sweep over the intensivist, but she might be imagining things- House may play favorites but the idea of him caring about someone to a degree of worry seems improbable.

Foreman gets up to throw his trash away, prompting Thirteen to as well. As they talk about even more possibilities for the patient, Chase angles his face towards his chest, ducking his face downwards.

“ihNGkKt! h’GXKt! h’KGkTSCH’uh! SNF!”

The first two are quiet enough that if Martha wasn’t paying attention she doesn’t think she would have necessarily heard them. The third however is stronger and Martha cringes inwardly at not only the amount of force he’s used to try and hold it in, but also at the soupy sounding sniffle after. He gets up immediately, striding across the room to the kitchenette and plucks a tissue from the box they have sitting there. She notices he doesn’t blow, merely just wipes at his nose before pocketing the tissue and washing his hands. At least he’s hygienic.

“Bless you,” Taub throws over his shoulder casually.

Martha watches as the blonde ignores him, moving to snatch the 90% uneaten sandwich up instead and set it in the mini fridge to finish later. The medical student has the urge to throw out yet another statistic about the act of sternation but is interrupted by all six of their pagers going off- saved by the bell.

The rest of the day is a haze of the patient crashing, adrenaline, House getting angry for not being able to figure out what’s wrong, and everyone else picking up his energy. House is the determining factor of a lot more than she’s realized, as Foreman snaps back at their boss when he starts telling them they’re all morons. He goes as far as to insult not only Chase, but Thirteen, which Martha hasn’t witnessed yet.

“House, we’re trying. We can’t think any faster,” the dark skinned man frowns.

“Oh yeah? I bet I could make you think faster if you want to keep your job!”

“You’re not going to fire any of us,” Chase drawls from where he’s sitting, having moved from the uncomfortable metal chairs at the table to the slightly less uncomfortable chairs in the corner of the room.

“Wanna bet? You of all people should know I can and I will,” the older man sneers, moving closer to the blonde.

Martha has an odd feeling in her stomach, something between anxiety, anticipation and most of all, surprise. Does House mean he’s fired Chase before? Surely not, not when they’re so obviously the most in-sync out of everyone. For a split second the intensivist looks like he’s going to stand up and go at it with their boss but instead he just shrugs and presses the tips of his fingers to closed eyelids.

“Exactly. Now think.”

Finally, Thirteen comes up with a semi-plausible idea, and though House makes it known he doesn’t truly believe it, they’re ordered to go in and check the man’s mitral valve. Doing something is better than nothing, Martha agrees.

“Chase, scrub up and take Taub and Ms. Goody-two-shoes with you.”

“Can’t we have Masters do-“

“Absolutely not. This isn’t time for a learning experience, this is time to cut open this guy and fix him so he lives. She helps, you do.”

A grumble of incomprehensible words are drowned out by Taub getting up out of his chair and patting her shoulder, leaning his head towards the door as a gesture to tell her to follow. She does, not wanting to deal with any more childish back and forth arguing. As they all head down the hallway, Masters looks at Taub for direction. She doesn’t understand why Chase is upset she’s not doing it- usually it’s the other way around.

As the three slip into the empty elevator, Chase uses the inside of his wrist to scrub at his nose, sniffling yet again. Normally Martha wouldn’t notice these things, but he was late, so now all her attention is solely on him. It’s definitely not because he’s gorgeous or funny or the only to even remotely build her up sometimes.

“So why don’t you wanna do the surgery?” Taub asks, turning to the taller man.

“Because it’s cold in the OR and I’m already freezing,” Chase grumps, pulling his lab coat tighter. “Scrubs can only keep you so warm.”

#my fic #paging doctor chase #softsicknose

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whistledownn · 3 years

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at the beginning by donna lewis and richard marx

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velvetcloxds · 3 years

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BABIES| D.H.

Pairing: Derek x fem!Reader

Word count: 1479 words

Warning: none, just fluff, not my best to be honest

Summary: Reader and her husband babysit Jackson and Ethan's baby and discuss having another little human of their own when their college daughter shows up with some bad news.

Point of view: Derek's point of view.

"Pass me a diaper?" She commands in a rush and I pinch the bridge of my nose before sliding a clean diaper over the table. She catches it with one hand and holds the baby down with the other, scrunching up her nose while she replaces the current diaper.

"Why did we agree to this?" I ask her as she holds the dirty diaper out for me to get rid of. I force down a gag before taking it from her and quickly throwing it in the trash, shoving the door of the cupboard with my leg to close it. She laughs softly.

"Because Jackson and Ethan needed a break," She tells me and I squirt another gallop of soap onto my hands, moving quickly to scrub the idea of the smell from my skin, "And we've done this before, so we're supposed to be good at it," She adds as an afterthought and I turn around to see her pulling a baby-grow onto little Aiden. He giggles and Y/n smiles instantly, the sight making my heart melt.

"I'm pretty sure Hadley never had to be changed," I inform her, putting the diaper cream and wipes into the baby-bag. She scoffs, picking Aiden up from the table and resting him against her chest.

"By you," She raises her brow, "Big bad Derek Hale refused to come anywhere near a dirty diaper," She says and although her lips tilt into a frown, the sparkle in her eyes gives away that she's not serious.

"Well, I can see why," I retort with a scoff, pointing down at the trashcan, "How can something that awful come out of that little man?" I ask, sitting down on the table beside her. She smiles sweetly.

"I don't know," She laughs as her she bops her knee slowly to calm Aiden as he mumbles nonsense into her shoulder, "But I've never been happier that Hads is in college," She states with wide eyes, holding onto Aiden's head as she gets up from the chair.

"Really?" I jump up from the table to follow her, "Because I've been thinking about maybe having another one," She stops, turning around slowly to see me.

"Funny," Is all she says as she sways from side to side slowly.

"I'm serious," I step forward to move a hand over Aiden's little head, "I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. Besides..." I start, moving my hand to her cheek where I slide her hair away with my thumb, "We make very beautiful babies," I inform her and she giggles.

"We've made one very beautiful baby and she's amazing," She moves Aiden onto her hip and places her other hand onto mine, "She's also more than enough for us to handle," She says with a soft smile looking down at Aiden when he starts sobbing softly and her side. She wants to say something but stops when there's a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," I say with a sigh. She leans forward to kiss me quickly before walking up the stairs to Hadley's old room where we've placed Aiden's travel crib. I pull a hand through my hair as I reach for the door, sliding it open to see who’s out there. "Hadley?" I ask shocked and she smiles brightly.

"Dad," She mumbles as she steps closer to hug me, her arms folding around my waist as she leans into my shoulder, "I missed you," She says softly as I place my hand on her hair to move us into the loft and close the door.

"We've missed you too," I tell her as she pulls away, her eyes looking around the room, probably searching for Y/n, "Mom is upstairs with the baby," I explain and she raises a brow. I smile. "We're babysitting for Jackson and Ethan," I clarify and she nods, not saying anything while she walks to the couch, sinking into the pillows with a frown, "Is something wrong?" I ask, picking up on the sudden jump in her heartbeat. She looks down at her hands, not answering me, so I walk over towards her, sitting down as well. "Did something happen?" I question and she takes a deep breath.

"Promise you won't hate me?" She asks softly, her fingers fiddling with the stitching of her shirt. I sigh, folding my hands over hers.

"I'm your dad, Hads, I could never hate you," I tell her and she looks up at me, "But I need to know what's going on so that I can help you," She nods.

"I failed one of my classes," She informs me slowly and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Is that all?" I breathe and she frowns, looking at me with wide eyes, "Bloody hell, Hadley I thought you killed someone," I explain and she smiles.

"What!" She shouts with a scoff, freeing one of her hands to softly slap my shoulder, "Really, Dad? Murder?" She questions through soft laughs and I join her.

"You're a Hale, honey. I never know what to expect," She continues laughing as I lean over to give her a side hug, kissing the top of her head as the vibration of her laughter dies down, "I'm sorry you failed you class," I tell her, sitting back against the couch. She shrugs.

"It's a hard class, I just need to put in more work and I'll be fine. I just wanted to tell you before I got my semester results. I figured you'd be upset," She explains, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"I'm not," I tell her with a shrug and she smiles, "I'm just glad to see my little girl," I tell her and she shakes her head with a sigh.

"Come on, I'm not your little girl anymore."

"Oh, you're very much mistaken, you're always going to be my little girl," I tell her, mocking an evil smirk and she covers her face with her hand while smiling.

"Hadley?" A voice questions from behind and Hadley and I both turn around to see Y/n standing at the bottom of the stairs. She smiles excitedly as she walks over to the couch.

"Hi, mom," Hadley says sweetly as she stands up to hug Y/n. I smile up at the two of them, meeting Y/n's gaze over Hadley's shoulder and her face is filled with complete joy, a sight I wish I could see every day.

"What are you doing here? Did something happen?" She gasps, "Did you kill someone?" She asks softly and Hadley scoffs.

"No, Mom, really?" Hadley pulls away and looks between the two of us, "What is wrong with this family?" She asks with a look of disgust and both Y/n and I laugh, She smiles, shaking her head. "I'm going to get some food," She informs us as she walks to the kitchen.

"So, she didn't kill someone?" Y/n asks as she sits down next to me. She slips her hand into mine while I slide an arm around her shoulder.

"No, she just failed a class," I explain and she nods, turning in my hold and rest her head against my shoulder.

"You really want another one?" She asks, kissing my cheek while she waits for answer. I pull her closer.

"No," I tell her tilting my head back to see Hadley making herself some pancakes. I smile. "We're very lucky to have one little angel, the next one might take after my side of the family," I explain and she laughs, pulling her legs onto the couch and resting them over mine. She looks back as well, a smile dancing on her lips.

"She is pretty amazing, isn't she?" I look down at her.

"She gets it from her mom," I say making the softest little giggle fall from her lips.

"Oh yeah?" She hums, folding her hands around my cheeks and leaning closer.

"Hell yeah," I reply and she lifts herself up to kiss me, her lips moving slowly as I grip onto her waist.

"Eww. No. Children are present. No." Hadley groans from behind us and Y/n pulls away, laughing into the air.

"I love you," She mouths as she jumps up and heads for the kitchen where she kisses Hadley's forehead before pulling her to the stove to help with the pancakes. Just as I sink back into the couch a loud scream erupts from upstairs causing Y/n and I to sigh in union. I chuckle under my breath as I get up, grabbing the baby-bag in the process.

"I'll get it," I say and they both simply smile before going back to what they were doing. I can't help but smile, knowing that even though she came to give us some bad news, Hadley being here is all Y/n needs to be happy. And all I need to be happy is the smiles on my girls' faces.

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

Masterlist

#derek x reader #derekhale x reader #derek hale imagine #derek hale one shot #derek hale imagines #derek hale #teenwolf x reader #teen wolf #fluff

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masqueradeball · 3 years

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How about number 3? Like, tell us all about it if you want :)

Oh my gosh 🥺 thank you so much for giving me my first ask! 💖 I'm eternally grateful I get to spill all my pheels out.

3. What is my favorite Phantom tv/film adaptation?

My absolute favorite Phantom is the 1925 Lon Chaney silent film. He just embodies everything that I like about Gaston Leroux's Erik for me and he is both horrifying and pitiable. I dislike the ending but I can live with it given it's what test audiences wanted at the time. I truly love his Red Death costume. You can find it on Youtube and the Tubi app for free.

My first runner up would be Claude Raines in the 1943 because his Erique so soft and tragic in that film I cannot help but love him. This was one was my grandma's favorite 'classic monster' movies that she loved, so I have a special place in my heart for this one. I love his hair and appreciate that he was one fine silver fox before the revenge and jealousy issues set in. The opera parts are a little boring, but the costumes and the sassy diva rival to Christine are worth the watch. We get 2 handsome Raouls who end up going to dinner together at the end of the movie and a Christine who gets to bask in the limelight of her career while not choosing any suitor, which is the best possible outcome for her. Double play for the win in my book! You can watch it for free on the Peacock app.

My next runner up is a 3 way tie between Robert Englund, Gerard Butler, and Charles Dance.

I honestly enjoy all their performances because they each bring something unique to the role.

I cannot stress enough how violent the Robert Englund version is if you want to give it a go, but Erik Destler is insane, twisted, and fabulously murdertastic in this. I love the creepy, evil vibes the man gives off. Think of this film as a time travel AU of the original novel. I feel like he nailed Leroux Erik's darker, snarky personality that some people tend to forget he had and the gothic horror parts of the original novel are there. Bonus: they keep the Faust parallels like in the novel!

I'm gonna say it: I love the Charles Dance miniseries. I know it's not the best, but damn, he is so dry and sarcastic I cannot help but enjoy his performance. I want to pinch his cheeks and smother Cherik with the love his father never gave him everytime I see him. Again, this one focuses on the operas a lot, and for me it's a bit boring. But the backgrounds, settings, and props in this thing are fantastic and the costumes are wonderful too.

That leaves Gerard Butler in the 2004 movie. No he is not the world's greatest singing Phantom, but I don't care. I absolutely love his facial expressions and body language. The Phantom is an emotional, expressive dude and the Red Death costume scene is pretty good. I love how kind and sincere Emmy feels in this film and I appreciate she's not overracting and doesn't feel fake compared to some other Christines *coughSierracough* Being the film version of the ALW musical, this Phantom story focuses on the romance and Gerard excels at that. When he and Christine are singing Past the Point of no Return, I FEEL THEIR PASSION! And that's what counts more so than hitting the same notes we've all heard a million times before.

Now for the versions in the 'I will eternally like this' category 😊 :

The Phantom of the Paradise from 1974. This is also a very violent and dark film so fair warning if you haven't seen it. It's a bizarre rock musical, but if you're weird like me and enjoy Rock & Rule or the Rocky Horror Picture Show, this might be a film you'd like too. I don't want to spoil it too much but the Faust/devil parallels are here too, as is various pop culture references. His teeth and mask are terrifyingly cool, and so is the electronic voice box he uses. It makes sense Daft Punk was inspired by this film. Maybe G1 Soundwave was inspired by this film too, but that's a debate for another day 😉

Next is the animated 1988 film. This one features animation on par with other 80s tv cartoons of the time. I love that they kept the Persian and the torture chamber from the novel. The Phantom's death scene is pretty damn epic. Christine is kind of a flake, but animated Leroux Erik is hilariously insane and terribly charming, especially when he calls himself a Don Juan. It's worth watching just for his antics and his dialouge.

You might not expect a Goosebumps episode to do a Phantom story any justice, but here we are: 1995, The Phantom of the Auditorium is a spooky fun take on the story and honestly, I'd like to see the full play the kids at that school are putting on cause it looks better than some of the live Phantom stage scenes I've seen. Both young boys playing the Phantom are fantastic actors and the plot twist at the end is great.

I absolutely have to give a shout out to Wishbone's Pantin at the Opera. He is the best, cutest, most adorable Raoul de Chagney ever and I will fight you if you dare talk smack about this version. I'm not even a Raoul stan by any means but like, this dog is precious and I enjoy this episode so much.

Also in the animated category and cute dog category is Scooby Doo Stage Fright made back in 2013. This movie is one of my fave Scooby Doo films (yes I own almost all of them on dvd) and there are multiple Phantoms, a reality tv show contest, and Fred and Daphne finally kiss each other! Lots and lots of hidden Phantom references in the background and lots of voice acting talent for those of us who appreciate that.

Now for the versions I intensely dislike 😏

The 1962 Herbert Lom version. UGH where to start. The sets are so small and everything looks dirty and of the wrong time period. The color in the film looks washed out. The clothes look too modern somehow (maybe it's their hairstyles?) and it bothers me. It feels low budget in a bad way and it shows. This phantom is not likeable or pitiable even though his backstory is similar to the Claude Raines version. He has no romantic interest in Christine, so it feels off. This guy is such an old a$$ piece of sh*t, he literally slaps Christine as she's singing for him for no damn reason. His paper mache mask looks like a Kindergartener's botched art class project. His personality is like somebody locked up cranky grandpa in the basement and he's PMS-ing because y'all forgot to give him his daily prune juice. This squatter's lair lacks creepiness, and his bizarre sidekick is annoying and yet somehow more interesting than the Phantom. The pervert manager trying to bang Christine aggravated me and simultaneously made me want to vomit. Raoul is the only likeable character in the whole damn movie. The Joan of Arc opera scene makes up for some of the film, but it's still terrible.

Next on my meh list is the 1983 made for tv movie starring Micheal York and Jane Seymour. Now, this one has some likeable and applaudable scenes: the various murders and general creepiness of the Phantom, and the lair scene when she wakes up in his bed and the Phantom gets all up in her face is so intense and so Leroux I absolutely love it. The rest of the film is a jumbled hot mess at best, but Jane Seymour is 🔥 and she gets some damn good sex, so hell yeah to that!

And lastly, I do not like the Royal Albert Hall 25th anniversary recording. I should preface this by saying it is Sierra I don't like. I like Ramin, I love Hadley, everyone else is wonderful but I cannot stand Sierra. She tries too hard to make Christine a Disney Princess- and that doesn't fly with me. It comes off as insincere or mocking the source material at best, and at worst it makes Christine look like an airheaded ditz. Apparently Sierra played Ariel at one point which is hilarious because of all the Disney princesses, I dislike her the most. But that's a different rant for another day.

And finally, the one I hate most of all:

The 1998 Argento film. This is the worst Phantom adaptation I've ever seen. It is a whole lotta nope for me. Between the rats, the unecessary and pointless telepathy, the r*pe scene, and the unfunny weird vibe from the murder going on in this film it's a disaster from start to finish. Honestly, it's the rats and his hair that bother me from a visual standpoint alone and it's beyond disgusting the way this a$$🤡 treats Christine. I don't like any of the characters in here and for good reason. It's not worth watching and if you do, be ready to bleach your brain afterwards.

💖 Sorry if this was a long read! Thanks again for giving me an ask and I will cherish it forver!!!! 💖

#phantom of the opera #poto film adaptations

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brianc521 · 4 years

Text

Behind the Bar

Better Late Than Never | Part 2

It’s like time’s frozen around the two while they stare at each other behind the bar. Both in complete shock to be seeing the other.

“Hadley.” Jacob breathes out, blinking a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

He takes a moment to study her features. Long gone is the girl who used to hide herself behind her hair. Long gone are the baggy clothes she used to hide her body. There’s no book in her hand, and he wonders if she’s breathing okay because of it. The thought has him grinning.

“Jacob Palmer.” She laughs, shaking her head. She shamelessly checks him out, eyes lingering on his arms for a beat too long. She admires the intricate torch tattooed on his left bicep, the handle etched with a ‘EKP’. Jacob flexes his arms, in hopes of some sort of reaction as he catches her staring, and it makes her blink quickly. She looks back up at him with flushed cheeks and a shy smile. “Never in a million years did I think I’d run into you.”

He laughs, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I figured you’d skipped town after high school. Got away from all of us riff raff, went off and did bigger and better things.”

It’s after the words tumble out of his mouth does his brain register what he’s just said. Her whole face drops, something flashing through her eyes. It’s the same look she would have when someone gave her shit in high school for liking to read. It was a look he read easily. It was hurt, pain, embarrassment. That look doesn’t last long before she clears her throat. She pulls her shoulders back, standing a little taller. Her eyebrow raises at him in an unimpressed way, her cheeks red hot.

“Wow okay, let me take over this conversation before he sounds like even more of an ass.” Teri interrupts. “I was starting to think you two knowing each other was a good thing, now I’m rethinking who I have Hadley training with.” She eyes Jacob.

“No.” He blurts. “I’m sorry.” He reaches a soft hand out to Hadley. He touches her wrist, her eyes flicking to his touch and then back up to his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I swear.” He desperately says, chest tightening in panic. “Wow, I’m a fucking idiot.” He mutters to himself, but both women hear, nodding right along with him. “What I meant was, I never thought I’d see you again. And I’m glad that I am.” He gives a small smile, thumb rubbing on the pulse point of her wrist.

It’s a soft touch, a welcome touch. Hadley can’t remember the last time she felt something like this.

“Right after high school was a bad time for me.” She says too quickly, gently taking her wrist from his hand. “But I’m doing bigger and better things now. I’m past the bad times.”

There’s a story there, and it’s got Jacob intrigued. He squints at her for a moment, trying to see if he can read it through her body language. He likes to think he’s always been a good judge of character, but he can’t read her. Something’s off, something is totally different than the Hadley he went to high school with. He just can’t quite tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“Okay, well, while I love the reunion, we kind of have a busy house tonight.” Teri brings both of their attention to herself. “So Stevens has been behind a bar before,” She explains to Jacob. “Just nothing to our caliber. Show her the ropes, teach her the drinks, explain the tab system. I pulled Hawkins,” She points to Chelsea, who’s making a drink. “From the floor to give you some backup while you train Stevens.”

Jacob nods, giving Teri a mock salute. “You got it Captain.” He grins, watching Teri roll her eyes and flip him off at the same time. “At ease soldier.” He teases.

“Stevens.” She looks to Hadley. “By mid shift I want you on your own. I know you’ll need some more training, but we don’t have time for Jacob to hold your hand all night.” She shrugs. “He’s my best bartender, which is why I let him run it back here, and we’ve got 2 bachelor parties coming in. Also, the college down the road let out on spring break, so expect a lot of frat boys.” She points to both of them. “I want all ID’s checked at the bar, you hear me?”

Hadley nods, and Jacob gives another sarcastic salute.

“Boy you’re gonna lose your job tonight.” Teri warns him.

“Oh come on Ter, I almost lose my job every night. You just love me too much to let me go.” He winks.

“Last but not least,” Teri ignores Jacob, turning back to Hadley. “If you have any trouble you tell Palmer immediately. You got me?”

Jacob nods, turning to face Hadley. “Hads.” He says softly, gently touching her shoulder to catch her attention. Her big brown eyes flick up to his stubbly face, holding all the innocence she’s always had. “If someone looks at you funny, says something that makes your skin crawl, anything that makes you feel unsafe you scream my name like it’s the last word you’ll ever be able to say. I’m not joking, okay?”

“Okay.” She nods, at both Jacob and Teri. “I got it.” She assures them, although in the back of her head she can’t help but think that no one can be worse than Brody. No one can make her feel the way Brody did. The thought of his name alone makes her want to claw out of her skin and burn it.

Teri nods at them. Turning on her heels and walking off without another word. She’s off to check in on all the girls working the floor. Making sure patrons are keeping their hands to themselves, respecting her staff. Who needs more than one bouncer when you have Teri running the show.

“Here,” Jacob hands Hadley a spare apron from the hook behind the bar. “It’s nice to keep like a pen, notepad, straws and shit like that on hand. Usually on slow nights I hide my phone in there too, that way if I need to be reached I can be.”

Hadley watches him intently while tying the apron around her waist. She follows him as he quickly goes up to the bar.

“Hey man,” He greets a customer. “How are you?”

“Jake!” The customer cheers. He looks dirty, long hair that’s going gray. He’s skinny, unnaturally skinny. He’s wearing a black Motley Crue shirt, it’s tucking into his skinny jeans. “I was hoping you were working tonight.”

“Ryan, this is Hadley.” Jacob introduces her. “She’s a new tender,” He explains, slapping Ryan’s outstretched hand away. “Be nice.” He warns. He then turns to Hadley. “This is Ryan, our biggest regular. He doesn’t bite, unless you ask.”

Ryan sends a flirty wink to Hadley, one side of his mouth lifting into a grin, showing off his yellow teeth.

“Do I wanna know how you know that?” She asks Jacob, eyes bouncing back and forth between them.

Ryan barks out a laugh, hand coming down to slap at the top of the counter. “That was good. She’ll survive here, seems like she keeps on her toes.” He states, pointing at her but looking at Jacob.

“Well,” Hadley pushes in front of Jacob, pushing a black cocktail napkin on the countertop. “You can speak to me like I’m right here, because I am.” She points to herself. “Unless you’re three shots in, then there might be three of me. You seem like a lightweight.”

Ryan stands straight, both hands settling on the countertop as he glares at her. Jacob stands behind her, trying to hold back his laugh. “Whiskey sour.” He orders.

“Okay.” She smiles, getting to work on his drink. “So you’re the biggest regular? What’s that mean?”

“Well when the doors open? I’m the first in. When they close at night? I’m the last out.” He grins, arms crossing against his chest like that’s the highest you can get in life.

“Oh,” She nods. “Gotcha, well in that case I think I’m gonna call you Gallagher.” She puts the glass on the napkin, sliding it over to him.

“Gallagher?” Ryan asks.

“As in Frank Gallagher.” She explains. “From Shameless.” Nodding to her hand that’s held out for his payment.

“Put it on my tab.” He points with his chin.

“Give me something to start a tab with.” She raises an eyebrow at him.

Ryan grumbles, digging into his back pocket and slapping his debit card into her hand.

“Thanks Gallagher, enjoy your drink.” She smiles, turning around and running smack into Jacob. “Oh shit, sorry.” She looks up at him. “I forgot you were there.” She blurts.

“Do I even need to train you?” He asks, a smile bright on his face. He’s highly impressed with the way she handled Ryan. He can get lippy, and try to get away with claiming he’s already paid.

“I mean,” She shrugs. “I worked at a bar straight out of high school. Needed something to pay the bills. It’s been a few years since I’ve been behind the bar but it’s like riding a bike. Skills never go away, all customers are the same.”

“Okay, well then, do your thing. If you need anything just holler.” He nods, turning to get started with the group of guys that just crowded the right corner.

By the time the bar is closed Hadley has created a spot for herself behind the bar. They had a few learning curves for working around each other but by the middle of the shift Teri was able to put Chelsea back on the floor. It was like they’d been partners working together for years. It just flowed, they understood the others' notes on things, they didn’t argue or have issues helping the others customers.

Personally, that’s where the awkwardness comes in. They didn’t talk at all during the night. There was never a down moment to talk. So it makes the two of them alone in the back break area very quiet. The tension is thick, and Jacob can’t stop looking at her, and she can’t stop trying to avoid his stare.

“So,” Jacob speaks up, leaning his back against the lockers. “Did you just move back?”

“Um yeah.” She answers, pulling her hoodie over her head. “I moved to Washington with my boyfriend,” She stops herself. “Well now ex boyfriend. He got accepted to Washington State, and I planned on going to a community college.”

He perks up, loving how easily she opens up to him. “What’d you study?” He asks, turning to grab his phone and wallet.

“That’s just the thing,” She grimaces, “He went to school, we got an apartment, but with his full work course who was gonna bring home money to pay the bills? So I got a job, told him I’d start school later, except later never came.” She brushes over her past quickly.

Jacob can tell there’s a more in-depth story there. That there’s more in the dark parts that she won’t shine light too.

“What happened?” He asks, following her to the front of the bar where Teri was finishing closing up.

She laughs in a self depreciating way. “It’s a long story Jacob, it’s okay.” She waves him off.

“I’d like to-” He starts, being interrupted.

“Make sure you have your tips everyone! Let’s go.” Teri calls out.

They all crowd the door, waiting for Teri to unlock it. Everyone shuffles out, soft mumbles floating through the quiet calm of the night outside. Jacob stays behind, waiting for Teri to lock back up.

“Make sure you get some good groceries okay? I saw the way those sorority girls were tipping you. Make sure you get fruit loops, she’s been going crazy for them lately.” Teri says over her shoulder.

They walk together to their cars. Jacob always makes sure to park next to Teri, that way he can ensure she gets to her vehicle safely. He’s about to duck into his car when he catches a glimpse of Hadley walking down the sidewalk.

She's holding tightly to her bag that’s slung across her shoulder. Body huddled in on itself as a way to fight off the cold of the night.

“Hads!” He calls out, watching her jump and then look over at him. He didn’t mean to scare her, but if it got her attention he’d do it again. “The fuck are you doing?” He asks.

“Going home?” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder, pointing in the direction she was walking.

“On foot?” He questions, receiving a nod. “At 2:30 in the morning?” Another nod. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“How else would you like me to get home?” She asks, throwing her arms out to her sides.

“Get in.” He tilts his head towards his car.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” She shakes her head, silently hoping he’ll leave her be.

“You aren’t asking, I’m telling you to get in my fucking car. I’m not letting you walk home at 2:30 in the morning alone.”

She sighs, weighing her options. Does she let Jacob take her home, allowing him to find out she lives in her mother's old trailer? The trailer that housed her most of her high school days? The trailer that her mother so graciously left her when she went on a bender that ended up killing her?

Or does she walk home and risk that someone else finds her and forces her a ride to god knows where?

One option is better than the other. The better option leaves her embarrassed and wishing she’ll never see Jacob again. The other leaves her dead in a ditch somewhere. With that revelation she makes her way over to his Camry. He smiles when she starts walking towards him, and it’s a smile that makes her stomach fill with butterflies. The same way it did when she was in high school.

He quickly gets in, leaning over to the passenger seat and opens the door from the inside. He grins sheepishly when she slides into the seat.

“Sorry.” He breathes out. “The handles broken from the outside.”

She laughs, and shakes her head. “What happened to the Jacob Palmer who rode his Harley to school everyday?” She asks, looking over at him.

“Life happens.” He shrugs, cranking his key three times before he can get the engine to turn over.

She eyes him suspiciously, seeing how much he’s aged since they graduated. He’s got a story behind his tired eyes, and worry caused wrinkles. It’s a story she wants to hear, and she’s 100 percent sure it’s a story she would have never guessed would be his to tell.

“So,” He turns to look at her once the windshield is defrosted enough to see through. “Where to?” His devilish smirk on his handsome face as her thinking maybe she should have gone with the other option.

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storyofmychoices · 4 years

Text

Room Warming

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Characters: Bryce Lahela, Olivia Hadley (MC), Keiki Lahela

Prompt: Imagine - @choicesjunechallenge

This takes place after By Order of the Princess

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Earth to Bryce,” Keiki snapped her fingers. “Your apartment is on the third floor, you pressed the top floor.”

“Do you really doubt these fingers could ever make a mistake?” Bryce challenged admiring his talented hands. “My job depends on my accuracy and precision. And, look at them!”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

“Go with me on this, just once,” he requested, as the elevator dinged announcing their arrival.

“Where are we going?” She protested before dragging herself after him.

Bryce led her to the corner apartment down at the end of the hall, inserting a key into the lock.

“Mmm, okay… whose apartment is this and why do you have a key?” Keiki asked, with a raise of her brow.

He ignored her question, opening the black door. “Come in.”

Hesitantly, she peered inside, not sure who or what to expect.

The apartment was plain, the walls were bare, and the room was entirely empty except for a purple orchid on the counter. She took a few more steps inside trying to get a better look.

“What do you think?” Bryce held his hands up gesturing around the spacious living room.

“About what?”

“About the apartment!” His brown eyes shined brightly. He had hoped she would be more excited than this. “I know it’s not a lot–not what you’re used to–but just imagine it once we move furniture in... And here–look!”

She followed him further into the apartment, stopping as he opened a door to another room. “I know it’s probably smaller than your closet back home, but it’d be yours, if you wanted it.”

“Wait!” She turned into him, her mouth agape as realization set in. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’m saying we can move in next week if you want to...” Bryce shrugged lightly, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted it to be her idea, not his. He wanted to make sure she wanted to stay with him and not for just a few weeks. “This place just became available and since I’m already a tenant, they offered me a pretty great deal on the rent... But, if you don’t like it we can look around.”

Keiki threw her arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!”

He pulled her in, holding her tight for a few moments longer. “Now, this won’t be a vacation, Keiki. You’re going to have to go to school and … we’re going to have to establish some rules.”

She rolled her eyes at his attempt at parenting, but the smile on her face remained. “Okay.”

“I thought we could go get you some furniture on my day off later this week,” Bryce suggested.

“Eee!” Keiki squealed as she spun around in the empty room, getting a better look and already planning out what she could do with the space. “What does Olivia think?”

“It was actually her idea that I start to look for a two bedroom apartment. She thought you could use your own room, so she and I wouldn’t always be in your face. And then, I’d also have a room again.”

“She’s not moving in?” Keiki questioned, her smile fading.

“What?” He stammered, shaking his head. “Why would you say that?”

“Because, for one, I would have starved to death without her.”

“Hey! I would have figured something out!” Bryce defended. “I’ve survived!”

“Protein shakes are not food!” She narrowed her eyes at him, before continuing. “And two, she basically is at your apartment all the time, and when she’s not, I know that you want her there. It’s clear to anyone that has eyes–and probably even those that don’t– that you love her. I just assumed that was part of the plan… do you not want her here?”

“Of course I do!” He replied with an even temper, trying to hide how much he really wanted that. “But this is about you right now. I left you once, I won’t do it again. Liv understands that.”

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” she asked. “You’re moving apartments for me! I would never have asked that of you, but you did it anyway. And I love you for that, but you love her, too. Olivia is wonderful and I really like her. You don’t have to choose, not for me at least.”

He contemplated her words as he wandered back to the living room and peered over to the kitchen and dining rooms, letting himself imagine what it would be like for the three of them to live together. There was nothing he wanted more. “When did you get to be so smart?”

“You didn’t think you were the only one with brains, did you?” she nudged him, her gaze shifting to the flower on the counter. “Who’s the orchid for, if not for Olivia?”

“It’s for you! I thought it could remind you of home. I know it was bad; I get that. But you’re amazing and you have a big heart. That had to come from somewhere,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Think of it as a new room warming present.”

“Thank you, Bryce!” She leaned into him. “For everything!”

“Thank you for reminding me what family feels like.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms ; @raleighcarrera ; @mfackenthal ; @the-soot-sprite ; @virtuallytakenby ; @zeniamiii ; @kaavyaethanramsey; @choicesobsessed; @xjustin-ethansgirliex ; @caseyvalentineramsey; @trappedinfandoms; @anotherbeingsworld ; @obsessed-with-humans

Bryce // Open Heart Tags: @thearianam ; @burnsoslow ; @mvalentine ; @rookie-ramsey ; @missmiimiie; @jamespotterthefirst ; @adrianadmirer

#Bryce Lahela #Bryce Lahela x MC #Open Heart #Keiki Lahela #Bryce OH #Bryce x Olivia #Olivia Hadley #Bryce x Keiki #fan fiction

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

Hell in a Handbasket

By David Himmel

SHE TAKES ONE LAST LONG DRAG FROM HER CIGARETTE. She pushes the smoke past her gleaming teeth and full lips and crushes the thing beneath her boot. Her black coffee has finally cooled to a barely drinkable temperature. She takes a sip as she enters the radio station. Another fucking morning show. This one in San Francisco. It’s still dark out and, between the cigarette and the coffee and all of the whiskey she drank last night, she has the worst morning breath in recorded human history.

She didn’t have time to brush her teeth. She overslept and was rushed out of her hotel room by Gavin the tour manager. The clothes she had worn at last night’s show were strewn across the floor. Gavin threw the jeans and Superman t-shirt at her as she struggled to get her naked body out of bed. She didn’t have to fuss with makeup or her hair; she looks the same at five in the morning in the grips of a hangover as she does at eleven at night when she’s in the grips of stage lights and adoring fans.

Way back before she was famous and had dreams of being interviewed by radio deejays, it didn’t matter what you looked like as much. The listeners couldn’t see you and the deejays looked just barely put together themselves. But today, everything is visual, and if this show is anything like all of the others, they’ll be recording the interview for the radio station’s YouTube page. She hates the beautification and objectification of women in the entertainment industry. However, she sees nothing wrong with not wanting to look like hammered rat shit, which is exactly how she feels. This morning, as she has been most mornings this past year, she’s self-aware enough to be thankful for her easy-to-manage looks.

Gavin makes the introductions in the studio. She smiles her big, brilliant smile—the one that makes men and women fall in love with her—and begins to charm the three morning show hosts.

“Good morning. I’m really happy to be here,” she says into the microphone. Her mouth is dry and it tastes like a circus floor. She reaches for the bottle of water one of the hosts handed her when she walked in. She thinks she should have had a piece of gum instead of that cigarette.

“You’re wearing a Superman t-shirt,” the fatter of the hosts says. “Are you a fan of the comics?”

“This isn’t a Superman t-shirt,” she says. “It’s a Supergirl t-shirt.”

“Hear, hear, sister!” says the woman host.

“And yes, I’m a fan of the comics.”

“For those of you just tuning in, we’ve got Jane Hadley in the studio with us this morning,” the thin host says in a well-rehearsed broadcaster’s voice. “If you’re not familiar with Jane Hadley then you’ve likely been in a coma trapped in a mine shaft for the past year. Her debut album, Hell in a Handbasket, is this year’s runaway hit and iTunes’ most downloaded album ever. Right now, Jane Hadley is a bigger deal than Taylor, Adele and Beyoncé.”

“Combined,” Fat Host says.

“And she’s performing a sold-out show at Decker Hall tonight,” Thin Host continues.

“But don’t worry,” Lady Host says, “if you didn’t get tickets for the show, we’ll be giving a pair away a little later on this morning. And I think—Jane, correct me if I’m wrong—that these tickets also include a backstage meet and greet.”

“They do,” Jane says. “I’ve even got my Selfie-Stick for photos.”

“Did you bring that Selfie-Stick with you this morning?” Fat Host asks. “I’d love to get a photo with you. You have to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen this early in the morning.”

Jane smiles and laughs a hearty laugh that not even the most high-tech lie detector test could determine its authenticity one way or the other. “I didn’t bring it but I’m sure we’ll find a way to take a photo without it.”

“And you’re going to play a few songs for us this morning, too, right?” Lady Host asks.

“I brought my guitar and will even take requests.”

The three hosts celebrate over this surprise. Thin Host says, “You hear that, K–POP listeners? The beautiful and talented, Goddess of Rock Jane Hadley will be taking your requests for a live, in-studio acoustic session! Don’t go anywhere. You’re listening to the Manic Morning Show on 97.1, K–POP.”

Thin Hosts glances at Fat Host who taps a series of buttons on the control board and clicks a wireless mouse linked to the monitors. A station bump plays followed by a commercial break beginning with an ad for a local diamond dealer. The hosts take their headphones off.

“Do people actually listen this early?” Jane asks as she also removes her headphones.

“Not anymore,” Thin Host says.

“We’ll replay everything with you in the eight o’clock hour,” Lady Host says.

This is not how Jane saw her life. For one thing, she never thought she’d be a smoker. But divorce can promote bad habits as diversions from the heartache. And for another thing, she never thought she’d be divorced at thirty-seven years old, though she was only thirty-five when it all happened, which only makes it worse. She is too young to be divorced and too old to only now find herself at rockstar status. Unfortunately, without the divorce, the fame and fortune—and morning radio show interviews—would have continued to elude her.

Before she was Jane Hadley, the rock ’n’ roll singer/songwriter—the Goddess of Rock, bigger than Taylor, Adele, and Beyoncé combined, she was Jane Hadley, the folk ’n’ roll singer/songwriter who never sold more than a thousand albums and a few hundred t-shirts. Before she had a #1 album flying off the shelves and being downloaded to the Cloud by millions, and an entire merchandising department, she was just a girl who played in a few bands: the Stargazers, Rosie’s Dream Catcher, Jane and the Jaded Cowboys.

None of these were good band names and she knew it. But she liked the music they made. Sweet, folky, only as loud as the all-acoustic gear would allow. All her bands looked the same. Jane played rhythm guitar and sang lead. The lead guitar, keyboard, upright bass and percussion were played by men. This wasn’t intentional, it’s just how things played out. They sounded similar, too, although each incarnation sounded more practiced than the last, a byproduct of age and gig experience.

The Stargazers was her high school band. It lasted long enough to play mostly Simon & Garfunkel covers at a few garage shows and the school’s Battle of the Bands. She formed Rosie’s Dream Catcher in college with her then boyfriend, keyboardist Matt. They recorded one CD of ten original songs. They sold all one hundred copies for two bucks a piece by the time the band, and Jane and Matt, split three years later.

She wonders why they are waxing intellectual about Kurt Cobain and the meaning of “Smells Like Teen Spirit?” She just wants to plug tonight’s show, play a few songs, maybe answer a call and give vague, recycled answers about what inspired her to write the album. Instead, she’s bemoaning about the trappings of fame and denying any intention of making an album that will last the test of time. How Gen X of her. How Fiona Apple of her. How awful of her.

Jane always figured that if success in the music business was ever going to come to her it would have been with Jane and the Jaded Cowboys. It took her a little while to become comfortable with her name being segregated from the band name. She didn’t want to be a Diana Ross or Gloria Estefan but Adam, the guitarist, thought they should capitalize on the gender difference and put their radiant leader out front while her boys backed her up. Adam was a marketing major in college and while he was a gifted guitarist, his real talent was in hype.

Jane and the Jaded Cowboys were prolific. Their songwriting was a science. Jane would come to practice with lyrics ripped from her many tattered Moleskin journals and a tune she thought worked with the words. From there, all five would flesh the thing out until they had a nice little folky pop song. They were a good team and their musical tastes and abilities complemented each other well.

With the freedom provided by quarter-life adulthood, they toured a lot in the sixteen years they were together. They earned fans but none who would bleed for them, really. They played the festivals and a few of the storied concert halls spread throughout the country. They headlined some shows and shared the bill with acts that would go on to the kind of fame and success that Jane and the Jaded Cowboys were chasing but never caught up to.

Because being in the band didn’t pay a livable wage, everyone had real jobs. Jane tended bar at Queen Lizzie, a hipster hotspot in Chicago where the drinks are overpriced and the customers happily overpay. She hated the place and the customers but the money was too good to walk away from. She was able to afford the necessities: instruments, rent, food, clothes, tour van, gas money for the tour van and Moleskin journals. She even managed to save a fair amount and really hack away at her student loans. Not that her degree in art history was worth more than the paper the degree was printed on.

The songs she wrote reflected her life. They featured themes of loneliness, desire, road trips and regret. The songs weren’t bad. But they weren’t great either. Their most popular song among their few loyal fans is called “Photographic Art History.” It’s about wasting time and energy. One critic, writing for an online publication about the lineup of a summer festival in Chicago, described Jane and the Jaded Cowboys as, “a band that makes perfect background music for the perfect lazy day of napping.” On the band’s Facebook page, Adam spun the opinion by posting the review and writing, “IndieRock.com says ‘Jane and the Jaded Cowboys makes perfect music for the perfect day!’”

Jane hated the hype. But it was the best her band ever got.

And speaking of hype…

“Rolling Stone called you the voice of women of this generation,” Thin Host says. They are back from commercial break. “That seems like it could come with a lot of responsibility. Do you feel responsible to speak for your generation?”

Since Hell in a Handbasket dropped, many critics had echoed Rolling Stone’s claim. Jane used to see herself as a Joni Mitchell type, or Carole King or Carly Simon. Women from a very different generation. And one that isn’t hers. She isn’t even sure which generation the critics are talking about. At thirty-seven years old, she’s no longer part of the youth culture but she’s too young, still, and new to fame, to be a music veteran. And in the entertainment industry, the young and the old were the major markets. Everyone in the middle is white noise. Jane feels that if she’s the voice of any generation right now, it’s the White Noise Generation. But she can’t say that.

“First of all, it’s an insanely flattering thing to say about someone,” Jane answers. “But it’s also an insanely broad generalization and a little presumptuous. I didn’t make this record to be a statement about women or for all women or anything like that. And if we look at music history, we don’t ever really know how representative a musician was or wasn’t to her generation—or his—until the music has had time to mature and that generation, or whatever, has adapted from it in some way.”

“Well, take Kurt Cobain. In a way, your situation is similar to Cobain’s,” Thin Host says. “He was considered the voice of Generation X right out of the gate. And he was dead before his music and his generation really even had a chance to—what did you call it?—mature. But everyone was right. Kurt Cobain was, and still is considered to be, the voice of his generation.”

“So if you don’t already have a heroin addiction, you better get on that,” Fat Host says.

“No, then she’d just be compared to Courtney Love. And no woman wants to be compared to Courtney Love,” Lady Host says.

“Yikes. God no. That’s even worse than being compared to Yoko Ono,” Jane says.

“There are so many awful women in rock ’n’ roll,” Fat Host says.

“You named two,” Jane says. “The awful men in rock ’n’ roll still outweigh us twenty-to-one.”

“And that’s why she wears that t-shirt,” Lady Host says.

They all have a laugh as Jane glances at the clock on the studio wall. She’s booked for an hour. It’s only been eleven minutes. She wants to go back to sleep. The coffee isn’t working. She considers what it would be like if she did start using heroin. It’s cheaper than booze, cigarettes and even coffee. And on the road, it’s often easier to get.

“Okay, I understand that you’re reluctant to accept your influential role in today’s culture,” Thin Host says.

“It’s not a reluctance,” she says.

“A rejection then,” he says.

“No. I mean, they’re just songs.”

“But don’t you want your songs to mean something? Isn’t that what every artist wants?”

“Sure. In a way. This album means what it means to me. I can’t control what it means to anyone else. It’s nice that it’s been so well received. I’m touched that people are finding their own meanings in the songs.”

“So you’re saying that the song, the first single, ‘Onward,’ isn’t symbolic of the woman’s place in today’s society.”

“I think Hemingway said something about the foolishness of trying to include symbols in your work on purpose,” Jane says.

“So no.”

“‘Onward’ is a song about my ex-husband moving out of our apartment and me, a woman, having to make sense of what he, a man, had left behind. If that is perceived as anything other than that—”

“I understood it as a break-up song,” Lady Host says.

“But things can be perceived by any number of people in any number of ways. That’s the great thing about art. Let me ask you guys a question. Since you brought him up, what does ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ mean to you? What’s that song about?”

“Making trouble,” Thin Host says.

“Cheerleaders,” Fat Host says.

“Disaffected youth,” Lady Host says.

“All I ever think about when I hear that song is deodorant. That song is a deodorant jingle to me. Because when that song came out, I was eleven years old and Teen Spirit was the brand of deodorant I used.”

“Commerce,” Fat Host says. “Cobain is rolling over in his grave.”

“Nah,” Jane says. “He knew damn well what he was doing when he titled that song. He was being funny—Oh crap, can I say the ‘D’ word?”

The hosts laugh. “Yes, ‘damn’ is allowed. ‘Crap,’ is not,” Thin Host says. They laugh some more then he presses on. “Symbols or not, this album is incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“I doubt that you’d call it a concept album.”

“Not in the traditional meaning of concept album, no. I mean, it’s not The Wall. But it was conceived by specific events. There’s a theme.”

“It’s a break up album,” Lady Host says.

“It is indeed a break up album. A break up and all of the, um, crap, that comes with it.”

She knows she sounds like a pedantic blowhard. They are baiting her into it and she is too strung out on exhaustion and weak coffee to resist. She wonders why they are waxing intellectual about Kurt Cobain and the meaning of “Smells Like Teen Spirit?” She just wants to plug tonight’s show, play a few songs, maybe answer a call and give vague, recycled answers about what inspired her to write the album. Instead, she’s bemoaning about the trappings of fame and denying any intention of making an album that will last the test of time. How Gen X of her. How Fiona Apple of her. How awful of her.

But after two weeks of horrendous heartbreak, isolation, and alcoholism, Jane had come to one conclusion: right or not, fuck Keith.

She is saved from falling deeper into these asinine rock critic musings when the hosts go to break again. They’ve cued listeners to call in with questions and requests. The first three callers request “Onward,” to no one’s surprise. Jane pulls her guitar from its case and gives it a gentle tuning. She gets the familiar sinking knot in her stomach as she does.

Her departure from acoustic folk to electric rock was the best way for her to get through the pain of her divorce. It allowed her to turn the deafening sadness into rollicking anger. And every time she plays these songs with an electric guitar and her banging, thrumming, clanging tour band alongside her, she becomes more and more removed from the origin of the source material. She’s healed each night. And in quieter moments in between cities on the bus, when she finds herself descending toward that sadness and regret, she can listen to the album at top volume through her headphones and relive the anger and gravitate toward getting over the goddamn thing.

But there’s no escaping the raw bones of truth when she plays the songs acoustically on radio shows like this. She wanted to bring the band with her and at least have a bigger sound so the songs weren’t so stripped down and she didn’t feel so naked. But her management vetoed it. The fans wanted Jane Hadley naked. And that’s what they were getting. And every time she tunes the guitar to play “Onward,” she is rocketed into a wretched reverie of when she first tuned the guitar to write the song.

Keith had just closed the door of the apartment with his last box of stuff under his arm. It had been the first time they’d seen each other since he asked for a divorce two weeks before and fled to wherever he had been staying. Jane spent those two weeks crying, substituting alcohol and cigarettes for meals, sleeping on the living room floor because she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone in their bed and didn’t feel that she deserved the comfort of the couch. She was emotionally destroyed and she thought it best to destroy herself physically, too.

He said some pretty nasty things when he left. There were accusations of infidelity because she played songs that weren’t about him. He blamed her for his inability to secure a steady and well-paying gig because she was not supportive enough. He called her a manipulator and a user and chastised her for having more friends than he had.

None of these accusations were true and he was clearly taking his own self-loathing out on her. How could someone’s likability make her unlikable? Keith had found a way. The two therapists they had seen every week since getting married eight months before, called it projecting. Keith denied it and Jane believed everything he said.

But after two weeks of horrendous heartbreak, isolation, and alcoholism, Jane had come to one conclusion: right or not, fuck Keith. Watching him leave with a box of his mother’s old stained Tupperware was enough to pull her off of the floor and begin writing music again. “Onward” became Jane’s life’s statement of purpose. And as the first single and the album’s first track, it became the album’s statement of purpose, too. And thus, it became a generation of women’s statement of purpose.

She didn’t even have to write the lyrics down and work them out in her notebook like usual. She just played and sang and it all came together. She scribbled it down once she was done and the song, at first, resembled every other song she had written. Soft, slow, melancholy. She didn’t want that. She wanted something different. Because the same old song hadn’t done her much good for her career or her internal struggle. She didn’t feel soft, slow or melancholy. She felt hard, fast and fucking pissed. She dusted off her electric Gibson and amp and played the song faster and louder. She felt alive again. She felt angry. She felt inspired.

She lit a cigarette and played it again. She recorded it and upon listening back, she heard a voice she didn’t recognize but loved. The chorus made her smile, even though it felt strange on her face.

You took my love And let it burn Scorched and ashen I move onward

✶

SHE MET KEITH LESTINGHOUSE AT A SHOW IN PEORIA, ILLINOIS. He was a videographer and had been hired to document the headlining band, the Dandelions, who a year later would win the Grammy Award for Best New Artist. Keith’s art direction in the documentary was lauded for its grit, the way it “captured the essence of budding rock ’n’ roll success,” according to some well-respected blogger somewhere online.

She found Keith smart and funny, and thought his patchy beard and thin, lanky body made him handsome. He seemed to genuinely like Jane’s music and her band. And he seemed to like her. By the end of their first date, they realized that they had been a match on each other’s online dating profiles.

“Why didn’t you ever send me a message?” she asked him.

“Why didn’t you ever send me one?” he replied.

He was a feminist and she liked that about him, too.

Six months in, they were engaged. Two months after that, they were married. It was a small ceremony held in her parents’ barn at their farm in Dowagiac, Michigan. She wore cowboy boots with her consignment wedding dress, he wore black Chuck Taylor sneakers with his new suit from an online custom clothier. An hour before the wedding, Jane cried all of her makeup away when Keith requested that her father not walk her down the aisle. Well, he didn’t have any family at the wedding, therefore, her father’s obvious presence was her way of rubbing it in that he was an estranged son. Jane conceded. Then Keith decided that it was okay for her dad to walk her down the aisle after all. This was the first crack in the façade of perfection Jane had placed Keith behind. Then, at the reception, Jane and the Jaded Cowboys played a song she wrote just for Keith, just for their wedding. Drunk, he mistook it for a song about some other guy and stormed off into the Dowagiac fields. Jane—the consummate professional—finished the song then ran into the fields after her husband. When she found him, he continued accusing her of infidelity until she managed to convince him otherwise and they screwed right there in rows of soybeans.

He moved into her place. His video equipment crowded and nearly ousted her music equipment. Space in the small Chicago apartment was the crux of their Cold War—Keith acting like Reagan with his finger constantly on he Button and Jane acting as Gorbachev, desperate for some kind of peaceful and reasonable resolution.

Two weeks later, they were in therapy. The only discussion they could have without Keith’s demanding a therapist’s intervention was about what they’d have for dinner. It helped that Keith’s veganism limited their dining options. Keith was a volunteer for Greenpeace and convinced Jane to sell her 1967 Pontiac GTO. It was left to her in her grandfather’s will. It was her grandfather who taught her to play guitar and encouraged her to pursue a career in music. He was a sound tech for bands like the Byrds, Leslie Gore, the Lovin’ Spoonful and even the Beatles once. Anywhere she had to be, Keith told her, she could ride a bike, walk, run or use public transportation, if she must. And that inspired the second song on the album, “Red Meat Wishes and Gasoline Car Dreams.”

You’re sidewalk stalking Good people on God’s green earth I honk and rev my motor And slide back a Quarter Pounder

Still, Jane loved him. But what Jane loved more than Keith was love itself. Though she was never far from her friends or family and had an incredible bond and unwavering trust with her bandmates, Jane feared being alone. Alone in that romantic sense. It was that fear that empowered her to stay with Keith, which left her otherwise powerless. And that’s where “Distracted by Loneliness,” the album’s third song, came from.

Covered in hearts Well wishes from friends and family Their undying love can’t compare to the misery you give to me I’d rather be lonely with you than never alone again

✶

WHEN THEY RETURN FROM THE BREAK, JANE PLAYS “ONWARD.” Fat Host cues up another recorded caller and the conversation they had with her during the break.

“Hi, Jane. I’m Claire. I think you are so talented.”

“Hi, Claire. Thank you.”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend of three years.”

“This ought to be good,” Fat Host says.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Claire,” Jane says.

“No, please, it’s for the best. I was miserable. We both were. Your album inspired me to leave him. Funny thing was, it was his record. He bought the album.”

“Men love her, too,” Thin Host says. “Is there a song you’d like Jane Hadley to play?”

“I’d love to hear ‘Two Week’s Notice,’” says Claire. “I quit my job last week, too. This song inspired me to do that.”

“This song isn’t about quitting a job,” Jane says. “It’s about the abortion I had.” The studio goes quiet—never a good thing in radio. Jane recognizes the silence and quickly readjusts her response. “But, uh, sure thing, Claire. Let me know if you need a reference or anything.”

The recording ends and Lady Host throws her finger at Jane like a stage manager would on the set of a live news show. Jane plays the first chord and sings “Two Week’s Notice.”

It’s not something I am ready for I’m sure neither are you I’ve already got a child I can’t raise two It makes no sense to drag this out It’s the right thing to do I’ve already got a child That child is you

“I’m not really sure how that song would inspire someone to quit their job,” Thin Host says when Jane is done playing. “I bet you get a lot of that. You know, people mistaking the intentions of your songs for something else.”

“Like we were saying earlier, that’s what happens with music and art,” Jane says. “People listen to music in different ways. Claire, I guess, doesn’t listen to the lyrics all that closely. And that’s fine. I just hope she find a new job soon and lands on her feet.”

“Guess you can’t judge a song by its title,” Fat Host says.

“We’re going to take another quick break and we’ll be right back with more music by request from our in-studio guest Jane Hadley, who is performing at Decker Hall tonight and we’ll be giving away that pair of tickets to see her. You’re listening to the Manic Morning Show on 97.1 K–WOW.”

There it is, the missing piece to Jane and Keith’s old fight, his calm condescension. Finding herself in familiar territory, she habitually lights a cigarette in her mouth.

They never take calls live on-air. It’s a recipe for disaster. You could get a Baba Booey or a suicide or someone who just wants to yell “Fuck” on the radio. Answering calls off-air lets the hosts screen and edit the calls for the best possible radio. Fat Host takes the next caller.

“Hi, Jane. Since you’re single, maybe we can hook up after your show tonight. I’m hung.”

Fat Host immediately hangs up on the caller.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Jane says. “Maybe he was cute.”

She’s joking but only a little bit. Among the whiskey and cigarettes, her after-show parties have been filled with men. Lots of men. At least one every night. The show in L.A. had two, the one in Salt Lake had three.

Two more calls, both women, both requesting “Onward.” The third call is a man.

“97.1, Manic Morning Show,” Lady Host says.

“Jane?” the caller asks like he was calling Jane directly and not a San Francisco morning radio show.

“Hi, do you have a request for Jane Hadley?” Lady Host tries again.

“Jane. Are you there?”

“Okay, weirdo, goodbye,” Lady Host says as she signals Fat Host to drop the call.

“Wait,” Jane says. Lady Host looks at Thin Host who nods as a sign to let Jane play this one out. “Keith?”

The three hosts look at each other with confusion before Thin Host chimes in, “Jane, you’ve got a friend here in San Francisco. And a K-WOW listener to boot!”

“Keith is my ex-husband.” The three hosts drop their jaws and sit back in their chairs like they’re ready to watch the unbelievable, certain shit show commence. “Keith, what are you doing?”

“I was listening to the radio and heard you.”

“What are you doing in San Francisco?”

“I’m living with my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“I have three brothers.”

“Three!? Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why weren’t they at the wedding?”

“My family is complicated.”

Jane is stunned. She, too, is now sitting with her mouth agape in disbelief. “So you’re living here now?”

“For the moment. There was a job, so…”

“What’s the job?”

“It’s a documentary about San Francisco suicides that don’t take place on the Golden Gate. There’s a large population of suicidals that is overlooked because of the attention that the Bridge gets. It’s tragic. And these people aren’t even polluting the bay when they kill themselves. It’s an important topic.”

Thin Host jumps in again. “So, Keith—Keith, right?—would you like to hear a song by Jane Hadley?” Jane shoots Thin Host a look that says, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Let’s hear that one about abortion again.”

Jane cringes. She is no longer stunned, now she’s pissed. Of course she never told him about the pregnancy. By their third date, it was clear that he had baby fever. Because Keith had such a foul and complicated relationship with his own family, he was desperate to build a new one. And though Jane wasn’t opposed to being a parent someday, she was in no immediate rush, but also knew, deep in her gut, that Keith would make a terrible father. That having a child would provide him with another person to manipulate and break down until nothing was left but a desiccated husk of a human. He would do to his child what his parents did to him and what he had nearly done to Jane.

Jane and the hosts are frozen but the digital phone recorder rolls along.

“Can I hear it? Can I hear the song about you killing my child?”

“Whoa!” Thin Host says as Fat Host laughs in shock.

“She didn’t kill your child,” Lady Host says. “She’s the mother and she has the right to make any decision she wants related to her body.”

“I agree,” Keith says. “But in the interest of true sexual and gender fairness and whatever, doesn’t the father have a right to know and at least be part of the discussion? When were you pregnant, Jane? Were we married? Because if so, then you absolutely owed me that.”

Lady Host defends her. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

“No, he’s right,” Jane says. “I probably should have said something. I agonized over telling you about it for two weeks before.”

“Oh, you agonized, did you? That was my child.”

She can hear his special brand of angry panic in his voice. She knows she should have the deejays hang up. But that anger and panic of his was always delicious bait to her. She can’t help herself from engaging. “It wasn’t a child, Keith. And if it had been, it would have been ours. And that, that right there is why I didn’t tell you. I mean, I knew I couldn’t keep it because of your selfishness and controlling impulses. I would have had the abortion twenty minutes after I peed on the stick but I held off, debating if you should be there with me. But I knew that you’d never agree to it and that the idea of it would only lead to this.”

“And what’s this?”

“You accusing me of killing your child.”

Thin Host speaks up. “So Keith, what do you think about the rest of the album?”

“I didn’t know she could play electric guitar.”

There it is, the missing piece to Jane and Keith’s old fight, his calm condescension. Finding herself in familiar territory, she habitually lights a cigarette in her mouth.

“Uh, Jane, you can’t smoke that in here,” Fat Host says.

She exhales a large cloud of smoke emphasizing it with two small rings at the end. “I’ll make you a deal,” she says, “you promise not to air this and I’ll put it out.”

“It’s just that, well, it’s a federal regulation that you can’t smoke inside of buildings. It’s nothing personal. Hell, we all smoke,” Fat Host says.

“Promise me.”

Fat Host looks at Lady Host and Thin Host. Thin Host nods and fat Host says, “Promise.” Jane snuffs the cigarette out on the bottom of her boot. She walks to the small trashcan across the studio, drops the cigarette in and pours a few ounces of coffee on it for safety. She returns back to her microphone and puts her headphones back on.

“What do you want, Keith?” she asks.

Silence.

“Keith? Are you still with us, Keith?” Thin Host asks.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What is it you want, Keith?” Thin Host asks again as if Jane’s voice was the problem the first time.

“I want you back,” Keith says.

Jane bursts out in laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” The hosts are shocked. “Sorry,” she says to them.

“It’s okay, we’re not live,” Lady Host says. She leans over to Fat Host and whispers, “Bleep it out.”

“Duh,” Fat Host whispers back.

“I’ve missed you and I have a new therapist out here who says that I’m ready to be in a relationship with you again.”

“Then sue your therapist for malpractice,” Jane says, “because he’s a fucking quack.”

Fat Host holds up his arm to grab attention and says, “We are coming out of break.” He turns on his microphone, does a quick station I.D. and lets the audience know that Jane Hadley is in the studio and that they’ll be back with more from her, then plays music. As he finishes and the red ON-AIR light outside of the studio door turns off, Gavin, Jane’s tour manager storms in.

“I think we’re done here,” he says. Everyone ignores him. This is something he’s used to so he shrinks back out of the studio.

“Jane, I—”

“Shut up, Keith. It’s not happening. But I’ll put your name on the will call list at the door tonight if you want to come see the show.” She looks at Fat Host. “Hang up on him.”

Fat Host again looks around at his co-hosts for a confirmation. They both deny her request. Jane sees this and as Keith begins pleading to her in a breathy panic, she stands up, throws her headphones on the console, walks around to the control board where Fat Host is sitting and rummages around with her eyes for the phone. “Hang up. Where is it? Hang up on him. There’s nothing more to say.” Fat Host uses his bulk to keep her away. “Okay then, I guess you don’t want those backstage tickets to my sold out show tonight for your listeners. I guess you’d rather fuck with me than keep a promise to your listeners. Fine then.”

She walks back around to her guitar and coffee, puts the guitar in its case, throws the nearly empty coffee cup into the trashcan. She lights another cigarette before storming out of the studio, the station, and into the parking lot where Gavin is waiting.

“I need a drink,” she says.

It’s barely past six-thirty in the morning so Gavin suggests hotel room service. Jane agrees. She admits that after a few mini bottles of Dewar’s and Tanqueray she’ll be ready for a nap.

✶

IN THE HOTEL ROOM, GAVIN SLEEPS IN THE DESK CHAIR WITH HIS FEET PROPPED UP ON THE DESK, a small bottle of gin delicately rests in his curved fingers of his dangling arm. It’s eight-thirty and Jane lays drunk in bed. She’s tuned the nightstand clock radio to 97.1 FM, K–WOW. The idiots are playing the phone call with Keith. They’ve bleeped out her cursing. They’ve edited it to make her seem more erratic than she thought she had been. She’s pissed about it but she knows that this is only going to help her reputation and lead to more album and concert ticket sales.

She fumbles for her phone and calls Keith. After recording Hell in a Handbasket, Jane set out to remove any traces of him from her life. She built a fire in the alley behind her apartment next to the dumpster burning anything associated with their time together. Photos, a pair of his socks she loved to sleep in, the Dandelions t-shirt she bought at the show the night they met, that stupid crystal duck he gave to her on their first Christmas together. She never understood the significance of it. He was so excited to give it to her, so proud of himself that she never bothered to ask him why he thought she might like it. Of course, the crystal duck didn’t burn, so Jane smashed it to pieces with a hammer. The one thing she didn’t do during her Keith purge was delete his contact information from her phone. He answered her call before the first ring finished.

“Come to the show tonight,” she says to him.

“Do you want to get back together?”

“No. But I want to see you. Actually, if you can, come to my hotel right now. I’ll text you the address.”

She hangs up before he can respond and sends the text. She knows she has made a destructive decision and that there is no way any of this will end well. But that’s not what Jane wants. Keith has reopened her wounds as easily as if they’d never healed at all. Jane wants to bask in the familiarity of the disrespect and jealousy and anger that defined their relationship. One more chug of the poison, she tells herself, then she��ll be done. She’ll even delete him from her phone.

Keith texts back that he’s on his way. Jane wakes Gavin up and kicks him out of her room.

“You called Keith, didn’t you?” Gavin asks.

“I’ll see you later,” she says, closing the door in his face.

She picks up her guitar and writes a new song. It comes to her as easily as “Onward” did. Maybe even easier. She realizes that Keith is her muse. The thought of that is a good reason to open another mini bottle of whiskey. Maybe she won’t delete him from her phone. Just in case her creativity ever runs dry.

This is not the type of musician or person she thought she’d be but it’s the one the music industry needs, the one her generation needs—whatever generation that is. And certainly, it is the one she needs to be in order to remain being anything at all.

#Chicago Fiction #David Himmel Fiction #Rock Music Fiction

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iflostreturntosteverogers · 4 years

Text

Saying Goodbye

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean

Warnings: Angst, Loss of child, Anxiety, Depression, Panic attacks, Character Death, Suicide, Suicide Note, Hunter’s Funeral *PLEASE HEED THESE WARNINGS*

A/N: This is the 5th and final chapter of It’s A Hard Knock Life, commissioned by @awesomesusiebstuff. Beta’d by @fictionalabyss and special thanks to @sorenmarie87 for letting me bounce this idea off you!

Series Masterlist.

Sam POV

You have to pull yourself together. She has enough going on without you falling apart. Running my hands through my hair, I stand and look around the kitchen. Dean had already cleaned the bunker when we got home, but I just needed something to do while she rests. I want to hold her, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. I know she’s in pain, physically and mentally, but I just don’t know what to do.

“Sammy.” Dean stands in the doorway of the kitchen watching me. “Come in here for a minute.” He motions his head and I follow him to the library. Letting out a breath, I practically fall into a chair. Dean leans against a table, crossing his arms. “I wanted to check on how you’re doing, and don’t you dare say fine because that’s a lie.”

“You’re right. I’m not fine. I’m sad, I’m disappointed, but mostly I’m scared. I can feel her slipping through my grasp and I’m terrified I’m going to lose her too.” My heart clenches at the thought. “I talk to her, but all I get are nods or shrugs. I haven’t heard her say anything since she was begging for Hadley as they sedated her. She won’t meet my eyes or let me touch her. When I helped her undress earlier, I tried my best to not even graze her skin. She’s so lost, Dean, and I don’t know what to do.” I wipe at the tears forming in my eyes.

“Just keep telling her how much you love her, keep showing her you love her. Eventually, with help, she’ll recover from this. She’ll never be the same, but she will be okay. She’s blaming herself for Hadley’s death, but she’s also mourning the children she won’t get to even try for. This is gonna take time, but if anyone can make it, it’s you guys.” I nod my head and stand. Dean pushes himself away from the table and embraces me. “It’s going to be okay, Sammy. She’ll survive this.”

“Thanks, Dean. I think I’m going to go check on her. Maybe I can convince her to eat something.”

Holding a plate in one hand, I gently push open the door to our room. “Hey, sweetheart. I brought you something to eat. It’s just a grilled cheese, but I made it just the way you like.” She doesn’t answer, not that I really expected her to, but she doesn’t even move. “Y/N?” I walk over to the bed, she looks like she’s sleeping peacefully, but something’s off. I gently shake her shoulder, her head rolls to the side and then I realize. Her lips are blue. The plate slips from my hand, shattering on the ground. “Y/N!” I yell her name, shaking her roughly. “No, no, no, no. BABY, NO.” I rip the covers off her body and lift her from the bed. Her body is limp. “DEAN!” I scream. He crashes into the room.

“What-Oh god.” I lay her on the floor, starting CPR in a desperate attempt to bring her back to me.

“Please, baby, you can’t leave me like this. Please,” I sob. Dean crouches and places his hands on my shoulders.

“Sammy,” he whispers. “Sammy, she’s gone.” He stands, pulling me up with him before he bends down and lifts her off the ground. He places her on the bed, smoothing her hair with a shaking hand. “Take your time saying goodbye. You can come find me when you’re ready.”

Dean leaves as I sit on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks like she’s sleeping like she’s just going to open her beautiful eyes and be okay. Tears freely run down my face, my body shaking. “I don’t understand,” I whisper to her. “I don’t understand how this happened.” I reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear when I see the orange, prescription bottle sticking out from under the pillow. It’s empty. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” I throw the bottle across the room, it crashes into the wall joining the shattered plate on the floor. I lift her up in my arms, sobbing.

I take my time dressing her in her favorite emerald dress before kissing her forehead one last time, tucking the pink bunny she bought for Hadley in her arms and wrapping her tightly in the sheets from our bed. Lifting her in my arms, I carry her through the silence of the bunker to where Dean waits in the woods. He built the large pyre in the clearing of wildflowers where she loved to read on warm, sunny days. Dean takes her from me, knowing I just can’t bear to lay her on it. He gently lays her down and takes a match from his pocket. As the flames rise, numbness sets in. I just stare at the funeral pyre, disconnected.

When the fire dies hours later and nothing remains but ash and smoldering embers, Dean leads me back home. It’s cold and dark as if she took all the warmth and light with her. “I’m gonna make you something to eat, okay?” Dean’s standing in front of me, searching my face. I just shrug and mumble sure. “Meet you in the library.” I nod my agreement. He hesitates before making his way to the kitchen.

Somehow I find myself in our room, staring at an empty bed. Her phone on the nightstand lights up, catching my eye. I pick it up and unlock it. It opens in the notes section with my name bolded at the top of one.

I sink to my knees on the cold floor. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been paying more attention and I shouldn’t have ever left that bottle of pills on the nightstand. I just didn’t think you would, I never imagined. I failed you and I am so sorry. I hope you know I wasn’t angry at you, I never blamed you for what happened. It was a horrible accident, but it was an accident. You were still beautiful and wonderful and we would’ve been okay. I already miss you so much, baby. I don’t know how you expect me to go on.”

“With my help.” Dean leans against the doorframe. “I’m going to be here and I’m going to help you get through this. It’s going to take some time and you’ll never really stop grieving, but I’ll be here every step of the way, Sammy.”

Y/N POV

“Oh, Sam,” I cuddle Hadley close to me, looking down on the love of my life. “I know, but I’m okay now. I’m better.” Chuck stands just behind me. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” I ask turning to face him. Chuck smiles and nods his head.

“He is."

Tags: @hoboal87, @wayward-gypsy

#Sam Winchester #Sam x reader #dean winchester #angst #trigger waning #character death #suicide #suicide note #depression #anxiety #panic attacks

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caffeinated-mendes · 4 years

Text

co-stars in crisis - a shawn mendes one-shot

masterlist

previous work

synopsis: (written intentionally in lowercase) you’ve been acting in a top-rated tv show for years, and shawn has been your co-star. as your characters in the show begin to develop feelings for one another, you think that maybe it might not all be an act.

a/n: just a cute little, fluffy one-shot! i’ve remembered that shawn had always wanted to try acting, so i wanted to write him as an actual actor on set! hope you enjoy! comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated :)

word count: 1.8 k

warnings: none

*if you prefer, you can read this on my ao3 instead of here

“hadley, i’ve been in love with you since i saw you in that train station. don’t you dare leave me, and tell me that all of this was for nothing. these years of friendship have become the only constant in my life.” the studio lights and camera panned around shawn, or thomas, as you recited your lines back to him.

being your character, hadley, felt like being in another body. she was a frail little thing, not wanting to be in the spotlight, but inevitably being forced into it by the show’s plotline. her personality had become second nature to you while you filmed the third season of the murder mystery. “i don’t know what to say.”

“tell me you love me,” shawn’s eyes bore willingly into your own, and you felt something stir in your chest as you waited in anticipation. he took your hand, and the cameras zoomed in on you. the warm ambiance of the set made his face glow, and his curls looked like a halo around his head.

you placed your hand on his cheek, another on his chest as you brought him in for the sweet kiss that the viewers had been waiting for the whole show. shawn tasted like icing, and you knew for a fact that he’d eaten another one of the cupcakes in your dressing room before your scene. usually if you kissed people for the screen, it really felt like nothing, but shawn was different. you could feel his pulse as he pulled your body close to his, and the reddening of your cheeks sent a sort of floating feeling to your head. when you let go, you breathed in, “i love you, but i can’t risk you being a victim to the mess i’m in. everything that’s happened: the murders, the plots and schemes-”

“i’m already in it. i chose to be when i realized i loved you. without you, i don’t know who i’d be.” shawn smiled a smile that made your fake glasses fog up as you let a tear fall down your cheek.

you smiled through another tear, “thomas, you’re such a sap.” shawn twined his fingers with yours. “come here,” you moved your hand to the back of his head, running your fingers through his curls as he kissed you again. his rosy lips made the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge, and just as you were about to deepen it, the cameras panned out, and-

“cut! that was great, guys. you’re almost wrapped up for today, so just hang around here for your last scenes,” the director instructed the two of you. you grinned at shawn as you both went off the set and to your chairs, near the exit of the dark studio.

shawn grinned at you as you both took your seats, and your heart still pounded against your chest. you didn’t know what to say, and instead took a long sip from your water bottle, watching your co-stars start filming on the set adjacent to hadley’s bedroom. “you did great,” shawn said, looking at you as you watched the cameras.

you turned to him, “thanks. you do amazing as always, thomas. also, i know you ate the cupcakes in my dressing room.”

shawn snickered, “i guess it wasn’t a great idea to do that before a kissing scene, huh?” this made your cheeks redden, and you laughed nervously, thankful for the darkness around you.

“no, definitely not. i’m gonna go change for my last scene. patty’s waiting for me,” you exited the studio, not looking back at shawn. crossing the street, you moved to another plain, gray building and walked the familiar path down to your dressing room. opening the door, you saw it vacant. patty wouldn’t be in your room for at least another twenty minutes, but you needed to get away from shawn. what was wrong with you? his kiss felt electric, and your body was on overdrive, suddenly aware of every sound and movement around you. and to think, you’d have to be doing this often, now that your characters were together.

you spent the remainder of your time glaring at the frosted and sprinkled pink cupcakes on your vanity until patty walked in, a short and beautiful lady in her fifties. she’d been doing makeup and costumes for years, and even knew you when you were a child actor. her red hair had evidently been in pin curls the night before from the beautiful ringlets adorning her face, and she carried her traveling makeup box, placing it on your vanity and rambling, “it’s been nonstop all day, y/n, and i love it, but sometimes when people don’t stop moving, it gets on my nerves! how am i supposed to make someone’s makeup look good if they constantly turn their head?”

“i don’t know, patty,” you said, somewhat mumbling.

“what’s wrong with you? you look like you’re waiting for those cupcakes to explode.” patty opened her kit to reveal a makeup set, and she began touching up your face, adding some more mascara to your eyelashes.

you sighed, your head ever so still, “hypothetically, if you felt something you hadn’t felt before about someone else, and it made you weirded out, what would you do?” you knew that she would definitely know that it was not a hypothetical question, but she played along.

“well,” she began, moving to the clothes rack, and taking out a blouse, “i would just see what kind of weird feeling i felt around them. if it was bad, then i’d avoid them, if it was good, then i’d stick around them to see what it really was.” she handed you a pair of jeans and the same white blouse she’d pulled out. then, going to the shoe rack next to your vanity, she pulled out rose-pink flats, giving them to you as you took off hadley’s brown-framed glasses.

taking off your shirt, you put the blouse over your head, and changed into the jeans and shoes. “i guess it was a good weird. and i can’t let it affect me too much-” you stopped yourself. patty couldn’t know it was about shawn, your co-star.

“alright, sweetie, i’ve got to go to maddy’s room, see you tomorrow.” patty grabbed her things, and pushed open the door.

“bye, patty.” you sat back down in your chair, looking at yourself in the mirror. putting your glasses back on, you glared down at the pink cupcakes, silently cursing them.

the next day, you shot another scene with shawn. your characters had just discovered who the killer was, and began their process to take him down, which resulted in you having to shower fake blood off yourself. as you stepped out of the bathroom and into your dressing room, you took the towel off your head and wrapped a robe around you.

your vanity had been cleared of the pink cupcakes, and you smiled to yourself, but three knocks on your door snapped you back into reality. “come in,” you said, and shawn stepped into your dressing room, hair wet and in his own clothes.

“hey- oh, sorry, i can come back later-”

“no, it’s okay,” you stood up, and looked at him, feeling awkward. he wore a black hoodie and blue jeans, and his body makeup had been removed, showing his tattoos. “let me just grab my clothes. we can talk through the door.”

shawn laughed as you took your bag and went in the bathroom, smiling as you put on your leggings and t-shirt. “what did you need?”

“uh, nothing, i just wanted to talk.”

you looked at the white door, almost like you could see shawn through it, “oh.”

“oh?”

“nothing, it’s just that it’s nice of you to keep me company.”

“i always hang out with you after we’re done.”

“i know,” you opened the door and saw shawn standing a few feet in front of you, grinning. “what?” he stepped closer to you, and suddenly, you got the good-weird feeling again. a burst of energy coursed through you, and you walked up to him, pulling his chest to yours like you did in your scene yesterday, and brought your lips to his. “i’m sorry, i just had to know-”

shawn cut you off and kissed you again, reaching to put his hand on your cheek, brushing your wet hair aside. “you had to know if when we kissed it felt like something different, right?” shawn let go of you, looking down. his eyes looked hypnotic to you, the brown and amber and green swirling together.

you took his hand, and interlaced your fingers with his, “yes. i shouldn’t have done it-”

the door behind shawn opened with a creak, and the two of you jumped apart, your hands trembling to see that maddy, who played leila, hadley’s best friend, walked in your dressing room. “hey, we gotta go now. staff has to clean the buildings.” her blonde hair was in a bun, and she still wore leila’s blue floral dress.

“alright. thanks maddy.” you replied, and wrung your hands together, side-eyeing shawn, who seemed to be very interested in hadley’s wardrobe.

“yep.” she closed the door, and you heard her heels clack down the hallway.

shawn stepped out from behind the clothing rack and made his way to the door. “i guess i’ll see you tomorrow.” he began to open it, and you could barely get your words out.

“wait-” the door closed, leaving you alone. near your rack, you saw a piece of paper on the ground. you picked it up and it read:

i didn’t want to draw attention. i’ll see you after our first scene.

the next day, you paced in your dressing room, trying to calm your mind. what did shawn mean by the note? as if almost on cue, shawn arrived, and turning so you could see his back, locked the door. “shawn, what are you doing here?” he walked up to you and kissed you with so much intensity that you stumbled into your vanity, hitting your back against the wood.

“i don’t know how we’ll keep this a secret, but i can’t sit and watch you and not be near you.” shawn brought his hands to your face, taking hadley’s glasses off and set them beside you. the feeling of sneaking around excited you, and made you feel like you were breaking the rules. there was nothing against dating your co-stars, but you wanted to be professional.

this wasn’t professional, but you didn’t care.

you rested your forehead against shawn’s, and pulled him in for another kiss. “okay. no one’s gonna find out.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes one-shot #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes acting #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes actor au #co-stars in crisis #caffeinated-mendes

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lestered · 5 years

Text

lost in your paradise

m, 9.3k

It’s been six years of surreal friendship, and an even surrealer crush. Six years of traveling all around the world, and wanting to kiss him in every place.

Six years of chickening out every time.

Dan has no reason to believe that Japan will be any different, but anything can happen when you get lost under the Tokyo lights.

read on ao3 or under the cut

written for @starboydjh for @phanfictionevents spring fic exchange! thank you Hadley for giving me such an amazing prompt to work with!

many thanks as well to my beta, irl bff @b-j-e who definitely isn’t reading this because he hasn’t used his tumblr in five years and has probably had enough of this fic by now, but still deserves an mvp award.

He wants to kiss him in Manchester.

60 meters up in the sky, gazing out over Phil’s favorite city in the world. The one he’d insisted that Dan come to visit so that he could really meet his new best friend.

Well... he'd phrased it that way at least, but Dan could’ve sworn that the words ‘best friend’ were laced with something else. Something in Phil’s eyes, in his tone of voice, in the way Dan could see his eyes moving over the screen, flickering from his lips to his bare chest and back into his eyes - that said they were best friends, no doubt, but maybe they could be more. That maybe Phil wants more. Wants what Dan had suspected himself of wanting since before they’d even spoken, and what had been confirmed on that train platform when he’d finally locked onto that ocean-blue gaze in person and been tugged so easily into a warm, tight embrace that had left him flushed and happy and still, hours later, charged with an overwhelming urge to pull Phil in close again, to put his hands on him and kiss that adorable, lopsided smile off his lips. To put it all on the line even though it’s a bit terrifying.

Not even a bit terrifying, actually. Just… regular terrifying. So he sits close and lets their thighs press together and their hands and elbows brush and meets each of Phil’s curious, unreadable glances with something just as unreadable, just hoping Phil picks up on his wanting and leans in and does what he doesn’t have the courage to do himself. But whether Phil’s just as nervous and unsure as Dan, or because he genuinely doesn’t want to, his wish goes unfulfilled.

He doesn’t kiss him on the Manchester eye. He also doesn’t kiss him that night in his bed, or all the other times in Rawtenstall, or in Phil’s crappy first apartment or the first that they share. He doesn’t kiss him all the times they find themselves leaning in too close, holding each other’s gaze for too long, letting little offhand but suggestive comments drift out and float almost antagonizingly in the space between them.

He wanted to kiss him in Manchester.

But he didn’t.

***

Their hotel room in Japan is unreal. From the plush beds to the high-tech toilet to the mirror-TV, it’s by far the nicest room they’ve ever stayed in. It’s cool - too cool for them, frankly, but no one really needs to know that. Dan’s definitely not one to complain.

Personally, he’s a particularly big fan of their jacuzzi tub. It’s big enough to fit his giant noodle body, for one - a luxury that most tubs don’t afford him. And for another thing, he’s found that there’s nothing quite like a nice hot soak after a full day of walking around, exploring, because they can’t miss a thing, because Tokyo’s been their dream destination for years and who knows if they’ll ever get to come back.

It’s a lot of activity.

And it’s definitely worth it; it’s just also a bit strenuous for someone who spends most of his time slumped in front of a computer screen. Some warm bubbles go a long way when it’s time to unwind from it.

He may have stayed in a bit too long tonight, judging by the pruny state of his fingers and toes, but he can’t bring himself to care as he dries off, taking some extra time to towel the wetness out of his hair. The sooner it dries, the sooner he can straighten it.

A puff of steam follows him when he steps out into the bedroom a moment later in just his t-shirt and boxers, causing an unintentionally dramatic scene.

He half-expects Phil to notice and tease him for it. However, Phil’s laid out on his bed, still in the exact position he’d fallen into upon arriving back to their room - flat on his back, fully starfished save for the phone that he’s now holding to his ear.

“No, come on, don’t apologize. Tell him we hope he feels better soon, yeah?”

Dan gives him a curious glance as he flops forward onto his own bed, stretching out on his stomach and sliding his arms around to hug the pillow that he’s smushed into his cheek.

“Right, good luck. And seriously, thanks for everything you guys’ve done for us here, alright? Yeah… talk to you later.”

Phil blows out a breath, sets his phone down and rolls over to face Dan in a position that mimics his own.

“That was Mimei.” He tells him, though Dan figured as much. “They can’t come out tonight, apparently Duncan’s a bit under the weather and she’d feel bad leaving him alone. I guess he doesn't handle being poorly too well.”

Dan feels the corners of his mouth turn down in a small, disappointed frown. “Oh." He shifts to adjust the positioning of the pillow under his head. "That sucks, I wanted to go out one more time. I guess we could get room service, though, and now I won’t have to straighten my hair…”

“What are talking about?” Phil interrupts him before he can finish his thought. “We can still go out.”

Oh, god. Six years later, his heart is still full to bursting with love for his best friend, but he can’t deny that Phil has a tendency to lack crucial self awareness in situations like these. Phil must sense the apprehension on his part, because he quickly follows it up:

"It's our last night, we can't not go out!"

“Phil.” He rolls his eyes. “We can’t go out alone at night. We don't know where we're going, we can’t read the signs... we can’t use data here, so Maps is out of the question if we get lost which, since you have the navigational proficiency of a blind goose with vertigo…”

Phil’s spare pillow lands against his face with a soft thud before Dan can finish whatever hyperbolic insult he was ready to make up on the fly.

He knows what comes next: the pillow falls away and he’s met with big, blue puppy dog eyes and a pout. Phil doesn’t even need to say anything, and he knows it. Pure evil, he is.

(Not really. Pure evil would be if he knew what those eyes really do to Dan, if he knew how desperately Dan wants to make them light up and kiss the pout off his lips. But he doesn’t know. As it stands, Phil just believes himself to be an exceptionally talented beggar.)

“Fuck off.” He groans, and turns his face fully into the pillow before he gets too caught up. “Fine, we’ll go out if you'll stop being an insufferable spoon.”

The giggle he gets in return lets Dan know that Phil’s very pleased with himself, but he doesn’t need to look up to see his smile. He’s got it memorized already.

***

He wants to kiss him in Wokingham.

It’s not the right time, though.

Wokingham isn’t what he wants or who he wants to be; It's everything he wants to leave behind. It's loneliness and confusion and self-doubt - really, it's everything that Phil’s not.

Phil is warmth and support and a genuine hope that maybe he won’t have to define himself by the first eighteen mediocre years of his life. Phil is someone who actually believes in him in a way that he hasn’t believed in himself for years.

Phil’s the future he wants. Their first kiss ought to be in some place that represents his hope for that future, not the place he’s so eager to ditch.

Right.

That’s what he tells himself. Really, it's a convoluted excuse to cover the fact that he’s just scared shitless. Again.

Having Phil with him in Wokingham is strange. He’s been happy letting these two parts of his life exist completely separate from each other so far. Of course, Phil makes him feel safe, but he’d be lying if he said that having him in his hometown doesn’t make him feel… exposed. Vulnerable. As if Phil would arrive here and immediately sniff out all of Dan’s yet-unspoken baggage - that uneasy balance between stupid teen angst and real, confusing, lonely, amorphous sadness that hangs so heavy in the air of his teenage bedroom that it’s almost tangible to him.

He thinks, at first, that Phil's not picked up on it. Phil’s just happy to see him, always so happy to see him. Inexplicably so, in Dan’s opinion, no matter how many times Phil tries to tell him otherwise.

He doesn’t realize until late that night, in bed, that Phil’s more perceptive than he’d given him credit for.

“Thanks for letting me come here, Dan.” His voice is laced with understanding when he whispers into the dark, tugging him into his chest and sending Dan's heart into overdrive. It’d be so easy to do it now, to tilt his head up, to lean in just a bit, to brush his lips against Phil’s.

But he's frozen in place because a kiss could lose him this embrace if Phil doesn’t kiss him back. And he realizes he’s not ready to take that risk.

Will he ever be?

“You’re welcome.” He whispers instead, letting his eyes fall shut and releasing the breath he’d been holding. “I’m glad you’re here, Phil.”

He wanted to kiss him in Wokingham.

But he didn’t.

***

“Remember you want the tuna roll to end up in your mouth, and not on the back of some poor unsuspecting lady’s neck across the room.”

Phil kicks his shin under the table, but his blush and bitten-back smile betray any malice he might’ve been attempting.

“I hate you.” He mumbles. “You can't just let me live that down?”

“Do you even know me?” Dan crumples his straw wrapper into a tiny ball and flicks it across the table. It lands in Phil's lap and his mind may or may not be playing tricks on him when he thinks he sees a hint of fondness in the eyeroll that follows. “Of course not.”

They’re sat at the sushi restaurant from a few nights ago. It was their safest bet - the majority of the waitstaff speak at least some English and they know enough rudimentary Japanese food-words to pick things off menu. The overlap is enough for them to order their rolls and an extra side of spicy mayo, which suits them just fine.

Last time they sat at the bar, this time they're tucked into a table-for-two in the back corner. It's clearly not meant for two men as tall as them. They keep accidentally stepping on each other's toes.

(Maybe not always accidentally on Dan's part. Lamely, he knows that it's probably the closest he'll ever get to a game of footsie.)

“Do I get to tell the internet about how you cried at the Ghibli museum, then?” Phil asks, and this time there's definitely a fond glimmer behind his teasing expression.

That earns Phil his own kick to the shin. “Go ahead. They won’t judge me for it, they’ll judge you for being the soulless robot who didn’t cry.”

The look of shocked indignation on Phil's face before he schools his features into a cooler, more neutral expression is incredibly precious.

“Whatever." He retorts. "I was emotional too, I just held it together so I could be there to support you.”

The joking lilt of Phil’s voice unfortunately doesn't tame the swooping sensation he feels by default in the pit of his stomach every time Phil says something that makes him wonder if there's any truth, any genuine feeling behind the bants.

He decides that he's feeling a little too sober for this.

***

He wants to kiss him in Blackpool.

It's a getaway, not quite the way they’d planned it, but it can still be… romantic. Maybe. If he manages to actually do something right.

It’s just the two of them and that’s gotta to mean something. Do strictly platonic friends go on holiday for no other reason than wanting to enjoy each other’s company in a more private setting?

Maybe, but do they? Dan can't shake off the feeling that this trip means something more. He’s sure he senses it in the way Phil’s fingers still for a moment on the trackpad on his laptop, the cursor on the screen hovering between the one- or two-bed options on the hotel website.

The brief silence is excruciating, but no more so than the mouse click when Phil ends up selecting the room with two beds.

He supposes that doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's just that neither of them spoke up.

Blackpool turns out to be a shithole, though, so is it the right place?

Probably not, but… it'd be far less shitty if Dan could muster up the courage one goddamn night to crawl into Phil’s bed with him, instead of his own.

He actually almost does, stumbling into their room giddy and wine-drunk after a too-expensive dinner on the last night, trusting Phil to support about half his weight with the arm slung around his waist, and his arm around Phil’s shoulders.

“Fucking hell, finally.” He doesn't bother untangling them before falling backwards onto the bed, landing Phil on top of him with a surprised 'oof.'

“Shit, sorry mate.” He manages with an indelicate snort as Phil lifts himself onto his forearms. Then suddenly, Dan isn’t sorry at all - not with Phil on top of him, face flushed from the alcohol, eyes half-lidded and searching.

He really, really isn’t sorry.

“S’ok.” Phil mumbles in reply. He stays hovering over him, unmoving, his voice barely above a whisper and Dan swears he sees those pretty eyes flicker down to his lips.

If there’s ever been a go-ahead to kiss him, kiss him right fucking now, this would have to be it.

He just needs to collect himself first. Just a few deep breaths.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale— oh.

Oh no.

“Uh, Phil. I need you to get off me now.”

All he registers is a glimpse of the confusion in Phil’s expression when he rolls off of him, only for Dan to bolt straight to the bathroom. He makes it to the toilet just in time to collapse onto his knees and empty the entire contents of his stomach.

Perhaps he’d overdone it on the liquid courage.

“...Dan?” He hears Phil’s voice drifting in from the bedroom. “You alright? Can I get you anything?”

He sounds concerned, and understandably not the least bit turned on. Nice.

“Totally fine.” He rasps in reply, and groans internally over how his voice echoes pathetically out of the toilet bowl while he rests his forehead on the cool porcelain rim.

They go to sleep in separate beds that night.

He wanted to kiss him in Blackpool.

But he didn’t.

***

Phil, in an unprecedented display of chopstick dexterity, manages to actually finish his sushi without accidentally assaulting anyone. Dan is secretly a little bit disappointed. Dumbass moments like those become fond memories and inside jokes and another reinforcement to a bond so unique that nobody ever could manage to steal it away from him.

He'll make a memory anyway, a mental snapshot. Phil looks handsome and the lights are low and the music is soft and the food is good.

Oh, and the scorpion bowl in the middle of their table is very strong, and should definitely be shared by more than two people. But they're not letting that stop them.

In fact, Dan's been sipping a steady stream out of his straw for god knows how long.

“Christ, Dan, you're not eighteen anymore.” Phil nudges Dan’s foot with his own under the table. "Slow down if you don't wanna be hungover on the plane tomorrow. Plus you keep slurping."

“I’ll slurp your mum.” He replies without thinking, still holding the straw in between his teeth. He registers what he's actually said a second too late, just a moment after Phil looks at him with a horrified expression and he sputters before dropping his head down into his hands.

“No, no. I take it back. I didn’t say that, I did not say that.” He tries to insist, but he’s wheezing and his shoulders are shaking with laughter and he can’t take it back. Phil's joined in on the laughter and he's definitely not gonna let him take it back. “Fuck.” He sighs out when he catches his breath. “Don’t tell Kath.”

Phil’s cheeks are flushed a dark, rosy pink by the time he regains his composure and takes a long sip out of their shared drink again.

“As if I’d ever repeat one of your terrible jokes to her. She’d be scarred for life.”

Dan almost points out that Phil’s mum watches their videos, and he’s said worse on camera, but he stops himself.

Because one day of vlogging aside, this vacation has been a welcome escape, a break from the constant thought loop of youtube, youtube, fans, fans, radio, radio, youtube youtube youtube that refuses to leave them alone back in England.

His life could be a lot worse. But that doesn't change the fact that they're here right now in a whole new world where they've not been recognized, not even once, and he's breathing so easy, like a gigantic weight he hadn't even registered before has been lifted off his chest.

It’s amazing. He looks across the table at Phil. He can do that here, where they won't run into anyone, where it's unlikely that anyone's secretly watching - look at Phil for as long as he wants, not bothering to worry about schooling his features into something that definitively does not resemble heart-eyes. Phil catches his eye and stares back at him with an intent, albeit slightly unfocused gaze. He's not used to Phil looking at him this way, but his fuzzy brain can't bring itself to decipher what might be going on in Phil's head.

Whatever it might is, his best-friend-intuition tells him he likes it.

“Hey, Phil.” He says after a final decisive drink, still focused on those sparkling eyes. “Let’s go exploring.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Portugal.

It's what Blackpool was supposed to be after all, vacation-wise.

It can be what Blackpool was supposed to be kiss-wise, too, if he doesn’t majorly fuck up this time.

It’s much prettier here than Blackpool. Much prettier than anywhere they’ve been, really.

Phil especially looks pretty here, even with his pale skin slathered in SPF-one million. He’s pretty at the Zoomarine, where his eyes gleam with excitement and he makes friends with a large turtle. He’s pretty with his face flushed and his smile wide and uninhibited after a bit of sangria, when he tells him his skin looks nice under the blue sun.

He’s so very pretty on the coastline, with his sunglasses a bit crooked and his face turned up towards the sun and his hair tousled from the salty wind, sitting right next to him on the warm rocky ground.

His chest hurts when he looks at Phil like this. He’s scared sometimes of how badly he wants him.

Phil shifts closer to him, and their hands, outstretched behind them, overlap.

...Interesting. Is that more or less scary? He feels hot all of a sudden and he suspects it's from more than just the sun.

But they stay like that, and his heart races, and he has no idea what to do because Phil’s acting like they’re doing nothing unusual even though it’s been a while since they’ve touched like this.

His stupid inner romantic has never fully ruled out the possibility that maybe Phil wants him too.

So is this a move? Is he going to make another? If he does then that’s a lot of pressure off of Dan, for sure.

He waits.

He waits for a long time.

And he probably doesn’t have a right to feel disappointed when nothing happens, but he does anyway.

He wanted to kiss him in Portugal.

But he didn’t.

***

Stepping out into the fresh air sobers him up a little bit. Not a lot, but enough that he and Phil don’t need to lean on each other when they walk. That’s good, he doesn’t feel like looking sloppy even though Phil’s seen him at his sloppiest. And wherever they’re about to go, he wants to remember it.

They don’t talk about where they’re going, but head off at the exact same time in the exact same random direction. They walk in silence for a bit and Dan doesn’t mind. Silence is quite alright, especially if he’s sharing it with Phil. His mind is foggy and the Tokyo streets are loud enough and Phil’s right there, next to him like always. That’s enough for him.

He’s actually startled when Phil finally speaks up. “I kind of can’t believe we did this.”

Dan looks over at him and Phil’s gaze is a little distant, his voice a little dreamy, and his lips quirked into a bit of a smile. Dan’s heart swells.

“Came here, you mean?” His voice is barely above a soft murmur, but he knows Phil can hear him anyway. They find a break in traffic and cross the road towards some building he doesn’t recognize with some neon pink sign in the front that he can’t read. “I know. Kinda doesn’t feel real.”

He thinks back over six years, how many times they talked about Japan. Too many to count, and never in concrete terms, always some vague, faraway goal.

He thinks of the times they’d sit a little too close on the couch and watch anime over breakfast, all the skype calls in the very beginning when they’d spend ages rambling to each other about Pokemon and My Neighbor Totoro. He thinks of standing at their breakfast bar in Manchester and mixing up Popin Cookin sweets, of losing their shit over Bishi Bashi special.

When he glances over to his side, he sees Phil looking right back at him. Dan can’t quite decipher his expression again, and he’s not sure it’s from the alcohol this time. The look on Phil's face quite resembles the one he'd had after spontaneously booking their tickets and following the initial excitement, something softer, but contemplative too. He likes that look. He likes having it aimed at him. He’s pretty sure his buzz intensifies for a second.

“It’s real.” Phil breathes, locking eyes with him and then looking away a little sooner than Dan wants him to. “Definitely real.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Jamaica.

He thought Portugal was pretty, but Jamaica is on a whole new level. And, as with anything else amazing that’s happened to him as of late, Phil is right there with him.

It feels kind of like a dream, if he’s being honest - that anyone would consider him important or influential enough to be on this trip.

The only reason he knows for sure that it’s not a dream is his hobbit hair. In a dream, he’d have it perfectly straightened and under control. But with the water activities and humidity here, any effort he puts in to taming his curls is entirely in vain.

Phil ruffles his hair and tells him his curls are cute. He cares a lot less after that.

What he does care about is filming and jumping off cliffs and tubing and sunset swims where Phil photographs him without his knowledge.

“What?” Phil comments when Dan whines to him about it. “It’s a cool photo. It’s artsy. You look nice.”

He scoffs at that. “It’s just my silhouette.”

“Well, it’s a good one.”

Everything around them is shades of pink and orange and gold. Warm and beautiful. Especially the golden light, bringing out the specks of yellow in Phil’s kaleidoscope eyes. Looking into them, he feels a distinct tugging somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and drifts over to Phil almost mindlessly. Phil smiles when he’s close enough.

“You have so many new freckles.” He murmurs, and taps him lightly on the tip of his nose.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. They make me look like a fucking eight-year-old.”

It’s the least sexy reply he could’ve given and he mentally scolds himself for it, but Phil doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Shut up, they suit you.” Is all he says in reply and Dan’s lucky that there’s not enough light for Phil to see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

He doesn’t even need to make an effort to get any closer to Phil; the current does all the work for them until their knees touch.

He’s close to leaning in. More than anything, he wants to close the fucking gap.

Just his luck, though, Phil glances up just then and sighs. “Crap, it’s getting dark. We should go back, don’t wanna be late for dinner.”

He can’t find it in himself to muster enough courage after that.

He wanted to kiss him in Jamaica.

But he didn’t.

***

The place with the neon pink sign that they can’t read is some kind of karaoke bar, they realize once they’ve crossed the street and lean up against the wall for a breather and immediately hear the distinct beginning of Get Low by Lil John and two, mildy-drunk sounding voices belting along into microphones.

“Oh my God.” Phil’s eyes are wide. “Do you think they know what this song means? Like, what they’re actually saying?”

Dan holds up a finger and they go quiet.

To the windowwwwww (to the windowwwww)

To the wall (to the wall)

Til the sweat drop down my balls

Til all these bitches crawl

“Definitely not.” Dan snorts, and Phil rests his head back against the wall to breathe out a disbelieving laugh as well.

“I mean… I guess it’s not hurting anyone.” Phil shrugs. “We sing anime theme songs all the time and we have no clue what they mean. For all we know they could be incredibly profane.”

“Yes, Phil. I’m sure the Attack on Titan theme tune is incredibly profane. Come on, you spork.” He pushes off the wall and walks off a few feet down the sidewalk, only to realize that Phil’s not following him.

“Uh, Phil?” He turns around, eyebrow raised when he sees Phil still standing against the wall. “Don’t you wanna go find something to do?”

Phil hesitates, seeming to ponder something for a moment before breaking out into a smile. He pushes off the wall and takes a few steps backwards towards the door to the bar, his eyes just the slightest bit challenging.

“I think we just did.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Italy.

Chris and PJ aren’t stupid. They nudge him, shoot him looks, strategically leave him and Phil alone multiple times a day with fully conspicuous parting winks.

And he won't do it. If he’s going to kiss Phil (which, admittedly, is feeling like more and more of a lost cause), it’s going to be on his terms. It’s going to be when he feels it’s right, not when their well-meaning but idiotic friends decide.

It actually does feel right at one point, when Phil’s chasing him in a tipsy, spontaneous game of tag while they’re alone. Phil catches him and he wants to spin around right then, crash their mouths together, let Phil know that he’s got him in more ways than one. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or adrenaline, or maybe he’s just damn fed up with not having Phil’s lips on his.

Probably a combination, to be honest. But mostly that last thing.

He spins and just like that, PJ and Chris come right up behind them.

Some God that he doesn’t believe in really wanted to fuck with him tonight.

They seem to realize that they’ve come upon something they shouldn’t have, but Phil catches sight of them too, and then the moment’s gone.

He wanted to kiss him in Italy.

But he didn’t.

***

Phil must be drunker than Dan previously thought, because the Phil Lester that he prides himself on knowing extremely well does not just get the spontaneous urge to saunter into a karaoke bar. Yet that’s exactly what he does, and Dan kind of has no choice except to follow him.

The air inside is thick and hot and noisy, with a couple fans whirring on either side of the bar and a floor setup of basic tables and chairs, some mismatched overstuffed armchairs against the far wall, and most importantly a small stage (more like a platform, really) all the way up at the front, complete with a karaoke setup of two mics and a screen that flashes song lyrics in bright, loud colors. Phil leads them to the only empty armchair at the edge of the room, conveniently wide enough for the two of them to squeeze into.

And Dan has to admit it’s pretty cool. The bar may be hot and crowded and loud but it’s entertaining. They hear some regular, innocent songs. They’re quite nice. But they also hear uncensored renditions of Pony by Ginuwine, The Real Slim Shady by Eminem, and a personal favorite of theirs, My Neck, My Back. They contain their laughter for the most part, meaning a lot of the time they’re red faced and shaking. The laughter gets harder to contain when they’re sent a free drink each from a couple older ladies at the bar.

They don’t really need to loosen up more than they already are, but they drink them anyway.

Of course, the best part of the whole thing is being pressed up so close to Phil. He’s warm and smells nice and Dan would very much like to kiss his rosy cheek, but he’s not quite uninhibited enough for that.

“Right, my ass is falling asleep, we can probably get walking around again.” Phil says when he stands up a while later with a stretch and a yawn. Dan follows, and just then the current song ends and the next karaoke slot opens up.

A seed of an idea plants itself in Dan’s mind, and he flashes Phil the same challenging look that Phil had aimed at him earlier. “Or, maybe not just yet.” He grins and pulls a shocked, protesting Phil up on stage. He’d be painfully too awkward to do this sober, but his head is swimming a bit, so he’s alright.

Phil is still looking incredibly alarmed as Dan sorts through the song selection, and it doesn’t take long for him to find the perfect one. He hits play and Phil pales when it starts up. Dan merely gives him a cheeky smirk and picks up his mic.

mmBaby can’t you see, I’m calling

A guy like you should wear a warning

It’s dangerous

I’m falling…

Your turn, he mouths to a Phil who now looks less terrified, more intrigued, and in a sudden show of bravery, grabs his own mic.

There’s no escape

I can’t wait

I need a hit

Baby, give me it

A loud cheer coming from somewhere around the bar puts what Dan could almost describe as a sultry smirk on Phil’s lips. Surely that’s not on purpose.

You’re dangerous

I’m loving it

It sends a rush of blood down in between his legs anyway. He breathes in deep, locks eyes with Phil and joins back in.

Too high, can’t come down

Losing my head, spinning round and round

...

...Do you feel me now?

***

He wants to kiss him in Orlando, Vegas, and LA.

He doesn’t even need an excuse as to why he won’t. More and more, they’ve been keeping some distance from each other. There’s pressure mounting. A rapidly growing fanbase, thousands and thousands of prying eyes.

Thousands and thousands of hopefuls wanting the things Phil said in that damn video to be true just as much as Dan does.

And just as much as he has to act like he doesn’t. The situation may not be that out of control, but he’s living in his own personal spiral of misery. Phil moves further and further out of his reach and it’s not supposed to bother him - hell, it’s partially his own fault.

He doesn’t know if it bothers Phil or not. They don’t talk about it. They still talk, all the time, about everything else. Just… not that. Never that.

He doesn’t hope at this point. Not the way he used to. He still wants, he still wants so bad that it hurts. All he can bring himself to hope for is that their on-camera life doesn’t bleed into their off-camera life more than it already has. He couldn’t handle it.

He wanted to kiss him in Orlando, Vegas and LA.

But he didn’t.

***

They’re giddy and nearly delirious when they stumble out of the bar later, courtesy of a couple more free drinks and the adrenaline from two encore performances after their smashing performance of Toxic.

“Fucking hell.” Dan laughs when they lean up against the outside wall again, right where they’d been leaning before. “That was…” He shakes his head and laughs again before gulping down as much fresh air as he can. “That was pretty fucking epic.”

“It was.” Phil agrees with the same type of laugh, wiping the sweat off of his brow. “We haven’t done karaoke in way too long.”

“We’ve never done karaoke, you dingus.” Dan snorts and bumps his shoulder weakly into Phil’s. “Rock Band doesn’t count as karaoke.”

Phil bumps his shoulder right back. “It does to me, you... you… rude person.”

Phil really isn’t good with the insults in his regular state. Drunk Phil’s insults, though, are simply laughable. “Ouch, Phil." He feigns hurt. "I might not ever recover from that absolute zinger.”

Without thinking, he grabs the shoulder of Phil’s jacket and starts to tug him along while Phil follows along with a weak retort of “your mum.”

He’s not sure how far they walk, arms and hands brushing and shoulders bumping and cheeks blushing, before they come upon a small, well-lit ice cream shop. Dan hadn’t even thought about ice cream, but now the light inside the shop may as well be a beacon of heaven.

They keep walking once they’ve got their cones, and Dan can’t hold back his satisfied groan when he takes his first lick and it instantly hits the spot. “God, why isn’t ice cream like, the most popular drunk food?” He asks around his next several licks. “It’s filling, it’s cold, it’s refreshing… it's literally perfect. We’ve been so blind.”

“It’s definitely better than those kebabs you used to slam with your uni mates after the club before stumbling back to my apartment.” Phil says with a shrug, occupied with his own cone.

Dan thinks that Phil’s teasing might be laced with a bit of fond nostalgia, but he could just be projecting. He has plenty of fond nostalgia over having an excuse to pass out in Phil’s bed, half on top of him a couple times a week. He also has some… slightly less fun memories of Phil nursing him back to health if he woke up particularly hungover.

“Hey, those were good times.” Dan defends, though he’s not referring to the kebabs or the clubbing or even his old uni mates. They walk further into the night, slurping their respective ice creams, and Dan lets himself wonder if Phil ever looks back on those times in the same way.

***

He wants to kiss him in London.

It’s not the first time they’ve been here. But it’s the most important.

It’s the start of something new. A huge step forward in their life, a big risk that they’re taking together, trusting each other to pull through.

There’s actual career advancement on the line. Actual grown-up shit. Actual jobs at the actual fucking BBC. They wouldn’t be here without each other, and he’s so happy. So grateful.

Now more than ever, he appreciates how much he's managed to change his life for the better since meeting Phil. How Phil's been there through everything, stuck by him at his absolute messiest. How he’s cared. So much. More than Dan’s ever imagined, more than he deserves.

They build a crappy wardrobe, and they're definitely a little too proud of themselves for it.

It’s right after that, lying side by side on the carpet next to the only piece of furniture that they currently own, that Dan feels that pull again. He feels it less these days, or maybe he just refuses to acknowledge it. It's hard for now, but he figures ignoring it will get easier at some point.

He’s just not there yet.

He wanted to kiss him in London.

But he didn’t.

***

“Stars are so pretty.” Phil sighs. “You know some of the stars we’re looking at right now are already dead? How crazy is that? They’re just… shiny little... beacons of death. So cute.”

“Oh my God, what are you even on about?” Dan mumbles as he rolls his head to the side. They’re both laying down on a bed of soft, slightly damp grass after happening on a quaint little park 15 or so minutes away from the ice cream shop. Conveniently so, as they were both just about dead on their feet.

They’ve been mostly silent, not talking, not touching. Dan gazes into the dark sky and listens to Phil’s deep, steady breathing. He feels like he’s floating, light and breezy in some space between his reality and a dream. It’s definitely not a bad way to be winding down. He checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly midnight.

“Hey Dan?” Phil’s voice pulls him back to the present after a pretty long while. “Have you got any idea where we are?”

Dan sighs softly in reply. “No clue,” he murmurs, resting a hand on his stomach and letting his eyes slide shut.

“Oh.”

Dan furrows his eyebrows when he hears a bit of an edge in Phil’s voice. It takes him a minute to catch on, but when he does, sits straight up so fast that his vision goes a little bit spinny.

“Oh.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Edinburgh, and New York too.

For no particular reason, except that he still wants to kiss him every-fucking-where they go. But he has plenty of reasons not to.

Firstly, they’re working. They have a professional relationship now. It doesn’t outweigh their friendship by any means, but it’s there. It’s important. They’re coworkers.

And simply put, you don’t kiss your coworker. Doesn’t matter that you’ve been in love with him for three years.

They make a living off of being friends and nothing more than that. Any failed attempt at love now wouldn’t just put their friendship on the line, but their livelihood too.

Their life is good. He refuses to be the one to fuck it all up.

Secondly, kissing Phil has been off the table for a while, anyway.

Along with self expression, along with anything else that might hint at him being not-straight with a gay-as-hell crush on his best friend.

Not just off the table, even. More like fully out of the question. More like aggressively denied.

Some fans love him for it, lots of them hate him for it. He hates himself for it.

He doesn't really care. He only hopes that Phil doesn’t hate him for it.

He wanted to kiss him in Edinburgh, and New York too.

But he didn’t.

***

Trying to get their bearings and retrace their steps back to wherever the hell they’d come from is by far the least fun part of their night. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Phil worries his bottom lip between his teeth when they pace across the field in what might or might not be the direction they came from. Dan drags his hands over his sweaty scalp and tugs lightly at his hair that’s almost certainly started to curl around the edges.

“I’m sorry, Dan.” Phil sighs after a while, copying Dan and anxiously fixing his own hair. “I really shouldn’t have made us come out tonight, you were right about getting lost.”

Dan frowns when he notes that Phil seems, well… genuinely upset. This has kind of been the most fun he’s had in… a pretty long time. He doesn’t like the idea of Phil regretting it, much less feeling guilty.

“Hey, I went along with it.” He insists. “It’s my fault too. We just need to… fuck, I don’t know, but this is the direction we came from, right? I’m almost positive.”

Phil stops abruptly. “It’s not.” He says quietly after a moment’s pause. “But… oh my God, look.”

Dan follows his gaze and feels his eyes widen when he sees just what Phil’s looking at.

“Holy shit.” He whispers. “Are we gonna…?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Cyprus.

It’s hard for him not to think about it around Bryony and Wirrow, because with them around it feels like a full-on couples vacation.

Which would be the cringiest middle-class white people thing they’ve probably ever done, if that were actually the case. It’s not, though. It’s not a couples vacation; it’s a couple vacationing with their two lanky, emo, painfully single best mates.

Still, his heart flutters when he watches Phil sip down his colorful, sugary cocktail at dinner, the sunset casting angular shadows over his face. Feels nothing but adoration watching him flail in an unsuccessful attempt to swat away the gigantic, pesky Cypriot bugs.

And to no one’s surprise, especially his own, he does nothing to act on it. Doesn’t even entertain it as a real possibility anymore. It hurts. But it's just a pipe dream now.

He wanted to kiss him in Cyprus.

But he didn’t.

***

Cherry blossoms at night might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

Dan fancies himself a bit of a philosopher. Whether or not that notion actually holds any merit is a different story. Still, he’d like to think that all his hours spent facedown in his bed, at his desk, and mostly on the floor haven’t all been for nothing. He’d like to think that he’s formed some sort of coherent opinion on life - why he’s here, what he’s living for, what it all means in the grand scheme of things.

Really, he hasn’t. He waffles too much, he overthinks, and before he knows it he’s back to square one. But he’s learned a couple of things.

First and foremost, that sometimes it’s easier to think in metaphors, as long as they aren’t painfully contrived. Metaphors break things down into simpler terms, put things in perspective.

Cherry blossoms, he read somewhere at some point, are a metaphor. They bloom bright and beautiful when the time is right, and then two weeks later, all too soon, they fall to the ground. Much like existence, they are transient. Fragile. Gone possibly before you can find the time, the perspective, to marvel at them properly. But their fleeting nature doesn’t make them less beautiful when they’re in bloom. Far from it; they’re precious while they last.

Life, from the wholly optimistic perspective he rarely sees, can be the same.

But funnily enough, he’s not actually thinking of that right now.

He’s not actually thinking of much at all.

It’s hard to think, surrounded by so much light.

“I can’t believe we never knew about this.” Phil mumbles from beside him. He’s got his head turned up towards the tree that’s casting its soft pink glow down over and around them. “I totally would’ve forced you to get lost with me sooner.”

He’d almost forgotten not wanting to come out tonight in the first place. I’m glad you forced me out. He wants to say. I’m glad that I’m here with you. But when he turns to his side, Phil’s not standing next to him anymore.

Before he can even panic or call out to him, he spots Phil up ahead just a bit, ambling along among some of the trees that lead down to a nearby river. He’s looking up still, clearly caught up in the ethereal view - seeing the trees lit up, seemingly on their own in the dark, does look kind of like magic. They could be checkpoints in a fantasy rpg, Phil would probably say. Or something of the sort - Dan can always ask him later what’s going on in his mind. Something interesting and strange, he's sure, because Phil’s like that.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks up ahead himself, following Phil from a few feet behind. He has a tendency to lose Phil like this - on the street, in parks, in train stations, when he’s zoned out in his own private Phil world. It’s either endearing or incredibly frustrating, depending on the situation. Right now, it’s definitely endearing.

And it's always kind of funny to see how and when Phil comes back to reality, how he fumbles to regain his bearings and is always startled at himself for having spaced out so long.

Well, this time it’s actually not very long. Phil’s only been walking for about a minute before he trips, stumbling forward a few steps, then righting himself and turning his head to the side, confused. Dan knows it’s because Phil was assuming Dan to be next to him this entire time.

“Smooth.” He remarks with a snicker, coming up on Phil’s other side. “That’s what happens when you’re staring at the trees and not watching where you’re going.”

Phil turns with a startled jump before his face falls into a frown. “You were supposed to be next to me!” He complains. “You could’ve warned me I was about to trip on something.”

“You tripped over nothing.” Dan remarks when he looks down at the ground and sees nothing in the immediate vicinity that Phil could’ve tripped on. “Double smooth.”

“I hate you.” Phil grumbles. “And you’ve got petals in your hair.”

Dan’s cheeks heat up against his will when Phil reaches up and plucks them out. They heat up even more when he smooths his hair back into place for him. They’re on fire when Phil’s hand lingers for a second before he drops it back down to his side, resuming his walking with Dan actually next to him this time.

“The trees don’t even look real, right?” Phil asks, glancing up at them again, briefly and with much more caution this time. “I feel like some NPC from a fantasy game should be living inside.”

Dan has to bite back a grin. Okay, an NPC, not a checkpoint, but still. That psychic connection that their audience, friends and family accuse them of having really is uncanny at times.

“I could see that.”

They stop walking when they reach the edge of the river. There’s a bridge about 20 feet away from them that crosses over and leads to more cherry blossom trees on the other side, but they stay put, watching the lanterns that float along in the water.

When he looks at Phil, he sees the river reflected in his eyes and the warm pink light shining behind him and realizes that actually, the cherry blossoms are only the second prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He feels something click into place.

“Phil.” He sighs.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing now besides chasing whatever feeling, whatever tug, whatever heat, whatever rush of courage he’s got washing over him, cementing his resolve. Whether he likes it or not, he’s not backing out this time.

There’s a storm of emotion looming very close in the distance. It’ll remain unnamed and indiscernible until he reaches his outcome here. Right now it’s only adrenaline, his racing heart and sweaty palms tell him as much.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Phil.” He repeats in a slightly steadier tone of voice. “I need to tell you something, I—”

He turns to Phil and immediately can’t finish his sentence. He’s cut off when Phil’s lips are suddenly pressed against his own.

He freezes, his mouth slack and his arms hanging dumbly at his sides while his brain races to catch up with what the fuck is actually happening. Phil’s kissing him. Phil’s right here, right in front of him, he’s cupping his face and kissing him.

The delayed realization hits him like a freight train. His eyes slip shut and suddenly he’s a live wire, hot and electric from his head down to the tips of his toes and his inner voice screams KISS HIM, KISS HIM, KISS HIM BACK YOU IDIOT.

Phil pulls away before he can and Dan can’t breathe. He can’t even bring himself to open his eyes until a few seconds later. He waits for his vision to refocus and then locks eyes with Phil.

Phil’s taken several steps back from him, eyes wide and his expression utterly terrified, color drained out of his cheeks and both hands clasped tightly over his mouth.

“Oh my god, Dan.” His voice is muffled by his hands but Dan can still hear how shaky it is. “I’m so sorry, I’m— I shouldn’t have— I don’t know what—”

Phil, he realizes, is apologizing. Apologizing for kissing him. He feels his heart plunge all the way down to his feet and back up because Phil’s apologizing for kissing him and that’s fully unacceptable. His body feels like it’s running on autopilot when he surges forward, tugging Phil’s hands away from his mouth and just barely registering the desperation in his eyes before he grabs his face and kisses him again.

He kisses him hard and Phil’s reaction speed is far better than Dan’s because he kisses him back immediately, heated and urgent and impassioned.

They break apart technically sooner than Dan would like, but as far as he’s concerned, they now have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Phil.” He rasps, knowing that his pupils are surely blown as big and dark as Phil’s when he looks into them. “We need to get back to the hotel. Right fucking now.”

In the end, it's a matter of swallowing their pride and stumbling through a half-coherent conversation with a very patient park-goer, who does eventually understand what the hell they're trying to say and points them in the right direction.

Actually getting back to the hotel is a blur.

What's not a blur is the fact that Phil's mouth is on his again before the door's even closed behind him. That’s when everything turns crystal clear. His whole body’s on fire when they fall in a mess of tangled limbs onto the bed, kicking off shoes and wrestling each other out of clothes.

He straddles Phil once they’re both down to just their pants, their bodies pressing tight together when he leans down and slots their mouths together again

It's not quite the tender, romantic confession that Dan had been planning on.

But it turns out that he’s just as fine with words and half-sentences spoken in haste when they’re panting hot and heavy against each other’s mouths.

Phil scratches his nails lightly down Dan’s back and Dan tells him he wants him, wants him so bad. Phil flips them over and presses him into the mattress and latches his mouth onto the warm, sensitive skin of Dan’s neck and murmurs between hot open mouthed kisses all over that he wants him too, so so much, that he’s wanted this forever, since before they even met.

Dan feels like he could cry.

But he settles instead for an obscene moan when Phil kisses him roughly and slots their legs together and grinds his hips down and Dan notices that he’s just as painfully hard as him.

“Phil, please.” He whispers into one more kiss before Phil latches onto his neck again. Phil really doesn’t hold back, nipping and sucking and biting and there’s no way that Dan’s coming out of this without any hickeys but that’s fine. He wants to be marked. He waits for Phil to pull back a bit before reaching down in between them, hastily pushing down both of their waistbands so that Phil’s hard length is rutting against his and his precum smears onto Dan’s belly.

He feels the blood thrumming hot and fast though his veins, up and down his entire body with every hammering heartbeat. All he registers is Phil’s hot breath against his neck and chest and the sound of skin on skin and the white hot sparks of pleasure that start in his groin and travel all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“I’m… close.” He moans through gritted teeth when he feels his balls drawing up tight, wrapping one leg around Phil’s waist for leverage and meeting each thrust with his own. His squeeze shut and he sees stars and muffles his moan against Phil’s shoulder when he spills hot and fast in between their bodies. Phil’s hips stutter and he follows right after, and Dan kisses him and clings to him while he rides it out and then promptly collapses on top of him.

For a while there are no words. Just slow, deep breaths and tiny kisses pressed into any available bit of salty skin before Phil finally finds the strength to roll off to the side and halfheartedly clean them both up with the corner of the bedsheet.

They lay side by side, flat on their backs, chests flushed and bodies shimmering with a thin gleam of sweat and then at the same time, turn their heads to face each other and burst into disbelieving laughter.

“Oh my God. Jesus fucking Christ.” Dan manages, tucking his body up against Phil’s side and laying his head on his shoulder. “We actually just did that.”

“We did.” Phil sighs, and reaches over to grab Dan’s hand resting on his chest and lace their fingers together. “We should, uh. Probably talk.”

“In a minute.” Dan whispers.

When they do get to talking, the words exchanged are balm to a burn that’s been scarring Dan’s soul for so many years, for far too long. They talk late into the night, confessions and jokes and apologies and every way of saying I love you without actually speaking the three words, until they both can’t keep their eyes open any more.

They fall asleep tangled up in each other. For the first time in six years, Dan finally rests easy.

“Don’t wanna go home.” Dan mumbles, stretched out on his belly with his face mushed into his pillow the next morning. The sun streaming in from between the curtains is an unwelcome presence as far as he’s concerned. Phil runs his fingers lightly up and down Dan’s spine, pauses to rub between his shoulderblades, and taps on his cheek until Dan turns his head and lets himself be kissed.

“I know.” Phil sighs, burrowing closer and nudging his nose against Dan’s. “Me neither.”

It seems unfair, really, that they’re being pushed right back into their everyday grind when they’ve only just made such an amazing, dream-come-true level discovery. They need to go back to England, go back to work. And going back to work means… well, hiding in the closet. The idea of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Nothing has to change.” Phil tells him, as if he’s read Dan’s mind. “I want you back home just as much as I want you here. We’ll…” He sighs, because he surely knows they’re not in for an easy ride. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. I’ll do whatever if you will too.”

“I’ll do whatever.” Dan answers without hesitation, melting into the warm kiss that Phil presses against his mouth. “Definitely.”

Hours later, he falls asleep next to Phil on the plane, letting his head rest against his shoulder with a final, half-conscious thought that sends a burst of warmth blooming throughout his chest.

He wanted to kiss him in Japan.

So he did.

this fic was prompted/inspired by lost in japan by shawn mendes.

also if you don't know what nighttime cherry blossom viewing looks like, look here because it's very very pretty and you can imagine how it might inspire one to finally kiss their crush of 6 years (inspo for the trees in this fic drawn mainly from #3 on the list)

thanks for reading!

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #fics #*#*100

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

One More Kiss 1 / 2

Another angsty secret love drabble, this one Lieutenant Duckling, which I’ve never really written before. Spreading my wings. Or, you know, something. It’s quite late here.

Gonna toss a tag at @darkcolinodonorgasm because I know how you love Lieutenant Duckling.

Summary: They want to be together, but the princess cannot marry the lieutenant. Emma is determined but Killian is noble. Heartbreak ensues.

2k-ish words

Rating: T

On AO3

One More Kiss:

The Chancellor of the Exchequer droned on and on, something about taxes and grain imports and Princess Emma fought to keep her eyelids from drooping. She knew trade and taxes were important but she had read every brief on the subject diligently, which she felt really should exempt her from having to sit through a lecture on it as well, especially as there was something about the Exchequer’s voice that just made her eyes cross. The sharp rap of a pointed shoe against her ankle jolted her into full consciousness and she turned to glare at her mother.

“Pay. Attention.” hissed Snow out of the corner of her mouth.

“I am,” Emma hissed back. “Grain imports. I’m riveted.”

“We will hear now from the representative of our Royal Navy,” said King David, loudly to drown out the voices of his wife and daughter. “Lieutenant Jones?”

What? Emma’s wandering attention snapped into sharp focus. When had he arrived?

A tall, dark haired figure rose from where he had been seated in the back of the room and approached the council table. “Your Majesties,” he said in his deep voice, bowing to the king and queen. “Your Highness.” The bow was for Emma now, but he didn’t look at her, instead snapping smartly into formal military attention, his eyes focused straight ahead.

She ground her teeth. So that was how he wanted to play this.

“What have you to report, Lieutenant?” asked the King.

“Your Majesty, the Jewel of the Realm has successfully completed her mission to the Southern Isles. Your message was conveyed and the terms accepted. They will deliver four shiploads of grain before the winter.”

A sigh of relief rippled through the room.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, those are excellent tidings indeed.” The hearty approval in her father’s voice made Emma want to tear at something.

“So what took you so long?” she heard herself saying.

“Emma!” hissed Snow.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?” said Lieutenant Jones, all icy formality. His hair was far too tidy, thought Emma. It looked wrong.

“You’ve been gone nearly a year,” she said, ignoring the toe of her mother’s shoe. “The Southern Isles aren’t that far away. What took you so long?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was expected to provide an accounting for every detail of our voyage,” he replied. “Merely the outcome of the grain agreement.”

“Your report is more than sufficient, Lieutenant,” said David. “I thank you for it, and I hope we will see you and your brother at the ball tonight.”

“Aye, Your Majesty, you shall indeed. It will be our honour to attend.”

“Excellent.”

Lieutenant Jones executed another flawless formal bow and retreated back into the crowds at the rear of the room. Not once had he looked at her.

Emma dug her fingernails into the skin of her arm as her father called for the report from the Forestry Commission.

—

Emma stifled a sigh as another dull lord bowed over her hand and begged the honour of a dance with her. She wanted to refuse, but the stiffness in the shoulders of the dark haired man across the room who was Not Watching Her spurred her to accept.

Two hours into the ball and he was still Not Watching Her. Damn him.

She laughed as she twirled in the arms of Lord– Hedley, was it? Hadley? Hinkley? Something beginning with H– making sure it was a bright and happy laugh, loud enough to carry to the farthest reaches of the ballroom.

Lord H looked delighted, but Emma barely noticed. Her attention was caught and held by the lieutenant of Misthaven’s finest naval vessel, decked out in full dress uniform, medals and all, striding unceremoniously across the ballroom and towards the doors.

“Princess Emma,” gasped Lord H, red and breathless from the vigorous dance, “Dare I hope that this, er, enthusiasm on your part might encourage me to hope that some day–”

“I do apologise Lord, um, Hastings,” interrupted Emma. “I’m afraid I have to go.”

“I’m Lord Halford.”

“Are you?” said Emma absently. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled herself from the man’s sweaty grasp and fled the ballroom.

—

She caught up with him in the vestibule of the Great Stairwell.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Leaving.” He spat the word, his voice harsh.

She refused to feel hurt, refused to acknowledge it. “Why?”

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” he retorted, not answering her question.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you seemed thoroughly occupied by your horde of very proper suitors.”

“Thoroughly bored, you mean.”

His lips twitched but he did not smile. Her heart ached with the desire to see him smile, as he had so easily before.

“You could dance with me,” she ventured, and his face hardened.

“No.”

“But we used to–”

“We used to be friends, Emma,” he snapped. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends,” she choked, frustration and chagrin and longing bubbling together in her chest and turning to fury. “No, we are most definitely not friends.”

“I see.” He was stiff again, turning on his heel with military precision and marching off.

“Killian!” she ran after him, caught his arm. He went rigid and hissed out a breath, but didn’t pull away. “You know we’re not friends,” she snapped. “Not after– you know.”

“Indeed I do. But that was–”

“A one-time thing, yes, so you said.” She could still feel the heartbreak.

“You agreed to forget about it,” he said roughly. “To keep things as they were.”

“Well, I can’t forget about it. I think about it every damned day. I want to do it again. I want to do a hell of a lot more.”

“Emma–”

“I love you, Killian.”

He did pull away then, turning his back on her. “You don’t,” he said flatly.

Frustration overwhelmed her. “You dare to tell me how I feel!”

“Begging your most gracious pardon, Princess,” he hissed, spinning around. “But I have no interest in being your plaything.”

“What?”

“You’re bored,” he said silkily, advancing on her, backing her against the wall. “You admitted it yourself. Your suitors bore you. Hell, they would bore anyone. Your future bores you– running a country is far less interesting than many think. It’s all trade agreements and taxes, and you could barely stay awake during the Exchequer’s report this afternoon. You need a steady, sensible man at your side when you take the crown, but steady and sensible doesn’t excite you. So what is a bored and spoilt princess to do when she craves excitement but find herself a dashing naval man to toy with?”

She couldn’t hold off the hurt this time. “Is that really what you think?” she asked in a small voice.

Killian was relentless. “I think that I was content to worship you from afar, to be your devoted friend knowing that anything more than that would be forever beyond my grasp. But then you decided to play with me, to kiss me as though I belonged to you, and now any hope of contentment I once had is long gone.” His breath was hot against her cheek and she could smell his skin and she wanted so badly to touch him. “I think about you every day and dream about you every bloody night,” he murmured, so low she could barely hear him, “And all I want is for you to be out of my head. Out of my heart.”

“I’m in your heart?” she whispered.

“Don’t play coy, Emma. You know perfectly well how I feel about you.”

She did. But she wanted to hear him say it. Wanted him to moan it against her bare skin. “Killian,” she whispered, leaning into him, but he pushed off the wall, away from her.

“I told you, I won’t be your plaything. Find yourself another toy to alleviate your boredom.”

He moved to go again but she caught his arm, clung like a burr. “I don’t want a toy,” she said. “Or a steady, sensible man by my side. I want the man I love, the one I’ve loved for years. I just want you, Killian.” He shook his head, denying her words, but she persisted. “Only you.”

“Why even say that when you know it can never be,” he said hoarsely. “There can never be anything between us.”

She knew that but she hated it, hated him forcing her to accept it. “Do you love me?” she pressed.

“You know I do.”

“Then tell me. Please, I– I just need to hear you say it.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I love you Emma. So much.” She leaned closer again but he shook his head. “Too much to touch you and risk destroying that future that bores you so.”

“Just a kiss,” she said softly. “Won’t you kiss me, just once more?”

“I can’t, I–”

“Please, Killian. If you’re going to throw me to the mercy of the steady, sensible men at least let me have one moment of excitement.”

“Emma, I beg you, don’t ask this of me.”

Her hands were gripping tightly on the sleeve of his uniform coat, her breasts pressed against his arm. She leaned into him and this time he did not pull back, allowing her to rest her forehead against his jaw. She could feel the conflict in him, his resistance wavering. “Please,” she whispered, easing closer. “Please.”

He released a shaky breath and tilted his head downwards until his forehead lay against hers. She released his sleeve to slide her hand up his chest and cup the back of his head as his hand moved to her waist, splaying wide on the small of her back, pulling her closer. “One kiss,” he whispered, and then his lips were on hers.

Oh gods, thought Emma wildly, It’s even better than before. His hand came up to bury itself in her hair, tilting her head as he nudged her lips apart and devoured her. Their first kiss had been tentative, exploring, Killian too unsure of what was happening to take what he truly wanted.

This kiss was fire. It was passion and longing, born of a year of frustrated dreams that could never be realised. It was everything she’d ever wanted and also nothing at all, because they could never have this again.

Desperately she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, vaguely registering that her back was against the wall again and Killian’s hand was on her bottom, pulling her hips tightly against his, pressing his hardness into the cradle of her thighs. It felt wonderful, amazing, and Emma ground against him, heart racing and head spinning until she could barely think.

“Make love to me,” she whispered against his lips.

“No.” He rested his forehead on hers again, gasping for air, his hair chaotic from her fingers, his face flushed, his eyes nearly black. “One last kiss. That’s all we can have.”

“But I want–”

“Aye, love, as do I. I want nothing more than to touch you as you wish, to strip away your gown and worship you with my body, as you deserve to be worshipped.” She moaned at the image and he swayed towards her, his expression dazed and yearning. “But you know we can’t. You know that, don’t you darling?”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that wanted to form there, and nodded. “I know.”

“I love you,” he said softly. “I always will. Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

“But–” Emma struggled to think. “You’ll see me tomorrow–”

“No, I leave at first light.”

“What?”

“I’ve been promoted. Given command of my own ship.” He smiled, though his eyes were agony. “I volunteered her for a mission to the Endless Isles.”

She gasped. “But that’s the other side of the world!”

“Aye. We’ll be gone at least five years. By the time I return you will be married, to the steady and sensible man that you need, and perhaps with a babe or two of your own.” He swallowed hard, fingertips ghosting across her abdomen. “Promise me you’ll be happy, Emma. I need to know you’ll be happy.”

She would be miserable, she wanted to scream, miserable and empty without him, but she couldn’t tell him that, not when his eyes reflected her own shattered heart. “I promise,” she choked around the tears she could no longer suppress. “I’ll be happy.”

“Good.” He nodded, stepped back. She forced herself not to cling to him.

His eyes burned into her as with a trembling hand he caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears with the softest brush of his thumb. “Goodbye, my love,” he whispered, then he turned away and was gone.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #enchanted forest au #lieutenant duckling #angst #forbidden love #one more kiss #profdanglaisstuff #drabble

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cartooness · 5 years

Text

Bby Lav AU

OKAY SO

ME AND MY LOVE @thefearanddespair CAME UP WITH THIS AU LIKE 2 WEEKS AGO AND I JUST REALIZED I NEVER TRULY POSTED IT SO HERE IT IS. WARNING IT’S HELLA LONG.

PINK HOLY SHIT

WHAT IF EVERYONE FOUND LAV AS A TODDLER

INSTEAD OF BEING 14, SHE'S 4

EVERYTHING IS THE SAME EXCEPT SHE'S 10 YEARS YOUNGER

AS WELL AS ALL THE FRIENDS

DECAN SINGS LULLABIES

SHE IS ALWAYS HOLDING SOMEONE'S HAND

PIGTAILS

“The moon sings me to sleep every night”

“The MOON?”

“Yeah! He’s very nice, I love Moon uncle”

Lav to a friend as a 4yr old bby

And she makes friends with mason when they're 7!!

Super childhood friends to lovers

Y E S

And she's always sleeping in someone's room. She doesn't like being alone

There is always a child's blankey in all the rooms for whenever she wants to sleep with someone

Someone- Oh can I schedule an appointment on this day?

Hadley- Oh I'm so sorry but that day is taken. I can put you for... a week from now?

Someone- Alright.

Hadley was actually just rocking lav to sleep.

SO CUUUTE

UMBRELLA DAD. THEY'RE TRUE DADS NOW. ALL OF THEM.

LAV IS STILL POWERFUL AF

Father’s Day is a BITCH for her lmao

Ok so she's at like Vivi's house or apartment whatever, and she drops her off at HQ, and there's a giant roll of easel paper, taller than bby lav, with all her dad's on there

AND THEY'RE TRYING NOT TO CRY

Or failing in Decan’s case.

Bby Lav gets a hold of Hadley’s umbrella wand.

Hijinks ensue.

>:)))))))))

ÒwÓ

Otto has to literally YEET Hadley into the fucking sky to grab her, grab the wand, and float safely to the ground again.

LMAOOOO

Hadders- Othello. Throw me.

Otto- Um??

Hadders- JUST DO IT

And then they’re floating down, and Hadley’s cradling the Bby in one arm, holding his umbrella up with the other.

Like Eclipsa with Meteora lmao

Y E S. I M LOVE

If Lav can ever teleport, she and Decan could do the thing Glimmer and Angella do in that last episode of season 3.

You know, the teleport and catch thing.

SHE CAN. SHE CAN TELEPORT

Decan flying after her and catching her and all that in his winged form. Or even Otto doing that!

Y E S

Hadley is subsequently freaking the fuck out on the ground.

PLAYTIME WITH FUN PAPAS

WITH WORRIED MOM

“PUT HER DOOOOOWWWWWN!”

Otto proceeds to blow him a rather Loud raspberry lmao

AND LAV GIGGLING LIKE CRAZY, "AGAIN, AGAIN!!!"

Otto- you heard the little lady!! Again!

Hadley: “ARE YOU ACTUALLY JOKING ME???”

And Otto blows another raspberry. And makes a rather crude joke.

And Hadley is jusT O F F E ND

LAV IS A VERY ACTIVE BABY

THEY'RE ALWAYS CHASING HER THROUGH THE HOUSE OR AT PARKS AND STUFF.

HER KITTY EYES ARE MORE IRRESISTIBLE THAN BEFORE.

SHE STILL HAS BEANS AND PURRING

Hadley: *Bitching at Otto*

Otto: “PBBPPBRBTBRBRPT!! Jeeez, Hadley, all that hot air you’re blowin’ is contagious, crack a window wont’cha?”

Hadley: *Pterodactyl screeching*

LMAOOOOO

Hadders- BUT MY BABY DOWN BEFORE I BEAT YOUR BUTT!!

Decan- MAKE US.

Otto- SHE'S OUR BABY TOO, YA KNOW!

Meanwhile Lav is enjoying the silly stuff her papas are fighting over and is thrilled of being tossed around. XD

Decan’s just laughing and twirling and stuff. He’s all just “It’s fiiiiiine!”

:OOOOOO

LAV IN KINDERGARTEN SHOWING ALL THE KIDS HER BIG ASS EXTENDED FAMILY.

Lav’s presence just screams ‘Gay Rights’ to all the other little kids.

Even if not all of the parents agree.....

They get told off

Lav- And this is all my papas!! They all love each other very much.

The teacher- Lavender, sweetie, did you say that your "papas" all.... love each other?

Lav- Yeah!! Daniel and Cecil love each other. Decan and Otto love each other. Lewis, Vivi, and Arthur love each other. Merlin and Quentin love each other. And Percy and Hadley don't have love yet.

The teacher- *grimace*

Some kid- You're dad's are all *insert slur here*!!!

Lav- Stop, that's mean!!

Some kid- No it's not, it's true!!

And he gets shoved out if his desk.

And poor bby lav comes crying when they pick her up, explaining how all the kids made fun of her and her family.

Hadley then calls in to the office when he picks her up from school that day.

He has a few words XD

A few.....very polite, very CHOICE words.

And then he’s like to Lavender.

“Now, I’m not one to spoil children, but I do believe that an ice cream....or two....is warranted at a time like this.”

And that means a lot when HADLEY’S the one doing the treating. The responsible, rule-driven and sometimes strict parent.

YES BIG LOVE.

“Just....don’t tell anyone else. They’ll have me strung upon a wall, or....thrown in the stocks.”

Very old fashioned boi lmao

Lav, a good girl, - Okay Papa Hadley!

And she proceeds to eat two scoops of peaches and cream ice cream.

Adorable.

I know!!

AND COULD YOU IMAGINE? BABY MASON?

They're in the same first grade class and they're table buddies!!!

They probably have play dates all the time!!

AND SHE MAKES HIM THINGS OUT OF MAGIC SOMETIMES

7 year old Lav- Mason, Mason!!! Look what I can do!! *makes a pinecone out of magic*

7 year old Mason- :OOO THAT'S SO COOL LAV!!!!

This is way too fucking cute, I can’t.

Mason, showing his pinecone to Kyle, then Nicole, - NICKY, LOOK WHAT LAV MADE ME!!!!

Pre Transition Kyle- Woah! That's so cool!!!

Mason - I'm gonna keep it in my box of special things, where it'll be safe!!!

BBY LAV PLAYING WITH OTTO AND DECAN’S NON-HUMAN PARTS?

Pointy ears, Tails, Wings, Dec’s Horns, Otto’s Fangs

YES YES YES SHE WOULD

“Woooow! You’ve got weally big teeth, Papa Otto!”

“You have vewwy pwetty wings Papa Decan!”

And they’re just....melting.

I'M LOVE I'M LOVE

OR PLAYING WITH DANIEL AND CECIL HAIR. OR ANYONE'S HAIR IN GENERAL

Hadley’s super long and thicc hair lmao

Y E S

One day, Hadley's hair is just. Covered in hair accessories.

And lav says to keep them in all day. And so he does.

And it takes like half an hour to take all of them out lmaooo

WHEN OTTO COMES HOME FROM LIKE TRAINING OR SOMETHING AND HE'S ALL BEAT UP, LAV AND DECAN CLEAN UP HIS WOUNDS, BUT LAV PUTS LIKE PRINCESS BAND AIDS ON ALL THE SCRATCHES AND STUFF.

Someone- Why do you have... girly band aids all over you?

Otto- the doctor said I had to keep these on and if I take them off I will die.

He’s sitting in a chair, like, grumbling as Cecil and Daniel have to take them out.

ALSO ABSOLUTELY HE WOULD DO THAT!

Big Masculine Buff Man.

Princess Bandaids. And they’re, like, his pride and joy.

Awwww!!

Best part of getting beat up. Lav gives him the Princess bandaids. He says they make him look badass.

Proud Papa.

Cecil’s a fashion designer.

Bby fashion.

:OOOOOOOOOOOO

I D E A S

YOU KNOW HOW LAV LIKES TO BE COMFY? SHE PROBABLY HAS A BUNCH OF CUTE SWEATERS THAT SHE WEARS ALL THE TIME

ALL HER DADS LOVE HER TO BITS AND YOU WILL DIE IF YOU MESS WITH THEIR SHARED BABY GIRL

OMG. PARENT TEACHER CONFERENCE THINGS.

GASP. LAV LEARNING ABOUT THE LGBT COMMUNITY. SHE'S 4 INSTEAD OF 14 WHEN SHE LEARNS.

Also YES all of that is über wholesome

Otto goes and when people are, like, homophobic or whatever, he sorta lounges back, feet on the table, and does his sorta ‘Blow-Raspberry-Fart-Jokes’ routine that he loves so much at all the other people and they’d be like ‘Honestly this is an grown-up affair, why don’t you act your age you disgusting slob of a man’ and he’s just like ‘Really? Then why don’t y’all stop acting like a bunch of whiny children, whining about the 21st century? Then maybe I’ll treat y’all like adults and this meeting like something important. (Otto is the king of Fart Jokes lmao. He’s a big old child.

And terribly dad-like like that. It’s just one of the truths about him.)

OMG IMAGINE MASONDER

Okay so, they're both like, 12 I guess, and it's Lavender's birthday, and Mason gives her like, a really cute stuffed animal, and she Instantly Loves, and she gives him a big hug and a peck on the face.

Cue awkward silence

Everyone sees.YES EXACTLY

Big old moment.

Baby’s First Kiss

Mason, not knowing what to do, just returns the favor.

And Lav is almost about to DIE FROM HER MASSIVE BLUSHING. Mason's fucking. Avoiding all eye contact with everyone, and it's a very uncomfortable silence.

And finally Lav breaks the silence by grabbing his face and kissing him.

EVERYONE IS LOSING THEIR SHIT

Hadley, in the back of the room,

"IS THIS ALLOWED!?!?!? IS THIS ALLOWED!?!?!?

Emotional Moment.

And the supposedly steel-hearted Hadley finally breaks down crying. All that internal emotion becomes external emotion.

(And his makeup gets smudged, and it’s all crazy and emotional.)

Otto fucking SCOOPS Lavender up into his big, hairy arms and hugs her. All “HELL YEAH GIRL! How’d it feel!? What was it like?! I know he’s not as good a kisser as D-EEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAKKKK-an, but STILL!” He had that emotional bat-screech moment.

And Decan’s just a blubbering mess. All proud Daddy style. They grow up so fast and all that.

Mason- ARE YOU ALL OKAY?!?! AM I IN TROUBLE?!?!

Vivi just cheers. Mama Bear style.

And Lewis is all

"I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU HURT HER IN ANYWAY I WILL BREAK YOU: Mason, scared,- Y-yes sir. I'll um, I'll be good, I promise.

Hadley’s like that too. But a lot less overt.

And a lot more shadow-over-the-face serious.

He pulls Mason aside for Tea, and has a full on discussion with him over it. Making for DAMN sure he knows what he’s getting into, and making damn sure that Mason has no intention of in any way fucking around and breaking her heart.

Mason, at the end of it all,- Yes, sir, I understand. Am I free to go?

Hadley - Yes. But remember, I'm always watching. *does that I've got my eyes on you tea sip thing*

And he IS!

The following week, Hadley pulls aside Lav and asks all about her and Mason. Plot twist is that he KNOWS. And is testing to see whether or not she reproduces what he’s already seen. To test wether or not she’s lying. And if she IS, Mason told her to lie and he’s bricked.

He’s terribly cunning like that.

The following week, Hadley pulls aside Lav and asks all about her and Mason.

Lav- Aw, I'm glad you asked! He's so cute, that Button. Anyway, we've been eating lunch together and we shared a cookie, um, we held hands a lot, what else, um, please don't be um, mad, but, um, we kinda..... fell asleep together while you were at work.

Hadders- Oh I know.

Lav- What?

Hadley: Lavender, Darling, you should know by now. I make it my business to know everything. The surname ‘Trivia’ doesn’t come for free.

He could easily pull an Eclipsa and cast some sort of All-Seeing-Eye.

Hadley doesn’t see limits when he’s protecting someone. He’s willing to go as far as it takes.

Lav- Are you mad at me? I mean, we weren't doing anything, like, BAD, but still, if you don't want us to do that we'll stop.

H: On the contrary! I’m very happy with you. You passed the test.

I was watching you both. The whole time. And I wanted to be sure that he hadn’t convinced you to lie to me if you were asked. Or, heaven forbid, you lie on your own will. And you didn’t lie at all!

Lav- Oh. Uh, cool! I guess! Also, he is a very good cuddle partner. Just thought I'd say that. Also his hair is really soft and it's fun to play with. And- *proceeds to ramble on about Mason lol*

Hadley then just sorta sits down and conjures some coffee for himself.

She's in love, Hadley!!!! Yep lol

And Ashley, on the other hand, is listening to a very happy mason go on about Lavender and it's adorable. He announced to Kyle (he had just transitioned) over the house phone about his new relationship with Lav and Kyle's so happy for him and, of course, teases a bit, but asks for all the details.

They're Those (tm) friends who love info dumping about things they're passionate about.

Omg, imagine Lav going on and on about Mason to Decan and Otto. They’re just sorta babbling with her. Otto TRIES to give relationship advice but he’s just.... Terrible, it’s terrible advice lmao. He’s just trying.

And Decan’s laughing his li’l head off.

Decan, fanboying,- Oh my goodness, Peaches!! You guys are so CUTE!!!!! When's the wedding~~~

Lav- DECAN!!!!!! Ò//////Ó

Decan - I'M JOKING. *mostly anyway, they still get married after college graduation*

O: “K, you gotta try and outsmart him into letting you kill him! But you’ll find as you go that you’re actually falling for him and he’s falling for you too and it goes from there! And you can win him over with pick-up lines or fart jokes or by rapping for him as he sings along and I got notebooks for that sorta stuff if ya-“

D: *While laughing* “Otto, darling, c’mmoooooonnn! That advice sucks, not everybody falls for that crude humour and personality like I did, you know!”

O: “Psh! Oh yeah! Watch her try it and watch it work like a charm!”

D: “Oh yes, a charm, indeed.~ If your ‘embrace your inner animal’ way works then naturally my way would happen next, wouldn’t it? Soften you to mush and then claim that mush as mine.”

O: “Oh, ya li’l SCAMP! GET IN HERE!”

*Otto then proceeds to pull Decan in and noogie him between his horns as he laughs and kicks.*

OMG THAT'S SO CUTE

Lav- Uhhhhh. I think I'll just. Go with the flow and maybe I'll try and kiss him again on Friday. Might bring a flavored lip gloss with me that day....

Decan- OOOH, SOMEONE HAS PLANS!!!!

Lav- DECAN, PLEASE!!!! ÒÒ///////ÓÓ

~~Otto got REALLY lucky finding someone as naturalist and oblivious to human sociality as Decan, let’s be honest, if ‘inner-beast’ crudeness and rude-fraternity-boy charm is his play style lmao~~

O: “Decan, we’re gonna be there and we’re gonna bring the MP3.”

D: “Love-songs, Yes? Can do.”

O: “Warm up those vocal chords!”

D: “Only if you warm up yours.”

O: “We’re gonna give them the best ambience EVER!”

D: “Historical. It shall be written down and carried down till the end of time!”

O: “HELL YEAH! VÁMONOS!”

Lav- uh, you don't have to do that, it'll be like. Maybe after school? In the courtyard?

They’re, like, playfully pouty like ‘Fiiiiiiiiiiiine.’ But really they’re just happy for her.

God, Otto and Percy are, like, the disaster parents for Lav. Especially for Bby lav.

Otto, especially, would absolutely ADORE Lav. I can’t speak entirely for Percy but I feel like they’d love her a whole bunch, but god, Otto absolutely adores Lavender.

AWWWWW

Big, buff, tuff, ill-mannered-gentleman Vamp Dad and his li’l goddess.

OMG HOLY FUCK NUGGETS YOU KNOW THAT THING? WHERE IT'S TWO ADULTS AND ONE BBY IN THE MIDDLE? DECAN, LAV, AND OTTO. Y E S. OR WITH ANY COUPLE ACTUALLY. AND THEN THEY SWING BBY LAV OVER LIKE CURBS AND STUFF AND AHHHH I'M SOMFT. SO CUUUTE!!!! OOH IN THIS AU, MASON AND LAV ARE STILL HELLA CUDDLY AND SNUGGLY. Gonna stop doing all caps lol. Anyway, masonder happens a bit earlier, but they've been friends for like 5 years at the time they are a Thing, so yeah haha. They are THE cutest thing ever. Always holding hands, face holding, sharing food, small pecks on the face, all that cute stuff uwu. They're in 7th grade btw. Both 12. They're relationship is steady and lasts all throughout middle school and high school. (Yes. They are the DEFINITION of an "Endgame Ship.") And then after they do the whole college thing, they tie the knot, have a baby, and live happily ever after uwu. :P

( This next bit is from a comic I did lol)

QUENTIN GAVE HER THE KNIFE

Otto: “LAV, YOU CAN’T HAVE A KNIFE!!!

Have a crossbow, it’s much more powerful.” “Just don’t go staking papa Otto through the chest, now! It’s bad for me!”

Lav- Oh cool! What about a sword! I'll be careful, I promise! And Hadley’s losing his mind lol Decan: *Does the moon butterfly magic sword thing*

“Here you are!” Bby Lav-

>:OOOOOOOO I'M GONNA KILL HOMOPHOBIC PEOPLE!!!

Hadley- Lav, honey, that's illegal.

Lav- But Mx. Percy does illegal stuff all the time!! Hadley: *Scoops Lavender up and Mary-Poppins flies the fuck out* YES

And that's what we came up with lmao

#mystery skulls #mystery skulls animated #bby!lav au #lavender grey

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