#he knows EXACTLY what he's going on. like obvs he has a director helping and all but like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phanlight · 6 years

Text

The Boy on the Blue Moon Dreams of Sun

prompt: dan is a theatre kid who hasn't had his first kiss but has to kiss someone for a show. he doesn't want his first kiss to be wasted so he tries to get it done properly beforehand & he meets phil and w/e you can take it from there!!!

““Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what we’ve spent the past ten minutes doing?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

GUESS WHICH BITCH IS BACK AND WRITING AGAIN (spoiler: IT ME)

I thought it was about time I branched out a bit and tried my hand at a theatre au. This was so much fun to write (albeit kinda hard as despite being a literature student my Romeo and Juliet knowledge is a little subpar lmao lets hope I at least sort of did it justice tho) and deffo has more than ur daily dosage of angsty teenage actor!dan so look forward to that. thank u to the lovely anon who prompted me with this! (also yes i’m still relying on ptv lyrics for my song titles after 3 years sh)

Also I’m sorry if the writing in this is a lil inconsistent. I started this fic literally over a year ago and abandoned it for ages before finding and continuing it again. The first half was written in literally like mid 2016 (from which point my writing has obv improved a lot) and since then I’ve been working on it sporadically so if it feels like halfway through my writing style suddenly changes then that’s why OOPS soz

This was not supposed to be this long im so sorry wtf 13k ??? fuks sake

It’s the first time Dan’s ever been pissed off with being cast a lead role in a play.

He usually loves it – he loves the attention, loves having a ripped up script full of highlighted lines and more soliloquies to memorise than he can even keep count of. He shines under the warmth of the spotlight, lapping up the attention like a hungry cat, and when the applause ripples throughout the audience at the end, he can’t get enough of the sound.

It’s just- well, there’s one problem with his part.

It’s nothing he has against Romeo, not necessarily, and the piece itself is okay – Dan’s copy of the popular play in question is already crumpled with annotations; small post-it notes spilling fluorescent colours out of every crease (studying English literature alongside Drama always comes in handy as far as Shakespeare is concerned) and Romeo has a decent amount to say.

The problem is, he’s going to have to kiss someone.

Dan Howell, the one who snaps up almost every single role he auditions for, the one with a clay personality that can be moulded perfectly into whatever role he’s going for next, the one who lives the stage and breathes the lights, who was once described as ‘the heart and soul’ of the local theatre, is going to have to kiss someone.

And believe it or not, Dan Howell, the same seventeen-year-old who breezes through auditions leaving a flutter of girls at his feet, the same guy who was once rumoured to have made out with three people at the Les Miserables afterparty and the same guy who once had to reject two people in one night, has never actually kissed anyone before. Not properly, anyway.

Granted, he’s been extremely close to it a fair few times – having been in and out of auditions and callbacks since the age of about five, he’s come into contact with a considerable number of roles that involve love interests; only last month was his character Eddie supposed to kiss the love of his life, Alexandra, in the back of a car at a drive-in cinema. It was a play that one of the drama students had written; set in the fifties, all red-and-white ice cream parlours and hand jives and high school dances and Marilyn Monroe posters. Dan had enjoyed playing his part, and not just because it was the only opportunity he’d get to sport a black leather jacket (though he did decide leather looked really quite hot on him after that play. It’s almost a shame he’s vegetarian), but because the minor obstacle could, like every single other time, be solved with a stage kiss. Just a few seconds of his back to the audience, being agonisingly close to someone else’s lips, before pulling away and raking though his mind to try and remember the next line. It’s always worked for him, every time.

Except for this. Because the director, a Lucy Howcroft with a loud voice and a bossy personality, has only gone and booked them the Round at the Old Vic theatre. Which would be fine, of course it would; it’s one of the most popular theatres in the city and the theatre group is going to get a huge reputation for this afterwards, but it’s not so handy as far as stage-kissing is concerned. When you’re being stared at from every angle three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around, there’s no way you can get away with only partially leaning in to kiss.

“Are you sure there’s no way around this?” Dan had insisted when he’d stolen a moment after rehearsal to talk to Lucy. She’d been clearing her desk – a papery mountain range, and had looked a bit too busy to talk, but Dan would rather discuss this with her one-on-one instead of having to voice his feelings with twenty other pairs of eyes staring at him.

“For someone who just bagged yet another lead role, I would’ve thought you’d be a little more gracious than this,” Lucy had muttered, snapping a file shut. “I didn’t have to cast you, y’know.”

“It’s not- I am grateful, you know I am, it’s just-“

“Is there a problem with the casting of Juliet?” she’d offered, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Dan had insisted. “She’s fine.”

“The costume, then?” she’d tried. “I’m not a bloody mind reader, Dan. Help me out a bit here.”

Dan had shut his eyes and taken a deep breath, trying to comb the tangle of words in his head into some kind of coherent sentence.

“I mean- I just- the venue,” he gulped. “It’s- there’s a bit of a problem.”

“What about it?” Lucy sighed, irritation tracing the edges of her tone. “I fail to see what’s so problematic about getting a slot at the Old Vic of all places, but if you have any objections, then do enlighten me.”

“It’s not that, it’s just-“ Dan gulped, not really too sure how far he’s going to get with this. The bitterness already in her tone didn’t sound at all promising. “I don’t know. Do we have to perform in the round?”

“Christ, is performing in one of the most popular theatres in London that much of a chore?”

“No, no, I just-“ he gulped, trying to work out how the hell he’d word this without sounding like a twat. “I’ve never really… you know. Performed in an environment like that before.”

“You’ve been acting for twelve years,” she said bluntly. “I’m sure you have enough experience to be able to deal with a round stage instead of a rectangular one.”

“But- like, isn’t the round meant for- like… you know, Greek plays and shit?”

“It used to be,” she’d said, taking care to apply extra emphasis on the past tense. “Since when were you so hung up on the traditions of theatre, anyway?” she’d added after a pause. “Only last week were you totally in favour of the idea of having a rap battle in the middle of Othello.”

Dan had frowned, because that wasn’t really fair – sure, a rap battle isn’t exactly a common feature of Shakespeare’s plays, but no one could deny that Louis, playing Iago, was pretty good at freestyling whenever a mic was thrown in his direction. Despite not adhering to the conventions of traditional English theatre, it certainly made the play more entertaining.

“It’s just gonna be- you know. It’s gonna take some getting used to,” he’d mumbled instead.

“You have three months to get used to it,” she’d pointed out. “I’m sure you and the rest of the cast will have familiarised yourself with it by the time the production comes around.”

“But- the round is traditionally meant for-“

“Look, if you’re going to get so archaic about it, I can always build a time machine, book the open-air Globe for, like, sometime four-hundred years ago, and you can spend the next three days picking rotten tomatoes out of your hair,” she said. “Does that sound better?”

“They only did that to bad actors,” Dan had pointed out. Lucy rolled her eyes.

“And you know what makes a good actor, Dan?” she retorted. “Flexibility. The willingness to branch out of your comfort zone.”

Dan had sighed. He’s not going to get anywhere with this, is he?

“You know what?” he’d finally shaken his head, defeated. “Forget it.”

She watched him turn on his heel with a raised eyebrow. “See you Tuesday, then? First read-through of the script is at eleven in the morning.”

“See you then,” Dan muttered, not even bothering to turn around.

He let the door slam behind him.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t want to kiss anyone – (quite the contrary, really. He loves the idea of it, loves the thought of someone’s lips pressed up against his, the world slowing down around them and his heart feeling like fire. He’s always tried to incorporate that feeling into his acting, letting his passion leak into every character he’s cast, but when the stage lights are off and the curtain is down, his attraction to his colleagues ends there) – it’s just- well, he doesn’t really think he’s found the right person to share the real experience with, yet. His fellow actors and actresses aren’t unattractive by any means, but he doesn’t look at any of them and find himself struck by the desire to taste their lips and whisper incoherence into their ears like Eddie was supposed to do in the back of that car.

Seventeen, and still hasn’t had his first kiss. Still doesn’t want to waste it, at that.

Pathetic.

Technicians don’t get paid enough, Phil thinks.

He’s spent the day holed up in the trap room, devouring what was left in the back of the fridge (including a half-opened pack of Doritos that tasted like they expired about five years ago) and puzzling over this fucking broken light board that everyone had very kindly left him to take care of. It had already taken him over half an hour to get one of the chunky old Mac laptops up and running again (seriously, who in this day and age is still using an iBook?) and even then it only really half-functions – a handful of keys are missing, the trackpad only ever seems to work when it feels like it, and there’s a huge hairline crack right across the screen. Phil’s spent so long cursing through gritted teeth and smacking the table in frustration every time the damn thing freezes that it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he ended up contributing to those cracks by the end of the day. Maybe that’s how they ended up there in the first place.

“You alright?” the door suddenly opens and a voice – Nick, Phil presumes, breaks the aching silence that the room has been blanketed in for the past four hours. Finally, Phil sighs, feeling a pinch of anger melt away. Human company.

“Been better,” Phil mumbles, popping a couple of grapes into his mouth. Been better, he scoffs to himself. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been worse.

“Chuck me a coke, will you?” he pulls up a chair and puts his feet on it, perching on the edge of the table. Phil heaves out a sigh – that involves getting up – but musters up enough energy to lean over and yank the fridge open. He tosses him a can, and Nick catches it expertly.

“Nice of you to show up,” Phil rolls his eyes. “Only four hours late this time. That’s an hour and a half off your personal best.”

“They said they didn’t need me here ‘till three,” he protests, popping the can open and taking a few gulps. “They said you had it all under control.”

His sentence is punctuated by a burp. Phil grimaces.

“Under control,” Phil snorts. That’ll be the fucking day.

“What did they leave you here to do?” he frowns.

“Only fix this entire fucking thing,” Phil nods over to the stupid light board. God, he’s sick of the sight of it. “Beats me what’s wrong with it. I’ve only just managed to get this dinosaur up and running,” he gestures to the corpse of a laptop in front of him, “let alone look at that.”

“Fuck me, man,” Nick sighs out a heavy breath. “If I knew, I could have come in earlier to help you out a bit. You should have texted me.”

“It’s fine,” Phil sighs even though- well, it’s not, really. There’s only so many hours of broken technology and out-of-date food one can take. “It’s not your fault,” he adds truthfully.

“They’re twats sometimes, aren’t they?” Nick lowers his voice, despite the fact they’re literally underground here, beneath the earshot of everyone.

“I’ll say,” Phil widens his eyes, trying to click something and- nope, it’s fucking frozen again. “For fuck’s sake. They’re all bloody loaded, too. You would have thought with the money they have, they could fork out a little for equipment that at least half-functions, right?”

“Yup,” Nick sighs. “Guess bookings for overpriced fancy-ass theatres are higher up on their agenda, though.”

Phil can’t argue with that. Apparently they’re going to have to wire up something in the Old Vic, of all places, next week. Phil dreads to think how much hiring that place out for even a few hours is going to cost, let alone booking it for three nights.

Probably more than enough to buy a better fucking laptop.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but-“

“No- no,” Lucy holds up her hand. “Come on, Dan. More emotion than that. You’re telling the love of your life that even the moon is envious of her beauty. At least pretend to put some passion into it.”

Dan rolls his eyes – only the fourth time he’s had to repeat this fucking soliloquy in the past fifteen minutes. He’s pretty sure he’s only one “no, no, it’s too (insert adjective here)” away from giving up with this whole thing altogether. He’d rather have played Benvolio anyway.

“Come on,” Lucy continues. “We’ll take it from Be not her maid…”

Dan shuts his eyes, scrapes up the remaining traces of his sanity, and takes another breath.

“Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!

It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.

Oh, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—

I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they retur-“

“No, no-“ she interrupts him again and for fuck’s sake, at this rate, Dan won’t even need to spend any time in his bedroom going over his lines. He’s pretty sure he’s memorised half of the monologues already just from recapping in rehearsals alone.

“Come on, really feel it,” she pleads. “You can’t say something as romantic as that with a face like yours – you’re literally saying that two stars in the sky have gone away and they’re asking Juliet’s eyes to shine in their place until they return.”

Dan balls his fists, ready to snap back that yes, he’s fully fucking aware of what’s going on in the play thank you very much, in case she hadn’t forgotten he did actually study it for three separate exams and subsequent exposure to the text in question has made him rather familiar with the occurrences currently taking place, but they’re all interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Lucy huffs, mildly irritated.

The door knob jitters, then twists.

“Hiya,” a black-haired boy nods tiredly, pushing through the crack in the door. Dan immediately recognises him – one of the tech guys, he thinks, but he isn’t entirely certain. He’s never really spoken to any of the crew before; they tend to keep well out of the limelight (they’d rather control it instead).

“Everything okay?” Lucy asks, before turning to Dan and Alexandra (his Juliet). “You two, take five. Be ready to take it from the top.”

They both relax and take a seat on one of the upturned wooden boxes. It isn’t until Dan takes the weight off of his legs he realises how much they’ve been aching – fuck, he really needs to get back to that gym.

“Any luck?” she says to Mr. Black-Hair. He’s holding a laptop that looks as if it’s seen better years, never mind days, and a long cord of wire that snakes around his fist.

“Nothing at all,” he sighs, flicking a strand of his fringe out of his eyes. His hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a hairbrush for days, but there’s something about the way it sits shaggily on his head that kind-of suits him (Dan wishes he could pull off messy hair – he only attempted ditching the straighteners once and spent the rest of the day wondering if any birds had mistaken his head for a nest).

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until he catches the tail end of Alexandra’s sentence and realises he hasn’t actually been listening for the past minute or so.

“What was that, sorry?”

“I asked you how you were finding Romeo so far,” she repeats.

“Hm? Oh yeah, yeah- he’s fine,” Dan says, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Black-Hair. He’s lost the thread of their conversation (he’s no lip reader) but by the looks of it, it seems as if there’s a problem with one of the laptops.

“Are you sure?” Alexandra frowns. Dan looks at her, but his glance is soon pulled back to the technician.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugs. “You don’t really- I don’t know, you just don’t seem to be… you know. That into it, y’know?”

“Wait-“ Dan shakes his head, trying to focus on their conversation instead of the one a few metres away from. “Hang on- what? What makes you say that?”

She raises her eyebrows, as if to say ‘really?’. Dan’s expression remains carefully blank.

“Come on, Dan. We wouldn’t have had to repeat this stupid scene like, five times if you were actually into it. I’ve seen you do way better than this.”

“Oh, not you as well,” Dan groans, deflating. He’s pretty sure that exact sentence had fallen from Lucy’s lips not so long ago. He’s sick of hearing it, sick of having to sit and listen to people tell him that he ‘can do way better’ and ask ‘is everything all right, Dan? Nothing bothering you, is there?’ because he’s just ‘not himself’ at the moment.

That’s the most ridiculous one, he thinks, because for Christ’s sake, he’s an actor. He’s never himself.

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Alexandra says, backtracking. “You know I don’t. I just- I think I overheard Lucy say you had a problem with something or other last week?”

“Did you,” Dan mumbles, unable to keep the bitter sarcasm out of his town. Alexandra remains unfazed.

“What was that about, though?” she remains unfazed. “Nothing to do with the casting, is it?”

“You really think it’s to do with the casting?” Dan stares at her in disbelief, before scoffing. “Yeah, like, I’m gutted to have bagged the lead role alongside you at one of the best theatres in the country. How am I going to cope?”

Not entirely truthful, but not a complete lie either.

“Just making sure,” a grin tugs at her lips, and she flicks a curl of red hair behind her shoulders. “I don’t have much of a problem with it myself, to be honest.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dan smirks sarcastically, but his tone is fairly benign. There’s certainly no denying she’s fucking gorgeous and it’s really no wonder she’s Juliet – she has hair the colour of a sunset falling down her back in ruby curls, emerald eyes framed by a curl of long eyelashes and cherry red lips that stretch into a wide smile whenever Dan cracks a joke, giving way to a small dimple on the side of her cheek. Her skin is pale, the colour of moonlight, almost, and he idly thinks, just for a fleeting second, that the moon probably would be jealous of her. She’s beautiful.

“Certainly don’t have a problem with getting to snog you in front of a thousand people, I must be honest,” she adds, and Dan’s stomach drops and his grin vanishes. Shit.

He wrings out a laugh, internally wincing at how false it sounds. “Yeah, I- um-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone mutters a few footsteps away from them. He snaps his head up, and Lucy plus Mr. Black-Hair are hunched over the desk, clearly getting nowhere with the absolute disaster they call an iBook.

“Wait- what’s the problem?” Dan suddenly gets up. He feels a little bad for leaving Alexandra so abruptly so he throws her a little apologetic ‘be right back’ glance, but he can’t help it – he might actually be able to help, here.

He shoves down the other voice in the back of his mind, the ‘or rather you’re just grabbing at any opportunity to avoid any potential conversation about the kiss you fucking wimp’

“It’s okay, Dan, sit back down. I’ll be with you both in a second,” Lucy calls over her shoulder.

“No, really,” Dan insists. “I know a thing or two about Macs. I have one myself, and-“ he catches Lucy drawing in a breath, ready to protest, and he regrets the spill of words almost as soon as they come out – fuck, why can’t he just keep his mouth shut? – but Mr. Black-Hair turns around, an eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Really?” his stare is the colour of ice, the sky on a December morning, but it’s weirdly warm at the same time.

“I- uh, yeah,” Dan stutters when he remembers how to talk again. “I’ve always had Macs. They’re great when they decide to work, but they can be a bitch when they begin to act up, and-“ he cuts himself off with an awkward shrug, “yeah.”

“Tell me about it,” the technician smirks. “This bastard-” he nods to the chunky white rectangle in his arms, “took me like, half an hour to boot up alone. And now it’s been frozen for like- twice as long as that. I’ve only had chance to type in my password so far.”

Lucy’s still standing in the middle of them and it’s getting a bit difficult to ignore the stony glare burning into Dan’s peripheral vision right now and even harder to avoid eye contact with her, but it doesn’t stop him from offering some help, albeit rather inappropriately timed.

“I- um, have my MacBook with me if that helps?” Dan offers, trying not to feel the heat of his blush when Mr. Black-Hair looks straight at him. “I mean- if you don’t need it that’s fine, but like- it’ll function a bit better than that thing,” he shrugs. “I dunno. It would probably save you a lot of time.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “Like, with you right now?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I mean – I haven’t got my charger on me, but it’s on, like, eighty percent. Should be fine.”

“I mean-“ he throws a permission-seeking glance, towards Lucy, who Dan is pretty sure would be having steam coming out of her ears would it be humanly possible. She fixes Dan with a hard stare, a real ‘go on; be my guest’ look that’s always comes across as more of a dare than permission, a challenge for his conscience, but he can’t help an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s cool with you, right?” his lips say before his mind catches up.

Lucy rolls her eyes in defeat. “If you absolutely must. But only- only because I could do with the extra time to independently go over one of Alexandra’s soliloquy.”

His face breaks out into a grin, and he’s not that sure why. “Thanks, Luce. I owe you one.”

“Don’t you make a habit of this, though. Remember; this is your own rehearsal time you’re sacrificing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan calls over his shoulder, trailing off. Mr. Black-Hair holds the door open behind him, and suddenly they’re out of the rehearsal studio and walking in a weird mutual silence sitting in a strange middle ground between comfortable and uncomfortable, across the car park and over to the actual theatre.

“Are you alright to do this, yeah?” Mr. Black-Hair (Dan seriously needs to come up with more imaginative mental nicknames for people) breaks the silence on their walk down to the trap room.

“It’s no problem at all,” he smirks as another wooden step groans under his foot. “Anything to get out of rehearsal.”

Dan’s never really been here before, never touched the underground territory where the technicians lurked, but there’s something about the atmosphere of this place that grips him.

Half an hour passes, and Dan couldn’t really tell you why he’s still sitting down here, still sitting on a revolving chair with a rip in the upholstery, under half-broken beams, tables that look like they’re seconds away from collapsing, and a lot of weird technology that he’d never even attempt to get his head around (seriously – do they even need this many buttons?). He’d given his laptop to Black Hair to receive a very emphatic ‘thank you, like seriously you’re a fucking lifesaver if I spent a second longer with that piece of shit I really don’t know what I would have done’ and the job had been done in seconds. Since then, a casual conversation had been struck up and Dan finds he doesn’t actually want to go back upstairs just yet.

“You two sounded really good in there,” Black Hair comments. They’d been talking about the play. “From what I heard, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Dan says, trying to ignore the quiet blush that warms his cheeks. There’s nothing quite like someone complimenting his acting. “Clearly not good enough for Lucy, though.”

“Few things are, Dan,” he sighs, and Dan only finds it half-weird that this guy knows his name, but Dan doesn’t actually know his. It’s unnerving, sure, but nothing he’s a stranger to. “She’s been on at you all morning.”

“Yeah,” Dan pauses, before adding an apologetic “sorry, I- um, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“It’s fine. I’m Phil,” he grins, and Dan thanks his lucky stars there’s finally a name to put to the face.

Dan studies him briefly, and frowns. “You do look familiar, actually.”

“Yeah – I do all the donkey work downstairs,” he grins. “You may have seen me emerge from the cave every now and then.”

Dan chuckles, deciding there and then that he likes Phil.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” Dan asks, studying the square lights looming above them, one of which he notices is stuttering slightly, flickering on and off every now and then.

Phil shrugs, not taking his eyes off of the screen. “Kinda. But I mean – I have my little crew down here, y’know? There’s five of us. We just like- keep each other company. Help each other whenever we need to,” he glances at Dan. “Oh, and sneak up to the theatre and watch you guys every now and then.”

Dan giggles. “Brilliant. Must be a nice little community, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” Phil hesitates. “Or perhaps ‘support group’ might be a more appropriate term. For the poor sods who have to put up with shitty laptops and gross food.”

Dan laughs, and helps himself to another Dorito.

“Okay, right- Dan, sorry if this sounds a bit weird because- like, we’ve pretty much only just met, but like- um- I was wondering if you wanted to-“

“Phil,” Dan cuts him off. As an actor, there’s something about hearing people stutter and ramble without really saying anything that tends to grate on him. “I’d love to.”

“Really? Well, I-“ Phil stops and frowns. “Hang on a second. How did you know I was gonna ask you to hang out?”

Dan shrugs like he hasn’t spent the last thirteen years mastering the sciences of body language and speech and how they can be applied to the acting world. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Phil smiles. “I mean- would you? Like, really?”

“Of course,” Dan says.

“Well yeah, like- I don’t have to be home for a while yet, and I have a car so we could just like- drive around for a bit? Go to town if you want?”

Dan smiles, and repeats what he said before he even knew what Phil was going to say.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

It’s a bit of a weird result to come out of lending his laptop to a stranger for a while, but it’s how Dan finds himself spending the evening sat in the passenger seat on the top of a car park roof, blasting some weird indie song from the depth of Phil’s Spotify and watching the sun sink further behind the buildings, painting the sky warmer with every slow minute that passes on the dashboard clock.

They’d had a drive around the city together, sometimes talking, sometimes letting lulls in the conversation give way to thoughtful silences, both of them tapping away to Phil’s music taste, but Dan thinks it’s been about fifteen minutes since either of them last said anything.

“So,” Phil is the first to break the silence. He flicks the last of his cigarette out of the window (Dan had insisted on rolling down the windows before he did that – there’s no way he’s going home stinking of an ashtray). “Tell me about yourself.”

Dan looks up from his phone at that, his heart thudding.

“You what?”

“You know,” Phil’s gaze doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the view in front of the windscreen. They’d picked a spot at the very top of a multi-storey car park overlooking everything, leaving the city a pool of lights and colours and life far beneath them. “I don’t really know you. So tell me about yourself.”

“I- um-“ Dan gulps. This wasn’t really a question he came prepared for. He shrugs. “I don’t really know what there is to tell, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, now come on,” Phil presses. “Just- anything. Your hobbies. Your life. Your dreams. What you want to be when you’re older.”

“I feel like I’m in a bloody job interview,” Dan chuckles. Phil’s lips quirk upwards in response.

“You are. I’m interviewing you to see if you’re fit for the job of being mates with me.”

“The ‘job’?” Dan frowns. “Like it’s a chore?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Phil grins. “Now, come on. I wanna hear about you.”

Dan gulps, silence falling for the first time in a while.

“I- um, well I think my hobby is probably pretty obvious, for a start,” Dan begins. Phil rolls his eyes. “And what I wanna be when I’m older, too. I’m gonna do a degree in Drama, I reckon.”

“What else are you into, then?”

Dan stops for a second. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Phil presses, flicking his lighter and sparking up another cigarette. “You must have other interests besides acting. You got a girlfriend?”

Dan clams up. “Um- no.”

“Oh. Boyfriend, then?” he quirks his eyebrows, and Dan shakes his head miserably.

“Afraid not.”

“Glad we established that,” Phil smirks, but Dan doesn’t really smile back.

He chews on the inside of his lip, having a staring contest with a pair of headlights sliding across one of the roads beneath them.

“What music are you into, then?”

Dan swallows, trying to think. It’s like someone’s scraped over his mind with an eraser, rubbing out his interests and his life and his personality, all pencilled in with weak lines.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs. “This and that. I like whatever this is,” he nods to the Spotify track on Phil’s phone. “Bit of Indie, it’s good. Oh, and I love- what are they called? Pink Floyd?”

“Floyd’s good,” Phil agrees. “And Nirvana.”

“Yeah,” Dan gulps, feeling another silence probe the conversation.

“You into the Smashing Pumpkins?”

Dan shakes his head.

“Oh, okay. Slaves?”

Dan shakes his head again.

“Genesis?”

“Never even heard of them.”

“Cobalt Night?”

Dan shakes his head again

Phil cackles. “Oh Christ. You do realise I made that last band up?”

“Oh god,” Dan can feel his cheeks burn peony. “I’m not doing myself any favours here, am I?”

“Don’t worry, I’m only messing with you,” Phil says. “I think it would be more embarrassing if you said yes, to be honest.”

“True,” Dan shrugs, feeling Phil’s stare burn into his side profile. He sits back further in his seat, keeping his stare.

“You’re not really into much, are you?

Dan shrugs.

“I’m more into Musical Theatre, really. Ever since we did a production of Hamilton I haven’t really been able to get that rap out of my head,” he chuckles.

“Right,” Phil sits up a little bit and clears his throat. “Well we’ve established your music taste and your hobby. Who are your favourite actors, then?”

It’s like someone’s flicked a switch inside Dan. His eyes light up.

“-and Leonardo DiCaprio, oh my God, don’t even get me started on him. I mean- who wouldn’t fuck young Leo? Have you even seen him in Titanic? And Romeo and Juliet too, Jesus Christ he’s gorgeous. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I’m not gonna do Romeo’s role any justice when he’s my competition, am I?”

Phil just nods and says the odd ‘hm’, listening to Dan’s stream of consciousness.

“-and Helena Bonham-Carter, what a fucking legend, man. She’s just- her character is just so versatile, you know? I mean- there’s a good reason she’s in literally everything, and that’s because she’s fucking amazing- have you seen Fight Club? You must have seen it, it’s incredible. She’s incredible. It’s a bit of a mind fuck if I’m honest, what with the split personality thing and everything, but- oh God, Brad Pitt is so good in it too. And he’s pretty hot, I’m not gonna lie. Well, until he grew out his hair and looked a bit like a farmer. But- where was I? Oh yeah, Helena Bonham Carter-”

“She was good in Sweeney Todd, too,” Phil comments, and he’s off again.

“-like, that was the first time I ever saw Johnny Depp act, and by Christ that film creeped me out. I mean- I was only like, seven when I watched it so of course it was gross, like, what seven year old watches people do- you know, that, to paying customers? I feel sorry for the poor sods who just went in there wanting to give their beards a trim. But- yeah, they were both really good in Sweeney Todd. I had a bit of a crush on Helena- and Johnny too, for that matter, I mean come on, who didn’t? But then I found out Johnny Depp is a bit of a dick in real life so I went off him after that. But Helena’s still cool, obviously.”

“She’s good, yeah,” Phil nibbles at a protruding hangnail on his thumb.

“And- oh god, who’s another good actor? Oh, don’t even get me started on Morgan Freeman. Absolute fucking legend. Like, oh my god. Him and that other one- god, what’s his name? The guy from Donnie Darko?”

Dan’s brain is moving far too quickly for Phil to keep up and he has no idea what the correlation between Morgan Freeman and Donnie Darko is, but he gives it a shot anyway.

“Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“Yes. Yes, oh my god, that’s the one,” Dan’s face breaks out into a grin. “Fuck, Donnie Darko. What a film, man. My friend has a tattoo of it, and-“

It continues like this, Dan chatting nineteen-to-the-dozen and Phil counting the glitters of passion in his eyes, before they’re both interrupted by a buzzing on Dan’s lap.

“Oh shit,” he grabs his phone. “It’s my mum.”

Phil doesn’t know what she’s saying on the other end of the line, but judging by Dan’s apologies it sounds like he’s stayed out here for a little too long.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, tugging on his seatbelt. “Lost track of time a bit, there.”

“Clearly,” Phil grins.

“This was good, though,” Dan says. “Like, really good. Thanks for, you know. Suggesting this.”

“Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again soon, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what I’ve spent the past like- hour doing?” he glances at the clock and shit, has it really been that long? It’s pitch black outside, the only light coming from the glitter of the city beneath them (shit, it really is beautiful from up here) and he was supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Phil says, starting up the engine. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

The next few days pass in a blur of line-learning, enduring Lucy’s lectures about how he just ‘isn’t putting enough ‘oomph’ into it, come on now, we’ll take it from the top one more time’ and Dan has to act like he actually gives more of a shit about what Romeo’s saying right now than what Phil had said in that car a few days ago. He has to act like it isn’t what he’d been reciting over and over in his mind, the words digging grooves into the back of his mind and making themselves at home.

He has to act like there’s more to his fucking life than acting.

The next time Dan sees Phil, they’re both cooped up in a control room eating lunch in a companionable silence; Dan going over his lines and Phil puzzling over these two wires that are, according to him, sly bastards that won’t fucking go in these holes Jesus Christ, to which Dan had shut his eyes and prayed to god no-one outside the room had caught that out of context. There’s a huge control panel, rows and rows of buttons and sound mixers and, as Dan had very accurately christened them, “slidey-things” in front of them. He has no idea what any of this stuff is, no idea what a “cross-fader” is or what the hell a “submaster” is supposed to do, but every now and then Phil will casually lean over and flick a switch or press a button and a stage light beneath them will change.

“What’s up?”

Dan looks up from his script. He’s been poring over his lines for so long he’s pretty sure stripes of yellow highlighter are now permanently inked into the back of his mind, now.

“What? Nothing.”

Phil swings his legs off of the bar they’d been resting against. They’re halfway through sharing a KitKat (Dan had taken a trip down to the Co-op at the beginning of the lunch break and returned with a bag so heavy with food it had left a dent in his hand, insisting Phil can’t be living on stale crisps his entire life) and watching a rehearsal, one Dan doesn’t have to be in for once, through a pane of glass.

“You’re going to have to do better if you want to convince me, Mr. Theatre Kid,” Phil reaches over to the bowl in front of them and plucks a grape from the stem. “I thought you were good at acting.”

“What do you want me to do; leap up and perform a jig?” Dan turns a page, the paper rustling a bit too loudly. “I’m fine, Phil. Stop reading into things too much.”

Phil stares at him. “You’re sat there with a face as long as my leg, and I’m reading into things?” he quirks an eyebrow. “Be careful. If you stare at that page any longer it’ll probably burst into flames.”

“Shut up,” Dan mutters, the edge in his voice a little too sharp for it to slip by as a joke.

Phil does.

Dan sighs. “Sorry, I just-“

“Rehearsals getting to you?” he suggests softly. Dan doesn’t plan on letting the real problem slip; Christ, he can only imagine the havoc that would ensue if it got around that as well as obsessing over acting he’s also never actually kissed anyone, so he quickly takes Phil up on that.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I mean- Romeo’s a good character to play, I guess, but he does have an awful lot to say.”

“You’ll be okay,” Phil reassures him. “You still have months of time left to memorise your lines. When’s the play?”

“Seventh of February,” Dan says. Two months from now.

“There we go,” Phil says. “You have plenty of time yet.”

“I guess so,” Dan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve done this millions of times before,” Phil says. “You’ll be fine; I know you will. You’re a natural.”

Dan wishes he knew the half, he really does, but there’s just something about Phil’s smile that makes him almost want to believe him.

Dan manages to tell Phil a little bit more about himself next time they’re on the roof together, and in return, he learns a bit about Phil too.

“Well, when I was acti-“

“Nuh-uh,” Phil interrupts him. “No acting talk, remember?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s relevant to what I was gonna say. It’s an important part of the story.”

“Wherever the hell you can fit acting into a story about you and your friends getting drunk and stealing a supermarket trolley because you couldn’t afford a taxi, I’d be very impressed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dan grins, and that was the only time acting came into conversation that night.

Dan learns Phil is eighteen, that he’d failed his driving test three times before passing because he was driving on the wrong side of the dual carriageway, and swears he’s going to give up smoking next year, he promises. He learns that his favourite colour is blue because he likes the way the colour skates across the ocean water in the summer, and that he used to be scared of dogs before his parents got him a puppy for Christmas, a bouncy Labrador called Daisy with a love for the sun and walks down to the beach.

“I fucking love dogs,” Dan beams.

“So do I, now. Took me long enough,” Phil agrees, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Daisy’s so cute, oh my god. You will love her.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, but there’s something about the definite use of ‘you will’ that he likes.

He, in turn, finds that he does have some thoughts and feelings and dreams hidden away in there, beneath the façade of scripts and stage lights and acting. He finds he does have stuff to say, stuff that isn’t always attached to a web stringing back to the theatre. He tells Phil all about his cat, Ozzy (a little shit who takes great pleasure in knocking all his belongings off of his desk and sleeping on his laptop, but he loves him anyway) his annoying next-door neighbours who don’t seem to see any problem with blasting ABBA at three in the morning, and they manage to find common bands they both like. Oasis is playing when the sun sinks, the sky darkens, and the city lights up beneath them.

“God, I love this one,” Phil mumbles, his speech obscured by the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Don’t Look Back In Anger. It’s one of their best.”

“Oh god, yeah,” Dan agrees, tapping along to the chorus. “That and Stand By Me. Oh god, and Champagne Supernova, too.”

Phil grins at that, and leans forward, picking his phone up from the dashboard. Before Dan has a chance to question him, the chorus stops dead in its tracks, and an acoustic softness follows the sudden silence, a series of guitar chords that are just that bit too familiar. He grins.

“I always think the intro sounds a bit like Wonderwall,” Phil comments, putting his phone down and leaning back in the seat.

“Yeah,” Dan sighs, leaning back in his own seat and turning his gaze to the city beneath them, staring at lights and roads and buildings until they pool into a hazy amber blur in his vision.

How many special people change,

How many lives are living strange,

Where were you while we were getting high?

Slowly walking down the hall,

Faster than a cannonball

Where were you while we were getting high?

Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova in the sky.

Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova;

A champagne supernova in the sky.

They don’t say anything, instead letting Liam Gallagher do the talking, but sly glances are exchanged from under brown fringes and black eyelashes.

“Nice up here, isn’t it?”

It’s only until Phil breaks the silence they’ve lapsed into that Dan realises the song has drawn to a close. He slides his gaze from the city and over to Phil, over to his thoughtful stare skating along the skyline, the ruffled sweep of black hair coating his fringe, and the orange glow of a cigarette tip poking out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes flicker over to Dan’s.

Dan looks back over to the city.

“Yeah.”

“I always come up here.”

“I can see why.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes a little look over the city is just what you need to clear your head. It just puts everything in perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dan swallows. “It really does.”

There’s a litter of thoughts and worries in his mind, buried deep and multiplying with every day that drags past, every day that pulls him closer and closer to the production, to the hundreds of burning stares in the audience seats, to his colleague’s lips. He’s been longing for a break from it. Just a few hours of silence, a few quiet moments that don’t have to be spent combing over every single thought in his head, thinking and thinking until it inflates into anxiety, spilling into the pit of his stomach and clawing at the edges as it goes.

And the more he counts the city lights, the more he feels the cold night air stroke his cheeks and the engines reverberating around the car park levels beneath them, the more he reckons a more few nights up here. It’s the remedy he needs; just him, Phil and the lights.

Their eyes meet seconds after, and Dan can feel the question he’s vowed to ask Phil before the end of the night already beginning to rest on his lips, on the cusp of speech.

“When can we do this again?”

The late nights begin to pass more frequently in a spinning blur of city nights, passenger seats and conversations, all whispers and cold air and stolen glances. Dan can feel himself unravelling like a threadbare blanket, his carefully constructed personas and characters fraying at the edges with every hour spent up on the top of the city with a boy whose lips spill truths like water, and it isn’t long until Dan finds cracks in his paper personalities and begins to feel more and more honesty begin to seep through. He finds that no, he doesn’t have to spin false anecdotes like cotton and lie about his interests and find a way of linking everything back to acting, hooking every little quirk and element to his personality back to the stage. He doesn’t have to impress Phil with his knowledge of Hollywood throughout the years and he doesn’t have to act like he loves things he’s never actually heard of and he doesn’t have to lock his feelings away and throw away the key.

He doesn’t have to pretend.

It’s all okay until they fall onto the topic of previous relationships.

It’s been a good night. They’d visited the car park again, but this time without the car (it was warm enough to leave it in the driveway and make their own way up the concrete staircases, glass bottles in plastic bags clinking around their legs). They’d situated themselves in the very same parking space, the one second to the right and next to a beacon, but they’d traded car seats for a picnic blanket, headlights for phone torches and gear sticks for bottle openers.

“Yeah, like- fuck, she wasn’t a good kisser at all, was Mary. I mean- we were in year nine and she tried, bless her, and God knows so did I. But you know, with that as my first impression of kissing, when it was over I was like ‘what the fuck is all the fuss about?’” Phil chuckles, and Dan pretends to grin.

“Yeah, I mean-“ he shrugs, staring down at his lap. “I’ve had my fair share of bad kisses in my time.”

The ease with which the lie rolls off of his tongue almost takes him by surprise. It’s been a while since he’s lied about himself to Phil, and it feels strange.

“I can imagine,” Phil says, before frowning. “But you’re an actor. So you must be an excellent kisser, right? What with all the practice you guys have.”

Dan frowns, looking up from his bottle. “You what?”

“Oh come on. I saw what went on in the back of that car last term. Eddie and Alexandra. That play involved more lip-on-lip action than the fucking Notebook.”

Dan smiles at that, remembering the play adaptation they actually did of that when he was in year ten. He doesn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry over the sheer amount of starring roles he’s had that are heavily eloped in some kind of romantic storyline.

“Us actors have our techniques,” he says carefully.

Phil’s eyes widen at that. “You do? Like what?”

Dan shrugs, taking another sip of beer. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Phil shuffles closer, a flicker of eagerness in his cerulean stare and shit, Dan’s beginning to regret opening his mouth now. “Come on. What techniques do you have? I could use a few tips myself.”

Dan raises an eyebrow, his eyes firmly locked onto the spread of amber lights in front of them.

“I doubt you’d ever want to use these kinds of techniques on anyone,” he says, a hint of humour drying his speech. “I imagine stage-kissing on a real date would be quite a deal-breaker.”

“Stage kissing, huh?” Phil widens his eyes. “How does that differentiate from a real kiss, then?”

“Well,” Dan takes another sip of his drink, his vision beginning to slow down. “First of all, it’s not really a kiss at all.”

“Huh?” Phil frowns.

“I mean- not usually. There are different kinds of stage-kisses, but most of them don’t involve, you know,” he smirks, reusing Phil’s rather vulgar term of “lip-on-lip action”.

“So you guys don’t actually kiss?” Phil asks.

Dan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But-… how does that work?”

Alcoholic courage swims through Dan’s veins at that. He glances at Phil.

The words are a whisper, a dare almost, and it isn’t until Phil nods that Dan realises he’s actually said it out loud.

“Want me to show you?”

“Yeah, go on,” Phil’s tone is casual, soft almost, but his eyes are glittering.

“Okay, well- come over here,” he beckons.

Phil does as he’s told, shuffling up on his knees until he’s facing Dan.

“One of the actors needs to have their back to the audience,” Dan says. “So, let’s say the wall over there is the audience,” he nods over Phil’s shoulder to the stretch of concrete watching them.

“Alright. The wall’s the audience. Now what?”

“Now,” Dan gulps, feeling his heart begin to pick up the pace because shit, this is really happening now. “So, what you do is, like, just lean in normally for a kiss, but stop just as your lips are about to touch.”

Phil scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Look, do you want me to show you or not?”

“Nah, nah, I’m kidding,” Phil says. “C’mon, then. Show me how it’s done in Hollywood.”

“You dick,” Dan mumbles, but he’s leaning in.

Phil gets closer, his face begins to crawl up to Dan’s until their noses are brushing and his fringe is a tickle on Dan’s cheek and his breath mixes with Dan’s own, warm and languid through parted lips and fuck, Dan’s heart is really thudding now. His legs feel like jelly and his lungs feel like fire and there’s something warm and fiery swirling in the pit of his stomach, something alien, something that he’s certainly never felt before with any other colleague he’s come this agonisingly close to kissing.

They stay there for what feels like minutes, lips hovering, warmth tingling and the city still thundering beneath them, and it’s Phil who pulls away first.

“Impressive,” he smiles, eyes glittering with nonchalance. “Frustrating, but impressive. Is that your go-to one, then?”

It takes three swigs of beer to calm Dan down before he can speak again.

“I mean- um, yeah. Though sometimes if you’re, like, sitting really far over to the side in the audience you might be able to tell that they’re not actually kissing, so,” he shrugs. “It just depends on the stage, I guess.”

“Right,” Phil nods, swigging from his own bottle. “You, er- you mentioned a few other types, right?”

The thought of coming that close to Phil’s lips again sends the strange flame of warmth flooding back into Dan’s stomach. He all but chokes on his mouthful of drink.

“Er- yeah,” he stutters. “There are a few others,” he gulps again and shit, what’s up with him?

Dan doesn’t really know what’s happening, doesn’t know why being within a metre radius of this guy is already making him feel far more than he’d ever felt with any colleague, kissing or not, but it doesn’t stop him from beckoning the older boy over and showing him kiss number two, their lips locked together with nothing except Dan’s thumb in between them. He can feel the warmth of Phil’s mouth against his skin, the hot movement of Phil’s breath through his nose and the tickle of his hair against his cheek again. When he parts his mouth, Dan feels the tiniest touch of lip against his. It’s only the very corner and can’t have lasted for longer than a millisecond, but the feeling comes back like a spark to a flame and he’s beginning to find it difficult to balance and oh, shit.

They break apart, eyes searching each other’s, and it’s the first time Dan’s feeling like this post-‘kiss’ without having to throw on a character like an old shirt. He doesn’t have to follow anything up with someone else’s speech, with a fake accent and a stupid costume and a mannerism that doesn’t quite fit.

For once, he doesn’t feel like he has to act.

Phil narrows his eyes after a few silent seconds, fighting back a smirk.

Dan frowns, the post-stage kiss high beginning to melt away.

“What?”

“Is that seriously it?” Phil says.

“Yeah,” Dan moves away, trying to ignore the surge of electricity he had felt upon edging within a few millimetres of the other boy’s lips, the city a roar beneath them.

“I don’t know why I feel so disappointed,” Phil smirks. “From where I sit, looking at you lot doing all your stuff down on the stage, it looks a whole sight more realistic than that.”

Dan looks back out to the city.

“Yeah, well,” he says, feeling his heart slow down. “Acting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So. You and Alexandra, eh?”

Dan glares at him. Dawn is beginning to throw pastel colours into the blackness of the sky. It’s still dark enough to see the stars, fainter twinkles against the sweep of indigo above them, but it’s light enough for them to see each other, to make out feint outlines of faces in the low pre-sunrise light, eyes half-lidded and shadowed from the sleepless hours. It must be pushing four in the morning, and they’ve been here since eleven o’clock, leaving their parents with promises that they’re spending the night round each other’s houses to make a few preparations for the play.

(If reciting Romeo’s Balcony Scene soliloquy through giggles and slightly drunken slurs counts as preparation, then at least half of that promise is true).

“We’re not an item,” Dan mumbles, taking a drag from his cigarette. It tastes strange, kind-of like dirt and ash and tar and he’s not a smoker and probably never will be, but Phil had offered him one and- well, fuck it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But you guys are performing in the round, aren’t you?” Phil narrows his eyes, and Dan swears he leans an inch or two closer before whispering, “your stage kisses won’t work from that angle, I’m telling you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dan shuts his eyes. So far he’d been doing quite a grand job of pushing that worry to the back of his mind, burying it deep into his consciousness. The whole reason he’s up here altogether is to escape it.

Phil hesitates.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t you want to kiss Alexandra?”

Dan gulps, the taste of alcohol souring on his tongue a little.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I mean- a kiss is a kiss, right? It’s all part of the job, and-“

“But you don’t fancy her,” Phil says.

Dan frowns. “Well- no, of course not. She’s a colleague.”

“I know,” Phil says. “It makes a difference though, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“Kissing someone you don’t fancy. It’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan mumbles. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain this lie. “I- er, yeah. I usually stick to stage-kissing on the job, to be honest,” he shrugs. “It’s just easier than kissing someone you don’t really have feelings for.”

“Have you never, you know, properly kissed anyone before, then?”

Dan takes a deep breath. Lies can flow like water when he wants them to; he’s a master at concealing the truth behind a blanket of fabrication and deception, but there’s something about talking to Phil that makes falsehood sour on his tongue.

He lets it out in a deep sigh, feeling his chest deflate and his heart thud. Fuck it.

“You know what?,” he begins. “No. I haven’t. I don’t know if you can tell, but- yeah. I dunno, I guess that’s why I’m so stressed about this shit with Alexandra. And like- I know that probably makes me a fucking loser for never having kissed anyone at the age I am now, and probably even more of a loser that I want my first one to be with someone special, but- fuck, I don’t know,” he swallows, feeling the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen a little. “No. I haven’t. Okay?”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip and averts his eyes down to the neck of his bottle. He fiddles with the loose cap, letting it fall through the spaces between his fingers with a sharp clink.

Dan doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the silence. The knot returns.

“What?”

“I- er- that wasn’t really what I meant,” Phil finally says.

The knot tightens.

“What do you mean it’s not what you meant?”

“I meant have you properly kissed anyone on stage before,” Phil glances up. “Not in general.”

Dan’s stomach drops. Oh fuck.

He open his mouth, but no speech follows. No amount of words can haul himself out of his hole now. Shit.

“I mean-“ he finally speaks again after a silence, and there’s a tremor in his voice that he desperately tries to smooth over. “Oh, shit,” he deflates, feeling the pit of his stomach begin to churn due to the abundance of the night’s alcohol. There’s no point trying to clamber out of the hole he’s just dug himself. He’ll only deepen it.

“Have you really never kissed anyone?” Phil asks in a quieter voice, but he doesn’t sound surprised. Or humoured. Or any other emotion Dan had feared. Just… curious. “Like, at all?”

Dan gulps, the beer a sour swirl in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the sixth bottle was a mistake.

“Well there’s no point denying it now, is there?” Dan finally mumbles, his eyes fixed on a dent in the concrete not far from where they’re sitting. “No. I haven’t.”

The gentle thrum of city engines fills the silence between them, and the three seconds Phil doesn’t say anything for might as well have been days.

“Yep,” Dan breaks the quietness once it borders on unbearable. “There you go. You think I’m a fucking weirdo now, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” Phil replies, and his voice is unusually calm. Dan looks up, his eyes meeting a soft expression, and for some reason he really didn’t expect Phil to react like this.

“So-“ Dan shakes his head. “What? You’re not gonna take the piss? Laugh at me? Say I’m a fucking weirdo that only lied to you to try and look cool?”

The truth scratches his heart, but it needs to be said.

“Why the fuck would I laugh at you?” Phil frowns, and there’s something about the sincerity in his voice that, beneath the turmoil, Dan finds weirdly comforting.

“I mean,” Phil begins. “I’m surprised, don’t get me wrong. Only because you’re an actor and- well, let’s face it, you’re fucking gorgeous too, but-“ he shakes his head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m the first to say I’d much rather make sure my first kiss means something. If anything, I agree with you on that.”

“You’re not pissed off that I lied to you?” Dan gulps down another mouthful of lukewarm alcohol.

“Of course not, you twat,” Phil says. “I mean, I get why you did, but there was no need to. Really.”

“I know,” Dan sighs, picking at the label on his glass bottle until the paper frays at the edges.

“Wanna know something?” Phil says, his eyes not moving from the soft sweep of stars above them, dimmed by the early morning light.

Dan takes his eyes away from the sky. “What?”

“If you’re a liar, then so am I,” Phil tells the stars.

Dan frowns. “You what?”

Phil’s eyes flick back down to earth, meeting Dan’s gaze. “I lied too.”

Dan gulps, his heart thudding. “About what?”

Phil forces a chuckle, but it’s drained of humour. “Do I have to spell it out to you? I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

The words ring in Dan’s ears moments after, Phil’s voice an echo above the roar of the city below.

“Wait-…” is the only word that passes Dan’s lips in the next passing minute or so. “But-…”

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs. “Turns out you’re not the only one, are you?”

“But-…” Dan shakes his head. “Why did you lie about it too?”

Phil just shrugs and says, “same reasons you did.”

Dan tries, he really tries, to comb through the tangle of confusion in his mind right now, but the best response he can come up with after a moment or two of silence isn’t the most articulate.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, and they descend into quietness again.

“Shame, isn’t it?” Phil is the first to break the silence. “That we feel the need to lie about that.”

“It’s society’s fault for making us feel as if being over the age of about fifteen without having shoved a tongue down anyone’s throat is a failure.”

Phil grimaces. “I’ve never understood the attraction of that, you know. Like, I get making out and stuff, but why would you want to literally devour the person next to you? When I saw kissing scenes as a kid I thought they were actually trying to eat each other.”

“I know,” Dan takes a sip of beer, the alcohol slipping down with a little more ease now. “It sounds grim. I don’t know how people do it. At least with acting on stage you don’t have that problem.”

“True,” Phil mirrors his actions, pulling his drink away from his lips and tracing the rim of the bottle with the tip of his thumb, staring down the tube-shaped glass into the remains of the flat beer, swimming lukewarm and flat at the bottom of the bottle. Only when he glances up a few seconds later does Dan realise he’s been staring.

Dan smirks.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Just-…” he shakes his head and shit, he’s definitely had enough to drink tonight. He can feel the alcohol-induced honesty begin leaking through his parted lips and he knows he’ll probably end up saying something he’ll regret tomorrow morning but- oh, fuck it. “The thought of you having never kissed anyone. It just- doesn’t make sense to me like- look at you. How?”

He’s not really sure where the line between a compliment and a very sorry attempt at flirting is drawn but he’s pretty sure he’s fallen somewhere in the middle.

Phil’s gaze lingers a few seconds too long. “I could ask you the same thing. I mean- come on, look at you. A guy like you must have been drowned in opportunities.”

They’re both a bit too drunk, a bit too cold and there’s something about the atmosphere of an empty car park at fuck-knows-o’clock that warps reality just a little. Dan blinks and the city lights don’t unblur and he feels a bit like he’s in a dream.

“Yeah, I-…” he shrugs. “I’ve had my fair share of offers, I won’t lie.”

“I’ll bet,” Phil interjects, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t either,” Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “I just-… yeah, I dunno. I didn’t really wanna waste it, but I never really found someone I liked enough.”

“That’s nice, that is,” Phil says, and though Dan scours his tone of voice for a trace of sarcasm or mockery, but Phil’s eyes glitter earnestly. “No, like, really. Most teenagers just, you know, dive straight into it. Slam their face against anything with a pulse that crosses their path. But the fact you care enough to wait,” he glances up, eyeing the boy beside him carefully. “That’s rare. Kinda admirable in a way.”

“Were you the same, then?”

Phil nods without any hesitation. “A hundred percent.”

Dan nods understandingly, taking another sip of beer, and the two of them watch the town sleep for a quiet moment before Phil speaks up again.

“Oh, come here,” he stretches out his arms. “You look like you’re seconds away from hypothermia, for Christ’s sake.”

Dan leans into his chest, closing his eyes and snuggling into the Topman denim of Phil’s jacket. “I don’t really think a car park roof is the most suitable drinking spot,” he mumbles, his speech slightly obscured by his rattling jaw.

“Not at five a.m. in December at least,” Phil says. “It’s a lot nicer in summer, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dan says, and the indirect promise that they’ll come out here and do this again makes Phil smile.

It’s quiet, serene and blue, and Dan loses count of the minutes that drip by until he hears Phil’s voice again, shattering his trance dancing on the fragile edge of drunken consciousness.

“Dan?” it’s only a half-whisper, but it still makes him jump.

The younger boy turns his head, his brown hair tousling against Phil’s denim chest until they’re eye-to-eye.

Phil lowers his gaze, but this time his eyes don’t flicker back up to Dan’s. Dan parts his mouth in response, but before he can say anything, there’s a surge forward and a soft pair of lips on his.

A jolt of adrenaline, shock, and a general ‘holy-fucking-shit-this-can’t-be-happening’ feeling shimmers through his body as he kisses back, and despite his embarrassing inexperience when it comes to anything remotely romantic, his lips move perfectly in time with Phil’s, their mouths melting together in flawless harmony.

Phil’s the one to break away, and Dan misses his lips the second the cold morning air touches his mouth. He frowns, studying Phil’s expression half-hidden by his mop of black hair, but the older boy refuses eye contact.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came ov-“

“Don’t apologise,” Dan cuts him off immediately, his hand hovering over Phil’s arm in quiet protest. “Just-…” he gulps. “Do it again,”

Phil’s head snaps up, his eyes boring into the brown stare in mild confusion.

“Please,” Dan mouths, and Phil doesn’t need to be told twice.

They kiss for longer, deeper, slightly parted lips and slow breathing and the teal glow of 5am light and shit, this was certainly worth a seventeen year wait. Phil’s lips feel like warmth and taste like tobacco and he feels a gentle comb of shy fingertips through his hair and yep, he can definitely see what all the fuss is about now.

When they break apart for the second time, all blushes and broken breaths, they’re both grinning. Phil drops his gaze with a bashful chuckle.

“Well,” Dan breathes. He’s still sitting close, their upper arms touching but neither of them really wanting to move away.

“Well,” Phil says, almost in agreement. They’re bathed in silence once again, but this time it’s comfortable.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Dan begins, looking out over the city. “That was definitely worth the wait.”

Phil tilts his head down, their noses almost touching. “Yeah?”

“For sure,” Dan cranes his neck up a little and pecks Phil’s lips again. The other boy grins, pulling his jacket further over Dan’s shoulders.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime then, won’t we?” Phil’s eyes glitter.

Dan grins, glancing at the view spread in front of them. The sun is beginning to awaken and there are fewer streetlights illuminating the land below and it’s cold and wow, they should really think about heading home soon. Dan hasn’t checked his phone in hours and he’s sure it can’t be running on anything much more than a measly four percent.

“Definitely,” he says, then hesitates. “Although, well.”

“Well what?”

Dan flicks his eyes up at the boy above him, tired brown against weary blue.

“Perhaps next time we should choose somewhere a little warmer than a car park,” he says in a soft voice, before adding, “I can barely feel my arse right now.”

Phil bursts out laughing, and then a pair of lips are on his for the third time.

The next couple of weeks rush by in a flurry of rehearsals, meetings, crumpled scripts and weird costumes that itch around the collar. Dan and Phil spend most of their time three storeys apart, meaning secret rendezvous up in the control room or down in the trap room are often necessary. The closer the big day creeps, the hotter the atmosphere becomes with stress, so it’s nice to leave the tension with the stage and the equally tense co-workers and escape for a bit.

“For fear of that, I still will stay with thee, and never from this palace of dim night depart aga- oh for fuck’s sake, you’re not even listening.”

Phil looks up from his phone, a giggling smirk still lingering on his face. “Huh?”

“Come on, Phil. You said you’d go through this with me and you’re sat there playing around with bloody Snapchat filters.”

“Sorry, sorry – I am listening, it’s just-“ his eyes flicker back down to the screen in front of him. “That’s hideous. Who even makes these filters? I look like a toe.”

“Can unflattering photos of you not wait five minutes until I’ve finished this? We’re literally nearly done anyway. We only have, like, one more paragraph to g-” Phil interrupts him by flipping the phone around to face the other boy. A bald, rather unsightly version of Phil with weird eyes stares back. Dan’s eyes widen in horror. “Fuck, that really is hideous.”

“I know,” Phil shudders. “I didn’t even know my face could do that,” he glances back at the screen and pulls a couple of experimental faces. “Would you still be with me if I looked like that?”

“Nope,” Dan replies semi-seriously, rolling his eyes when Phil pouts.

“What about if I looked like this?” Phil turns the phone around. He looks a lot better this time, but a little bit too much like an animal. Dan’s never really understood the national attraction towards ‘dog filters’.

“Probably. The ears might get in the way a bit, though,” he chuckles, before urging, “now come on. We haven’t got long left now.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly. He swings his legs off the table, grabs Dan’s battered highlighted mess of a script sitting in front of him and they pick up from where they left off, something about ‘worms that are thy chamber maids’, ‘everlasting rest’ and ‘inauspicious stars’ (whatever the fuck that adjective means). They last a grand total of fifteen seconds before Dan’s voice is interrupted by a shriek of laughter.

“Oh, fucking hell that’s bad!” Phil cackles. Dan groans, wondering for a fleeting second where the best place to launch Phil’s phone might be.

“That’s it,” he loses it, suddenly leaping across the table and swiping the irritating rectangle of interest straight from Phil’s hand. His smile vanishes in seconds.

“Aw, what?!”

“You have five seconds to put this stupid fucking thing away, or else it’s going out there,” he points to the window behind them. Phil follows his gaze, his eyes widening. They can see the majority of the town from up here. That’s a long drop.

He turns his head back around. They’re nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye.

“Fine,” Phil smiles, the tips of their noses brushing together. “But just so you know, seeing you angry just makes me want to kiss you more.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his smirk. “Are you still gonna want to kiss me when your phone ends up on the ground?”

“What do you mean ‘when’? I’ve put it away now,” he points to the bulge in his back pocket.

Dan fixes him with a glare.

“Come on,” Phil leans forward as Dan leans back. “Just one?” he pleads, his eyes big and blue.

He shakes his head and pulls away, a grin curling at his lips. His eyes flicker back to Phil, a brown gaze that lingers too long.

“Afterwards,” he says in a voice like velvet.

Phil rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the chair. “Fine. Bloody hell, it’s like being back at school.”

Dan pretends not to hear that last comment. “Come on, we’ll take it from “world-wearied flesh…”

Phil’s phone doesn’t move once from his pocket after that. The promise of Dan’s lips after rehearsal is more tempting than any filter some dumb app has to offer.

“How do I look?”

Phil eyes him up and down, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hot.”

The comment receives a soft punch to his upper arm.

“Behave,” Dan turns back to the mirror, twining a lock of perfectly sprayed hair that he was specifically instructed not to touch around his fingers. “Are you sure? I feel like I look like a-“

He’s interrupted by a pair of soft lips for a few seconds.

“That’s really not helping the nerves,” Dan breathes once they break away.

Phil grins. “You look fine. You know you do. Now quit playing with your hair before Alexa sees.”

Dan doesn’t think Alexa, the make-up artist, is capable of seeing anything that isn’t within a thirty-centimetre radius of her own face right now. She’s been hurrying around backstage all evening; powdering this, curling that, flitting from actor-to-actor so quickly it makes Dan out of breath to even watch her. She certainly hasn’t done a bad job though, he thinks, as he inspects his reflection. A slightly dishevelled, 15th-century version of himself stares back, all weird leather and burgundy velvet and wow, perhaps he should sport an Elizabethan tunic more often.

“Suits you,” Phil smiles as if he’d read his mind. Dan adjusts the collar accordingly.

“D’you reckon?”

“Yeah,” Phil eyes him up and down again. “Most people here kinda look like twats in their costume, but you really actually pull that off.”

“Um- thanks? I think?” Dan smirks, frowning at his reflection. He doesn’t mention it has anything to do with his long-standing ability to morph into literally anyone he likes (he’d often been described by many make-up artists as having a “chameleon face” which he hopes is a reference to his adaptability to blend into multiple characters as opposed to resembling a lizard), and instead accepts the ever-so-slightly backhanded compliment.

“What are you doing down here?” someone with an updo the size of Jupiter asks Phil, sauntering past in something that really rather resembles a cupcake. Phil was right, Dan thinks. They do look a bit ridiculous. “They need you upstairs in five minutes.”

“Oh shit,” Phil glances at his watch. “Okay. Gotta go before Nick kills me.”

“Alright,” Dan smiles, pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Good luck,” he whispers into his shoulder. “You’ll fucking kill it.”

Dan tightens his grip around his arms. “Thank you.”

The word has multiple other meanings, and judging by the glitter in Phil’s eye when he pulls away, he thinks he understands every single one.

That night, Dan lavishes in warm spotlights and painted wooden sets resembling palaces and balconies, and he feels alive.

That night, the finest Elizabethan literature spills from his lips, flowing as easily as water, his voice shaping every monologue, soliloquy and duologue perfectly.

That night, there are another pair of lips on his; only this time painted red and totally professional. It feels strange, alien, and not a single trace of the spark in his heart that Phil’s lips ignite can be found, but it’s work. It’s courage.

And that night, someone up in the control booth watches through the pane of glass over all the light boards and buttons and wires, and smiles.

As if it’s been almost a year since my last oneshot??? Wtf this must CHANGE I’m getting back into writing (properly this time I swear) so there’s a lot more where this came from. Feedback is always appreciated whether it be good or bad so pls let me know how you found this! Feels so good to be doing this again u have nooo idea holy shit <3

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phan au #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #dan and phil #i really hope this is ok i'm so nervous about posting lol #pls pls pls let me know what you think #it's been a while since i've written fic properly i rllly wanna get back into it

282 notes · View notes

cloneslugs · 6 years

Note

please king send me ANY sniper headcanons

(idk why im so tired and everything feels so funny rn but i’ll throw you a bone)

actually i’ll edit it here

trans. (pre/no op) he wears a binder on the job but only if he’s in a sufficient sniper nest but even then he’ll take it off bc thats self care baby !! if he knows he’s gonna be running around he’s usually fine w/ his thick ass vest + baggy shirt + undershirt combo :)

he. gay =___= + mostly just. sleeps around but is a romantic at heart but also. not really. he just kinda ? minds his business and like doesnt think too hard about things that require lots of thinking

mama’s boy!!!!!!!!! but tries to emulate his papa (sunglasses B) )

hes not stupid but he prefers simplicity

POOR HYGIENE he brushes his teeth sometimes and maybe brushes his hair but. he pees in jars + the sink of HQ if there are none available and listen,, that camper dont exactly have running water

he doesnt know how to start conversations at all and actually doesnt. care for talking too much (which is funny bc he hangs out w/ scout a lot,,, but ig scout does all the talking) he jumps in convos if he has a decent/funny enough point but mostly minds his business

he wears a hat for added height + actually all his wardrobe is planned for his utmost social comfort

he flusters easily + hates it, like if you like corner him in a conversation + he cant figure out what to say he just =/////= + he doesnt know how to flirt easily if u flirt w/ him he’ll like stammer out something stupid or just pretend he didnt hear and like. clean his knife or something

he gets super twitchy/fidgety under pressure like above or if you annoy him, he like. flicks his bobblehead or chews on his glasses/fingernails/anything and gets tappy with his hands, he’s pretty good at sitting still most of the time so these are his Tells for irritation/that he’s bothered

he visits home when he can but usually its just screaming matches and he just storms out of the house and does some farm chores bc he still loves them

he’s really bad at like reading/pronunciation (i mean. he can read) he’s bad at spelling

he has a weird relationship w/ ms pauling like they obvs get along but they dont really talk much + she just gets uncomfy in long silences sometimes but they swap recipes and killing tips, he trust her to make calls most of the time and will just listen to her and let the others compromise it out if need be but he’ll interject if he thinks its serious enough(extra info: he just calls her “pauling” unless he’s being really super serious or feels a little snarky)

he kinda wants a dog but they cant climb into sniper nests and what if it gets hurt

he’s. squirrelier than he lets off and likes to climb on things + also he has good aim with just throwing things

not to veer off canon but he knew he was adopted since he was little

he’s good at falling asleep anywhere in any position + can nod off w/ a sniper in his hand (sometimes thats not the best when youre waiting for a target)

he tries to call his parents at least 3 times a week / every other day if he can manage that

he likes his sunglasses for another reason bc he can snooze a little if theyre having a meeting a nobody can really tell (okay some of them can but listen)

he loves being up high !! no matter the weather he loves it thunderstorms or heavy snow or sunny days its a blast !! and he likes to drive around w/ the windows down and the breeze in his face its :)

listen ik this is canon but the boy is Mentally Ill but brushes it off around people and hates talking about it and gets all clammed up when its brought up by like. anyone strangers or people close to him (see: meet the director/meet the sniper(w/ his dad))

he loves seeing new places but he doesnt care much for like. trudging around the wilderness like?? mucking around in swamps or something like that, he’s there for the view and doesnt need the big exploration + running around that some of the others do

he’s self taught at bow and arrow + picked it up when he was way younger bc he used to think it was cool + sexy now he doesnt really. give it a 2nd thought

he’s actually big emo + has a big heart esp for loved ones but he’s good at hiding if things hurt him outside of his initial response(idk if that makes sense, like if his dad said he hated him he’d like visibly :O at first but after the shock he’d be B/ and maybe just go cry in his camper hfdhsjfk)

he’s pretty blunt and isnt afraid to just ? point things out to people point blank and he doesnt really get?? why people get pissy

he like. snipes + all but he doesnt really believe in hunting all that much (like outside of the necessities for it, but even then he wouldnt participate)

i think he’s defo the most ?? standoffish out of the group like even spy hangs out w/ scout but he just doesnt feel a need to jump into convos and doesnt consider how much you talk to someone to be equal to the value of how good of friends you are like maybe everyone feels all “oh he doesnt talk much so we arent close” but he doesnt see that he just thinks “we sit in a room together + they talk/we do crazy shit together, ergo we are close” he does genuinely care for their well being most of the time

he’s not very touchy and prefers when people keep a distance + he’s just. awkward

he gets irritated easily in social situations/when talking, he’s easy to talk over, he gets more annoyed w/ what people say over what they do, he hates talking to strangers, he doesnt like when people pester him about his personal life, he generally doesnt give a shit about gossip + all + doesnt nose about in other people’s business like i said he just kinda minds his own and stays in his own lane and defo gets involved in the least amount of drama

he hangs out w/ the others but he spends most of his time on his own if he can, if he does hang out w/ them he’s kinda a wall flower and just watches the rest of them + has his fun that way besides interjecting a little quip here and there (sorry i feel like im repeating myself w/ some of these)

sometimes he gets broody and moody

he talks about his job w/ really high esteem and he honestly thinks what he does is pretty great and he definitely doesnt think the others are below him but he likes to say what he does isnt mindless merc work its assassination just bc it makes him feel better about himself + its a good argument against his dad

he. hangs out w/ scout and just listens to the kid ramble about whatever + maybe nods or Mhmms along when needed but keeps his mouth shut but maybe gives Big Adult Advise thats maybe not always that great but it sounds smart, sometimes he vents to him bc scouts dumb and wont get it/remember it and his naive/dummy advise sometimes cheers him and actually helps

i can probably come up w more but this is super long and repetitive F

#asks #sniperspys #tf txt

2 notes · View notes

thedateranalyst · 4 years

Text

LA Bae

Ok, so Brazilian Bae may not have turned out to be the absolute love of my life but he was definitely a vast improvement on Interchangeable Bae. I seemed to be on a steady incline and, feeling rather bolstered from the experience, decided that my plan to venture into the more international waters of the dating pool was worth sticking with. Enter Brody. I matched with Brody on Bumble. His profile told me he was from LA and an Art Director in Television. The smouldering looks and wide brimmed hats in his pictures, combined with the fact that his bio also stated his year 5 teacher would describe him as “filled to the brim with rebellion”, suggested that he was going to fit every stereotype I could mentally concoct of someone from LA. I swiped right. It was a match.

The cyber small talk commenced and things got better and better from the word go. Not only was Brody from LA and working in television, he was currently travelling around Europe working as a videographer and a tour manager from an American band called Twin Peaks. London was the last stop of their tour and he had decided to stay on for three days to explore the city before heading home. Now, my rule so far with The Dater Analyst has been to go into every date with an open mind and the hope that the person I am about to meet could be the love of my life. The fact that Brody was only in the UK for three days strongly suggested that even if this was the case, geographically, a blossoming romance was going to be challenging. Come on though, a Californian videographer on a European tour with a band - that shit’s got perfect blog fodder written ALL over it, it was too good an opportunity to miss.

The cyber small talk continued and I asked what he was doing with his time off in London. A photo pinged back to me. I have never received a photo on Bumble before, how modern! Well, technically, I didn’t immediately see the photo. The Bumblebees clearly aren’t naive to the genre of pictures one might find on a dating app so you actually get a blurred out square with directions to “tap to view image”. An attempt to avoid being blindsided by a big willy. I had only just matched with this man though, how did I know that that wasn’t what I was going to get. Tentatively, I tapped to view the image with one hand whilst using the other to shield my innocent eyes. I peaked through splayed fingers and what greeted me was so much more entertaining than a dick pic. It was a carefully staged cafe scene - a scrubbed wood table, a bunch of flowers and a cup of coffee next to an open window overlooking a quaint London street. It gets better. Front and centre of the photo was a watercolour painting of the scene and a box of paints. Brody was proud enough of his artistic endeavours to not only admit to the fact he was spending his day painting (which, let’s be honest, sounds a bit wanky) but to actually send a picture so I could see his skills for myself. How very LA!

Right, I thought, two can play at that game. I happened to be working from home that day so I curated my own still life. I moved a vase of lilies to my own scrubbed wood table, in front of a gilded mirror and placed a lit candle, open laptop and notebook in the foreground. Even sexier than a tasteful nude, some might argue. I sent it off and told him I was just doing a bit of writing. “What are you writing?” came the response...

Rule two of The Dater Analyst is that I never tell the datees about the blog. In this instance though, I was willing to bet money on the fact that Brody’s ego was a big enough that he would see a dating blog as a challenge rather than a deterrent so I told him the truth. Within two minutes I had a response: “A dating blog! Can I steal you away for a date night? You can write about it. What if we meet for just two hours and you write while I paint. We don’t even have to talk.” Boom! Hook, line and sinker!

I actually had plans that night so sadly the artistic date did not take place. I was free the following afternoon though so we agreed to meet then in a microbrewery in Coal Drops Yard, obvs! I’m about to break a third rule of The Dater Analyst here. I never normally divulge the contents of the cyber small talk but I feel it would be beneficial here in order to give a more rounded impression of the character we are dealing with. The reason I couldn’t make the original date was because I had Book Club. This got us on to the topic of literature and what Brody liked to read. I quote: “I do love Christopher Hitchens, it’s truly stimulating and chillingly current how he addresses the inevitable collapse of capitalism and things like the likelihood of Trump and Brexit but this is stuff he wrote in the 1990s...Huxley fucked me up. Have you read Doors of Perception? That book and its encouragement to experiment with hallucinogens changed my life for the better...I have done my share of experimenting and consciousness expanding but all that is only as valuable as your intention and your mentality”. You get the idea.

I arrived at the arranged microbrewery and there was absolutely no mistaking Brody. The paints were still with him but thankfully stored in his man bag. He also had a baker boy hat and a multi-coloured patterned scarf with a gold thread running through it which I’m sure had a deep meaning and was a gift from a Sharman on a yoga retreat in India but looked more like one of those ones you can buy for a fiver in Camden Market.

As his messages should have highlighted, Brody did not do small talk. We quickly covered both of our career ambitions, an extended American history leading up to the civil war, my neurological disorder and the fact that he could relate to this because his cat also had a neurological disorder. Surprisingly though, he wasn’t as wanky as I had expected. He actually came across as more self-assured than self-righteous. Conversations were two-way and he would quite often start saying something and then say “sorry, I interrupted you, carry on”. This sounds small but is amazingly rare, especially on dates.

Although it’s not something I have discussed a lot on this blog so far, I’m normally quite open about talking about the neurological disorder I was diagnosed with last year on dates (this is largely because it causes me to have shaking fits at random moments - I remain totally compos mentis through these but I kind of have to pre-warn people in case I suddenly start manically shaking with no advance warning). I don’t normally tell strangers though that one of the things I do to help manage it is Qi Gong, a movement based meditations which I do every morning. You can see why, it sounds hippy dippy, fairly out there and a difficult one to explain on a date whilst still sounding halfway normal. I thought it might be Brody’s cup of tea though. Indeed it was, he already knew all about Qi Gong. We had a long discussion about it and a specific type of yoga he used to practise which involved getting up at 4:30am and lots of chanting. It sounded suitably on brand and soul-searching for Brody. Then I realised though, that the way I judged him for his yoga routine was exactly how I was nervous that people judged me for my Qi Gong. Brody didn’t care or judge me though, he was comfortable with what he enjoyed doing, happy to talk about it and open-minded to different interests.

One beer down and I felt I hadn’t got all the details I could out of Brody so I agreed to show him a bit of London. We walked along Regent’s Canal, through Camden Lock and Camden Markets, past the zoo where you can see the warthogs and lions from the canal path, through Regent’s Park and up Primrose Hill for a sunset view of the city (I smashed it as a tour guide). I was right though; I had only seen the tip of the iceberg. Brody’s family life sounded suitably wacky. In brief: he had grown up on a ranch somewhere in the mid-west, which was sold when his parents, Steven and Angela, had split up. Steven currently holds a world record - he had a heart attack and was officially dead for fifty-two minutes whilst they did CPR. That is one of the longest times someone has been technically dead for and been resuscitated with no long-term physical or mental implications. Steven now lives on a houseboat with his new girlfriend. Pretty cool! Angela met her first boyfriend when he moved to America from Greece to avoid conscription. Their next-door neighbour reported him for selling weed though so he had to move back to Greece and Angela went with him, travelling around Greece for two years. It was all a pretty colourful past.

There were other parts of our date that were slightly more dubious. I’m all in favour of vegetarianism but wasn’t quite prepared for an in depth discussion on the perception of an animal’s soul. I swiftly moved the conversation along. I do which I had proved more on one of his more recent ventures though. He told me he was currently involved in the art direction of an all-male feminist magazine. The more I think about this, the more questions I have. I am under no doubt that men can be feminists but to make an exclusively male feminist magazine sounds slightly counter-intuitive to me? Surely this is just more men excluding women from a conversation that is about them, men mansplaining feminism to women? Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick but this seemed to be the patriarchy jumping on the zeitgeist to maintain their control? You never know though, maybe I’m being defensive; maybe this is going to be the next big thing. If you suddenly hear about a new and trendy male feminist publication do let me know, it could be Brody.

Eventually it began to get dark so the tour came to an end and I dropped Brody off at the nearest tube station and bid farewell before he flew back to LA the following day. I came away thinking that Brody really hadn’t been as narcissistic as I had expected. In many way, I had drunk the Californian Koolaid: as much eye-rolling as there was at the LA cliches Brody embodied, he also had that American confidence that made him totally comfortable in his own skin and with his own interests. He was unashamed in discussing his flaws and his strengths and skipping straight past the small talk to try and really get to know a person.

That would a sickeningly soul-searching end to the post though and absolutely not the light-hearted, scathing judgement that any of you read this blog for. If I’m being totally honest, what really happened was that I just enjoyed the opportunity to be as wanky as he was. For an afternoon I could happily discuss humanitarian politics, the benefits of meditation and what I felt fulfilment looked like rather than dissecting Love Island and complaining about commuting. It’s quite fun to be a knob every once in a while and I would happily spend a similar afternoon with Brody if he were to find himself back in the UK. If distance wasn’t an issue though, would Brody be The One? I think, realistically, probably not. I had had an engaging and enlightening afternoon but there weren’t exactly many lols. I think I’m looking for someone who can chat shit rather than chataranga. Or at least a bit of both.

0 notes

shirlleycoyle · 4 years

Text

Hackers Dissect ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 9: ‘Conflict’

Episode 9 of Mr. Robot’s final season was not only amazing plot-wise but also happily filled with hacks. We discussed [SPOILERS, obvs] IMSI catchers, Raspberry Pis, PGP, phishing telcos and stealing cryptocurrency. (The chat transcript has been edited for brevity, clarity, and chronology.)

This week’s team of experts includes:

Em Best: a former hacker and current journalist and transparency advocate with a specialty in counterintelligence and national security.

Trammell Hudson: a security researcher who likes to take things apart.

Micah Lee: a technologist with a focus on operational security, source protection, privacy and cryptography, as well as Director of Information Security at The Intercept.

Freddy Martinez: a technologist and public records expert. He serves as a Director for the Chicago-based Lucy Parsons Labs.

Yael Grauer (moderator): an investigative tech reporter covering online privacy and security, digital freedom, mass surveillance and hacking.

IMSI Catchers

Yael: I thought it was clever of Darlene and Elliot/Mr. Robot to use IMSI catchers.

Micah: I've never had a chance to play with one for real, But they're also referred to as "cell site simulators" because they simulate cell phone towers. Your phone tries to connect to the tower with the strongest signal, so in order to do a man-in-the-middle attack against cell phones, you just need to broadcast a stronger signal than the nearest cell phone tower and nearby phones will connect to your IMSI catcher instead. Then, you forward the traffic to the real cell phone tower, so the phones will still work, but you can spy on/modify all the traffic in the meantime

Yael: I’ve written about them before, but it was about law enforcement use of them for surveillance. They can’t intercept Signal messages, right? So if Deus Group just read a Freedom of the Press Foundation guide, Darlene and Elliot's plot would be foiled.

Em: It will intercept the Signal data, but messages are encrypted until they reach the recipient’s device, so it's not enough to just intercept it.

Micah: Their plot wouldn't have been foiled because Cyprus National Bank still sends two-factor authentication codes (2FA) over unencrypted SMS. I thought it was a nice touch how much Raspberry Pis were represented. In the first scene, in the hotel, the camera panned across some Raspberry Pis, and Darlene was logged in to a Raspberry Pi during the garage door hack.

Image: USA

Freddy: The Raspberry Pi 3 uses USB 3.0, which is fast enough to run a homemade IMSI Catcher.

Em: Homemade antennas are fun. =)

Yael: Oh, did they make their own?

Freddy: You can make your own. I think those are limeSDRs.

Price’s Last Stand

Yael: We had Price in yet another hostage situation.

Em: Yeah, he handled it very well. The traditional ways of getting out of a hostage situation weren't going to work there, but he did several important things for the situation he was in:

1. He kept calm. This is the most important thing. If he had panicked he'd have been killed a lot sooner.

2. He kept Whiterose off balance. His teasing and taunting was beautiful to watch, especially the "wind in his hair" bit.

3. He didn’t give up any important info to accomplish number 2.

4. He provoked Whiterose when they were both visible outside. Walking away after saying what he said almost guaranteed not only that he'd be shot there but that Whiterose would do it—in public.

Yael: My favorite taunts were, “it’s bad management when your best employees either walk off the job or blow their brains out,” and “all this over a little pipsqueak in a hoodie.” I think Price kind of didn't care if he died after Angela died.

Em: I think he didn't care if he died but he wanted to get Whiterose first. Once he handed off the drive (which he did right before going to the meeting), he had accepted his fate.

Freddy: You can't control people who have nothing to lose.

Em: Or to gain.

Micah: I like how Mr. Robot explained why he was there in the hotel room, instead of Elliot, by saying, "Life throws you an error code like that, you don't have the luxury of a fucking pop-up explanation."

The Bank Heist

Yael: Okay, so let’s talk about the hack. They said they needed to correlate phone numbers with bank account numbers to initiate the money transfers.

Em: They needed that for the script so they'd know which 2FA code to use for which request. Otherwise they'd have to brute-force it for each account, and that'd likely trigger a safety measure.

Micah: So Elliot and Darlene seem to have a SQL database from the bank, and their database includes account numbers, first name, last name, and hashed phone numbers. They needed to use the IMSI catcher (and the cell phone tower hack) to learn everyone's phone numbers, so they could hash them and then lookup the hashes in the bank database until they had phone numbers for all 100 accounts

Em: That's pretty realistic, FWIW. An equivalent of that was one of the first things we pulled from Phineas Fisher’s hack of Cayman National Bank and Trust (much to the dismay of some of the account holders).

Trammell: There was a CCC talk about nation-states doing 2FA intercept on Telegram password resets.

Micah: So, the venue changed. They got a hotel room within line of sight of the first venue, and they expected all Deus Group members to show up there, but the location moved. Mr. Robot figured out that Whiterose was at the first venue, though. So Darlene went to the second venue with the IMSI catcher, and Mr. Robot/Elliot stayed at the first venue to try to focus on just Whiterose's phone number. So all that hacking that Mr. Robot was doing, he was hacking into the telecom company that owns the closest cell phone tower.

Yael: How did Whiterose figure out that they needed a venue change and he had to get at Price?

Freddy: She said that Elliot disappeared right after Price said he was retiring, and that Price asked for a Deus Group meeting on Xmas, which was suspicious.

Micah: Elliot had a dump of Tyrell Wellick's phone, and it looks like he and Darlene imported Tyrell's Firefox passwords into Iceweasel, and then looked through his Google calendar. There was a password-protected attachment in one calendar event, and the thing I don't quite understand is how they got the password. I think Darlene sent it to him in Signal Desktop, but I don't know how they knew what it was.

Image: USA

Freddy: It almost looked like a script to execute, but I couldn't tell. Maybe it was a pop-up?

Yael: I think it directed to a password-protected webpage hosted on some kind of private server. So I guess Whiterose got sloppy and forgot to take Tyrell off the list of people getting the venue change.

Micah: Tyrell was the guest of honor; he was getting named new CEO of Evil Corp. She just didn't realize he was dead.

Yael: I'm sort of stunned Whiterose didn't know Tyrell was dead or at least missing, with their surveillance..

Em: It happened in the middle of nowhere and the FBI didn't handle the crime scene, so the search around the van etc. was limited.

Yael: Yeah, but they had eyes on Tyrell and would've noticed he was missing after.

Hacking The Cell Tower

Micah: Okay, so let's talk about the cell phone tower hack.

Yael: Elliot was phishing telecom employees to try to get access to the cell phone tower because he didn't have the cell-site simulator.

Micah: Yeah, exactly. He needed to hack the cell phone tower, because that would give him the same access as if he had his own IMSI catcher. Once he got credentials from his phishing, he was trying to re-use them to login to the telco's VPN.

Yael: So what's easier and more reliable, building your own IMSI catcher or phishing telcos?

Freddy: Probably the latter, to be quite honest.

Micah: Also, did you notice that when he was phishing the telco, he scraped PGP keyservers to get a list of their email addresses? That's not realistic, though. Nobody in real life uses PGP. Except for The Intercept, but it's painful. I'm not sure all these gallatintelco.com employees would have keys on the keyservers.

Em: It would only take one person uploading their set of public keys to get them there. Keyservers verifying permission of the owner to list the keys is relatively new, as far as I can tell.

Yael: Why does he need their public keys, though? How does this work?

Em: He didn't need the keys, he just needed the email addresses associated with them so he could phish the telco employees. He was basically IDing which email addresses were being used—rather than trying to get a list of employees and then figuring out the company’s email address format (e.g. [email protected]).

Trammell: And he was hoping that one of them used the same password on the cell site infrastructure that they used to login in response to the phishing email. The first few didn't, but eventually one of them did. Someone always does…

Micah: It looks like USA Network didn't actually generate all these PGP keys. They're not in the SKS pool.

Trammell: Elliot’s ECorp key from the 2017 season is on the key servers. Or someone like me ran a key generator to spoof the 32-bit key id and uploaded it to the server and then registered e-corp.co.uk to complete the fake. 32-bit PGP key IDs are short enough that you can find a key that matches .

Image: USA

Freddy: I don't know any company, much less a telco, that requires you to publish PGP keys online.

Micah: The Intercept.

Yael: I think also the Electronic Frontier Foundation.

Freddy: When I used to work in cybersecurity I think I was the only one with a PGP key.

Micah: I think it's much more likely that a telco wouldn't be using any email encryption. But if they did, they'd use S/MIME, which is like PGP but centrally managed and therefore popular in the corporate/government world, and simpler to use.

Yael: I feel like I got PGP for street cred to get hackers I wanted to interview to talk to me vs. actually using it.

Micah: I used PGP to help facilitate the Snowden leak. Good times.

Garage Door Hack

Yael: Let’s talk about the garage door hack.

Trammell: Based on the scripts I think Darlene was using a HackRF. In that screenshot you can see that she has logged into a Pi with the HackRF and captured the signal while the security goon was pressing "close."

Image: USA

Bank Transfer

Micah: So as far as the bank transfer goes, I think there are some pieces of the puzzle that aren't quite clear in this episode. Last episode there was a snippet of python that involved mixing cryptocurrency. So I think they must have done something like this. Once they could spy on everyone's SMS, they initiated bank transfers for everyone, to transfer their money into some other bank account. When all the Deus Group members got SMS messages, they intercepted the 2FA codes and sent them to the bank to complete the transfers.

Freddy: Yeah but even then, you can't just do a bulk transfer of billions of dollars into cryptocurrency?

Micah: On the other end, the receiving account must have automatically been hooked into a cryptocurrency exchange, immediately selling all of that money for cryptocurrency, and then, immediately mixing that cryptocurrency.

Freddy: And do what with it? Someone will notice a trillion dollars being dumped into BTC (cough cough TETHER). Also, there is a cost to buying that cryptocurrency and you couldn't get the network throughput for syncing the transfers. Syncing a blockchain is much slower compared to something like SWIFT.

Em: Cryptocurrency for this is not realistic.

Micah: Before it could get exchanged for cryptocurrency, they had to have done a SWIFT transfer to a different bank. That must have been the first step.

Freddy: I am just saying, where did the money go? The cryptocurrency stuff is like "fancy Hollywood magic."

Micah: So maybe the money is all just sitting in like, a Swiss bank account or something that they set up just for this hack, and they're slowly working on moving it into cryptocurrency

Em: It would have to be several SWIFT transfers or things would not be accepted on the other end. Moving it all into one account wouldn't help, because it would be seized and returned.

Micah: It's a separate SWIFT transfer account for each Deus Group member, but still.

Freddy: Moving that much money would have tripped all sorts of liquidity rules at the banks.

Em: Yes, and the receiving accounts would have had issues with it. Even if all translated to BTC etc., they'd have to distribute it very widely to prevent it from being returned. A well set-up bank would also have additional confirmations required for transfers that empty out accounts or are over a certain amount.

Trammell: The liquidity of any of the cryptocurrency exchanges wouldn't be able to handle any significant buy-in like that. It would be like the flash crash in reverse.

Yael: Wait, I thought BTC couldn't get returned.

Em: Anything can be seized.

Micah: Yeah, I think once they get successfully get it into BTC, the only way they could seize it is by seizing the actual wallet, e.g. the secret keys.

Em: The exchange(s) are a vulnerable point, I think. Cryptocurrency would be harder to seize than a traditional account, if no one ever did anything with it. It'd have to sit there, dead.

Micah: If Elliot and Darlene can maintain their anonymity from the financial fraud investigators, they won't have any way of knowing who to seize it from. Also, if they don't actually want the money, they can just destroy the wallet.

Trammell: If they are doing the "K Foundation" attack rather than a "Robin Hood" approach, they could also transfer the BTC to a random address (or a symbolic one) where there is no secret key.

Em: There is one thing we're overlooking in the discussion of cryptocurrency transfers:

eCoin. We don't know how eCoin worked, but it's likely that it was more integrated with Cyprus Nat'l Bank than BTC et al is with most traditional banks.

Trammell: Good point—we're hypothesizing about how eCoin might work, as compared to real cryptocurrencies. (If eCoin is even anything other than a fiat currency issues by Evil Corp).

Em: I would be amazed if the bank wasn't integrated with it. And remember, eCoin wallets aren't secure against Evil Corp. They had the ability to look in every wallet etc.

Freddy: Presumably they also stole all the money from Price/Tyrell, too. So what's to stop them from bankrupting Evil Corp?

Trammell: I'm surprised that such rich people would have only one bank account. Their funds only have FDIC insurance up to $250k.

Em: What does FDIC insurance matter when the accounts are owned by the people who own the government(s)?

Freddy: Or for off-shore bank accounts.

Trammell: A more realistic response from Whiterose would be "oh, there's more where that came from."

Em: I think that's besides the point, considering the power dynamics at play.

Trammell: Offshore, different banks, different countries, etc. Single points of failure are so very dangerous.

Em: Whiterose would have been totally humiliated, all her data and everyone else's gone, their money taken—why would they give her more? The goal wasn't to bankrupt the members of the Deus Group but to bankrupt the Deus Group. Fsociety made Whiterose and the Dark Army bleed in a way that made them no longer appear invulnerable. Who would want to work with them then? But even arguendo, Whiterose would know the funds were gone for the immediate future and that'd ruin the Congo plan.

Darlene

Micah: I like that in the video Darlene told everyone the address of the Deus Group meeting, so that protestors showed up and stalled them from leaving long enough to complete the hack

Yael: haha yeah that was a fun distraction

Trammell: F L A S H M O B

Freddy: The only thing that rich people understand is an unruly mob.

Micah: Did you also notice the billboard for the fictional NBC TV show about fsociety called SHIFT+CONTROL?

Image: USA

Yael: Good name!

Micah: And the very last scene: Whiterose is putting on makeup while it appears a SWAT team is raiding her mansion and there's firefight going on? I think Whiterose is done.

Em: It's hard to tell. Zhang is done, definitely. Whiterose might not be. Though probably, given how close we are to the end of the series.

Yael: I was surprised when Price got shot. I knew he was gonna die, but didn’t expect it like that.

Em: He did such a good job of provoking Whiterose. It was beautiful.

Yael: That was a great episode. I was glad the hack finally happened and also that Darlene had a pivotal role in it. For Dom.

Hackers Dissect ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 9: ‘Conflict’ syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

0 notes

punkscowardschampions · 5 years

Text

Ali & Tess

A nice pre-Christmas argument

Tess joined the chat 2 hours ago Ali: Mamacita! How's tricks? Did you manage to get the gum out of Rocky's hair in the end or is he rocking a no.1 rn? Tess: It's hat season he'll be fine. It's your da you need to worry about if he doesn't get those bloody Christmas decs out Ali: At least you'll be saved the toxic fumes of the nit shampoo, like. I'll make him some earmuffs, ears like that, he'll get frostbite. Ali: Aww, leave off, he's got a bad back, like 😜 Ali: Caleb can come help with the heavy shit, he's like an ox, I'll be creative director, obvs, I've got the eye, he's got the body Ali: 😉 Tess: I hope you've got plenty of wool 'cause the dog got to ours and its a bloody state. He'll have a bad head to go with it in a minute. Nah you're alright bab Tommy's offered and Drew might as well make himself useful now he's sniffing round again. Ali: Well, there goes your classic jumper presents! Have to brave dem crowds, fight a bitch for the last...idk, what do kids even want these days? Last I heard from Rock mutant turtles and power rangers were back in vogue but they're probably out again, its been a week or so 😏 Contrary fuckers, eh? I was NEVER that bad, was I? Bet you wish you could relieve those easy years raising me, the dream child 😇 Ali: Alright then, though I wouldn't recommend confining Tommo and Drew to a space as small as the loft, T is gunning for him Ali: aren't we all? but hey 🤷 see if those muscles are just for show ay Tess: He's still on about that slime bollocks. Supposedly this stuff blows bubbles and expands or whatever. All I'm bothered about is that it says it ain't sticky. Better sodding not be. Ha! If you weren't being a little demon you were trying to raise them. Easy ain't the word love! Tess: I'll put Drew at the bottom of the ladder. Maybe some of the boxes'll land on his head. Knock some sense into the lad. Ro too seeing as she's never far. Ali: That shit is such a rip-off though, I could make him some dead cheap, tell him he can have it whatever colour, whatever random shit he wants in it, and no one else will have the same at School Ali: Save your money for the feast 💃'cos I won't be absolutely stuffed from my first xmas dinner, like, nah Ali: and demons need love too, ma, just ask Ro Ali: will he be joining us for meal numero dos? cos i don't think i can stomach 2 helpings of him in one day tbh Tess: Tell him yourself. I tried to make some with him in the summer and the ungrateful little sod wouldn't even come sit up the table. His loss. They loved it at work. Tess: Don't. That girl'll do me in one of these days . I'm surviving on spite by now 'cause he'll be eating with us over my dead body. Caleb's lot are welcome to keep him. Ali: I'm tellin ya get the kid some prescription speed, it'll do him wonders 😂 Well, that's another idea fucked...tis the season! Ali: I know, it ain't even funny at this point. Ali: You know she's gonna wanna go see him, yeah? You'll never get her to sit through games and shit telly once she's picked at her veg Ali: Its like kid swap up in here Tess: If I can get some what's on her plate into her instead of just the dog I'll be laughing. Fuck's sake. Kids who'd celebrate 'em? Grandkids on the other hand. Mary'd have been proper buzzing for that. Ali: Oi, woman! I'm right here Ali: and the giver of majority grandkids, so, think on, love Tess: You're even stevens kiddo. Keep it that way 'til you're done with uni yeah? Call that the xmas gift that keeps giving. Ali: yeah but a twofer ain't the same, is it? 😜 don't make promises i can't keep, ma Ali: engineering students are so fit, how will i resist? Tess: Tell that to Bea. I'm sure she'd have plenty to say back. Ali Mckenna don't test me there's plenty of room in the car when we go for Tommo's new specs I can get you in too. Ali: Yeah, yeah, she can lord it over me with her efficient vagina, getting it done in one, I'll be many bucks fizzes deep by then, give a shizzle Ali: Gurl, my vision is 20/20, in my third eye too, ooOOoOoOOOo Ali: Maybe Beatrice will prove again why she's your favourite daughter by distracting Ro so much with this London visit she won't have time to pine over Drew at all, happy days Tess: That's the spirit. Save your dad's back. He still thinks he's a brawler. Tess: Shh I don't have favorites I'm not one of your teachers. Tess: I'm sure Drew'll stay one text away throughout. Never off her phone now is she. Ali: Ahh, old man could still take him, Drew's a pussy Ali: I'll get Marlene round again lmao Ali: Suuuuuuuuuuuure ya don't 😏 Ali: We can only assume texting is a medium in which he really shines, 'cos seeing them IRL, doesn't make sense, so... Tess: Now that girl is a fave, thinking 'bout it. Yeah I like her. Tess: He must know his selfie angles or some shit. Tess: You tell me I'll never see the appeal. Ali: oh, sweet mama, if only you'd voiced your preference sooner, maybe i'd of married her and had lots of gaybies instead Ali: alas 🤣 Ali: you sound 100, do you feel it? 😉 Ali: he's a vessel for her hopes and dreams, init, but he ain't, he just needs to man up and move the fuck on so she can too Tess: Like you've ever listened to your ma. Double it and you ain't close, bab. I'm in those vampiric numbers here. Tess: Yeah. Maybe try telling her that. Ali: You wish you were a vampire. Which, tbh, is telling of how old you is. Ain't nothing cool about being a basement dwelling weirdo who can't sample the wonder and joy of garlic bread. Ali: Why don't you? Oh wait, cos it ain't for either of us to say it so we'll just sit here like bitter old lemons Ali: You're a bad influence, lady Tess: If that's what you think about vampire lore then I ain't gonna even waste my breath young'un. Tess: I have, cheers. I ain't sitting on my arse doing fuck all for you lot even if that's what you reckon. Tess: Exactly. Learn a lesson. Ali: Mhmm, go tell it to the lost boys 'cos I don't give a damn, I'm getting doughballs baby Ali: Pshhh, well fat lot of good its done, why you setting me up to fail then?! Ali: I know when to bow out gracefully Tess: I don't need to 'cause we'll all be snacking. If you'd watched that movie when I offered you'd know garlic don't work in that verse. Tess: There's nothing graceful about tapping out with a fight left to finish. I thought you'd been set up to go 'til the final bell but do what you've gotta do. Or don't. Tess: There's plenty of other shit stuck to the fridge singing your praises like Ali: No thank you, there's watching some lame for jokes, then there's forcing yourself to endure kiefer sutherland and co Ali: That's sadism. Ali: Well, there's nothing graceful about kicking a girl when she's down Ali: going blow for blow ain't always the right approach, is it? not with someone like Ro so don't start alright Tess: Lame? And you wonder why you ain't my fave. Tess: Helping your sister up is always the right approach if you don't want her to stay down. Tess: I'm not starting anything. I've said my piece. End of. Ali: C'mon, I know even Joe couldn't pretend to like it, like Ali: That's my point, she ain't fell yet, she's on a Drew-related high so pardon me from not trying take the rug from up under her Ali: not that I could if I tried, like I said, what good has you 'saying your piece' done? Ali: sometimes all you can do is be there to pick up the pieces after, that's just facts Tess: You all take after your da is why. No taste none of ya. Tess: It's done me a lot of good being able to get it on the record each time, cheers. Tess: sometimes that's a cop out 'cause you want a easy life Tess: Fact is there's plenty that could have been done before he did his reappearing act. Ali: Oh, yeah? Like what? Changing her entire worldview in time for tea? Ali: If it was that easy, you would've managed it by now Ali: Don't be so hard on yourself, your not doing her, or any of us, a favour with this shit Tess: He's a dealer it is that easy. It ain't my job to manage it though. You all wanna be treated like adults and have me wipe your arses for you at the same time I think not. Do yourself and her, a favor and use that big brain of yours. Ali: You think she doesn't know? Now who's being thick Ali: She doesn't care, so unless you're planning to cop shop him that means sweet fuck all doesn't it Tess: It ain't about what she knows. Last I checked he's not the only dealer in Dublin. There's still some honor among scumbags and more than one way to get caught out. Ali: Aww, such a softie at heart, ain't ya? Tess: Takes one to know one. Ali: That is one small step above 'I know you are but what am I?' Ali: No one wants Drew to get kneecapped or Ro to be collateral but he wants to be treated like an adult, so we can't wipe his arse, can we? Tess: Speak for yourself I'd spend my reddies to see that. However bad he thinks he is there's always someone worse and the sooner he learns it the better for all of us having to watch him play silly beggars Tess: Ro's worth a million of him maybe when she's grown up she'll know it. Ali: Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're such a hard bitch. Maybe if he'd got proper help from people like you he woulda turned out better when he was grown too. Ali: It ain't too late for either of them. Tess: I'm what I've had to be. I can't save 'em all. Not even close. You'd be well to stay away from him if you've still got the sense you were born with. Ali: Yeah but you still try, don't you? Read back your previous wisdom for your answer there. Ali: Bit hard when we live in the same gaff isn't it but I can assure you I'm not going out of my way to be his bestie, mother Tess: I ain't about to flog a dead dog. He ain't a stupid kid anymore and what happened when he was a little 'un ain't an excuse either Tess: Nobody's got it easy. Tess: It's up to him to work out if his turning point's come and gone or if he even reckons he needs one. Ali: You don't have to but you can see the pretense Ro is working under, yeah? She doesn't think she's doing anything wrong and, arguably, she ain't. But sometimes all you get for your efforts is a kick in the teeth. Ali: Nobody's got it easy. Ali: It's up to HER to call time, not us. Tess: Who says? I've been there. Thinkin I had it all and knew even more about my future with my dream boy. Nobody came to clue me in but even now I wish they fucking had done. Ali: Like you'd have listened. Tess: If I had someone who gave a shit maybe Tess: She'd listen to you. Ali: Say you had, would you have done anything differently? Even if you knew how it'd go, if you didn't have Ronnie, you might still be with Josh now Ali: It changes everything about you Ali: I don't think she would. There's no reasoning because there is no reason, or rhyme for that matter Tess: Of course I would. I'd do everything differently. I'm not trying to romanticise who I was. Or am. Tess: Change ain't no bad thing when it comes to this. Or me Tess: Because you don't wanna think that she would and deal with all the shit that comes with her doing that. I don't blame ya but that don't make it right Tess: it's still a cop out. Ali: Well, I hope it soothes YOUR soul villainizing yourself because as someone who's half you, it's not something that is helpful, at all. Ali: Who's been there for her after every break-up? Who has to listen to every fucking detail? It ain't been you. And I can assure you I didn't spend those times when he was out of the picture singing his fucking praises. I HAVE told her. Everyone has. It just pisses you off that you can't fix this, or her. Tess: You're all you. Your own person. End of. Tess: And it should help you to know the truth. I was a bad person Ali and I ain't exactly sainted now. I do my best that's all any of us've got. Deal with it. Tess: I'm sorry you want a gold star or pat on the head for doing what you're supposed to for who you love. You're not getting it from me. Try your luck with your da maybe. Tess: And yeah it does piss me off so what? Ali: That isn't close to being true. There's no such thing as an individual, sorry to burst your bubble. Ali: And no one is one or the other. Christ, you're so fucking old testament. Ali: If your going in for all that shite, you should look at how revered a knocked-up teenage girl is whilst you're at it Ali: No one gives a shit about your war stories, they don't help anyone but you so you keep all that anger and hold it tight 'cos none of us are here for it any more Ali: Good luck trying to get Rocky to sit still so you can tell him all about damnation to scare him straight, good fucking luck Tess: You're not gonna change my mind. If you were anything close to being half of me we wouldn't be having this conversation. Tess: Life's black and white for me. That's what happens when you don't have choices. Call it what you like. Tess: And there's nothing to be preached to me about being a knocked up teen by you or anyone else. I ain't trying to either you just think it's that onesided 'cause you never listen Tess: There you go again speaking for everyone else when you mean yourself. But whatever. Tess: Get your own stories and leave mine out of it. Tess: Grow up, Ali. Ali: Now there's a copout if I ever heard one. Ali: Listen to what? What are you spouting but hot air? Ali: Oh, yeah? What one of your sainted children has benefitted? Ronnie hates you, Joe's a junkie, me and Fraze did exactly what you did. Ali: Tommy is passable but he's unhappy as fuck so, well done there. You've only got one left. Ali: What's the point? No one can ever match up to your infinite wisdom, I'd rather stay young so I knew what the hell I was talking about instead of making myself look like an old fool

#fabby fun

0 notes

fcntasmas-archive · 7 years

Note

hi babe!!! so i could have given you my old boring generic answer, but there is no one who feels stronger about gryffindor!even than @ravenclawisak so i asked her to give you the run-down because no one will ever make a more convincing argument. so, to quote her exactly, here are the reasons why even is a gryffindor, according to the beautiful and talented rachel (remember these are literally direct quotes so the “me” being referenced here is actually her):

the things that made it a gut instinct have to do mostly with certain, select moments where i was just like. floored watching

like when he showed up at isak’s place at the end of 3.07 literally two minutes after isak sent that text

he had no idea what mood he’d find isak in–all signs actually pointed to isak being in a bad/closed off mood, given the content and tone of his messages

but even still was like “shit this is my last chance” and jumped to take it

and that’s part of a pattern of bold behavior for him, at least when it comes to his pursuit of isak throughout the first half of s3

like consistently, once he started getting opportunities and signs that maybe isak could be interested in him too, he jumped right on those and pressed ahead and ahead to see what they could become

so a lot of the major steps taken in building their relationship–the flirting, the hanging out, the almost kiss in the kitchen, the kiss in the pool, the convo about becoming bfs–those are taken consistently by even

which isn’t to say that like, isak isn’t brave or bold or is cowardly for not being as forward, bc obvs he’s in a different place with himself and his experience with relationships and knowing his sexual attractions than even is, and that factors into why he’s kind of playing wait-and-see for a lot of the beginning

but i think it’s also an arguable difference in how they approach and solve problems: isak waits to gather more information and weigh what he wants to do before he makes a choice, but even is more inclined to take risks, make leaps once he gets that slightest sign to go, even if there’s no accompanying sign that there will be steady ground for him to land on

and sometimes that burns him really bad, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it

and that feels v gryffindor to me

and then okay this next part is going to get less concrete in the sense of things we’ve seen him do canonically and more abstract in the sense of how do i interpret and extrapolate things about even from what we’re shown

but gryffindor to me is the most Romantic house, or at least the house full of the biggest Romantics, in that they still believe in romanticized and idealized notions of like, a ruling moral code, grand gestures of good faith, the core principles of chivalry, the idea that what is good and right will ultimately win out bc it is good and right

and for even we defs see him as a romantic, like with baz being his fave director and what that suggests about the kinds of stories he emotionally connects to the most, and then with the ways (consciously or sub) he tried to work those narrative cues into the foundation of his and isak’s relationship, as if that would help elevate whatever they built between them to those same sweeping, lofty, epic proportions

he’s not what i’d call a hopeless romantic bc he doesn’t seem to believe that like, love will always win out in the end–actually the opposite. but even if he seems more inclined to believe that reality won’t work out like a movie, he still also has this conflicting hope that he’ll be proved wrong about that, by himself or the course of his own life or someone else sweeping in or whatever

it’s a v conflicted and self-doubting kind of romanticism, but it’s still a romanticism that roots itself in the bold actions of individuals: someone takes action and fate/circumstance overpowers them and makes them into a beautifully tragic figure, or someone takes action and overpowers fate/circumstance and makes themself into an optimistic, *comedic (in the aristotelian sense) figure

but either way it comes down to someone taking action, someone doing something bc they have a passion and that drives them forward, for better or for worse

and i think that informs a lot of how even understands his own actions, and his actions as part of the story of his life, and his life as part of the story of others’ lives, and others’ lives as part of the story of his own, and so on. sometimes you just have to act bc actions are what make life happen, good or bad, and idk that again just feels v gryffindor to me

#gryiffindor!even #skam #askybison #answered #even bech næsheim

35 notes · View notes

placebonut · 4 years

Text

So I finished FFVII: Remake and I have thoughts! Need to record my first impression before I read what everyone else thinks and potentially have my opinion warped beyond recognition!

Overall, I enjoyed it. But maybe a “re-imagining” is a better description, as it looks like it’s shaping up to be a new story. I’ll need to play it again to fully understand all that wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, though. FF games tend to get a bit abstract and confusing for me toward the end, so that’s not a criticism, just my reality lol.

Highlights:

+ Wedge lives! Apparently Biggs, too, but I have different thoughts about that… Even though they’re essentially the same, Wedge happened before knowing what the Whispers are, and that capital ‘D’ Destiny is fighting to stay on track by smothering all potential divergents, so it was a nice little surprise for me that Wedge survives. I’m even satisfied with how it happened. Like, he’s in the middle of sector 7 when the plate falls, but just through sheer luck gets knocked into a secret underground lab, which I now get to explore? Cool!

+ Johnny lol. No longer “childhood friend”, but still very entertaining. Though that scene where Cloud straight-up intends to execute him while he’s bound and blindfolded is a bit… Uh? I feel like it was supposed to be telling me something about Cloud’s character, but doesn’t really seem consistent. He’s got an attitude, and is very often moody and rude to people’s faces, but that moment is next level cold. That scene also implies that Avalanche aren’t killing all of the Shinra troopers they fight. I’ll just accept “fantasy” as the explanation for how they manage that!

+ Cloud being recognised in Shinra tower. Though does the Kunsel name-drop mean that some of Crisis Core canon will be included? I mean, they basically did a frame-by-frame reanimation of Zack’s last stand, but he doesn’t have the CC scar so I assume no Angeal. Lots to unpack, but I just enjoyed the moment. It makes sense that someone would remember him!

+ I think Madame M’s main role is to replace the .. violation? that Cloud experiences in the OG Honey Bee Inn. She’s still pretty much forcing him to have that hand massage, but at least he just hates that he likes it, rather than being actually super uncomfortable in a hot tub full of strange men. I feel like they steered away from the old homophobic humour and instead embraced some fun, gender non-conforming characters. I’m very straight and cis though, so maybe there’s nuance I missed. No named Shinra employees in the private HB rooms though?

+ Tifa!! I don’t think they’ve actually made changes to her character, but you just get so much more time with her, and I’m able to love her in a way I never really did in OG. My OG first impression was that she was needy, and annoyingly timid at the worse times. Obviously she gets a lot of character growth, but I could never shake that initial impatience I had with her, and the rivalry with Aeris (who the game clearly pushes you to like) just left me with a criminal under-appreciation for her. Remake Tifa is a goddess! Her voice actor is great, which definitely helps. Her empathy, compassion, and generosity are showcased really well in lots of scenes, but she’s still such a badass! I love how she’s always the one to catch Cloud when he’s falling off of something, but my absolute favourite moment is when she steps out of the mist to offer Aerith her hand, “we found you”/”I guess you did..” Had me clutching my chest.

+ The immediate friendship between the girls is sooooo nice compared to the competition they pose for each other in the OG. Even as early as the sewers, when they’ve only just met. Maybe it’ll come later, but I kinda don’t even feel like Tifa expresses all that much romantic interest in Cloud. She’s not jealous of Aerith, and while it’s clear she worries about him and cares what he thinks, she’s certainly not hopelessly in love with him… At least not yet.

+ Voice actors did a better job than I expected tbh. Some awkward attempts to mimic Japanese vocalisations, but that’s always a problem with anime dubs. Hojo’s last scream of laughter really solidified the ‘crazy scientist’ bit. Barret was way funnier and less cringey than I thought he’d be. Marlene is cute as a button! Aerith is a bit high and breathy, but the pitch actually makes her probably the easiest to understand since the background music always seems a bit too loud when they’re talking. Cloud, Barret, but especially Sephiroth, I really struggled in parts to understand. I think Sephiroth was even murmuring things in that final battle, probably just related to his special attacks since all important dialogue had subtitles, but I’m sure I could hear his voice but could understand literally nothing!

+ Music and graphics, obvs. Man, everyone and everything is just so dang pretty!

Didn’t like, or maybe just didn’t understand?

- Sephiroth. I employed some real mental gymnastics to explain to myself what I was seeing, and I mostly succeeded until the very end. Okay, so like, his first appearances I rationalised as being PTSD hallucinations or something. Also, in a real-world sense, I read somewhere that the OG director used the movie Jaws as inspiration for how they introduce him slowly, showing only the destruction he leaves behind to create tension, but it’s 20 years later and he’s an icon in video game and anime culture, they can’t play the same tricks and expect the same result. This game only features the initial Midgar part of the story which he wasn’t originally featured in, so gotta find a way to give the fans some service. Alright, that makes sense, I can accept that.

But then it became clear he’s using the clones to actually communicate with Cloud…. huh. Well, okay, I guess there’s no reason why he couldn’t have always been able to do that. He’s much more interested in Cloud than I think he should be at this point, but if he’s trying to organise Reunion, and I suppose Cloud is the only one resisting, I can make it work: if he’s aware of the clones, then he’s aware of Cloud. It makes no less sense that he’s always been able to connect with them, than him suddenly being able to out of nowhere or only deciding to start at a plot-convenient moment. I always assumed it was Cloud’s proximity to Jenova that triggered the whole series of events in Shinra Tower. That she, and by extension Sephiroth, “wake up” while he’s there. But if Sephiroth has actually been conscious the entire time, maybe Cloud just showed him exactly where to find her, so he’s coming to get her. It’s complicated, but I think I follow.

I don’t know why he’s on the other side of the Destiny storm, though. Really, why was he even there? Is he working with or against the Whispers? And I can’t make sense of his invitation for Cloud to join him. Join him in what? Reunion, still? Sephiroth’s OG plan can benefit only Sephiroth, so what is he even offering? I’m going to have to play it again and pay closer attention to what he says. I did like Aerith standing up to him. One of my favourite OG lines, “the future isn’t just yours!” is reflected nicely. Also, “screw him!”

- Roche. Whyyy? Track record for inventing new SOLDIERs isn’t good, just leave it alone!

- Biggs lives. So, we only witness him waking up after everything has gone down, which is why I reacted differently to his survival than Wedge’s. Basically, it doesn’t make sense. First of all, physically, for him to have survived all that fire and falling. Secondly, it seems to contradict what we know about the Whispers: they interfere when the characters are at risk of taking a path they don’t want, ie. different from OG storyline. Why wouldn’t they have done something? If they’re powerful enough to revive Barret because “it wasn’t his time”, and injure Jessie so Cloud has to join the Reactor 5 bombing mission, surely they could quietly kill off somebody who is “supposed” to die, especially if he’s already most of the way there. So then it’s really Wedge they should have killed off! He’s where the chain begins: I assume he’s the one who finds Biggs and brings him back to Elmyra, since Biggs never would have known who she was, and Wedge only knows after surviving the plate fall. Does having defeated the Harbinger Whisper mean that not only future changes are possible, but past? Anyway, it’s all a bit convoluted, and tbh feels a bit cheap, too. Why not bring back Jessie, while we’re at it? Their OG deaths had a motivational impact on Barret and co., and also drives home the evil of Shinra for the player, who might not have cared that much about unnamed deaths, however plentiful. It makes the plate fall a more personal tragedy, since we’ve spent time with these characters.

- Low-key disappointed I didn’t get to see Avalanche’s secret hideout underneath Seventh Heaven.. But at least I got to play some darts.

#ffviir #ffvii remake #spoilers #ramble ramble

0 notes

shirlleycoyle · 5 years

Text

Hackers Dissect ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 6: ‘Not Acceptable’

Episode 6 of Mr. Robot’s final season was pretty heavy, filled with coercion, kidnapping, and threats of violence. We discussed [SPOILERS, obvs] physical security, interrogation, vishing, ZRTP keywords, wiretapping, wiping phone data and more. (The chat transcript has been edited for brevity, clarity, and chronology.)

This week’s team of experts includes:

Emma Best: a former hacker and current journalist and transparency advocate with a specialty in counterintelligence and national security.

Harlo Holmes: Director of Digital Security at Freedom of the Press Foundation.

Micah Lee: a technologist with a focus on operational security, source protection, privacy and cryptography, as well as Director of Information Security at The Intercept.

Yael: My jaw repeatedly dropped during this episode. I think my two big takeaways were 1) social engineering is really hard to defeat when it’s in your personal life (as in, people you know and trust), and 2) there just aren’t a lot of defenses for real-world coercion.

Micah: The episode was called Not Acceptable, and the theme was pretty clearly people doing unacceptable things.

Kidnapping

Yael: We start out with Vera kidnapping Krista.

Harlo: What a thespian. That's some grade-A acting through that monologue.

Yael: How did he know she’d have anything to break Elliot?

Emma: He didn't, but he knew that if anyone would, it'd likely be her. You don't have to know the move will work, you just have to know that it's your best move—and that you probably have nothing to lose but time by making it.

Harlo: Yeah. The relationship between shrinks and clients is incredibly strong.

Yael: I was surprised he didn’t kill Krista. I mean, he killed Shayla just to hurt Elliot.

Micah: We don't know what he did to her yet. She called Elliot and convinced him to meet her, but it was a trap. Maybe she's just hoping this will let her get away unscathed.

Therapist’s Notes

Yael: Client/patient confidentiality is important, but I guess it’s a lot to ask a therapist to risk them and their partner being killed just to maintain it. But I get super sketched out by therapists keeping notes.

Harlo: I WAS TOTES ABOUT TO BRING THAT UP!

Emma: Oh, for sure. Even without coercion… I just tweeted about this. The records being there mean they can be compromised.

Yael: I guess the records saved her because she would’ve had to explain it anyway (and maybe not be believed). Did Krista have a home office? I couldn’t remember. Otherwise, why are the records in her home?

Harlo: Is that HIPAA compliant?!

Micah: For real world people, if a therapist taking notes, or how they store those notes, is something you're concerned about, they should be receptive to talking to you about it and maybe coming up with a system that works for you. I can see why notes would be helpful for a therapist if you're working through issues over the course of years.

Yael: I have had conversations with therapists about what records they would have to release legally, which in Arizona at least is just the dates and progress notes, but I have never spent much time thinking about theft.

Micah: I think in general it's better if your therapist has hand-written notes than digital notes, because at least an attacker would have to physically break in to get them, and can't do it remotely

Emma: Absolutely. That was an issue I had with a therapist of mine. The notes were digital and in a shared system.

Harlo: Apparently, progress notes do not fall under HIPAA compliance, but the therapist’s session notes absolutely SHOULD. This is what frightens me so much about all these newfangled therapy apps.

Emma: Digital records encrypted with deniable encryption.

Yael: What can Krista do to avoid breaking compliance but also not get hurt or killed or have her partner hurt or killed?

Emma: The problem for Krista was that there's no way to do both those things. Vera was a criminal and wouldn't compromise. No witnesses, no liabilities. Resisting duress works a lot better when the duress comes from a system or an actor in a system. They're predictable and controllable. Vera's a rogue agent. Also actual physical defense and alarm/alert systems.

Micah: Honestly, there is no good solution. This is the problem with duress. She could design a system where she doesn't physically have access to the notes without other people's cooperation—encrypting them using Shamir's Secret Sharing scheme for example—but that's not going to prevent them from hurting her or her boyfriend.

Harlo: I speak to a lot of clients about this: you can definitely design lockout systems in the case of duress, but if your adversary is willing to end your life over it, should you?

Micah: Yeah, I agree. It doesn't apply to this specific situation, but in some duress situations, I'd probably rather just unlock my phone or whatever.

Yael: Yeah, the best defense is being willing to die for your beliefs, I guess. If Krista had a gun that maybe could've helped… but still, 3 vs. 1 and they're hardened criminals. I don't like those odds.

Emma: She could have had a canary with Kevin. Everyone should. "If I use this word or say this, then something is wrong."

Yael: Well, she was also gagged.

Emma: I'm just speaking generally.

Harlo: "Bishop, it's your mother!"

Vishing

Yael: I can't think of a single time I would've turned down peppermint mochas from someone I'd hooked up with. That is not a situation that would happen.

Harlo: Great to see Joey Bada$$ still cashing those checks.

Emma: Elliot didn't have to drug her. He just had to make her think he did—or might have.

Yael: Elliot needs Olivia to make a call to her boss to get him to log in; he’s already on the proxy server and needs to swipe his credentials. How does that work?

Micah: Elliot can spy on everything going through the corporate proxy server, but he still doesn't have the login credentials he needs from Olivia's boss. Normally you'd just wait for a while and collect everyone's usernames and passwords as they logged in, but Elliot was running out of time, which is why he needed to make Olivia's boss login.

Harlo: And so he makes Olivia "vish" (voice phish) her boss.

Yael: Isn’t there another way he could’ve done that?

Micah: He would have needed to convince someone with the access he needs to log in quickly, somehow. So maybe he could have figured something out, but it is Christmastime and it's unlikely anyone will be working unless there's an emergency. He figured Olivia could provide a convincing "emergency.” The creds were [email protected] / c0nv3rg3nce37 by the way.

Harlo: what do you think the 37 is? Is Bugorsky a 37-year-old? Is that the number of a ball player?

Yael: 1337

Harlo: Probably NOT lol!

Yael: It's nuts that Elliot thought he could drug an addict and be like "they're hurting you" and "this won't be traced to you" and everything would be dandy.

Emma: I don't think he thought that, or anything about it. He didn't have time to consider it and he didn't have the experience to tell him to. And like she said, he could slip and be "okay." It was part of his routine.

Yael: I mean he had the conversation about crossing a line with Mr. Robot, so I think he kind of knew but was pretending he didn't know because he didn't want to think about it.

Emma: The suicide attempt is something I want to address. It's an extremely real worry. In intelligence and law enforcement, people management is a big job for handlers of assets and agents. They have to watch the asset's status closely and make sure they're getting the support they need and aren't being pushed too hard. If an asset is willing, they're usually safer in this regard but anyone can be pushed enough to break. Unwilling assets, of course, are a lot more susceptible. The things used as leverage can drive them to depressed or suicidal places, and the feelings of betrayal and losing control can drive someone to the brink very easily. Elliot has no experience in this sort of thing and didn't even consider that happening. Realistic for his character, and also one reason why it's a specialized position.

Yael: I'm trying to think what Olivia could've done differently. I suppose she could've called her boss and then warned him afterwards? I wonder if you can get a drug test exemption if you were drugged?

Emma: The best defense against blackmail is not being silent.

Yael: The Bezos approach.

Micah: Exactly.

Yael: I guess one defense for all the characters would be to have never done heroin or had clients or known anybody or hooked up with anybody. Like, if Krista hadn't had clients and Olivia hadn't ever hooked up with Elliot or done heroin. If Elliot hadn't cared about Shayla then Vera never would've murdered her to get to him. So I guess the best defense is to shut down completely, which is impossible. You would have to exist outside of the world you live in, but what kind of life is that? And that's what makes coercion so effective. Everyone cares about something. If you want to not care about anything or anybody, you have to have some form of mental separation which would probably be hard to maintain. Or be its own kind of hell.

Dark Army

Yael: I'm curious why the Dark Army thought Elliot was on their side or whatever

and wanted him alive.

Harlo: Whiterose is still convinced Elliot will join the team!

Micah: Oh yeah what's all that math on that screen that Whiterose was looking at? It's hinting at their endgame.

Yael: But what is the plan that Whiterose thought he'd be into? I guess we'll find out. There's a theory I've been reading that Elliot has a third persona but not sure it makes sense to me.

Harlo: That was also kind of foreshadowed in the beginning of the scene between Dom and her crazy handler. She's listening to a podcast or something, and the narrator talks about a prophet figure with delusions of other characters.

Yael: The theory is that there's a rich security researcher alter ego, which is how he has all this equipment even though he doesn't have a job. Or something.

Emma: Very possible, but he also hacked enough people with big Bitcoin wallets that

I figured he got his money from that, and his job at All Safe. All his money was spent on drugs, housing and tech. He didn't go out or socialize.

Signal’s Old Keywords

Yael: Dark Army made Dom go after Darlene, which was super interesting because she really really didn't want to.

Harlo: Oh, don't you miss the old ZRTP verification days of Signal? In the scene, Dom and that nutjob did it exactly the way you're supposed to. You offer one word, then your partner offers the other, because that's the only way you can be sure the other person isn't lying. I really thought that the SAS [short authentication string] verification in Signal was super elegantly designed on a philosophical level. We can have all the crypto in the world, but you can't code humans’ ability to trust one another.

Micah: It also makes you feel like a spy.

Yael: Plus it's a nice icebreaker to talk about the odd word combos.

Emma: If it's voice, what does it matter? You know it's them. If they'd have to lie about it they could compromise it some other way just as easily.

Yael: Well, it could be man-in-the-middled.

Harlo: Yeah, it's about providing assurance that no one is eavesdropping

Micah: Normally a signal call would be end-to-end encrypted like Alice <==> Bob. But a MITM attack on the call would be encrypted like Alice <==> Eve <==> Bob, where Alice and Bob are actually talking to each other and could recognize their voice, but Eve is still listening in. The two word SAS would be different between Alice <==> Eve and between Eve <==> Bob, which is how you know it works.

Harlo: Although, it's 100% possible to tap a signal call, even without attempting to undermine the encryption.

Emma: Undermining the encryption is the worst way to do it, anyway.

Micah: Yeah, and the hardest way. It's much simpler to hack a phone and spy on its mic and speakers than it is to compromise Signal using a crypto attack.

Yael: How do you do that Harlo? Do you need the phone?

Harlo: Yeah, you just do it the analog way! Like record to a dumb recorder, and make use of a bunch of audio in/out splitters. I do it sometimes. FOR A GOOD REASON. I'M TOTALLY NOT WIRETAPPING YOU ALL BEHIND YOUR BACKS.

Emma: I assume even my encrypted comms are tapped. Everyone should. 🙃

Micah: Oh, I've done that, to record an interview on a Signal call. You can also do it even the lower-tech way: put the call on speakerphone and hit record in Audacity on a laptop.

Yael: I've put Signal on speaker and taped stuff, too, but I guess I don't understand how it works if you're trying to wiretap someone else's phone, though.

Emma: You can either try to intercept it and decrypt it, or you can hack a device on either end of the call and gain access to the whole thing. The latter is simpler and gets you more.

Harlo: But if you want film-grade quality, you have to get geekier with the A/V.

Dom and Darlene

Yael: I was trying to figure out if Darlene was social engineering Dom by bringing up their night together. Which I totally support even if she was trying to avoid getting killed and all.

Emma: I don't know her intent, but humanizing yourself is a classic move when dealing with captors or threatening actors.

Yael: I'm not sure what Darlene and Dom could've done differently, except maybe making a run for it faster.

Emma: Run away faster, prepared an ambush, staged a scene to send people away.

Micah: Right when Dom's handler walked in, and Darlene was holding the gun, she could have shot her.

Emma: Dom should've had a plan to warn people as soon as the general threat became apparent..

Yael: I guess Dom could've shot her, too. But she was worried about her whole family dying, no big deal. (Joking, obvs.) I feel weird talking so casually about this episode with how heavy it was.

Emma: Well, that was a known threat she had time to deal with and prepare for.

Yael: Dom could've tried to tell the truth to the police and get put in protective custody or something, IDK. But there's Dark Army in the PD, so…

Harlo: And remember last season, when they massacred the entire squad in China?

Micah: I don't know how you really prepare for that threat. Especially since her mom totally wouldn't understand. If she could rely on her family quickly getting the seriousness of it maybe they could have figured something out

Emma: That's what she would have had to spend time figuring out—how to communicate it effectively.

Wiping phones

Yael: Darlene wiping her phone was a good quick move, though. How do you wipe your Android phone that quickly?

Harlo: FASTBOOT! Darlene's pretty fast with the fastboot 🙂

Yael: What’s the quickest way to wipe your iPhone?

Micah: Settings > General > Reset > Erase All Content and Settings > Erase Now > type passcode.

Harlo: Yeah, that's the quickest. You can set your iPhone settings to erase all data on 10 failed attempts to unlock, but those 10 attempts take forever to exhaust. So don't rely on that under duress.

Yael: I wonder if you can set up a shortcut with iOS’s new shortcut feature.

Harlo: With Fastboot, you don't have to decrypt your phone to wipe it, whereas in iOS you do. Pretty interesting from a duress standpoint. I noticed that Darlene had the default wallpaper on her phone. I can speak from personal experience that, in general, people who keep the default wallpaper on the phone are up to no good 🙂 Just speaks to a "yolo, this is a crime burner" logic. But ultimately, I don't think Darlene's out of the woods yet. Elliot's still going to be pinging her over Signal.

Yael: Oh, it doesn’t delete your Signal when you wipe?

Harlo: Dark Army just has to SIM jack her, then install Signal themselves and wait for Elliot to start pinging again. And in 2016, we didn't have registration lock!

Micah: That's a very good point. Unless his modified Signal client detects that the safety numbers changed and doesn't trust the new ones.

Yael: What’s registration lock?

Micah: Registration lock is a feature of Signal that prevents someone from registering an account with your phone number without knowing a PIN, so if someone calls your phone carrier and convinces them you got a new SIM, and takes over your phone number, they can't take over your Signal without first knowing your registration lock PIN.

Emma: I'm wondering if the ping was automatic with the GPS. He'll know her last known location, leading to the next encounter… maybe. Or vice versa. Elliot's captured, anyway.

Harlo: I hope Darlene had that backed in, or else Elliot's toast!

Vera Kidnapping Elliot

Yael: Elliot knew he was walking into a trap and still walked into it.

Harlo: When I was a kid, and about to go out with my friends, my mom used to yell after us, "if one of you gets kidnapped, you ALL better get kidnapped." This episode made me think about that awesome phrase…

Yael: I don’t knowDK what Elliot can do now. Kick out the back light, I guess. But he's far less of a sympathetic character after the Olivia thing.

Micah: Yeah I agree, that was fucked up.

Emma: Is it really a new line, though? Elliot's "you should have thought about that before you worked for them" logic was there from the beginning.

Yael: I think it’s different. Iit's so personalized. it wasn't just her losing money.

Emma: Losing money makes people lose their children, too. It causes them to relapse. It ruins their lives. Costs them their homes. Ends marriages.

Yael: This still seemed worse, though.

Emma: Yes. One person instead of 10,000. Tragedies and statistics.

Yael: Well, before he was CANCELING debts. Sso the only people who would lose money were banks, corporations and rich people. It would SAVE marriages etc. if people had no debt, at least in their perspective.

Emma: Random people working for eCorp. Every single employee had their livelihood put at risk. "You should have thought of that before you worked for them as a receptionist."

Yael: So, uh, the Vera vs. Dark Army showdown next episode is sure gonna be interesting. I mean, I'm assuming they find Elliot's location…

Hackers Dissect ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 6: ‘Not Acceptable’ syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

0 notes