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secretlywritingstories · 4 months

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"You look at my face a lot" | Phan one shot

Summary: Phil has a pretty new eyebrow slit but Dan decides that he could use a little make-up to highlight it. They end up in bed with Dan hovering close to Phil's face trying to do a good job while he's also trying not to ravish him or get (too) sappy.

Tags: 2024!phan, established relationship, domestic fluff, homoerotic make-up application

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: This fic is inspired by two things 1) Dan and Phil's birthday charity livestream where Dan manhandles Phil's face to give him the eyebrow slit and 2) this photo of lesbians doing each other's make up

Read on AO3 or below

The charity livestream for Phil’s birthday had gone much better than any of them had ever anticipated, even with all the technical issues. It was a good thing that their audience knew to expect chaos for them and hopefully found it endearing.

Still, Dan felt like he’d underestimated just how impactful their audience could be. He almost felt bad to have forgotten about it, when he got all wrapped up in his own head. But they’d reminded him so graciously in the last few months and tonight had just further cemented that.

He was happy to be back online, making videos regularly and he was hopeful for more live content too. Phil had dragged him back to the internet, and while he hadn’t been kicking and screaming, he had been digging his feet in. Now he was letting his heels rise and just enjoy it.

Last night had been fun and they’d both been riding that high for several hours afterwards. It had made it hard to get up for a tour meeting the following day, when he’d rather just stay wrapped up in bed with Phil or have a lazy breakfast together while they watched anime. Before he had slipped out of bed, he’d reached over to touch Phil’s face, and swipe a thumb across the new eyebrow slit. It really did suit him well, and Dan was quite excited to be matching with him soon.

He made himself leave the house. The we’re all doomed tour was important to him and it was time for the grand finale. It would be good. Less scary now that he’d dragged Phil into helping him with the live premiere. Unlike the other way around, there had been no need for dragging of any kind. Just a question and a quick agreement. Dan would never stop loving that aspect of Phil.

The meeting dragged on but he’d gotten a lot of questions answered and stuff planned. It had been months since the last show and he was worrying that the two shows would feel like starting over again. He was about to grab a taxi and head straight back home when he spotted a Sephora and had an interesting thought. A pull, if you will.

Something that might help bring Phil’s eyebrow slit the attention that it deserved. Give the blond hairs at the end a little bit of a lift.

He stuffed his purchase into his coat pocket and headed home to Phil. When he got home, Phil was in meercat mode, trying to avoid the never-ending builders in their home. Dan was very ready to have their home all to themselves, but they’d agreed to stick it out until everything they’d wanted was done. And between delayed materials and conflicting schedules for the workers, it had just taken ages.

“I’ve got a surprise for you later when we need to film later,” Dan had told Phil when he’d found him pretending not to be hiding in the office.

Phil had perked up. “Delayed birthday present?”

Dan had chuckled but shook his head. “Yesterday wasn’t enough?” he asked.

“You can never have too much birthday fun,” he countered and tried to wiggle his eyebrows.

It was about as successful as he was trying to wink, but it only made it the more endearing. It also drew attention to that eyebrow slit. Dan knew his eyes lingered on it.

“You really like it, huh?” Phil said, turning his head to give Dan a better view.

“Still a little emo kid at heart,” Dan muttered.

He did feel like that sometimes. As if he’d never really grown up, despite all that he’d done and all of the adulting he did now. So many responsibilities. Enough to overwhelm him at times. It was good that he shared most of those with Phil. It helped when they could share the weight.

“Should we be worried you’re entering your crisis twink era? About to break out the bleach?”

“I thought I wasn’t a twink anymore?” Dan teased. Phil had told him that last time he’d been on Dystopia Daily.

“Wasn’t that me?” Phil asked and there was a bit of a glimmer in his eyes.

If there weren’t builders in the house, perhaps Dan would have done something about it. Moved close and showed Phil that he was just as attractive as when they’d been young, if not more.

It was a gift seeing how they were changing. Phil letting his grey coming in should not have been as attractive as it was but Dan loved that he wasn’t hiding it anymore. In December when they’d looked back at themselves for the first decade of their relationship through the pinof videos, he’d not recognised himself at first. They were so different now, but they’d grown together. Hand in hand.

It wasn’t until their house was blessedly vacant of strangers, they’d devoured the Indian takeaway for dinner and they were about to set up to film a gaming video that Dan went to retrieve the item from his coat pocket.

“What’s that?” Phil asked, tapping away on the keyboard to bring up their recording software. “A pencil?”

“Yes,” Dan said twirling it between his fingers. And nearly dropping it. “Eyebrow pencil.”

That caught Phil’s attention and he moved up from his seat at the desk. “You bought an eyebrow pencil?”

He nodded and handed it over to Phil who was already making grabby hands.

Dan had felt wildly out of his depths as he’d stood staring at the rows and rows of make-up products. He didn’t know enough to make an informed decision but asking someone had also felt too daunting. He’d eventually caved and asked for help, only to be asked about the colours was of the person he’d be buying for.

He wasn’t confident enough to whip out a picture of Phil, so instead he’d tried to fumble his way through explaining the natural colours of Phil’s brows. It was a good thing that he had a lot of practice looking at Phil’s face. His eyebrows especially last night. Beautiful high arches, hair lightening from the middle out to the tails.

“Are you dissing my eyebrows?” Phil asked, removing the cap from the pencil and looking at it with suspicion.

Dan rolled his eyes, as if he’d ever diss anything about Phil’s face. Anything about Phil at all. It was his favourite face. He knew he was happy to wake up to it every day. He would however jest and play around nonetheless.

“Not my fault your hairs are so pale,” he said with a smirk and then a hyena laugh escaped him at the mock offended expression on Phil’s face.

But he could see how Phil was studying the pencil with genuine interest and he was glad that he’d given into the impulse purchase. He loved when Phil was feeling himself. There was nothing hotter than when Phil realised that he was a fucking catch and looked good. Dan had known forever but it was different hearing it from someone who loved you and thinking it yourself.

“I’ll be right back,” Phil said, pencil clutched in his hand as he walked out of the room.

Dan took over at the desk, checking their camera was set up correctly and opened Steam on Poppy Playtime. They knew it would be a long video since they were going to do the whole chapter in one go. It was time to settle in for a long haul. Proper gaming YouTubers.

Phil was missing for longer than Dan had anticipated, so he went searching for him and he was surprised that he was in the bedroom in front of the big mirror rather than going to the bathroom and getting proper lightening.

“What are you doing?” Dan asked, leaning against the doorway to just observe. “That’s terrible lightening.”

“I think I’m going to mess it up,” Phil said, still staring at his reflection. “And I don’t like putting a pencil near my eye.”

A ploy. Phil wanted help. He wanted Dan to offer help. If his heart wasn’t so fond, then he’d perhaps laughed at him. He could just have asked but this was more of Phil’s style.

“You put contacts in at least a couple of times a week,” Dan reminded him as he walked into the bedroom. “Shouldn’t your fingers going into your eye be more scare than a pencil on your eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Phil conceded but he was already wearing his pleading expression. “But I have practice with that now, and the finger is not going into the eye. I hated it at first too. Might never have gotten used to it, if I hadn’t thought glasses looked too dorky.”

“I love your glasses,” Dan said, and walked up behind Phil to grab around his midriff. Pull him back against his chest and stare at their reflection together.

Phil snorted. “You didn’t see the first pair I got.”

No, he hadn’t. Whenever Phil mentioned something about himself that Dan didn’t know, or didn’t have been a part of, there was a little tug. Curiosity to learn more about him. Even after all this time, there was always more and he always wanted to know.

“I haven’t seen them in pictures?” he asked, hooking his chin over Phil’s shoulder and slumping against him. Just because he could.

“No, I think I made mum burn all of them,” Phil said and met Dan’s eyes in the mirror. “Help me with this?”

He wiggled the eyebrow pencil. And there it was. Dan had just been waiting for him to say it.

Dan hummed in agreement and grabbed Phil’s arm to drag him to the bathroom to get good lightening. He had almost pulled them out of the room before another possible location hit him. The bathroom was undoubtedly the most practical, but the other option would be more fun. Dan changed directions and dragged Phil towards the bed.

“I thought we were filming?” he asked, a laugh barely off his lips.

Dan resisted the urge to kiss it right off him.

“We are,” Dan insisted, even as he pushed Phil onto the bed. “Scoot up, head close to the headboard.”

Phil looked at him with narrowed eyes but complied all the same, moving the pillow up with him and lying down. Dan didn’t waste any time straddling his torso and he delighted in the way that Phil’s breath hitched. Just a little. Almost enough to distract him.

Almost.

He reached for the lamp above their bed and twisted it until it was all up in Phil’s face. He winced, shutting his eyes and throwing a hand over them.

“Warning next time? You just made me blind.”

“You were already blind.”

“Well, I’m double-blind now. I’m going to start to see black spots and rainbows,” he said moving his hand and turning his face away from the light as he started to blink rapidly.

“Black and rainbows, huh? You and me?”

“Shut up,” Phil said and slapped a hand against the outside of Dan’s thigh.

It was so easy to laugh and lean closer. He’d sat too far up on Phil’s torso to do this without breaking his back. He scooted down until he was sitting across Phil’s hips. Phil looked one second away from bucking him off judging by the playful expression in his eyes.

“Come here, you’re the one who wanted help,” Dan said and leaned down with the eye brow pencil poised.

“And this was the only way?” Phil asked, amusement in his face until the pencil came close to his eyes and he let them fall shut.

“It’s the only way,” Dan said insistently, as he reached for Phil’s chin to keep him from moving. Phil’s face moved under his touch, lips curving into a smile. “Stay still,” he ordered.

Dan didn’t really have that much experience with make-up either but he had dabbled here and there with his costumes. He always leaned into a more smudged on purpose look, but it was in part because he didn’t have the steady hand or patience to do anything too clean. And he knew himself, he’d be smudging it instantly anyway. It was fun but it was also an effort that he wasn’t sure he’d go through on a regular basis.

He was still happy when he thought about all of the hours that he no longer spent frantically straightening his hair. What a waste of time trying to conform and hide himself, even if he’d needed it back then. He hadn’t been ready but he got there.

He was gentle with the pencil at first, going to the eyebrow that hadn’t been slit. The employee from Sephora had said that the pencil shouldn’t be too dark, if the eyebrows were light, or it would look weird.

The colour was coming off, darkening the brows little by little. Dan focused on the end of the eyebrow where the hair turned the lightest.

“Aren’t you doing the wrong one?” Phil asked, eyes still closed.

Dan moved from grabbing his chin to kind of cradling his face as he gently moved Phil’s head to the side and back to see if he was happy with his work.

“It would look stupid with just one done,” Dan insisted, “you’ll have to do both.”

Phil’s eyes fluttered open and Dan hadn’t realised how close he was leaning in to be able to see properly. It really wasn’t fair that Phil was still able to knock the air out of his lungs after all these years, just as effectively as when they’d first fallen in love.

Dan hadn’t noticed that Phil had let his hand linger on Dan’s thigh, so used to having him close and touching but he noticed now when Phil’s other hand drifted up now in a mirrored position. Holding onto Dan on either side. A familiar look flickered in his eyes and this one wasn’t entirely playful.

“We need to film,” Phil said, even as his eyes darted down to Dan’s lips. It sounded more like it was a reminder to himself than to Dan. Just for that Dan wanted to lean closer and close the distance. But there was something about this too. The tension in the air between them. So close and touching but not there.

“I’m going to do the other one,” Dan announced, and he would have thought that Phil would close his eyes again but he was surprised when they stayed open. Attentive in a way that saw straight through him.

He was more careful now, mindful of avoiding the slit he’d shaved into Phil’s eyebrow just last night. It had been a little nerve-wracking to do it on camera, even if it was by far not the most stupid thing, they’d done on camera together. He’d wanted to make it look good, more focused on being precise and doing a good job, not even caring as he turned his back to the camera.

But this was different. There was no camera right now. Only the two of them in their home. In their bedroom. Dan really had brought this upon himself. There was no desire to perform to keep him in check.

He carefully swiped across the eyebrow on either side of the slit, watching the colour take. He did it gently with all of his focus, even if was much harder now that Phil seemed unable to look away from him.

Dan wasn’t entirely sure what Phil saw as he watched his face. Concentration. Determination. Love.

Dan had never quite been able to stop himself from letting it leak out whenever he was with Phil. He couldn’t even start to try and put it into words. He’d hit some pretty good metaphors for their relationships through the years but it was always just a little part of it. A quick glimpse into what they really were to each other. All of the different ways that they loved each other.

Phil still hadn’t been able to convince Dan that they were soulmates, because for that to happen soulmates had to exist, like something predetermined. He didn’t like that. They had found each other and fought for each other. He didn’t want to give fate credit for having them stick together.

No, that was all on them. He was sure of it.

Phil’s hands were warm on his thighs and he could feel him breathing calmly under him, moving both of their bodies a tiny bit with each inhale and exhale. Dan’s lower back hurt a little in this position, and he had a feeling the elbow he was leaning on was going numb but it didn’t matter.

They were suspended in that moment. Just the two of them, only the sound of their breathing and the gentle scratch of the eyebrow pencil.

He wanted to stay in the moment, but he wanted to do a good job more. He wasn’t going to overdo it. He pulled back, breathing deep for the first time in minutes as he tilted Phil’s head towards the light to survey his work.

It made a difference. The slit really got to have a moment to shine now that the hairs on either side was more defined.

“Good?” Phil asked, still lax in Dan’s hold.

“Yeah,” Dan said and his voice came out with a little grumble. He cleared his throat. “You look good.”

Phil was looking at Dan like he knew exactly what he was thinking. He let his hands trail up Dan’s thighs, going towards his ass. Dan was prepared for a grope. He was not prepared for Phil to grab his hips and toss him onto the mattress instead.

Dan let out an undignified squawk, bouncing on the bed while Phil got up, almost stumbling as he was laughing too much at Dan’s reaction.

“Traitor,” Dan grumbled, crossing his arms. “This is what I get for helping you!”

“You have to be nice to the birthday boy,” Phil said and walked over to the mirror.

“Your birthday ended yesterday,” Dan reminded him.

“We still have that party on Sunday, so it’s not over until then,” Phil reminded him, which really was only Phil logic. “Wow, it looks nice!”

And with that one comment, all of the fake annoyance at being tossed away rather than having his ass grabbed evaporated. Dan sat up and got up from the bed.

“Yeah?”

He hadn’t meant to latch onto Phil again, like he’d done before they’d gotten onto the bed, but it was instinct. If Phil asked, he’d just claim it was to see better, even if he didn’t need to wind his arms around Phil for that. Phil would see through it, but also allow it.

“Really good, I’m hot,” Phil said, with a grin and Dan snorted, trying to hide in Phil’s shoulder as he was shaking with laughter. “Don’t laugh!”

It didn’t stop Dan’s laughter but it did make Dan lift his head. “You’re always hot,” he said, breath hot against Phil’s neck just to be mean.

They really had to film but this was fun. Maybe Dan finally understood the inherent intimacy of doing someone’s make up. The couple of times that they’d been putting stuff on each other’s faces, they had usually been blindfolded and drawing cat faces or just slapping make-up on.

Though he guessed that when they were drawing whiskers on each other’s faces came close. Not exactly because they had been on camera and they were in the very chaotic mindset that those videos required. They’d drawn whiskers on each other for each TATINOF performance and removing them too, but that had been rushed, almost frantic while they were high on adrenalin.

Nothing quite like this. Quiet. Intimate. Between just them.

“You’re going to look good with one too,” Phil said, holding onto Dan’s arms around him, giving him a little squeeze. “I almost regret stopping you on the stream.”

“This alternate is better,” Dan said. “You get to have all the attention now, and I’ll get it on the 25th.”

“You were always going to get all the attention then,” Phil said with a soft laugh and he was swaying them a little from side to side. Like he was listening to a song only he could hear. Through their movements, Dan could almost hear it too. “It’s your big baby. Your show.”

Dan hummed. It had been his big baby and he had been happy about it. The tour itself had encountered issues here and there, things he’d rather not think about but he was happy with what he’d made and how the audience had reacted to it.

It had been exciting and he’d been looking to prove something for himself. He could do it on his own. He didn’t need Phil.

But he wanted him.

He wanted him so much.

The tour had only proved that further. He’d missed him at his side. It was maybe one of the reasons it had been easier to lean back into the gaming channel together. They were good. They’d always known that but to see that they hadn’t lost their touch was incredible. If anything, Dan felt like they might be better than ever.

They were out now. All of the gay jokes they’d previously passed up or edited out was included. There was a deep understanding with the audience. It was so much fun.

“Thank you for helping me,” Phil said, speaking so softly in the quiet room. Like he’d sensed that Dan’s thoughts had drifting off for a moment and he was gently bringing him back to shore before he drifted out too far.

Phil never needed to thank him for that. Dan would do anything for him.

“Let’s go film,” Dan said, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of Phil’s body. “And then afterwards, I’m going to show you just how hot you look and get all up in that slit.”

He wiggled his own eyebrows and dodged out of the way as Phil pulled a disgusted face and tried to hit him. To pacify him, Dan grabbed Phil’s face in both hands and as expected, he went still at the touch. Let Dan hold him, even with the mirth still shining in his eyes.

Dan was never going to tire of looking at this face, even with every change it might go through. Aging, modifications, anything. Phil’s face and gazing into his eyes would always be home.

“Come on,” Phil said grabbing Dan’s wrist and then intertwining their fingers. “If you’re looking at me like that, we’ll not be able to film.”

Dan chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement, even if he knew Phil was right. The urge to toss him back on the bed ran deep and he should rein it in.

He let Phil drag him down the hall, as always trusting Phil whenever he dragged him anywhere.

#phanfiction #phanfic #phandom #my stories

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wildgorgeousthing · 23 days

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"- suddenly struck by the motion and vivacity in him, by the rise and fall of his chest and the absent scuffing of his foot. Give the internet all the saucy mirror selfies they wanted, give them every single freeze-frame. They'd never get Dan."

#cred to the author on ao3 cos i didn't put who wrote it when i put it in my notebook 😭#absolutely love this type of introspection #phannies are so good at writing my god #dan and phil #dnp #phan #< for the fandometrics #phandom #phanfiction

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tallestsilver · 15 days

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50. “It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.”

Okay, I don't know what it's not posting with the *whoops* 5 pages, but I will post it.

EDIT: I am thwarted by tumblr. Have these links: AO3

FFN

To infer that I am a haunted man is an understatement. I have a personality apt for obsession. To throw myself entirely into my passions with reckless disregard to my surroundings. At times such as these, my attention is consumed by, more often than not, composing. I may go days without moving from my post, neither sleeping nor eating; nothing of this earthly realm can deter me when I focus on the divinity of music.

That is, of course, until one Mademoiselle Christine Daae haphazardly entered my domain.

Nothing so pure with child-like whimsy and naivety has shaken me to my core as resolutely as one Mlle. Daae.

Initially, I could sweep her from my thoughts. She is a young woman with many prospects. No doubt, could easily find a patron that lurks in the corners of the ballet corps. Many other young women and girls have succumbed through desperation to those demanding aristocrats with too much time and money to spare, and plenty of disregard for the fairer sex.

Convincing myself it was just my carnal base desires leaching out from the pits of my own desperation could only go so far. Although the thought of hand to hand, flesh to flesh was undeniably enticing, it was the thought of domesticity with Mlle. Daae that plagued my every thought: how comforting the warm embrace of her arms must be. A petite sigh of boredom, deciding on what book to read. Slight quibbles on what to eat for the evening supper. Her jubilant enthusiasm for the next aria I undoubtedly would encourage her to sing.

Above all, the care and ritual that she would engage in for her own beauty. How rapturous it was, to gaze upon her as she gazed upon herself at her vanity. Vanity - the very word loathsome to me, suggesting as though men did not participate in gazing at women in the very same regard as a mirror.

These quick glances I so abashedly stole while she sat preening, unbeknownst to my very presence, were not lecherous albeit voyeuristic. No, the careful application of rouge upon her cheeks and lips entranced me. Fur-soft puffs laced with powder enhance her brilliance. Waxed perfume enticing all the senses upon her wrist and decolletage. And sin against sins, the way her bristled brush caressed through her golden tresses. That, truly, was my undoing.

The carefully laid witchcraft of feminine makeup was inspiring to me, for it could potentially do wonders for even the most macabre of faces into looking somewhat respectable. I had dabbled in the venture myself, using theatre techniques to adhere attributes to myself that were so sorely lacking.

But the spell Christine cast upon me while brushing her hair was my undoing. Alas! To be the silken ribbon tied behind her graceful neck to keep the mass of riotous curls at bay so she could study her scripts, movements, chords... To run my spindly claws through her hair...

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. I wanted nothing more than that domesticity, accumulating to be able to assist her in her womanly needs. To fetch the shade she needed for her next scene or to comb out the tangles of the divine. I wanted, nay, needed to be a house husband to her. Fawning over her every whim, cooking, cleaning, making sure my Nordic Goddess could never want. And then, hope upon hope, to stroll in a park on a Sunday.

After exposing myself as the fraudulent Ange de la Musique, we did settle into a somewhat harmonious existence. Not exactly to my fantasies, but surely we held each other in some regard.

Maddening silence was often my punishment if I did anything she deemed untoward. Granted, my violent outbursts were getting more and more frequent as she gained more notoriety, attracting the attention of other men. She was not mine, not truly, but I could see fit she was not theirs, either.

I found myself in one of those sullen moods of hers. Dark circles plagued my Angel's under eyes. She no longer cared for her rouge, perfumes, or trinkets. She was no longer amused by my antics of sleight of hand, stories, or even songs.

Christine slumped into a morbidity that I knew only too well. True, her boy did indeed leave for the Northern Pole, and we're slowly acclimating ourselves to a potential future, whatever that may be, but the disdain in her gaze strikes me as sharply as a knife. No, perhaps not disdain that she feels for me; resignation may be the proper term for the hollow look in her eyes.

I never considered myself a timid creature, but the thought of her unhappiness sends me spiraling in isolation, to shun myself from her presence.

It was in this meekness, that I carefully approached the creature of all my desires, as she stared numbly at her vanity.

"Good evening, Erik," she stated automatically, not bothering to turn to face me. My eyes gleamed yellow in the reflection. If she wanted to speak to me thusly, I would acquiesce and respond in kind.

"Good evening, Christine." My voice was low, not demanding, but certainly not The Voice. I had refrained from using The Voice on her in many months after she berated me that she did not like losing her faculties as such.

"Around me," was the unspoken phrase that she had not explicitly stated, but the implication was thus.

No matter, I did not want her to be hypnotized to tolerate me. This 'case of the morbs', my dearest had, was better than utter disdain or calmness against her will. My desires were simple, to enjoy each others' company, for a smiling bride awaiting her gruesome husband and to welcome me with kindness.

Reason dictated that I repair the contemptuous relationship we found ourselves in. But women are fickle creatures and any means of being contrite seemed to annoy her. Could I not read the emotions of other creatures well enough? Are humans not but animals with longings to be loved as well as any?

In my coveted ideal of domesticity, I found myself liking Christine to be a feral feline that one should be cautious to approach, lest she hiss and strike you with an open paw. But perhaps in providing for her needs, she might allow a gentle pet.

I stood behind her, my hands wringing, uncertain of how to broach the question that had plagued my mind.

She sighed heavily, her eyes closing in - annoyance? Trepidation? - before asking, "what is it, Erik?"

I nearly bristled at the directness of her question, but Christine had mentioned it is easier to get what you want with honey rather than brute force - whatever that is meant, I took a cautious step toward her.

The precious girl did not run away.

"Erik wanted to know-" I froze as her mouth deepened into a frown at my slip. She admonished me frequently for not speaking in the first person. "I wanted to know-" I quickly corrected, "if you require some assistance with brushing your hair?"

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at me through the mirror of her vanity quizzically. I took another step forward, rubbing my wrists in uncertainty. She once mentioned she liked my cuffs a little shorter, exposing my wrists, and I adjusted my entire wardrobe accordingly, but instances like this made me feel exposed all over.

"What?" Her hands automatically ran over the ends of her hair, indeed, finding a mass of tangles and knots. She looked down in an all-too familiar expression for me: shame at her appearance.

My hands dropped to my side, my body rigid in fear, that I caused the anguish that shadowed her beloved features. "What I mean to say- not that you require it- I thought it would- no, no you mustn't-" My thoughts were a jumbled mess as did my words, usually so mastercrafted, fell so flat into nonsense.

As I rambled, Christine turned in her seat, witnessing my awkwardness. She toyed with a stray lock of hair, plucking at some split ends, her usual proper posture hunched and withdrawn. She was quiet as I hurriedly decided to dismiss myself and wallow in my awkward misery into my own room, when her voice called in a meek, considering way, "all right."

"I shall see myself out because you certainly do not wish for me to-" I snapped to attention and whirled back around, "-all right?"

She nodded and retrieved her hair brush, silently reaching it toward me.

My mouth gaped open and shut like a gasping fish before moving toward her once again.

"All right," I responded in kind.

Reaching for her brush, our fingers touched, ever so slightly, and I held the gasp that threatened to escape my throat. I was touch-starved, this is true, but the demure sensation was a relief to one more step toward normalcy. I looked to her to see if she was offended that my skeletal hand should touch her radiance, but no screams were heard. She simply nodded and turned back to face the mirror as I stumbled to stand behind her. Heat blossomed across my masked face, my ears betraying my blush that she would allow me to touch her.

My hands trembled, unsure where to begin, unwilling to hurt the angel in front of me. This was a foolish endeavor, I know nothing about caring for long hair, particularly the mass of curls before me. I pressed the brush to bundle of tangles at the nape of her neck and tried to pull down. The bristles stopped dead in their tracks, but Christine's head went down with the motion with a gasp, "ow!"

I froze in terror, all feeling draining from my person. I had wounded my Christine. I hurt her unintentionally once again. "Apologies, my-m," I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying out loud, "My Christine." I wanted to run, to flee, to have her never look upon me again and to give up this silly dream. But I also wanted to persevere, to be of use to her, to see that smile once again.

Christine sensed my hesitancy, and with the patience of a saint, she mimed how to start in the mirror. "From the bottom," she said quietly, just above a whisper. "Work your way up to the top. That will help with the tangles. I have not felt like myself, I can do it-" she reached for the brush and I snatched it away from her grasp.

"No!" I barked, too loud. She winced from the loud exclamation, but the poor dear did not run in terror. I cleared my throat and inhaled deeply to settle my nerves, "No," I stated more gently, but firmly. "Eri-I wish to do this for you." I looked at her earnestly. "Please."

She looked warily at me and I inwardly chided myself. My emotional outbursts were more and more infrequent, but they still bubbled to the surface now and again. She slowly nodded and repositioned herself in front of the mirror.

Cautiously, slowly, I started brushing her hair out. Her curls separated and poofed before me. I gripped a few locks and ran the brush through it, marveling how it shimmered in the candlelight. The tangles persisted, but as did this magnificent angel, nary a peep out of her lips. I moved through delicately, sections unraveling themselves and it became easier and easier to maneuver.

I restrained myself from burying my face in sunshine made tangible, to inhale her sweet perfume, but I shall admit it was a struggle. I did not want to cross the boundary of this tentative truce.

As I managed to make it all the way to the top of her scalp, the brush gliding through the rest of her tresses easily, Christine gave the sweetest feminine sigh and leaned back, against my frame. While I continued with my ministrations, my mind roiled in delight and fear. How do I navigate a situation like this? This was suddenly more intimate than I was prepared for and a quick excuse to leave became very appealing. I need to sleep? She would never believe that. Compose? Make some tea?

"I feel," her voice interrupted my frantic thoughts once again, "that if I were a cat," she paused, as if carefully examining her next words, "I might purr." She smiled - oh! How that angel blessed me with her smile- and looked at me once again.

Dumbfounded and skittish, I could only nod. The two of us fools, navigating dynamic we were naive to explore. I did not want to cease the brushing, but as her hair no longer needed attention, I was at a loss for what to do.

"Thank you, Erik." She reached back and separated the fluffy mane into three segments and deftly plaited her hair into a neat braid.

I took a step back from her, holding my hands, "You're welcome, Christine."

Silence enveloped us once again and I took that as a signal to leave.

"Will you tell me another story? It has been quite a long time since you read to me or told me of your travels."

She stood and offered her hand to me. Tentatively, I embraced it.

"Yes."

#wheel-of-fish #Phantom of the Opera #writing prompt #my writing #E/C #Erik/Christine #poto #phanfic #phanfiction

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demonqueenart · 6 days

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To be loved

Pairing: Dan Howell/Phil lester

Rate: Explicit

Warning: no ao3 warning apply

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, smut, au, established relationship, HIV🎗️, U=U, stigma, discrimination

Words: 4.9k

Summary: Dan knows Phil insisted they’re together. Dan knows Phil loves him. But it doesn’t stop Dan from feeling dirty when he wants to touch Phil.

(hurt/comfort au to reduce today’s HIV stigma, but now it’s smutty too >:))

a/n: This is a continuation of my last fic, Keep me from you, which you can easily find when you enter Ao3. Special thanks to @absolutefilthimsosorry and @thistooisphanyuri who helped me beta this!

Click on NOTES to find Ao3 link 👇👇 then copy and paste it to your browser. Alternatively, you can find superlink on my header 👆👆, or search “To be loved” by ‘Thedemonqueen’ on Ao3.

#dan howell #phil lester #dan and phil #phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #dnp #ao3 #fanfiction #my fic

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ablatheringblatherskite · 1 month

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My Deaf!Raoul fic is finally DONE!!

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary:

Christine looked at Raoul’s small form again and concluded his loneliness, a sensitive nature, and a desire to be understood. While her father and the count continued to converse... Christine determined to learn this ‘language of the hands'.

THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG TO FINISH BUT HEY, AT LEAST IT'S FINALLY DONE!! I hope y'all like it! I'm pretty happy with this one 🥹

I hope all those mysterious anons who kept asking about this fic actually like it 😭

Screenshot of Tumblr post from @major-knighton that inspired this fic under the cut! (EDIT: Found the original post!)

#my writings #aster's writing journey #deaf!raoul #raoulstine #phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #phanfic fluff #phanfiction #phanfic #raoul de chagny #christine daae #raoul x christine #r/c #phan phic #phic

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ladylynse · 5 months

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A DP ficlet for @schwoopsiedoodles. The prompt was technically 'New Years' but, uh, that was more of a starting point than a focal point with this one.

Phantasmagoria [FFN | AO3]: At first blush, the new year seemed like it would start off normally enough, but Danny should really know better than to expect normal by now. Still, this was not what people usually meant when they talked about a new year yielding infinite possibilities.

-|-

“Happy New Year, little brother,” Jazz said as she wrapped Danny in a hug. Fireworks burst on the TV, some celebration they’d switched to just before midnight, but Jazz clearly didn’t think that was loud enough to cover her next words because she lowered her voice before adding, “We made it through another Christmas, and we made it through last year, so we’ll make it through this one, too.”

“Happy New Year, you two!” Maddie said as she joined them and turned the affair into a group hug, and then Jack was on the other side, wrapping them all in a bear hug, and Danny—

Danny was being squeezed too tightly from every side now, and he was getting hot enough and feeling trapped enough that not phasing out of everyone’s grip was more of an active decision than what should be the tangible default of remaining in place. Jazz’s hair was tickling his nose, but better the smell of her shampoo than the scent of ectoplasm from his parents’ HAZMAT suits that lingered despite the intense decontamination and washing protocols. He should say something, maybe force out a laugh or joke about Jazz not breaking into song like usual, but—

But maybe that was it.

Maybe that’s what was bugging him, why he wasn’t as happy as he should be even though he knew, objectively, that Jazz was right, that everything was as good as it ever was these days.

Jazz wasn’t singing Auld Lang Syne.

It shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like she had to sing it. She just always had; it was practically as much of a family tradition as the annual Christmas argument. She liked the song—she had for as long as he could remember—and Maddie would join in once she started. So would Jack, even though he couldn’t sing any better than he could aim.

So why skip it this year?

There was something niggling at the back of Danny’s mind, a sort of awareness that came slowly, creeping over his skin and making it crawl in the process.

He didn’t feel hot any longer, but the feeling of being trapped definitely hadn’t gone away.

Maybe that was a good thing.

That meant that whoever was doing this to him didn’t know he’d realized something was off.

This didn’t feel like the Ghost Writer. Even if he’d mercifully decided to weave his stories into reality without rhyme, Danny doubted he’d give up the background narration entirely. He liked being in control of the narrative too much.

Danny wasn’t ruling out this being a dream, though, or some other happy simulation designed to keep him under, to keep him from questioning it. Things hadn’t worked out last time when he’d been dreaming of his friends, so if this was round two of ‘keep Phantom out of things by keeping him asleep’, shifting the narrative to his family might make a sick sort of sense. It would make more sense than an attempted reality rewrite from someone like Desiree—or someone armed with something like the Reality Gauntlet.

This was too personal for that kind of thing.

“Uh, Dad?” Danny finally tried. “You can let go now.”

“I’ll never let you go,” came the response, but it wasn’t Jack’s voice, it was Sam’s, and he was smelling her shampoo now, not Jazz’s, and Tucker was sandwiching Danny between him and Sam, and—

Shouldn’t he feel sick after a transition like that? After a lack of transition like that? This was a dream, but if Nocturn or whoever it was was trying to keep him down, wouldn’t they at least make him a little dizzy? It all might have felt seamless, a shift occurring between one blink and the next, but the whiplash between what is and what was—

“Dude,” said Tucker as he released Danny and stepped back, letting Danny see that not only was he no longer in his living room but he was also no longer in his house. They were in Sam’s room, and it was decorated the same as always; nothing seemed out of place at a glance.

Then again, if this was a dream, and he thought he knew how everything looked, would anything feel out of place when he was the one imagining it in the place it was now?

This was making his head hurt.

It just didn’t hurt enough to wake him up and snap him out of this, which was annoying.

Tucker was biting his lip, but his words burst out of him a split second later. “I know this is kinda a stupid question considering everything, but are you okay?”

He really wasn’t, but fine, Danny could play along. That was easier now that Sam had let him go at Tucker’s words, which had the unnerving effect of lessening his feeling of being trapped even though he knew he was still very much trapped.

But if the shock of the transition wasn’t enough to snap him out of it, and the shock of realizing what was going on wasn’t enough, what would be?

“I’m fine,” Danny said, and Sam promptly punched Tucker in the arm, who yelped.

“What was that for?”

“Asking a stupid question,” she ground out, “that made Danny feel like he had to lie to us and say he’s fine when he’s not.” Her gaze flicked to him. “What Tucker means is that it’s okay that you’re not okay yet, but we’re going to be here for you for as long as you need us.”

Wait.

What?

Tucker blew out his breath in something that wasn’t exasperation or a sigh but something else, something closer to…regret? Jazz would do that sometimes—she said it helped her to centre herself and get her thoughts in order—but had he ever heard Tucker do it?

“Sorry,” Tuck said. “I didn’t mean are you okay okay, because obviously this being a new year doesn’t mean what happened a couple weeks ago didn’t happen. I meant it more as a sort of ‘are you okay because you suddenly seem less okay than you were ten seconds ago’ and I wanted to know if it was something I did. Or Sam!” Tucker’s eyes flicked to Sam as he quickly added, “Please don’t hit me again. That really hurts.”

Coldness pooled in Danny’s stomach again, spreading outward and freezing his lungs. It was harder than it should be to repeat, “A couple weeks ago?”

Tucker’s laugh was a little too high not to be full of nerves. “Or, like, last week, with the funerals. And Vlad.” Sam’s foot shot towards Tucker’s leg, but he was already dancing back in anticipation. “He asked!”

“What about Vlad?” Danny pressed.

Sam stopped her attack on Tucker and frowned. “What do you mean, what about Vlad?”

“See?” Tucker flung out an arm towards Danny. “That’s why I asked if he was okay!”

Sam scowled at him, but it melted away when she turned back to Danny. “Okay, I get that it probably doesn’t feel worse than what he was always trying to do, but the paperwork’s that much closer to being official now, and I just…. I don’t want to lose you. We don’t want to lose you. And if we can’t figure out some way around this….”

“We will,” said Dani’s voice from behind him.

Danny jumped before spinning to face her, the what? spilling from his lips before he could think twice about it. Danielle was in her human form but in a black T-shirt and shorts he didn’t recognize, and—

And that wasn’t all he didn’t recognize.

A far cry from Sam’s bedroom, this place was basically a white box, sharp clean lines and maybe twice the size of his bedroom back home. Not small, but not necessarily big, considering it didn’t have windows or a visible door or, well, anything.

Anything, he realized as he looked around again, except some poorly hidden cameras.

Crud.

Maybe he didn’t have to recognize this place to know where he was.

Danielle was ignoring the cameras, apparently. She must’ve seen them—Vlad had trained her and he wasn’t incompetent in that, Danny was pretty sure—but she wasn’t looking at them. “We’ll get out of here,” she said. Repeated, presumably. “I can’t tell you how, obviously, but we will.”

Danny walked over to the nearest wall, turned his hand intangible, and promptly failed to stick it through the wall.

He wasn’t surprised, considering he’d dreamed himself up what must be some luxury cell courtesy of the Guys in White, but it was really disappointing to confirm that he was aware that he was dreaming but couldn’t control it.

(This had to be a dream. Nothing except dream made sense.)

“If you keep doing that, they’re going to separate us.”

“No,” Danny said with an assurance that better suited Jazz than him as he studied the wall for what seemed to be nonexistent flaws, “they wouldn’t have risked putting us together if they didn’t want something.”

“Yeah, and giving it to them would be bad. Got that. Hence the whole ‘not telling you how we’ll get out of here’ thing.”

“Except even that tells them something.” He turned back to Dani. “It tells them you have a plan.”

“Or it tells them I want them to think I have a plan.”

“Which is still technically a plan. It’s just a poorer plan.”

“Like you’re an expert on plans.” Danny snorted, conceding her point, so Danielle continued, “All that really matters is they’re guessing. Which they are. Because they don’t know us. Not well enough, anyway. It’s going to be their downfall.”

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

“Of course I’m right. I’m me. Besides, I’m not spending my entire birthday locked in here.”

Danny didn’t bother to verbalize the look he sent her; even someone as dense as the GiW agents he’d run into in Amity Park would be able to interpret his confusion.

Dani rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, my chosen birthday. New year, new me. Everyone else can have resolutions. I want cake.”

Danny grinned. “Cake would—”

Alarms swallowed the rest of his words.

He jolted awake, fumbling without opening his eyes for the whatever-it-was that was making that racket so he could make it stop, and it took a precious few seconds to blink awake and remember and scramble to make sure there were no remnants of any ghostly tampering.

Nothing, as far as he could tell.

No helmet, no dust, no goo, nothing new or out of place. He was still in bed, but he was awake. The beeping had stopped by now, so maybe he had imagined it? Maybe it had simply been the last bit of a dream before it had woken him up?

Danny crawled out from under the covers so he could take a peek out the window, and he winced at the glowing green eyes of his reflection before blinking them back to blue. He really had been on edge if his powers were this close to the surface. Maybe he should head downstairs for some water and—

There was someone sitting on the roof across the street.

They were looking in his direction.

They’d probably been looking in his direction the whole time.

That wasn’t as bad as it could be, considering the things that could be explained away because this was the Fenton household, except that Danny knew the silhouette of that particular someone.

It would explain the beeping, too, though he’d never realized it was that loud.

Against his better judgement, Danny opened his bedroom window. It wasn’t particularly cold out—Jazz probably had her bedroom window cracked right now—so it wasn’t like he had to break through a seal of ice to get it open. The main reason he kept his window shut was to discourage ghosts from popping in on him, and that only worked with the polite ones. Still, mild weather or not, he hadn’t been woken by his ghost sense.

“Valerie?”

She heard him, or maybe she just saw the window opening, but either way, she called up her sled and slid almost silently through the air until she was less than three feet from him. Her visor wasn’t shielding her face, and her arms were crossed, which he was hoping to take as a good thing and not a bad thing. “How long?”

“How long what?” Even as he asked it, he realized what she must mean. Oops. She’d heard him after all. “Sorry. From the beginning. Like, the beginning beginning, not just since Technus gave you your new suit.”

Something in her expression tightened. “Please just be straight with me.”

“What? I am!”

“No, I mean—” She broke off with a frustrated growl. “Look. If you answer my questions, we can leave the past in the past. Start fresh. New chapters and all that. But if you insist on playing dumb, I have no reason to trust you—or give you the benefit of the doubt. So how long?”

“I don’t—”

“How long, Phantom?”

Oh.

“Could you, um, be a little more specific than that?”

He was waiting for the dream to shift on him again.

It didn’t.

As Valerie’s frown deepened, he realized that maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he really had woken up. “Please?” It never hurt to be polite. In theory.

“How long has this been going on?”

She was still watching him, but there was a catch in her voice that hadn’t been there before, and it seemed real enough.

Of course, everything else had seemed real, too.

If this were a dream, his response wouldn’t matter. His response might even shift him somewhere else entirely. If this were really Valerie, though? This Valerie looked lost and was doing a poor job of hiding it behind a show of familiar anger. This Valerie—

“And how long,” she croaked, her composure crumpling entirely as her voice cracked, “is this going to keep going on?”

Wait.

“I don’t want to do this again.”

The dream—not-dream, whatever this was—did not conveniently remove him from the conversation.

“Don’t want to do what again?” he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“I can’t keep jumping through possibilities.” The words were soft, more of a reluctant admission than anything else. “If this is you, stop it. It’s cruel even if you don’t think it is, and you always insist that you’re the good guy anyway. If it’s not you….” She swallowed. “Help me. Please. Even if you’re not my friend, be my ally. I— Our truce doesn’t have to end when this is over.”

She sounded like she meant it.

Maybe he should hope this wasn’t a dream after all, if only so he didn’t have to worry about having Valerie on his back all the time.

Then again.

If this wasn’t a dream, she’d be spitting distance from his secret even if she thought Phantom—in a feat of spectacular stupidity—was currently overshadowing Danny while under the same roof as the people who hunted him down at every opportunity.

If she were being honest about what might be an indefinite truce, though, that might not be a bad thing.

Danny wouldn’t say this in Sam’s hearing, but Valerie was a better shot than her, and having Val back him up from time to time would be beneficial in more ways than him not having to worry about her taking a shot at him.

“Indefinite truce if we get out of this alive?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She didn’t look amused at his choice of words, but she swallowed whatever scathing insult she’d wanted to spit at him and shook his hand instead.

“Great,” he said. “Meet me on the roof? I should really change for this.”

That earned him an eyeroll, but she grumbled, “Fine.”

He really did change before following her, first out of his PJs and into clothes and then transforming into Phantom, but she was waiting for him on the Ops Centre without a blaster, so that was a win.

“Thanks,” he said, even though he hadn’t really thought she’d fire at him right after being the one to call a truce. “And—please don’t shoot the questioner—can you elaborate on the whole ‘can’t keep jumping through possibilities’ thing?”

She sighed and sat down, hugging her knees and looking out at the horizon instead of at him. “It means exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it takes longer for the shift to happen, but whenever it does, I’m somewhere else, in a new situation, and most of them aren’t pleasant.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Case in point, finding you where I found you, because I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what’s going on there.”

Danny winced, and not just because his parents were proof that geniuses could be astoundingly blind when they weren’t looking for something. He didn’t want to get into what Valerie thought now, though. They had more important things to talk about. “I’ve been doing the same thing. The shifting between situations like it’s a dream thing.”

“If you’re going through the same thing, then which of us is dreaming?”

If Nocturn or someone like him was involved, it wasn’t necessarily one or the other. They could both be dreaming.

Or this could be something else entirely and neither of them were dreaming, since Danny wasn’t sure why Nocturn would want them both to be aware that they were dreaming when that meant they’d be actively trying to snap out of it.

Still, better that they were dreaming than some something horrendously damaging and somehow unforeseen had happened to the timeline and they were dropping through alternate realities like they were tissue paper faster than Clockwork could sort it out.

“Beats me,” Danny said, offering Valerie a grin in the hopes that it would cheer her up. He held out a hand, and she took it and let him pull her up. “Let’s find out.”

(see more fics | check out the awesome fanart for this fic)

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #dp fanfiction #dp fic #phanfiction #phic #fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #dp snippet #snippets #this is my cue to say this turned out longer than I thought it would

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