brown girl next door

Maybe I Was

Maybe I was that girl you loved once,
maybe I was that girl next door,
with the brown hair and the awkward stare.
Maybe I was the root of all your sex,
imagined, real, or all alone in the dark,
your thoughts of me caressing cracks
inside your heart, the fault lines tremor.
Maybe I’m the eruption inside of you,
that bursts forth with heat, the magma
flowing, spraying, spewing everything
we are, all that makes up life,
soft and vulnerable. 
Maybe I’m moment when you look up,
when you see it’s all connected,
how the past meets the future
in a strange embrace,
how the right now is this moment,
and it’s gone. 
Maybe I’m forever, even though
it’s been so long since you’ve really seen me,
even though I’m always there,
eating away at the “what ifs” and the “maybes”
until you can’t be sure 
if my existence still lingers in reality
or only in the fissures of your brain. 

Goodbye Stranger

Summary: Phil Lester has always felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Making friends doesn’t come easily, and his sexuality is a giant question mark he doesn’t want to answer. Attending a summer camp is the last thing he wants to do, but it’s there he meets the lively, perceptive Dan Howell, who might prove him wrong in more ways than one. As the years go by the two continue their correspondence and become best friends. But some mistakes are irreparable, and Phil is forced to confront the consequences of his actions and decide what it is, exactly, that Dan means to him.

A/N: I’ve wanted to write a fic with ace!Phil for ages, but I’ve struggled with writing/talking about my sexuality for a long time. Then I realized that’s precisely why I needed to write something about asexuality. This is purely one person’s thoughts/feeling/experiences, and by no means speaks for everyone. (feat. cameos from fellow phan trash–gotta catch ‘em all)

tw; acephobia, homophobia, bi/panphobia, sexual content, dubious/non consent, depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide/suicidal thoughts (most of these aren’t in part one, but they will be in future chapters)


Part One: Loving Someone

Holding up the status quo instead of showing your kids
That they matter, who’re you gonna batter next?
Just keep hold of their necks and keep selling them sex
It’s better if we keep them perplexed
It’s better if we make them want the opposite sex

-Loving Someone, the 1975



noun: asexual; plural noun: asexuals

  1. a person who has no sexual feelings or desires.

   At three years old Phil is oblivious. Four seems old and like a long ways away, and anything beyond that is as good as dead in his opinion. He’s too little to start school, but his parents have set up playdates with everyone from his little cousin to the twins in the house across the street.

    Mary is the granddaughter of his dad’s boss, and the sort of toddler that’s curious, assertive, and more observant than anyone gives her credit for. As an occasional favor Mary will come over for a playdate with Phil, and usually the afternoon results in a game of house or a tea party.

   This visit is no different. Mary barely steps through the door before she’s opening her backpack and pulling out a well worn tea set. She sets it up on Phil’s bed, arranging his stuffed animals in circle. He sits across from her, crossing his legs and dutifully picking up one of the tea cups. He doesn’t mind playing tea–not as much as he minds playing house at least.

    Mary sticks out her pinky, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip. “Mm, this is yummy.” The cup clatters against the saucer as she sets it down, looking at Phil expectantly.

    He pretends to pick up a biscuit, smearing it with butter. “Yum,” he echoes.

    Mary picks up the teapot, biting her lip in concentration as she refills the tiger’s cup. “Here you go Mr. Tiger.”

    “Tigger,” Phil corrects. He’d seen Winnie - the - Pooh a few months ago and consequently had named almost all of his animals after characters in the hundred acre wood.

   “Mr. Tigger,” Mary says, patting the animal on the head. The two continue in this fashion for the rest of the afternoon, drinking tea and eating biscuits and asking Owl whether he prefers butter or jam.

    The party is broken by his dad’s arrival and the following announcement. “Mary’s grandmother is here.”

   Ms. Werstenfeld trails behind his father, smiling lightly in Phil’s direction. With the same blue eyes and unruly brown hair as her granddaughter, the resemblance is uncanny. “Did you have fun?”

    “Yep!” Mary nods enthusiastically, stumbling to her feet and beginning to jump on the bed. The teapot tumbles over, lid popping off and imaginary tea spilling out. “We sat on Phil’s bed and jumped up and down and played tea party!”

    “Give them a few years and sitting isn’t all they’re going to be doing on beds,” Ms. Werstenfeld murmurs. It’s not a comment he or Mary are meant to hear, but they do.

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