i should draw more living dan

The DP Phandom Must Look so Confusing from the Outside

So I was scrolling through some DP posts and had to wonder what people who’ve never seen the Phandom must think ‘cause I mean…

On one hand we have these posts praising Danny, calling him a precious child whom we must protect. We say that we should let the kid have a break, drawing pictures of the kids sleeping for once, and just hanging out living his life because he’s so stressed 90 percent of the time…

On the other hand, we have 1) ghost hunger, 2) many, many vissections/ dissections, 3) GIW captures, 4) Too many torture fics, 5) Danny going insane, 6) more torture, 7) TUE AUs where everyone is dead and Danny is angsting over the death of his family, 8) angst, 9) much angst, 10) and did I mention torture? Because wow, there’s ton of torture for this poor boy.

Then there’s Dan Phantom. The Phandom knows that he’s evil incarnate and the worst thing ever for everyone. Danny has nightmares and fears his very existence. We even have some fics where he comes back and destroys everything, as Danny watches his family get killed in the background. Simply put, he’s the ultimate enemy… 

And then there’s the pictures of Dan teasing Danny like an older brother and cuddling up to Jazz like a little demented puppy.

The fact that the Phandom is divided on whether Vlad is a misunderstood, old man who needs companionship (in what way and from who depends on the person),a  hug, and just really a person who cares about him, or if he’s an evil megalomaniac who should be hated and shunned for his actions for all eternity for what he has done to everyone.  

…Or the fact that one of  Butch Hartman’s favorite episodes is the finale, Phantom Planet and most of the Phandom hates it and practically counts it as non-canon.

…Or the fact that “It’s not gay if he’s dead” and Danny’s pink pants are things.

Don’t get me started on the pairings.

…And the pairings names.

…And the fact that we don’t have ship names for canon crushes/pairings.

…And the fact we have pairings for inanimate objects but not for some of the main characters.

Then there’s Wes Weston. Just all the Wes Weston. We literally created an OC from a background character we saw once or twice who’s literally Mr. Crocker if he was a teenager with a lot less tech and much more mentally stable (or at least a little but more stable).

Do you see what I mean? 

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Phandom so much for its weirdness! I’m just laughing at how confused some people must be about ….well everything if they were to see it… especially if they were hoping to see stuff about a light hearted kid show.

anonymous asked:

Since Elf Dan is so used to dark environments and his pupils are so large, do you think it'd be kind of uncomfortably bright for him when he's where Phil lives? (I guess to could say Phil's dazzling to look at for him ;)) )

Yyyuuuuup - gonna try and do something with that later~ 

(i really should just try to write some more stuff for this AU, instead of drawing everything, because writing takes less time haha)

Rumor Mill Ch. 5

Summary: Constantly bullied for being gay, Phil has no one, until misunderstood bad boy Dan befriends him and they start an unlikely relationship that everyone considers doomed

A/N: Hey hey you guys. THis took me way too long to write. It’s not my favorite chapter but I’m gonna expand on it more later. I’m such a pretentious writer wow. Ok. 

Genre: idk highschool au? smut in later chapters and lots of fluff, certainly some angst thrown in there. BAMF!Dan, Nerd!Phil, Dom!Dan (sorry idk)

Warnings: Homophobia, bullying, alcoholism, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, swearing, smut the smut, drug use

POV: First person, Dan and Phil

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

English is my favorite subject. Not because it’s easy for me, or because I’m a pretentious hipster that likes to try my hand at poetry. English is my favorite subject because it’s an entire class based around the romanticizing of words. The idea of taking the same 26 characters and creating something entirely new and beautiful sends a shiver down my spine, and gives me the occasional migraine if I think too hard about it. But sometimes I read novels, or watch movies, or even scroll through Facebook with the overwhelming existential thought that our lives are deduced to 26 characters tugging at the back of my mind. Then, when I think harder, I realize that I’m wrong, and narrow minded, because in China they have over 80,000 characters to express their emotions, their actions, their possessions, and I find myself wondering if that gives them a different perspective, being able to have so many tangible marks on a paper, or if it just gives them a stress-induced headache. Then, of course, in Russian there are 33 characters, and in Arabic there are 28, and I start to feel even more overwhelmed with my thoughts that the world is in the delightful state of cultural and linguistic chaos when I feel a nudge on my arm. I turn to see a blonde girl with a toothy grin staring at me expectantly.

When she doesn’t say anything, I sigh, mumbling out a “Yes?" 

"Is it true you’re dating Dan Howell?” she whispers bluntly. 

I look at her blankly, not sure how I’m supposed to respond. Would Dan say yes? Is that going too far, taking our relationship into school? 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I finally say, trying to turn back to the front, but stopping when I hear her snicker softly. I glance back around with a questioning look.

“Sorry,” she begins, “it just doesn’t make sense. Someone like you just doesn’t belong with someone like him. You won’t last a month, I bet.” She stops when she sees my face fall, and I can feel the worry seeping into my eyes. “Hey, but what do I know?” she mumbles quickly, letting me turn around this time without complaint. 

But in truth, she probably knows better than I do. It’s been a week since Dan confirmed that we are in a relationship, after properly hand-fucking me, and I haven’t seen him once. The day after we rode the Wheel, he simply failed to show up to school. I keep reminding myself that anything could have happened, that he isn’t avoiding me, but his aversion to my texts and calls aren’t helping. I feel cliche, obsessive and needy, but I also feel confused and lonely, back to my emotional state circa my before-Dan era.  I trace the letters of his name into the wood top of my desk with my pencil. D-A-N-I-E-L. Only six of the 26 characters, but also a combination that means more to me than any one of the 80,000 Chinese characters, or 33 Russian characters, or 28 Arabic characters, or any known word in the English language, because every time I hear it I have a small panic attack, especially when he isn’t with me, and especially when it leaves my own lips. My limbs seize up and my skin runs cold as the door swings open at the front of the classroom, and the brunette that whispered my name in a glade strides into the room unceremoniously, causing the teacher to glare at him, and I wonder if I’m watching the same person that I think I know as he smirks at the teacher’s complaints of his tardiness, and overall truancy.

“Where have you been, Daniel? And why come in now? Answer me!” The middle aged man all but slams a palm down on the desk that Dan has dropped into across the room.

Dan shrugs, not answering, but his gaze doesn’t drop, and he continues to maintain an air of confidence and dominance that makes me a bit sick in the pit of my stomach. His eyes are red around the eyelids and he looks distant, almost unreachable.

“You’ll make this a lot easier for the both of us, Daniel, if you just tell me where you’ve been,” our teacher sighs out. 

“I’ve been distracted with something, sir,” Dan states, staring across at me unabashedly. “I felt I couldn’t perform academically when I was performing so well in other areas.” I feel eyes turn to me as people follow Dan’s gaze and a blush rises to my cheeks, and I suddenly hate Dan for making such an obvious innuendo in reference to our one night together, especially when we didn’t have sex at all. 

The teacher sucks in a breath, and nearly pulls Dan out of his seat by the collar. “That’s it. You’re out of here, Dan." 

Dan mock-pouts. "But sir, I just arrived. I was so missing your teaching.” The older man rolls his eyes and points again to the door.

“You’ll be seeing your fill of me in detention tonight. See you there, Dan.” Dan shrugs again, slinging his bag over his shoulder and sauntering out the door. I swear I can hear him laughing under his breath, but I ignore it as the door swings shut heavily and the teacher continues as if everything is normal, but I realize not everything is normal, so I excuse myself to the toilet to look for Dan. 

I am going to kill him. For insinuating we had done something sexual to the entire classroom, for disappearing for four days without a word. When I step into the restroom and see him with a lit joint, smoke curling from his mouth, my resolve hardens even more. 

I am going to fucking kill him. 

“Phil!” Dan says with a broad smile. His clothes are disheveled and his hair looks overdue for washing, and I’m slightly panicked because I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always been strong and intelligent and discerning, and seeing him high and giggling like an idiot puts a sick feeling in the back of my throat. But of course, I remind myself that I don’t really know Dan, not at all, I only know intimate parts of his life that he hates, and really any stranger passing by would know more about Dan than I do.

“Dan,” I begin softly, trying to keep quiet for fear of drawing the attention of passerby, but my voice cracks and involuntarily increases in volume as I growl, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?" 

Dan points to the joint in hand, and then to himself. "I’m smoking weed, Phil, and I feel free. Really free because I’m finally living up to my name, yeah? I wouldn’t smoke a cigarette, no no no, but I decided I should maybe try something less harmful so here I am!” He spreads his arms wide and laughs again, but I feel particularly unamused. 

Some might call me a prude for not wanting Dan to experiment with drugs, and maybe I am. And maybe my reasoning is selfish, that I was hoping he was just misunderstood and that he would be good for me because I need a rock, and so I restrain every curse I want to yell at him and just sigh out, “Why?”  

“Oh, you’re gonna love this story, Phil, you’re in it! So we went on a date, and I really enjoyed it, and i told you we were together, and then I got home, right? And my parents asked where I had been and why I had taken their car, and I asked the same question because I could smell the booze on his breath, a little on hers too, and I knew they broke their promise again, because that’s all they do, that’s all anyone does is break their promises, Phil, really, and they demanded to know where I was and so I told them that I was kissing my boyfriend in the centre of Manchester, and my dad was too drunk to remember that I’m bi, and he tried to beat the shit out of me, Phil, really he did, and my mom didn’t stop him, so I had to run out the door and I haven’t gone back again. Because I think he’ll kill me.” He explains himself in a completely nonchalant fashion that just makes me feel even more sick, and for the first time I notice he is wearing the same clothes he donned on the night we went out. “I’m smoking this,” he gestures again to the joint, “because I hate to cry, and it doesn’t let me cry, it just lets my thoughts be a bit more subdued." 

I’m shaking my head, because I understand, but I don’t at the same time, and I wonder why Dan just disappeared and didn’t come to me for help, but then I remind myself for the umpteenth time that we aren’t in love and we’re barely friends, that we were messily thrown together and there was no reason for him to come to me when I was the cause of the problem, and I can’t tell him I’m disappointed in him because what kind of person would that make me? A selfish prude. A selfish, controlling, lonely prude. So instead I step forward and take the joint from his fingers, dropping it to the ground and stamping on it, imitating every movie I had ever seen since I had never held a joint, or even a cigarette for that matter. 

Dan doesn’t protest, and watches my foot grind away the drug into the bathroom floor. I grab onto his wrist roughly and lead him out of the washroom before anyone can discover us with a still-hot joint lying on the ground. 

"We should go somewhere, Phil,” he says with a smile, twisting me around against a wall of the hallway and trapping me there. I want to agree, but I shake my head.


Dan’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes seem to go dim. “No?" 

"No. Go home, Dan. If you’re too afraid to go to your own house, go to mine. My parents aren’t home. Get a shower, sleep or something. And don’t fucking smoke another joint. Then come back here and serve your detention. Got it? Then I’ll go somewhere with you. Maybe.” Dan backs up, letting go of me and I lean against the wall, watching him as he stares at me with something close to disbelief. 

“Go home, Dan,” I repeat. I know I’m doing what’s good for him, and I like to think he’s my friend before anything else, but seeing him so dejected by my refusal to skip with him hurts. 

“Won’t you come with me?” Dan says, and I begin to wonder if he needs me as much as I need him. If he needs me more than I need him. 

“I can’t just leave school, Dan. I have to get back to class." 

"Why not? Don’t you want to come with me?” I had never seen Dan so vulnerable, so childish. He is completely independent, and I don’t enjoy his dependence on me as much as I wish I could. 

“Of course I want to come with you,” I look to the ground, brushing my hair from my eyes, not sure how to console Dan. It’s such a simple thing, really, and he’s reacting like I’m breaking up with him. “Dan, I care about school. I don’t skip. It’s not something I enjoy doing. It’s something you do, and I’m not trying to change that, but I need to get back to my classes.” He nods, seeming to comprehend what I mean. I step over to him, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek. “Please go home, Dan,” I say gently. “You’re welcome at mine. I’ll see you when school is over, alright?" 

He smiles weakly and says quietly, "You are my home, remember?” I catch his lips in a soft kiss but I don’t let his words change my mind. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He nods and I let go of him, glancing around to make sure we’re still alone before turning reluctantly and heading back to my English class. 

The next few hours drip by like molasses, and my fingers are restless against the hardwood of my desk. Had I really caused Dan’s father to hurt him? Had Dan really gone to my house or was he somewhere smoking weed with whoever his source of the drug was? So many ‘what ifs’ burn in the back of my mind, and by the time school finally lets out and I am speed walking down the hallway to leave, I’m almost panicking, so much so that when I am stopped by a few guys that normally would have scared me into submission and shoved against a locker, instead of staying silent I look my bully straight in the eyes with defiance. 

“Get the fuck off me,” I say with venom, my voice lowering into a growl. I know the boy who’s face is inches from mine, a short, bulky neanderthal named Robert. He’s shorter than I am, and for the first time I realize that I’m really not that weak or scrawny. I’m 6'3", he’s maybe 5'10", and he’s in my fucking way. When he and his friends laugh at my words, I’ve lost all self control.

“You think because Dan Howell is using you as his sex toy that makes you untouchable, Lester?” Robert taunts me. 

“Robert,” I say softly. “If you don’t get the fuck off me right now, I swear to God I will kiss you on the lips.” He backs up involuntarily with a surprised and disgusted look on his face, and I take the opportunity to turn and bolt, the other students moving out of my way as I tear through the door and the school grounds, slowing to a jog outside of the gates and finally walking through the outskirts of Manchester, trying to catch my breath. All that time, and I could have eviscerated my bullys’ resolve with the threat of a kiss? Homosexuality is a catching disease in the minds of those who don’t already have it, apparently. 

My house isn’t far from the school, but the walk feels too long and my feet move too slow. My hand is shaking by the time I reach my front door, and I breath a sigh of relief when the door is unlocked. He had found the key under the mat. “Dan?” I call, but I’m greeted by silence. The panic in my stomach doesn’t still until I near my bedroom door, cracked open slightly, and hear soft breaths from the dusty darkness inside. I push open the door just enough to squeeze through the opening, and shut it behind me. Dingy, dusky light from my window is half-lighting the bed and my desk, and I see Dan curled up under the sheets, his shirt off and his hair curly, and I swear to myself that I’ll never forget this image, because I don’t know when I’ll see Dan like this again; vulnerable, innocent, with an obliviousness that only sleep can bring. I know this will probably be the one and only time. We aren’t in love, I remind myself again. Only people who are in love can expect to see each other in such an uncut way more than once, and what we have is infatuation, with the idea of someone to cling to in a desolate world, with each other’s bodies, with each other’s stories. And really, that’s all it could ever be. A fleeting infatuation with what is and what could be.

Dan stirs, his eyes lazily fluttering open. They’re the simplistic color scheme of ivory and chocolate, and I can’t help but smile at him.

“You listened,” I say simply, and he rolls onto his back and stretches. 

“You had some convincing points,” he says, his voice slightly heavy with sleep, he blinks a few times and rubs his eyes before sitting up. 

I pace to my dresser, pulling open a drawer and picking out the darkest shirt I can find, a purple Gengar shirt, and toss it to him. “You’re going to go serve your detention now,” I say softly.

Dan watches me with a smirk. “That detention can wait a day, don’t you think?” he says, and I recognize the slightly bittersweet tone of lust in his voice. 

I turn away from him, rifling through my dresser again for a pair of jeans as I respond, “If you skip detention, you’ll just get more detention, so what’s the point, really?” I don’t hear him stand from the bed, but I feel his breath seconds before his arms snake around my waist. 

“Phil Lester, I can think of about 20 things I would rather be doing than serving detention, and 18 of them include you,” he whispers with a sultry tone into my ear. I roll my eyes, but that doesn’t stop the flush that rises to my cheeks. I let him indulge himself in a few kisses along my neck before turning with a pair of skinny jeans in hand and pushing them into his chest, trying not to think about the fact that I am turning down Dan Howell while he is wearing only a pair of boxers. 

“If you refuse to go to detention, will you at least get dressed?” I say with a smirk before leaving him standing in the middle of the room. My smirk widens into a smile when I hear him mumble, “Fucking tease,” and I’m glad he can’t see my expression.

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