Chapter Text
Phan-is-not-real: I’m done. You brought this upon yourself. Non-phelievers, tomorrow’s dawn marks the start of war.
4 actuallynot reblogs and 3 infuriating comments (complete with far too many of those sickeningly-sweet emoticons) under the last few of Not’s posts had, finally, pushed her off the proverbial cliff edge and straight into irrational hate posting. God, tumblr phannies really were insatiable - and Actually was NOT helping the situation, fanning the flames with sly comments and flirtatious quips. And so, in a moment of weakness, she had made the post.
She was tired, that was all - why did people insist on pushing this? Well, she knew why: wasn’t it the same reason they so mindlessly shipped Dan and Phil? She was the black cat, they were the golden retriever: sun x moon, happy x gloomy, flirty x having none of it. To the public they were just the same cliché ship dynamic being recycled over and over and over again for people to lose their shit over online. She did not, and would never, have feelings for Actually. Plus, Actually was obviously just flirting for the bit. Phannies would do anything for the bit, having been raised by parents so dedicated that they would fake 16 years of "boyfriendship"; and any of the dreams she’d been having of them were only a result of their commitment to the joke, not actual feelings - not that she’d ever had feelings of any kind of course, because she was totally empty inside, haha. Anyway, there was nothing to their relationship besides a casual rivalry, and that was not going to change.
That was why when Actually reblogged their declaration of phandom-wide violence with:
Phan-is-actually-real: I’d rather make love, not war <33
Not was able to ignore the rush of blood flying to her face and instead type furiously back:
Phan-is-not-real: Bloodlust is no joke
Not had been stewing in silent anger thinking that she would rather run outside and throw her phone in front of a passing truck than wait for Actually to respond, when a new reblog appeared in her activity tab.
Phan-is-actually-real: Oh sure, blood lust ;)
FUCK OFF!
OK, it’s not like she hated Actually - they shared a weird mutual respect - it’s just that they had an annoying way of finding the most effective methods of getting under her skin and simultaneously wrapping the whole of the general public around their finger while doing so. In truth, outside of their public ping pong posting, bouncing off each other reblog after reblog, Not cynical or promising violence and Actually taking it all in with nothing more than a suggestive joviality or a not-so-subtly placed “<33”, their private messages were oddly civil. Not had messaged them first, a few days after the birth of the twin blog.
“Okay but fr where did you come from?”
“Your blog is hilarious and I wanted to be part of the fun too :>”
“Copycat”
“Didn’t know we were doing nicknames already”
And just like that it began. Actuallynot had become cemented in their little corner of the internet as deeply as Phan had, the ravenous shippers almost always drawing comparisons in the comments under their posts. Not put up with it half-heartedly - she had learned a long time ago that phannies were adamantly pro “Dan and Phil” and didn’t expect them to be any less defensive when it came to their newest ship of choice. And Actually had become as cemented in her real life as the one she led being a Phan-denier online. She’d check tumblr twice an hour already expecting the Phan truther to be lurking in her activity notifications or her inbox or her private messages - when her friends asked about her day, “Phan-is-actually-real” was never far from the tip of her tongue. It was embarrassing, really.
Her phone buzzed - tumblr notification. She didn’t have to guess who it would be.
New message.
“Hey stranger”
“Right. And what do you want then?”
“Oh come on, can a girl not say hi to her friend? Or are you still intent on saying we’re “natural enemies”.”
“We are. Phan isn’t real, you say it is. There, conversation over.”
“You’re funny.”
Huh. It wasn’t genuine of course, this so-called compliment Actually had thrown her way. One of the casualties of this battle was that now Not could never tell when someone was being serious with her.
“Okay. Going now.”
“So soon? Have fun with the warmongering then <3”
There they go again, being the “good sport”. She couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t give it back to her - no matter how hard she poked, Actually never snapped.
“Did you actually have something to say or were you just here to annoy me”
Not didn’t really care, in fact she didn’t know why she had sent the follow up. She closed the app, powered off her phone. She had work to do and her screentime had been reaching a dangerous new high thanks to a certain someone. She’d been neglecting reality too - how long had it been since she’d caught up with any of her irls?
Not rolled out of bed, stretching as she went. She felt she’d aged a decade just in the past few months, and the horrid cracking noise her back and joints had made upon moving only seemed to support this outlandish theory. Not checked in with her body: with nothing digital to do, she could finally take some time for herself. She definitely wasn’t tired (she’d spent the last 3 days lounging in bed and avoiding her responsibilities) so what was it that felt off? Was she hungry? Thirsty? The answer to both was always yes, and so she moved with more energy than she’d felt in a year to the kitchen.
“Good to see you’re still alive, N”
Not had been fiddling with the utensils draw for a knife, jar of chocolate spread wedged under one arm and a big bag of salted walnuts in the other, two slices of toast clamped between her teeth. She spun slowly around, like a wary and probably rabid raccoon, to face the voice. Tom looked back at her, all dimples and curls, wry and grinning.
“I see I’ve caught you mid hunt! And today we’ve salvaged…right, Nutella and bread again, diet of kings.”
“Mate, I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunch, fuck off and let me live”
Except, with her mouth stuffed with food, what came out instead was “mumf hamfn ean thin teray lunsh, ughoff nn lemmef”
“Oh of course. Well enjoy that, and make sure to drink some water to balance out all of that sugar”
Stupid overly caring roommate. She turned back to her feast.
“Water, not the coke in the fridge!” Tom was walking away, and yet his endless stream of genuinely great advice never seemed to stop. “I’m saving that for this weekend, remember we’re having Alex and Lyra over! You’re cooking!”
Fuuuuck. Not had forgotten about real humans and her duties to host. Ah well, if she could just get that essay in today (the one she’d been sitting on for the past 3 weeks and pushing around the google doc like overcooked broccoli on the plate of a toddler) she should have plenty of time to figure this all out and enough of a social battery left to actually talk to her friends afterwards. Ok, so, no devices for the rest of the day and off to work she’d go.
That had been the plan.
The blackout lasted all of an hour. With good reason, of course: what if someone was trying to reach her (NOT that someone, of course, an important someone whom she actually cared about) or there’d been a new phupload she needed to scour for reverse Phan proof? Her Home Screen flickered to life, the face of one Mr Dan Howell (Howell, not Lester, she liked to remind herself) glaring back from under a black and white habit.
99+ notifications.
Oh god. She needed a nap. She needed to go outside and touch grass, probably. She needed to delete the whole blog, move to iceland, and become a potato farmer.
New message.
“Everyone thinks we’re in love”
New message.
“Have you noticed?”
New message.
“I thought stating the obvious would be helpful, seeing as you don’t believe in true happiness or affection or soulmates.”
New message.
“I doubt you even have a heart.”
New message.
“Do you have a heart, Not?”
New message.
“You must not be on your phone - colour me surprised! From the speed with which you normally answer my comments I’d thought you lived with it strapped to your face like some robot.”
New message.
“Sorry! Must be this whole war thing you’ve initiated getting me all riled up.”
New message.
“I have a heart, you know.”
New message.
“It’s beating quite fast right now. Thinking of you.”
New message.
“Heheh! Joking, joking! I’ll leave you be :)”
Not blinked down at her phone. That was… a lot. Even for Actually. It couldn't have been her post begging for war either, that was way too weak to have caused such a crack in the facade. Huh. Ignoring the messages, and the slight panic rising in her chest, she switched to her activity.
Actuallyimnotaphan, Pinar and 256 people liked “I’m done. You b…
Comment after comment of supportive non believers and shippers and random lost phannies preparing to draw blood. Metaphorically of course. Hey, at least this war thing was catching on - Not hoped this meant she’d finally be free of all the "you're so in love with Actually, Not, that it's not even funny. You trying to hide it makes it all the more blatantly obvious. You're not slick!” accusations. At the end of the day, she lived and died at the mercy of her followers; they cried “jump”, she jumped. If they said she was in love with Actually, hell, she’d have to at least play the part. And she was shit at roleplay. So war was the next best thing. People loved a drama, and what was more dramatic than bloodshed, fighting and enemy sides vying for victory? If she could just make them enemies in the eyes of the people…
Phan-is-actually-real: Read all about it! Read all about it! The Great War has begun and my darling soldier, @Phan-is-not-real, has been drafted (I’m sure the change of pace will do her some good, considering her screentime of ten million hours). Do you guys think Not will take a picture of me to the trenches??? I bet I’d make a great Girl Back At Home (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
That was so not what Not had meant by war and they knew it. The smug tone, the callout mid post, the stupid fucking grinning little emoticon. She was going to kill them, online persona or not. Even baying for their blood had done little to stir them into confrontation. They played their part so well, it was infuriating: give the people what they want, be flirty, be suggestive, act coy and innocent when confronted and never let the mask slip. Be the hero, the people’s person: push for their ship even when Not cries out “please no, literally anything else, I’d rather have you kill me slowly than read another sugary-sweet actuallynot complete-lack-of-subtlety we-want-to-bone mega post”. She couldn't even be a convincing villain without Actually stamping over her toes with a smile and a wink.
She just wouldn’t play along. Yeah, that would work. Not had hit the reblog button before she even knew what she was doing.
Phan-is-not-real: You’re the enemy, dipshit-
Delete, delete, delete. Cringe and frankly kind of mean. Again.
Phan-is-not-real: Ha ha. As a matter of fact, I am bringing a photo of you to the trenches! For the express purpose of ripping up and spitting on.
If Not sent that, Actually would for sure reply with some sort of kinky spitting BDSM joke. No way, she wasn’t going to let them get a word in. Delete, delete, delete.
Phan-is-not-real: You’re embarrassing yourself. Stop.
But she was the one that had initiated the War imagery in the first place, and Not was no hypocrite (well at least not when she could help it).
Phan-is-not-real: "Oooo Not your screentime is soooo high!” As if yours isn’t.
Delete.
Phan-is-not-real: Stop misinterpreting my metaphors. And go to sleep, isn’t it like 1 am where you are?
Delete.
Phan-is-not-real: ‘Actually’, more like annoying! Ugh that was so weak AHFUCKOFFYOUKEEPPLAYINGWITHMYFUCKINGMINDISWEARIMGOINGINSANEHOLYAHJDKCKCKFKKDKK
Delete.
This clearly wasn’t working. Not had worked herself up for a whole lot of nothing: Actually had still come out on top. Fine, so public conversation wasn’t going to work for them? Not would just approach via messages; a tactical takedown, one could argue.
“I’m not yours. It’s literally in the name.”
“Sure thing, I’m your’s.”
“I’ll just keep ignoring you.”
“You can’t ignore me forever. I know how you feel about me x”
“How I feel?! I literally, definitively, feel nothing toward you but a strong dislike, occasionally edging on despair.”
“Keep telling yourself that ;)”
“Fine, whatever. See if I care. Consider me dead then: first victim of war, Phan-is-not-real. Time of death: 11:34pm, cause: irritated into an early grave by a pestering copycat.”
“You’re stronger than that soldier. Over and out <3.”
—
The first letter arrived on a Monday. Not had been patiently keeping up with Actually, enduring this ongoing metaphor/bit/coping mechanism they had put on. If this is how they needed to come to terms with the fact that Not wasn’t interested in flirting with them, sure, who was she to judge? Still, hearing Actually call themself her wife made her skin crawl. Everytime Not poked her digital head into the Phan-is-actually-real cyberspace, she encountered yet another spine chilling post referring to her as Actually’s “brave soldier husband, out fighting the good fight, protecting us at home and potentially laying down her life to save ours”. What next, they would reveal they’d been having an affair with the postman and suddenly face Not’s return after a year of service 8 months pregnant and swearing it’s hers? Whatever sitcom she’d been thrown into, Not was not laughing. Though, the sudden presence of the first letter in her messages had changed things, eased the tension she felt somewhat.
The morning had began, as it always had, with Not’s little ritual: she’d wriggled her way out of her duvets, eyes still pressed shut, stomped on her still screaming alarm clock with surprising voracity until it shut up and stared at herself long and hard in her bedroom mirror. She went on staring until she couldn’t stand to much longer, then sat back down on her bed and opened tumblr. A sad way to start the morning, Not acknowledged, but it had quickly become a tradition she couldn’t shake. A swift morning to a certain Sister on her lock screen and then the home page of her favourite internet lurking zone was winking back at her in eternal dark mode. 99+ on activity (the usual), 99+ on the community tab she could never be bothered to check up on and, huh.
A red dot.
At this point in time, it hadn’t yet been christened the red dot, it didn’t hold that addict’s sway over her, so Not regarded it only with a sense of curiosity and mild impatience - the only two people who ever dared to message filled her with sense of vexation; scammers and Actually. It had been Actually this time of course, but opening their chat revealed something different. Instead of the regular, nagging chatter that usually came with the somewhat unmasked Actually that thrived in their private messages, scattered thoughts had been composed into narrative form. Nothing special exactly. Not yet anyway. But it was different, and so Not read ravenously.
New message.
Not,
Today is the seventh month of your service.
I do miss you, terribly.
Every thought I have seems to wander back to you; your wit, your sarcasm, that dry laugh I just know slips out of you whenever I tell you something funny (all the time, I’m hilarious).
With hopes you do not die,
Actually
Interesting.