Dan and Phil Imagines (Requests CLOSED!)

What A Beautiful Wedding ↣ Phil

Let's play a game, shall we?
It's called "Find All The Panic! At The Disco References"
They're all based on their album "A Fever You Can't Sweat Out"
Comment on the line where you find them!
If I already said a reference, it doesn't count if I say it again.
There's 8!
Answers are at the end.

"(Y/N)," Phil leans down slightly so his lips are next to your ear.

"Hm?" You muse. Your eyes are locked on the beautiful bride in her flowing white gown, staring lovingly into the eyes of her soon-to-be husband.

Phil hesitates. "Never mind. Tell you later." He shakes his head slightly and straightens.

You glance up at him for a moment (stopping to think how handsome he looks in his tuxedo), then focus again on the bride and groom standing at the altar.

"I do."

*~*~*~*

You take a sip of your drink and look around the reception hall. One side of the hall is filled with round, numbered tables covered in pristine white table cloths.

There's a good reason these table are numbered, but you just haven't thought of it yet.

The other half of the huge reception hall houses the bar and the dance floor, both of which are crowded.

"What a beautiful wedding," you hear someone say.

You glance behind you and see a young lady in a long peach dress, a bridesmaid, talking to a waiter.

"Yes," the waiter nods, but soon after shakes his head. "But what a shame, what a shame the poor grooms bride is a-"

You immediately turn back around and try to focus on the conversations going on at your own table.

You are currently sitting at one of the large round tables along with Dan, Phil, and about eight other people that you don't even know.

You take another dignified sip of your dignified peach and lime daiquiri.

"So..."

You look over at the woman sitting on your left. The woman that you don't know.

"Alaska, right?" She slurs.

"Uh, n-no," you stutter. This woman is obviously drunk. "It's (Y/N)."

"Right, right," she nods and grabs a glass of wine from the table. "So...did you hear?"

"Um, hear what?" You ask, shrinking away a bit.

"The bride's b-brother k-k-killed himself," she says.

You gasp, and your eyes go wide. "H-He did? Oh my God, that's terrible-"

A man sitting on the other side of the woman turns his attention to you. "I'm sorry, is she bothering you with idle gossip?" Presumably her husband.

"G-Gossip?" You ask in shock. "The bride's brother committed suicide! Th-that's horrifyingly sad! Not gossip!"

The man shrugs and waves you off. "The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage."