#I still cry with the beer metaphor

[hidefan]

Hey, remember the Netflix show Smiley? In which a nerdy, lonely romcom lover with a sweet tooth falls for a younger, muscly guy who is tired of casual sex and wants something real?

And they talk about the red string of fate?

And after sleeping together they both want more with the other but are unable to communicate their feelings well so they drift apart? But they still think about the other all the time?

And look!

[SPOILERS]

And then they try to move on but there's lots of misunderstandings, and jealousy, and mutual pining, and dramatic declarations of love, and every romcom cliché ever? And dating other people is futile?

And one thinks that he can't have the other the way he truly wants?

And the other one tries to accept that this is what always happens, that everytime he meets someone he thinks this time is going to be different until it's not? But this time he has so many feelings he just wants to TRY? Because the red string brought them together?

And they ultimately decide that there's no point in thinking things can go bad, they can just be together?

TIIIIIIIIIIIM I hope this is what you are doing!!! I can even forgive Buck and Tommy dating other people if it's to show how they can't stop loving the other.

Let's just hope their story is a romcom after all and not a fucking tragedy.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Party Animal

Steve hated parties. And who could blame him? The infamous Halloween party of 1984 left more scars on his heart than he carried from all his other misadventures. Alcohol made people say thinks they buried deep inside, but then instead of owning up to them, they'd say "I was drunk", as if that was any excuse. So yes, Steve and parties didn't go together anymore.

And yet he stupidly decided to throw one anyway.

Look, they deserved it. All of them did - Eddie, Nancy, Robin, even Jonathan and Argyle, they all earned acting like actual teenagers for one evening. Steve wanted to see Eddie, now miraculously his boyfriend, just have fun, laugh, be silly. So a party it was.

It all went great - dancing, drinking, nibbling on mountains of Argyle's homemade pizza - but eventually they all got drunk. Not Steve, he just sipped one beer and kept an eye on everyone. Jonathan and Argyle were smoking outside, Nancy and Robin flirted in the most embarrassing way possible and Eddie...

Steve heard sniffling from the bathroom and his heart sank.

He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to be told that this was all a misunderstanding, that he pressured Eddie with his flirting, didn't want to hear he's bullshit again.

But no matter how terrified he was, he could never abandon Eddie. So he went in.

Eddie was leaning over the sink, wiping at his face and trying to control his breathing. "Shit..." he muttered and turned away from Steve. "Sorry, I...uh. I'll be there in a sec."

"Eddie..." It came out as a whisper. "Are...are you okay? Did I do something?"

Eddie just chuckled and pulled hair in front of his face. "Sure did," he mumbled.

And it made horrible sense to Steve. Of course he was the reason Eddie was crying. He couldn't help fucking up, he'd tried so hard to change but apparently it was 1984 all over again. So he took a deep breath and waited for the final blow.

"You're just perfect, Stevie."

Oh.

That wasn't what being broken up with sounded like. In fact, Eddie didn't seem angry at him at all. "...sorry?"

Eddie laughed, wet and high in his throat. "Like, you...you are too good to be true, you know? You throw a party for us and then you even don't drink so we're all cared for if anything happens? You...you give your best friend a green light to date your ex who shredded your heart to pieces? You invite the guy that your ex cheated on you with and his friend? You're just so good about it. And you're funny and so bitchy that I want to kiss you all the time. And I just...I love you so much, you know? And I've never felt that way about anyone and it's fucking scary, man."

Steve's racing thoughts came to a screching halt. Where he was too busy panicking and praying he'd still have time to fix whatever he did, now his brain settled on maybe I'm not getting broken up with? "So, uh..." he muttered as he watched Eddie try fix his eyeliner, "...there's, like, nothing wrong? Or maybe...do you want me to go slower? I know I can be a lot."

His boyfriend gave an incredulous laugh. There was no salvaging the eyeliner now, it was getting caught in Eddie's early crow feet, and Steve had never seen a more beautiful sight. "No, Steve. You're not a lot. In fact, you're just enough in every single way, but knowing that you're it for me, that good things can happen...it makes me terrified. I've never put all my drugs in a single lunchbox, or whatever metaphor you want to use for it, but with you I'm just throwing all the caution into the wind. And for the first time, I..." he stopped, chewing on his lip, "...I don't want to run away when I mess up. I want to stay, face the music and fix it. You're re-writing the Munson doctrine again and again and I just...I don't want you to settle for me, Steve. You are the whole package and I'm still cleaning all my messes. I guess today showed me that and I...yeah. Sorry about all this," he pointed at his tear-streaked face.

Eddie suddenly seemed so small, so insecure, and that wouldn't do. It woke Steve up from his frozen state and he took a step forward, cradling Eddie's face in his palms. "I'm not. Settling for you, that is." He was probably smudging the black even more, but Eddie would have been beautiful to him even fully covered in grime, and there were more important things to focus on. "Eddie, you keep talking about the Munson doctrine and being work in progress, but you don't see how you've thrown all the stuff I used to do out of the window, and I'm better for it. With you, I don't feel rushed, I don't have to perform or pretend. I can just live in the moment."

As he continued his speech, something strange started happening. Seeing people cry normally had a guaranteed effect on Steve - just one tear, quiet sob and he pushed his emotions down to be dealt with later or possibly never, someone needed him, and that was the priority. But now, staring at Eddie's wet eyes and shaky hands? He felt his own face crumbling and what better place to hide it than in Eddie's Metallica t-shirt. It smelled of cigarettes, pizza and the cheap laundry detergent that had come to mean home to Steve. "Sorry," he choked out. "Shit. I was...sorry, I'm supposed to be...you know. Consoling you. But I heard you crying and I thought...I..."

Eddie shook his head and tightened his grip on Steve's waist. "Oh Stevie. Whatever that pretty head of yours thought of, it's not happening. Unless it's kissing me, which duh, that's happening, if you want to of course, and staying with me to the point that you're sick of me."

Steve just whimpered into Eddie's shoulder, something that suspiciously sounded like "Now who's perfect, huh?"

His boyfriend just chuckled. "I guess that in a way, we both are. Maybe for each other?" If he'd aimed for self-deprecating tone, he failed. Instead, it was hopeful.

Steve didn't answer, but his embrace said it all.

They remained wrapped around each other for a long while, until Eddie whispered in Steve's ear: "how about we let the others celebrate on their own, hm? They won't be driving, their stuff is already in the guest bedrooms, and I hear your bed is wonderful this time of the year."

There was a muffled "yes" coming from Eddie's shoulder, and a few adjustments and "Good night!"s later, they found themselves in Steve's bedroom. Eddie managed to remove most of the rogue eyeliner, which was lucky. The time in the bathroom wasn't the last time he shed a tear that day, because as they were falling asleep, Steve said:

"You might be the first person who is dating the real me, and I'd like you to be the last one as well."

Tomorrow, he'd hold a funeral for the Munson doctrine. But today, he was going to wrap himself around Steve like a cuddly octopus and know that even if he doesn't manage to hold on tight the whole night, Steve would be there in the morning.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

rewrite the ending in the scars of sea glass・l.f

—From the moment Felix saw you drawing your dreams in the sand, he knew you were a daughter of the seas, with frozen fingers and feelings like the tide. So when the waves rush overhead, he will place his soul upon your tongue so your hollow heart can finally feel the warmth of the sun.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・felix x mommy issues!reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・angst, smut, a collection of moments the two of you have ever wanted to say I love you 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・10k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・I tried to make this as gender-neutral as possible so if there are any pronouns let me know and I'll fix it :) The reader had mommy issues that are heavily described, manipulation, verbal abuse, references to physical abuse but it really isn't described, love bombing, alcoholism, references to blades and knives, self-harm is kind of mentioned but its a metaphor for how her love feels, an ungodly amount of crying, panic attacks, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill, nothing else so far...

𝐚/𝐧・I have poured my heart and soul into this fic this was my beckon to live my hurt through the scenes of this story I hope that it heals you the way that it healed me

screenplay

❝ "In every lifetime?" you utter ❞

i. It is the wounds we hide from the light that beg most to be seen.

— For the first time at age twelve, stuck in sweat-caked sand, your heart formed the words I love you.

ii. I could find your soul in the sky because yours is the only one that smells like home.

— After a long night, caught in a bubble of beer, all you want to do is collapse. But what will you do if you're in the middle of school and the teacher just announced a test?

iii. There are so many things in the world that must first collapse before they are born; why do we not believe humans are the same way?

— You show up at Felix's house, broken and distraught. What will he do with your shattered heart?

iv. Just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

— You were still friends, even as he fucks your pain away.

vi. She is only in your DNA.

— Well... I think we'll just leave this one a surprise.

❝ "In every lifetime." Even the earth knows he means forever ❞

Fair warning: I have written around 8k words of this, but I'm through the middle of iii., and I've already written iv. So, assuming the length of the rest plus any add-ins, it will be around 10k-11k. I have a terrible habit of changing my mind, so all of this is fit to change, though I doubt it will. Most likely, I'm just going to add more.

Okay, I hope you're excited to read it, and let me know if you want to be tagged!

[noacfapologyst]

birthday surprise — matty healy

(the birthday party: day two)

summary: even surrounded by people he loves and people he doesn't know at his birthday party, matty feels alone. by chance or by consequence, he finds a piece of his past that it stirs absolutely everything in the depths of his soul.

warnings: mention of alcohol, approach to loneliness, flashbacks of the past. cry on your birthday (guilty). open ending (maybe?)

wordcounter: 4,8k

Birthdays are one of the things Matty has enjoyed most since he was a kid. It's not just the fact of seeing all the people he wants in one place or the gifts he receives, although obviously that's also a plus for the basis, but the most important reason boils down to another: Matty has learned to celebrate being alive, to have a day, or a year more to live.

Maybe for the same reason, one of the environments Matty is best known for could be at parties. He always gathers endless crowds inside the walls of his house, always ends up being crazy between the amount of mess he has to clean up afterwards and the mess he has to take care of while they dance drunk on the tables and sing without being able to stop.

He has never considered himself a person of few friends, but he doesn't think he has a huge amount either because he's had to leave a lot of people behind. He has the necessary ones to be good with himself and with them, his presence does not suffocate them and they know how to understand him even when he cannot control himself and impulsivity controls him. But he's calm, he always is.

Of course, he now finds himself in a situation where many people entering his house are unknown to him because they are companions of his friends, or acquaintances of them. And God, Charli gathered a crowd in here. He recognizes them because he believes he went to high school with one or two, the few years he attended before deciding to miss an exam to go to a music festival.

Entities mix because he fails to recognize among low-profile, famous or just known people who have found out. In a way, it feels a bit like a party I'd throw if I was 18 and walked out of a Santbury's with several bottles in my hand and on my head. But it is not, because he is 35 and is in the middle of going through his thirties crisis.

Although now he deduces that none of it matters to him. He's much better than fine. He has gone from having the weight of a feather to getting stronger and seeing its fruits after many months without stopping at the gym. It has healed in all senses: broken heart, mental frailty, bad habits and addictions. Or at least in most of them, because he still smokes and still drinks alcohol, but at least now he equates it with something else and knows he can control it better. It's not entirely perfect, it could never be because that's metaphorically what the human being represents: a canvas that looks beautiful, beautiful and honest until you see the poorly made brushstrokes, over and over again until a result bulges.

"Hey, come to the kitchen." George awakens him from his thought with a touch. Matty leaves the beer can half-open on a shelf in the living hallway.

Then they arrive in the kitchen amidst a tumult of people that opens up in their path. The open backyard door is a plus because it's a good place to get some cold air and realize that he's lost a lot of stability and composure after several beers and a few more shots.

Ross is leaning on the recently acquired white marble countertop, as he opens a bottle of Don Perignon and the foam splashes over the top of the bottle. With quick movements, he pulls seven glasses from the shelf, and fills them to distribute later.

"Let's toast in honor of Matty, because it's his birthday and we love him. And we are incredibly proud of him." Ross cheers, while everyone raises their glasses. Charli applauds with the palms of his hands, and everyone knows that he has lost his mind. Matty smiles as much for that last act as for what his friend has just said, it's really an honest smile and full of feeling though he may not be able to prove it now.

Everyone toast, and then Carly pulls out of her purse a digital camera to capture the moment in eternity. They take a selfie together: George, Matty, Ross, Adam, Carly, Charli, and Chloe. Then there are some spontaneous ones between the four guys, the girls and one of each of them with Matty.

"Oh, my boys. I love all of you so much. You are the best on my life, really." It's finally Matty drinking the champagne out of his glass. Feel the golden bubbling liquid falling down your throat. "Thanks for everything you've done for me throught this years, forever."

When the conversation becomes that emotional tone that always happens on birthdays, it is also the moment when the bubble of intimacy breaks and everyone leaves that state.

"Hey I'm sorry, but there's not more ice." A woman's voice sounds from the frame of the kitchen, but Matty can't recognize her even when he looks at her with a frown.

"Oh! Now I'll bring more, thank you darling." Matty answers almost automatically as if he had given up control of his head. Actually the words are leaking out of her mouth but it's nothing too worrying yet, and she hopes it stays that way. "Some of you know who is?" He receives negative responses after the restlessness and sighs sillylyly laughing. "Thanks for all, friends."

A song by the Backstreets Boys begins to ring through the speaker in the living room and resonates between all the divisions of the house. Taking advantage of the commotion and celebration about it all he leaves the kitchen and disperses. Matty searches for a bag of ice from the fridge, breaks the wrapper with scissors and takes it to the main table where he places it in the fountain designed to keep the cold.

When he crosses the center of the dance floor, many people greet him and flatter him, giving him little shouts of love or complete sobriety, and more than one even asks him to dance for a few moments.

For a moment he manages to put away the idea of how he is the only one in his group of friends who has no one, which becomes more raw when he sees too many couples kissing on his couch, also generates a bit of disgust but he doesn't want to feel like a snob. He did the same thing and doesn't know when he stopped doing it but he understands the adrenaline generated by kissing someone when you're drunk and hot in public spaces, even if it's a pretty adolescebte attitude.

He takes his beer from where he left off and goes on. They have all built long-lasting relationships or are in the process, which makes sense for the age that passes.

He's okay with that, too. Yeah, logically, he´d like to have someone to dance together right now and then sneak out to enjoy a moment alone. Intertwining his hands with someone and having someone fixed to wake up with every morning while the smell of coffee runs through the room. He wants it the same way people who don't have it do, but he thinks he needs a break now.

Her last love attempts have gone overboard, and further down. They have simply come out disastrously and reject the idea that he wants to have for love: it all ends in silly discussions about mundane and monotonous everyday things that make up a ball that explodes, then everything weakens and the routine too tiresome. He wanted to live in the madness with which he used to live love in his 20s, where there was no fear of the future and only the expectation of living in the present.

Remember that frenzy of love when he was a teenager, when it is the purest love you contemplate inside you, when the barrier of who is going to judge you and the responsibilities are inhibited and you just go drunk with love walking down the streets arriving at the door with different flowers every day. He wants to love and get it right this time, obviously, but he doesn't want the person he leaves his legacy with abruptly taking away the magic of love Matty once had.

By the same token, he takes care of letting it flow. He's not waiting for anyone and he's hoping that things will just get better. She doesn't know if her future is to love someone and make it work, but she doesn't give up hope.

"I'm going to smoke, just in case." He says, when he sees Carly near him. He knows she's the one he can trust most because she's the most sober and the least alcoholic.

"Stay safe, Matty. Hope I won't have to look for you." She approaches him and kisses him on the cheek in an act of love, something like a motherly love. Even though she's only a little older than him, since she's with Adam she considers Matty to be completely special to her, and she loves him as much as she literally loves her children.

He says goodbye to her and walks to find the back door sneaking around. He looks the place and he see that there are really not so many people huddled together in the same place as they are scattered. The courtyard is huge, after the cement floor the grass extends along perhaps half a kilometer, where in the middle there is a swimming pool, and in the width there are some palm trees that accompany it. In the background there is a gate that leads to a construction connected to the house, but for which Matty is not responsible.

He looks for a place under the palm tree, the breeze that the leaves cause as they move embraces him at dawn. It's funny to him, he sneaks away just like he did all his life at these kinds of events, punctually on his birthday. He loves people and loves being with them, but at some point he needs to isolate himself from that same environment and have air to himself.

He fiddles with the lighter between his fingers passing it from hand to hand until he decides to pull a mentholed cigarette out of the pocket of his black leather bomber.

"Matty?" A whisper of the wind reaches his ears, although he does not know where it comes from, he acknowledges that there are not so many people who call themselves that.

He hears footsteps on freshly cut grass and hears crackling under his shoes. The only light out there comes from a curtain of lights hooked to the grill, so it's pretty dark.

But then a female presence appears in front of him. He really does nothing but admire her and for once his eyes run out of the cylinder he is about to light.

The two look into each other's eyes, Matty feels his whole life is passing before his eyes and is afraid he's having a concussion, or he's having a stroke. It doesn't make sense for her to be here in front of him after all these years.

"y/n?" He dares to ask. He doesn't have anyone around to confirm his presence there so he hopes he's not too drunk to hallucinate and hopes he's really on the physical plane. "I'm sorry, it's just…wow." Her tongue catches the words as her head runs a thousand miles after seeing her nod to get out of her trance.

"Isn't it?" With every word the past moves down the earth for both him and her. Too many, too many layers of memories that were left behind many years ago now threaten to float as if they could seep through the holes in the green ground.

There is a prolonged silence for a few seconds. Actually, nobody knows what to say because everything seems like a fantasy about to be pricked with a pin and nobody wants to go beyond that.

Matty's looking at her. She has always had that carefree but wrinkled profile and he recognizes her under the black dress sleeveless dress glued to her body and the hair cut on her shoulder, with the last minute scissors marks and something uneven. She complements it with high-cane boots, something like the ones she defined as her favorites too long ago. She still has that sparkle she had when she was a teenager, she's still incredibly beautiful without asking. He looks at her surprised that she's here, grateful to see her once more. He can't stop thinking about it, but she's really radiant.

She looks at him. He has changed a lot from the superficial, his hair is now almost shaved, only with hints of hair growing on his entrances. She doen't need to inquire to know that his fitness owes it to the gym, even under his jacket she can see how well marked are his muscles compared to the little skinny teenager she met a long time ago. The expression on his face did not change, if he looks into his eyes he still finds the frightened child because he does not know if things will turn out well, but also the child waiting for his mother after school to give her a hug. She has a white T-shirt that's stuck to her body and her tattoos are transparent. She looks at him impressed.

"Hey." He breaks the silence by speaking softly but with total softness. She smiles at him without showing her teeth and Matty feels something rising up her body. "What are you doing here?"

He is lying against a palm tree, she is standing nearby but neither wants to move into the position of the other, there is some barrier that prevents it and possibly it is discomfort.

"I'm the babysitter of my sister and her friends, they are your brother's friends." She anwers by returning the tone of calm. "In fact, I found out today."

"Wait, really?" He answers, and for a moment the atmosphere seems to disappear only because he is seeing everything through it. "But Louis is not there." He shrubs his shoulders.

"Yes, I noticed that. I guess he told the others in some nonsense conversation." She analyzes how he hasn't lit a cigarette since he arrived. "Are you going to turn it on or?"

Matty feels like a fool. "Do you continue smoking?" Ask without a second thought. He just wants to know what's in her life now. "Sorry, what about my maners, do you want one?

"No, but I'll share one just for the old times." She smiles at him again, and he mentally keeps the memory of how the burgundy color highlights the cheekbones of the white skin of the woman in front of him.

"Do you want to sit?"

"I'm alloweed to?" Matty is restless under such a formal tone and considers that the passage of the years now takes its points.

"Of course." Now he's the one smiling at her. "Are you still in the same job?

She laughs slowly, refuses with her head a bit apart. "God, no. I work in a notary's office now, but I'm more comfortable." She answers, he opens his lips in surprise, a whistle escapes from her lips. "May I suggest why are you here and not inside dancing with the others?" She asks with some shyness as she approaches to sit down, without doing so facing or beside him, as at an angle of seventy-five.

"Maybe you know the answer. It hasn't changed." He answerd and when he feels that he is drowning in too much of the past, he lights the cigarette. He pauses and takes a drag.

"You still get loneliness sometimes." She reasons, he nods with a look of pity and gave her the cigarette. "I really didntt know this was your house."

"It's quite different from the old porch, it doesn't have a loft with a balcony or red tiles either, but i like it." He sighs embracing the melancholy that escapes from his bone structure. "How did you get here?

"My friend was dizzy from so many people and then I lost her because of a child." She laughs wryly. "I started walking and then I reached the palm tree, and maybe I understood the host of the party."

"¿Yes?"

"How many people do you know whose birthday is April 8th, Matty?" She stares at him with direct intent. He flies in the nebula. She remembers her birthday.

"You still remember it." He has a smile that runs through his face from end to end, he feels satisfied with the interaction, whatever it takes. She leaves the cigar in her hand and the touch makes him shake.

Matty's head is about to fall apart. He himself sees how his vision becomes twofold, one leaving him in reality under the palm tree, and the other teleporting him 22 years ago to a rather similar place.

It's autumn, the leaves of the trees turn yellow and fall to the ground. There's a breeze but it's not cool or threatening, it's friendly. Matty's eighteen now, he's of age.

On the other side of the race to see who gets to the pile of leaves first, there's her. She's dressed as simple as if she'd just gotten up, the blue skinny jeans and a black shirt with a print of some band scratched by the number of times she's washed. They're both older, but running down the alleys of New Castle looks like they're 12 still.

The muddy shoes, their coats that shelter them both, her bracelet tied to his hand, the kiss on the cheek when greeting each other, the butterflies every time they look at each other. The celebration of walking, the adrenaline of winning the race to the leaves and rolling in them.

Matty abandons everything else, leaving behind the nightmares, his parents' parties and sleepless nights when he has her. He's happy with her, he feels protected and nothing can hurt him. He loves her, with all his heart. He's eighteen, newly grown, wears glasses that slip on the tip of his nose but make him look smart. It has some protruding pimples between the cheek and forehead, but in sunlight it still looks like a baby's skin, fragile to the touch.

He doesn't know when he fell so in love with her, he doesn't know when he found the connection and when it began to appear in his innermost dreams. He couldn't stop thinking about her and all her dreams, the dress she wore on her birthday, the hug after the holidays. Every touch gives Matty years to live, and although he's been a sad kid for most of his life, he'll always be grateful that she changed that.

"You are eighteen, you can run fast." She says in a competitive tone, without slowing down.

"I will win, idiot." He's self-proclaimed.

"And if you do, what will you get? A painful coronation as king of the leaves." She jokes and throws herself headfirst on the leaves of the ground. "I told you."

But Matty was willing to win.

"I already decided my prize." Vitorea approaching the leaves, diving into them.

"You didn't wi-"

Matty doesn't think about what's going on, he just lets the impulse take him further and control him. It may be his only chance, and it may ruin it, but he have to try before he let any more time pass.

She is in shock on the leaves when she feels the lips of Matty on top of hers. She doesn't understand what's happening, or if it's really happening. The only thing she remembers afterwards is feeling Matty's hand squeezing her cheek with soft caresses. He kisses as much as he can, and after a while she gets used to the movement.

They go on like this, without saying a word for many minutes. Their sequence and their need is to kiss until the lack of breath wakes them up, smile with their noses stuck and merge again. Maty tastes like mint and chocolate, so it's the flavor she'll love the most for the next two years. Teenagers at the height of their purest love.

"Didn't I tell you? I would win." Matty comments when both feel they have shared too much saliva, but he does not take his hand off her cheek.

The wind is blowing in both heads. They have never known love this way, and they will remember it so well for the years that this love lasts, and for a few more.

Actually, and though Matty doesn't know it yet, she, sitting in Matty's house, is thinking about the same fall of memories. She feels like she's about to die and the best years and moments of her life go by, they've always had that facility of telepathic connection without having to try. Also because, for a long time, it was the memory they most enjoyed in years.

Matty then sees, in his memories, everything he's longed for for so many years. Midnight getaways, intense kissing at nightclubs, family meals, she dressed in him on Sundays, family trips, snow wars with her kisses sunk in the snow. He sees fireworks now that he remembers her, how he was first in everything for her and how she has marked him even more than he can say.

After that comes the band, and even before and after the previous names. But he focuses on when the band is already confirmed as Drive Like i Do and then like 1975, he sees her sitting at the table listening to them rehearsing, he sees heer at the clubs drinking beer and screaming crazy when he comes out in his most misaligned ensemble.

Matty may never have said it like that, but the girl he fell in love with is part of the band just like them. Almost the entire first album has its muse, in each of the stanzas and in each of the notes of the compass. She has followed him for all these years, it has been his greatest point of inspiration and of genuine and re-created love. She has given him the best years when he was twenty, he has written the songs he enjoys most thanks to her.

But equally, to say that he hasn't forgotten her or that he's remembered her like that for fifteen years without seeing her since she left in her twenties, would be lying. He remembered her for years, but then he was no longer present in her mind.

She can't judge him. Maybe she waited longer, but she had to move on anyway.

But it's okay, they existed at the time they had what. They learned enough from each other to remember each other fondly.

"You think about that autumn too, didn't? "During all this trance, the connection has become stronger. The discomfort is ignored, and she ends up sitting next to him.

"You are inside my mind, literally." He laughs with his eyes full of glass. He just had a recession that knocked him down. "Yes, I thought about it."

"That autumn was the best of my life. The fucking golden time." She confesses, with the moon now fully reflecting her. He looks at her with a longing smile, he also misses feeling so complete. "I have loved you for so many years and I think I could do it for more."

She complains hugging herself. Matty leaves the previous state and now the alcohol seems to have lost its effect. He extends his hand to put it behind the brunette girl's back and draw her in. The woman's head rests on his chest.

"I have loved you too, you know? The first album is about you." He kisses her hair, but she can't help but cry. They are breaking up with each other next to them and that's why they prefer not to be seen. It's too strong for both. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" She looks up. The brown eyes meet the eyes of the british man.

"I-I screwed up that June afternoon, and I carried the blame for many years. I've never really been able to apologize, and I know the last thing you got from me was a horrible argument. I'm sorry, it won't fix something so many years later, but it's sincere." He manages to loosen a gear that has been weighing on him for a long time. He finds serenity in the brightness of the moon, and though he knows he can't go back in time, when she intertwines his hands he thinks he hasn't gone too far.

"Thank you for that. I know it's your party, but you don't have to cry to the end." She kisses his cheek and wipes his tears with her fingernails painted dark red, then returns to his neck. She repents and prefers to sit in front of him. "But it was true, wasn't it? Did you fuck everybody in this town?" She asks, without any resentment or sense of judgment.

"You compromised me, honey." He nods nervously accompanied by a laugh. In fact, he's still crying, but he's feeling much better. More airy, more connected and more peaceful. "I missed the car and the argument."

The two laugh at each other, it's an atmosphere that has now become more comfortable than ever. She has got her makeup destroyed by tears and he is s getting water marks through the seams of his shirt.

"The end of that hallway was fateful." She ironizes it with a recharged energy that dances inside. It feels as if she is now the final part of a song that breaks the melody and raises the instruments to a higher level to close it in the greatest ecstasy. "Even so, maybe you were right a few years ago. You needed more than me." She points to itself and then points to the atmosphere.

"Sorry, I don't get it." He feels bewitched by her words, but is so deep inside that he can't even think about what she's saying.

He just knows she comes, again. He sees her crawling and crawling up to his lap. He's afraid that this will still be a bad trick in his head and that tomorrow she'll never have been here. She'll be in another country, with someone else, and without him. His heart pumps like it has seldom done.

He knows they're soul mates, or he used to know, and now he's reconfirming it. Now there's only one thing that separates them and one thing that could bring them together.

"You needed a cigarette, alcohol and a sad conversation." She finally answers, as she settles down to her mercy on his lap. Matty feels like he has a fever when he feels the back of her palm on his face. It's been floating for over 15 minutes. "As i do."

After this, it just happens.

After 15 years, they're kissing in Matty's backyard. The two cry in between, because they haven't recovered from the emotional delirium they just had, but the fireworks they once had at eighteen come back the second their lips touch.

He hasn't changed, Matty still smells like chocolate and mint. She neither, she tastes the same as always does, she still tastes well enough to satiate Matty. They remain exactly the same for each other and what they still need.

The kiss does not have a taste to be described by or a unique feeling. It is the taste of remembrance and reunion, of melancholy, of adolescence, it is pure nostalgia in its splendor. It tastes like sadness, the tears of the last time they argued, and in turn it tastes as the ice cream they ate holding hands in the park, the chocolate they always gave each other as a gift. It tastes as Christmas food and the summer breeze. It's all together in one, and that's why they don't bother to feel sorry for how the waterfalls in the eyes accumulate coming down later.

A kiss, that's all. Matty doesn't want to think, but he inevitably does and finds only two options.

Tomorrow you will both remember this and you will both retire by lowering your guard and remember it as a secret. There is no one around to prove the presence and existence of the woman he has there, no one has seen her and the easiest excuse is to say that he simply confused everything with someone else because of the amount of beer. Or they could tempt fate and stay there, they could heal the wound and they could try again to have the best they ever had.

But now, does it matter?

"Hey." She puts pressure on his hair. He opens his eyes feeling fuller and more human than ever. "Happy birthday, Matty. The birthday boy always needs a gift."

let me know what you think about it. my taglist is always open. 🤍

[thebrickinbrick]

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk, Part 1

At length, by dint of mounting on each other’s backs, aiding themselves with the skeleton of the staircase, climbing up the walls, clinging to the ceiling, slashing away at the very brink of the trap-door, the last one who offered resistance, a score of assailants, soldiers, National Guardsmen, municipal guardsmen, in utter confusion, the majority disfigured by wounds in the face during that redoubtable ascent, blinded by blood, furious, rendered savage, made an irruption into the apartment on the first floor.

There they found only one man still on his feet, Enjolras. Without cartridges, without sword, he had nothing in his hand now but the barrel of his gun whose stock he had broken over the head of those who were entering. He had placed the billiard table between his assailants and himself; he had retreated into the corner of the room, and there, with haughty eye, and head borne high, with this stump of a weapon in his hand, he was still so alarming as to speedily create an empty space around him.

A cry arose:

“He is the leader! It was he who slew the artillery-man. It is well that he has placed himself there. Let him remain there. Let us shoot him down on the spot.”

“Shoot me,” said Enjolras.

And flinging away his bit of gun-barrel, and folding his arms, he offered his breast.

The audacity of a fine death always affects men. As soon as Enjolras folded his arms and accepted his end, the din of strife ceased in the room, and this chaos suddenly stilled into a sort of sepulchral solemnity. The menacing majesty of Enjolras disarmed and motionless, appeared to oppress this tumult, and this young man, haughty, bloody, and charming, who alone had not a wound, who was as indifferent as an invulnerable being, seemed, by the authority of his tranquil glance, to constrain this sinister rabble to kill him respectfully.

His beauty, at that moment augmented by his pride, was resplendent, and he was fresh and rosy after the fearful four and twenty hours which had just elapsed, as though he could no more be fatigued than wounded. It was of him, possibly, that a witness spoke afterwards, before the council of war: “There was an insurgent whom I heard called Apollo.” A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: “It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower.”

Twelve men formed into a squad in the corner opposite Enjolras, and silently made ready their guns.

Then a sergeant shouted:

“Take aim!”

An officer intervened.

“Wait.”

And addressing Enjolras:

“Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?”

“No.”

“Was it you who killed the artillery sergeant?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire had waked up a few moments before.

Grantaire, it will be remembered, had been asleep ever since the preceding evening in the upper room of the wine-shop, seated on a chair and leaning on the table.

He realized in its fullest sense the old metaphor of “dead drunk.” The hideous potion of absinthe-porter and alcohol had thrown him into a lethargy. His table being small, and not suitable for the barricade, he had been left in possession of it. He was still in the same posture, with his breast bent over the table, his head lying flat on his arms, surrounded by glasses, beer-jugs and bottles. His was the overwhelming slumber of the torpid bear and the satiated leech. Nothing had had any effect upon it, neither the fusillade, nor the cannon-balls, nor the grape-shot which had made its way through the window into the room where he was. Nor the tremendous uproar of the assault.

He merely replied to the cannonade, now and then, by a snore. He seemed to be waiting there for a bullet which should spare him the trouble of waking. Many corpses were strewn around him; and, at the first glance, there was nothing to distinguish him from those profound sleepers of death.

Noise does not rouse a drunken man; silence awakens him. The fall of everything around him only augmented Grantaire’s prostration; the crumbling of all things was his lullaby. The sort of halt which the tumult underwent in the presence of Enjolras was a shock to this heavy slumber. It had the effect of a carriage going at full speed, which suddenly comes to a dead stop. The persons dozing within it wake up. Grantaire rose to his feet with a start, stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyes, stared, yawned, and understood.

[jahayla-parker]

Hits Different : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 2.5k wc (including lyrics) set to the tone of If This Was a Movie by Taylor Swift. Part 2/Freddy's POV of Catastrophic Blues. Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, etc.

Warnings: I advise you re-read (or read) part 1/Catastrophic Blues first! Other warnings: drinking, Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, vomiting, crying, etc.

Part 1 - Y/n's POV - Catastrophic Blues

Last night I heard my own heart beating

Sounded like footsteps on my stairs

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there

Freddy groaned as he ran his hands down his face. Tonight was going to be another sleepless night. He’d been having far too many of those lately. Ever since the night he and y/n had broken up.

Freddy had found himself constantly clinging to the faintest of sounds in ignorant hope that maybe it was her. There was no reason for it to be. In fact, he should’ve been adjusted to the lack of her presence by now. Instead, it was like this dark void that he found himself drowning in day in and day out.

Freddy missed y/n like mad. He knew she wasn’t going to be around anymore. But, he couldn’t stop wishing she was. He couldn’t stop the way his breath would hitch every time he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her around town. She may not have any physical presence in his life anymore, but her metaphorical presence was felt heavily by him nonetheless.

I was playing back a thousand memories, baby

Thinking 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still and I had you

Freddy wiped his damp face as he shut the photo album. He carefully set the album on his coffee table as he threw his head back against the couch cushions. He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself like this. It wasn’t like he even needed to look back at the photos to remember his time with her.

Freddy nevertheless found himself pulling out the photo album at least once a week. He found himself flicking through the pages of him and y/n as he nursed a beer. He still had the memories of each moment that was photographed in the album. But, they felt like just that, memories. Memories that felt so far gone now that he needed to be sure they were real. Whereas the photos were physical evidence that their love was real and genuine. So no matter how painful it was, he’d willingly sit on his sofa at night to pore over the photos.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

The role Freddy was cast in for his latest projects felt almost painfully derisive. He was playing the role of a man who had been reunited with the love of his life. It was a brutal contrast to Freddy’s own life at the moment.

Freddy had been certainly that y/n was the love of his life. Quite frankly, he still was certain of that. Only, there wasn’t anything he could to do repair the damage and close the distance between them. While he accepted the part he’d played in them having reached this predicament, the fact remained that the ball was in her court now. She had to be the one to decide she wanted a life with him. He wouldn’t force her nor beg her to choose him.

As painful as what she’d said had been, Freddy knew they could make it through all of that. If only she wanted to. If only she was as heartbroken as he was over their relationship ending. Then they could work together to make it through to the happy life he envisioned for them.

But if this was a movie, you'd be here by now

As optimistic as Freddy was over the notion that he and y/n could work things out, he couldn’t ignore the evidence that she clearly didn’t agree. Despite considerable time having passed since the initial rush of emotions that night, she hadn’t come to apologize and say she wanted to work through it. She wasn’t here fighting for their relationship, for their love. Unlike the romance film he was working on, this wasn’t the set or plot of a movie, this was just reality.

I know people change and these things happen

But I remember how it was back then

Wrapped up in your arms and our friends were laughin'

'Cause nothing like this ever happened to them

“Mate, it’ll be alright,” Max, Freddy’s friend mumbled softly. He knew his friend wouldn’t believe him, but he hated seeing him this heartbroken over his breakup. He carefully took the photo out of Freddy’s hands and set it upside down on the table. “You guys wanted different things, you weren’t on the same page anymore, it happens”.

Freddy nodded solemnly. Max was right about one thing. Freddy wasn’t sure when he and y/n changed in a way that drove them apart; but, they had. However, Max was wrong about it being okay. It wasn’t alright. Not now. Nor would it be; ever. Despite the pain he was suffering, Freddy still swore she was the one. In fact, he’d argue that his anguish was merely a testament to that. It wouldn’t be hurting this bad, for this long, if y/n wasn’t the one for him. If only he’d been the one for her as well.

Now I'm pacing down the hall, chasing down your street

Flashback to the night when you said to me

"Nothing's gonna change, not for me and you"

Not before I knew how much I had to lose

Freddy sighed to himself as he slowly dragged his feet in defeat on his way back to his apartment. He’d ventured out to take a walk and hopefully clear his head. Or at least that’s what he’d say if anyone asked. Truthfully, he’d been secretly hoping that he’d catch at least a glimpse of y/n somewhere between his flat and the outside of their apartment building. His mind kept telling him it wanted to see her just once more. But, he knew even if he had run into her, it wouldn’t have been enough.

Freddy often thought back to the night before he’d cluelessly asked y/n to move in with him. He had been so naively happy and content. Her wrapped up in his arms as they cuddled after their date earlier that night. He hadn’t even contemplated y/n saying no, much less things ending between them because of it. He had no idea how much he had to lose. And by the time that he did, it was already too late.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

But if this was a movie you'd be here by now

What Freddy wouldn’t give for a chance to fix this pain. For a chance to take y/n back. For a chance for happiness and love to once again be the focal point of his life. For a chance for him and y/n to be together again. But he refused to push her into anything; especially something she didn’t want. And she’d made it clear she did not want this life with him.

It was crushing to hear y/n say he was suffocating her by wanting to live together. It was singing he wished to never risk being out through again. That being said, Freddy knew he’d take y/n back in an instant if she knocked on his door and apologized. It was all he needed. It didn’t have to be anything dramatic, he just needed to know how she felt. Her apology would be the sign Freddy would need to hear to know he wouldn’t be forcing her to do something she didn’t want. But the apology never came. And neither did y/n.

If you're out there

If you're somewhere

If you're moving on

I've been waiting for you

Ever since you've been gone

“I want her happy,” Freddy mumbled drunkenly. He took another swig of his beer and sighed loudly. “No matter what,” he clarified. He leaned his heavy head on the pub table. “Jus’, would like it to be with me,” he added with a frown.

Freddy’s brother Tom sighed sympathetically. “We don’t even know it was her,” he pointed out. “She could be feeling the same way as you mate. You don’t know she moved on”.

Freddy pursed his lips as he tried to think through the haziness in his mind. Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe the woman Henry thought was y/n wasn’t her after all. Maybe it was her but the guy she was spotted with was just a friend. Like Freddy himself was now. Actually, that’s not true. Freddy scoffed out loud at the cruel realization his mind was forcing upon him despite his drunken state. He wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. So if it was y/n Henry had seen earlier today on the metro, even if the man she was with was just a friend, that was more than what Freddy could say. More than what Freddy now was to the woman he loved. The woman he had envisioned waking up next to. The woman he hoped he’d find himself spending his future with.

I just want it back the way it was before

And I just want to see you back at my front door

And I say

Come back, come back, come back to me like

Freddy groaned as his older brother exasperatedly shoved his drunken body back down to the sofa. He’d yet again tried to make his way to the door so he could exit and go to y/n’s apartment. Just to talk. He just wanted things back the way they were before.

When he woke the next morning, Freddy was sure to thank Tom for stopping him from going over to y/n’s. While sober Freddy too wanted things back to the way they’d been, he didn’t want it being done like that. He needed to give her the space she’d asked for, the space she said she needed. He couldn’t go to her. As much as he might want to. If only y/n felt the same way and would come back to him on her own.

You would before you said it's not that easy

Before the fight, before I locked you out

But I take it all back now

Freddy regretted that night. Not just because he lost her. But because he hadn’t truly listened. Perhaps if he had, they could’ve escaped with just an argument instead of a breakup. Instead, when she tried to express herself, he hadn’t been truly listening; too caught up in his disappointment and hurt at the time. He hadn’t seen the signals that would’ve normally clued him in to the fact she was flustered and needed time to process things. If he could go back in time, he’d take it all back. More than anything he’d take back the way he’d reacted so defensively. He’d undo the damage he caused. He’d take back the way he reflexively stated that he agreed with the notion of breaking up. That he too thought they needed space. It wasn’t true then and it still wasn’t true now. If only he could take it all back.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

-

Is that the kind of ending you wanna see now?

Baby, what about the ending?

Oh-oh, I thought you'd be here by now, whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Thought you'd be here by now

Freddy had given up hope. If y/n was going to come back to him, she’d have done it by now. But instead, he once again found himself alone in his flat as he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe it was naive optimism fueled by seeing or acting in one too many movies… but Freddy could’ve sworn she’d have been here by now. That they’d have figured it out by now. He truly thought y/n would come back to him saying she wanted to give them another shot and he’d eagerly take her back and promise her however much space she desired.

But, this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. His life. And y/n wasn’t here. It didn’t matter how deeply he believed she would’ve been. It had been a seemingly long time since their breakup. Surely if she wanted to be with him, she’d have been here by now. But she wasn’t.

Freddy Carter Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi @booklover2389 @whistle1whistle

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[peter-pantomime]

Stranger Things Fic Recs, Part 5

Part Four | Three | Two | One

Gen

the dreams in which i'm dying

“Well,” Eddie says easily, flopping down onto the bench next to her. “I’ll go with you if you want. Just as friends.” Chrissy closes her eyes. She probably should have seen that coming. Because that’s how it’s supposed to go, right? The prom queen dumps her jock boyfriend and gets together with the sweet guy who’s been right under her nose the whole time. Happily ever after, fade to black, roll credits. Chrissy’s seen plenty of rom-coms. She knows her lines here.

i will lay me down (like a bridge over troubled water)

Eddie is twelve, shot up like a weed, and too big to carry, but Wayne scoops him up anyway. Eddie wraps his arms and legs around Wayne clumsily and lets himself be carried, still crying, back to the trailer. Wayne’s knee clicks the entire way back, but he doesn’t tell Eddie to walk.Wayne is forty-one and clumsy with emotions, doesn’t know what he’s doing but is trying anyway, and Eddie is twelve and crying on Wayne’s kitchen counter.

seriously slipping out of control

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Steve asks, eyes flickering over to the shoebox of materials. “Like, do you have to go over it a bunch of times to make the ink dark enough? We don’t need them that dark.” “It doesn’t even need to be super straight or even or anything.” Robin adds. “Like don’t worry about making them perfect or anything.” “Are you guys sure you want tattoos?” Eddie double-checks. These are just verbal confirmations of what he’s already picked up on from their twitchy body language and constant thrum of nervous energy. They’re scared. Which like, fair. But their nervousness gives him pause, makes him wonder why they’re going with commemorative tattoos of all things to remind themselves of the tragic end of their summer jobs.

and it's a song you know

The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies. Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.

Steve/Eddie

the boy in the sweatshirt

It starts with the sweater. Technically, it starts with a broken beer bottle and forty-eight sleepless hours on the run bending the glass into ruby red lace against a pale freckled neck. But that’s a technicality, and those only really work well for campaigns and court cases. For Eddie, for the fucked up little story that is his life, it starts with the sweater. Eddie figuring out Steve (and himself) through the romance of certain old clothes.

the present only

"I'm just saying, I didn't get my reputation for nothing," Steve baits. "What reputation is that?" Eddie asks. Robin looks horrified and Steve can’t actually be sure whether Eddie is trying to embarrass him or her. If it's the former, Eddie is about to be disappointed. This is one department in which Steve is not ashamed of his performance. "Reciprocation," Steve says. The word alone has Robin pulling a face. "I used to have a 100% record," Steve adds a little grumpily to Eddie. Eddie narrows his eyes at him, and Steve can tell he's biting his tongue. Steve would like to bite it for him. Jesus. Get it together, Harrington. Or: Eddie gets a job; Steve wants to give him another; the universe - including Dustin, Robin, and Eddie himself - is against him.

So Newly Charming

Eddie leans against the van to peer over his shoulder as he connects the leads. He’s close enough that Steve can smell him; close enough that he can feel the shift of air on the side of his neck as Eddie breathes. If it were one of the kids, he’d shove them off and reassert his personal space, but it’s never really bothered him when it’s Eddie. It’s distracting, but Eddie is always kind of distracting. Steve doesn’t mind Or: Steve fixes Eddie's van and figures out several things about himself in quick succession.

the chauffeur

"He had intended on a normal drive, really, just cruising at the speed limit to clear his head. But upon passing the last house on the stretch for miles, the long, empty road looks suggestive. Maybe even a little seductive. A bad itch builds from the base of his spine. Swallowing nothing, he presses the gas pedal slowly, eyes continuously flicking down to the speedometer as it climbs exponentially. The drone of the engine changes with it, getting louder, pitch keening, synchronizing with the blood that churns and rushes in and out through his heart, veins, brain. The needle hovers just over 100mph for approximately one minute and fourteen seconds." Steve's attempts to return to normal aren't cutting it. When a casual drive turns into something more risky, he learns that a little rush of adrenaline can help. He learns that a little too well. Around the same time, Eddie starts having car troubles.

someone else's favorite song

“Not sick, not sick,” he slurs, and Eddie wants to see his face, wants to hold it in his hands, wants to look him in the eye when he says, “just sad. Sad. Fuck… fuck, sad.” “Why are you sad, big guy?” Eddie asks. Steve laughs again, but it’s sharper this time, it doesn’t last as long, because as soon as the words slip out of his mouth— “My mom’s dead—” —it walks that treacherous line between the two sounds and morphs straight to a broken sort of sobbing that reaches directly into Eddie’s chest and drags out his heart. A friends-with-benefits relationship goes complicated when who Steve and Eddie are to one another shifts with the coming of a new sort of tragedy.

messing with the beat of my heart

After Vecna nearly tears the world in half, Eddie and Wayne move away from Hawkins for a fresh start. When Dustin calls Eddie up and asks if Hellfire can come visit for one last summer campaign, Eddie agrees—it's not like he has anything better to do. He just doesn't expect Steve Harrington to come, too. (or: eddie deserves love. i love him.) (or: eddie and steve falling for each other, stupid and inevitable.)

i'm keeping you in sight

When there’s no immediate reply, he pauses for a moment, seemingly taking in the situation. “D’you want help with that, Stevie?” Eddie has the gall to get taller.

mister funny, mister cool

He swallows. Sweat trickles along his spine. He knows what he was thinking, what he’s still thinking. The itch of being talked about still irritates him. But—but that’s also not new. He used to be King of Hawkins High—people talked about him all the way up that track and all the way down and with a lot less kindness in their hearts. Even with them, it shouldn’t weigh this heavy because if they want to think he’s crazy that’s fine. Right? It should be fine, because Steve knows who he is. The guy with stupid jokes and free rides. The guy who comes back, who keeps them safe, who’s fine. Steve should be able to shrug this off. God, he’s so stupid. Mister Funny, Mister Cool is always fine. or, Steve Harrington's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad emotional breakdown.

the pre-show ritual

Steve wasn’t really all that surprised to find himself here. He had never seen a gloryhole before. He’d chalked them up to a horny teenager’s pot at the end of the rainbow. Fantasy, and nothing else. A fat old man couldn’t squeeze down a chimney, and a guy couldn’t get his dick sucked in a public bathroom. But here it was, a small circular hole cut into the side of two adjacent stalls, as real and as terrifying as it could be. What surprised Steve about tonight was that he wasn't sticking his dick through the hole. Instead, he found himself sitting on his heels in front of it, hands wringing anxiously in his lap as he licked his lips and waited for someone to shuffle into the other stall.

that's just wasteland, baby!

“Because all any of us get is right now,” he explains as well as he knows how. “It’s just right now, that’s all any of us can promise. Does that make sense? It’s just— it’s only ever right now—” “Yeah,” Eddie proves the closeness, makes it real, with the simple tip of his forehead to touch Steve’s. “What can you promise right now, Steve?” Four days after Upside Down breaches Hawkins, the military arrives and closes off all roads leading out, trapping anyone still within town limits from leaving. Months later, Steve Harrington could really use a good night’s sleep and a new pair of boots.

Like the Hero Who Never Ran

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Rich From Tender Care

Steve leans against the side of the boathouse and lets Eddie fumble with the cheap Bic lighter for a minute before he clears his throat and says, “You want a light?” It's hard to read his tone. There's a bitter, suspicious, self-defensive part of Eddie that wants to lash out, but instead he grips the lighter until the plastic creaks and says, “Sure. If you have one.” “Yeah.” Steve digs in his pocket and comes up with a nice Zippo. He doesn't hand it to Eddie; instead, he flicks the flame on and holds it out for him to lean down, and there's an intimacy to it that Eddie wasn't quite expecting. Like one of those old Leyendecker paintings. He imagines this tableau sketched out in clean art deco lines: the prom king and the freak. A study in contrasts. Or: In which Eddie survives the Upside Down, and Steve Harrington turns out to be nothing like he expects.

My Right Hand Man

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

it's no better to be safe than sorry

“Do you think you’ll ever want to fuck me?” Steve starts choking and coughing wildly, which alright is Eddie’s fault. He probably shouldn’t have thrown that out there like that right after Steve shoveled an entire spoonful of Honeycombs into his mouth. But his brain’s only been online for thirty minutes tops, Eddie’s obviously not firing on cylinders right now. He just had to get it out before he lost his nerve. Again. He slaps Steve on the back until the worst of the coughing subsides. “Here?” Steve finally manages, gesturing at the kitchen island in front of them. He’s pink and watery eyed from the hacking fit, and maybe a little bit from Eddie’s indecent proposal. “No, not here.” Eddie clarifies. “Why, have you—” He casts his eyes around the kitchen as if the surfaces will answer the question for Steve. “Shit no.” Steve rushes to say, “My parents eat here.” 

Shot Right Through

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

can't bear it alone

He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit. But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.

see the luck i've had

Steve, Eddie, and 20 hurt/comfort prompts

no reason

The kiss is brief, only a second or two, not even long enough for Steve to really register what's happening before Eddie pulls away. Steve’s frozen in place, his arms still wrapped around Eddie. [...] Eddie closes his eyes, a weak smile on his lips. "Something to remember me by." [...] "You're literally not dying right now." His whole body is hot. Is he sweating? "You lost some blood but they didn't get deep enough—I looked—you're going to be fine." There's a pause. "I'm going to be fine?" Eddie asks, voice also going high and thin. "You're—sure?" "Yes." "Fascinating. Great. Are you—could you do me a favor, then, and maybe just—leave me here anyway?" "What?" Steve says. The dial tone gets louder. "No. Why?" "No reason," Eddie says, voice tight.

Leomund's Lamentable Belaborment Makes It Hard To Graduate High School

Everyone knows things happen in threes. Three wishes. Three sons of a king. Three notes make a chord. Eddie's third senior year is his last chance to get out. If he fails again, he's in a time loop.

Looks Like You're Hungry, Looks Like You're Drowning

It is almost a relief to see that it's Eddie Munson on the chair and not some huge random guy. That is until Eddie's eyes crinkle open and his face goes from blind terror to bemused, the way he's curled up like a bug at the noise slipping into something languid and easy. It's almost a relief until the prick smiles like a lunatic and Steve has to think of course, this fucking guy, because Eddie Munson may be the weirdest person Steve's ever met. AKA Two Years of Lifeguarding, One Morning of Finding Eddie Munson Asleep on a Deck Chair

keep with me forward

The house that the government buys Eddie is pink.

Car Hangs

Eddie had started walking to Robin’s house in the mornings to hitch a ride when Steve took her to school on his way to Family Video. It was a neat little route from Steve’s place to Robin’s to the high school to the store, and Robin lived halfway between Eddie’s place and the school, so the ride cut his journey in half. Steve wanted to offer to pick Eddie up from his place but, unlike the rest of the carpool arrangement, it didn’t make sense, spatially, and Eddie said he didn’t mind the walk, and Steve was too embarrassed to insist.

heavy is the head

What Steve wants… it’s not as if they’ve never done it. They’ve just never done it like that. And they sure as shit haven’t done it with Wayne Douglas Munson sitting in the very next room, only the low hum of the TV to drown out every deafening pound of Eddie’s heart. He’s still staring, heart going double time. Doesn’t budge an inch. Steve lifts one perfectly arched brow. Goddamn it. So, so stupid.

thursday afternoon

this was supposed to be about cleaning up, but despite the constant stream of water, he feels sweatier than before. his skin is burning, his wrists are cramping and his legs are straining from how tense he’s been. if eddie were here he’d slide to his knees, ignore the resulting twin cracks and swat steve’s thigh to stop him from making any comments. he’d nuzzle against his crotch, hair clinging to his strong neck, his cheeks, and run his hands up and down steve’s trembling thighs. or; it's thursday afternoon, eddie gets home early from work and catches his husband deep in thought. (amongst other things)

Steve/Tommy (past, unrequited, pre/current Steve/Eddie)

stitches and the devouring mouth

tommy wasn't a great person, or even a good person, but he was going to push steve out of hawkins. his one good deed.

every mistake was made purposely

“You are such a fucking asshole.” Steve says, but again there’s no venom behind his words. It comes out like an observational statement, like they’re back in Freshman year biology marking down the anatomy of the frog they dissected. Looks like spaghetti, Steve had said while they stared down at the guts in front of them, and even now Tommy can’t eat spaghetti without thinking of it. “You know, believe it or not, Eddie doesn’t treat people the way you do. He wouldn’t even think to.” Tommy scoffs, does an eye roll of his own. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s real sweet to people before he gouges their eyes out."

[foxes-that-run]

Cruel summer (and when was it)

Cruel Summer tells of an affair that ends with loving someone other than a significant other. When Cruel Summer went to #1 on 19 October 2033 Taylor released this top photo which is reminiscent of the Cannes Sunset referred to in Lover also.

Lyrics

[Verse 1] Fever dream high in the quiet of the night You know that I caught it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it) Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price You know that I bought it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

Middle of the night reminds us of Wish you would.

A bad boy is referred to in Blank Space and bad ones in End Game.

Shiny toy separates the muse of this song and paper rings where she sings “I like shiny things but I’ll marry you with paper rings”.

With a price refers the Haylor theme of paying a price

[Pre-Chorus] Killing me slow, out the window I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

Here the muse is the same as in Wish you would, Harry drove past her house at night, and style he picked her up during the night.

Taylor used Devil/angel about Harry before, in the intro to the thematically similar Trouble: “how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you?” Here she takes chances having an affair. This line appeared in a game of the Lover video.

[Chorus] And it's new, the shape of your body It's blue, the feeling I've got And it's ooh, woah-oh It's a cruel summer It's cool, that's what I tell 'em No rules in breakable heaven But ooh, woah-oh It's a cruel summer with you

The shape of his body means different to her boyfriend. Harry also changed to low impact training post 1d and his body did change, but I hear it as a different person

Blue was the colour of the 1989 album, depression and Harry is called “sad boy” in Question…?

No rules, breakable heaven - their love is fragile and they make their own rule.

[Verse 2] Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine I'm not dying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it) We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times We're not trying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

vending machine glow places it in hotel

Another reference to buying (as in Fine Line) and that they are not trying to avoid being together, again similar to Fine Line

Screwing it up in trying times is reminiscent of Sign of the Times

[Pre-Chorus] So cut the headlights, summer's a knife I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know, oh

Style has cutting headlights to go undetected when picking her up

Summers a knife/cut to the bone tells us this person is someone with a history that she has feelings for. Willow has a similar line: “I’m like the water rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife”

If I bleed is saying she won’t share her feelings with the muse

It's a cruel summer with you [Bridge] I'm drunk in the back of the car And I cried like a baby comin' home from the bar (Oh) Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh) And I scream, "For whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?" He looks up, grinnin' like a devil

Taylor has pay the price, crying in the way home. “Get drunk but you’re still not my baby” from Death by a thousand cuts,

Keeping secrets and Sneaking in through the garden gate confirm this is an affair, the garden is in many Haylor songs.

The Garden Gate to me is a metaphor for sneaking around, not the front door but through the garden to not be seen. However I’ve also heard it could be a physical gate or may actually be a pub in Hampstead Health, it’s close to Harry’s house and where Joe and Taylor rented. Taylor was seen in Hampstead Heath several times. The beer garden and red brick wall look to me like the promo photos for Lover. If it is a literal location I still think its use in the song is to indicate being hidden and shifty.

“he looks so pretty” … similar to Style and "pretty face" in Slut!

“I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve heard” sounds like something said to/by a person who is not your significant other.

Why 2018 seems like the time period to me

29 January - Fine line written with similar meaning.

12 April - both in london, Harry chipper, on stage

11 March first medicine, ever, the crowd don’t say tasted 🥺

19 March - Harry cried in MMIH, he sang twice the Gotta get betters and no 'Cause nothing else will do' and left.

22 June - Harry teared up during Sweet Creature, and sang Still the One by Shauna Twain, setlist changes rare on that tour.

1 July - when Taylor in US he smiled on the same line and replaced 'running with the wolves' with 'running with you'.

July - Me! Video features Harry’s LOR US suits June - July. 

The next week, Harry’s shows were energetic, Medicine Saint Paul is here, grinning during Woman, speaking clearer in Dining table, Me! references his ‘enthusiasm’ during Medicine in California

4 July Taylor and Joe at Turks and Caicos, lots of photos

21 July Harry Camille break up announced

Falling, to be so lonely and Afterglow recorded by September 2018.

October 2018 Harry went to Tokyo and was still there when the Rep last show was there 21 November. Taylor played Haylor songs. HS wrote Little Freak. Then Taylor went to UK with Joe, HS stayed

[arialebenthal]

it's you i'm haunting

a playlist for harrowhark, with cover art here by deidameias. and yes, there are nine songs on purpose xo

Funeral Bell by PHILDEL "oh, i could pray, but it won't stop you leaving."

Make it Holy by The Staves "i could make you want me, make you need me, make you mine; i could make it holy, make it special, make it right."

Cherry Wine - Live By Hozier "and it's worth it, it's divine, i have this some of the time"

Metaphor by The Crane Wives "i keep my closet free of skeletons 'cause i'm much better at digging graves, but i always dig up bones in your sympathy."

Surrender by Bear Attack! "you're fading off into the grey, i'm listening, i'm giving everything to save, but you're giving me nothing"

Becoming All Alone by Regina Spektor "when i heard god call out my name, and he said, 'hey, let's grab a beer, it's awful late, we're both right here,' ... and i said 'why doesn't it get better with time?'"

Wretched by Bartees Strange "i need you back in my system... my life feels wrong without you. i can't be here lost and abandoned... i said to god what i said."

My Ego Dies At The End by Jensen McRae "i lost the girl i was over a winter... i could not cry for it, sank down to search the bottom of the river. leave my body and the water early, tried baptism but it felt like burning -"

Nine by Sleeping At Last "i have been sleepwalking since i was fourteen. still, i check my vital signs - choked up, i realize i've been less than half myself for more than half my life... but i'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes."

[plantfeed]

location: fanny's open mic night. status: closed for ella<;3 @laughstrack

they detest the performativity of open mic nights, where graduates in berets stand shoulder-to-shoulder with chin-stroking lecturers as they contemplate whether a nectarine can ever be a metaphor for a vulva. rory’s therapist says it’s ‘ good to put yourself out there ’ — probably in the secret hope that by becoming someone else’s problem, they’ll no longer have to deal with him, crying, hysterical, cross-legged on the roof of the triage centre in scrubs still covered in blood. they were supposed to end up in music, an electronic music EP out by now and a small but dedicated following on soundcloud. somewhere along the way they’d lost their path, ended up slaving away at bad track records to pay their way through a med school degree they're not sure they even want, selling vinyls that cost more than their daily pay to people who don't even understand chord progressions. thursdays are their day off. they get most of friday to recover from the mid-week, before the sound tech shift into the early hours of saturday morning begins, and then back to the MGH. so wednesday-night open mic becomes the melting pot where each week rory cuts a strip along his arm, bleeds out a poem, a song, a refrain written on his guitar, more often than not a haiku, the long hours mopping up other people’s guts watered down into a rhyming couplet about a climate change.          “ hi. me again, ”  comes their uneasy start, the self-conscious wave of his hand a half-apology for being there as rory takes to the stage, the mic unsteady in their grip.  “ uh, rory. for those of you who don’t know me… okay, this is a little different to my usual stuff, but i’m just gonna go for it… it’s a narrative poem i’ve been working on. it’s called winter with nilsen. ”  clearing their throat, they pull a scrappy lined piece of paper from the pocket of their corduroys and take a swig of liquid luck from the rim of a beer bottle, sticky resin where the label once stuck.  “ november, our bodies tight like toothpicks in a cigarette tin / you press your thumb against the hollow of my throat and i, losing my breath, losing my mind, disintegrate. i still hate the taste of praline — you told me once they made you think of dad, louisiana, a stranger in a pig pen who gave you tooth decay — it stuck like gum. longer than you did, at any rate. i reach for you / in dreams and grip the air, the lilac taste of… ” eyes snap up from the page, a prick at the back of their neck, and they lose their place on the page. there, by the jukebox, beside a journo grad in a gaudy bucket hat ; freya. rory swallows a gulp, averts his gaze, presses on.  “ the lilac taste of… ”  an attempt at continuing as if nothing’s happened disperses on rory’s tongue, a sudden claggy feeling, like all of the blood’s been sucked up into his ears.  “ sorry, i’m not… i don’t usually get stage fright. but it needs more workshopping. cynthia, do you wanna take over ? ”   it’s posed as a question, but really it’s a cry for help, thrusting the mic into the general direction of the open-mic emcee as they stumble down from the steps and out of the fire escape door to the smoking area, heartbeat throbbing like a metronome.

[bambiesque]

In January I started re-watching all 60 years of Doctor Who from the beginning and tweeting about my thoughts.

Since Twitter appears to be on its last legs, I'm transferring everything over here, just for me.

Serial : An Unearthly Child : Episode 1 - Hartnell!Doctor is the personification of snark. Susan is adorable. Ian "Barbara, you can't!" Chesterton is exactly as expected. Barbara is my favourite.

Serial : An Unearthly Child : Episode 2 - Hartnell!Doctor immediately getting out his pipe to smoke reminds me of my grandad. Ian continues to be unimpressive. Barbara is still my favourite.

Serial : An Unearthly Child : Episode 3 - Okay, Barbara has become slightly hysterical, but she's the first person to go to someone's rescue. I love her. Ian is at least being practical.

Serial : An Unearthly Child : Episode 4 - Hartnell!Doctor doesn't really do much except complain. It's lucky Ian's there tbh. And we're done with Serial 1. Straight into Serial 2 with epic radiation... dun dun dun

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.1 - Barbara is completely fed up with the Hartnell!Doctor. I don't blame her. Ian has crushed Susan's flower (not a metaphor) so he's back in my bad books. He's lost his overcoat but he's still wearing his cardigan and tie.

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.2 - The Doctor is a lying liar. No shocks there. Barbara is being menaced by a sink plunger. The Daleks are a) genuinely quite scary and b) a lot nicer on first acquaintance than I thought they'd be.

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.3 - The Daleks are sneaky bastards. And also hilarious. No, seriously, they are very funny - all the best bad guys are. I kind of love them.

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.4 - Ian is stuck in a Dalek. Hartnell!Doctor is all for leaving him. Why do the Daleks have the slowest lift in the universe? Oh, the Doctor can't open the door. You need a sonic screwdriver, mate. Ian's still in his cardigan and tie, but he's unbuttoned his top two shirt buttons, so you know shit is about to go down. The Thals are all very blonde. "Are they really pacifists though?" Come on now, Barbara.

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.5 - Barbara is now the Doctor's fave because she agrees with him. Obviously, Ian is very frustrated because he's taken off his tie.

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.6 - They're lucky all of these aliens use the Imperial measurement system. Ganatus has a huge crush on Barbara - probably because he's never seen someone with dark hair before.

Serial: The Daleks: Ep.7 - My favourite part is when Barbara breaks the polystyrene wall. And the crying Dalek. "I never give advice." Hartnell!Doctor says. LOL, I say. Barbara you should have stayed there with Ganatus!

Serial: The Edge of Destruction: Ep 1 - Everyone's gone mad. Barbara telling Hartnell!Doctor off is pretty awesome. Now of course he's drugging everyone. Susan seems to be spending this episode dressed as a monk. Ian sleeps in a very fancy dressing gown.

Serial: The Edge of Destruction: Ep 2 - Barbara also sleeps dressed as a monk. She's the smartest of all of them. Hartnell!Doctor - "My machine can't think." The TARDIS - "Hold my beer!"

Marco Polo is missing so we move on to Serial: The Keys of Marinus: Ep.1 - OMG the little model of the TARDIS is adorable. Ian is wearing... I don't know what but he's gone super-cas all of a sudden. Barbara looks fantastic. Hartnell!Doctor is very suspicious of everything.

Serial: The Keys of Marinus: Ep.2 - Barbara is living her best life. The slug brains are pretty sinister. This is the start of all companions wandering off on their own and getting into mischief isn't it?

Serial: The Keys of Marinus: Ep.3 - The plants are trying to eat Susan. The statues are trying to eat Barbara. This is a lot of fun. A bit like The Crystal Maze only with more potential for death.

Serial: The Keys of Marinus: Ep.4 -I think Ghostbusters stole this incidental music. If Barbara dies I will riot. (I know she doesn't, I just love her a lot) This is a really fun serial. Doctor-lite for the first time but honestly not missing much because of that.

Serial: The Keys of Marinus: Ep.5 - Finally Hartnell!Doctor turns up just in time to defend Ian at his murder trial. This all escalated quickly. Ian: "What can I do?" Hartnell!Doctor: "Trust me." Ian, internally: "I'm dead."

Serial: The Keys of Marinus: Ep.6 - That was a proper Scooby-Doo reveal. Ian saved the day with a good old-fashioned switcheroo. I really loved that story.

Serial: The Aztecs: Ep.1 - Barbara is "mistaken" for a goddess again. Hartnell!Doctor is on a date. Ian is now wearing the most gorgeous bird outfit so he can assist in a human sacrifice. Hartnell!Doctor tells him to get on with it and stop whining.

Serial: The Aztecs: Ep.2 - Barbara is now the Doctor's fave too, even if she is an idiot. Wow, Ian used the Vulcan nerve pinch. I think Barbara is the Doctor's favourite because he's an idiot too.

Serial: The Aztecs: Ep.3 - The Doctor is engaged and has accidentally almost killed Ian. Barbara is letting the power go to her head. Susan's top marks in school mean she wins a husband!

Serial: The Aztecs: Ep.4 - Not my favourite story so far but I like that it was treated like a Shakespearean tragedy.

Serial: The Sensorites: Ep.1 - Ian knows the Doctor is a lying liar. Barbara looks amazing. The Sensorites look pretty creepy. *shudders*

Serial: The Sensorites: Ep.2 - Barbara remains my absolute favourite and the only one today who has any common sense.

Serial: The Sensorites: Ep.3 - Poor Ian's dying. I feel like the wardrobe department was really phoning it in with the Sensorite costumes. The heads are great. The bodies are awful.

Serial: The Sensorites: Ep.4 - Hartnell!Doctor has a swishy cape. Ian and Susan miss Barbara almost as much as I do.

Serial: The Sensorites: Ep.5 & 6 - Barbara has been back for two minutes and has already worked out everything that's going on. I think I missed commenting on one. I did enjoy the last scene between the Doctor and Susan.

The Reign of Terror is missing two episodes, so we're on to Season 2! 

Serial: Planet of Giants: Ep.1 - Giving me extreme Land of the Giants flashbacks. Fun fact about me, I hate giant things - they scare me. Hartnell!Doctor is all about swishy capes now.

Serial: Planet of Giants: Ep.2 - This is quite dark for Doctor Who. Ian, maybe if you listened to Barbara once in a while she wouldn't be in trouble now I am sad I'm not going to see a paperclip ladder. Susan and the Doctor sitting on a plug hole has made up for it.

Serial: Planet of Giants: Ep.3 - This is a great serial. Everyone seems to be having a lot of fun. I still love the tiny little TARDIS model. And Barbara is safe, so all's well that ends well.

Serial: The Dalek Invasion of Earth: I love the location filming. Barbara cooks; Susan eats - even if she does deserve a smacked bottom (the Doctor's words not mine). The Dalek emerging from the water! Amazing.

Serial: The Romans: Ep.1 - It will come as no surprise to you that I think Barbara looks like an angel in her Roman dress. I think this is the first episode I've really shipped Ian and Barbara.

Serial: The Romans: Ep.2 - Hartnell!Doctor loves a punch-up. Barbara has been sold for 10,000 sesterces, which seems cheap to me. Ian is going to be a gladiator!

Serial: The Romans: Ep.3 - Thid has turned into a farce. Nero is chasing Barbara around the corridors. The Doctor is giggling at everything. Vicki is learning all about becoming the royal poisoner.

Serial: The Romans: Ep.4 - Hartnell!Doctor has inspired Nero to burn down Rome and create Neropolis. Barbara and Ian have been reunited at last, with the least romantic hug in history. Just kiss her, you fool!

Serial: The Web Planet: Ep.1 - Hartnell! Doctor is dressed as an ice-cream man. There are giant ant people. The Doctor hasnt stopped laughing for 3 episodes now. I'm worried about him.

Serial: The Web Planet: Ep.2 - Barbara has been captured by the bee (?) people, then escaped, then been captured again. I think the bee people are the good guys? There's also a random giant earwig. This serial is so noisy!

Serial: The Web Planet: Ep.3 & 4 - This is the weirdest thing I have ever seen. I have no idea what's happening. I'm not surprised Ian and Barbara left soon after.

Serial: The Web Planet: Ep.5 - People dressed as bees are dancing at people dressed as ants. The people dressed as ants are beeping. The people dressed as bees are squeaking. One of the woodlice is called Lemony? There's a giant papier-mâché jellyfish. 

The Crusade is missing two episodes so we're skipping to The Space Museum.

Serial: The Space Museum: Ep.1 - The complete opposite of the previous serial. That was so much fun. I love wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.

Serial: The Space Museum: Ep.2 - Everyone is being their very best selves. The Doctor is trolling the aliens. Ian is trying to rip Barbara's cardigan with his teeth (when he has a knife). Barbara is perfect as always.

Serial: The Space Museum: Ep.3 & 4 - Not as good as the initial build up but I enjoyed this serial so much. It was a lot of fun

Serial: The Chase: Ep.1 - Hartnell!Doctor has built a Time TV which is an amazing concept. Barbara thinks the Doctor's singing is terrible noise and she's not wrong. There are fish people.

Serial: The Chase: Ep.2 - The Daleks are still hilarious. Everything they say sounds sarcastic. I love them. A stone jellyfish just ate a fish man. Ian is now taunting the Daleks - one of them fell into a hole.

Serial: The Chase: Ep.3 - Visits to New York and the Mary Celeste. This serial is so much fun! Poor Ian, getting whacked by Vicki. Barbara, as always, is a mood.

Serial: The Chase: Ep.4 - Dracula is here; Ian doesn't like vampire bats, Hartnell!Doctor is only speedy when running from Frankenstein's monster. Poor Vicki can't catch a break. The Doctor's doppelganger is hilariously awful at first.

Serial: The Chase: Ep.5 - Robo!Doctor is awful but very easy to kill. A tree tried to eat Vicki (only slightly funny), then a Dalek (very very funny).

Serial: The Chase: Ep.6 - Hello Steven! Goodbye Ian and Barbara, my beloved. I have enjoyed you as companions. I'm glad you live happily ever after.

Serial: The Time Meddler: Ep.1 - Hartnell!Doctor doesn't like being called Doc. I don't blame him. Steven looks better with the beard.

Serial: The Time Meddler: Ep.2 - Vicki is in charge now - thank goodness because Steve is a dummy in this. Peter Butterworth is great.

Serial: The Time Meddler: Ep.3 - Hartnell!Doctor is actually barking mad. Ooo, the Monk has a TARDIS!

Serial: The Time Meddler: Ep.4 - And we've reached the end of Season 2. I miss Ian and Barbara already - I did enjoy this serial though.

Season 3: Galaxy 4, Mission to the Unknown, The Myth Makers, The Dalek's Master Plan and The Massacre are all missing episodes so we start this season with The Ark. Goodbye Vicki! Hello Dodo!

Serial: The Ark: Ep.1 - Dodo is going to kill the last of humanity with her cold isn't she? A great start. She's not winning any points with me so far.

Serial: The Ark: Ep.2 - Everyone in this story is stupid. Real covid vibes. I love the animals though! And it ends with a giant statue - literally one of my biggest fears.

Serial: The Ark: Ep.3 - Dodo is getting on my nerves a bit. This feels like two completely different stories mashed together into something even more ridiculous.

Serial: The Ark: Ep.4 - Well that serial was underwhelming. I don't have a lot to say about it. The Celestial Toymaker is mostly missing, so next up is The Gunfighters.

Serial: The Gunfighters: Ep.1-4 - Wow. That was bad. So, bad. So much singing. Ugh.

The Savages is missing - bye bye Steven - so on to The War Machines

Serial: The War Machines: Ep.1 - Hello, Polly. Hello, Ben. Real 60s dancing, a punch-up and the first incarnation of Skynet! I like it.

Serial: The War Machines: Ep.2 - And it's goodbye to Dodo too - she won't be missed by me. The evil computer has given itself an incredibly stupid body.

Serial: The War Machines: Ep.3 - I do like Ben and Polly. I especially like Polly's eye makeup. I also like that the BT tower is the centre of this serial, since it's basically an enormous sonic screwdriver.

Serial: The War Machines: Ep.4 - I enjoyed that a lot. Ben and Polly are great. It's a pity there aren't any more whole adventures to watch them in. Tomorrow, Hartnell!Doctor round up and on to Troughton!Doctor

My mistake. The Smuggler's is missing but there's enough of The Tenth Planet to watch the regeneration. 

Serial: The Tenth Planet: Ep.2 - The Cybermen are creepier in this serial than I've ever seen them. Must be those white rubber masks they're wearing. *shudders*

Serial: The Tenth Planet: Ep.3 - I am not sold on the new credits. Oh we're going to blow things up. I'm sure that's going to end well.

Serial: The Tenth Planet: Ep.4 - Ooo the first animated episode. Ben calling the Cyber-men "geezers" is peak comedy. And Hartnell!Doctor has regenerated!

Hartnell!Doctor Era Round-up -

Favourite Companion: Barbara. I love her.

Least favourite Companion: Dodo. Just, no.

Favourite Serial: The Chase / The Romans

Least Favourite Serial: The Web Planet / The Gunfighters

Hartnell! Doctor is cranky, arrogant and giggles far too much.

[transition-with-the-torah]

Yom Kippur 5785

I was wrong; there was a little break before Minḥa, so the livestream was split into two videos instead of one super long one. Did Rosh Hashanah seem long? Psh, Yom Kippur said, 'Hold my [metaphorical] beer.' Working back, it was three hours, six hours, and Kol Nidre was a smidge over three hours. It's not impossible to get through... Just A Lot.

It feels like a bit of an understatement. During the Yizkor area of the service, one of the rabbis read a poem --

Be'eri by Adi Blechman Sofer

Soon winter will be here, Weeping clouds will water the earth Making red carpets grow The anemone will flower first Yet no one will come to admire its beauty. The buttercup will bloom next But there will be no festival The poppy is last to bloom. Silence. No one is there. The protected flowers had already been plucked In the fall.

[Context: The Darom Adom festival celebrates the blooming of the red anemone along the Gaza/Israel border. There's also a red buttercup and poppy; "protected flowers" possibly landed more in the original Hebrew due to decades of wildflower conservation using that phrase.]

*gestures at not splitting past-I from now-I, and not feeling that uncovering a hidden 'true self' is honest to the parts of us that have improved already (or still need improving), and carrying seeds of our past self into the new year to nurture*

*points wordlessly at the dimming of the lights, so The Ark's light was the main source (combined with the kids having kid-safe lights on the bimah) during the last shofar blast*

*stares at the ceiling while another Leonard Cohen post mentioning 'That's how the light gets in' goes by on my Tumblr dash*

If I were experiencing the emotional dysregulation of not eating or drinking for Yom Kippur's fast, that would probably be Too Much, and I'd very likely have starting tearing up. Not that crying is a bad option here, but... Bit much.

[adaventuremuses]

Twenty Tav Questions Meme!

tagged by no one i saw this and yoinked it (also Spittle technically isn't a Tav, but she was created specifically for the BG3 universe originally)

I. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

At her freshest, Spittle would still probably smell like dirt and the woods which is likely a far cry better than what she usually smells like.

II. what would their blood taste like to vampires?

Being thinking creatures, goblin blood is a little more desirable than animal blood but not by very much. Like their blood is very bottom-tier in terms of taste among thinking creatures. If we use Astarion's alcohol metaphor than it'd be like the cheapest beer imaginable that wasn't quite brewed correctly.

III. how would they kiss their LI?

Assuming someone got that far and managed to actually teach Spittle what love is (she's far more likely to have a casual or transactional relationship), it would depend on their height. If they're in the same general height as her, she'd grab their head, claws digging in, and land a big, fat wet smooch on their lips - not minding her sharp as nails teeth at all. If they're taller than she is, she's climbing them like the little gremlin she is, and then grabbing their head, likely pulling hair, and again - not minding her teeth at all. She'll have to be taught how to be gentle because she's never experienced gentle before.

IV. how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

Goblins sleep in a communal setting - usually packed like sardines - snoring, kicking at, and drooling on each other. Spittle wouldn't really understand cuddling (something else she'd have to learn, and she'd likely be tsundere about it), but she's used to sleeping close to someone. She'd probably lay on top of them in all sorts of awkward positions being the nuisance that she is.

V. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

Spittle's tent would look very primitive, makeshift, and ramshackle. She'd likely have a small hoard of things she's stolen and looted spread out and displayed. She'd also have a small hoard of food, both displayed, and a secret stash. There'd also be a few books tossed here and there carelessly. She'd likely prefer to pitch her tent covered on three sides - being the paranoid, survivalist little goblin that she is.

VI. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

Probably black with green spider veins or something really shiny and sparkly.

VII. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

Treasure (coins, gems, shiny things in general), Food, Knives, and Books

VIII. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

This may seem surprising to some, but Spittle would be part of the Astarion/Gale book club. She has a keen interest in power especially, so books on magic would be of great interest to her. Spittle loves to bully, insult, and jeer, so you'd think making fun of trashy romance novels would be right up her alley, but no... Mostly, she just finds herself very confused by them because she has no understanding of romance.

IX. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

Probably the whole camp at some point. She's not very easy to get along with.

X. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

Spittle finds speaking with the dead kind of creepy. She's not scared (really!), but still - so weird. So, probably Speak with Animals. Though, I can also see her just being all "why are we speaking with our lunch?"

XI. what are their thoughts on clowns?

Goblins don't have clowns. They have jokes, sure. But clowns as they are with the make-up and funny clothes and whatnot? No. So, to Spittle, a clown is going to be a very foreign and curious thing to her. She'd like be happy to discover that so many people hate them and be maliciously gleeful in planning torments for them.

XII. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

Honestly, it could be anyone. As I said, Spittle is hard to get along with, and she's a goblin. She's a prime target for gossiping and wondering what's going on in that goblin brain of hers.

XIII. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like?

The misery and embarrassment of others is a constant source of entertainment for Spittle. That's what makes her laugh. My voice claim for Spittle is Shelby Rabara (the voice of Peridot in Steven Universe) - so her laughter sounds a lot like Peridot's laughter.

XIV. do they have any inside jokes among their companions?

Maybe. Some of the companions seem to enjoy ribbing on each other, and I can see Spittle getting in on that action. But she often goes too far with it.

XV. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

Spittle's campwear; covered in unmentionable and sometimes unidentifiable stains and tattered in several places, she could probably do with a new set of clothes

XVI. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

Just an empty slot that says: "Were you expecting something to be here?"

XVII. how do they celebrate their birthday?

The concept of "birthday celebration" is entirely foreign to a goblin. Goblin parents usually don't even like their stinky, screaming brats. In a lot of tribes and camps (though, there may be some exceptions, Spittle is not privy to those exceptions), a baby goblin is "cared for" (given a chance to survive) until they're able to walk and then they're pretty much allowed to run wild, unsupervised, and not really cared for.

XVIII. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

Hmmm. I haven't watched it myself, but the premise for Orange is the New Black sounds like something Spittle would enjoy watching. Also, I can definitely see her enjoying reality TV just to make fun of it. And assuming she has an LI and hasn't scared them off, she'd probably enjoy the company.

XIX. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description

I don't have a very expansive knowledge of music, so no.

XX. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

Assuming you rolled that natural 20 (because goblins pickpocket and outright mug each other constantly, so she's paranoid af), she'd be carrying a small amount of change, a dagger, random food items, and a Pocket Standard Common Dictionary.

[boyakishantriage]

*slams empty beer can onto table.*

"ok. First and foremost. I told you, I ain't straight. It's not my problem that you appear to have the self control of fucking Zeus. I'm sorry me being in a dry spell for two months, drunk at a party kissing your lips, with tongue mind you, is the most action you've had in. What was it again... Three? No. Ten goddamn years on tinder, no. Wait. That's being generous. It's FORTY fucking years on tinder, and even when I bag you the sluttiest slag available. Cindy, you still need to return Dan's jacket or decide to pay him, it's been a week. You still couldn't find what way to get out of your pants."

"and another thing. Your bitch ass has been going, on and on about all kinds of scandals, conveniently three goddamn days minimum after I bring up points chewing you fucks you. But mate, only reason you go to Bunnings is because you keep buying fucking lightbulbs since you don't seem to understand what a metaphor is. And here's where you cut to another point, alcoholism."

*rubs face*

"firstly, mate, this is Australia. We're descended from convicts from the motherland, imported immigrants because the second son or daughters couldn't be fucked chipping in any kind of work. And also, your bitch ass drinks fucking lite beers since you appear incapable of downing anything less than a fucking standard Colbe."

[Translation: this bitch drinks a 7% beer the bitch takes, a whopping. 0.5%]

"and another thing. You've been going on on how much of a giga chad, and Alpha Male is. Mate, my cousin who barely knows how to fight yet alone punch beat yo sorry ass into crying like a bitch."

"she was terrifying."

"she was twelve."

*silence pause*

"But sure, let's fucking cut your argument to shreds while I'm at it. "aro and ace and shit ain't fucking LGBTQ!"

... Uhm, actually, it's LGBTQQIPA2SA. Before you bitch ass cries about how that's semantics, you leeched off your parents for twenty years. Suck me dick. Now, yes they fucking are. LGBT is a community built off people with their gender and or sexuality, y'know. Discussing and not being prejudiced about it.

And y'all know I couldn't give two shits about it, right? Like, BDSM's a side gig, don't touch that you stupid fuck, but like anal. Y'know it's weird as shit. But if it's behind closed doors and I don't hear your slut- Liam, you're gonna get an STD if you keep touching the dildo -slutty ass. Moaning through the goddamn walks CANDICE. Like, who gives a shit. M'kay?"

*walk across*

"... Well, yeah. But I don't think you're one to talk miss' years voices in your head."

"... And you are? Mr closet gay with a not a guy who's not my boyfriend who doesn't totally do him down and dirty all doggy style this goddamn morning? Because I've been bullying children a good two years before your bitch ass came into this community and screwed it over with your fucking cunt stink. And unlike Candice here, it weren't welcome."

[gardenerian]

something very silly happened this afternoon and i accidentally murdered two tomatoes and then immediately burst into tears. i’d wanted to turn the experience into a galladrabble but i found i had too much to say! so here we are, another little tomato fic 🍅

He’s still grinning when it happens.

Mickey’s lounging nearby, stretched out in the grass as he sips a beer and laughs about something stupid Carl said last night. 

Ian turns back to smile at him, to roll his eyes fondly at the memory. Carl drunkenly bragging about something he clearly didn’t understand with all his unearned confidence. 

The summer air is thick, heavy with heat and the scent of turned earth. Ian wipes at his face with his shoulder, mopping at the sweat with his already-damp shirt. 

It’s July; the plants are thriving. He’d said as much to Mickey when they walked outside this afternoon. His plan had been to spend the morning re-staking and pruning his more enthusiastic plants, easing the weight of them from their own eager limbs.

He also knows what it’s like to get ahead of himself, after all. To burst forth in a blaze of energy and certainty, only to buckle under the weight of all his unrealized wanting. 

To feel himself slow with the weakness of his shaking knees, body crying out against the burning in his veins.

But he woke this morning to Mickey’s mouth wet and warm between his legs, so he put off the work until the sun had reached its crescendo in the summer sky. He likes it better this way, crouching in the dirt while his husband looks on.

His hands move now even as he looks away, as he looks at Mickey’s shining face. He feels the stake, sturdy and rigid in his hands; guides it toward the soil as Mickey laughs and laughs. 

Ian turns back to the plant, lips still stretched into a wide smile, as the stake slices right through the joined stem of two green fruits.

He blinks down at them, now severed from the plant, smile slipping as he cradles them in his hands.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes looking wildly now between the plant and the tomatoes in his palms. Groans as he fully realizes what he’s done. “Oh, shit.” 

“What,” Mickey calls, sitting up on his hands. When Ian can only groan again, he jogs over to kneel in the dirt. “You hurt yourself?”

“No,” Ian sighs, letting Mickey grab his wrists to inspect his hands. “But look what I did.”

Mickey hums as he looks, biting at his lip.

“What happened here?” he murmurs, looking up at Ian with wide, sorry eyes.

“Wasn’t lookin’,” Ian answers dully, kicking himself already. “Cut right through ‘em.”

“Aw, fuck,” Mickey says. He inspects the fruits still sitting in Ian’s hands. “Think we could reattach ‘em?”

They turn back to the plant, each thinking through schemes of superglue and thread. Could they stitch them back? Ian thinks about the medical tape in his first aid kit. Thinks about the wounds he has been able to heal.

“No,” Ian sighs, knowing it’s over. “I think these two are just done.”

He sits back in the dirt, and Mickey rests a heavy hand on his thigh. Rubs his thumb over flushed, freckled skin. 

“Sorry, man,” he murmurs. 

Ian nods. He’s sorry, too. 

It’s stupid. It’s so goddamn fucking stupid. 

But his eyes burn as he fiddles with the stem. 

He’s the one that made it matter like this. He’s the one that wrapped it all up in talk of recovery and life and growth; he’s the one that made it into a metaphor for his own fucking self-worth. 

It’s too much to put on a fucking plant. 

But he’s still so disappointed in himself. 

He sniffs, and Mickey grips his leg tighter. He then plucks the fruits gently from Ian’s hands, holding them close to his face and inspecting them. In the sunlight, they cast a green glow on his skin. Ian could cry. 

He does, a little bit. Bitter tears that he furiously wipes away. 

Fucking stupid. 

“There’s still a billion tomatoes out here,” he says, cringing at the wobble in his voice. “This doesn’t matter.”

It’s just - he’d wanted so desperately to get it right. To prove that he was meant for this, like he always thought. 

He wanted to be a natural. 

Ian fights against a rising tide of self-loathing; a sick, ridiculous feeling in his chest. All of this. All of this feeling, this guilt and grief and anger. Mickey’s worried eyes. 

For a plant. 

He could have just put on his funny hat and grown some vegetables.

But because he’s so fucking soft, he’d infused it with so much meaning. Made it about him, all about his struggle and his triumph. 

When all it is - all it has to be - is just life. 

Life, exactly as it is. 

Mickey hands the fruits back to him, then brings his own hands down to cradle Ian’s. 

“You do still have a bunch of ‘em,” he agrees at last. “They’re lookin’ good, like you said.”

“I bragged all about them as we came out here and then I went and murdered them,” Ian says sadly. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Ey,” Mickey warns, “enough of that. You think people don’t lose plants all the goddamn time? Shit happens, man.”

He knows. He’d read about root rot and aphids and blight. Of course Ian knew that any number of things could go wrong - he just didn’t think the danger would be in his own hands. 

He’s getting worked up again. Stupid. 

Like he’d ever regret looking back at Mickey, stretched out in the grass and practically glistening in the sun. Or let himself ever miss the chance to watch him laugh, head thrown back and face split by an easy smile. Shaking with it, his whole body moving with joy. 

Life. Their life, exactly as it is. 

It doesn’t have to hang on these little green fruits. 

“Think we could use ‘em?” Mickey asks, standing and brushing soil from his cut offs. He holds out a hand for Ian, who lets his husband pull him up. “Could eat them, right? People do that.”

They look over the rest of the healthy plants, considering. 

Part of him wants to set the two lost fruits on their kitchen counter as some kind of shrine to his ridiculous failure. To remind him of how it feels to set himself up like this. 

Or fling them away, let them land in someone else’s yard to rot. To pretend they were never here at all, bright and green in their hands, unaware of Ian’s shame. 

But it all comes back to Mickey’s laugh. How it lifts him, soothes him. He’d never look away. 

And Ian thinks maybe he doesn’t need to punish himself for that. 

“We could fry them,” he says, shrugging. “Put them on a burger or something. Feel like grilling tonight?”

Mickey smiles, and Ian sees it in his eyes. Something sparkling. Pride, maybe. He wills himself not to look away from it. 

He follows it back into the house, listening as Mickey rattles off burger toppings and condiments, the two little fruits that they'll eat tonight resting in his hands.

[watchinglikeafangirl]

There's a pattern with the show being called "the eclipse" and AkkAyan having their private and caring moments in the dark. Their conversations are difficult, more raw and intimate when they are alone and surrounded by darkness. Like they feel protected and shielded from other people looking.

Other shows use the motive of inside vs outside, the eclipse uses dark vs light. At some point we're going to arrive at a point where their relationship slowly bleeds into the light of day. It's starting already since they spend the sunrise together with another intimate conversation.

Last week there were two extremely important scenes: at the beach and in Akk's bed. Both Akk and Ayan showed their vulnerable side, cried on front of each other since they felt like it didn't matter. They feel like there won't be coming any judgement from the other. There is a certain understanding of the situations and mindset they each are in and this understanding only shows at night. It's cozy, it's private, it's safe. Nobody knows anything, nobody sees anything. Like they don't need to know.

But this darkness is a metaphor for the barrier they have to overcome first to be able to be together. The understanding was the first step and now they need to become comfortable with each other and not ashamed to share their relationship with others. They have to step out of the dark into the light. The darkness is a weight on their shoulders. A secret may seem intimate at first but it's tiring when it never moves on from that. At some point you want others to know.

This week, at the beach, Akk was clearly holding back. Ayan was suddenly so hurt and off, even cried while sipping his beer. But Akk didn't know how to approach him since the others still believe he hates Ayan. Akk's parents were the push he needed and so he and Ayan moved into the surise. It's the beginning of a new chapter. The sun was very present behind them, underlining it will be seen more often from now on.

Akk comforts the crying Ayan in the dark, ensures him he will listen or just be there for and with him to endure it. It was another nice but hidden moment. Since they walk around in daylight later on, the whole mood is different. No one cries, no one is down or moody and no one is asking heavy questions. A relationship is not just about sharing the weight on one's shoulder, it's also about having fun with each other. They explore this other side of their bond right now.

In the end, the kiss in the dark was just an imagination coming from a vulnerable and very pained part of both Akk and Ayan. It couldn't be true because they haven't fully explored each other yet. They just knew the secret but not the truth to it. I strongly believe this little trip to the secret island was a very important first step since the others know they spend time together. The sun sheds light on their intimate times and doesn't hide them any more like the moon does.