#some of us like the wires... even if for this old phone of mine i had to wrap them around the device and place the phone in my bag

[feketeribizli]

technology needs to get itself straight... after like six years ive finally decided to get myself a new phone for christmas but all the new ish models... they dont have... no headphone jack... so now i gotta get a wireless headphone too

[sam-loves-seb]

the bathroom drawer

"Mickey!" Ian yells. "Did you move my cologne?"

"Your what?" Mickey calls back, appearing in the bathroom doorway while buttoning up his shirt.

"My cologne."

"No. I don't even know where you keep that shit."

"In here!" Ian says, shaking his head as he rummages through the drawer below their bathroom sink. "I swear I left it in here."

"Lemme see," Mickey says, nudging Ian to the side. "You're shit at looking."

"I'm not shit at looking, it's just not fucking there."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbles, moving the junk in the drawer around. "Jesus Christ. How much shit do we got in here?"

"Too much," Ian muses, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the sink. "But it doesn't matter anyway. It's not in there. I've been looking for--"

"Found it." Mickey holds up the blue bottle with a smug grin.

Ian grabs it from him. "Whatever."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Whatever? That's what I get?"

Ian leans in and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he says instead.

"Better," Mickey grumbles.

Ian spritzes the cologne onto himself while Mickey keeps rummaging around in the drawer. He pulls out an empty toilet paper roll, a broken comb with too many teeth missing, and an old phone charger with exposed wires.

He throws them all in the trash. "This thing is a mess."

"Yeah," Ian says with a sigh, checking himself over in the mirror. He paws at his hair a bit. "We gotta do a deep clean in here one of these days. Closet's a disaster too."

"What the fuck is--"

Ian looks over at his husband when he doesn't finish his sentence.

Mickey's brows are furrowed as he holds up a thin black stick in front of his face. "Is this makeup?"

Ian huffs out a faint laugh. "Yeah."

"Debbie's?"

"That thing's old enough to be Fiona's," Ian tells him, taking it from Mickey. "But no. It's mine."

Mickey raises his brows. "Yours?"

Ian uncaps the tube, twists the end so the little black tip pushes through the end. "Eyeliner."

"Holy shit," Mickey says slowly. "How fucking old is that thing?"

"Old," Ian says, trying to read the chipped writing on the side for any kind of date. "Probably expired."

"That shit expires?"

"Supposedly. But who knows."

Mickey tilts his head, watching Ian examine the eyeliner. "How the hell did it end up here?"

"No idea," Ian tells him. How it survived in the Gallagher house for as long as it did and moved to their west side apartment is beyond him. "Probably got boxed up with some of my shit a long time ago."

"Huh," Mickey muses. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't believe you used to put that shit on every night."

"Me neither," Ian says. "You ever tried it?"

"What, make up?"

"Yeah."

"For a disguise once or twice," Mickey tells him with a shrug. "Never like, just 'cause."

Ian starts to grin. "You wanna?"

"Fuck no," Mickey says instinctively. He bites his lip. "Why? You gonna wear it tonight?"

"Why not?" Ian asks, facing the mirror and leaning in close. "We're already going to a club. Might as well get go all out."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Ian glances over at his husband. "You got a problem with that?"

Mickey shrugs. "No."

"Okay."

Mickey watches with rapt attention as Ian applies the eyeliner to himself. The stick is old for sure, and it takes a few passes to really get the make up on his eyelid. It only takes a minute though, and then Ian's eyes are outlined in black.

"There," he says, blinking and turning to face Mickey. "How do I look?"

"Weird," Mickey says.

"Sure, but like, crazy weird, or hot weird."

Mickey's brows pinch together. "...Hot weird."

Ian grins. "It's kinda doing it for you, isn't it?"

"No. Shut up," Mickey says quickly.

Ian laughs. "You should try it," he tells his husband. "It's fun."

"It looks like it's gonna get in my eyes."

"Maybe," Ian says with a shrug. "But I bet you'd look hot with it."

"You say that about everything you want me to wear."

"And I've never been wrong once."

Mickey makes a face. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"...Can I take it off if it looks stupid?"

Ian's face relaxes. "You can take it off whenever you want," he says softly. "Doesn't ever have to leave this bathroom."

Mickey glares at the eyeliner, his face slowly melting into apprehensive reluctance. "Fucking... fine."

"Really?" Ian asks, perking up.

"How do I do it?"

"I can do it," Ian offers, holding up the eyeliner and his open hand. "Lemme put it on you."

Mickey sighs through his nose, then steps closer. He tilts his chin up and fits his face into his husband's waiting hands.

Ian kisses his temple. "Close your eyes."

Mickey does as told. His eyelashes flutter at the first press of the stick, eyelids scrunching at the new, weird sensation.

"Hold still," Ian whispers, trying not to poke him in the eye.

"Feels weird," Mickey mumbles.

"Yeah, but..." Ian pulls back, smiling at his work. "Open your eyes."

Mickey blinks them open, eyebrows bouncing with it. "So?"

"Damn," Ian says, grinning. "You look good, baby."

"Fuck off with that," Mickey grumbles, turning towards the mirror. He makes a face. "I look like a fucking alien."

"A hot alien."

Mickey gives him the side eye, but he doesn't immediately wipe the eyeliner off. He leans in close to the mirror, tilts his head this way and that. Pulls at the skin on his cheeks and his temples. "Weird," he says quietly.

"So," Ian starts, capping the eyeliner and tossing it back in the drawer. "You ready to go, or what?"

Mickey sighs heavily, taking one last look at himself in the mirror.

Ian slides in behind him, curls a hand around his hip. "Don't overthink it," he whispers, kissing his husband's temple. "If you like it, go with it."

"I don't know if I like it."

"That's okay too."

Mickey leans back against him. "It looks good on you."

Ian smiles softly. "Thanks."

Mickey hums. "Fine," he says, standing up straight. "Let's go. But if anyone says anything about it--"

"I know," Ian says, hands on his husband's shoulders as he follows him out of the bathroom. "You get to punch them."

"I get to punch them."

"Fine." Ian kills the bathroom light. "And we might have to hit the 24 hour CVS on the way home. I definitely don't have make up wipes."

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

This might sound weird so bear with me but what anout a poly lost boys fic with a time traveling reader?

Not weird at all - it is most definitely one of my favourite tropes, and I have written some before:

A girl from 1906 gets stuck in a mirror and gets out when it's 1987

Not really time travel, but their s/o is stuck in a timeloop

A girl from the past gets thrown into the future

With an s/o from the future who misses their cellphone and other modern devices

Paul who has an s/o from the future

A Bill and Ted cross over (there's a part two in the Marko masterlist)

My series Dear Hazel, which doesn't include time travel but someone frozen in time (like they get frozen in 1920 and unfrozen in 1980, so for them there's a time jump?)

So yeah, not a weird question at all! I hope you like this!

--------------------------------

I had travelled before, once or twice, just to test if it was real. It had gone well, both of these times. The third time, however. I sighed, looking at the debris lying around me, broken pieces of metal spread out over the sandy beach. How this could have happened, I didn't know. This machine I'd built, made from an old motorcycle, was my breakthrough. It had started out simple enough, wanting to fix the bike up so I could ride it. But while fixing it, I got to watching Bill and Ted, Doctor Who, Timeless... you know, timetravel shows. And it got me thinking - what if I could do something like that as well. It took me a little over three years, but in the end, I found a way to travel through time. It was not fool proof, I couldn't quite pinpoint when I would land, but it worked. I had visited the theatre the night Lincoln was assassinated, and then went on to see Elvis shoot his first film. Like I said, it wasn't precise, but it worked.

Now, however, as it laid in pieces around me, I felt horrible. I didn't have a backup plan. All I had was my machine, and now it was broken - probably beyond repair.

"Holy shit what did you do to your bike?"

I looked up, seeing a tall blonde staring at what was left of it.

"Eh," I stood up, wiping the sand off of my pants, "I got in a little accident."

"Yeah, I can see that. Do you need some help fixing it up?"

I stopped to look at him. "Wait, you think it can still be fixed?"

He nodded, looking it over. "Sure, my friends and I have had some worse accidents and still managed to fix them. I'm Paul by the way."

I smiled, introducing myself, as I started to gather the broken pieces. The gold wire I had found that had been the key to the timetravel feature. The diamond particles needed to accelerate quickly enough so I could pass through time. I sighed as I collected them all, getting some curious looks from Paul.

"I'd never seen those used in a bike."

"My bike 's special."

"They all say that."

"I used mine to timetravel."

Paul laughed. "You're full of shit."

"Am not."

"Proof it."

"Sure." I grabbed my phone, glad I charged it before going on this trip. It was still at 80%, and even though there was no connection to think off, it could still show Paul that I was being honest.

"The fuck is that?" He took it from me, holding it close to his face.

"It's my phone."

"Dude, I don't know what you think but this is not a phone."

"No?" I took it back, unlocked it, and showed him. I dialed my mums number - knowing it would ring but no one would pick up.

"It's also a camera."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope." I took a picture of him, frowning when I realised he didn't show up - but the beach and the sea behind him did. I showed it to him, and Paul's look of amazement was one I could have only imagined.

"What else can it do?"

"Play and record videos. Play music. You can play games on it. Read. I don't know, basically everything you want."

"It's a cool thing, but I mean - it doesn't really proof that you're from the future now, does it?"

I shrugged. "Then tell me what year it is, and I'll tell you what I know will happen."

Before Paul could tell me, three other guys walked up to him. One dressed in all black, the other wearing a bright colourful jacket and the last one being the epitome of tall, dark and handsome.

"You guys are not going to believe this," Paul grinned, "they believe they're from the future!"

"I don't believe it, I am from the future."

"Did they hit their head or something?" Marko asked, looking at me.

"Dunno. But if they're telling the truth, it's pretty cool, hm?" Paul grinned, introducing the boys to me, and me in turn to the boys.

"Proof it." David spoke up, causing me to sigh. I handed him my phone, showing him the same things I had shown Paul. I noticed the others looking over his shoulder, curious by the device and its capabilities.

"So you know the future?" Marko looked at me.

"Bits and pieces. What year is it?"

"1987."

I nodded, thinking. "I mean, the next big thing - like big big thing - that will happen is the fall of the Berlin wall, I think? But that isn't till November 1989, so -" I thought for a bit. "What's the date?"

"June 23rd." Dwayne answered. I grinned.

"Okay, so on June 30, Canada will introduce a one dollar coin that is going to be nicknamed the Loonie."

"How did you get here?" David asked, but before I could answer, Paul did.

"They built a freaking timetraveling motorcycle!"

"It's broken now, though."

"So when are you from?" David looked at me.

"2024. Can't recommend it. After the pandemic, things only went to shit even more."

David nodded as if he had expected me to say something along those lines.

"You should stay with us," he continued, "we can help you fix your bike."

"I'd like that," I agreed, quietly wondering how we were supposed to get my broken bike all the way to their place.

Little did I realise that their place wasn't that far off and wasn't an actual house. They lived in an old cave that clearly had been a hotel of some sort before. It was awesome. The boys were welcoming, and even though they had understandably a hard time believing my story, they didn't treat me as if I was insane. Instead, they helped me fix up my bike.

The days passed, and when the thirtiest came and went, and my prediction had come true, they truly started to believe me.

Time passed quickly as we worked on my bike, went to the boardwalk, and had bonfire parties. It was fun. And the more time I spent with them, the more I realised that I really liked them. I had spent so much time worrying about fixing my bike and timemachine that I didn't realise how much I liked them.

It was five months after I met them that the bike was fixed. The parts were put back into place, and I was certain that the time travel parts would work as well. I had bid the boys goodbye, hugging them tightly before I got on. I drove off, speeding up, going faster and faster and faster and -

I crashed. I was dragged over the ground, the trees flashing by me. I saw a tree coming faster and faster my way, feeling certain that I would be folded around it. I closed my eyes bracing for impact - when suddenly someone pulled me up into the air.

"I got you."

I blinked. It was Dwayne. He held me in his arms, flying in the air.

"Y-you're flying?"

"Yeah. We got some things to explain to you."

"You saved me."

"I couldn't let you die like that."

I smiled, feeling my heart melt. He landed on the ground, putting me down and checking me over.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

I nodded. "I am."

"You're back already?" Marko ran out of the cave, hugging me tightly.

"Not really. My bike crashed."

"Maybe your bike is just shitty," David offered as he appeared beside me. I grinned, shaking my head.

"So you're stuck here, then?" Paul looked at me. He had known, as did the others, that I had wanted to go home. Just to make sure I left things well. To make sure everyone would be fine if I did stay behind somewhere.

"I am kind of glad I am, if I am honest." I said quietly as I looked at the four of them. "I don't know if I could have ever found you again."

"You would have!" Marko looked at me.

"I didn't want to leave here, not really. I miss home, sometimes, and I definitely miss my phone and my music and - I can't wait to show you guys my favourite shows and movies. But as much as I miss those things, I don't think I could stand missing any of you four."

The boys surrounded me, pulling me into a hug.

[dema-heart]

Just a little reminder

Hobie x fem! reader

Sfw

Totally not a self-insert story

Use of pet names and innuendos

Mentions of a birthday because my birthday was August 6th, and I got my piercing right before it as a gift to myself!

Was inspired by the song below and my imagination running right after I got it♡

"Even when the sky comes falling

Even when the sun don't shine

I got faith in you and I

So put your pretty little hand in mine

Even when we're down to the wire, babe

Even when it's do or die

We could do it, baby,

simple and plain

'Cause this love is a sure thing"

"So" Hobie smirked, raising a hand to grab your jaw so he could get a look at the silver that looped your lip. "Went through with it did ya...looks good on you"

"yeah...does um...do you like it?" Your voice was shaky as your eyes shifted away, his gaze too intense for your insecure state of mind. The hand on your jaw squeezed lightly in warning, careful of the possible sorness it could bring to your lip.

"look at me, doll. So I can tell you how absolutely wicked and sexy that piercing looks on your lips" He said playfully, tone teasing but firm.

Your eyes shift back to his face, first making contact with his lips, then up his defined cheekbones,past his nose, and finally on his eyes. You gave a small laugh before wincing. "please don't make me laugh it hurts" you whined, smiling regardless of the pain. Hobie smiled, eyes locking with yours to make sure he had your attention.

"Now then, pretty girl... it looks amazing on ya. None of that bad mouthing my girl, yeah. Especially when her birthday is so close... and I can't even kiss away the bad thoughts" his smirk never fell but his words were soft bringing tears to your eyes that you tried to blink away nodding to the best of your ability with his grip on your jaw.

Sniffling, you looked up at him. "You can try? There's more than just mouth kisses, hobie...." You pleaded softly, looking up at him with teary eyes. Kisses sounded nice, but there was no way he could kiss your lips without hurting you.

His smirk widden as he got that mischievous sprakle in his eyes. "My my didn't think you'd ask to get freaky so cutely! If that's what you wanted...all you had to do was ask,luv." He chuckled as your face flushed.

"Not that,you perv! You know what I meant." You swatted at his chest playfully as he snickered. The smile on your face was worth the hit. As the sparkle in your eyes came back, tears fading.

"There she is," he smiled. The hand holding onto your jaw, gently turning it to place a kiss on your left cheek, then the right, next your nose, and finally your forehead.

"Love ya ,sweetheart...love your new look, loved your old one, love ya regardless of either, m'kay" He mumbled as he leaned down, dropping his hand from your jaw, to place them both on your waist instead as he leaned his forehead against yours looking into your eyes.

Your hands came to rest on his cheeks as you stared up at him, smiling softly. "I love you too..." You give a relaxed sigh the anxiety from earlier, fully leaving your system. "I'm sorry, i don't know what came over me... i just...Mm..nevermind... just... thank you for..." You mumbled cut off by hobie shaking his head against yours.

"Don't thank me for taking care of you,luv. It's what I'm here for. Making sure that big brain of yours doesn't run ya into a rabbit hole" He said before rubbing his nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss casuing your eyes to flutter closed as small giggles left you.

"Okay okay i get it!" You chuckle, heart swelling with affection. "Now get off so I can clean my piercing. Someone's had their hand on my face too long." You tease playfully, smiling softly before squealing as hobie picked you up, sitting you on the counter.

"I've got it for ya,doll" He grabs the saline and a q-tip as you nodded grabbing your phone to play some music. 'Sure thing' plays and you hum along as hobie cleans your piercing and tells you some tips about taking care of it. You nod along, falling further for him as he goes out of his way to be careful but thorough in cleaning it.

"There all done" He goes to move away and you wrap your legs around his waist, yanking him closer. He has to use his hands to catch himself placing them on either side of your hips. He looks at you bewildered as you move to place your arms around his neck.

You look into his eyes, blinking in false innocence. "You said earlier all I have to do is ask right...well i'm asking..." You give him a sweet seductive smile, hobie watched the sliver ring on your lip fall to the side and felt the way your hands tapped gently at the back of his neck.

"well aren't you feeling cheeky ,huh. Me taking care of ya tip you over the edge, or were you planning this from the start." He asked, smirking.

Hobie leaned in kissing the side of your lip before lifting you off the counter quickly, hands tucked under your thighs as he halled you off to the bedroom, practically running.

Your laughter filled the place as you squealed.

Kinda wanna do the nsfw part, but we'll see🤭

I did it!!! I got my lip pierced last Thursday😭. Thank you to @the-kr8tor and @hobieswifyy for the encouragement through your stories and kind words. (I totally read them twice for motivation before even stepping into the shop ;^;♡) Everyone should totally go read the stories(and all their other works)! If you haven't yet i have them rebloged on my page a lil lower)

Also, the pics are me! That's what my piercing looks like!

[arctic-hands]

Thirty minutes and 9 paragraphs into an excited list of alternatives to Spotify's monopoly re: music, videos, podcasts, audiobooks, for weenies like me who are nervous about pirating, and my app crashes.

Well now I'm on a laptop and I swear to god if this crashes too I'm calling it a conspiracy.

LEGAL ALTERNATIVES TO SPOTIFY:

Music: There are virtually limitless options here. Buy music directly from the musicians/band! If they don't sell mp3s directly from their site, they almost certainly have CDs for sale, so buy those and rip the mp3s to your computer (if your computer doesn't have a CD slot, you can buy an external one for fairly cheap). Go to a new/used music store, they still exist!, and buy albums there. Buy old albums from ebay! Go to goodwill or other thrift stores and browse there collection of cast-off music for cheap, you never know what you'll find. Hell, browse their cheap vinyl if you prefer their sound and get a vinyl-to-MP3 conversion device if you like. They even have conversion devices for cassette tapes, if you find a treasure that was only ever released on tape. Once upon a time I would have said Bandcamp for MP3 or even physical albums (I once upon a time got an AUTOGRAPHED TO MY NAME CD of Lauren Ruth Ward's Well Hell album), but they recently union busted and a lot of artists pulled their stuff from them. I don't really know anything about 7Digital's business practices, but they are another seller of MP3 music, as well as MP4, FLAC, and WAV.

Music DEVICES: If you just want to manage everything on one device, your phone, get the free VLC app! It's open source and is absolutely wonderful. I only ever used it for music, but it's capable of much more than I realized, and it's open source and ad-free! And the audio files are tiny, even when I was running out of room on my sixteen gig old phone, I still had a substantial music library on it before before I got a dedicated music player.

Which brings me to my next point: MP3 PLAYERS STILL EXIST! I own two! My first one is a twenty-dollar SanDisk Clip Jam (an established and sturdy brand), my current is a thirty-dollar Phinistec Z6 (that just came out of nowhere it seems). Each have their pros and cons, and there are so so so many options out there. Some are smart, some don't even have wifi (neither of mine do). Some have expandable card slots for even more music. Some are extremely basic, some have a plethora of features. Some are cheap but still decent in sound, some are high-end for that true audiophile experience. Some have touch screens, some have buttons, some have no screens at all. Some only use wired earphones, some only use bluetooth, some (like the Z6) can use both! There are so many brands out there even in Twenty Twenty-four. Even the random brands cropping up online are some really good shit, and I bought both of mine used bc I have concerns about the lithium industry. Oh, and some are regular battery powered. And you don't need iTunes or anything, I just use the basic Windows Media Player to rip my CDs or put mp3s music on my player. In fact I've been avoiding Apple players because I'm worried they'd brick older devices, especially ones with wifi. But there are so many options out there, it's impossible to name them all.

Audiobooks: YOU DON'T HAVE TO USE AUDIBLE! Libro.fm has a similar business model (an optional subscription fee with a free credit every month, or the option to buy book without a subscription for a little bit extra price), and you can direct the profits to the indie bookseller of your choice! I have mine set to go to Baltimore's anarcho-feminist bookstore, Red Emma's. How to listen to the audiobooks you buy? Libro has an app you can listen to directly from! AND they have the option to directly download from the site (meaning no program you have to install) the book in non-proprietary mp3/mp4 files so you can listen to it on any device that can use those files! THAT INCLUDES MP3 PLAYERS! Almost every music player on the market now not only plays audiobooks, but has sections on the device specifically for them! Some, like the Clip Jam, are even proprietary audible-compatible if you still use or already have books there (check audible's site, and you'll have to go thru a registration process). I was listening to audiobooks on both my CJ and the Z6 (the Z6 doesn't have a section for them, but still played them), but I recently bought an e-ink/e-paper (meaning no backlit LED screen causing eye strain or insomnia) ereader, a Pocketbook Touch HD 3, and that is mp3/mp4 capable for audiobooks, and is easier to maneuver books with since it's meant for books. ALSO: the library apps Hoopla and Libby also have audiobooks you can listen to via phone or computer/browser, depending on your library's catalog. Some ereaders can even have the apps for them, and if they have audiocapabilities you can use the ereader for that too.

Podcasts: There are so many apps for this. I have Podcast Addict (I don't remember off the top of my head if it's on apple, I use android, but there are still so many apps). Literally I only had to sacrifice one podcast when I stopped using spotify, PodcastAddict has everything else I've ever listened to or want to listen to in the future. You can download them for offline use on your phone, and, you guessed it, MOST MP3 PLAYERS HAVE PODCAST SECTIONS TOO. MINE DO! There are still ads at the beginning and end, but I usually skip over them without care.

Video: This one is a bit trickier as YouTube is also a monopoly, but what I do is just watch yt on my phone's Firefox browser with UBlock Origins adblocker installed. Sometimes yt gets into a hissy fit with adblocker, but UBlock usually gets ahead pretty quickly thus far. And if in the periods Origins is losing, I just find something else to do. I'm sure someone else has recommendations for videos, they're just not a big part of my life right now.

Anyway, don't let the horrid beast that is spotify monopoloize the audio industry OR your time! There are options, and even if you're not a luddite like me that hates having everything on my smartphone bc I'm worried about privacy or companies yoinking their stuff off my devices via wifi (like Amazon did once with their copies of, of all things, Nineteen Eighty-four about a decade ago) at the whim of corporations. You HAVE OPTIONS! YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CONTROL YOUR MEDIA AND REJECT MONOPOLIES!

[mawofthemagnetar]

There was a lot of stuff I wasn’t able to include in The Sky Weighs Heavy Tonight, because it wasn’t relevant. A lot of things got cut, a lot of things weren’t mentioned. One of those things was that TFC streams on that universe’s version of twitch. While still being, fundamentally, an old man.

Well, this morning I had a burst of inspiration and wrote a little something about exactly that. If you haven’t read Pilot AU, this likely won’t make much sense.

If you have, please enjoy!

“Hello everyone! Welcome back my humble little stream. I hope you’re all doing very well. So, today, I figured we’d play a bit of Block Game, and do some work on my branch mine-hm?”

An alert went off on the stream, and TFC’s mouse clattered against the desk as he minimized his game to look at it. In the facecam window in the corner, he glanced over and smiled.

“MisterMiter77 decided to grace us with a subscription! Thank you! Now, you don’t need to do that- I’m still not sure how to turn those off- but keep in mind, I work for the government, guys. I have a pension. This streaming lark is just for fun!”

A gust of wind rattled the windowpane above TFC’s desk loud enough for the mic to pick it up, and he shook his head.

“Ah, now, a little warning for all of you: the weather’s really bad today, so I might get called out. You all know the drill! If my pager goes off, what do we do?”

TFC grinned as his chat parroted the line.

“That’s right. Remind me to close the damn stream. Now, let’s get to mining, that’s enough wasted time!”

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. TFC scowled at it, pausing Block Game and picking up the corded phone that sat on his desk next to his computer.

“Hello? Oh, hiya, Frankie. Listen- yeah, I’m still in for the music night. Listen, I’m actually streaming right now. Yeah. The one on the internet, Frankie. Yes. Okay, thanks. See you later.”

TFC hung up, to the welcome sight of his Chat spamming pogchamp emotes. He cackled, leaning in.

“Frankie pog? Yeah, I’d agree. Super nice guy. We’re going fishing next week…”

TFC shook his head, and he and Chat headed deeper into the branch mines. A few tunnels later, and TFC squinted at one chat message.

“Hm? How come I have subscriptions on if I don’t want them on? My nephew set this all up. I said to him, I wanted everything all set up properly, and he got my account to get- subscribers and stuff. And then he ran off to New York and he hasn’t been back to Newfoundland since. There we go, the crying child emotes. Yeah. So, you know, you don’t have to subscr-“

An earsplitting ringing drowned out what TFC was about to say next, and he snatched up his pager, eyes bugging out. This one had a small screen with text scrolling across it, and he leapt to his feet.

“SHIP OFFSHORE SINKING GOTTA GO BYE!” He shouted, clicking a button to close his game and jabbing at something in the corner of his screen-

The pager rang again, even louder, and TFC almost tripped over the charging cable plugging his prosthetic leg into the wall. That cable was the entire reason he’d started streaming at all- if he had to be stuck in a chair for hours, why not have some fun with it?

The pager let out an earsplitting shriek just as TFC got the wire unplugged, and he sprinted out the door.

Leaving chat staring at his white computer room wall.

For the next ten hours.

They only started three cults.

[listening505]

nightcall | james hetfield

part7: "there's something inside you, it's hard to explain"

other parts

a/n: im sorry the more I translate the more I understand how cringe this is I was 15 or something when I wrote this

Oh, James, it was like you had a hot iron in your hand and you were just playing with my heart.

~

For several months, our relationship had reached such a point that neither of us could predict where it would end. We were just getting on with this thing. We were together. At least physically we were, but it was in front of our eyes that our minds and souls had long abandoned each other.

We opened our cards, James. Mine were not a surprise; you already knew that I was desperately in love with you and that my doors were always open to you, no matter what the circumstances. But you were full of surprises for me. You always have been, darling. You always used to surprise me and tell me how cute you found that funny expression on my face got. Time was passing, but some things never changed, and these surprises of yours were one of them. You left my mouth wide open in amazement again, James, but this time you didn't have very good news.

It was really surprising for me to find out that you started a regular relationship with one of those women you sleep with. Right after I saw a second cell phone you were using and all those conversations in it, I felt like the world was falling on me. I'm not kidding. The whole earth and heaven, even as God is my witness, I felt all that pain to the very depths of my body.

I could have accepted anything; I even accepted that you were with other women, but how could I allow you to share the love you feel for me with another woman? How would my poor mind cope with this? No, it couldn't.

I was losing my mind, James.

I'm wondering, why didn't you just take a gun and put it to my head and save me from all this torture? It wouldn't even matter, because I don't feel like I've been alive for a long time anyway. Every breath I take is from a barbed wire piercing my throat; every day I live is no more than twenty-four hours that I spend trying to reach the end as soon as possible.

I think I'll never forget it, James, you made dinner for us that night. We were chatting and laughing, taking sips in a hurry as if we were racing to finish the bottle of wine in front of us. That evening our heads flew so high that we almost felt like in the old days. I almost thought that you loved me unconditionally again, that you loved only, only me. What a childish, what desperate phrase, isn't it ?

When you turned on the radio after dinner and asked me to dance, and only five minutes later we found ourselves on the couch laughing, I wanted to die because in the morning all the colors would fade away, and the dark days would line up again to beat us. If I had died there at that moment, James... I wish God had taken pity on me a little at that moment and I wouldn't have been able to witness the sunrise the next day.Time was flowing fast like the wine down our throats, James. But it seemed as if everything was in a hurry that night, more than usual. Could we have gone back to those crazy days when we were eighteen? Because you know, how many mistakes we made when we were eighteen. How much trouble we've been in.

We went back to being eighteen that night and we made a huge mistake.

[can-of-pringles]

When I'm Alone with You - Chapter 12

Rating: Gen

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1k

Also Read on AO3

July

---

“You really should get your own phone soon. That way, we don’t have to end up sharing mine during break,” Silas spoke.

Silas and Copia sat together on a couch in the break room, looking at cute pictures of pet rats. Copia had insisted on looking at pictures of rats once Silas had mentioned he wasn’t that familiar with pet rats in general. They were mainly looking on social media, different accounts all about pet rats.

“I do have a phone,” Copia replied.

Silas gave him a look. “I meant one with a screen.”

He lightly scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll look into getting one eventually.”

Silas chuckled shortly. “You’re so dramatic.”

Copia blinked and started stammering. “No, I’m not.”

“Just consider that if you got your own phone, you could look at cute rat videos whenever you want.” He smiled.

Copia paused and hummed. “Actually, you may have a point.”

“‘Course I do.” Silas playfully bumped his shoulder.

He chuckled and continued scrolling for a bit before stopping. “We’ve been looking at rats for a while. Do you want to take a turn showing me something?”

“Well… we haven’t shared music recs in a while. Do you want to hear something new?”

“Oh, sure! What were you thinking?” Copia’s eyes lit up.

“There’s a band called The Oh Hellos I listen to sometimes. One song in particular, Grow, is pretty good.” He pulled out a pair of earbuds from his pocket. “Don’t worry, they’re new. I just got these recently.”

He didn’t want to mention the fact that the reason for the new earbuds was because Blizzard got ahold of his old ones.

Copia took one of them and placed it in his ear. The wires were slightly tangled up, so he had to lean his head a little closer to Silas’ as he used the other one. To Copia’s surprise, it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. He noticed the scent of Silas’ body wash. Something calming with lavender, he figured.

“Here, found it. I think you’ll like it. They’re folk but with a bit of an indie element? I don’t know, but either way, they’re good,” Silas said. He pressed the play button.

They both kept quiet, listening closely to the music. Copia noticed out of the corner of his eye that Silas was slightly tapping his fingers to the song. They had been listening for a while until a certain part.

“Oh! This is the best part.” Silas grinned, turning the volume up once. “It’s not too loud, right?”

Copia shook his head slightly. “No, it’s good. I like it.”

Once the song had finished, Silas paused it so it wouldn’t start playing the next thing.

“So? What do you think?” He glanced at him.

“I’m not quite sure what I was expecting when you said folk, but it sounded different from what I thought it would,” Copia explained. “Not in a bad way. I really liked it!”

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s more accurate to say folk rock. I can recommend more if you’re interested.”

“Oh, sure, I’d like to hear more.” Copia smiled.

Just as he was about to speak again, a small buzzing sound went off. Silas sighed and pressed a button on his phone, causing it to stop. He placed the phone in a pocket.

“I’m sorry, Copia, break’s over… I can tell you some more next time if you want.” He frowned.

Ever since that one incident with his joints, he tried to be extra on time with his job, even now setting actual timers on his phone.

“Yeah, I understand. Thanks for sharing the song.” His smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Silas stood up and held his hand out to help Copia stand as well. He always focused on the times when he and Silas touched hands. It was a mystery to him as to why he thought about it.

“Do we have enough time to walk back together…?” Copia glanced down and fidgeted with his hands.

Silas chuckled shortly and shook his head, smiling. “I swear people around here are going to think we can’t ever be separated.”

“People already do…” He thought, feeling a blush rise to his face.

“Is that a no…?” He looked up at him hopefully.

“No, don’t worry, I’ll walk with you,” Silas said.

Copia couldn’t hide his excitement. He grinned and stimmed with his hands without realizing it. “Thank you!” He froze once he realized what he had done, beginning to stammer over his words. “I… um… can explain…”

Instead of the expected confusion or even disgust, he thought he would get from Silas, his friend just smiled and touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. I do the same thing when I get really overwhelmed with emotions. It’s a neurodivergent thing.”

Relief showed on Copia’s face, then it changed to curiosity. “Neurodi… what?”

“I’ll explain more when we have time. Promise. Now, come on, I don’t want to be late, and you don’t either,” he spoke calmly given the time.

Copia nodded and followed him out of the room, heading back to the usual office.

“I guess we do spend a lot of time together like we’re our own rat pack,” Silas said, starting a new topic.

He furrowed his brows. “Did you just say rat pack?”

“Um… I don’t know what a group of rats is called.” Silas shrugged. “Rat herd?”

Copia laughed, practically wheezing from laughter. Silas slightly joined in as well, chuckling.

“Rat herd! That is too good! Oh, man.” He sighed, taking a break from the laughter. “A group of rats is called a mischief.”

“Oh… that actually makes a lot of sense. Okay.” Silas nodded shortly. “I guess we’re a mischief… well, you’re definitely mischievous so it makes perfect sense.” He teased.

Copia gasped, mostly exaggerating. “Me? Mischievous? It’s you!”

“How about both of us, then? Make it equal.”

“Alrighty then, both of us!” Copia exclaimed.

They both froze when they heard a shush. A Sister of Sin stuck her head out of the library in the Ministry as they passed by it. She shook her head in disapproval.

“Sorry, Sister.” Copia quickly bowed his head slightly.

Silas copied him. They picked up the pace so there wouldn’t be more complaints coming from the room.

“Maybe I should start a new band called ‘Rat Herd’.” Copia joked.

“You’re just being mean now. Rubbing it in my face.” Silas tried to glare at him but couldn’t keep the laughter from rising up.

“Oh, come on! We could totally even get the Ghouls on board. And I’d even let you join, play the piano.” He grinned, lightly poking him with his elbow.

“Sure, sure.” Silas scoffed and rolled his eyes.

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Thirty

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Ethan’s Journal

September 10

What a week. 

That could probably be said for any week this entire year, now that I think about it.  

But, Moreau is now building a windmill and cabin down by the former lake, which is getting a lot more water from the falls lately.  I guess the old mills were originally water pumps.  Karl said that it would be a good thing to have while they wait for the sluice to be rebuilt, to help guard against flooding in the winter.  He also wants someone down there to keep a watch on the municipal workers in case Miranda tries anything.  

I worry about Miranda influencing Moreau if he’s living in the middle of that nothingness, but I’m also fine with him not being here.  He cries a lot.  Maricara is sending some of the young men from her village to help; they will learn how to build cabins and later, wire them up with Karl’s help.  I’m happy for them.  It’s a good opportunity for money and experience.  

Donna is also leaving.  She wants to go back to her house, which is just insane.  I worry about her.  Maricara is going to drop her off today, and then they will go back to their village too.  It has been a lot of running around and packing all morning.  It will feel strange to just have the four of us in this big house again.  

The mystery of Donna’s memories returning was solved–Moreau knows a lot about the Mold, as it turns out (from being Miranda’s first assistant, a long time ago.)  I guess Eva’s will, and maybe mine?--are affecting the actions of the collective consciousness.  Whether or not this will help us get rid of Miranda, we have no idea.  

I’ve tried to make myself and Rose scarce, to be honest.  We’ve spent a lot of time in town, buying a whole new wardrobe for both of us, and a bunch of fabric for Eva.  Karl bought a ton of lumber and supplies for the cabins and the mill.  Being in town is really great, it makes me feel normal while all this insanity goes on at home.  

I saw a golden leaf today in the backyard.  I know summer is pretty much over, but it made me uneasy. I feel melancholy and nervous about autumn.  Part of it is what comes after; some of the worst moments of my life happened down in that village in the dead of winter.  I don’t know how I’ll get through it again.  

There’s another reason I feel uneasy that has nothing to do with the village.  I can’t really explain it.  Maybe it’s just a side effect of not being in denial after six years. It’s like seeing everything through a dark filter.  It’s funny, if I were this moody or quiet around Mia she’d get upset at me, so I keep trying to hide it.  But I don’t even know if Karl notices my mood.  He hasn’t said anything about it.  

I would say “that’s men” but I think that’s just Karl.  

Time to go see Donna off. 

—------------

Rosemary was napping; Ethan tiptoed out of the darkened bedroom and met the crowd at the parlor doorway.  One of Maricara’s sons was driving their  large pickup truck, and it idled out in front of the manor.  Ethan had mixed feelings about everyone leaving; on one hand, he was a poor host when the fog of depression was settling around him.  On the other hand, he wasn’t sure it was in his or Donna’s best interest to be alone with their dark thoughts.  She didn’t even have a phone, as Karl pointed out after going on a very long anti-Chris-Redfield rant.  He would have to repair the phone lines around a whole mountain before they could communicate.  Eva promised weekly Sunday lunches, which seemed to satisfy Donna, but Ethan was still skeptical.  

The blond picked up some of the luggage near the door and eyed a strangely ornate box amid the pile.  It had a navy blue ribbon wrapped around it.  With another glance he moved out the door toward the truck. Maricara’s daughters were the next to leave, giggling happily about something as they walked behind Ethan and spoke their own language.   

Ethan turned after he’d put the bags away to see Eva and Donna saunter out, speaking Romanian and looking like fairy tale opposites; Donna was raven-haired, donned a black silk dress, and seemed to be wearing simple, but striking, black eye makeup.  Eva was almost white-haired, dressed in white, and had a very ornate, colorful shawl around her shoulders.  

They congregated at the truck by Ethan, and after them came Moreau and Karl, each carrying another suitcase.  Moreau and Karl were another odd, mismatched pair.  Karl wore his coat despite the warmth of the day, hat and glasses covered his face.  With his wide frame, dark skin and long, untrimmed hair, he resembled a werewolf in disguise.  Moreau’s clothing and frame were thin, and his hair looked as unhealthy as his pale skin.  His wide, doe-like watery eyes and a very readable expression were visible, perhaps too visible.  

Ethan had to give the man credit though; he was starting to look a bit healthier since his return.  He was almost even standing upright and not flinching when others spoke.  Almost.  And his skin was slowly moving from a sallow yellowish color to a more olive tone.  Maybe a project spent with Karl nearby would be good for him.  Ethan couldn’t believe he’d ever consider Karl a good influence, but it was pretty obvious that anyone other than Miranda was a step up for Salvatore.  

Maricara was the last to exit and she beamed as she held out the box Ethan had seen earlier; the group parted as she approached Donna.  Eva moved aside and Ethan saw the familiar hesitancy, fear, on Donna’s face.  She looked so timid.  He marveled again about what Miranda must have put all of them through.  

The older woman snapped something quick to Karl, and he strode forward obediently, pulling out an item to hand to Donna.  Maricara addressed Donna directly, but Ethan had no hope of understanding their words.  

Karl, who usually fumbled his way through any meal requiring silverware, was suddenly dextrous and quick with his hands as he opened the music box.  Her eyes immediately welled up with tears and Ethan remembered seeing it upon his and Maricara’s first meeting.  It was the box her father had made, he realized.  How long ago that meeting had seemed, how emotional Donna looked.  Her pale hands were shaking, nowhere near as steady as Karl’s as she took the item and held it to her chest. 

Ethan couldn’t help but smile at this, even though the sad tinkling notes from the music box settled the dread in his chest further.  Karl planted a very un-Karl-like kiss on Donna’s forehead, and she blushed.  It seemed the engineer was eager to leave, as he moved back toward Moreau, but he folded his arms and waited as Maricara approached with the box.  

“We all have a long way to go before we are healed,” she said with a loving pat to the arm, as Donna uneasily pulled the ribbon.  “But it is nice to have a reminder of what life can be like.” 

This riddle didn’t make sense to Ethan.  The lid was opened and Donna gasped, Eva exclaimed.  The ‘sewing project’ that Maricara and her daughters were working on became clear, as Donna picked up the item from the box.  Ethan almost didn’t recognize it until Donna said in a choked voice, “...Angie!”

The doll had been repaired to pristine condition.  Its dress was now white and flowing, the silk flowers in its hair new and shiny.  In fact, its hair, which had previously looked burnt or rotten, was also replaced; now Angie had long golden ringlets and looked rightfully Victorian.  

Donna held her up and turned her around, looking at all angles; Ethan could see that the doll’s porcelain face was refinished and repainted.  She looked serene–still creepy, he decided, and did not make eye contact with the doll again, staring instead at its ornate dress and veil.  

Donna hugged the doll tenderly, and began to cry as Maricara moved in for a hug.  She too seemed to shrink away from the long marionette as she embraced the emotional woman.  Eva was beaming behind the pair.  

Even though Ethan felt happiness for, dare he say, his new friend, he couldn’t help but feel doleful as everyone continued their goodbyes and farewells.  Eva would ride with everyone and then stay to help Donna get settled.  As the truck loaded up with everyone in it, and Karl and Moreau headed down to the new job site to leave Ethan alone, he felt even more lonely.  

Maricara had not yet piled into the very over-filled (with items, and people) truck.  She seemed to consider Ethan for a moment, and then waved to her son, signaling a pause, before she approached the father who stood in the driveway, arms crossed.  

“I have a job for you,” she said to him almost mischievously, and Ethan smiled at her despite his melancholy.  

“Oh yeah?”

“The young people in my village, my daughters and their friends.  They would like to open a business.” 

“Okay...” 

“But it seems that everything now is done on the internet.  We know nothing about internet.” 

Ethan’s eyes lit up.  “You mean you want help with…selling things?  Marketing? Online?”

“Selling things, writing things.  Photography, which you are so good at.  A whole world of things.”  She waved her hands as if she knew her vague descriptions did the idea little justice.  “They would need practical help, as well as–”

“The software, the programming,” Ethan finished, so excited that he interrupted her.  Her dark eyebrows rose and she nodded, chuckling.  

“See?  This is why we need you.  Karl tells me you work with computers.”  

“I can definitely help,” he echoed, excited at the very mundane prospect of creating systems; whether he was just doing the design, or teaching others programming language, it was something he was great at.  Ethan realized, as his heart fluttered, that he’d not given a thought to any kind of his own work for over a year.  The transition from systems engineering to military training was not one he had particularly enjoyed, and the one positive about his current life is that he was no longer the BSAA’s contracted errand boy.  

Ethan felt as if someone had taken a cloth from his mouth; he could breathe more easily, and he was animatedly speaking in a way he hadn’t done in a very long time.  “Let’s set up a time, we can go over everything they want to do and how deep into the info they want to get.  Whatever they need, I am happy to help.  I can talk to Heisenberg about getting us internet, how many people are interested?--” 

She was laughing, and patted Ethan’s chest heartily.  “Ethan Winters…there you are.” 

His animated smile softened as he considered her meaning.  A finger poked into his chest.  

“You are a full person, you know, with your own dreams and passions.  And you are helpful and kind.  Do not forget it.”  

When she moved back to the truck, Ethan’s smile slowly returned.  She said farewell with a promise to call him soon about the job. He waved to the departing group with less trepidation than he’d felt in awhile.  

After the sound of the truck faded as it left the gravel road, dipping down into the moor of the once-village, Ethan’s gaze tracked over the valley and landed on the tower spires of Castle Dimitrescu.  

He wondered again about the strange dream, shared by he and Eva.  Why did the voices want him there?  Was it more of the “influence” they shared?  Was it related to awakening Alcina?  That didn’t seem quite right.  But, he made up his mind that he would find out for himself tonight.  

[edienotsedgwick]

Hellooooooooo!! I was just tagged by @mustybooksmelll to do this little questionnaire. Thank you so much.

Rules: tag 10 people you want to get to know better.

relationship status: single but currently soul searching

favourite colour/s: pastel pink, matcha green, peachy orange, baby blue

song stuck in my head: en un tiempo feliz - la buena vida (cute little Spanish twee song)

last song I listened to: letter to an old poet - boygenius (currently collecting my thoughts on the new album rn)

last thing I googled: petekey 💀💀💀 I needed pictures of them for some sillypost on my private Twitter leave me aloneeee

dream trip: the U.K! I might actually go there next year cause I got a pretty big inheritance from my (deceased) aunty that’s in a term deposit and she’d want me to spend it on making a dream of mine come true. I want to go there to see all my favourite bands that likely won’t come to NZ any time soon, meet my internet friends, and get inspired going to all the spots where artists I look up to used to frequent.

Honourable mention for dream trip however goes to either Singapore or Italy! Singapore because most of the Chinese side of my family lives there and I want to get to know them better. I’ve only ever known my Gung Gung (sadly he also passed away recently). I might stop through there on the way to England. Italy just because it looks so beautiful. I’d love to stay in a coastal village there for a bit and enjoy the sun, the ocean and the food!

anything I want: a cheap little wireless recording microphone for making demos with! I have a decent wired one but my current phone has no headphone Jack :(. I also want an omnichord, a long stripy scarf, wool legwarmers and shimmery tights.

tagging: … I’m sorry I say this everytime but like… anyone who wants to do this! I’m not good at talking to people here and don’t have many mutuals outside of the few irls that follow me that I’d feel comfy tagging. I guess maybe @m0tel6mxzzy @diapause @suitejudyblueeyes @anotherknifeinmyhands @slasherpunk (even though I already know like… 2/5 of you pretty well and the rest of you I feel like we’ve interacted enough in the background for me to feel like we’re chill)

Anyways thank youuuuuuuuuu

[gameloops14]

Choosing My Final Proposal. #1

Throughout the process of researching, making, and playing these types of games, I’ve had many thoughts on what I might want mine to be like. The games we had to make were as follows:

The first was an infinite runner, a game where you run endlessly until you die by hitting an obstacle in your way. The second game was a Brick Breaker, where you have to shoot bricks until they are all broken, and none are left. You lose by missing the ball that shoots at the bricks. The last game we looked at was the dungeon crawler, where you fight different enemies, find loot, and make your way through various randomly generated rooms. You die by being killed by a mob.

Infinite Runner

The first game we were tasked with making was an infinite runner, a game where you have to keep running until you fail. The player would jump over, slide under, or move from side to side to avoid objects and obstacles. One extremely famous game with these mechanics is Subway Surfers, where you run from a cop chasing you and have to jump over obstacles while collecting coins to win. I enjoyed making this game and found it very fun.

My idea for this game would be called Wire Escape. The game would be about a hacker who, using advanced technology, manages to transport their body into a phone they are hacking. However, they have been caught by antivirus software and must now escape. My main focus would be on gameplay and visuals. I would have the player slide under doors, pick up "code coins" that add to their high score, and include jump pads and various power-ups, such as invincibility or even a slow-motion mode. I might also consider adding a first-person mode or something that chases the player.

Block Breaker.

The second game we had to make was a Brick Breaker, a game where you have to shoot bullets at bricks and break them all to win. One very famous Brick Breaker game, of course, is the original Brick Breaker. Brick Breakers have always been very popular with many people. In these games, you can collect power-ups, but also negative power-ups that can cause you to lose by missing your ball or bullet. The creation process for this was quite challenging, but overall, I enjoyed it quite a bit.

My idea for a Brick Breaker would be a game called Demolitionist. The game would be simple: you play as a demolitionist tasked with getting rid of old buildings. However, the game would feature a shooting system where you need to make sure your bullet only hits the correct parts of the buildings, as some sections would need to stay intact. If you shoot the wrong parts, the level would fail, and you’d have to retry. This means I would need to add an aiming mechanic. The game would also include power-ups and different abilities—some would benefit the player, while others would have negative effects. The main focus of this project would be the gameplay.

Dungeon Crawler

The last game we had to make was a dungeon crawler. This game had the player move through different rooms, fight various enemies, and find or collect loot. I won’t lie and say making this game was easy because it really wasn’t, and I had the least amount of fun trying to create the prototype for this game. One really, really famous dungeon crawler, of course, would be Diablo. Diablo has been around for a long time, and there are still new games being made in the series to this day. The series is great, and Diablo is one of the main reasons dungeon crawlers are, and remain, so popular.

My idea for a dungeon crawler would be a game called Misty. The game would take place in a world of wizardry, where the player is searching for a magical treasure. The gameplay would have the player moving from room to room, fighting different types of enemies such as other wizards that shoot at you and ghouls that run at you to attack. As the player, you would be able to cast your own spells to defeat them, which I think would add a good gameplay element. After every five rooms, the player would fight a boss—big, small, or something scary. You would win by finding the treasure you’re searching for, and the main focus of the game would, of course, be the gameplay.

[that-darn-clown]

so. writing a fic for the Rewrite. it. sure is a way to introduce the Rewrite to the readers of AO3!!

basically: Michael staying over at the Emily's one Friday night circa February 1982. and we get to see Mike's thoughts on Charlie. long story short, it's basically jealousy. but not the "How dare you have it better than me?? That's not fair!!" flavor of jealousy (which is what's going on with William towards Henry), but instead the "Your life is so much better than mine. I wish my life was like yours, that I had what you have, but I know I never will, and that I must somehow not deserve it" flavor.

like. it's supposed to give an idea of how fucked up Mike already was before anything even went horrifically wrong. like. i've mentioned it in posts before, but i don't think my brief descriptions of simply "manipulation and emotional abuse" really hit home like. What Exactly Was Happening, right? like, the funny, probably somewhat easier to understand description is "imagine Mother Gothel from Tangled, tone her down a few (several) notches, and imagine she had actual good intentions in "protecting" Rapunzel, and you've basically got Rewrite!William." but like. a more Accurate description would be that his abuse is basically being world's most toxic helicopter parent. like he's so fucking paranoid that his kids might potentially die if he doesn't keep them under control. he's gotta know where they are if it ain't Home or School (which typically leads to them being at either the diner or Freddy's often). he gets disappointed and/or pissed if his kids don't do what he says or wants. but he doesn't yell at them or hit them. and that's like. basically terrifying, if you think about it. he's not even mad, Just Disappointed. he basically makes it sound like they almost died just because they stepped slightly out of line. and there's a reason why it specifically seems to affect Mike and Cassidy the worst: they were both born with the combination of autism and some form of anxiety disorder. Michael just had anxiety in general. Cassidy was born with specifically social anxiety (it is possible to be born with it, i looked it up), but uh. Thanks To William, It's Regular Old Anxiety Now! Thanks Bud! like think about it: their brains would already be more wired to effectively go into Fight-or-Flight more often, and y'know. might be projecting how i used to (and still do) kinda take a lot of things seriously. combine that with a parent that's adamant about how disobeying them could potentially lead to you getting in danger and/or dying? that's a fucking recipe for disaster.

so Mike has this sort of...escape when life gets to be too much. he'll go over to Henry's house on Friday evenings where he's 90% certain that his father will be to busy at work to notice he's gone. then he just spends the night with Charlie and Sammy and heads back home in the morning before William ever notices. sometimes he gets brave enough to bring Cass with him, too.

of course...some nights, the odds are not in his favor. this fic describes this sort of instance.

of course, everything is described to us normally at first. the fic mentions how Mike had dropped his school stuff at home, grabbed some PJs, said goodbye to Cass specifically, and then made the half a mile trek to the Emily Household to spend the night. okay, sounds normal enough, doesn't it?

then we are told that the phone rings, and that Henry states that he'll go get it. after around a minute, Sammy walks back into the room, where Charlie is trying to do Mike's hair, and exclaims that William's on the phone, and that Henry basically said the Much Nicer equivalent of the phrase "Calm the fuck down, Bill, your son's at my house and he's fine. Your son's not dying, fucking Chill" and stating that Will can come pick him up in the morning.

it's here where things shift. Mike is described as going quiet and still, but describes what he knows is going to happen the next morning eerily nonchalantly. he basically (internally) goes "oh yeah, my dad's gonna have a "Talk" with me tomorrow and will probably make me either stay at home all weekend or at the diner with him after this. Oh well, ya win some ya lose some¯\_(ツ)_/¯" but then we're told, through Charlie whispering to him if he's okay, that Mike is visibly starting to shake. so basically, Mike either started having a panic attack or was already having one, despite how "calm" he initially seemed about what was potentially going to happen the next day.

Charlie then gets on the floor with him, asking if it was fine for her to give a hug or if it would make things worse. Mike gives her the go-ahead to hug him, but what we're told is that she basically squeezes him and holds on until he calms down. so something is clearly implied here: Charlie's possibly had to do this before. possibly several times. she's somewhat familiar with this being a thing that happens with Mike, and she's come up with her own way of helping.

then we get a scene later where Henry and Mike are talking, and Mike dances around the subject of how bad things are at home to Henry. we also get implications that Henry is at least somewhat aware of the full extent of the subject, but is in the position of "This Situation Is Bad, But There's Not A Lot Of Ways For Me To Help Without Potentially Making Things Much Worse." so like. Henry's trying his best, but there's not much he Can do. but he promises Mike that things will get better eventually, that William will "come to his senses eventually," (because uh. this all kinda stemmed from William's grief over his wife's death, so Henry's under the impression that once Will's finally able to move on, then they can slowly start to work to fix things) and that, until that happens, Henry will be there for him.

(and then, in April, Liz died and any hope of that went RIGHT out the window)

long story short:

Mike My Beloved, Someone Get Him Some Therapy (he'll get it eventually, don't worry)

Ough... Henry's position is so interesting. Knowing how bad things are but not being able to help is so frustrating (I fucking love angst.) Anyways as always Mike our beloved

[lady06reaper]

Lil Fun

This is just something I whipped up real quick, enjoy!

Warnings: makeout, suggestive themes, country-ness

Tennessee Whiskey <- first song

Fuck Away The Pain <- Where it gets going

-------------------------------------------------

After the career fair, Austin and I had to finish some stuff on our truck and trailer wiring boards, mostly just paperwork. He went and got the keys, and I went up to the other building to wait for him. I started to look around, noticing all the old semi’s and an abandoned chassis with just the tires holding it up. I looked down and noticed my show boots were dusty as hell, I guess that's what you get for wearing black boots at a shop with a gravel lot. 

“I got the keys,” Austin came up behind me holding up the keys. I moved out of the way for him to unlock the door, which he held open for me. I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all. We went through the wash bay with the door closing behind us, making a sound similar to a gunshot. We went through the door to the garage where the boards were, I flipped on the lights and went to my board, Austin went to his which was sadly on the other side of the garage. I sat my bag down, and set up some music on my phone, a country rock playlist.

“Hey Austin? Do you mind if I play some music?” I peeked around my board to where he was so he could actually hear me.

“I don’t care, as long as it's good shit,” I gave him the thumbs up and hit shuffle on the playlist. I got out my paper I needed to fill out as well as a pencil and got to work. I was humming and tapping my foot to the music, swaying my hips to the music, not even noticing the eyes on me. A wolf whistle was what got me out of my trance, and notified of the body on the other side of my board.

“Damn, you got some moves,” Austin commented. I looked at him with a blank stare and most likely a blush plastered on my face. It was hard not to have a blush considering how hot he was, and that Henly was not helping my case. “Can I copy your answers?”

“Uh, yea sure,” I sat my paper on the table, and I took a seat on the table as well. He came over and bent over the table with his own paper in hand and started to copy, obviously changing the answers a bit. “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton started to play from my phone, setting a mood.

“Random, but this song makes me want to slow dance in the kitchen with someone's son. I know it’s basic but it’s still a good song,” I sighed. Austin looked up at me with a look.

“Well c’mon, lets dance,” he held out a hand for me to take. I slid my hand into his and hopped off the table. Our hands stayed intertwined, my other hand went to his shoulder and his went to my waist. We started to sway with him leading the way, the eye contact was strong, it was safe to say beforehand we really didn’t have any particular feelings for each other, that was about to go out the window. As the song continued, we got closer, I looked down and noticed that his thigh was between mine. He removed his hand from mine and used to lift my head up to look him in his eyes, he looked down at my lips and went for it.

(A/N “Fuck Away The Pain” plays here)

The kiss was something else, it started off as a slow kiss, then got hungrier from both parties as it went on. Austin took me by the hips and pushed me against the trailer portion of the board, his hand traveled from my hip up to my boob, squeezing it hard I let out a moan. I reached up and took off his hat, throwing it on the table behind him. I ran my hand through his hair making it a mess, he immediately went down to my neck. A lick, a nibble, a full on bite with sucking, and a kiss afterward.

Then, we heard the gun sound from the outside door that led to the wash bay. We scrambled away from each other and went back to where we were before. The side where he sucked was hidden, and to where only Austin could only see his work. One of our classmates walked in and right past us to his board. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding, I looked over at Austin and he gave me a wink.

“Wanna continue this in my truck?”

[castle-dominion]

6x4 number one fan

The misery episode liveblog

I LOVED THIS ONE SM. now that I think about it, it was probably a filler episode where they couldn't afford a million different locations so they had castle stay here most of the time. Like Still the floormine episode, they had one location & spent a lot of time on flashbacks. Still a great ep tho, I didn't even notice until I realized that hollywood works like that.

So yeah here we go babes! & my older bro is here too, hopefully he will be my voice of reason in clipping things. I mean rn he is watching his horror game playing guy so maybe... WAIT HE JUST FINISHED THE VIDEO BEFORE I EVEN FINISHED MY SENTENCE, YAY HE'S STAYING

*whistles* stop her!

Why were they there in the first place?

KB: (whispered) Castle. Are you asleep?

RC: (mumbled) Yes.

KB: Then why’d you answer me?

RC: I’m sleep talking. Also known as somniloquy. Just ignore me.

KB: sighs and drops her head to the pillow.

KB: I don’t know what to do.

That gets his attention. His eyes pop open.

RC: I have some ideas.

Older bro: girl I don't think that being a 14 year old without a job is considered "out of work"

(Bleed what? Bleed grut.)

She can't get her job back?

KB: C’mon, Castle, what are you saying? What am I going to do? Just sleep in every morning and screw around until the phone rings? What kind of life is that?

RC: Mine

Pi: mrs c-to-be

Martha my beloved

Alexis looks so pretty in a skirt

Beckett is so sad gates wasn't calling for her

Gates was probs SO sad when she had to call castle

Corkboard outdoors? Hm

Emma demands to speak to castle I loooove this episode.

No record. Hm.

KB: Well, if there’s one thing you excel at, Castle, it’s talking.

RC, on hostage negotiations: Boom! Believe it’s me now, Emma? Because I could play Richard Castle trivia with you all day. I will crush you.

Emma, ig knowing that's just how richard castle is: ya ok it's u

Castle just made a deal for getting Suki & her mom so yay!

Why aren't they wiring him?

What's your favourite food?

RC: wdym by that?

KB: shut the up. cheeseburgers.

(could clip)

I like how he still has his writer vest lol.

I think my first thought was "she's just a crazed fan trying to see markiplier castle" esp with the "I just want you"

Girl you are holding like five people hostages & u want to be cleared of murder? you're still going to go down for that hun.

Also what jurisdiction is this?

Won't clip the "no cheeseburgers" part

lmao nobody trusts cops hun

Oh poor girl, happy birthday. Oh dear he was going to propose...

Nightly two fingers.

RC: Scotch girl? Me too.

Oh older bro is gone now.

Wow this kid is kind of a dick but he;s either going to save the day or ruin everything.

Clipping Lanie

Ok so I use initials in my quotes, I sometimes even use initials in my fanfiction drafts/plans/outlines so I can ctrl-f them later, & i've gone so far as to use initials for ppl I know irl in my notebook for speed or online when I don't want to give out names, but the girl I'm seeing? Not likely. Unless I'm hiding an affair from my lover. nvm.

JE: Ladies and gentlemen, this is a booty call gone wrong.

Isn't clonazepam an anti anxiety? Oh wait I looked it up, it is also for seizure disorders. aripiprazole an antipsychotic but it is also used for neurodivergencies like autism & tourrette's syndrome in addition to the more obvious schizophrenia. It is also used for mood disorders like bipolar i & depression. Though I may have misunderstood all the words being thrown at me so this information is possibly incorrect.

Oh. Lanie confirms what I just said lol.

(mr drug cop man)

Also wow ryan's cheekbones

Castle maybe give her a hug?

How bad is the difference in texting? I even change my texting style day to day

Mickey nooooooo

Yay sully is still here

Oh I just watched misery! Maybe because mum watched this episode & requested it after hearing it here.

Not to get all derogatory pepperoni but sully shup.

VG: Your little theories no matter how fanciful <3

Maybe SH stands for 'silent habits' if you know what I mean. He did work with at-risk youth...

I like sully's accent

Ah sitting outside for an hour drinking coffee? scoping out a place.

Mickey: boom. I take her out. We end this, and then we meet at the bar around the corner and the first round is on me.

At least mickey immediately ran back to his seat. Tho tbh I feel like mickey COULD take her out, tho maybe not w/o someone getting hurt.

He could be celiac bro

HOW did you find her juvvie record? How did you find her old name?

How did Emma know that they told castle about billy koss?

Emma Riggs: I mean, what is the point of a sealed record when the cops can open it whenever they feel like it.

Older bro: she's right

Me: It is sealed until you commit a crime as an adult, which she did by taking hostages. Also it is sealed from employers, they don't even know you have a record. Unless cops get a subpoena, they KNOW you have a record, but they can't see what is in it. If you don't commit a crime, it remains sealed.

I love this character. She is a great character. Great backstory. If they are suddenly nice to you, there is something going on. That's cops for ya. Esp with a mentally ill person? Yeah.

Castle is so great, talking to her, believing her, even after they keep comin gback with "it was her, there is no evidence of anyone else being here" & "it was her she's killed before"

Of course she keeps track of him!

St Helena's home for children.

Oh no, Ryan had to call & talk to a sister lol.

Castle just has it on speaker phone with Emma.

Angelo's gift to her on her birthday was knowing her bio parents! That is so sweet!

Mickey no! But hey I mean I'm proud of him in some ways.

Except that she's freaked out that she just killed richard castle. & then becks just runs in w/o anything on? ok babe. Reminds me of the bank episode tho. Did esposito have experience in esu? swat training? he always gets the big swat guns. I'd like to know more abt his history. Anyway yeah Mickey is just standing there while she still has the gun & castle is in the glass table? What is even going on?

CHEESEBURGERS!

She dotted the i! (clipping that)

(girl I used to really like castito & I still love ryckett but rystle is just so good)

Beckett accidentally giving orders to her boys

I would say "Not because you asked me to, but because you're right."

Only three days ago?

(btw ryan looks so pretty when he does smart stuff)

I love this kid. opening files, closing files.

(Totally going to gif that ryckett handcuff nod)

& you knew she had a file under a different name? rly?

At least ryan said "he's going to need to call you back" before hanging up the guy's phone

(clippin that)

civilian employee like the records kid, & non-civilian non-employee like castle XD

Where is esposito?

Oh there with sullivan

"His big house for THE big house" would have worked if you put the emphasis in the right place castle

VG: *protecting her boys*

KB: Captain, I don’t have a career to risk. How about I back you up in there?

Oh... I don't think it WAS this dad!

"No, no. Maybe tomorrow."

Wait maybe it is him nvm.

'Yes, and' between rysposito with the "so" & finishing each other's sentences.

Oops again!

Well no, castle, t is NOT over. She is still getting charged with, threatening people.

So sweet he's meeting her! This is genuinely so amazing & I love it a ton!

Aw gates sharing a drink with becks.

MISTER GOLFING BUDDIES WITH THE POLICE COMMISSIONER DOESN'T HAVE HARD FEELINGS ABOUT BEING ACCUSED OF MURDER & HE GETS BECKETT HER JOB BACK? AWESOME!

& then sully disappears lol

Well there was 1x1 when they THOUGHT castle's fan did some murders but then it turned out the brother killed his sister & framed the kid she was working with.

Caskett: *about to kiss*

RC: Whoa. Actually, no. We can’t. Not here. It’s inappropriate. (he looks around) This is the workplace. We’ve gotta be professional.

KB: Ah, well, you know I’m not officially back until tomorrow.

RC: I see

*start making out*

Glad I watched Misery. Actually it was directed by Rob Reiner. Mum just listened to an audiobook with us on the making of the princess bride she started watching all these rob reiner movies like spinal tap (which wasn't nearly as good as people made it out to be imo), when harry met sally, a few good men (which was a drag but if I think about it for 10-30 seconds it was a good movie, just not if I think about it for any longer), stand by me, misery, & others so we probably watched Misery NOT because of Castle & its mention in this episode, but rather because we were on a rob reiner kick. Now we are watching movie versions of Stephen King works. (sorry, I used to love reading but now we can spend two hours as a family just being with one another. If we had any road trips then yeah sure we'd read an audiobook in the car ig.)

Anyway the point I was making was wow I'm glad I watched misery between my first watch of this ep & my second. I got the references this time.

[thegingerjameson]

Fate Adjacent - Prologue

Okay so a this is a repurpose of an old fanfic I wrote, so if anyone recognizes it- it is mine. 🙃 I can't get this idea out of my head and am using some pieces of what I wrote previously to tell a new story. I’m not sure what it will turn into but maybe you'd like to come along for the ride while I figure it out? 😁 I thought I'd throw this out there and see if there's any interest before I continue.

A/U and will include MOM spoilers but not quite yet.

Link to Chapter 1 below!

Warnings: Angst. Lots of angst. (My favorite.)

Prologur- (Y/N)

We begin at the end.

Anger comes first. Flashing, blinding, consuming. It starts off slow, lapping at your lungs and your fingers and your gut, building relentlessly, compelling you to run, to scream, to destroy. Your brain is a jumble of senseless firing synapses and your entire body trembles with the nervous energy of it all, from your scalp to your lips to your toes. You can't sit still, can't eat, can't sleep, can't focus on anything but the wave of rage that drives you to the edge of insanity before it swells and finally, blessedly breaks.

But after that brief moment of reprieve, when you're crashing headfirst into the next mindfuck of emotion, you find yourself longing for those ebbing, electric tides of anger and rage. Because after the anger and the rage comes the pain.

Oh God, the pain; ripping you wide open to the white-hot sun, dissecting you piece by piece, and even after you're left eradicated and empty, it continues to demand more, and more, and more.

It has been three days since Stephen left me, and I have nothing left to give.

They say that hindsight is 20/20, but I disagree. It's skewed and distorted, like being caught underwater and looking up. To reflect on the last few years and figure out how we got here is the equivalent of trying to find a needle in a haystack.

"We're broken, (y/n), and we can't fix it anymore," he'd said.

The receiver of the phone had been cool and metallic in my hand as he delivered the blow and I'd clung to it in desperation thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I held on tight enough, he would have to stay.

"It's better, for both of us, (y/n). I'm so sorry," he'd said simply, reaching across the miles, through the line, and ripping out my heart.

I wanted to beg him to come home, to love me like he'd promised- for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part- but the reality of the situation sent ice through my veins and I couldn't move, couldn't speak. He whispered goodbye, and I stood listening as the dial tone turned into a busy signal, thinking, why do you get to decide?

Now I sit on the cold, hard floor in the middle of the bedroom we'd shared, surrounded by pieces of him. To my right, a set of blue robes that still smells like him. To my left, the napkin covered in my hurried handwriting that I'd pressed into his palm the first night we'd met. In front of me, a black and white photo; my arms slung around his neck, squinting over his shoulder into the sun, his face turned towards mine, lips brushing my cheek.

I want to cry, but tears seem too small, too inconsequential for the massive void ahead of me that is life without him. I want to forget, but the essence of him is ingrained in every fiber of my being, and I could no more forget that than I could myself.

Instead, I struggle to my feet and make my way across our room, shoving years of memories into cardboard boxes and trying to ignore the fact that, every time another box is taped shut, a little piece of my soul stays trapped inside. I move methodically, removing anything and everything that reminds me of him until there's nothing left.

If I could take down the plaster, the wooden planks, the nails and insulation and wiring that hold this very place together and pack them away, I would. I would pack our favorite Italian restaurant down the street, every universe we’d visited, every place we'd kissed. I would pack away the sun and the moon, the clouds and the stars until there was nothing left but darkness and even then, it would remind me of the shadow of his sad smile.

We’d loved, once; unscathed by the raw and ravaged landscape that heartbreak so often leaves in its wake. We'd learned together what it was like heal; to move in synchronicity, two halves of a whole. Together we'd breathed and fought and cried and laughed and lived. I can no longer remember who I was before him, but I do know this: I will love Stephen Strange, unrequited, for the rest of my life.

Everyone has their cross to bear. This is mine.

When the last of the boxes are piled by the door and the first vestiges of sunrise appear outside my window, I crawl into our bed and pray for the numb oblivion of sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Link to Chapter 1 

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”