#wishing on space hardware

[wordsandrobots]

Well what do you know. I was collecting screenshots for entirely unrelated reasons (to be revealed soon) when I happened upon these two in a scene during the Arbrau/SAU war and I think I'm going to assign these character models to Isha and Reg Creech.

Those a couple of OCs I invented for fanfic reasons, as a pair of brothers who made it out of Tekkadan and went on to do post-series work as military contractors. The short exchange between these two sounds suitably like brotherly bickering and they look similar enough, so, yeah. I think this'll work. Especially since I inadvertently established they were familiar with Takaki and Chad in a way that'd fit with them having been part of the Earth Branch.

Reg at the front since I think he's the older brother, and Isha at the back, pre-scarring. Plenty of places for that to have happened over the back half of Season 2, sad to say.

(You know, I've only just realised that the Earth Branch is a parallel to Gjallarhorn's Mars Branch at the start of Season 1. Hah!)

(At this rate, I'm going to have to redo the OCs posts at some point.)

[gonk2020]

terrible, low effort, high frustration with the photo editor meme i made.

go read Wishing on Space Hardware. it's good

[kaninchen-reblogs]

i should get back into practicing dj'ing honestly... the more i watch folks on twitch doin lil parties and just vibin while mixing, the more i really wanna do that

[delightfullygiddy]

I feel like i gain an intangible golden sticker with "pleasure to have in class" applied to me every time someone in public says nice things back to me.

[teamslime]

The scans are complete, and your handler sees just one blip on the radar. A small spaceship, drifting aimlessly, with a signature that couldn't belong to anyone but her... Right? Don your gear, grab your weapons, and take up the mantle of Space Lass! as you navigate a spaceship overrun with hostile lifeforms, searching desperately for its pilot: Your best friend... and the one that got away. space threnody is a first person shooter adventure with atmospheric sci-fi horror sensibilities and sprite-based 3D environments that push portable 8-bit hardware to its limits.

We're also excited to announce a publishing deal through WOW! So Limited Games! Their team has been working closely with us up until release day to make sure the standard physical cartridge release and then limited edition physical collector's edition of space threnody are everything our fans want them to be. You can place your pre-order here!

EDIT: Hey Team Slime fans! Our sincerest apologies to those who pre-ordered a physical copy of space threnody through WOW! So Limited. If you aren't part of our mailing list, you may have missed news of their sudden closure. We have nothing but love and well wishes for the former employees who are searching for new positions right now. Just an update on where we're at with refunds, since some of you have been asking and we want to be as transparent as possible... communication with their CEO has broken down, so we are currently reviewing our legal options. Our legal advisor says we can't share anything further at this time just to maintain the integrity of our case, but we'll let you know when there is more we can say. In the meantime, we encourage you to enjoy the digital release of space threnody!

[ PLAY NOW ON ITCH.IO ]

[hunnylagoon]

When I Was Your Girl

Stage Fright

Rockstar! Ellie Williams x pop star! Reader

‘Fame is a poison most would drink happily despite the warning of a slow and painful death’

Premise: You and fell in love as nobodies and fell out of love in the limelight. Now you are forced to deal with ghosts who haunt you like a melody.

Warnings: small mentions of drinking and drugs / wee bit of violence / Ellie is a dick

Fake albums mentioned: Solstice / Smokey Eyes

I've never been anything more than a joke.

I'm so childish they took it for maturity, and I'm so serious they took it for silly.

Even since I began my career, I was spotted at eighteen by a skeezy producer when I sold myself at a strip club to make ends meet, because dreaming never paid the bills. I wish that I had been found somewhere else, maybe one of the restaurants I sang at on karaoke nights or the park where I poured my soul into art through my uncle’s old acoustic guitar. 

"How are you feeling right now?" A tanned woman with slick back hair shoves a microphone into my face while an emotionless man holds the camera. "I mean, seven years in the industry and you've just received your first Grammy nominations."

"I'm feeling kind of freaked out, to be honest," I face the woman with a sheepish smile on my face, trying the best I can not to look at the large camera lurking beside me.

"Rightfully," Her teeth are so white that they almost blind me and I get distracted by myself as I try to figure out whether they are veneers or not. "Do you think you'll be bringing any hardware home tonight?"

She moves the microphone back to my face and I flinch out of instinct, we both laugh for the camera but I can tell she's annoyed "Honestly, I'm just happy to be here, as corny as it sounds it is such an honour to be around so many incredible artists."

"So humble," She smiles then turns to the camera to address the viewers "I think we all know she's gonna be sleeping tonight with a golden gramophone under her pillow," She forces a laugh, trying to capture the raw essence of this overly manufactured moment. The interviewer turns back to me "Now, I know this isn't your first rodeo, is there anyone here you aren't looking forward to seeing, you don't have to name any names."

Fuck I hate these bloodsuckers. She is so obviously trying to milk my broken engagement which was still very much fresh. I uphold my false smile though and shake my head "Nope, if anything I think I'm looking forward to some mingling,"

She looks irritated, covering it up only by a close-lipped smile. "Well, then I'll let you get on with that."

I give her a curt wave and continue my way down the red carpet, maneuvering through other celebrities, we all have common ground, we are blinded by the flashing lights. I try my best to avoid any more journalists but I see Abby Anderson speaking to one and sneak up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder.

She turns around and greets me with a huge smile "I was wondering when I was gonna see you," Abby smiles and slings an arm around my shoulders looking to the journalist while I glance at the camera "I'm telling you, this girl needs to clear some space out on her trophy shelf."

I grin at her, genuinely. Abby had always been kind to me, we first met when I was nineteen and the both of us signed up for Atlantic Records. "She's just being nice," I say.

"And she's just being humble!" Abby squeezes me, it's a simple gesture but it means the world to me, it's her way of saying 'I got you'.

I shake my head "Abby is gonna be the real winner tonight."

The man holding a microphone in front of us smiles "We'll see who's right, my bet is both of you," He turns his attention to me directly "So I understand that you took a bit of a break after releasing your album, Solstice, is this considered your comeback?"

"Nope," I smile despite wanting to snatch the microphone from his hand and beat the camera with it until it shatters "There isn't anything to come back from."

He tilts his head giving the over-animated 'Are you serious?' look for whoever is watching. Every journalist was like a vampire trying to bleed me dry. The journalist, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that exudes both sophistication and confidence searches his mind for another question "Well your album honestly was such a work of art and there has been talk that you are working on another one, is there anyone here that inspired any of those songs?"

"Nope."

"I think we should ask Ellie the same question," He laughs at his joke like it was funny. 

"And I think we should be heading off now," Abby answers for me and guides me away from the barricade of reporters and journalists, away from the cameras prying into my soul.

As I walk along the red carpet, I don't bother to stop and pose for any more pictures, I pick up the long skirts of my dress and usher myself to weave between the other celebrities. I nearly turn my ankle and take a tumble, wow, sure glad that 30 photographers caught that moment.

I was drenched in a deep, enchanting shade of midnight blue, the gown captivated with its sleek silhouette. The magic shows in the intricate details that adorn the fabric, reminiscent of the cosmos itself. Delicate embroidery of constellations graces the entire dress, forming a celestial tapestry that seems to come alive under the harsh shine of lights. The celestial patterns are meticulously sewn into the fabric, resembling a night sky filled with stars and constellations, creating an ethereal and otherworldly charm. Paired with the constellation dress, I wear a diamond choker and matching teardrop earrings.

I had lost Abby at some point in my little runaway leaving me to get into the auditorium where the award ceremony is to take place. 

Nearly the very second I walk in I hear a man yell my name, he is seated in the second row and it takes an awkwardly long amount of time for him to jog over to me. "Hey, kid!" He grins, hugging me, I don't hug him in return, I just freeze. It was Graham Wilson, I could smell the liquor on his breath.

Graham Wilson was a man who used to write very successful rock songs in his twenties with his band (the majority now deceased), he was nearing his sixties and was the definition of a has-been. I remember when I was a kid and I would listen to him on my iPod; though in recent days he's become known for ridiculous stunts, DUIs and homophobic tweets, even better known for how he found out I was gay and announced that he was no longer homophobic because, in his words 'Those gays can sure write good music' and then thanked me in his tweet, even tagging my account.

His frame carries the weight of a bygone era, specifically his beer belly. His once-lustrous, shoulder-length hair has succumbed to streaks of gray, hanging limply around his face like faded echoes of a rebellious past. Despite the passage of time, a few remnants of the rockstar allure linger - a faint scar above his right eyebrow, a reminder of a wild night in an underground club, and the subtle tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his wrinkled suit jacket.

"Hey, Graham," I give him a tight-lipped smile out of courtesy, in no means do I wish to talk to him. 

"You better win best album tonight," He gives me a hard slap on the back. Every time I see him he acts like we're friends just because he was a judge on a singing reality show that I was on seven years prior.

"I'll try my best," I try to excuse myself but he speaks again.

"I said seven years ago when I saw you on that stage that you were gonna be a star so don't let me down," He points a finger at me and gives me a weird smirk. When he smirks I almost think he's having a stroke until he starts to laugh and reveals his rows of teeth that are beginning to rot from his not-so-subtle drug abuse.

"Okay," I give him a nod and a quick wave goodbye to sneak away and pretend that I didn't converse with him. It seems like I'm early to take my seat, people are still piling in and being ushered to their spots, and seat fillers are standing around sheepishly while they try to take discreet photos of celebrities.

My seat is on the end of row two, right on the aisle, I feel myself split into a grin. If you weren't aware, Who sits where is a major status symbol. And though awards show organizers may deny it, it's awfully convenient to be sitting in the front row or on the aisle if you're about to accept a ton of trophies.

I was shaking with nerves, I got nominated three times and maybe there was hope that I would win at least one category.

When I saw Ellie I almost wanted to hide my face, she walked in with a new girl she slung her arm around, Jesse, Dina, and Cat in tow. I'm thankful to see that they're sitting front row of the opposite section of me and have yet to notice me.

I'm not sure if you have ever fallen in love, dated, gone on tour, moved in together, adopted a dog, written a couple of songs, got engaged, then broken up with someone and had the entire thing be documented publically but it's not the best feeling when you have to be in the same room as them again.

Everything with Ellie used to be so perfect.

The first thing I ever noticed about her were her eyes, her sad eyes. She looked like a puppy that had been kicked around for far too long; neglected and mistreated by whoever was cruel enough to show her such torment. Her eyebrows furrowed like each thought running through her head was a worry.

It's hard to look at her now, I know this girl inside out but we are strangers. 

I liked to pretend that the beautiful girl she was with was just there for show but I knew it was untrue when I saw her snake her hand around her waist just like she did to me. She runs through girls like they're cigarettes, she uses them until they burn out or she grows sick of them.

Two years ago at this very same award show, Ellie accepted Song of the Year for the song she wrote about me, 'Everlong'. She had even invited me on stage during her speech and announced to the world how in love she was with me.

If only I knew I could come to hate someone I used to love to death.

My hate was only solidified when Ellie and the Ashmen dropped their most recent album titled 'Smokey Eyes' just three months after our broken engagement. The entire album was about me and dear god it almost ruined my career.

Ellie had managed to paint me in a horrible light that made me seem like the scum of the earth. She wrote about me having substance issues and overall just sang happily about how much she despised me. Her song 'Me vs Your Friends' wrecked me. After speculation began over that song online, her fans decided that they loathed me just the same as Ellie did; this meant that I was doxxed, sent death threats, had my home broken into, and forced to move.

She wasn't the slightest bit sorry.

I spent the award ceremony dazed out, to be truthful, these types of events were boring. They dragged on for ages and you had to sit through the same generic speeches over and over again of people thanking their parents and producers, I hated both of those.

I watched as Amelia Swan walked on stage, she was a nepotism baby, the daughter of some big-shot director and beautiful all the same. In the glittering spotlight of the grand award show stage, a vision of elegance takes center stage as the next announcer for the evening. A beautiful woman, her porcelain skin seemingly kissed by moonlight, graces the audience with a timeless allure. Her dark, cascading hair frames her face in a sleek, sophisticated manner, accentuating the delicate features that radiate a captivating charm.

Draped in a resplendent pink gown, the fabric sits tight against her slim body. The gown is a masterpiece of design. Its silhouette accentuates her figure with tasteful precision, while the soft hue of pink complements her fair complexion.

"Hello!" She smiles and the crowd begins to cheer "I'm going to cut to the chase because I know all of you are as excited to find out the winner as I am."

Amelia begins to go through the nominees, my breath hitches in my throat when she says my name, though I play it cool the best I can and smile softly when the camera zooms in on me in the crowd.

Her eyes, framed by carefully styled lashes and a hint of rosy eyeshadow, exude warmth and confidence. Lips adorned with a subtle shade of pink curve into a welcoming smile, inviting the audience to share in the excitement of the announcement. 

"The winner of Album of the Year is..." I could've sworn I nearly passed out when Amelia said my name.

Nothing felt real, it was like I was living the dreams that I made up when I was a little girl staying up late in my uncles back yard, talking to the indigo sky and speaking to it with delusions of security and stardom.

I shake when I stand up from my chair. The person next to me hugs me and I don't even know who she is but I hug her in return.

Amelia gestures for me to join her on stage with a huge smile on her face. I make my way down the aisle and up the steps leading to the stage. Amelia handed the statue of the golden gramophone to me along with the microphone to give my speech.

At this moment, the stage is my kingdom "I didn't prepare anything because I honestly didn't think I would win but I'd like to thank my little sister, Marceline, and my late uncle, Richie, god rest his soul. Everything I've done leading me to this moment has been for them, every lyric, every night I'm up till dawn writing. Even though Richie can't be here in person, I carry a little piece of him with me everywhere I go, he's all around me, I see him in the songs I write, in the melody of an acoustic guitar, and in the faces of those gentle enough to show me kindness."

The audience applauds for me, even Ellie who stares me down bitterly. I had sung in front of thousands of people but it would never compare to this moment.

I wipe a tear away from my eye "I would also like to thank all of my fans, you guys are just the fucking best," I giggle through my crying "I feel like you've been sent down by Richie and Marceline I know you're watching me right now, please give my dog some love for me. Please know that I don't come from anything, I was born from dirt and dreams for something more than a ratty town in Canada."

I lived for the applause.

"I mean, I've always been good and never great so this means a lot to me-

Ameilia places a hand on my shoulder to stop me "There was a bit of a mix-up," She announces "I'm sorry, love, you didn't win," She says just to me, dark eyes full of remorse.

"What?" I almost think it's a sick joke.

Amelia holds the microphone to her face to be heard by the audience "I'm not joking," She shows the contents of a card to the crowd "The real winners for album of the year are Ellie and the Ashmen for their album Smokey Eyes." Gasps sound from the audience and I can only imagine what those watching from home are doing

The camera pans to where Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and Cat sit, Ellie is laughing; not laughing, cackling, it only grows and now she's laughing so hard she can barely breathe. Suddenly I didn't feel like I was king of the world, it felt like the desolation of a hangover had hit me in the span of 90 seconds.

Dina gives Ellie a harsh elbow to her bicep, telling her to be respectful. The four of them rise from their chairs and make their way up to the stage, where I stand, paralyzed.

"Congratulations," I give Ellie a tight-lipped smile and hand the award off to her.

She smiled smugly at me and took it "Thanks, smokey eyes," Ellie held the statue up to display it. Smokey eyes was a nickname she had given me when we first met since I always had dark circles she said they looked like smoke from a forest fire. I told you that album was about me. What made me more mad is that it was such a stupid fucking nickname.

My mouth goes dry, it tastes like salt and failure.

I take many steps back, trying to hide myself at the back of the stage while I watch the Ashmen bathe in the glory I thought was mine.

"I didn't prepare anything because I honestly didn't think I would win," Ellie begins to mock me "But I'd like to thank my best friends, Dina, Jesse, and Cat, I couldn't have done it without you," She motions at her band members beside her "But I also couldn't have done it without my dad, thank you, Joel, you're out there in the cheap seats but I fucking love you," She waves out into the crowds somewhere before handing the microphone off to Dina.

"I am so beyond grateful-

"No!" Someone yells from the ground and all attention turns to him "This is not fair!" Graham shouts, walking up the stairs. Everyone in the room looks at one another trying to figure out what is going on. Graham snatches the microphone from Dina "I'm proud of you four but listen."

Everyone is silent completely, no one is sure what to do so we let Graham continue.

"I met everyone on this stage seven years ago," He throws one arm out for dramatics "Except for Amelia, I don't know you," Graham is more dishevelled than he was when I saw him earlier that night "Let me tell all of you that Ellie was in love with this girl since the day they met!" Graham points at me, now things are getting weird, well weirder. “I know because I was there and you all saw it on TV!”

It was no secret that Ellie and I were together since we met on Road to Stardom, a singing reality show where people compete for-well, stardom. Every step of our relationship had been very public, not by choice but by unfortunate circumstances. It is for this reason I was afraid of what Graham would spout next.

"Without her, Smokey Eyes wouldn't have ever been written, Ellie would've had no inspiration for it," He babbles "But more so my point is, Solstice deserved to win, Smokey Eyes is mediocre at best!"

People in the audience look genuinely concerned, I spot Abby in the third row. She has one hand covering her mouth from pure shock, her eyebrows are furrowed and she almost looks like she's going to throw up.

 "Solstice is the best album to listen to when you're high off salvia on your bathroom floor!" Graham points back at me.

I see Cat mutter something to Jesse along the lines of "He's not wrong."

"Smokey Eyes has three good songs and Solstice has thirteen!" Graham suddenly stops to turn and look at me, he grabs my wrist "Come up here and finish your speech," I shake my head no but he pulls me up anyway.

I freeze, petrified. My eyes are wide and my lips are pressed together in a thin line. I didn't know what to do. Why wasn't anyone doing anything?

Graham's head suddenly snaps from me to Ellie where he takes an intoxicated step closer to her "Give me that damn award, you don't deserve it, especially not after mocking the woman who inspired it!" He lunges for the statue, at first Ellie is stubborn and holds onto it tight.

After 30 seconds of Graham trying to pry the stature away, Ellie gives up and releases it, figuring it best not to fight with a drunk man; in doing so Graham's elbow flies back from sudden loss of resistance and hits me dead in my nose. I yelp out in pain bending over into a crouch and clutching my nose. Graham stumbles back and trips over me, though he is still holding on tight to the statue.

Jesse approaches him slowly. "Hey, man, It's me, I think we should all just settle down and talk this through," He tries to act cool but his eyes are full of worry "I agree, I think Solstice is a great album and it really deserved to win."

Graham clumsily rolled onto his stomach and then stumbled back onto his feet. He was staring Jesse down like this was the Wild West.

Dina rushed over to me to make sure I was okay "Let me see," She gingerly moved my hands away from my nose, it had been knocked crooked and blood was pouring down to my chest where it pooled at the neckline of my dark dress.

Graham chucked the golden gramophone at Cat who jumped back when he did so and took a swing at Jesse who didn't move an inch or even shudder from his drunken punch. It also didn't help Graham that he was a solid four inches shorter than Jesse. Just as Graham was hyping himself up to send another hit, two bulky men grabbed either of Graham's arms and dragged him off the stage and out of sight.

I went home that night with nothing more than a broken nose, and no award but I could rest knowing that night went down infamously in history. My blood dripped onto the stage of the Grammys.

That was the night I truly became famous.

Grade eight- Age thirteen 

Middle school is hard.

Even harder when you have two friends, one of them is a guy who is obsessed with Star Wars and is hardly at school because he's always having an allergic reaction, and the other friend is my English teacher. I ate lunch in her class while he graded schoolwork on days that Milo was too sick to show up for school.

I never understood why kids are so fucking mean. Like sometimes I'm having a good day and then I remember when I sang at the middle school talent show.

Some kid who was destined to have a blunt in his hand finished doing tricks on his skateboard rolled off stage and it was my turn.

In the dimly lit auditorium, adorned with colourful decorations for the annual school talent show, I took center stage with my guitar, a blend of excitement and nervousness etched across my face. The hushed whispers of the audience faded as I strummed the first chords, the notes carrying the beginning to the first of many performances in my life

"If you gave me only one wish,

I wouldn't want to feel this way.

They told me I'd have your memory

But all I want is you to stay

And I can't stop my mind from haunting me,

It's like a scar on a butterfly's wing,

I wanted you to know."

I had worked tirelessly to perfect the lyrics to my first ever song, begging my uncle who was far more practiced for his input. This was way back when I still lived in fuck ass nowhere Alberta, I had that country twang in my high voice though it carried a specific tenderness.

"This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you

And one day these bones will heal

And they'll leave me with the truth

And I'll give you everything if it's the last thing that I do.

This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain

This beautiful pain for you."

However, as I sang my little heart out, a different melody began to play in the background - the snickers and hushed comments of some classmates who couldn't appreciate the vulnerability I laid bare on the stage. Their laughter, like discordant notes in a once-harmonious piece, reverberated through the auditorium.

"If I sailed the world on stormy seas

Chasing sunlight that I can't see.

I was a dreamer here before,

Before I woke up and fell to the floor

And I'd climb to heaven if I could find you,

Even with a scar this butterfly flew.

I wanted you to know."

I spotted one group in particular, they hated me already and this would give them all the more reason to bully me.

"This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you

And one day, these bones will heal

And they'll leave me with the truth

And I'll give you everything if it's the last thing that I do

This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain, this beautiful pain."

Maybe the lyrics were the slightest bit corny but I was thirteen and these girls were being little cunts. I bit back the tears I so clearly wanted to release when I saw a teacher had to walk over to the group of girls to stop their laughing. It wasn't just that one group though, kids scattered all over were fighting back giggles and that made it hurt all the worse.

"And all I'll ever need

And all I'll ever be,

Within every part of me is this,

This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you

And one day these bones will heal

And leave me with the truth

And I'll give you everything 'cause it was all I ever knew.

This beautiful pain,

This beautiful pain,

This beautiful pain,

For you."

As the last note hung in the air, the room was divided. Some applauded, recognizing the authenticity of my performance, while others continued their derisive comments. So the majority who liked my singing were teachers, but that didn't matter, at least my music got through to someone.

The rest of the day was even more difficult than my three-minute performance, at least that was over quickly but the comments from Kennedy and her friends left me leaving school in tears.

I didn't go home that day, I walked the extra ten minutes to get to my uncle's house. Lugging my guitar and newfound hate for music with me. The façade, adorned with a mismatched collection of potted plants and a welcoming, hand-painted sign that read ‘Home Sweet Home’ hinted at my uncle's efforts to infuse joy into his surroundings. The paint on the wooden shutters might have faded, but they held stories of many seasons gone by. The roof, patched with a variety of materials, showed the resourcefulness of my uncle in their attempt to shield the interior from the whims of weather. 

He tried to make the house look nice for me and my little sister. He was by no means rich in money but rich in what mattered, the love he had for me was overflowing.

It wasn't a particularly nice neighbourhood either, his house was small, with two bedrooms and a basement I wasn't allowed in. But every time I think of the chipped blue walls, I feel a warm sense of nostalgia run down my spine.

"Who's there?" I hear Uncle Richie call from the kitchen where he is cooking something.

"Just me," I yell back, dropping my guitar case on the ground and belly-flopping onto his old brown leather couch that had more tears in it than I could count; he had tried to stich some of them up with embroidery floss but ultimately gave up, deciding to let it be since he couldn't afford to replace it.

"Why aren't you at your mom's, Chickadee?"

"I don't wanna see Mom right now, she's gonna put me in an even worse mood," I call back grabbing the TV remote off of the water-damaged coffee table.

"What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Minutes later Richie walks into the living room to join me, he carries a bowl of Kraft Mac and cheese with two forks shoved in it, he taps the bottom of my socked feet, signalling for me to move them so he can fit on the couch with me. Uncle Richie has a buzz cut and beard stubble that I have never seen him without, he has never been seen without a flannel on, not as long as I've been alive. What I remember the clearest about him though was the scar beneath his right eye, when I was younger he would tell me that he got it from a pirate though I stopped believing that. "So are you going to tell me why you're sulking?"

I ignore him and he reaches for the remote to turn the TV off "Hey, I watching that," I mutter.

"Well I'm waiting for you to answer me, Chickadee," He tilts his head "Or you won't get any kraft dinner."

"I sang at the talent show today."

"And?"

"Everyone made fun of me."

He furrows his eyebrows "Why would they do that?"

"Why do you think?" I snark "Because I'm not good enough and I'm a bad singer and I have a shit guitar." I immediately regret my words. Uncle Richie was the one who gave me that guitar, it was all he could manage with his income, it was his back when he had dreams of his own but he fixed it up so I could pick up where he left off. The guitar itself had a cracking between the face and the side that was being held together with duct tape, not to mention the whole thing was basically reinforced with superglue and there were Sharpie drabbles on it of poems and potential songs Richie started that I will be sure to finish.

"This is the best guitar in the world," He reaches behind the couch where I left it slugs the case onto his lap and opens it to showcase the guitar "Because it's full of something money can’t buy, there is love built into this guitar and every time you play it you feel that love."

"I don't feel love when I play," I say, eyes brimming with tears.

"Then you're not playing right," He smiles, discarding the case on the floor "Did you play the song I helped you write?"

I nod "Kennedy said it was worse than shoving nails into her ears and that my guitar was decrepit and even more fugly than I am."

"Well Kennedy is a little cunt," He answers "Don't tell anyone I said that." His words make me giggle. I watch him intently as he begins to strum some chords on the guitar, the beginning of Beautiful Pain, he stops when I don't sing the lyrics, glancing at me until the words finally fall from my lips.

After the first two Stanzas, he hands the guitar off to me, nodding his head along to my gentle strums.

When I finish the song and strike the last chord, Richie claps a huge smile on his face "Do you feel the love yet?"

"I dunno."

"Then play again," He says "Don't think about those bitchy little girls," His tone is dead serious "You just gave all of those people a free performance, in ten years they are going to be paying hundreds just to get a bad seat at one of your shows and they will buried so far in the back of your mind that you won't even remember their names or all of those awful words they say to you, the only words that will matter are the ones you sing."

"So what do I do?"

"Play music because you love it, it doesn't matter if it takes you anywhere or if it makes you any money. That's why you should play, play for love not greed."

Wordlessly I begin the song over again, blocking out the rest of the world while I softly sing the lyrics. I strum each cord perfectly, my singing to match. I will forever think back to this moment, this is where I can pinpoint the exact second I fell in love with music.

I wrap up the song and Richie speaks up "Do you still want to watch TV?"

I shake my head "Can you help me write another song?" 

-

Sinjinisoverboard: I love love love the new single but does anyone else miss her debut era?????? I feel like she's sold out

     woodmonkey92: Reply to Sinjinisoverboard╰┈➤ this is so true, I remember when she would sing in parks and she was actually happy just being herself

     theend_is_n3ar: Reply to woodmonkey92╰┈➤ bruh you don't remember that, she was a nobody when she sang in parks plus she literally got heckled and ridiculed by her classmates so bad that she gave up on singing in public and almost gave up on music as a whole

     user37768638493: Reply to sinjinisoverboard╰┈➤ as much as I love her it really seems like she's fallen off the rails

conner_stoll_it: She's not even the same person anymore. I fell in love her original music and who she was when she wrote it, then she signed with a record label now she's an in-genuine copy of every pop star.

     Alina_b12: Reply to conner_stoll_it╰┈➤ you fell in love with her old music?? 💀💀💀 she wasn't even past 100 subscribers when she released her debut album and after she released she literally gained 11 listeners on Spotify to get a total of 24 so don't lie and say that you heard it before hearing her mainstream music

     Luciaisdonewithlife: Reply to conner_stoll_it╰┈➤ Her old music was so relatable, she got famous and it’s kind of hard to relate to someone who's net worth is more money then I can even fathom

     hazeinmorningcraze: Reply to Luciaisdonewithlife╰┈➤I think that's why it was so easy for everybody to side with Ellie during the breakup, Ellie kept true to who she is, her girlfriend however did not.

     Luciaisdonewithlife: Reply to hazeinthemorningcraze╰┈➤*fiancé

     hazeinthemorningcraze: Reply to Luciaisdonewithlife╰┈➤ ew don't remind me

     maiya_onthec0ast: Reply to conner_stoll_it╰┈➤ We should remember that no one listened to her when she released her debut music. She said in an interview that before she signed with Atlantic Records she had 24 listeners and 76 subscribers. We only know who she is because of her mainstream music, you aren't better than anyone for needlessly hating on her.

stargirlthesequel: God who else misses the southern twang she used to have in her voice?

      Vampire_empire2: Reply to stargirlthesequel╰┈➤LMAO acting like you know her is crazy

      Aline_b12: Reply to stargirlthesequel╰┈➤parasocial relationships are really becoming apparent rn

thismightbeskylarwwhiteyo: It's soooooo annoying when people hate on Solstice for being mainstream like all Ashmen discography isn't top on charters since they dropped their first album

     dancedancerev0lution: Reply to thismightbeskylarwwhiteyo╰┈➤I've been saying this! Ellie has been in the industry way longer, she's always had a big fan base, even when she was still a solo artist!

    elliespurplemonster: Reply to thismightbeskylaarwwhiteyo╰┈➤ Ellie Williams on 🔝

    call_urm0ther: Reply to elliespurplemonster╰┈➤ kys she treated her fiancé horribly

    elliespurplemonster: Reply to call_urm0ther╰┈➤ how would you know that????? Were you there??????

    follow_kendra88: Reply to call_urm0ther╰┈➤Ellie was the one who was treated horribly in that relationship, have you even listened to Smokey Eyes?

    ellies_no2girl: Reply to call_urm0ther╰┈➤Ellie was so in love and just got used for fame 🥺💔

     call_urm0ther: Reply to ellies_no2girl╰┈➤fuck off with your cringe ass emojis

sorryyileft___:You guys are so weird for saying Ellie was used by her ex for fame, they literally were on the same show at the same age at the same time and got thrown into the limelight at the same time, Ellie and the Ashmen just got more popular.

   mybodyisacage: Reply to sorryyileft___╰┈➤Ellie had a bit of a YouTube presence before she was on Stardom, it wasn't a crazy number but it was a cult following and that's why she won Stardom, bc she had fans to begin with then gained even more after being on national television

    elliespurplemonster: Reply to mybodyisacage╰┈➤She didn't win bc of following she won bc she's a good artist

    mybodyisacage: Reply to elliespurplemonster╰┈➤I never said she wasn't

bodhi_van34: I thought the whole thing at the Grammy's was an act until I saw all those news articles about Graham Wilson getting arrested

  carlyswarly: Reply to bodhi_van34╰┈➤They did a drug test when he got arrested and found coke in his system

    may0mayyyo: Reply to carlyswarly╰┈➤A busboy who worked the event said that Graham was doing cocaine in the bathroom

   body_van34: Reply to may0mayyyo╰┈➤ LMAO WTF 

charlotte_5freakingdidit: EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT ELLIE WILLIAMS BEING MEAN TO HER EX BUT GRAHAM WILSON LITERALLY ASSAULTED A POPSTAR ON STAGE AND TRIED TO THROW HANDS WITH JESSE LMAO IM DIFFUSING

juliaa__stirling: The way Ellie was laughing when Amelia said she messed up the cards was so rude and immature. Her fans are insane for defending her. All of that just because her ex fiancé gave a speech about working hard, imagine how she felt after being so honest with everyone just for her to not actually win and think about how she feels now reading all of these posts.

botoxangel: Celebrities have feelings too, Amelia made a mistake she's probably embarrassed but not as embarrassed as that poor woman is for putting her soul into a speech just for her ex and all of her fan girls to ridicule her for a mistake that wasn't even hers.

    karaleaah778: Reply to botoxangel╰┈➤exactly! And why are people blaming Amelia??? She was given the envelope by someone else, she genuinely thought her friend won.

carlosislost: Why is Graham even invited to these events?????????

katie_katelynsm1th: Reply to carlosislost╰┈➤Bc it's funny when he causes a scene

howto_nevrst0ppbeingsad: I know you guys think this Grammy situation is so funny but it's really not. Graham is clearly mentally ill, this is a cry for help.

   elleryc3llery: Reply to howto_nevrst0ppbeingsad╰┈➤Dude it's hilarious

  3emmettttt: Reply to howto_nevrst0ppbeing sad╰┈➤The way you're worried about the has been and not the girl whose nose he broke

allysaaaa663638: LMAO THE WAY SHE ACTUALLY THOUGHT SHE WON THE AWARD AND SHE DESERVED IT SHDBDBEGHWWBSV

jessicadacoolest: Ellie is so real for laughing bc I would've done the same tbh

hennyrumwine: Dumb bitch deserved to be hit lollllllll

4444carmencarmen4444: I love the Ashmen's music but I hate Ellie sm, I just feel like she's a fuck girl and she gives me very rude vibes. Like laughing at her ex and then mocking her heartfelt speech is INSANE anyways stream Solstice

sittingwaiting_wishing: I honestly have hated Ellie since the breakup, she's changed so much since then. She used to be funny now she's just mean.

carissaandher_h0ttakes: I still think it's kind of crazy that Dina and Jesse followed through with Ellie on Smokey Eyes because they were really close to her when she was engaged to Ellie, can't imagine how many ties that album severed

    elliessmokeyeye: Reply to carissaandher_h0ttakes╰┈➤I think about this all the time! She was literally the god mother for Dina and Jesses kid

     carissaandher_h0ttakes: Reply to elliessmokeyeye╰┈➤it make me think that she might've done something to them to make them hate her the way Ellie does, Ellie did say that she didn't write all of the songs for Smokey Eyes 🤔🤔🤔

"Do you see how this backlash doesn't look good for anyone?" My agent, Caroline asks after showing me several Twitter posts that are under the trending tag.

"Well, it's not really my fault."

"Nonetheless, I think It's time for a rebrand." She sets her phone face down and looks at me from across her desk "Do you remember when you went on tour with the Ashmen when you were around twenty-one?"

My eyes go wide, I'm already shaking my head "Please-

"This is an awful event that you can turn into an amazing opportunity and capitalize on it," The backdrop behind Caroline is almost blinding, it's an annoyingly hot LA day and I want nothing more than to be back in Canada and swimming in lakes with my little sister.

"Caroline, mentally I can't handle a tour with Ellie."

"Mentally, you're gonna have to," She says, getting stern "Your fans either hate each other or they love both of you and feel like their parents have divorced."

I know that I will argue with Caroline for the next hour and threaten to fire her but eventually, she will win, so until then I am preoccupied with thoughts of everything but Ellie, soaking in the last moments I will have until she envelopes my brain and suffocates me from the inside out.

I am sure that with Ellie, I will die before winter comes and I am doubtful that I will ever bloom again.

[jolalibrary]

6. morning coffee

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter six of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.5k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it would be called 'the morning after'

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It’s hard not to smile when you open your eyes.

More so when you feel his breath on your neck, the scent of body wash you quickly remember him rubbing into your skin—the arm currently draped over your waist. The one keeping you firmly close, as though you would ever wish to be anywhere but here.

Seen, wanted and appreciated—even when he’s not entirely conscious.

The only reason you even contemplate moving from this—and the only real reason you’re awake—is that you’re desperate for the bathroom. It worsens the longer you lie there, thinking of it, the pressure on it from his forearm.

A quick glance at the clock on his bedside table tells you it’s far too early to disturb him. To wake him with a kiss and a whisper that you’ll be right back—especially when you think back to how late it was before the two of you finally whispered that you should sleep.

Even if you hadn’t wanted to.

Wanting instead to keep feeling his knuckles drag up and down your outer thigh and knee. The husk of his voice saying he should really flick the light off, even if he didn’t, instead letting you ask his favourite colour and him answering with a handful of shades you’d never remember.

Pick one, Francisco.

Mmm, not sure I can do that, baby. Too hard of a question.

Too hard to pick one thing?

Not when it’s the right thing.

Glancing over at him, fingers close to his, you swim for a moment in the memories of last night—the ache between your thighs a souvenir you can keep with you until it fades. Admiring the length of his lashes against his cheek, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips that you wish to kiss forever, as a thought—one strong and beating inside of you like your own heart—comes to you:

You don’t wish to trade this. Any of it.

Not just last night, but all of it—all of him.

But, you have to move. Even if your heart pleads with you not—eventually only doing so when your bladder twinges again in protest.

You find, slipping out from under his arm (all cautiously and carefully) is easy, until you glance back at his sleeping frame.

A calmness to him, a peacefulness. Chest and shoulder rising, face tilted ever so slightly into the plump pillow. It makes a pang of want thrum through you, one that doesn’t fade when you tiptoe back to the room and find him in a similar position.

Leaning on the wall, the one between his bedroom and en-suite, you flick your eyes to the half-open door. Spotting his bathrobe, fluffy and dark grey—flecks of white stitched in. Your throat suddenly scratchy, dry. Your body desperate for what usually fuels it when you’re up and about.

And you know you have to decide. Choose between attempting to slide back into bed or searching cupboards for coffee—both for you and him.

But you can’t stand there. Able to bet money that if he opened his eyes and found you staring, he’d one hundred per cent find it creepy.

You move when he sighs—further rolling into the space you had been moments ago. Smirking, you move, the decision made as you unhook the rope. Slowly sliding your arms into it until it’s draped over you and you’re welcomed by it: his scent.

That familiar one. The one which smells like pine cones, cedar wood and so much more. The one which had seeped into your clothes that first kiss close to your car.

And, thankfully, it only gets more intense as you step out into the hallway.

Brushing your hand over shelves as you pass, eyes lingering over the titles of books—ones about woodwork, decor and home. Fingers tracing the spines of them as you take in the photographs littered around.

Some are adorned with Luca, varying ages spanned across shelves. A tooth missing here, a gummy smile there. Some you assume are his family, and then a group of men, shirts off and standing in the middle of a dune—grinning, Frankie’s hair far shorter than it is now.

But, as you stare across his living area, you spot all the things you missed last night. The record player and the vinyls tucked on a higher shelf, placed beside crayon artwork framed in dark wood. There are mini-Lego figures in prime places, with wicker baskets containing multicoloured blocks and toys.

Then, there’s the closet near the kitchen you can’t remember from your tour—making a note to question him on later—before finally arriving at his kitchen.

And, fuck is it beautiful.

It’s all dimly lit by the early morning light flitting through the windows. Quiet, peaceful—save for the humming of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds outside. Like much of the place, the cupboards are dark, starkly contrasted by white-wash walls and pinned drawings on the fridge.

Centre-stage, and the thing you’re seeking, is his coffee machine. A sleek silver contraption that looks more complicated than you're used to. Shiny, remarkably clean.

Yet, you're determined.

Remembering his mention about his love of coffee and his preference for Cafe Bustelo. Trying to remember the rest, whether it was black drip, milk or no milk. Stroking a finger down the milk frother as you begin to piece it all together from fragments, hints he had dropped unknowingly.

Up until this point, you had found it difficult to find one thing about Frankie you didn’t like. Then you saw his kitchen layout.

Cupboard, after cupboard opened until you found the bright yellow bag. The smoky, rich smell wafting out as you tugged it close, all strong and inviting—it hooked a finger under your chin and coaxed you to spend several minutes fumbling with the machine.

Then, you hear the satisfying gurgle of brewing coffee.

Resisting the urge to break into a spontaneous dance, you opt instead to steal a momentary glance out the window. The world is stirring, its early morning canvas painted in delicate strokes of pink and orange, a serene backdrop as your gaze falls upon the garden. the worn slide of the wooden climbing frame, its sides adorned in an array of mismatched hues and haphazard brushstrokes. Your eyes begin tracing the trail of tiny handprints ascending one side, the lowest the smallest, increasing in size until halfway up. Then, at the top, larger prints that, just hours ago, you imagine were pressed against your own skin.

As a breeze blows through it, it swings multi-colour bulbs hanging, draped and swinging above. Letting your eyes sweep over the plants—the planters likely made by him, like you imagine much of the furniture outside is—suddenly spotting little figures buried into random bits of soil.  

And it makes you smile, grin—full on fucking beam.

Only letting it flicker when you’re stirred by the beep of the coffee machine, pulls you from your reverie. Fingers returning to opening cupboards, seeking mugs, almost grumbling to yourself when you feel hands on your waist.

Ones that feel right, purposeful.

“Morning.”

It’s gravelly, coated in the morning—slowly closing the door before moving back into him, your back flush to his chest.

“Good morning, Butterscotch.”

Feeling him sigh, chin resting on your shoulder, you raise your fingers to brush against his cheek.

“You trying to bring me coffee in bed?”

Turning, you rotate in his arms. Eyes briefly catching the sight of him half-naked. Before taking a full on glance to spot him in a pair of sweats, ones that sit low on his hips. One of his hands crosses over the expanse of his waist, fingers scratching at his soft stomach while you look up to see his hair all at odd angles—curls slightly frizzed from being over-toyed and ragged.

“Well, I was trying too, but...”

“Machine confuse you?”

Narrowing your eyes, his hands coming around you, you smirk. “I will not confirm or deny.”

Running his hand across his chin, he looks over you before his lips twitch. “It was a gift—the machine.”

“From you to you?”

You watch as he sticks his tongue in his cheek, poking you lightly in your side. “The coffee place near work—it was being refurbed, I offered some thoughts as I was in there all the time, so they gave it to me.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“Do you use all of its features?”

Swallowing, he sighs. “No.”

Sliding your fingers along his jaw, nose practically touching his, you find yourself unable to break his eyes. To not want to remain pressed against the counter in his kitchen, stood barefoot in his bathrobe, coffee scents filling the air.

“I bet you know exactly how to take it apart and put it back together.”

“Baby…”

“Bet you descale it regularly, when you’re supposed to.”

Groaning at the feel of your fingers in his hair, he buries his face into your neck. “Is that making you hot for me?”

“Oddly, yes.”

Snorting against your skin, he slowly lets out a slow exhale. “I hate that I have to open the shop.”

“What would your plans be if you didn’t have to?”

Smirking, he groans—low, barely reaching the surface, but it vibrates through you all the same. “I would for one have convinced you the bedroom was far more comfortable.”

“Hmm, tempting.”

Laughing, he pecks your lips, not moving from his place in front of you, even if his head moves back. “I like that you smell like me.”

“Territorial, noted.”

Turning, he points to the mugs, as you begin pouring the coffee—handing him one as his fingers brush yours.

“I just… I liked that you stayed.”

“Stayed or showered with you and let you see where soap suds go?”

Tilting his chin down, his eyes burn into your soul—all wide, brown, desperate to swallow you whole. “If I remember right, you were also seeing where soap suds go.”

Shrugging, you smirk against the mug, noting his finger resting on the knot of the belt—the one protecting your modesty. “Well, it would be rude to not watch the show.”

“A show? Glad I put on my best moves then,” he replies, voice all low, a hand coming to rest on the counter beside you.

You find it hard not to let your mouth become slack, breath hitching at the act.

“Glad it persuaded you to stay?”

Raising an eyebrow, you try to find something smart to say. Ticking. Whirring away. But then you see it.

Ever-present, hanging there—that worry in his eye. A look which half-pleads for you to pinch him and let him know it’s real. A thing you do as you clutch your coffee in one hand, avoid melting at his words and cup his cheek with the other.

The fabric of his robe-sleeve slides down and his breath flutters warmth against your wrist.

“You didn’t need to persuade me. I wanted to wake up in your arms…”

It’s smooth, the way one of his fingers undo the belt, body coming close as you place the mug down and feel his hands, all rough and worn, sliding over your hips. He's cautious to ensure his chest covers yours, as though attempting to keep you warm, concealed.

“—Plus, I really wanted to try your coffee. But, now I want to steal your coffee and bathrobe.”

His laughter trickles out and draws out against you. Frankie’s head shaking, wearing a large smile on his lips, “Well, I think I can come to some arrangement to let you.”

Sucking in a breath, finding his eyes locked on yours, you lean forward and kiss him. Gentle. Delicate. An assurance delivered softly as the coffee aroma continues to seep into your nose.

“I need to make you breakfast,” he whispers, mouth open, breathing the same air.

“Need, want or should?”

With a soft scoff, he leans in to capture your lips once more, whispering all three against you as his hand finds its way to the curve of your neck. Delicately tracing his fingertips over your jawline with a tantalising caress, you find yourself deepening the kiss, hungry for more. His grip on you tightens as you pull him closer, until there is no space left between you both. None that you want to be there. Desperate to be close, to have, to—

“‘m gonna make your breakfast now,” he says, voice close, pecking against your lips before his hands slide from your skin.

The loss is evident. Immediately missed.

Part of you longs to reach out, to draw him back until you feel him clutching the fabric together for you—a slightly lifted brow as you fumble for the belt, and he begins to pull things onto the counter.

Then, you watch him—tying his robe closed—half-in-awe of the meticulous way he moves around his space, grabbing things like he’s been thinking of what to make while you were busy rendered useless.

Eyes fixed on him so much, you see him pause—briefly. His gaze lingers on the coffee pot, glancing back, forcing you to laugh—a shake of your head.

"Thinking about how you’re going to miss this brilliant coffee, you know, since it’s mine now?" You quip, taking another sip of your coffee.

He turns, a pretend wounded expression on his face.

“I should confess that I’m not a nice person without my coffee," he replies, the twinkle in his eyes betraying his amusement.

With a smile gracing your lips, you ease back against his countertop, enjoying the comforting warmth of both the freshly brewed coffee and his presence.

The sunlight continues to filter in gently, casting a soft and golden glow across the room as you pause to drink in the sight before you. Him, cooking you breakfast.

A thing you thought you could have only thought up weeks ago. His curls tousled, a charming mess.

"Selfishly then, I'll let you keep the coffee," you finally concede.

Nodding, he closes his eyes in gratitude before there’s a twitch of his lips. “Because you like me?”

“Because I really like this bathrobe—the robe is a non-negotiable."

He laughs again, shaking his head in defeat. "Fair enough, it's a deal."

“Because I look so good in it?”

“Well," he says, scratching the back of his head. “I think you look good in everything.”

Harry okay?

Yeah, he rocked up ten minutes after you drove off, was able to pick Luca up at normal time.

That’s great! Did you boys have fun?

We did. He’s really into dinosaurs at the moment so I found this craft we could do where we make dinosaurs out of paper plates.

I like making things with him, plus it’s a nice gift for his mom when I drop him off tomorrow.

So handy and crafty?

Very crafty.

And very good with your hands.

You flirt.

You had a nice day?

I got some work done which I needed to get started, and I did some yoga.

Putting all sorts of images in my head.

Says you, talking about being crafty.

Bed feels weird without you here.

Imprinted on it that quickly?

Yeah. You’re the only one that’s been in it except me, and obviously Luca.

Shut up. I cannot be.

You are.

I don’t bring people back to my house.

Ever?

Never.

Never.

Never—

You don’t think.

Not of the time. That he could be tired. Or that his son is asleep in the next room.

Fingers sliding across the screen, finding his contact, and clicking. It's pressed to your ear before you consider whether this is a bad idea. Clutching it, holding it like a lifeline, knowing it's too late. Even if you end it, he'd know, see—

It barely rings.

Two at most, one and a half being a possibility.

And you sigh.

“Fancy hearing from you.”

Pulling your knees up, your bed groans at the sudden movement as you tug the duvet closer to your chin, cheeks rising with your lips. “You’ve really not had someone in your bed?”

It’s there, the sigh. Not full of annoyance, but more like he’s said too much.

“No… I’ve not had anyone else in it but you,” he admits quietly into the phone.

“Wow.”

“And Luca, of course. I always… you sure you want to hear this?”

There’s a softness in his voice that makes your heart flutter in your chest. An unexpected stroke of warmth through you at his question, at his consideration—prompting you to hug the duvet closer to yourself. A subtle smile dances across your lips as you let it wash over you.

“I want to hear whatever you want to tell me.”

Clearing his throat, you hear rustling, trying to half imagine if he’s turning over in bed, if he’s getting more comfortable—

“If I met someone, I didn’t… I only went to theirs.”

Biting your lip, you shift in your seated position, crossing your legs. “So, lunch and then theirs?”

“No lunch.”

“Coffee?”

Silence. Thick, ear-eroding silence. Before he breathes. “It would be a one-night thing and I wouldn’t stay.”

Oh. Your hand slides around your knee, trying not to grin too much. It's all far too easy to get ahead of yourself, to think too much. To run away and begin thinking this means more than it does. But, then—

“So, I’m…”

“Yeah.”

There’s more you want to ask, them sitting there, burning a hole in your tongue. Practically desperate to erode it, possibly poison it all—as questions sometimes do.

“And here I was thinking I was just another notch on your bedpost,” you tease, trying to keep your voice light, sweet.

He laughs then, a sound that makes you wish you were there with him, instead of miles apart in your own cold bed. “Not at all, baby.”

Toes twitching in your bed, you let out a breath. Sliding your legs out straight, slowly folding yourself down to the mattress, lying on one side as you hold the phone.

And you confess your own.

The reason you’re single, the reason you bought a house.

It rolls and falls, slipping with far too much ease into the air from your mouth. A burden-shifting, a weight from your shoulders lessening. The admission undoing the tightness around your chest as you continue to let the past be told in the present.

You don’t cry. Don’t even feel yourself well up. An improvement, a shift and change in you that you’re sure is brought on entirely by Frankie. On occasion, you hear movement from his side and the briefest whisper of your name. Not in pity—never in pity—just in understanding, in comfort.

“So, I’m the first—“

“Yes, Morales. You’re the first person to ask me out in a long time, big deal.”

“It feels like a big deal.”

Smirking, you twitch your toes. “In a few more dates I might confess that it is.”

“But not right now?”

Grinning, you bite your lip. “Feels like it would inflate your head, Francisco.”

More rustling comes down the phone before you hear a deep sigh. “Maybe. Are you in bed?”

“I am.”

You stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom, a smile slowly spreading across your face.

“Is it weird to admit I miss you?”

“Not if it’s weird if I say I miss you too.”

You swear you hear him smile. That soft exhale he does dusts over your ear as he breathes your name, before adding, “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too.”

A comfortable silence flows out, spreading as you listen to him breathe.

“Want me to tell you my favourite dinosaur?”

You don't fight the laughter that rings out around your bedroom

Sunday tiptoes in with the slightest spring in its step.

With a gentle stretch, you reach for the familiar weight of your phone, heart already skipping ahead of your groggy mind.

There's a flutter of excitement, it mixing with a hint of nerves as you wonder if he's reached out yet. Because it's silly to be excited at the idea that he has, to be giddy at the thought of him thinking of you in this quiet morning hour.

It feels almost teenage-like.

But when your screen lights up you don't care what it is, because there’s little point fighting the grin. The pure eclipsing smile that smothers tiredness and makes your cheeks hurt instantly.

Enjoying my morning coffee feels different without a robe-wearing thief.

Rolling onto your front, the duvet sliding down your back, you dig your elbows into the mattress and run your tongue across your teeth.

Good morning to you too. If there’s coffee left, expect me in half an hour. Unless you fancy getting some with me?

Even if it feels like minutes, his reply arrives in seconds.

Instantly illuminating your phone against the backdrop of your pillow, prompting an involuntary smile to grace your lips.

Always. But I’m thinking brunch might be better?

Grinning, you fight a giggle. Teeth biting down on your lip as your thumbs type at record speed.

Can’t wear the bathrobe there. No, not really. But, I’ll keep it safe, don’t worry. Promise? Pinky promise. Brunch it is. I'll pick you up.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[kremlin]

after many years my old company has finally allowed people back into the office, haha, not to go to work, no no, solely to collect their belongings from their desks. i picked up my stuff and remembered what a psycho i was about my office back then, let me show you..

i set up an old VT-420 on a side of my desk to read my email on (to flex my computer dick) which is unfortunately a bit too yellowed now for me to post exposed but hilariously enough i did take the chance to fix the faulty RS-232 chip in it and i no longer get a bunch of keystrokes interpreted as ŸŸŸŸs randomly. the fix was great too, instead of having to throw the whole thing out like you'd need to today, i literally just had to pull the PTH chip out of its socket, didn't even need to desolder. nor throw the old one out. i blasted it with a blowtorch for about half a second and it's fine now.

(it is amber by the way, which is the best color)

the keyboard is another story, i think a lot of like, entry-level vintage computing people get this concept that every old keyboard is some treasure, and boy let me tell you, some of them make you want throw up, like the vt420's:

you'll have to take my word that the typing experience is pure ass, but if you look at this fucker for more than two seconds your blood pressure will start to raise. and i'm not just talking about the euro return key. where is the super key? and what is going on left of 'a'? did they decide to solve the age-old "caps lock vs ctrl" debate by putting both of them there (??) what the fuck is going on north of the arrow keys?!?! and even further north, 'help' is funny enough on its own, the fact its next to DO, a truly existentially puzzling key, makes it that much better. why is DO so wide?? why are there so many F keys? and apparantly 20 F keys wasn't enough, they had to go on and invent "PF" keys above the numpad. and it doesn't stop there..

the pre-USB world was pretty nuts, but most keyboards still had sane connectors like DE-9's, PS/2, DINs, etc, but not this one

it uses, a, uh, looks like an ethernet cable. weird. but look closer. six pins. AND, big honking square to key it specifically and make it incompatible with the very-similar already-existing 6P6C specification (why?) anyways, that's enough of this crap, moving on

this is the keyboard for my lisp machine, the famous "space cadet keyboard", i get so many fucking emails about this keyboard, christ almighty. people trying to buy it from me, it's a shame, the machines don't boot without them so seperating them to satisfy reddit guy wish fulfillment breaks my heart. it's a lot better. it's from an era where a good computer would set you back half a million and the hardware reflects it. honeywell made it, it's "solid state" insofar as that makes sense for a keyboard, uses the hall effect. there weren't any rats at my office but just in case i seem to have taped something to the underside:

lol. now for accouterments to cover those hideous eggshell white walls:

in order, openbsd, you know it baby, middle is a weird polish promo for the holy mountain, the last thing was a joke whose meaning has been lost to time. chicken and turkey!

i seemed to have been working on some very bizarre electronics projects, personal, during my workday:

god, what the fuck was this?

oh, duh, it's bort's hat. (??)

some reading materials. K&R C is a first edition, somewhat rare. the 9front manuals:

classic, natch. and a huge gear that's clapped

that's it. that's my office apparently.

[ganondoodle]

watching a video of someone playing an older game (not even THAT old) and constantly having to hear them go 'omg can you imagine how much more pretty and good this would be if it ran at 60+ fps with highest end graphics of the current modern games and in 4k???' over and over while also commenting on some graphics looking slightly muddy and how ugly and shitty 30 fps is

and i just cant help but get incredibly annoyed at that, cant you just appreciate the game for what it is?? the constant focus on smoother everything and graphics so detailed it looks faker than the real world is such a limited view on games- more polygons and higher res textures doesnt equal better ffs

i, and i might out myself with an unpoluar opinion here, but remakes are in my opinion often rather unecessary, just rerelease the old game, just make it avaible for people, officially, you dont have to reprogramm the entire thing!! maybe upscale it a little so it doesnt get stretched into a blurry mess if possible but even that i will work with no problem!! there are cases where its pretty much an entirely different game (FF7?) and i get seeing one of your fav old games get some new paint can be really cool, not arguing against that- what i dont like is that those remakes replace the original as that isnt made avaible, only the new version- like i wish i could play windwaker on my switch, but i cant stand the "HD" remake of it and i know if it ever were to get ported it will only be that version like the original doesnt exist anymore and my earlier point that many people consider more fps, more polygons, more resolution as automatically better

i dont need games to be running at 60+ fps, 30 is enough, sure id like it to run smoothly on that without huge drops, but when its stable 30, why would i need more? more often than not i prefer simplified graphics bc they often focus on the most important parts of what they are trying to achieve or work with an interesting style to compensate and i LOVE THAT, also id like to not have to download 100+ GB even when i would turn it on its lowest settings anyway, save me the space- and that is if i even got hardware that can run it at all, my computer struggles with slime rancher and i dont have the funds to buy the newest consoles nor computers

im not against remakes per se, but the fact that the old will more often than not disappear entirely and remain unavaible forever and that higher end graphics are automatically seen as better drives me nuts

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is some sexy condo, for the price. Look at this technique of highlighting the unit that's for sale. And, look at the waterfalls out front. I wish my apt. had waterfalls. There's a nice private terrace, too. Built in 1982 in Louisville, KY. It has 2bds, 2ba, 1,644 sq ft, $449,900.

Have you ever seen a more classy door? Wow, I can't get over the door. I have a plain door that currently has a squirrel "wreath" for the fall. Next wreath I put up, I'm putting ribbons on.

And, look at the other side of the door.

This is fabulous.

B/c this is a condo, you can paint and put up wallpaper. My pictures are falling off the walls, b/c you can't put holes in the apt. One disappeared last night, fell right behind the couch.

Look at how nice the dining area is.

This fireplace wall is beautiful. I think that the cabinets are built-ins.

Nice corner sofa. The bad part about this is that they're going to take all their stuff with them.

Look at the kitchen. They redid it and put in the high end counters and backsplashes. Love the gold hardware.

Love the two-tone cabinetry. Oh, look at the display cabinets, too.

Beautiful private terrace.

Hall to the bedrooms.

Beautiful primary suite.

Luxurious en-suite.

Nice large closet.

The 2nd bedroom is big, also.

And look at this elegant en-suite. It's amazing what they did with a standard 3pc. bath.

Laundry room in the unit.

2 Spaces with storage.

Lovely front entrance.

Beautiful lobby.

Nice pool area, too. This is all I want.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/5701-Coach-Gate-Wynde-APT-64-Louisville-KY-40207/2058789748_zpid/?

[wordsandrobots]

Haven't done a self-promotion post in a while, but given I am now into the epilogues for this monster, it feels about due. So! Here's my three-year-long attempt to process all the feelings this rather spectacularly good anime gave me. Reviews include "Fuck you" (my beta reader) and "HOW DARE YOU" (a friend, barely five chapters in).

Fandom: Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2513668

Rating: T through to E (tags/warnings at source)

Pairings: (deep breath) Atra/Kudelia, Yamagi/Shino, Gaelio/Julieta, Eugene/OC, Yamagi/Shino/Eugene, Mikazuki/Atra/Kudelia, Yukinojo/Merribit, Amida/Naze

Summary: A follow-up/continuation of Iron-Blooded Orphans exploring the aftermath of the series and where things might have gone next. Technically an AU in the sense of fragrantly misreading authorial intent for one particular scene (you can probably guess which if you’ve seen the show and read the pairings above) but not remotely an ‘everyone lives’ scenario. This is largely an exercise in the surviving characters being thoroughly haunted by their past and absolutely failing to get over any of it.

Featuring – Ride growing into a (learner) revolutionary; Eugene struggling to be a responsible adult; Yamagi struggling to be an irresponsible adult; Kudelia and Atra being unfiltered sunshine together; Chad needing a hug; Julieta doing her best; Gaelio moping at lot; the Turbines; the spin-off manga cast; the most horrible villain I’ve ever invented; a moderate amount of smut; bit parts for literally everyone; and Almiria Bauduin’s evil plan to save destroy the world.

Updates weekly on Fridays.

Arc #1: Moving on or standing still

Status: complete

A Handful of Rusted Petals

The Grandmaster

To Catch a Falling Star

Fragments of You/Pieces of Me

Arc #2: Monsters out of the past

Status: complete

Let Sleeping Angels Lie

Between Family

The Ares Affair

The Haunting of Takaki Uno

Arc #3: The pressure of ghosts

Status: complete

Frozen Sunlight

Of Obsessions and Erotemes

Revolution for Beginners and Polyamory for Dumbasses

Under a Crescent Moon

Arc #4: Schemes and daydreams

Status: complete

Eugene Sevenstark and the Hesperus Treasure

Hope Against Hope

Love, Death and Cannoli

Fata Morgana

Arc # 5: The end of the world

Status: posting in progress (concludes 9 August, 2024)

We Three Kings

History of a Catastrophe

Ragnarök in G Minor

A Day in the Light

+

A playlist to accompany the whole series

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Prologue

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None for this chapter [this also isn’t beta’d so bear with me]

Notes: it took me so long to work up the courage to actually post my first work, so enjoy! I’ll be over here anxiously awaiting your thoughts.

Word Count: 705

Series Masterlist

A clear horizon. An orange sunset fading into vivid pinks and purples as the atmosphere darkens in preparation for the night. Evening sun warming your face, the space around you drifting into silence as calm settles into your bones, time halting its ever constant forward march, no thoughts or worries.

That’s what it felt like, the moment my eyes met Jasper Hale’s. Like I was done searching for what my heart was in need of as soon as I glanced into those golden pools of his.

• January 24th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

Based on the non-stop gossip floating around this microscopic high school, I’m the newest kid on the block. Dethroning the most recent to wear the title, Bella Swan, the Police Chief’s daughter.

Now, I’m not opposed to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State, but Forks could strive to be a little more than a one-stoplight town and add a few more amenities. This big city Texas girl needs a little more than Forks Outfitters - the one stop shop for food, basic clothing, and hardware.

I left Dallas because my mom needed me here, my dad didn’t want to trade sunshine and big ranches for rain and freezing temperatures. They’re happily divorced, but I can tell that over time it’s worn her down. I’m just a junior in high school, but I guess she and I can navigate this together.

God, let there be cute boys at this high school, I’m begging you.

I was almost immediately accosted by what I deemed the welcoming committee the moment I locked the door to my car and began the dreaded ‘new kid’ trek to the front office of Forks High School. Stares came from anyone loitering in the parking lot before class while this overly-excited kid, who introduced himself as Eric Yorkie, began what had to be a well rehearsed ‘anything you need’ spiel.

All hopes of flying under the radar halfway through junior year vanished into thin air and I hadn’t even made it to the sidewalk yet.

“Eric? I really appreciate your help and concern, but I was hoping to kinda just glide in on my first day and blend in.” I said as we walked together through the wet parking lot, dodging the bigger puddles so I wouldn't soak my shoes before I got to my first class of the day.

“Oh that’s pretty much impossible here, newcomers are always the only thing everyone talks about. Don’t be scared to hit me up with questions later though, good luck!” Shouting that last part as he dashed off to class, turning the heads of a few close students.

A deep sigh passed my lips as I trudged on, pulling open the heavy door to the administration office. It’s nice to have someone offer help on my first day, I just wish this town was big enough so that I could get lost on everyone’s list of priorities to gossip about or stare at.

Today is going to be a long day.

“Good morning dear!” A sweet older woman announced from behind the central desk in the front office. The name plate in front of her reading ‘Administrative Secretary Shelly Cope’.

“Good morning Miss Cope. I’m Y/n Y/l/n, here to pick up my class schedule and hopefully a map of the place?” I said, cutting to the chase. The front office is a giant fish bowl to the students walking by outside, no one wants to spend more time than necessary here on their first day.

“Oh yes! I’ve got it all printed out and ready to go for ya dear, along with your locker assignment.” She says with a smile, passing the papers across her desk. “Let me know if you have any questions or if you need help with anything!”

“Yes ma’am, thank you!” I responded, half reading my new schedule - half aware of where I was going as I press a shoulder to the exit.

First period Biology

Second period English

Third period Spanish

Fourth period Trigonom-

The front office door smacks straight into an unsuspecting, gorgeous, golden-eyed fellow student, sending the papers clutched in my hands to the ground.

Next

[wildthings04]

[lilenui]

Shino and Yamagi in their Wishing on Space Hardware pilot suits, a more basic representation.

[nostalgia-tblr]

i saw two shooting stars last night, i wished on them but they were only satellites :(

is this anything

wasn't sure who should be the uncle - mobius suggests himself, obvs, but then it'd go incestuous a few lines later D:

'red star belgrade' -> soviet union -> oppressive TVA shit. aye? naw?

wheeeee! his little stripper-pole twirl!

thank u loki show S1 Ep5 for ur many abundant gifts