#first fic incoming???? here’s some snippets i suppose

[spiderium]

⤷ COMING SOON!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ THE WENDSᝰ.ᐟ

❝n. the frustration that you’re not enjoying an experience as much as you should, which prompts you to try plugging in various thought combinations to trigger anything more intense than roaring static, as if your heart had been inadvertently demagnetized by a surge of expectations.❞

From wend, to wander unpredictably along a predetermined path. Compare the bends, which occurs when a diver ascends too quickly and gas bubbles begin to form in their tissues, a condition that can be debilitating or fatal.

— Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.

OR, IN WHICH: Simon Riley’s never been good at grieving or bein’ sweet or anything in between, but with you… loving is not easy, but for the first time, it feels worth doing again.

VAGUE MENTIONS OF MW3 SPOILERS!

pottery + grief + simon = a horrible puffy eyed evening, thank you.

[xtarmanderx]

I’ve never asked for a refund prompt before… so I hope I do this right? lol

I would love a fic about what you think Tommy’s thoughts were about meeting Buck and/or giving him the harbour tour.

I need you to know I’m roughly 8k into this prompt and possibly closing in on the end? I got stuck writing it from their first meeting and then started at the Harbor tour and decided to merge the two together so it’s taken a while longer. However, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten so here’s a snippet!

Tommy’s just coming off a particularly brutal 48 when his phone buzzes with an incoming call. He taps the screen, frowning down at the unknown number and unfamiliar area code. It’s probably a spam call, he’s been getting a lot of those recently now that it’s getting closer to election season. He lets it go to voicemail and doesn’t think twice about it until his phone lights up again, revealing a text from that same unknown number. He unlocks his phone with the full plan to just delete the text without reading it, but the name catches his attention at once.

‘hey! Buck here. Evan. Evan Buckley. you flew us into the hurricane? the 118, not just me and you. anyhow! i was wondering if maybe you would consider giving me a tour of harbor? no pressure or anything. also chim gave me your number, sorry if that’s weird’

Tommy has to read it twice before it sinks in and even then, he still pinches his arm. Setting the phone on his kitchen island, he blows out a small breath and wonders how the hell he got this lucky. He doesn’t often believe in second chances, not when it comes to his own life, but he feels like maybe this is some kind of sign. One that he’s all too eager to follow and explore whatever road it takes him down.

The thing is, Tommy had anticipated his attraction at first sight to disappear. He hadn’t heard from Evan since they’d stolen a helicopter, but it was impossible not to think about the other man. Not when he’d formed a fast friendship with Eddie, who talked about Evan like they were family. Even Eddie’s kid seemed to think the sun shone out of Evan’s ass. How was he supposed to douse the fire of his crush when they kept adding kindling to it?

[space-specs]

for the fanfic ask meme- 🎃 👀 🧠 (guy gardner bc i want you to talk about my blorbo)

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

I have yet to write any fics for any holidays (unless you count Pride Month, in which case, gonna promo my criticism of Devin Grayson's Jon Kent Pride story here). I may write a Christmas fic if I can ever get the time in the holiday season because it's fun. I also have a soft spot for Jewish batfam content, but I would need to do quite a bit of research before I wrote a fic for any Jewish holiday.

On that note, I'll rec some other people's holiday fics, lol.

Latkes and Other Fried Foods by metukah — a collection of very sweet and fun Hanukkah stories featuring the Bats!

Cherish The Present by Listentothelittlebird — part of a larger AU (Code Bat) that I love very dearly and will not shut up about. Fluffy Christmas content!

Holiday Trappings by Cloaked Sparrow — also part of a larger AU that I actually need to read the rest of. I stumbled upon this one and really enjoyed it. Jason is loves his family and fjdklfgjfkjfh also....gift-giving as a love language is my shit.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

teehee, this one is fun because I have like 5 open wips + nearly 20 just snippets sitting around.

I'm behind on the Year of the OTP stuff, so I actually have two timberkon fics going at the same time (and I'm hoping I can finish one of them before the end of the month at least). March is a cryptid-hunting road trip fic and April is Kon being oblivious af and not realizing he's been dating Tim and Bernard for weeks because I think that trope is fun.

There's also my big Jason wip that I've been working on for over a year (this was supposed to be a quick thing and it got WAY out of hand). I have a lot of feelings about it, but the basic premise is Jason gets to Gotham and starts his whole plan, but the Bats kinda realize that while he IS killing people, he's definitely more vigilante than criminal and their goals kinda align. So they decided to just work with him rather than against him (because Bruce has an established history of working with characters with different modalities on killing, both in and out of Gotham). And then Jason goes "well, now what?" and just....fails to tell them that "hey, btw, I'm the dead Robin" for like a year while he bonds with them and also gets to see how his death changed things up close and personal. (I'm not kidding, I'm keeping a timeline for this for my own personal reference and we're up to 70% of a year now. Also over 20k words. Holy shit.)

But because it's YOU asking and you get to hear about most of my fics as I'm writing them, I will add a bonus of the summary of wip I have not really told you about:

His siblings all follow Bruce's no kill rule for one reason or another, but the realities of vigilante life is never nearly so black and white. Jason’s there to help with all the grays. Or, 6 times Jason hides a body from Bruce + 1 time he nearly finds out.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Oh, you want me to talk about your blorbo. I see how it is /lh.

Trying to think of something that isn't just straight up lifted from headcanons we've already discussed....hold on.

Being a GL isn't exactly conducive to having a stable job, so when he first starts out and is in space more often than he's Earth-side, he fills his time on Earth doing volunteer work with kids because he likes helping out and it gives him something to do for the like week he's back home. It doesn't really provide income, so he usually just crashes at other people's place. Hal, John, the jl:i peeps at some point, Oliver Queen on one memorable occasion. Eventually, he gets the bar and his own place, but he still tries to keep up the volunteer work when he can.

Speaking of the bar, to me, Guy's strength in the kitchen is his adaptability, and being a GL only enhanced that. Between having to figure out what makes for good eats on various alien planets and having to come home from long space trips to the 6 shelf stable items left in the pantry, Guy is something of an expert in turning a handful of mismatched ingredients into something enjoyable. This is in direct contrast to Hal Jordan, whose time as GL has just made him used to eating whatever, and now he has the most bizarre palette and will just throw together the strangest combinations and enjoy it. (Both of them have developed a keen sense for what kind of foods will keep their bodies fueled longer and their eating habits reflect that).

[astarkey]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @alwaysupatnight last Wednesday to post a snippet, but I didn’t have anything to show because I was busy working on things, and I still am 😂 but here’s something I worked on at 4-5 in the morning before I had shut my eyes lol. I wanted to work on it a while ago, but idk, I just started getting around to it last night, and it’s basically like a fic of like a... a character study I guess? Of how Kate was when she was resurrected by the blood and the interaction when  she first met Amaru and like the lead up to Kate’s downfall I guess when Amaru started taking over her body. I was thinking of like an alternate take of s3 where Scott goes back to properly bury her, but he finds her body gone from the blood well, and he informs the Gecko brothers, who then also informs Freddie, and they just make it their focus to find Kate, and have Maggie have some involvement because she deserved to be more involved than S*x Machine, so I guess you can say I’m being petty about it 🤣 Thank you so much for tagging me!!! 🥰💖

"Kate, don't!"

The sound of the gunshot radiates in waves--sending a signal in her mind and throughout her body--and her eyes shoot open as if she is pierced again by the bullet that was meant for her. She's not losing her breath this time, she has regained it.

Her eyes wander around quickly--eyes darting back and forth as she gasps for the crisp air while all she sees is red. Moments after, her vision returns of the thick, stretched, feathery clouds and the orange sky as daybreak approaches. Is she in heaven? No. She still feels the pain. With her beliefs, no one should feel any pain once they've died; they're supposed to be free from pain.

This isn't the case for her, though.

Feeling the weight of her body weighing down on the wooden platform, it takes her a minute to use as much strength she can muster to bring herself up--wincing with every stretch of flesh inside her abdomen that she has to take her time pulling herself up little by little.

Putting her hand on her belly to ease the pain, she investigates her wounds by lifting her bloody white tank up with shaky hands, and what she finds disturbs her.

They're already healing.

She looks down at her hand that Richie had cut open so he can feed off information from her. To use her for his own personal gain. That wound is slowly starting to heal, too.

Then the ringing appears. 

It's loud--almost deafening that she has to cover her ears 

"Look at you. So blinded by your own greed, and now you wanna save me?"

She hears herself. Her own voice echoing and playing back to her in her head as if someone pressed play on the tape recorder of the collective thoughts recorded from the night before she died. She rises to her feet and prepares for another incoming round of the high piercing sound as it blasts through.

"You're weak. You're both so weak. I gave you everything. I gave you all the love I could possibly give. And for what?"

The sounds are driving her mad as she tries to stand on her own two feet. It disorients her.

"There's no more love left, Richard. I hope you burn in hell."

She feels something from the pit of her stomach rushing up--burning her throat--and she falls to her knees from the dizzying spell and coughs up an abnormal amount of blood, and two pieces of metal clinging together before it falls on the hardwood planks.

They were two golden bullets.

This can't be real. She's supposed to be dead; that was her fate. Who or what would be selfish enough to change that and keep her alive? Did someone turn her at the very last minute? She quickly checks her neck as she hastily feels all around for puncture wounds before they heal completely. So far, so good as there's no bite marks found.

Then how is she alive?

Many questions plague her mind around different reasons she was able to cheat death, but one thing's for sure is she can't stay here by this blood well for too long. Someone might come back to check on her body, and that someone could be Scott, or Richie. There's no way she can play possum around them if they were to come back--not after the vicious words she landed them with while she was on her deathbed.

She's not ready to face them, yet. So, the only thing she can do now is move forward.

Tagging (no pressure!): @yossariandawn, @alwaysupatnight, @lilmissuncreative, @astriferias, @fortysevenswrites @justjstuff, and anyone else who has anything they wanna share!!! 💕

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing 6-12 June 2021

Here’s this week’s roundup! June 6th -12th!

Remember to give your content creators some love! Be sure to join in on the events at the bottom! And remember to send in any new works you see or make next week!

~Mod Hel (Sorry this is so late all!)

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

@destinysblackrose​

Losing my Breath https://destinysblackrose.tumblr.com/post/653297355731435520/fic-losing-my-breath-gundam-wing-heero-x

F/M, Heero Yuy/Relena Darlian

Rated M for mature. Contains smut and angst.

Before his ‘reconnaissance mission’, Heero had been coaxing her, week after week. Waiting for her to become comfortable with this aspect of their relationship. Their last 'exchange’ gave him hope that maybe, they were getting closer.

The patience of a sniper. He used to hate it. Waiting. Watching. Aching. Breathing. Boring.

At least nothing about waiting for Relena was dull.

@lemontrash​

Pride Day 5 https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/653269838365638656/pride-day-5

5 It Used to be a Different Game - 1x5 SFW - UST.

After a war and a rocky experience with ambivalent heterosexuality, Wufei is not entirely sure what to make of this situation.

@noirangetrois​

Gundam Wing Diaries https://noirangetrois.tumblr.com/post/653438898421284864/the-gundam-wing-diaries

May 8, 2000 (Monday)

Episode 46 - “Milliardo’s Decision”

May 9, 2000 (Tuesday)

Episode 47 - “Collision in Space”

Gundam Wing Diaries https://noirangetrois.tumblr.com/post/653714468147265536/the-gundam-wing-diaries

May 10, 2000 (Wednesday)

Episode 48 - “Takeoff into Confusion”

May 11, 2000 (Thursday)

Episode 49 - “The Final Victor”

Of the Sea (Ch. 11) https://noirangetrois.tumblr.com/post/653792472043077632/of-the-sea-chapter-11-archive-of

M/M, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, fairytale my way, Meroctopus!Dorothy, Slow Burn, Multi POV, POV Third Person Limited, merman au, MerMay, Fantasy Politics, mentions of abuse, Unnatural November

Heero Yuy will soon be reaching the age of majority, at which time he will ascend the throne of Wingaria. Before such time, he must needs choose a bride. But what if there are no good choices? What if someone else has captured his heart?

simulacraryn

Friday, I’m in Love https://archiveofourown.org/works/31705282/chapters/78469714

F/M, Gen, Zechs Merquise/Lucrezia Noin

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Hangover, Alcohol Mentions, Explicit Language, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - College/University, 1995 college au, khushrenada family has more issues than a magazine, background Treize being a gremlin, unbetaed - we die like men here

[College AU, 1995] Zechs is well aware of the upcoming social obligations that come with being friends and sharing a home with a "snob". The issue is when said friendship is actually cramping his own style, then it's time to enlist his girlfriend in order to help the friend find a better coping mechanism for the upcoming activities.

@thaiteaaddict​

Reincarnated As A Minor Villiainess and I Survived Past My Death Scene (Ch. 28) https://thaiteaaddict.tumblr.com/post/653740109010747392/i-reincarnated-as-a-minor-villainess-and-i

M/M, F/F, F/M, Heero x Duo, Trowa x Quatre, Wufei x Meilan, Dorothy x Relena

Full cast

Teen, AU - Fantasy, AU - Isekai, POV First Person, Unreliable Narrator

After being killed in a traffic accident, Duo wakes up in a medieval fantasy novel - except he’s woken up as one of the novel’s minor villains who was supposed to have died in a main character’s backstory. Intent on righting the wrongs of his novel counterpart, Duo sets out to change his fate and just maybe improve the relationship between himself and his estranged husband, Duke Heero Yuy. (Duo is isekai’d into the body of a novel’s villainess character and runs with it.)

@zaganthi​

Catered https://zaganthi.tumblr.com/post/653846550482665472/catered-zaganthi-caffiends-tzigane-gundam

M/M, Chang Wufei/Quatre Raberba Winner

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Blindfolds; Demisexuality; Dinner; First Kiss; Hand Feeding, GW Pride 2k21 – Day 13, Blindfolds; Day 17, foodplay

“I would like you to do a blind taste test.” Quatre sat down across from him on the cushion, smiling that serene little smile that he only used when he was up to something. He’d done stranger things. That smile made him a little paranoid, though. Anyone with the least bit of sense would be paranoid when Quatre looked like that.

“All right.”

“Thank you.” Wufei could see the smile, but he could also hear it in Quatre’s voice as he moved behind him.

Gnossienne https://zaganthi.tumblr.com/post/653752431378890752/gnossienne-zaganthi-caffiends-perryvic

M/M, Duo Maxwell/Quatre Raberba Winner; Treize Khushrenada/Duo Maxwell; Treize Khushrenada/Quatre Raberba Winner; Trowa Barton/Chang Wufei

Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply, Aged-Up Character(s) Quatre Raberba’s Uchuu no Kokoro | Space Heart; Preventers (Gundam Wing); Team as Family; Domestic Bliss; Friendship; Friendship/Love; talking with exes; Double Penetration; rompy sex; Aftermath of Violence; Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery; Awareness of the trouser legs of time; Talking about Therapy; Dinner Party; Swordfighting; Enthusiastic Consent

It was as if his words constituted permission because Quatre’s smile was blinding then as was his emotional reaction - figuratively and literally because he damn well started glowing as he said in a reverent whisper “Sandrock,…”

His Gundam impossibly powered up there and then right in front of them even as Quatre literally ran towards it. This time around he really got it, he could feel Sandrock as Quatre felt him - and it was a him strangely. Just as he felt that Deathscythe was more than just metal and technology, Sandrock had a presence. How, he didn’t know but it was like seeing him reunite with a beloved family member.

Fanart/Crafts/Photo Manips:

@alphaikaros​

https://alphaikaros.tumblr.com/post/653299730884050944/late-mermay-post

Dorothy/Quatre, fanart

https://alphaikaros.tumblr.com/post/653860625645256704

Relena/Heero, fanart

@anukisart​

https://anukisart.tumblr.com/post/653291417640304640/first-anime-crush-right-here

Heero Yuy, fanart

@babygray-dam​

https://babygray-dam.tumblr.com/post/653427876479303680/a-sketch-of-duo-maxwell

Duo Maxwell, fanart

@cloakandfire​

https://cloakandfire.tumblr.com/post/653518473738305536/milliardo-peacecraft-lucrezia-neuenheim-noin

Millidardo Peacecraft/Zechs Merquise, fanart

@duointherain​

https://duointherain.tumblr.com/post/653647734686072832/a-new-duo-render-from-violet-in-tooth-and-claw-i

Duo Maxwell, render

@gundayum​

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/653389873532796928/im-just-gonna-copypasta-from-ao3-lmao-sorry

Relena & Heero, fanart

@idrawprettyboys​

https://idrawprettyboys.tumblr.com/post/653393436572106753/duo-in-a-crop-top

Duo Maxwell, fanart

@twillpoint​

https://twillpoint.tumblr.com/post/653752343129636864/until-next-time-afternoon-tea-booth

Duo/Quatre, fanbook

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@cuteciboulette​

https://cuteciboulette.tumblr.com/post/653254092113723392/doujinshika-sango-show

Destiny, doujinshi

https://cuteciboulette.tumblr.com/post/653344695287775232

Duo & Heero Book, doujinshi

https://cuteciboulette.tumblr.com/post/653707101846306816/cuteciboulette-tsuki-no-kodomo-vol-3-full

Act 3, doujinshi

Head Canons:

@bryony-rebb​

https://noirangetrois.tumblr.com/post/653352279647371264/lemontrash-bryony-rebb-bryony-rebb

Trowa & Cathy, headcanon

@lemontrash​

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes​

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/653552300665782272/duo-kinda-gay-to-make-a-wanted-poster-duo-why-do

Duo & Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/653642909168631808/duo-im-hella-fucking-tired-but-i-need-to-go-to

Duo & Quatre

Calendar Events:

@gundamzine​

Rhythm Generation 2021

Meet the Mods: https://gundamzine.tumblr.com/post/636708854145613824/come-on-over-a-meet-your-2021-zine-mod-team-head

Check out the blog for the Zine schedule!

@gundam-wing-pride​

Gundam Wing Pride 2k21 https://gundam-wing-pride.tumblr.com/post/648237909672083456/incoming-transmission-faq

A Beautiful Rainbow of Prompts https://gundam-wing-pride.tumblr.com/post/649898271517573120/a-beautiful-rainbow-of-prompts

@gwcocktailfriday

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, ! [starting back up next week!]

In need of Summer/Fall(Autumn) prompts!

@gwshootingstars

Shooting Stars Online Convention https://gwshootingstars.tumblr.com/post/653339481502564352/hey-everyone-guess-whos-back-with-a-brand-new

This has been tabled for future action.

https://gwshootingstars.tumblr.com/post/653641678082752512/hi-all-thank-you-so-much-for-the-response-and

Latest news.

@oztober-rust

Welcome to Oztober Rust

We’re an up and coming Gundam Wing event with a slight twist! This page is still a work in progress, but you’re welcome to join us over on discord and get a feel for the event.

Have discord, will fan. https://oztober-rust.tumblr.com/post/647568110262566912/i-see-a-nice-and-steady-following-we-do-have-a

@seasons-of-gundamwing

Summer Event Prompts Needed https://seasons-of-gundamwing.tumblr.com/post/652830126852177920/alright-folks

@thisweekingundamevents

Events Calendar https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/644080386309275648/events-calendar-update

If you are hosting an event currently, or are planning on one, hit us up with links and dates! We’ll add them to the Calendar and reblog your notices to get the word out!

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it 

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system 

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting​ deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke​ also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels​ genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor​ and @clumsyclifford​ listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly 

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there 

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

-

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate. 

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him. 

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette. 

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses. 

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum. 

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says. 

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers. 

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine. 

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.” 

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating. 

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again. 

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly. 

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.” 

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls. 

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says. 

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off. 

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return. 

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two. 

 -------

 City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about. 

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed. 

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands. 

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips. 

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass. 

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands. 

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel. 

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off. 

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off. 

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair. 

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed. 

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage. 

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. 

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. 

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. 

 -------

 They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement. 

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer. 

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.” 

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye. 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously. 

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.” 

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.) 

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning. 

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“About what?” 

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows. 

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting. 

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

 ------- 

 The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later. 

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction. 

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before. 

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times. 

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up. 

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes. 

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him. 

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something. 

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes. 

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it. 

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid. 

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?” 

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.” 

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”  

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.” 

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says. 

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it. 

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.) 

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.” 

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?” 

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening. 

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show. 

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying. 

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind. 

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else. 

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did. 

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?” 

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement. 

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach. 

 -------

 Calum can’t sleep that night. 

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping. 

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink. 

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down. 

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head. 

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that. 

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly. 

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs. 

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs. 

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. 

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa. 

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out. 

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist. 

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester. 

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael. 

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed. 

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully. 

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear. 

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.” 

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction. 

“Blur,” he says. 

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue. 

“Why?” 

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.” 

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs. 

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper. 

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers. 

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.” 

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed. 

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.” 

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got. 

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell. 

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep. 

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well. 

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come. 

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts. 

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises. 

 -------

 As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day. 

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose. 

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs. 

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.) 

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored. 

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her. 

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love. 

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.  

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop. 

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops. 

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford. 

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on. 

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford. 

Michael Clifford. 

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again. 

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice. 

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand. 

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand. 

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he? 

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?” 

“I just-” 

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another." 

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door. 

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine. 

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts. 

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins. 

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over. 

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

 -------

 Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later. 

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room. 

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.” 

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.” 

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into. 

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.” 

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly. 

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously. 

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer. 

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table. 

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa. 

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card. 

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle. 

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.” 

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says. 

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam. 

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.  

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out. 

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look. 

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him. 

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already. 

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago. 

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon. 

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin. 

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him. 

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead’s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you. 

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine. 

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open. 

“What?” he says. 

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.” 

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told. 

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.” 

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition. 

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name. 

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?) 

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and- 

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow. 

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford. 

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure. 

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him. 

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession. 

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare. 

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says. 

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat. 

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross. 

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own. 

“You’re fucking rank,” he says. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes. 

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same. 

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says. 

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time. 

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.” 

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam. 

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins. 

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.” 

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam. 

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case. 

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.” 

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back. 

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.” 

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort. 

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins. 

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.” 

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA. 

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it. 

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over. 

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh. 

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort. 

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins. 

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it. 

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous. 

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs. 

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. 

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands. 

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin. 

“Drink up.”

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfukimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @makaylaa1113 

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chapter two

[falsewings]

For the @goodintentionswipfest , here’s an abandoned wip for Miraculous Ladybug that I kept in a file named ‘More superhero teens (series of one shots)’ (that’s the closest I got to a title, sorry). It was supposed to be a serious of one-shots where Alya, Nino and Chloe also got kwami (the fox, peacock and bee) and became heroes alongside Marinette and Adrien. And the all knew each other’s identity. 

Abandoned because I stopped watching the show around the time season 2 aired and I lost interest in the fandom. I have one or two other Ladybug WIPs I’m not ready to abandon yet but the show moved on so this idea no longer fits.

This fic would have featured reluctant Marinette & Chloe teamwork and mutual awkward pining between Marinette and Adrien. Also Chloe using a scepter that had an electric shock and Nino got the peacock (I was convinced this would be canon) and fought with fans as weapons

First ideas that I had for stories but only some of them got snippets written for them (which I’ll post after the ideas) One Shot Ideas for this Collection:

LB and Chat don’t know how to work in a 5-man team

Marinette & Alya discuss superheroes & secret identities. (Are the miraculouses disguising them or is the Clark Kent effect at work here? PS Alya is dropping all the superhero refs)

The gang needs some place to meet weekly 

Chat flirts with LB w/o thinking about it and there is a moment of awkward bc post-reveal 

Chloe is tired of Marinette & Adrien being oblivious of their mutual crushes and obliquely steps in

Marinette & Chloe have disagreement during a weekly meeting. Adrien steps in with an egregious pun (“Bee Agrestive”). They both express instant disgust to Alya’s great amusement

Marinette has the idea to steal a phone to solve some problem. Alya & Tikki bring up the other times she’s stolen phones. Chloe is more interested in the fact the Marinette stole Adrien’s phone but everyone is too busy to answer her questions

Chloe has an evening ritual wherein she & her bee kwami share a tea service

Marinette trips & Chloe instinctually stops her from falling. It surprises everyone, even each other. It’s also an awkward 10 seconds

Marinette has a scrape on her hand that Lucky Charm doesn’t heal bc reasons. Chloe acts strangely & tells her to bandage it

Sabrina is feeling jealous that Chloe is suddenly spending so much time away from her. Chloe has to console her without explaining the whole superhero thing

Chloe is just as irritated by lovely-dovey Adriennette and clueless Marinette & Adriens. She vocally regrets forcing them to admit their feelings

LB once again catches Chloe (tho this time as Honeybee [Queen Bee?]) and Chloe once again feels slightly flustered. LB is once again oblivious.

Honeybee catches Chat & prevents him from falling. Then he makes an awful pun and she debates on letting him fall anyway

LB and Chat once again wind up entangled bc of an akuma. They flirt excessively until someone reminds them the battle is still happening

Honeybee saves Lila during a battle. The next day in class, Lila relays the story, adding that she & Honeybee are practically BFFs. Chloe is so completely reminded of her antics around LB before she knew that it was Marinette, that she keeps a blank face & tells herself that this is not happening

Adrien & Chloe find definitive proof that Gabriel is Hawkmoth. Chloe forces Nathalie to let Adrien stay @ Le Grand Paris for the weekend & everyone holds an emergency meeting

And now the snippets! for idea #3 There were several factors that Marinette had to take into consideration in deciding a time and place.

Adrien’s schedule was by far the most restrictive thanks to his many activities. And how he spent his free time was more likely to be scrutinized than anyone else in the group.

Alya’s younger siblings were too curious to not eavesdrop on their conversations.

Nino’s parents would not appreciate five teens showing up at their apartment every week.

Marinette’s parents were too kind not to stop in every few minutes just to stuff her friends with food. And she would have to come up with an explanation as to why Chloe, the girl whose antics Marinette had complained about for years, was suddenly hanging out with Marinette on a frequent basis.

And so, in the end, it was the Bourgeois hotel where they met up. Out of everyone in the group, Chloe was the only one Gabriel Agreste knew and approved of.

They also didn’t have to worry about anyone poking around.

for idea #1 The confrontation happens after an akuma has been purified. Although, it’s less of a confrontation and more of a barb from Chloe.

“Nice team work.”

for idea #4 “[Something flirting and related to the Akuma of the Week]” Chat says. The words slip out of his mouth. Just as thoughtlessly, he leans into her. It’s habit. A pattern that formed within their partnership. He’s just waiting for Ladybug to playfully nudge him away with a quip of her own. Except she doesn’t.

Instead, her eyes are wide and her face is becoming a brilliant red. It’s this slip in a well-worn routine that reminds him of their situation. He’s flirting with Marinette and she knows he’s Adrien underneath the mask. He’s flirting with her and he’s pretty sure they’re just friends.

He can feel heat crawling up his neck as they stand there, frozen and their faces way too close. It’s not until Volpina yells, “Incoming,” that they divert their gaze to the akuma and quickly dodge the attack.

After, when the akuma has been purified, he thinks about talking to her. He knows that he should. But Marinette’s already tugging on Alya’s hand and making her goodbyes and he’s a bit too terrified of the possibilities to try and change her plans.

So he’s stuck walking home with Chloe, trying to ignore the irritated look on her face.

[gaperezmakes]

Original Fic Fest Day 4 -- Quotes (Black Empire)

Let’s see...@originalficfest Prompt 4 “Quotes.”

“Quotes.”

Hmm...

I don’t know if there’s any one scene that encapsulates the essence of the Black Empire series, or even Insurrection alone. This is a tough one.

So instead, I’ll pull the best quote or moment that I think encapsulates a character, as well as my personal favorite quote or moment that I wrote for them.

And to be clear: This is only what I’ve written in Insurrection. I don’t want to spoil anything that’s happening in the future.

Retribution & The Harvester

Best Moment:

“What a pity.” Retribution began stroking his chin, “Looks like we’ll have to deal with them a bit longer then. Oh well. You wouldn’t happen to know what exactly we lost to them, would you?” “No, sire. I don’t know what we had in the warehouse we lost.” “Well, you’d best find someone who would know then. We need to know what we’re preparing for now that the Children have an appropriate amount of supplies to actually fight.” “Yes, my lord.” [The Harvester] quickly hobbled out. As he heard the door close, Retribution turned around and looked at it with a smug smile. “You know exactly what you had in there, and so do I.” He whispered, “I’ve told you time and time again that I would make you regret betraying me. It’s your own fault for not believing me.”

I like this snippet because it really boils down the dynamic between these two characters. I don’t want to spoil the Harvester’s ambitions too much, but it does believe Retribution is losing his touch and thinks it might be time for a change in regime. Retribution, on the other hand, is aware of the Harvester’s treachery but is not at all threatened by it. This may, or may not, be an issue in the future.

Favorite Retribution Moment:

Retribution is here. The thought kept running through Mira’s head as she stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful.

*

“He’s WHERE?!” The news shocked the Dealer so much that he couldn’t dodge from Alexander’s next attack. He rolled and recovered, fully expecting another attack, but Alexander was just standing still. He couldn’t believe the news either.

Not to get too spoilery, but this happens at the climax of the story. I love this moment because it shows that even while everyone is at their strongest, while they think they have figured everything out, Retribution is still the biggest, baddest one of them all. They are prepared to deal with anything and everything--except him.

Favorite The Harvester Moment:

“If that’s how you want it to be.” The figure quickly raised another shield to absorb the incoming spells from the other Children [of Shadow]. ONe of the other death knights came running in from the side, and it quickly collapsed the ground beneath the death knight. As the other came in, it raised a number of pillars direclty beneath it, knocking the death knight way. The figure saw Gideon running back again, and grimaced.

Now, this moment is immediately followed up by the Harvester’s hubris getting the better of it, but I like how much power this moment shows it has. It’s not just another run-of-the-mill soldier in Retribution’s army. The Harvester is a powerful force that is meant to be reckoned with.

Dante/The Dealer

Best Moment

“Nothing’s wrong.” He suddenly realized she was there again. “I’m not looking for anything.” “Someting is clearly wrong.” [Mira] stepped forward slowly. “You’re not like this.” He let out a bitter chuckle, “You don’t know anything about me.” he took a few short breaths, “Not a damn thing.” “I’d like to think I know something about you.” “Then how about my marriage, huh? You know how well that worked out for me? What about how well my relationship with my son’s mother turned out? Hell, what about my son? Did you even know he existed?” He lashed out at her. “You know what happened to all of them? Spoilers: They’re all dead now.” Suddenly he fell to his knees and held his face in his hands. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

This is Dante at his lowest and marks a very important moment in both his character arc and his relationship with Mira. And I think it’s the most important because it is one of the few moments where it is purely Dante. There is no mask on. There is no snark, no wit, just anger and bitterness.

At the same time, this is the moment where he learns to accept his past and move on. It’s pretty big for him.

Favorite Moment

“Because I happen to have dashing good looks, endless charisma, and unbelievable sexual prowess.”

I just like this line. It might be my favorite in all of Insurrection.

Grand Paladin Sigurd Orvyn

Best & Favorite Moment

“No.” Orvyn’s voice was stern and bitter. He gripped his weapon tightly, “I am tired of being compared to Mira. Nobody else will do that--especially not you.” “It seems I’ve struck a nerve.” Retribution grinned maniacally, “Good.”

Orvyn is a little more difficult to find good moments for because he doesn’t get introduced until much later in Insurrection. But this is really his first chance to come into his own and establish himself both as his own character and as someone completely separate from Mira.

Archmage Synoth of the South Sea

Best Moment:

“Your power isn’t enough to stop it. The Harvester will crush you before you can even lift a finger to stop him. I can keep that from happening. However, when the day comes where we storm the Black Tower and dismantle the Black EMpire, I want you to promise me something.” There was suddenly a newfound determination in his eyes, “Promise me that I’ll be on the front lines so I can destroy that soulless bastard.”

So, Synoth was difficult to find a good moment for, mostly because I think he doesn’t have a lot of them? He’s certainly more of a background player than any of the other leaders of the Prime. So, while I don’t think this is the height of his character or story arc, I think it does a pretty good job of establishing him and his goals.

Favorite Moment:

“We’ll have it open in just a moment,” one of the party members whispered. They quickly started working on picking the lock. “Mira, Synoth, give me a report,” the Dealer said while waiting. “The door is locked, sir,” Synoth replied with one eyebrow cocked up.

Sassy Synoth is best Synoth.

(Warden) Ellis the Damned

Best Moment:

“ENOUGH!” He slammed his fist onto the podium, leaving an imprint in the wood. “Listen to yourselves! You should ALL be ashamed!” The outburst easily got the paladins’ attention, but Ellis didn’t give them a chance to respond, “How dare you?! How dare any of you?! This is NOT how a Deathwatch Guardian is supposed to behave! We are supposed to protect the Prime, not become a threat to it!” One of the Guardians started to speak up, “But NOTHING! There is no excuse for this behavior! I am disappointed in each and every one of you!”

As I’m sure I’ve said before, Ellis is my favorite concept of a character. He is this powerful, ancient being whose backstory is shrouded in mystery and he is cursed to wander the world alone. But despite his curse, he longs so badly to belong to something once again. And now he’s found a place that finally accepts him as he is. When a threat from within shows itself, Ellis quickly puts his foot down and quells the unrest.

Favorite Moment:

“Fine. So people just accept that they’re not going to be the most powerful mage--” Ellis laughed, “Oh yes, they accept it as much as an inadequate man accepts his inadequacies.” The Dealer’s eyes opened wide and he blinked a few times, “Did...did you just... Did I hear that right?” “Yes. Yes, you did.” “Huh.” He looked away, “ I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.” “I’m dead, not humorless.”

Ellis is such a serious and stoic guy that I just feel like his jokes hit harder and are a lot funnier when he says them.

Demon Lord Alexander

Best Moment:

Alexander rolled his head and popped the vertebrae in his neck. “I’m mildly annoyed,” he responded coldly. “Are you done? Because I’m ready to show you exactly waht a dead man can make you regret.” Gideon’s eyes widened and in the blink of an eye, Alexander was right in front of him. In another blink and three punches, Alexander had successfully floored Gideon, rendering the death knight unconscious.

Alexander gets so frequently beaten and embarrassed by the Prime that it’s easy to forget that he’s actually the second-strongest being on the planet (Dusk doesn’t count). His fight against Gideon proves that Alexander is just as strong as he says. It’s just a shame that his team isn’t as organized as the Prime’s.

Favorite Moment:

“That spell circle you have, will it work on Retribution?” Dante raised an eyebrow, “I’m not sure if you think I’m stupid or really that desperate?” “I always think you’re stupid, and at this moment I’m certain you’re desperate. Unless you have another way out, I need to know if the circle will work on Retribution.”

For all the grief I give him, Alexander actually can come up with a good strategy on the fly. It might not always work out for him, but he can think on his feet pretty well.

Also the sass. Sassy moments are my favorite if you couldn’t tell.

Acheroth

Okay, let’s see.

Uh...

Uhhh...

Uhhhhh...

Acheroth might be boring, y’all. I mean, he is. Absolutely. He has almost no character and exists entirely to move the plot along, but I figured he had at least one good moment in Insurrection.

He does not. But I promise he gets more interesting in the next book!

Dusk of Iblis

Best Moment:

Now Dusk was laughing, “You take them from me? Alexander, you seem to have forgotten that I’ve always bested your father in combat. I didn’t even see you right now, and I still managed to avoid every attack you’ve thrown at me.”

Dusk is another character who doesn’t get a whole lot of moments in Insurrection, mostly because he’s pushed back to a secondary role. Dusk is one of the few characters who gets to brag and doesn’t ever face some sort of karmic retribution for his arrogance. He’s done his time to earn it. So it’s okay.

Favorite Moment:

“Can you use multiple gates in succession to constantly increase how something accelerates?” “Yes.” “So theoretically--” Dusk put his hand up to stop Dante, “If you want to discuss theory with me, we can do it later. Right now we have a tyrant to overthrow, a cult to disband, and a pair of anomalies that may or may not destroy everything. We can have fun discussing the possibilities of the various aspects of my universe later.”

This was me telling myself to focus and keep the story moving. The future me appreciated this note from the past me.

Mira the Sunlight Paladin

Best Moment:

"I am the first to use the power of the Light ever since you sealed off Heaven from the world! I am the phoenix which rose from the ashes!” A set of armor made of pure Light began to surround Mira. “I am the Sunlight Paladin, and you will fear the full power of Iblis!” She jumpe into the air and readied her hammer, “FEEL THE STRIKE OF THE IBLAN PHOENIX!”

This is another moment that happens right at the climax, so I feel bad for including it, but I think this shows that Mira has finally accomplished the goal she has been working towards the entire book. This is Mira at her peak, flexing all of her magical muscle. And now both her dads are watching their precious child be all strong, except now one of them is her boyfriend dad and I don’t want to talk about this anymore, can we move onto the favorite moment?

Favorite Moment:

She took a few steps back and everyone watched, mouths agape, as Mira began to levitate in the air. She maintained her position for a bit then descended back onto the floor. “You can fly?!” “Not for very high or for very long.” She replied, taking a deep breath, “It takes a lot of energy. I mean, I could go really fast or really high, but I wouldn’t be able to sustain either.”

Mira’s ability to fly is a big deal. Way back in the day, everyone could fly. Now it’s a very restrictive talent. Only a few can do it. And she was.

Gideon the Destroyer

Best Moment:

“Gideon, what are you thinking?” He looked at the other death knight sternly, “Why would you invite the Dealer to compete in Xi-En’raas?” “Because he is worthy of it.” Gideon crossed his arms defiantly.

This is the moment that reveals a lot about Gideon, about who he is and what he does. I don’t want to spoil too much, but Xi-En’raas is a big deal, and the Dealer simply receiving an invitation means a lot. The fact that it is Gideon inviting him means so much more.

Favorite Moment:

He began to channel magic into the skull again, “My brothers are dead.” He slammed his hand and the skull onto the ground, shattering it and releasing all the magic within. Suddenly the entire building started shaking and the room began to collapse around them. A bolt of stabilizing magic tore through the room, destroying a pillar and bringing down more of the ceiling. Gideon stood and began walking towards the king, who was absolutely paralyzed with fear. The death knight grabbed the king’s face and forced him to stare into his unnatural glowing blue eyes. After a single deep breath, Gideon finally whispered, “And you killed them.”

I feel like this is the most powerful moment of Gideon’s story. This is from a flashback in the story, where Gideon is finally getting the revenge he so desperately sought. He’s nowhere near his peak but is still devastatingly powerful. At this moment, it is clear why his title is The Destroyer.

And that is that. We made it, and it took me a lot longer than it should have, but it’s done! If you feel like seeing which quotes or scenes I enjoyed from Rebirth and the Iblan Light series, feel free to look at my other post here! Hopefully, it won’t take me three days to finish!