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The Complete Fic Directory
- All I Do Each Night Is Rehearse The Pray Routine
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- Better Than Today - Kylie Minogue
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- Fine Time To Lose Your Mind - Jack McManus
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- Flat Tyres And Palm Prints [Birth]
- Flu
- Friends: A Dictionary [Friends]
- From Angels To The Moon/The Soup
- Green Light [Green]
- Hell Raisers
- Home Invasion
- Hours
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- Insides
- It Was The Death Of Something [Death]
- Just Like Children [Children]
- Kiss And Make Up
- The Last Time
- Lonely At Christmas
- Love Songs
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- Middles
- Midnight Sun
- Mistletoe
- Months Go By [Months]
- More Important Than Fear
- Muddied Stars [Brown]
- Not Enough
- Of Peacocks
- On The Subject Of Angels [Orange]
- Playing House [Parents]
- The Price Of Friendship
- The Prize
- Post-Match Analysis
- Puddles
- Red
- Secret Admirer
- Secret Agent Owen
- Shades
- Shine - Skies Of America
- Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
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- So Good To See You
- Stage Fright
- Stay (Oh Darlin')
- Study In Motion
- Summertime Feeling - S Club 7
- Sunrise
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- Teammates
- That Night In Amsterdam/Do You Love Me? [Part Two]
- This
- Three Sets Of Three
- Twenty-Nine (And A Half)
- Under A Colourless Sky [Colourless]
- We Found Something That Belongs To You [Outsides]
- We Were Strangers Once [Strangers]
- Weeks
- What Did You Say This Time?
- What Will The Papers Say? [Purple]
- White Out [White]
- The Wordsmith/Breathe In
- Years
- Yellow
- Yesterday's Promise
- 3-0 Defeats
- Barlow's Music Shop Series
- Fanfiction Challenges
- The Postcard Prompts
- OT3, OT4 & OT5
- Stories By Band Member
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White Out [White]
They were heady days to be living in lad. Heady days indeed. I sometimes wonder what was going through your mind, what did all those flash bulbs do to your head? Were you blinded by the light of that bright white world? Awarded, praised…adored. You wouldn’t be the first to let it go to your head. Hell, every one of you let it go to your heads. But really…you thought it should all come so easily, didn’t you? Who wouldn’t in your position? I do still think it over sometimes, try and unpick your brain. I wonder if there were stars in your eyes when you lay in bed each night. Were you dreaming of your next step, the day you didn’t have to share that spotlight? Or were you just happy to stand by and let yourself be drawn into it all? I think I would be more disappointed if you were just passive. At least if there was stardust in your dreams I could call it misguided ambition, youthful pride. But passive? That’s almost cold. And you weren’t cold to them. Did you ever spare a thought for them? Yes. In your own way you cared about them a lot. But if they had been lying in the gutter, in that blind white rush to dizzying heights, perhaps you had time for little more than sympathy. There isn’t a moment to pull a friend to his feet when you have an appointment with your future. Your heart was in the right place, that much I know. But still…you couldn’t half be a selfish bastard sometimes, you know that? That bit too proud, too determined to succeed, to realise what it was doing to your best friends.
So much, so young eh lad. Music and lyrics, that’ll earn you a pretty penny. But what about the cost? I don’t think you saw that. Not with those eyes of yours glittering brightly and whitely in that intense stare. Don’t look down lad, you’ll realise how far you have to fall. If I could go back would I warn you? Would I tell you about those dark days, would I tell you how much the world’s ridicule would drain from you? No. No lad, some lessons need to be learned. For pride to be a quality in a man, the man must balance it out with a good dose of humility. Don’t look around the corner lad, it’s not the future you expected it to be. No. I wouldn’t tell you a thing. I wouldn’t tell you about the good things either – you have to earn them lad, not expect them. That’s the problem when you’re so famous so young. By the time you’re thirty they will have burnt you out – you’ll be drained of everything. All those things you expected to come so easily to you will suddenly seem so very far away. But you didn’t know that then. For someone on top of the world, your view isn’t exactly clear lad. You’ll do well to remember that one day.
It’s strange looking at this picture – I realise I don’t know any one of these men. Especially not you. See him there, draped stylishly across a chair like some work of art. And him, he’s just the same, looking effortlessly sullen, drawing the eye. Then there’s him, biting a nail as he looks pensively away, innocently captivating, too bright to be a painting. So then what about you? Odd one out perhaps, what with your quiet, steely look to camera, tense shoulders squared and ready. You’re no work of art. Some will try and tell you different one day – but never believe it lad. You’ll still be the one who won’t fit into the clothes, who can’t flow through the dance routines. They’ll take the piss for that. And you’ll bloody well let ‘em lad. It’ll make you smile one day, those men at your side will make you smile every day. Promise.
Odd that I can say I don’t know any of these men, yet somehow they all seem so familiar. Take him, for example. The pride of Manchester, still is to this day. But back then he knew it, there was a glimmer of something in his eyes giving it away. Now his beauty lies in how little he knows of it, yet in those days his beauty was mostly physical, that roguishly charming personality of his only in its early stages. Those eyes are piercing blue and always will be and his shoulders will never slump, but that chiselled jaw of his has been worn by travel and contemplation. No, I don’t know the man he was as well as you might think, but I love the man he’s become.
Now look at him there. A master of contradictions that one. He is the loudest, crudest, funniest man you have ever met and I’ll tell you this much for nothing lad, you didn’t appreciate his jokes enough. On dark days you’ll wish he was there at your side, ready with that laddish wit of his. But time will wear him shier than ever, push more lines into his forehead. The magic of him though, is the same as ever; he doesn’t just care, he really cares. He cares and he feels – deeply. It was just the same those times when you hurt him. You did hurt him lad, by accident. But don’t fret too much lad, I suspect it’s made him the thinker that he is today. It’s true, I don’t know that man he once was in as much depth as I ought to, but I love the man he is now.
Now here, here is the important one lad. That little one there. I hardly know an inch of him, do you? Didn’t think so. Oh but he’s the prize. He hid disappointment well, always there with a smile and a nod. He’d disappear for hours on end and you never were quite sure what he was up to. That won’t change much to be honest. He’ll always get himself lost. You’ll just worry about it more, joke about it more too though. Seeing him there is strange – see how far apart your worlds are? It won’t be like that forever lad. The thing with him is he’s a bloke who’s not just cute as a button but he’s witty too and stupidly kind, if a bit daft round the edges. First rate best mate material. I know he always has been, know every detail about him. Now. But then? I haven’t the foggiest. Definitely cute, that’s never changed. Bubbly? Always. But still I couldn’t tell you too much about the man he used to be, the boy he used to be really. I must tell you though lad, I love the man he’s become.
With each white flash you were taken another step away from them, the cameras caught it. See – just look in your eyes right there. Already losing sight of the friendship. Music and lyrics by – those are the words engraved in your stare. But don’t worry lad, I’m assured you weren’t all that bad. In the right moments, they promise me, you were almost a saint. Well, maybe not a saint. But a good sport, good mate, good laugh. They don’t blame you, they insist. After all, you’re not the only man ever blinded by pride – certainly not a monster of power or self-importance. Well, not all the time anyway. They pretend now and then for a joke. But they know as well as I do – you’re just misguided lad. You’ll find the right path. Give it ten years, your mates will set you straight.
And then, here we are. Another picture shares this frame, strangely similar and somehow enchanting. There’s Jay, leaning against the seat-back with an effortless grace, his gaze glittering with a smile as he turns to look across at me – still a work of art. Howard’s standing by him, arms folded with a charming poise, his eyes warm with laughter as he looks down at the floor, a smile on his lips that I know I managed to put there through some bantering or self-deprecation. And then to my left, the man of the hour. One small fist is punched tamely into my arm, his eyes looking up at me with a dazzling mix of amusement and outrage, his hair tossing slightly as he bounces. Boy to man to very best mate. See lad, it’s all worth it. We got here. You turned me into a decent mate in the long run, what with all your mistakes and stumbles. Funny thing is we don’t notice those bright white lights anymore. They’re not important to us. It’s all about being friends now. A night in is almost more special to us than a number one. What white flashes?! We were just joking around, had no idea they were taking any pictures! Special that lad, more special than you can even dream.
“How things change, eh lad?” I murmur. Then, footsteps interrupt my thoughts.
“Are you alright Gaz? I was starting to think you’d run off!” that familiar bright voice teases.
“Sorry Marko…was just looking at these pictures,” I quickly recover. He smiles thoughtfully.
“Present from Emma…she liked the comparison so she got a special double frame made. Nice isn’t it?” he says, tilting his head so his hair flops eccentrically.
“Stunning,” I say with a quiet smile and he looks at me strangely.
“You’re a soppy bastard sometimes Barlow,” he grins with a roll of his eyes and a playful thump and I don’t retaliate, I just accept it. After all, I can’t imagine us lot without banter. It doesn’t dent my pride these days, it’s as if the pride is collective now and every smiling insult makes it stronger. For a moment Mark and I lock eyes and there’s mischief and affection dancing in his sparkling smile. We look away and walk back, back to tea and cake and Elwood chasing Dan around the living room. We keep the words unsaid – it doesn’t need to be said anymore, that’s the beauty of it you see.
It’s true, they were heady days lad. But I wouldn’t change a one single white flash.
So much, so young eh lad. Music and lyrics, that’ll earn you a pretty penny. But what about the cost? I don’t think you saw that. Not with those eyes of yours glittering brightly and whitely in that intense stare. Don’t look down lad, you’ll realise how far you have to fall. If I could go back would I warn you? Would I tell you about those dark days, would I tell you how much the world’s ridicule would drain from you? No. No lad, some lessons need to be learned. For pride to be a quality in a man, the man must balance it out with a good dose of humility. Don’t look around the corner lad, it’s not the future you expected it to be. No. I wouldn’t tell you a thing. I wouldn’t tell you about the good things either – you have to earn them lad, not expect them. That’s the problem when you’re so famous so young. By the time you’re thirty they will have burnt you out – you’ll be drained of everything. All those things you expected to come so easily to you will suddenly seem so very far away. But you didn’t know that then. For someone on top of the world, your view isn’t exactly clear lad. You’ll do well to remember that one day.
It’s strange looking at this picture – I realise I don’t know any one of these men. Especially not you. See him there, draped stylishly across a chair like some work of art. And him, he’s just the same, looking effortlessly sullen, drawing the eye. Then there’s him, biting a nail as he looks pensively away, innocently captivating, too bright to be a painting. So then what about you? Odd one out perhaps, what with your quiet, steely look to camera, tense shoulders squared and ready. You’re no work of art. Some will try and tell you different one day – but never believe it lad. You’ll still be the one who won’t fit into the clothes, who can’t flow through the dance routines. They’ll take the piss for that. And you’ll bloody well let ‘em lad. It’ll make you smile one day, those men at your side will make you smile every day. Promise.
Odd that I can say I don’t know any of these men, yet somehow they all seem so familiar. Take him, for example. The pride of Manchester, still is to this day. But back then he knew it, there was a glimmer of something in his eyes giving it away. Now his beauty lies in how little he knows of it, yet in those days his beauty was mostly physical, that roguishly charming personality of his only in its early stages. Those eyes are piercing blue and always will be and his shoulders will never slump, but that chiselled jaw of his has been worn by travel and contemplation. No, I don’t know the man he was as well as you might think, but I love the man he’s become.
Now look at him there. A master of contradictions that one. He is the loudest, crudest, funniest man you have ever met and I’ll tell you this much for nothing lad, you didn’t appreciate his jokes enough. On dark days you’ll wish he was there at your side, ready with that laddish wit of his. But time will wear him shier than ever, push more lines into his forehead. The magic of him though, is the same as ever; he doesn’t just care, he really cares. He cares and he feels – deeply. It was just the same those times when you hurt him. You did hurt him lad, by accident. But don’t fret too much lad, I suspect it’s made him the thinker that he is today. It’s true, I don’t know that man he once was in as much depth as I ought to, but I love the man he is now.
Now here, here is the important one lad. That little one there. I hardly know an inch of him, do you? Didn’t think so. Oh but he’s the prize. He hid disappointment well, always there with a smile and a nod. He’d disappear for hours on end and you never were quite sure what he was up to. That won’t change much to be honest. He’ll always get himself lost. You’ll just worry about it more, joke about it more too though. Seeing him there is strange – see how far apart your worlds are? It won’t be like that forever lad. The thing with him is he’s a bloke who’s not just cute as a button but he’s witty too and stupidly kind, if a bit daft round the edges. First rate best mate material. I know he always has been, know every detail about him. Now. But then? I haven’t the foggiest. Definitely cute, that’s never changed. Bubbly? Always. But still I couldn’t tell you too much about the man he used to be, the boy he used to be really. I must tell you though lad, I love the man he’s become.
With each white flash you were taken another step away from them, the cameras caught it. See – just look in your eyes right there. Already losing sight of the friendship. Music and lyrics by – those are the words engraved in your stare. But don’t worry lad, I’m assured you weren’t all that bad. In the right moments, they promise me, you were almost a saint. Well, maybe not a saint. But a good sport, good mate, good laugh. They don’t blame you, they insist. After all, you’re not the only man ever blinded by pride – certainly not a monster of power or self-importance. Well, not all the time anyway. They pretend now and then for a joke. But they know as well as I do – you’re just misguided lad. You’ll find the right path. Give it ten years, your mates will set you straight.
And then, here we are. Another picture shares this frame, strangely similar and somehow enchanting. There’s Jay, leaning against the seat-back with an effortless grace, his gaze glittering with a smile as he turns to look across at me – still a work of art. Howard’s standing by him, arms folded with a charming poise, his eyes warm with laughter as he looks down at the floor, a smile on his lips that I know I managed to put there through some bantering or self-deprecation. And then to my left, the man of the hour. One small fist is punched tamely into my arm, his eyes looking up at me with a dazzling mix of amusement and outrage, his hair tossing slightly as he bounces. Boy to man to very best mate. See lad, it’s all worth it. We got here. You turned me into a decent mate in the long run, what with all your mistakes and stumbles. Funny thing is we don’t notice those bright white lights anymore. They’re not important to us. It’s all about being friends now. A night in is almost more special to us than a number one. What white flashes?! We were just joking around, had no idea they were taking any pictures! Special that lad, more special than you can even dream.
“How things change, eh lad?” I murmur. Then, footsteps interrupt my thoughts.
“Are you alright Gaz? I was starting to think you’d run off!” that familiar bright voice teases.
“Sorry Marko…was just looking at these pictures,” I quickly recover. He smiles thoughtfully.
“Present from Emma…she liked the comparison so she got a special double frame made. Nice isn’t it?” he says, tilting his head so his hair flops eccentrically.
“Stunning,” I say with a quiet smile and he looks at me strangely.
“You’re a soppy bastard sometimes Barlow,” he grins with a roll of his eyes and a playful thump and I don’t retaliate, I just accept it. After all, I can’t imagine us lot without banter. It doesn’t dent my pride these days, it’s as if the pride is collective now and every smiling insult makes it stronger. For a moment Mark and I lock eyes and there’s mischief and affection dancing in his sparkling smile. We look away and walk back, back to tea and cake and Elwood chasing Dan around the living room. We keep the words unsaid – it doesn’t need to be said anymore, that’s the beauty of it you see.
It’s true, they were heady days lad. But I wouldn’t change a one single white flash.