Reader3310

Maybe it was because I had been repeatedly listening to I Wanna Live in the Dream on my record machine. I found myself watching a movie made by Oasis in a small, cozy theater. Although a few people were around, it felt like a completely private moment. I watched the Gallagher brothers leading the entire band—Gem, Andy, and of course, Bonehead—as they traveled through different timelines, collaborating with artists from various eras and places. It was amusing to see them still quarreling but ultimately loving each other by the end of the day.

The last song they created was Live Forever, composed with Van Gogh. Amid a blooming sunflower field, with the atmosphere of the Definitely Maybe album cover. At the end of the song, the camera focused on Van Gogh’s face, then followed his gaze—to Noel Gallagher, holding his guitar in the corner.

When he looked at someone approaching, he'd see a fan spinning on their forehead, blowing directly at him. The stronger the wind, the greater their affection.

Honestly, this ability did little more than make him more prone to catching colds during concerts. It didn't really affect him much—after all, being well past fifty, he'd come to terms with most things in life. Still, occasionally when walking down the street, he'd spot some teenager with headphones looking dead serious, but with their forehead fan spinning frantically.

He couldn't help but smile.

What had softened with age was his temper. Perhaps it was the pandemic-induced cabin fever, or whatever else, but he and rkid finally had a five-minute phone conversation one night.

Throughout the call, he could hear the loud rumble of a motor running—so loud that when Liam mumbled something about reforming the band, he only managed a loud "WHAT?" which made Liam hang up in fury. Then came the ding-dong-ding of phone notifications, all Twitter alerts of Liam calling him a potato. He rolled his eyes silently. Summers were getting hotter each year, and looking at those furious tweets and the loud-enough-to-blow-anything-away fan sound, he couldn't help but seriously wonder if rkid was too broke to even buy a new air conditioner.

And then they finally met face to face.

8PM, he was in Manchester with his daughter for Christmas. Though he hadn't planned to let anyone know he and rkid start spitting on each other over the phone again, word had clearly reached Peggy's ears.

Right at the entrance, he could hear Liam's distinctive voice, tinged with that slightly tipsy sweetness, yelling at Gene—poor kid—to bring some star ornaments so he could decorate that fucking massive Christmas tree at home. That guy always made sure to get back first to put the star on top of the tree: "Can't let that fucking potato beat me to it—only rock stars get to put up stars!"

I'm the one who polish the fucking rock star, dickhead, Noel thought, standing at the doorway long enough for Anais to decide to push her "nostalgic dad" into the house.

The first thing he saw was that fucking massive Christmas tree, and an extraordinarily strong wind—the whole tree rustled as if being blown by a gale, mixed with the sound of Liam's complaints.

Then he saw a huge electric fan emerge from behind that giant Christmas tree.

"You fucking—!"

What the fuck—!

Woah, first question!

To be honest, I’ve never read any Gcest fics so far. Most of my words come from the feeling I get when listening to their albums, watching interviews, hearing Noel’s High Flying Birds stuff or scrolling through Liam's twitter (to be fair they MADE ME SHIP THEM).

Back before 2014, Liam Gallagher couldn’t stand Paris.

To him, it was full of stylish, boring people—nothing biblical about them. The food was overpriced, the locals walked around like they owned the sky, and he and Noel probably made a sport out of mocking the French on tour, pints in hand, laughing their asses off at everything that wasn’t Mancunian.

So no, Paris wasn’t some dream for him.

He only ended up going because everything back home had turned to shit. His marriage was cracked down the middle, his life was burning, and Noel—that stupid potato with a nose higher than the Eiffel Tower—was still being Noel. Everything was miserable.

So he ran.

No entourage, no flash. Just him and the Eiffel Tower on a day with barely any tourists. He didn’t take the lift—of course not. Not when you’re trying to climb out of your own mess. He went up the stairs like a proper nobody.

Halfway up, he had to stop. Breathing hard, sweating, clutching the rail, looking out over Paris. The city looked tiny from up there. Like Knebworth from the stage—just a sea of ants and sound, and him above it all. High. Like a bird about to fly.

“You might die if you fall from the Eiffel Tower.”

“Yeah, maybe you can fly.”

That was it.

Right there, halfway up the iron skeleton of a city he used to hate, Liam Gallagher decided Paris was alright. Actually, no—he decided Paris was biblical.

Rock and roll brother(s) fucked you life up.

Shake up your tired eyes.

The world is waiting for you—

May all your dreams fill up the empty sky.

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Liam Gallagher has eyes of blue. When Noel was little, he would lie on the bed, watching the white ceiling spin above him. His baby brother slept beside him, as always—curled up like a five-year-old, even though he was already ten.

For those who were teased at school, they might never have seen this side of Liam Gallagher. He would slowly open his eyes, yawn, and then look at his brother with those blue eyes. And then, that small, sudden smile would bloom on his face.

The world will be waiting for you.

Noel didn’t know why that thought suddenly dashed through his mind.

But I will always be by your side.

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