For stonermicha. A birthday fic with all your favorite things. Except for the 90s.

PG; ~1100 words
Warnings: drug use, douche brothers, incest

Michael stirs to an orange glow throwing shadows on the wall and something insistently prodding his side. Out of the two, it’s the former which hauls him to wakefulness with horrific visions of a house fire trapping him behind his door, smoke choking his lungs, and oh god his siblings—

However, what he sees upon urgently sitting up in bed is not a fiery apocalypse, but a candle. Flickering innocently atop a badly frosted cupcake, clutched by his nut job of a brother.

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“I heard once that somebody said you have to make art like you have no friends or family. And I think that’s true, or you’re otherwise too self-conscious about sharing things or someone calling your bluff.” - Anna Nalick (March 30, 1984)