I genuinely try so hard to listen to detransitioners but it's so difficult when they'll be like

"here's a list of the dark side effects of testosterone no one wants to talk about:

#1. Thing people frequently talk about

#2. Readily available info

#3. Really just a personal experience

#4. What should have been kinda common sense

#5. Just a lie."

And other things. My biggest problem is how they talk as if these things absolutely WILL ALWAYS happen and it will be JUST THE WORST. as if testosterone will do the same thing for everyone. Not to mention how it's always framed as "things trans people DONT want you to know". Just irks the fuck out of me.

Brain wont stop going feral over this but mc breaking down in front of farkas because shes tired of all this dragonborn and war shit and just wants some form of normalcy

Anon did you read my mind -- are we on the same wavelength right now cause I LOVE that type of thing. Characters who have almost a breakdown over the hero role they’ve been put into and want to stop but are so scared of stopping OOOOO yes I’m writing this

Anyhow, I am absolutely super excited and happy to write this and hope you have an amazing day !!  

Trigger warning for angst and allusions to depression

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dragon unhinged its jaws, you can even see the flames barreling out of the beast’s throat. The heat brushed against your skin and despite the faintest call in your head to move, your feet don’t lift from the ground.  

How many times would this scenario repeat? How many times would you stand off against another monster of the old times? Each time they rear their horrible heads and each time they come crashing to the earth.  

Or perhaps your enemy would be another person. Another war to be waged for supposedly a noble reason just to truly sate some internalized idea. How would humanity prove themselves not too different from the monsters yet again?  

What a cycle you’d fallen into. A god among men -- worshipped and lauded and yet never truly able to experience what made humanity so... human.  

You couldn’t remember the last time you sat in front of a fire, warming your palms. Or when you woke early one morning and didn’t have to scramble to your feet, just laying there and soaking in the world around you. When was the last time someone looked at you and didn’t see the Dragonborn?

When was the last time you got to be human?

“I’m tired.” You whispered, too quiet for anyone but yourself to hear. Your grip loosened from your weapon, and for just a moment you welcomed the flames unfurling. Perhaps the closest you could ever get to humanity was just pretending this was a simple fire you sat before on a cold, cold night.  

But someone pushed you away just before those flames could touch you. Your back slammed into the snow and the air was snatched from your lungs. Through blurred vision, you could see him, Farkas. His eyes were wide and confused, almost horrified.  

“What was that? Why didn’t you move?” He was yelling, but you could hear the fear and worry so deeply entrenched in his voice.  

You tried to bring yourself back to reality, but all you could muster was a feigned attempt. “I’m sorry... I don’t know what came over me.”  

Farkas wanted to believe you, but the glaze in your eyes told so clearly otherwise. He furrowed his brow and placed your weapon once again in your palm, his fingers lingering over your own for just a second longer than needed. He didn’t say anything else, just rose to his feet and helped you up to face the Dragon that still prowled after you like prey. It was scared though, you knew that.

It wasn’t a difficult fight, each and every possibility had become ingrained in your head -- each move the dragon could make existed like pinpoints upon a map for you. You knew just how to make it to the end and just how to perfectly execute it. 

When the monster fell, you simply watched. The hollowness in your chest became that much more apparent when you absorbed the soul and felt only a further emptiness.  

“Hey, we need to talk about what happened back there.” Farkas came up from behind you and grabbed your shoulder. And yet when he twisted you around he paused, stunned.  

You hadn’t even realized you were crying. You hadn’t made a sound and you’d barely noticed when your sight muddled.  

“What... what’s going on?” Farkas tensed, his hand sliding down to instead reach for your hand. His grip was light, almost as if he thought you might break at the slightest pressure.  

You hesitated, but it inevitably spilled out. “How much longer... how much longer do we have to do this? How much longer do I have to be the Dragonborn?”  

“Do you not want this?” Farkas frowned, confused. “I thought you like this -- liked the fighting and the glory.”  

“This isn’t the Companions! I don’t get to stop! I don’t get to just not take the next job these are monsters! They will destroy everything if I don’t stop them!” You yelled, a sudden gnawing at your insides. Maybe it was guilt. Farkas didn’t deserve to be yelled at, but you didn't stop. “There is no glory in this! This is desperate, and I am desperate-”  

You stopped. “Oh gods, I’m awful aren’t I?”  

Farkas confusion only deepened. “No, you-”  

“But I am! I am! I am the only person who can stop these dragons -- these things and I -- I don’t even want to.” You looked at Farkas like you’d stumbled upon the most horrible thing.  

You would’ve writhed and rejected any amount of pity at any other point in time but the pity painting Farkas’s face at that moment caused you to shrink, to crumble only further beneath the weight of your truth.  

“All I want to do is just live like a normal person. For once. That shouldn’t be such a big request so why do I feel so awful asking for it?” You tore at your hair in frustration. “Why do I feel so awful for just wanting to be happy?”  

You could remember one dream you’d had where it was a wonderfully mundane day. You and Farkas had a home where the sun would pour in through the windows and wake you both up with weary, sleepy yawns. You could stay beneath the blankets for hours, there was nothing forcing you out. You chattered between one another pulled yourself out of bed to trudge drowsily together for breakfast. You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do, by the end of the day you were sitting before the fire and falling asleep in his arms. 

And then you woke up in that cold, damp camp. The sadness that overcame you then was tangible, palpable. 

How could you move on from that? How could think of anything but the future that would forever be out of your grasp?

Farkas took a few steps forward, reaching out with wary hands that weren’t quite making contact, hovering over your arms. “If you aren’t happy like this, tell me how I can fix it -- make it better.” 

You scrunched up your nose in frustration. “You can’t!” 

Farkas finally set his palms against your arms, steadying you despite all the hurt rattling inside of you. 

“I can try.” 

Your chin quivered and then the crying became real. You felt it that time. You crashed against Farkas and sobbed into his chest. Usually, he wasn’t the best with comforting -- he did his best but wasn’t good with words. This time, he didn't need any. He just embraced you, holding on tight as the two of you slowly dropped to the snow-littered ground. 

“I’m sorry -- I shouldn’t be doing this.” 

Farkas shook his head. “No, I’m glad you told me. We can do something about it.” 

He eased you back so he could wipe the tears still dribbling down your cheeks. His hands were rough and calloused but his touch then was so gentle. He offered a small smile. “We’ll take it slow. We can try something new, something normal, every day.” 

“But... the dragons. We can’t... we can’t just stop.” 

“If they show up, we know, and we stop them. But you don’t have to spend your life fixing the world’s problems. You shouldn’t have to.” 

“But there’s so much. There’s so much I need to do-” 

“You don’t have to do it now. No one can do everything in a day. But you can rest.” 

A part of you still had that rejection tugging at your heart. You had to keep moving, you had to keep fighting and protecting. You were nothing if you weren’t the Dragonborn, weren’t you? What could you be otherwise? 

“Whatever... I want.” The realization came to you. “We can be -- we can do -- whatever we want...!” 

Farkas gave a low chuckle. “We can try.” 

Both of you quietly laughed for a moment before Farkas asked a question, the world feeling just a bit softer. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do?” 

You snorted. “I want to find a fire, and sleep.” 

That brought Farkas a crooked grin, helping you up and winding an arm around your waist as you began your trek from the battlefield. 

“We can do that.” 

//

im tired.

i dont wanna say i hate this family but i wish everyone was kinder to me

i dont wanna be here anymore i really dont.

but there’s nowhere else i could go.

no one i could really talk to about this either.

ive just been thinking about it for the few couple of days, yknow?

how it’s really really impossible to find someone who could truly understand just how awful everything is for me. theres no solutions, no compromising.

everyone in this family is lying. its just.......very heartbreaking to hear my siblings constantly talk about leaving everyone behind and cutting contact for good. and i wonder am i getting cut off, too?

if i am, then why are you telling me? 

and yet they get sad when i hint that i wont be around forever, so i stopped saying things like that. and then i wonder do they not think about how i feel?

and then i watch my siblings interact with one another, laughing and joking. and it hurts because theyve each confided in me personally, over who hates who. i could just drop the ball, yknow? 

hey, stop pretending. i know you two loathe each other. 

but what;s the point in doing so? they’d stop confiding in me, and that’s not good.

subconcsiously, i feel like i’m trying to be the bridge. i want them to get along genuinely,

i Need them to get along, and not hate each other. 

why did i assign such a task for myself? honestly whats my problem.

no, why are they being so fucking dramatic? whats the point in hating this and that. where does it get you?

why pick things apart personally when we all know the root of all evil is the father.

mother is an enabler because she has to be. she has no qualifications, no job, no money, no family support.

why are they basing things on point value system.

do they not want to help mom? do they really just care about their own lives?

or are they lying to me by saying they hate each other in secret. why am i carrying this?

why does everyone in this goddamn house trying to be a main character. 

well, youngest sibling excluded i think. she seems genuine in her troubles and she doesn’t make it a point as much as the others. unless im just in denial.

i dont want to say i hate my family, but some of them are so pathetic and stupid.

fear does not equate to respect. why gloat about which sibling is afraid of you? i think you’re pathetic.

i dont know about you, but the brother has never raised his voice at me personally. i guess its not a flex as i thought it is but.

i suppose i just wish everyone would just.... listen. that’s it. stop imposing your values on them. just Listen.

stop trying to prove a point. just Listen. 

its so easy. to just listen and come to a compromise. they go through the same things we do.

hm.

idk. i see them being all so petty with the little things. i guess its just awkward to see them behaving the way i did before i got myself into the deepest shit possible that my brain did a 180 switch.

GGRGGGGGGGHHG im sad. but its okay. have i not told myself never to take things that happen at home personally? dear me.

ok gonna watch voltron lol

Forever

{Peter Parker x Male Reader}

Warnings: none… angst…? slight self hate ig but idk you’ll see…

Summary: a peter parker x male reader where peter gets insecure about mj and readers friendship since he sees how good they look together and knew MJ had a slight crush on reader. Reader fixes the problem by cuddling him, giving him slight kisses on his neck and just some fluffy shit. also cute bby boy peter being all flushed and cute

I really hate giving MJ this role, but ok :/ and also, what do you us think about MJ and Peter in FFH? Personally, i dont like it. I’ll make it it’s own post, it’s mostly a personal preference though.

(not edited)

“OMG, [M/N]. You’re too funny,” MJ said, a slightly happier tone to her voice than usual. You smiled, taking the small smack to your arm with a soft laugh as well. Peter watched across the lunch table while Ned was too occupied with the game on his phone. He pouted; you seemed to be having way more fun with MJ than with him. Lunch was almost over- oh no, wait, that was the bell…

You stood up from your seat as Peter gathered his stuff. He waited for you to walk him to his next class, as you usually did so. MJ also stood up, looking at Peter, “Hey, loser,” Peter had found himself being called ‘loser’ a lot by MJ- probably more than he found himself being called that by Flash- but he knew she was joking, “Aren’t you and I together for History?” Peter nodded, “Oh yeah, I forgot,” he usually had Math right after Lunch, but today was Thursday. Thursday schedule was always weird for him. You began dragging yourself behind and in between them. Ned had already disappeared; his next class was all the way across the hall from where their classes were, so he had to hurry. You spoke up, “I have Biology next anyway. It’s right down the hall from there.”

“Neeerd!” MJ laughed, yelling into your ear. You tried to move away from the noise, a smile playing to your lips, “Oi, idiot, that hurt!” MJ smirked, “Good.” Peter fumed- he felt like he was the third wheel when it was supposed to be MJ. He was dating you, not her. Though, to be fair, not that many people knew. Just the two of you, Ned, Aunt May, Mr. Stark, Happy, and the rest of the Avengers. MJ didn’t, and Peter felt like he should tell her- if not for it being for the reason of ‘she should know because she’s my friend’, then at least for ‘omg stop touching him he’s my boyfriend’. And there she goes, touching you again. Though, this time she used her own shoulder to bump into yours instead.

Peter heard a small murmur, “Doesn’t MJ look really cute next to [M/N]?”

“Yeah, she’s definitely happier around him.”

“She smiled a lot when with him.”

“Their both into the arts; she likes reading and drawing, he likes music and (insert an artistic talent/interest).”

Soon, Peter began hearing things other than just small murmurs and chattering around him. It felt as if he could hear everything everyone was saying. Wasn’t that a side effect of his spider-like abilities? Perhaps it was, Peter couldn’t remember at the moment.

“Yeah, they’re practically made for each other.”

“They make a good couple.”

“Did you hear that MJ and [M/N] got a full score on their project for Art?”

“Oh yeah, they were parters, right?”

“Yeah, MJ made the layout of the sketch and [M/N] finished it up. He did his own thing as well, and they ended up getting their art submitted into the contest happening at the art museum.”

Then, Peter felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

“So cute.”

“Wow, they make a good couple.”

“Peter looks like such a third wheel.”

His own thoughts mixed with the other small talk around him, and it surrounded him in a pit of black.

“He looks like such a loser.”

“Wow, no one would be interested in him anyway.”

“No one likes a nerd.”

“Peter is a loser.”

“Peter is a nerd”

“Peter is lame.”

“No one likes Peter.”

“Peter-“

“Peter!” You shouted in his ear, and Peter jolted up. “O-Oh, yeah?”

“Isn’t this our class?” MJ asked, pointing to the door. Peter nodded sheepishly, looking over at you. You smiled, “Have fun learning about a bunch of dead guys. I’m off to math!” You pumped your fist up in mock excitement. MJ laughed and Peter gave a small chuckle, “H-Have fun.” You nodded, “Sure wont.”

***

3rd person P.o.V.

[M/N] met up with Ned, MJ, and Peter after school. “Hey guys!” He greeted, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter resisted the urge to lay his head on the other male and just looked at him and smiled instead. [M/N] smiled back, but Peter felt like their was this other feeling in the other male’s eyes he couldn’t quite read. “Uh, hey,” [M/N] started, “Parker, you feeling up to a study session today?” Peter pretended to think, nodding soon after, “Sure, dont have any plans today anyway. Lemme text Aunt May, though, first.”

‘Study session’ was a code name for ‘miniature date at my house’. Peter had grown to love the words very much because then it was just them two, and it was normally [M/N] showering Peter in love and affection for the whole night- if he didn’t have Spidey-duty that day, that is. Peter pulled his phone out from his back pocket, pulling up Aunt May’s number. “Can I come too?” MJ asked, “Or is it just one of your gay things?” MJ huffed in amusement at her own joke, not realizing the irony of it. She tried sounding nonchalant about it, but not wanting to break her heart, [M/N] let her off easy, “Uhh, my house is really messy. I feel like Peter can handle it, but I dont wanna make you run off because you’re scared of my pigsty of a home.” He laughed. MJ chuckled, “Wow, gender equality, dude. Whatever happened to that?” [M/N] shook your head, “maybe next time. You don’t have anything and Peter usually spends the night, so it’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” MJ nodded, seemingly disappointed, “yeah, whatever. It’s cool.”

“Done!” Peter chirped, and MJ began walking off. Ned had also run off somewhere. “Good!” [M/N] smiled, “I have you all to myself for the rest of the evening!”

2nd person P.o.V.

Once the two of you made it home, Peter put his stuff down onto the floor in your room while you prepared some food. Since it was Thursday, you guys weren’t assigned that much homework, so you and Peter would probably finish it in the small intervals before classes. You prepared some snacks like popcorn and candy while Peter changed his clothes. He also took the time to pick out clothes for you- a loose white T-shirt with black basket ball shorts. He wore a white shirt- of course, a nerdy one with a scientific pun on it (the two atoms; one asking if the other is positive it lost a electron)- with one of your boxers. He walked out, socks protecting his feet from the cold floor. He scrunched his nose at the smell, smiling.

“You wanna pick out the movie?” Peter asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You turned around, wrapping your arms around him as well. They made their way around both his arms, one hand holding the other to trap the smaller boy in an embrace. “No, you can pick,” you smiled, tilting your head to kiss Peters lips quickly, “so long as it isn’t Star Wars or Lord of the Rings again. Please. I can’t go through another marathon again.” Peter whined playfully, “But [M/N]!” You stuck your tongue out, “Too bad.”

Peter reciprocated the action, and you both let out a sigh of giggles. “Anyway,” you continued, “You want anything specific to eat?” Peter shook his head and you nodded. You let him go and he went over to the couch. He flipped though the many channels on the TV before settling on a Disney movie. “Is that Disney?” You asked, walking in with a bowl of popcorn, two sodas, and a plate of cookies. Peter watched in awe as you balanced everything. “Yeah,” he answered, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Aw, sweet!” You fist-bumped the air, “love that movie.” Peter nodded, leaning to rest his head on your shoulder, he had been deprived of physical touch for a while. He just wanted to spend time with you, was what he thought as he wrapped his arms around you. Your arm wrapped around his waist while the other ate from the supported the bowl of popcorn on your lap. Peter stole some as well, and you watched as the movie began with its intro of the parents trying to save their defaced child from the protagonist.

“It’s kinda inappropriate, dont you think?” You asked Peter after a while, and Peter looked at you confused, eyes squinted Ashe seemingly judged you. “How? It’s a Disney movie?”

“Well, I mean, it talks about gypsies. Aren’t they visualized as prostitutes? And that seen where Esmeralda dances for that old dude, you can see he’s clearly turned on.” You shook your head, “never mind…”

When the movie was over, you cleaned up the remaining food and placed it down to be cleaned later. You carried a very, very tired Peter Parker up to your room. You laid him on the bed and dimmed the lights. He gripped onto you desperately, “Dont move, dont go anywhere…” he said, “Can we stay like this forever…?” He asked tiredly, and you laughed softly, “No, we have school tomorrow.” Peter whined childishly, “forget school. I can make us enough money by being Spider-Man, we dont need education.”

“Peter, my parents would kill me if they found out i dropped out of high school to piggy back on my superhero boyfriend for money.” Peter let out a huff, and the two of you let out quiet, breathy chuckles. He leaned close to you, noses touching. He then frowned, “Do you like MJ?” The question was sudden and it caught you off guard. “Well, i mean… yeah, we’re friends…”

“No, i mean… like like her…?”

You let out an ‘ohhh’, suddenly realizing Peter’s behavior earlier (the cause of your strange glint Peter noted earlier). “No, baby,” you smiled, “I’m not romantically interested in her, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “But,” he began, a slight pout on his lips. God, he was really tired, “she was all over you today, shamelessly flirting with you. You didn’t seem to mind it though…”

“Peter,” you began, stroking his hair a bit, “I dont like MJ. I like you. No, I love you. A lot. So dont think that.” You moved to lay Peter on top of you, taking his hands and intertwining them with yours as he made himself comfortable on your chest. “I know,” Peter started, playing with your fingers a bit, “its just… everybody says you two look good together. I guess i just didnt like the feeling of you with another person, even if it’s just the public appeal and not reality. Sorry…” You shook your head, “dont apologize, baby. It’s normal to feel jealous…”

Peter was quick to defend, lifting his head up to glare at you accusingly, “I wasn’t jealous!” You laughed, “yeah, and I’m not dating Spider-Man.” Peter sighed, resting in his previous position. He mumbled another, ‘I wasn’t jealous…’ and you just nodded. You began running your hands through his hair, to which he quickly responded by sighing and relaxing even further into your chest.

A few minutes of running your hands through his hair later, Peter got bored and slightly irritated of the position. He moved to sleep next to you, with you spooning him. You wrapped your arms around him and gently played it his stomach, felling up and down his abs. He whimpered lightly, curling a bit at the ticklish feeling. His body began to heat up; you could feel it. “Are you still upset?” You asked softly, and Peter nodded. You sighed, placing soft kisses to Peter’s neck. He leaned back, face flushed red as you continued up his neck to his jaw. He turned his head to face you, and gave you a soft kiss. You to didnt move, instead you stayed there and took in the presence of each other.

When you two pulled away, Peter had the brightest blush on his face. He huffed, eyes falling closed, “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Of course you weren’t,” you smiled, “who said you were?”

You turned off the light once Peter finally fell asleep. The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night- and, to be honest, if you could, you would stay like that forever if you could.

Panicked gay moment; had no clue what to write for MJ, sry sry sry anon (._.”)

I will be there at your side

Title: I will be there at your side Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Wordcount: 2843 Square filled: O2 - “One shouldn’t miss the forest for the trees” Rating: T Warnings: Lotsa pining bc they’re just Like That A/N: Title is from Queen’s Love of My Life. This was a fkn trip and a half to write lemme tell u. Link (if posted to AO3): I will be there at your side 

@as-the-saying-goes-bingo 

Aziraphale accepted the note from Crowley, and it took a second for the two words - written in the demon’s familiar scrawl - to actually register with him. It was as through an observer’s eyes he experienced the rest of the conversation, a sinking feeling swooping through him. 

It was first when Aziraphale faced even the mere possibility of something permanently hurting Crowley that he realised what he’d been feeling for so long.

Aziraphale was an angel in love with a demon, which wouldn’t hurt so much if it weren’t for the fact that he could, quite literally, sense love - and he had never sensed any love from Crowley aimed at him.

When Aziraphale storms away from the demon, he’s unaware he won’t see him again for nigh on 80 years. Unbeknownst to the angel, Crowley decides a nap is in order and accidentally sleeps for 75 years. 

Aziraphale thinks that maybe - and the thought is more than unbearable, it’s unimaginable, but he can’t help but think… what if Crowley got ahold of that water, despite Aziraphale refusing to help him? What if something went wrong and Crowley’s - gone? Worse, what if something went right, according to Crowley, and he’s gone?

When the thought strikes him, Aziraphale - for the first time ever on his own - gets absolutely souzed. He drinks himself into oblivion, because the thought of a world without Crowley is the thought of a world not worth living in. 

Time goes on, as is its wont, and every year that passes without Aziraphale even hearing word about Crowley is a year where he breaks down further, entirely certain the demon is gone forever. He may have just recently realised it, but he’s loved Crowley for a very long time, and even if the feeling isn’t returned - won’t ever be returned, for that matter - at least he had his friendship. 

The sheer relief of seeing Crowley hot-footing it into the church almost makes Aziraphale faint - only the fact that there are also three nazis in the church keeps him upright. The realisation of how much it hurts, well, that creates a seed of false hope in Aziraphale’s heart.

Then he saves the books and if Aziraphale wasn’t in love before he absolutely is now, and the seed grows roots, tiny tiny tendrils of hope.

When Crowley offers him a lift home, when he doesn’t even hint about their conversation in the park - when Crowley talks about his car, Aziraphale feels a tendril of love shoot through the demon’s aura.

The seed sprouts.

Despite himself, despite his misgivings about it, when he hears about Crowley planning a caper, of all things, just to get the holy water, well. Aziraphale gets on with blessing. Now, an angelic prayer isn’t all that much more powerful than a human prayer, but an angelic blessing performed out of love?

Nothing holier.

What took the longest, however, was finding a tartan thermos. He could have miracled one, of course, but that would have made it all feel cheap, somehow. Then again, the tartan thermos flask wasn’t expensive, but the effort he had to go to to find one made it feel… more, somehow.

Handing it over feels almost like signing his own death warrant, rather than signing Crowley’s - but somehow, it feels almost like it’d be better if it’s holy water Aziraphale himself has blessed, instead of holy water from a church. Who knows how badly blessed it’d be, anyway?

No, better he die by love, if he necessarily had to. 

Aziraphale had a hope that he’d know when Crowley used the water, if it was his own - and Aziraphale had access to hellfire, if necessary.

A world without Crowley was not a world worth living in. That, Aziraphale felt, was an undeniable truth.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” he said, having given the demon the flask that could spell both their ends. Between one blink of an eye and the next, Aziraphale is gone from the car. He had felt a sense of wonder from Crowley in the moment he was handed the tartan flask, a feeling that renewed the little seed that sprouted over two decades earlier.

That sprout is a tiny sapling of desperate hope, nourished by every angel Crowley utters. 

All of it - the ridiculous hope, thoughts of what might happen, all of it - takes a backseat when Crowley calls, and all of a sudden time is at a premium. Eleven years. That hopeful sprout honestly takes the backseat in a car fifty cars back in a mile long queue.

Aziraphale didn’t have a single clue what on God’s green earth made him agree to raising the Antichrist, but something did. What possesses him to be the gardener is even more inexplicable.

Crowley adores Warlock, despite himself - Aziraphale can feel the love Warlock feels being mirrored, amplified, returned by the demon. The sprout moves a few cars closer. If Crowley can love the Antichrist, can love what seems a human child, thinks Aziraphale, mayhaps he could…

Aziraphale isn’t ashamed to admit (if the right entity asks) that the years he spent as Brother Francis are the best of his existence - not because it was rewarding (it was, raising a child and all) but because he gets to spend so much time almost close to Crowley. They’ve spent the ages orbiting one another, and during the Dowling estate years their orbits come close enough to be almost one and the same.

Warlock had asked, in the innocently curious way of children everywhere, if he was in love with ‘Nanny Ashtoreth’. Aziraphale found he couldn’t lie, not about that. As an angel he shouldn’t be lying, period, but - sometimes, white lies were better than the truth. He tried to deny it, of course he did but he loved Crowley too much to ever say the opposite, even in the guise of a gardener and a nanny.

“Why don’t you marry Nanny, Brother Francis?” Warlock asked, and Aziraphale choked on nothing. “If you love her, shouldn’t you marry her? That’s what mummy and daddy did.” Aziraphale, very carefully, didn’t let his thoughts about Mr. and Mrs. Dowling’s loving (or lack thereof) marriage show on his face.

“B’cause, m’dear boy,” Aziraphale said, voice thick with unshed tears, “while I adore Nanny most ardently, she doesn’t return the feeling.”

In return, Warlock had only given him a long look, mannerism older than his years, and shook his head before dropping the subject. Aziraphale didn’t know quite what to make of that, so he put it out of his mind in favour of showing Warlock where a sparrow had her nest.

Armageddon came ever closer, all of it culminating when the hell hound didn’t show up. They had officially lost the Antichrist (and probably traumatised another child, all for nothing). Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it, however; he’d been allowed, almost encouraged even, to spend a lot of time in close quarters with Crowley - what was there to regret?

What Aziraphale did regret was that he didn’t have time to tell Crowley where the Antichrist was - and therefore where Armageddon was happening - before he was discorporated. Thankfully he didn’t meet any of the higher up angels while indisposed, so making his way back to Earth worked out quite well, despite it all.

Crowley, dear, beloved, unbelievable Crowley. Aziraphale was for the first time happy he can’t see the demon. He could hear him, and that was enough. Crowley was drunk enough that had he been human he’d be dead by alcohol poisoning, and he sounded wrecked. Aziraphale didn’t know who the friend was, but Crowley was clearly torn up about it happening. Yet, the demon had managed to save the book, the only book that actually mattered in the long run.

Then, Armageddon. The sheer relief Aziraphale felt, seeing the blazing inferno that had once been an immaculate Bentley driving up to the army base - nothing had ever come close. 

In the middle of a battle for the rest of the world, an angel threatened a demon, and time stopped. When time started again, humanity had two occult beings and the Antichrist on their side - and not even the Great Plan could beat that. It was simply ineffable.

Going on advice from a seer 400 years dead might seem, well, inadvisable, but that was all they had, so they did. Hell was awful, and Aziraphale swore to himself he’d do anything in his power to prevent Crowley from going back. By the looks on the faces of the assembled demons, he’d pretty much managed, too.

When everything is said and done, faces swapped back and the world toasted, they go back to the bookshop that is miraculously standing, as is their wont. Aziraphale resists the urge to catalogue the contents in favour of corking up a beautiful bottle of ‘97 Napa cabernet sauvignon. 

They’re well into their fourth bottle by the time Aziraphale brings it up.

“I am sorry, dear boy, about your friend,” he says, not noticing Crowley’s eyes widening behind his glasses. He does notice when the demon chokes on the mouthful of wine he’d just taken, though. “Whatever is the matter, Crowley?”

“My friend? What on earth are you talking about, angel?” Crowley’s too shocked to manage the scorn he was going for, ending up somewhere around worried instead.

“You said you lost your best friend, and you were grieving and,” the angel in question says, a bit too drunk to care about how worked up he’s getting over a being he doesn’t even know. “And then I had to interrupt your grieving and, well.”

Crowley opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. Raises a finger as if to say first of all, but changes it to whipping his sunglasses off, tucking them into a pocket and rubbing at his eyes with the other hand. He picks up the glass of Bordeaux that burns like tequila going down.

“Are you daft? You really are the stupidest clever person I’ve ever even seen,” Crowley finally says, serpentine eyes focusing (with difficulty) on the angel on the other side of the table. Aziraphale feels like he should be offended, but he’s a bit too drunk to actually manage the effort for feeling anything but relief. “It was you, angel. I’d lost you. The bookshop was burning and I couldn’t feel you anywhere, and I genuinely thought I was too late.”

Aziraphale’s glass of pinot noir turns into a rather surprised tumbler of whiskey without him noticing. A sprout, smothered by the events of the past eleven years, turns green again. He sternly tells that useless hope to quiet down, please, nothing for you here.

“I’m sorry, dear boy, what - me?” If Aziraphale knew anything about computers, he’d liken his current mental state to the infamous blue screen of death.

“Of course you, who else would it be?” Crowley put his glasses back on. Aziraphale mourns the hiding of his absolutely beautiful eyes.

“You said - on the phone - old friend?” Aziraphale feels at a loss for words, a first while in the company of Crowley. 

“Hastur and Ligur - well, only Hastur by then, I’d melted Ligur,” Crowley says, waving it off as if he hasn’t rocked Aziraphale’s world to its foundations in only a short conversation. 

“But - even though I said all those - I was mean, Crowley!” He knows he’s more or less working himself into a fit, swallows the Bordeaux-turned-whiskey in one go, not that that’s likely to help. “I shouldn’t be a - a priority! Especially not in the middle of Armageddon!”

They’re both really drunk by now, which is probably the only reason Crowley says what he does.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for six thousand years, angel, a little spat isn’t gonna change that, is it?” It takes a minute for it to dawn on them what he just said, Crowley a second quicker on the uptake and therefore a second quicker to sober up. When Aziraphale’s sober again, Crowley is halfway to the door.

“Crowley! Crowley, stay!” he says, not half as loud as he tried but apparently loud enough. The demon stops, defeat in the slump of his shoulders. Aziraphale crosses the shop floor quickly enough not even he is certain whether he used a miracle to do it or not. He reaches out to touch Crowley, but the demon flinches away before he makes contact, turning around and drawing himself up. Aziraphale gets the feeling he’s trying to make himself larger, more intimidating - less likely to be hurt.

“What, Aziraphale?” he hisses, glaring - not that Aziraphale can see that, but he knows him. Knows how he will be glaring behind the glasses, knows that he’s hurting simply by the way he’s hissing on every word. Knows that Aziraphale loves Crowley and - Crowley loves Aziraphale? “You don’t feel the same so let me go home to lick my wounds in peace and then we can have dinner in - a year or something, when I’m past the embarrassment.”

“No, dear, I just never thought…” he trails off, raising a hand to hover uncertainly between them.

“What? Because I’m a demon, and I can’t feel love?” Crowley takes a step back, and Aziraphale lets the hand drop. 

“Of course you can feel love! You love the Bentley, you loved Warlock, you even love feeding the ducks!” His tone is strident, he has to make Crowley understand. “I have felt your love for one thing after another for centuries, Crowley, so your ability to love was never the question!”

“Then what! What is so surprising about the fact that I love you, have loved you and will continue to love you until She sees fit to remake the universe, and I can’t guarantee that will make me stop loving you?!” Crowley says, taking several steps forward until Aziraphale is forced to back up or be walked into. It’s the same as when they were at the former convent, not even a week ago, yet the air is charged in a way it wasn’t then.

“Because I never thought you could feel the same for me as I feel for you, dearest.” The words bring Crowley to a halt.

“...what?” 

“I love you too, Crowley. Have for a very long time.” Again, Aziraphale brings his hand up, this time Crowley doesn’t flinch back, so he puts his hand to his cheek. “I never felt an inkling from you, that you would feel the same - never did I dare hope.”

Crowley turns his cheek into Aziraphale’s hand, brings his own up to hold it, to keep it there. He doesn’t resist when the angel reaches up and takes his glasses off, and Aziraphale’s breath catches at the look in his eyes. 

Crowley leans down, hesitating a hair’s breadth from Aziraphale’s lips, the two of them sharing unneeded breaths - Aziraphale can’t take it anymore, leans up and closes the last few millimetres between them. As he does, as he kisses Crowley like he’s wanted to for two hundred years, he can’t help but whimper. 

Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s love for him, and all of a sudden he realises that the reason he’s never felt it is simply because he’s been missing the forest for all the trees. The love Crowley feels is so all-encompassing, ever-present, that Aziraphale’s been so enveloped in it he hasn’t even noticed.

They’re so in-sync that they don’t know who pulls the other closer, who deepens the kiss, but they stay there, kissing in the middle of the bookshop, for a long time. When they eventually break the kiss, Crowley leans his forehead to Aziraphale’s, eyes closed but with a small smile on his face.

“If I’m dreaming, angel, please don’t wake me up just yet,” he murmurs, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale can’t help but lean into it, is as close to purring as a non-cat ever gets. Nonetheless, he’s the first of them to pull away.

“I am so sorry, dearest, that I didn’t tell you, but - well, I think I just didn’t see the forest for the trees, and well,” he says, watching as Crowley opens his eyes. For the first time, he sees the love shining in them for what it is. The smile on Crowley’s face is fond, and Aziraphale can’t believe how he never saw it before. “I could never believe you’d love me like this.”

“You’d better believe it, angel - and now I’m definitely not ever going to stop loving you.” 

As declarations of ever-lasting love go, it’s maybe not the flashiest, but it is the most sincere Aziraphale has ever heard.

An angel and a demon go to bed together in a flat in Soho, for the first time daring to cuddle close and whisper sweet nothings that have been on the tip of their tongues for almost as long the Earth’s been around. 

I do not play dice with the universe; I play an ineffable game of My own devising and this - this was always one of the sidequests. 

Hey, I was wondering if I could request an imagine? I like number 65 and 57 with Ashton and can it be a long fluff angst imagine please xx

57. “I just never expected it to be you,”, 65. “Why are you calling at 3 a.m.,”

I liked this one, comment what you think, babes!!

As always, if you don’t like it, tell me and I will happily write it again for you

It was late at night, or was it early in the morning, either way, the in-between time where its dark and nighttime but its technically morning. Your back bolt up right, resting against the harsh wood of the headboard, toes pressing into the soft mattress as they curled in tension. Unable to sleep, your thoughts running at 100s of miles per through your relationship, the sleeping body next to you no longer felt a as a warm loving presence, he felt like he had long since been done with you but was too scared to say it, he truly was a kind man, but you needed answers.

You rolled over, face to face with the man you were still desperately in love with but you are pretty sure he no long reciprocates those feelings. You yearn to reach out and touch him, to trace his tattoos on his exposed forearms, for him to wake up and pull you into his muscular chest and tell you that he loves you, but you know he wont. You clock is the only thing signaling the passing of time in the room, the silence heavy and dark, one that you are scared to break for fear of what will happen afterwards. You contemplated, counting your breaths to maintain composure, could you do this now, at 3 a.m., could you find out that the man you want forever with doesn’t want it with you, never truly did. 

You decided that you couldn’t wait. Too many sleepless nights lost to the uncertainty that was constant between the sheets and you couldn’t do it for one more night. Reaching out to poke his sleeping figure hesitantly, he stirred slightly but didn’t wake, reaching out to poke him again, this time you were successful in rousing him from his slumber. 

“Hmm,” he groaned, rolling over and looking at you, eyebrows raising at your wide awake state “Whats going on babe?” he asked, his voice gravely from lack of use

“We need to talk,” 

“Can’t it wait till morning,” he rolled over, attempting to fall back asleep

“No, Ash it can’t,” your serious tone making him roll over again

“What do you want to talk about,” you realized that you couldn’t beat around the bush

“Do you love me anymore?” his eyebrows raised at your bluntness, scootching up the bed till he was sat up and looking at you, he ran his hand through his tousled curls.

“You really wanna talk about this right now,” his hesitation to respond told you the answer, but you had to here him say it

“Yes, Ashton, please just tell me the truth,”

“I did, I really did,” you started crying, and his instinct was to reach out to you, but you flinched back “Y/n I am sorry, I am so so sorry,”

“I always knew someone would break my heart, I just never expected it to be you,”

“Y/n, I am sorry, I just don’t love you anymore,” 

        * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You gasped, shooting up in bed, looking over to the empty space in your bed, tears falling from your eyes, destroyed sobs tearing through your body before you remembered something that made your heart stop, the sad sobs turned into joyous ones. Reaching out your phone that laid charging on your nightstand, turning it on, the harsh illumination hurting your dark adjusted eyes, the screen a picture of you and your love, Ashton. A smile spreading across your still teary cheeks at fact it really was just a dream. 

Though the fact it was but a dream was obvious now, you still craved his voice, for him to tell you just how much he loved you instead of what the version of him in his nightmare said. Simply remembering the words that were spoken in your dream made a sob emit from your throat at your pressed dial.

“Babe, why are you calling at 3 a.m.?” his voice laced strongly with sleep, his use of his pet name caused another sob to emit from your throat, you here sheets readjusting before he spoke again, “Baby, are you okay, are you safe, whats wrong?” the sleep that had previously been present in his voice had been ultimately replaced with concern

“I-I had a dream,” 

“Aw, baby, what was it about that got you so upset,”

“You told me you didn’t love me,”

“Baby-girl, I can assure you that that is never going to happen,” 

“Can you say it, can you say that you love me,” you didn’t wanna be needy but you needed to hear it

“Y/n, I love you so much, and thats never gonna change,” 

“I am sorry Ash, I am sorry that I bothered you,”

“You can always bother me, babe, even if its about something as silly as me ever stopping loving you,” you let out a teary laugh

“I should let you go back to sleep, Ash,”

“It’s all right, I will stay on until you fall asleep,”

“G’night Ash, I love you,”

“Goodnight Y/n, I love you too, more than you will ever know,”

__Taglist__

@mylilbreadstick @cthoodsthetic @isabella10028 @dont-drop-that-lunchable@moancurly @numberonepoetryexpert @heartbreak-5sos

Love me

'Come on. It wont hurt, Promise.' is what the curiosité collar around the male's neck hummed to him. Trapped with this monstrous fate, He tried to ignore the calls and cries of the collar. Not having wanted to listen to it once more. "No. Not happening." the guy growled at the non-see able force. Growing more annoyed and pained He ignored the request. 'You cant ignore me forever you know. It'll only get worse.' growled the entity. He knew it was right but still refuses to allow it to get to him, knowing the outcome if he let it take over his thoughts and actions. Its been months since he had been introduced to this- thing-, the memory of how he obtained it in the first place locked and faded. All but being stuck with it remaining.

The man paced around his room trying to cope with the voices demands, or rather, force them out of his head. An objective proven to be difficult, and noneffective. Sighing out in frustration the dude walked over to the mirror in the bathroom to the right of the room. Looking in the mirror, his gaze latched onto the shiny red ruby straddled into place by gold rims an blue gems stitched to a simple black lace. If it wasn't for the insane creation within its beauty, it would really be a wonderful sight and amazing jewelry. Unlocking his gaze from the hell around his next, the man looked up to his reflection. Pale skin, Whitish Hair with brown roots showing clear as day, Blue ocean eyes sunk into dark purple sockets. He looks as tho he hasn't slept in days, even weeks. That cause he hasn't. Having a demon who refuses to leave you for a moments notice, with a collar that is stuck on you for the rest of your days doesn't show to be good for your health. Mentally and Physically. He raised his hand to his hair gently running it through the matted locks of white. 'Just a little-' "NO" He Sightly yelled slamming his hand back onto the counter with enough force to knock a bottle or two off.

A knock arose from the door to the house. Glancing over to the small bottles laying over on the floor he leaned down and picked them up, "Coming." he yelled reaching over laying the bottles on the counter. Making his way to the door he let out a huff trying to fix his hair with his fingers, Once at the door he hesitantly opened it. Not really expecting company on a day where the sun is barely out. The open door way shown to a tall male, no older than the white haired one. "Oh Hi john." he let out making way for the guy to walk in. "Didn't expect company today." he said, slight monotone lacing his voice from no sleep, closes the door after John walked fully in. "Cant a friend stop by their best friend's house unexpectedly without reason?" John chuckled looking back at the other. "Anyways, Smit you've been locked away in your house for the past week. You've got us all worried dude." John said sitting on a bar stool that was to the left of the door where the kitchen stood.

Smit let out a sigh. 'This is the perfect time to do it!' let out the entity, hunger fueling its words with poison.  "Shut up." he growled under his breath, trying to avoid John hearing unneeded insanity from his part. "What was that?" John asked looking confused at Smit. Smit walked over to the stool next to the other male letting his head fall onto the hard cold surface of the counter. Huffing out another sigh Smit look up at his friend not breaking contact with the counter. Glancing with tired pitiful eyes into concerned emerald ones. Sighing for the third time this interaction he lifted then reconnected his forehead to the once cool garnet counter top. "Oh wow are you okay- You look awful and i'm sure the one head bang is enough to announce any upset intentions." John scooted his stool over to place his hand on the back of the small, almost broken, man.

That one simple action, one of comfort and concern, that one touch- the entity that had placed itself in the live of Smit thrived off that. Smit shook slightly under the small embrace of his friends hand, knowing it wasn't gonna lead to anything good in the end. 'Its people i need. Oh, its people we need.' the voice rang though out the head of the boy, causing Smit to close his eyes and curl into a make shift ball. Hating the feeling this thing was causing him to feel.  It hurt aching for the touch of the one you loved, or hell if it even was love. John's hand retracted back to John's side once he saw the his friend ball, concern turn to worry in a flash. The demon in his head hating the lesser contact, roaring for its warmth back to feed its needs. Smit began to feel his stomach twist and turn. As if something was gonna rip out of his intestine like a bird out of his shell. Flying up and running to his room, Smit could fell warm liquid feel his eyes and blur his vision as he felt contact with the bed. Groaning and crying slightly from pain, John rushed after him. Worrying about his frantic friend who just in his eyes broke down.

Smit blinked open slightly to see a frantic John asking him whats wrong, while reaching one hand over his face to clear the liquid that was sweeping out from his pain noticing something off about it. "Smit?! Are you okay?? Whats with the black liquid???" John tried not to yell, but truthfully he was freaking out. Smit Looked down at the collar, noticing it was shining slightly to his disliking. Glowing is never a good sign, he learned that after the first time. Oh how it wasn't a good sign. Instead of replying right away Smit stood up and walked over to John, who was still frightened outta his mind. Looking so pitiful, black tears marking their present in the corner of his eyes, Smit stared up to John. Not wanting to explain the torture his been going through with this horrid bastard of a collar, if it even was that. 'Do it. Do IT' Smit sigh and opened his mouth to speak. Tears making their way down his cheeks.

"J-John.. Its hard to explain without breaking out in a lash of anger and confusion, but this-" he started taking the gem of the collar into his Index and thumb "collar or what ever is... Is cursed. And this curse craves human interaction just like a dog craves a bone. But a Hundred times worse, it Feeds off and creates makeshift love, thriving for any lick of affectionate it can get." Smit slightly cried out, but it all came out in a soft whisper. He dropped the gem from his hand and move it to his face. Whipping the black water from his eye "It has controlled my life for so long, so many painful months, I've not slept ate or even fully left for a day from this room." He chocked out slightly, oh how he wanted to be free from the hell he unfortunately got sucked into. How he wish he never found this collar, how he wish he didn't have to crave affection for this beast in his head to settle off him, How he would kill for a day for his normal life back. Smit had started crying again not to his knowledge. John stared at him hardly believing what his friend just said. Sucking it up for a bit longer Smit went on, "I'm- Stuck with this thing for the rest of my days, unless i give it what it wants. But I've been refusing to give it such.". John looked into Smits eyes, slightly not wanting to talk or say whats he was about to "W-What does it want..?" He said walking toward Smit, who had given up hiding the torture he was going through with this curse.

Sniffling, and quietly under his breath "You" Smit rubbed his eyes before speaking up more. "You. It wants You, and i refuse to give it what it wants." He slightly yelled, knowing if he left this thing get its way it would torture John with its ways. They'd share this hell if Smit gave in. Smit didn't want to pawn his friend off to his darkness. John looked at Smit placing his arms on his shoulder referring and comforting. "We'd be sharing this hell, and i honestly couldn't leave with myself if i let you get tortured like this. I rather be in pain then let someone i care for suffer for my own good." Smit looked into Johns eyes, begging for this to end. John sighed and leaned in, kissing Smit slightly to the others surprise, pulling away John smiled sadly. "If it means Have any lick of normality came back to my boy, then-" he started grabbing Smit's hand in his own "at least we wouldn't be going through it alone. I'm willing to suffer just make you get at least some of your old self back, We all miss the old you and seeing you go through this is to much." John smiled while pulling Smit into a hug. Smit's mind going off with blazes of the collar's residents as it leaked out to John, closing his eyes Smit hug back tightly as if his life needed it. It did. Feeling half of what he had been though fade away, replace with the small light of hope and happiness he once possessed. Quietly, into the crook of John's neck, Smit let out out a small whimper "Love me".

Sid/Geno, Sherlock Holmes AU? C=

1) There is no reason for Sidney to like Malkin. Malkin is in many ways everything Sidney cannot stand–he is overloud and flamboyant, he moves through the world with no care for the people around him, he wastes away his brilliance on drugs and music and only sometimes emerges to deign to solve a crime. There is no reason for Sidney, a man of routine and quiet and service, to like him–except that he does. Except that Malkin is also kind to children and animals, and he is a bloodhound on the scent when the case begins, and he invited Sidney in when he was little more than a shell of himself and did not judge him for it, and sometimes when Sidney has added his small contribution to a case–a bit of medical or military knowledge, generally, though sometimes it is his strong right arm–Malkin looks at him with amazed eyes and calls him brilliant and looks like he believes it. It’s hard not to like that. It’s hard not to stay, for that.  

2) Geno spends the first year they live together waiting for Crosby to leave. He has no illusions about who he is or what it is like to live with him, and Crosby is many wonderful, delightful things, but he is not a patient man. Geno dreads the day Crosby decides to leave, more than he would like to admit. He has never relied on a person before, never known what it would mean to have someone listen to his deductions with wide awed eyes and care about their opinions, never known how it would feel to wake in the morning and knew someone would be at the breakfast table and have that drive him out of bed. Though he would admit it to no one, he thinks he could keep this forever. But Crosby was the pride of the British army, once–the tone of voice of a man used to giving orders, the letters that sometimes coming bearing seals of important men, the undeniable way his mind clicks along through stratagems and tactics, nothing like his own mental acuity but useful in its own way, and definitely the best of that way. And Geno cannot imagine that he will not tire of Geno and his little flat eventually. 

3) Geno takes the case because he is bored, and because when the victim mentions the name of his employer, Crosby’s heartbeat picks up and his head tilts down, as if to hide his face. He has been distracted lately, taken up by the letters that continue coming from all the important men he corresponds with and his family, and going out to meeting with those important men, though he would never say as much. The case itself does not interest Geno overmuch, plebeian and not worth his time from the sound of it, but it would not do for Crosby to become bored as well. He tells the man they’ll take the case, and sends him on his way. After, Crosby fixes him with a skeptical look, darker than is his wont. “You were not predisposed to take this case,” he points out. Geno is, as always, delighted by how well Crosby can read him, if no one else. 

“No,” he admits, “But now I have, so we must go–”

“Malkin,” Crosby says, and reaches out to grab Geno’s forearm. No one touches Geno much; Crosby is the first. He wonders if it always feels like fire and chains, if other people were to put their arm upon his shirt. “This case will do you no good. I know his employer, from the wars.” Crosby’s hand closes tightly on Geno’s arm, an involuntary reaction–an unwilling memory. “He is not a man to deal honestly.” 

That is the most Crosby has ever said of his time in the army. Geno has deduced much of it, of course, but he also knows that Crosby’s nightmares come from something he does not know. It is not a thought he likes. “And I am not a man to be fooled,” he declares, and plucks his coat from the hook. “Come, Crosby. The case is afoot!” 

4) The case goes awry, as Sidney knew it would the instant Bettman’s name was mentioned. He follows after Malkin regardless, because without him Malkin would stumble into the lion’s den and tell the lions how many teeth they had but not notice their mouths closing until too late, but he is not pleased about it. He is much less pleased when he ends up captured, and tied to a chair in what appears to be a warehouse, and Bettman walks in, chuckling. “Well,” he says, and Sidney manages not to roll his eyes. “This is just like old times, isn’t it?” 

5) Geno is not a stupid man. Geno is in fact the smartest man, and so he knows when he alone is unmatched. Going in to retrieve Crosby alone has a 64% chance of failure, which is unacceptable. Geno’s own resources, his network of spies and informants, are not of much use to him. The police might be more, but they are too often slow to act. Slowness might mean Crosby’s death, another unacceptable outcome. So he sets his jaw and goes to court. It takes him a number of threats, lies, and a spot of blackmail, but then he is standing in front of the most important of Crosby’s important men. “Well?” asks Lord Mario Lemieux, Commander of Her Majesty’s Armies. “You’ve taken quiet some effort to be here. I assume you want something?” 

Geno draws himself up to his full height, and stares him down. He is not overfond of authority figures, and is less fond of men who try to tempt Crosby away from Geno  back to the army that left him injured and haunted. But he is not a stupid man, so he just snaps, “Sidney Crosby has been kidnapped. I require your assistance in retrieving him.” 

Lord Lemieux does not hesitate before rising. The concern on his face is comforting, at least; this is a man who understands the urgency of the situation. “Who took him?” he demands, like a father worried for his child, and Geno cannot relax, with Crosby missing, but he at least thinks that in this, he has an ally. The chance of failure has gone down to acceptable levels. 

6) Crosby is already on his feet and just finishing knocking the last of Bettman’s henchmen to the ground when Geno bursts in, Lemieux and his men hot on his heels. He looks up, and he smiles to see Geno. “Malkin!” he exclaims, then, “Lemieux? What are you doing here?” 

Lemieux takes in the scene. “I was told my assistance would be needed, but it seems we were mistaken.” 

Crosby’s lips twitch. Geno is irrationally angry. He had been smiling because of Geno, not Lemieux. “One day, you will stop underestimating me, my friend.” 

“On the contrary. I believe I know exactly your worth.” Lemieux gives the room another look, then takes half a step forward. “Crosby, you must see, what you can do–”

Crosby’s gaze sweeps the room. He seems to be considering it. Geno steps forward. “If we may proceed–” He lets the words snap out into the room– “I believe we have a villain to arrest.” 

“You’ll find him in the study, I believe,” Crosby remarks, pointing towards a door. “I believe that is where he spent his time, when not–entertaining himself, with me.” The words are said flatly, but Geno takes another look–a slight hesitation in the movement of Crosby’s left arm, a stiffness in his back. Broken ribs, possibly a broken arm. No damage to the face; unsurprising, as body blows tended to do more damage for less risk of permanent harm. Geno does not take risks. He knows precisely how he will strike Bettman, for this. 

They arrest Bettman, and Crosby keeps Geno from exacting the full revenge he would like to. Before they leave–Lemeiux to deal with Bettman, and Geno with Crosby to their flat, with a doctor on the way–Geno sees Lemieux and Crosby in conversation, but their heads are tilted so he cannot read their lips. Crosby’s doing, if he had to guess. He could attempt to find an angle at which he could see, but instead he goes to hail a cab. He knew this day would come, but delay seems the order of the hour. 

7) “I believe I will bathe for a week,” Sidney says, when the doctor has gone. Malkin had hovered throughout the entire examination, like he might have some input though the practicalities of medical science have never interested him; now he swoops around the room like it is too small to hold him. Sidney watches him until he cannot bear it any more. “Sit, please. You’re giving me a headache.” 

To Sidney’s surprise, Malkin sits, dropping into his armchair with his elbows braced upon his knees. He looks surprisingly serious, for a man who had just solved a case and acquired a favor from the Lord Commander–not that Sidney was short of favors from Lemieux. “Is the case not done?” Sidney asks. 

“No, it is done. Though I would hire a few Whitechapel thugs to go to the Old Bailey,” Malkin mutters the last bit. Sidney shakes his head, unduely fond. 

“I did not know you cared so much,” he teases gently. “Such revenge, for a few bruises.” 

“They were not bruises,” Malkin spits. He looks at the fire for a moment,  then turns to Sidney all at once, with the full force of that amazing mind behind his eyes. “Lemieux wants you to return to the army.” 

“Yes,” Sidney agrees, though Malkin has never needed his confirmation. 

“You could be of great use there,” Malkin observes. “The army has need of men like you. I presume Lemieux is offering you a high position. You–”

“Do you think I would leave?” Sidney interrupts. Malkin goes a sudden, blotchy red, which is confirmation enough. Sidney laughs, though it hurts his ribs. “You foolish man,” he says, still laughing. “I have served my country. Now it is time for my retirement, and I plan to spend it here.” 

“With me?” Malkin asks, and the flush remains high on his cheeks. His eyes are wide like a child’s might be, presented with a truth they had not yet considered. 

“If you’ll have me,” Sidney replies. He’d known that months ago. He’d known that tied to a chair and confident that Malkin was coming. He’d known that when he told Lemieux no this afternoon, perhaps regretful but sure. 

Malkin is on his feet again, but only to fold himself to his knees next to the couch, where he takes Sidney’s hand and moves it slowly, with more care not to injury him than Sidney has seen him take with anyone. “I would have you stay with me, Sidney,” he says solemnly. He brings Sidney’s knuckles to his mouth, and Sidney feels the warmth of it through his bones. 

Carly & Ali

Carly: heard from drew? Carly: long shot Ali: Ha, good one Carls Ali: God no Ali: he's AWOL? Carly: yea Carly: gimme calebs number? Carly: longer shot Ali: 'Course but doubt they're chillin' Ali: and he might act like saying his name invokes him to pop up like a demon but you know Ali: Have you spoken to Meena? Surely he's keeping her in the loop Carly: shes not picking up Carly: to me Carly: same as my mum and dad Ali: That's not like her, she's probably just busy, keep trying Ali: As for your 'rents, where have they gone? And why do you need Drew so urgent? Gah, sorry, so many questions Ali: Just go with this one, are you okay? Carly: ive been trying ages Carly: shes not on spanish time idk why she cant answer Carly: idk wot to do Carly: how do i get it to stop ?? Ali: Spain's only an hour ahead of us anyway, not an excuse Ali: I'm 8 hours ahead and I've managed Ali: get what to stop babe Carly: the crying Carly: i cant think Carly: its all it does Ali: You've had the baby Ali: how long ago? did you go to the hospital? you need to if you haven't, like now Carly: what Carly: why would i go there Carly: its over with Ali: Because you both need to be checked over Ali: its really important Ali: have you birthed the placenta? Is it all out? If not you could die Ali: Never mind if there's anything wrong with the baby Ali: Call a cab and give me your deets, I'll transfer the money now Carly: that alien shit Carly: yea Carly: it screams healthy Ali: that is a good sign but there could be something you're missing, maybe that's why its screaming? better safe than sorry, they're not allowed to ask you about shit unrelated, so if you're high, sober up and then go, yeah? Ali: When did you last do a feed? Have you been able to? They'll show you how, it can be tricky Carly: id scream if i was born here Carly: gonna be stuck Carly: sober up? i need more Carly: shit hurts dont need to tell you Ali: They'll give you stuff at the Hospital Ali: why do you think anyone goes? Ali: and fo free baby gurl! please Carly: i cant Carly: gotta be hear for when my mum rings back Carly: & drew might come Ali: Give me your mums number and I'll tell her where you are Ali: then she can ring the hospital and they'll let you know Ali: I bet Drew has a key, no? Ali: Leave a note Carly: he left it when he went Carly: threw it at me Ali: Oh bab Ali: I'm sorry Ali: but you gotta focus on you Ali: and the baby now Ali: Not him, he knows where you are Ali: I can text him if you want, or try to call Ali: I swear nothing bad will come out of it Carly: but its his Carly: and i am Carly: he should be here Ali: But he isn't Ali: maybe he'll come back but you gotta keep going 'til he does, alright? Carly: i need to find him Ali: Not right now Ali: next step Ali: he's not lost, he doesn't want to be found Ali: i know that's harsh but its the truth Ali: he'll come back when he's ready, alright? Carly: what about me Carly: im not ready Carly: he doesnt care Carly: why should i Ali: he cares about himself Ali: AT LEAST do that Ali: if you can't the baby then the people at the hospital will help with that too Ali: you can't just leave it Ali: boy or girl? Carly: its a girl Carly: another one Carly: hes gonna be mad Ali: I don't think he's salty about not having a male heir babe Ali: If you really won't go...I'll do my best to tell you what I know and I'll send you links Ali: we'll do our best health check and then you've got to try to feed her, yeah? Is that okay? Carly: mad that shes here Carly: i said i wasnt having one Carly: you want me to read? cant hear myself think Ali: But you were Ali: and if you were doing it without protection then he was fully aware it was a possibility Ali: I'll voice memo you then Ali: it'll stop the crying Carly: he says its not his Carly: maybe not Carly: idk Carly: its got blood on it but could look like him when thats gone Ali: He said that to me when it definitely was so kind of his go to Ali: but even if it isn't, doesn't mean he has to be a dick to you about it Ali: Its not right regardless Ali: Especially not when you're alone Carly: how do i make it sleep Carly: im tired Carly: should i sing? Ali: That might help yeah Ali: Skin to skin to, that's comforting Ali: Lemme break down how you feed it, yeah? Hold on Carly: i cant pick it up what if i drop it fuck no Carly: gotta stay where it is Ali: You won't Ali: its your baby, its safer with you than it is on the floor Ali: get a towel, that'll keep it warm and put it to your chest Ali: [Sends 38 sec video] okay, if that's easier this vid shows you how but I'm here to talk you through Carly: all the towels are wet Carly: it can have my tshirt thats warm Ali: Good idea, see Ali: you know what you're doing Ali: you've got this Carly: its too small Carly: i have to put it back down Carly: ill hurt it Carly: fuming about me coming near it Ali: She's just hungry and confused Ali: Understandable, right? Dunno about you but I'd be pretty fucked off too if I'd just been pushed out my nice comfy home of the last 9 months Ali: You'll be her best friend in my time at all Carly: id put it back if i could Carly: whyd you wanna do this 3 times Ali: 'Cos I'm a bossy bitch and I want underlings to do my bidding and I get to tell 'em what to do Ali: speaking of, time for your masterclass Ali: get her and get comfy on the sofa or your bed or wherever is bed Ali: best Carly: k Carly: shes heavy wtf Ali: That's good! You did a good job cooking her then Ali: and if she's a lil chunk, this should be easier Carly: shes small but im sleepy Ali: you can both take a snooze when this is done, usually conks 'em right out Ali: is your tiddy out? Carly: knew you fancied me Ali: you know Ali: getting in there while your defenses are down Carly: im single Carly: you too Ali: Lets do it mama Ali: cutest fam ever? i think so Carly: shes not cute like yours Carly: weird coloured thing Ali: she's probably covered in the gunk and pink from screaming her head off Ali: no ones finest hour i bet she's beautiful Carly: ill get it to take a selfie Ali: yay! get it on the nip 'cos i gotta see my boo too 😍 Ali: line her nose up with your nip, kinda tickle her top lip with it, she should open her mouth wide Ali: then you can shove it in Carly: done that before Carly: weird Carly: [Sends pic of tiny baby Indie] Carly: does she look like him idk Ali: Definitely Ali: Looks a bit like Edie Carly: ill send him the pic Carly: probs should take a better one Carly: how do i look? Ali: Like you've just given birth Ali: so a goddess Ali: but a knackered one Carly: youve got a fetish Carly: cant trust that Ali: me??? Ali: didn't impregnate myself Ali: look at Caleb! Carly: and drew Carly: wont see him Ali: Clearly its his thing too Ali: but he's more about the before than after yeah Ali: he can't stay away forever Ali: he wouldn't leave Meena Carly: youre smart Carly: if i go there he cant avoid me Ali: Exactly Ali: Camp out Ali: Ana will help you with the baby shit if you like Carly: why Carly: she doesnt know me Ali: Because she's a good person Ali: plus she's a social worker, it what she do Ali: and she knows Drew better than most, she raised him Ali: worth a shot Carly: shes not his mum Carly: but she can take this kid Ali: yeah she's better than Ali: is that what you want? Ali: she'll discuss it with you, make sure you both get what's best Carly: im not talking to her Carly: she can take it or not Ali: No one will just take her with no questions asked Carls Ali: for your welfare and the kids Carly: im not answering a social workers questions Ali: They're not entitled to judge you Ali: She won't Ali: and as far as drugs are concerned, if you want to give the baby up then literally none of their business at all after that Ali: and if you did decide to keep her then they work with you Ali: they're not gonna just shop you, it ain't like that Carly: make me go to rehab is how its like Carly: fuck no Ali: They can't make you Ali: there's no point Ali: you can only get sober if that's what you want Carly: my mum and dad'll make me Carly: i know theyre gonna Ali: well, where the fuck are they now? Ali: if they're so concerned about you they'd be here Ali: actually supporting you Carly: theyll come when they find out about her Carly: i never told them Ali: Good, I hope they do Ali: but how did that happen Ali: how could I see and they didn't Ali: or Drew Carly: they dont come back Carly: drew did see thats why he left Ali: yeah but they must talk to you Ali: your mum has obviously been there how did she not clock something being up Ali: and not soon enough in Drew's case Carly: i call them if i need money Carly: they gotta think its why im calling now Ali: When do they call you? Carly: if i call and they didnt pick up Carly: unless theyre busy Ali: I see Ali: how's she doing? done feeding? Carly: sleeping Carly: how are yours? Ali: best feeling ever, right? Ali: much the same, its late here Ali: I'm pulling an all-nighter lowkey, finishing up some work Carly: i miss junie Carly: whatever your on for it gimme some Ali: i'd be creepy and snap him sleeping but no doubt the flash would wake his highness Ali: he misses you too, i'll get him to facetime Carly: aw Carly: go work bitch Carly: i shouldnt kept you this long Ali: don't be daft Ali: queen of multitasking Ali: and not just junie who misses you is it Ali: #massiveLESBIANcrush Carly: my tits are gonna go down Carly: snap me up now Ali: Trying, like Ali: make it facebook official Ali: that'll get the lads attention ey Ali: why else do it Carly: yea Carly: my parents too probs Carly: lapsed catholics Ali: be on the next plane over to get you back on the dick like Ali: i'll get on it #longdistancelesbians Ali: my ex gonna be so mad Carly: mine too Carly: wtf am i gonna do Carly: I dont want him to be an ex Ali: even though he's fucked you over like this? Carly: i fucked him over first Carly: i lied Ali: not really Ali: if anything, you lied to yourself Ali: but you didn't wanna hear it, couldn't Ali: and that makes sense Carly: cant block it out any more Carly: fuck Ali: it gets really real really fast Ali: doesn't it Ali: but you have got this Ali: i've got you, however i can, yeah? Carly: i dont want it to be Carly: i dont want it Carly: i cant do this Ali: okay, that's okay too Ali: but she isn't going to just go Ali: whether it was getting an abortion earlier or what you have to do now Ali: you have to do something Ali: there's no quick fix for it Ali: ana can get you in touch with the right people who will make it as easy as they can for you and her Ali: or my mum Carly: if i leave her she'll get found Carly: why does nobody ever call me back wtf Ali: Yeah but they'll still try to find you Ali: or Drew Ali: and his DNA will be on the system so Ali: and I reckon if they got to him, he'd sell you out Ali: when's the last time you slept? Carly: idk Carly: what day is it Ali: Tuesday Carly: sunday Carly: saturday Carly: idk Ali: fuck girl Ali: you shoulda been banking up on it before Carly: ha Carly: easy fix Carly: need my dealer Ali: not if your gonna be breastfeeding Ali: unless he gonna bring formula too Carly: i can go myself for that Carly: get a car Ali: you getting enough cash in, yeah? Carly: ha no Carly: no student loans for this bitch Ali: you'll have to look into getting help with that Ali: there's funds and shit, i'll find out the info Ali: that or tap Drew up for child maintenance Carly: yea cos hes declaring his earnings Carly: i wish hed talk to me Ali: exactly, bribe him like Ali: he's got a lot to lose Carly: hed never forgive me Carly: i cant Ali: but you can forgive him for all he does? Ali: got it bad honey Carly: yea Carly: its fucked Ali: is there anything he could do to make you stop loving him Carly: idk Carly: why Ali: cos you'd be happier if you didn't Ali: right Ali: like, he treats you like shit Carly: i wasnt happy before Carly: & he hasnt this whole time Carly: it got bad Carly: me too Ali: but you could be Ali: you don't have to give up hope of ever being Ali: and he did for the majority of the time though, that should outweigh the good Carly: with what Carly: this kid Carly: im not you Ali: no Ali: of being happy Ali: with just you Ali: or someone else who treats you better Carly: i dont have a job or friends here and i live in a caravan Carly: not gonna happen Ali: you can get both Ali: you're cool Carly: ha Carly: youre dreaming Carly: fucked the allnighter Ali: i'm not the only one Ali: and why not? Carly: drew says im a junkie Ali: what does he know Ali: and anyway, functioning junkie Ali: shits possible Carly: he knows me Carly: he loved me til i fucked it Ali: you haven't DONE anything Ali: a baby happened to you BOTH Ali: you're both reacting, right or wrong now, whatever Ali: and he probably still does but Ali: love ain't always enough Carly: why are you my friend? Ali: I said, you're cool Ali: funny, smart, nice, you already know i fancy you so no need to kiss arse any more, yeah? Ali: you're SO friendable, babe Carly: shoulda fallen for you Ali: yeah well, the tragedy of being straight and feelings not following logic Ali: sometimes, you gotta fuck feelings tho, do right by yourself Carly: i dont feel anything when he isnt here Carly: nothing happens Carly: cept today Ali: make stuff happen Ali: its only chaos darling Carly: youre not here either Carly: what am i gonna make happen on my own Carly: this shit Carly: idk Ali: what do you wanna make happen Ali: anything, however unlikely you think it is Carly: i want him to come back Carly: my parents too Carly: but none of them are Ali: can't control other people nah but you can do all YOU can to make it happen Ali: what would make him come back? who would he wanna be with? and you can try to talk to your 'rents and tell them what is up...longshot but maybe they don't realise how shitty they're being Carly: they're not Carly: theyre busy Carly: and im not a kid Ali: busy with what? Ali: living it up in spain? Ali: they kept you, you're their kid for life Ali: they don't get to peace at 16, 18 whatever the fuck Carly: they didnt vanish Carly: i know where they are Ali: yeah but they should be here rn Ali: you need them Ali: maybe if you ask, when they answer, they will come back Ali: i'm not slagging on 'em, its just facts Carly: i dont want to go live in spain Carly: fact is theyll try and force me Ali: well, they can't make ya, tell them why you wanna stay here Ali: they could still be supportive Ali: even if they're not physically with you every day like Carly: they wont let me stay for him Ali: okay...make something more parent friendly up then Ali: what they don't know won't hurt 'em Carly: youre so smart Ali: so i've been told Ali: with varying levels of sarcasm Carly: yea Carly: same Ali: You are though Ali: One of the many reasons we get along Carly: youre such a mum Carly: bigging me up like Ali: s'what i do best right Ali: shoulda been a cheerleader, fucking irish schools not letting me shine Carly: thats what schools do best Carly: be shit Ali: true dat Ali: even if my uni is pretty swish Ali: and full of nerds like me Carly: looks it Ali: still, miss the homeland like Carly: switch places Carly: shes crying again what does she want this time Carly: headfuck Ali: think its a bit too early for her to have shat, maybe wee but Ali: probably wanting her next feed Ali: you do it roughly every 2 hours for the first month Carly: ffs Carly: howd you get anything done with 3 of them Ali: ask myself the same question Ali: luckily they're not all on the tit 'cos form an orderly queue lads Carly: not getting my tit out again Ali: its that or formula run to get her to stop crying Carly: i cant put her in the car Carly: she'd fall out Ali: that solves that then honey Ali: get 'em out get 'em out get 'em out Carly: perv Ali: 🤷 Ali: single mum, gotta get my kicks where i can yo Carly: get fucked Carly: not offering Carly: one of the nerds would be up for it Ali: no need to tell me Ali: desperation station Ali: bless 'em Carly: do you go to class with your shoulders and knees out Ali: its boiling here, not even trying to be a shameless hussy Ali: can't be swooning erryday, got places to be, shitty bums to wipe Carly: yea Carly: cant steal that excuse myself Ali: sadly not Ali: can use breastfeeding though Ali: you're just out here feeding ya kid, looking hot as a by-product, fight me world Carly: don't Carly: how is this happening Carly: im looking at her and idk Ali: i can't believe you did it all by yourself Ali: you're a right tough nut Ali: but you don't have to keep doing it alone Carly: but i have to do something Carly: wtf Ali: yeah, keep both of yas alive until you figure out your next step Carly: make it sound simple Ali: 'course Ali: i'll allow you some melodrama but i can't claim hormones as hard Carly: u can Carly: and homesickness Ali: alright, lets have a good sob Carly: this kids done enough Carly: has you beat bitch Ali: rude Ali: already winning fresh out the womb Carly: what you naming it Carly: said you would Ali: you're serious? Carly: idc Ali: probs think on that a bit longer, whether you wanna name her or nah Ali: but my lists be ready don't fret Carly: k