#the truth remains

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: The Truth Remains

Raphael had been the third angel ever created, and he’d raised himself first with Michael’s clumsy help. Then he’d turned around and raised three more siblings, and loved them all so fiercely it hurt. He'd loved Aziraphale too, more than either of them really knew. And then, he fell. He lost everything. The bond he held with his siblings was ripped away, leaving an aching, empty void. And while he still has Aziraphale, the angel doesn't recognize the archangel who taught him how to care about the Earth. And Crowley refuses to tell him who he was, or how Aziraphale's voice is the one thing that can soothe the ache in his soul that wants, so badly, to feel a connection again. A story through the ages as an angel and a demon come to terms with their shared past.

Length: 200,154 words

AO3 Rating: Mature

Best for: At Home, Angst, Through the Ages, Canon AU

Triggers: Violence

Read it here, fic by WanderingAlice

*Minor Spoilers* This story is gorgeous. It is bittersweet and melancholic, and if you haven't read this one yet I think it's a must read. Crowley in this story is actually the supposedly dead Raphael. This is not a story that just drops that fact into the established canon like an Easter egg. This is a full canon AU. All the events we're familiar with will happen, but the context has completely changed. I will leave all the major details for you to learn. Just know that it will break your heart over and over again.

This is a Crowley centric story. It will unravel his history as Raphael and the relationship he had with his siblings and Aziraphale. He is a very wounded and guarded thing here. And lethally protective of Aziraphale, which surprised me. The thing is, Aziraphale knew Raphael and had loved him in Heaven. Now he is haunted by the guilt and grief he feels over losing him. How awful it is for Crowley to have his love grieve for him and be unable to say, "I'm here, I'm not gone," Remember, I said this would break your heart.

You can expect a very somber Through the Ages tale here. Not that there isn't lightness, but it's not a silly story. Its contemplative and the periods of time we visit are very painful for Crowley. This Crowley is very empathetic, doing whatever he can to save and heal the humans around him. There is a beautiful scene involving Crowley and Jesus here. It gives them more of a relationship than the canon hints at and it’s gorgeous. He pushes Crowley to believe that maybe this was all meant to be, that Crowley is still a part of God's love and plans. Despite all his resentment for her, Crowley still desperately wants answers and to feel God's love. It is the love an abused child feels for their mother. There's also some really touching moments with Eve, and what he told her before she took the apple. I haven't seen that particular scene in fanfic often. Maybe I'm missing them, but this is the standard I will hold anything else to.

This story is completely safe in public if you wish, but I think it's best for at home. It's a more poetic prose that you'll want to pay attention to. When I tried reading it at work, it was a lot harder to fully immerse myself. I hope I didn't make this story seem like a downer. It's really not! It's beautiful and slow, and had some excellent insights into Crowley's psyche. There are more stories in this series, but I have not read them yet. I'm sure I'll get to them because I definitely will want to return to this world.

Read it here, fic by WanderingAlice

[owlmylove]

sunshine gives you wrinkles and laughter leaves lines and late nights will stamp bruises beneath your eyes. life will always leave its mark on you. live it anyway!!!

[peace-hunter]

tfone au where OP is created as the last of the primes but way after them, a sparkling born at what were thought to be the last days of the war against the quintessons, the beginning of a new generation of peace after eons of war. a child meant to be loved and raised knowing nothing of war nor sacrifice.

he's kept mostly out of the spotlight by his siblings, who don't wish to expose him to everyone's optics so young, and want to wait until the war is done and over to properly introduce him to their people.

except of course the primes are betrayed and murdered by sentinel, the war is lost and everyone who knows and cared for the truth is either banished or outright killed in order to suppress it.

and the high guard, the ones the primes trusted the most, the ones that were supposed to protect them, the ones who failed in their most important duty, have to make a choice. to take the last prime, their last hope, with them to the surface, a hostile environment where there's little to no supplies and where they'll be hunted down by both sentinel and the quintessons as the biggest threat to their regimen.

or hide him in plain sight. place him where sentinel won't think to look for him. one more sparkling among many. and hope it will be enough to keep him alive. pray to primus that he'll protect his last child long enough for them to come back for him when it's safer (even if most of them have already lost their faith on him when he allowed the rest of his children to be massacred like that)

they almost lose their resolve when they realize they will have to take the little one's cog away in order to make him blend in with the rest of the newborns (and oh do they burn with murderous intent when they see what sentinel has done to their people but it's not the time yet-) but in the end they decide an impaired little prime is better than a dead one.

and so in the chaos of thirteen dead primes and a sudden energon crisis, a little sparkling who very few mechs really knew about and even fewer had seen completely vanishes. and in the depths of iacon a mech in charge of a new batch of newborns scratches their helm in confusion as they realize they must have miscounted the first time.

optimus prime is quietly erased from any official records by sentinel, written off as dead when they find a sparkling's frame mangled beyond recognition after an attack on the base of those rebels that insist on being a thorn on his side. killing the sparkling hadn't been precisely in his plans, he probably could've found some use for it after all, but he's not particularly upset about it either.

and orion pax grows up with an ache on his spark that tells him he's missing something far more important than a t-cog and dreams of gentle and loving hands, cradling him against the frames of mechs he cannot recall the faces of.

[palatinewolfsblog]

Truths remain truths even if they are spoken quietly or poorly,

with a hoarse or a tired voice

or a voice that is searching for the right words.

Lies remain lies even if they are spoken with silver tongues.

U.N. Owen.

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

[brucie-baby]

superbat makes me so insane because i know for a fact that if one of them was a woman it would've been canon, retconned and canon again several times over already

[songpasserine]

oh St. John Henry Newman we’re really in it now

[justaz]

merlin who stands against the wall while uther reprimands arthur, who stands behind arthur at dinners where uther’s disapproval and disappointment is apparent, who has been there when arthur is quiet and despondent after private meetings with his father, who has watched for years the sting of uther’s words and sometimes hands against his own son, who has bit his tongue and followed arthur with gentle hands and softer words as he puts the pieces back together of the man he knows and loves.

merlin watching uther lose his temper over arthur going against him for their people and watching arthur crawl into himself and shove his feelings down to be the emotionless prince his father expects of him. once uther’s rage has quelled somewhat, he dismisses arthur without another look and arthur leaves, his back ramrod straight and his chin held high despite the glazed look in his eyes, his last shot at keeping his composure. and merlin breaks, he glares at uther and waits until the doors shut to speak, in case arthur was close enough to hear.

merlin rants and raves at uther, calls him out on his bs, and tells him to be there for his son. ofc uther isn’t having any of it and yells back at merlin but merlin isn’t deterred and keeps going on and on about how much of a disappointment uther is as a father and how much better arthur deserves. uther steps in close and raises his hand as if to backhand merlin but he doesn’t. the two stare at each other, heated glare meeting heated glare, and finally uther mutters that he should have merlin flogged for speaking like that to him. merlin doesn’t waver as he welcomes uther too but he couldn’t just stand by and watch uther tear arthur apart anymore.

uther slowly lowers his hand and turns his back on merlin but he hasn’t given in to merlin’s argument so he switches tactics. he asks how uther expects arthur to be the sure, determined, and just king he is meant to be if uther won’t let him grow into his power and autonomy, let him learn his lessons and apply them as king. uther finally lowers his shoulders at merlin’s argument which just irks him more as uther clearly cares more for arthur as a future king rather than a son but he doesn’t point that out.

uther turns to stare at merlin and asks if he really just disrespected the king so horribly just for arthur, merlin nods once without hesitation and echoes “for arthur”. uther’s lips twitch despite himself and he nods and says how he is glad arthur has someone like merlin looking out for him. merlin tests his luck once more and responds that arthur could have more than just him, he could have a dad, not just a father.

merlin watches as arthur reports back to his father the next week about an expedition they had gone on to protect one of camelot’s outlying villages from raiders and uther grins wide and pulls arthur into an awkward side hug that’s more a complicated pat on his shoulder but at least it’s something. uther says openly how he’s proud and that camelot should feel lucky to have a prince who is looking out for her.

arthur is stunned and manages a slight bow to his father as he leaves (merlin and uther exchanging a glance and nod as he passes). merlin watches arthur as the room empties and a wide, proud smile stretches across his face. merlin feels warm and fuzzy at the sight and chuckles as arthur spins and pulls merlin into a similar side hug while laughing loudly. the two of them have the most fun that day, spending the rest of the daylight goofing off and running around with no particular goal in mind other than enjoying the day. it’s the happiest merlin has seen arthur be for such a long period of time.

[iwasbored777]

Miles calling Gwen "Gwanda" in front of his parents could be cuz he's just messing with her but it could also be cuz he thinks this is how she introduces herself to any stranger in other dimensions to keep her civilian identity a secret cuz she's very careful about those things and he respects her decision even if it's silly and I have decided that it's both but the best part is that she said her real name is Wanda when they were talking but he wasn't listening for that long cuz he was overthinking how to do the shoulder touch while she was talking so he only remembers the part when she said her name is Gwanda and that's why he called her that when she revealed herself to him and Peter

[i-just-like-crk]

How would Shadow Milk feel if his lover, that went against him during his corruption, and he's so so so so elated (in Shadow Milk's batshit level of elated) to see again, crumbled while waiting in front of the Silver Tree?

Woe is this jester, I love angst

- 🍡

He’s… surprised. Perhaps even a little devastated.

Despite everything you’ve done, he’s never imagined a future without you in it. What is he supposed to do now? One of the driving factors of his desire for freedom is gone. He’s at a loss.

… But only for a moment.

Once he processes your death, he tuts to himself.

It truly is a shame.

[roominthecastle]

Siegfried & Audrey + the big divorce arc of S4

[thetarttfuldickhead]

It’s two days before Jamie leaves for the World Cup and Roy’s making him lunch after a fairly relaxed morning workout session. As he cooks, he listens with half an ear to Jamie’s happy chatter about his upcoming trip, about the camp, the other lads, and did Roy see the home kit, it’s good, yeah? For all that Roy doesn’t offer more than grunts in response, he can’t help but feel Jamie’s excitement wrap around him, contagious, and leaving him feeling fond, proud, and envious in equal measure.

“And they’re letting us have a day off to have family come visit us, you know,” Jamie says. “Guess it’s to keep everyone from getting homesick. It’s nice, innit?”

Roy hums non-comittedly. Maybe it is nice. The sort of thing Lasso would have loved, that’s for sure.

“Mum’s coming, and Simon. Maybe Keeley too, if she can get away. Might not, though, they’re getting dead busy, her and Barbara.”

Oh. “Keeley’s family?” Roy asks, and he tries very hard to sound neutral about it. Nonchalant; a little teasing, even. After Brazil, Jamie had been careful to let slip – every bit as casual as Roy is striving to be right now – that nothing had happened between him and Keeley there, but even so…

He dares a glance in Jamie’s direction, and sees him pulling at his sleeves, distinctly not looking back at Roy. “Well, I mean, no. Guess not. But they said we could invite friends, too, if we wanted. Not like, all of them, ‘course, but one or two close ones maybe.”

Huh. Roy’s instinct is to scoff because why would you need friends from home come and distract you when you’ve got a cup to win, but he holds back. Trying not to be so stuck in his old ways, and all that.

“So—“ Jamie takes a deep breath and then looks up at him, smirk suddenly in place and with his eyebrows raised. “You coming to see me, Coach?”

And Roy blinks. “You want me to come visit you at camp?” he demands after a moment of stunned silence. “In Australia? On fucking family day?” If he sounds incredulous, it’s less because he’s surprised at Jamie having the audacity to ask, and more because Jamie would even want to.

Then again, Jamie had asked him to come to Brazil, too. Roy had told him no, too proud to accept what he worried was a pity ask, and had spent every day of the week Jamie and Keeley were away regretting it.

Jamie shrugs, seemingly unruffled. “I mean, yeah.”

That’s all he says. As if it’s reasonable. As if it’s simple. But Roy knows him well by now, and he can tell from the slight jitter of Jamie’s left foot that the other man isn’t nearly as  blasé about this as he would like to pretend.

Turning back to his frying pan in a bid to win some time and get a grip on his swiftly rising and conflicting emotions, Roy mutters, “Doubt Southgate would appreciate you bringing in a private coach.” Gareth was, judging both by rumours and by Roy’s own recollection of their short time playing together, reasonably relaxed, but there were limits.

Jamie snorts. “Not asking you to come as me coach, am I?”

Roy is aware. That’s what makes this complicated. He knows how to be Jamie’s coach; he’s still not entirely sure how to be Jamie’s friend, even as he has surrendered to the fact that this is what he is now.

He knows that he’d like to be better at it, though. Admits, privately and somewhat ruefully, that he is pleased to have been asked.

“I’ll fucking think about it,” he says, and pretends he can’t hear the smug triumph in Jamie’s answering yeah, ‘course, decent.

Busies himself with plating the omelette so that he can pretend that he hasn’t already made up his mind.

[kuuhaiyu]

i understand the need to take breaks and pace yourself so you aren't overwhelmed. it's important to take care of yourself so you can keep going in the good fight. i myself usually catch up on news about once a day when i feel equipped for it. that said:

you're just going to ignore palestine for the next three months?

account settings literally already has what youre looking for so if you're set on doing this just use this feature and don't complain to other people about the fact that theyre keeping their eyes on palestine

[dasketcherz]

i'm just gonna come out and say it... in my opinion, Varian was a far more impressive villain than Cass did cuz he didnt even need magic to make a whole kingdom abide by his terms and he outsmarted a whole army of guards, weakened their defenses as a result in order to get to his target. So let alone if he was actually assisted by the moonstone, corona would've been SO cooked

[mlobsters]

billie eilish and finneas - interview with zane lowe - may 21, 2024

finneas embarrassing billie ✅ it's not literal 😤😏✅ making points about the parasocial song interpretation trend ✅

Billie: We live in a world of like, somebody puts a song out and everyone is like, "So, this is who this is about and this is the entire story of what happened," and it doesn't even give the listener a chance to interpret it how they want to interpret it and how they naturally hear it.

part 2 for how this album was scary and honest

[waitingforsecretsouls]

You know how male lions will often kill any pre-existing cubs not their own when they take over a pride?

Zahard kind of operates like that sometimes when reminding his old companions who's the one in charge 👍

V and Arlene betray and wage war against him? Kill their child

The FH's send their daughters and other descendants into the princess system he couldn't care less about to force his hand into marriage (and produce his prophesied son)? Make the system unwinnable by executing everyone who comes too close for treason and dub the participants as your daughters

Gustang thinks he's slick by sending in his prodigy daughter to win the whole thing? Sabotage her own willingness to participate by revealing Arlene's pocket Mindfuck her into killing sprees forever staining her reputation, and then imprison her in solitary for a few millennia

Even Data Zahard...Edahn starts challenging him with a suspect bet and his IMMEDIATE first course of action is to go kill Edahn's children to establish dominance