#best antichrist boy

[solsays]

If two people fucked on an actual correctly set up summoning pentagram and then had a child from that specific fuck session would that child just be the actual Antichrist by default or—

[triflesandparsnips]

So I understand that there are Good Omens show fans who have never read Good Omens the book, and that makes me deeply sad because--

Like, there's so much depth to the story being told about humans and humanity and the choice between good and evil -- and how that's actually a false dichotomy whoooops -- WHILE ALSO not really being about Aziraphale and Crowley at all (who are, imo, basically there as embodiments of "Impressive Failures" for the purposes of Theme and also Plot).

BUT IF you want to know why I've shipped them since the book-- here's the moment it happened for wee teenage me:

Wednesday (before the end of the world)

So it's Warlock's birthday party. And there are all these children and security guards and also an angel doing magic tricks while a demon is disguised as a caterer. This bit is basically the same as the show, so hooray.

But as wee me understood the characters up to this point, they were still basically enemies who had been in the field together for way too long and knew each other's moves well enough for the same tempting/thwarting of one another to become kind of boring and repetitive and generally pointless-- particularly once they realized that they could, for instance, just live their (separate!) lives watching humans being weird (Crowley) and seeking various sensory stuff (Aziraphale) while doing the least work necessary to keep their respective bosses off their backs.

The Arrangement was borne not out of hiding a friendship or anything, but instead the realization that sometimes covering for one another would just... cut down on their total overall workload. They were, at best, employees of two different, competitive companies-- though in same kind of department, doing the same kind of work-- who discovered they liked to have lunch at the same deli and that their jobs were sometimes distressingly more similar than either was comfortable with.

SO ANYWAY. BACK TO THAT WEDNESDAY. They're not covering for one another with this whole Antichrist thing-- they're now actively collaborating, and they've acknowledged (mostly) that it's not to cut down on their individual workloads, but rather to preserve their identical-- but not shared (not yet)-- goals of Getting To Continue The Lives On Earth They've Grown To Enjoy.

But like-- still not friends. Not really.

Until Aziraphale fucks up a bit, Warlock accidentally gets hold of a security guard's weapon and starts waving it around, and:

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock. The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork. Aziraphale blinked. A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden. Aziraphale looked embarrassed. Then a cream cake hit him in the face.

My teenage brain exploded at this moment.

BECAUSE: there is no reason for Aziraphale to do that.

Work-wise: If he got shot, Crowley would get discorporated, but not die-- and anyway, it would happen in such a way that both of them could explain it away easily to their respective sides (and possibly even be commended for it!).

Collaboration-wise: If Crowley had been watching Aziraphale, and if he'd seen Aziraphale have the chance to change the gun but not do it-- then yeah, probably that would've been annoying enough to have warranted some chilly conversations once he came back topside, and therefore, Aziraphale choosing to save Crowley could've been a reasonable, logical choice to keep their working relationship on an even keel until they'd sorted out this Doomsday thing.

But Crowley was looking the other way.

Work-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and secret-collaboration-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and so it is, overall, really weird that Aziraphale saved him.

But his automatic reaction-- in a blink-- is to stop Crowley from getting shot. And he knows it's weird-- he feels embarrassed that his sudden, unthinking reaction is to save his "enemy".

And the final bit is just a couple paragraphs later:

With a gesture, Aziraphale turned the rest of the guns into water pistols as well, and walked out.

SO LOOK: He changed only the pistol about to shoot Crowley. His automatic reaction had nothing to do with saving a party full of humans, many of them children-- nothing to do with Heaven or Hell-- nothing to do with preserving the coworker he needs to stop Armageddon--

It was all to do with saving Crowley. Who may be the enemy, but he's Aziraphale's enemy. And another part of his life on Earth that he's doing all of this just to preserve.

Which may also be, for the first time, the moment he lets himself realize how important Crowley in particular is to him.

...and so anyway, that's how I started shipping these two immortal idiots, and one of many reasons why everyone should read the book.

[slutforgarlogan]

"Youre a pretty little thing" | Michael Langdon x F! reader.

Summary: based off this request. Michael Langdon showing off to the coven witches and using the seven wonders to impress you because he has a crush on you

A/N: guys i love him im a catholic and he's the antichrist we're like romeo and juliet. also the writing on this one is questionable n clunky but im on wine and cider so it needs to be forgiven

When the warlocks had told Cordelia they wanted to have Michael perform the seven wonders, Michael had felt determined to get it done quickly and better than Cordelia could do it, to prove he was the next supreme, and no one could argue it.

However, when the witches had arrived telling him they agreed to it, and he could attempt to perform the seven wonders, Michael had found himself a little distracted by one of the witches, you. His new goal was to impress you.

First wonder: Telekinesis. This one was easy and simple, he just had to move something without touching it. He did so, quickly and with ease, shooting a cocky smirk at the witches, eyes lingering on you a little.

Second wonder: Concilium. Michael knew he could be crafty with this one - control of the mind. He looked at you, and as you made eye contact, you knew you were going to be the victim of him showing off this power.

You could feel yourself moving towards him, very much against your will, and you took mental note of the fact that though you yourself were a very powerful witch, he was powerful enough that you couldn't even try and fight it.

To your surprise, despite the weird evil vibe you've all been getting from him, all he makes you do is dance with him. You uncontrollably slow dance with him, unsure whether it's his pretty face or the magic thats making you kind of nervous, but whatever it is, you scold yourself for thinking that way about a man that even one of the warlocks is scared of.

When he's done making you dance with him, you awkwardly do the walk of shame back over to stand next to Zoe, awkwardly smiling at her.

Third wonder: Transmutation. Another easy one, Michael thought. Madison had tapped him on the shoulder, and in turn, he had appeared behind you to tap you on the shoulder.

By the time you had turned round, he had dissappeared again, leaving everyone looking around for him. Your eyes dart around the room, a little puzzled. Whatever he was doing, it was successfully intriguing you more and more by the second, drawing yourself to the unsettling boy.

"Look up"

You can all hear the cockiness in his voice, the same annoying smirk as before present on his face, as you look up to the ceiling, to see Michael attatched to it, looking down on everyone, like one of those sticky animals you get from toy machines.

Fourth wonder: divination. Once again, Michael already knew he could do this, another easy one. He had to do this one as it was given to him, unfortunately, and couldn't do anything extra to inadvertently flirt with you more. And so, he makes a small bit of eye contact with you, before he takes the small pebbles and usea them to figure out where the pocket watch is, finding it almoat instantly, and walking over to where it was to pick it up and show the witches.

Fifth wonder: Pyrokenesis. Michael decided the best thing to do, would be to conjure a ring of fire around where you and madison were stood, making piercing eye contact with you through the fire, and getting rid of it as quickly as he had conjured it up.

To you, the danger and mystery of him was considerably attractive, though Cordelia didn't seem too impressed that he was practically targeting you.

Sixth wonder: Vitalum Vitalis. Michael was given a rat to bring back to life, which proved another easy task for him, doing so pretty much instantaneously, and moving on to the seventh wonder.

Seventh wonder: Descensum. Cordelia had ordered for Michael to not only successfully come back from this, but also to retrieve Misty Day, who had been lost to this particular task when she tried the seven wonders.

This, of course, had caused an arguement between her and the warlocks, who were claiming it wasnt fair, and that it's not a part of the rules.

You and Michael, had been making eye contact the whole time, and the tension between the two of you was so thick you could almost see it. He broke eye contact to look at the warlocks, holding up a dissmissive hand to them "Relax, I'll do it"

He did, and you watched intensely as he lay there, seemingly lifeless. You started to feel a little nervous, even though you didn't know him at all really, nor would you ever admit to having the slightest care in the world how this played out, you told yourself you were nervous because you wouldn't wish death upon anyone.

Sure enough, he did return, and Misty did - eventually - return with him. Much to everyones shock.

You stood there and gawked, eyes flicking between Michael and Misty, and he smirked at you.

A short bicker between the witches and warlocks ensued, before the witches had all turned there attention to Misty.

You however, had turned your attention to Michael, your gaze locking with his for what felt like the millionth time today.

"You seem impressed, little witch," he smirks a little at you, and you nod in response.

"I am impressed" you confirm, trying to be cautious, undeniably attracted to him, but still acknowledging that there's something off about him.

"That was the goal, i wanted to impress you" he sounds serious about it, and you tilt your head a little, cocking an eyebrow.

"Why"

"You're a pretty little thing, thats why"

[nicolegmattos]

My Christian best friend reacts to Good Omens (part 2):

Link to part 1 if you haven’t seen it yet.

Them: *after Adam said that naming the dog Dog avoids trouble* I agree.

Me: Really creative, right?

Them: Is it wrong thinking that the Antichrist is a good boy?

Me: Well, that was the plan. Making him normal. Even if this wasn't actually their doing lol.

Them: *seeing that Agnes got the cocoa prophecy right* She's FUCKING GOOD. She predicted this CENTURIES AGO.

Me: She's perfect.

Them: *watching The Flood scene* I didn't think about that. Children died because of The Flood. Wow... cool, cool. Chocking. Rethinking everything.

*seeing Jesus being crucified* Loved that they criticized the fact it was Aziraphale's lot who put him there.

*laughing when Crowley said his travel opportunities were limited* Yeah, you know. He was poor. Didn't travel much, poor guy.

*watching the French Revolution scene* Why do I feel like they're an old married couple who always fight but never leave each other?

Me: Because they're literally like that basically lol. Great definition.

Them: *seeing Crowley walk in consecrated ground* Seems like he's doing a tap dance lol.

Me: Crowley saving the day once again, ladies and gentlemen.

Them: *seeing that Crowley saved the books* That's my relationship goal. I want a man who saves me and my books.

Me: That's the moment when Aziraphale fell in love.

[chasingfictions]

shauna shipman has everything . she killed and ate her best friend but those events were 2 months apart <3 she can’t lie but boy does that not stop her from trying <3 she’s great at mini golf and adultery <3 she tried to become catholic on purpose <3 shes bisexual <3 she ate a human ear but mostly just the cartilage so she probably had to chew and gnaw for a while <3 and shes even giving birth to the antichrist <333

[astrocaramelb0y]

One Episode into Good Omens

heres what I mainly picked up on:

So Aziraphale is an Angel

Crowley is a Demon

they're best friends

The Antichrist was born

Crowley absolutely slays dressing as a nanny

Aziraphale can do actual magic but prefers to do a (horribly adorable) magic act

They had the wrong boy

Adam gets a Hell-Hound thats absolutely adorable

Names it DOG

Crow and Az drink together while talking about the end of times

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Adam's powers and the book of life

To start this I first need to bring here something from the go book:

Crowley's entire life history was pasted inside the back of his skull and he, Adam, was reading it. For an instant he knew real terror. He'd always thought the sort he'd felt before was the genuine article, but that was mere abject fear beside this new sensation. Those Below could make you cease to exist by, well, hurting you in unbearable amounts, but this boy could not only make you cease to exist merely by thinking about it, but probably could arrange matters so that you never had existed at all

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

I think I can say that Adam's powers work the same in the book and in the show, there is nothing to tell us otherwise, and taking into account that the same ending occurs in both... it could be said that they do indeed work the same. But in the book they give us more details about it, and it's the sentence I just showed you. Didn't it remind you of something? When I heard it I almost screamed, because what Crowley describes is more or less the same thing Beelzebub tells Crowley about the famous "book of life".

In the event that we assume that there is a book of life, we could basically summarize Adam's powers as the ability to erase and rewrite things in said book. Basically his power is to be an editor of the book, and he doesn't even need the book. It is as if the book is something abstract to which only Adam has access

Also in that scene Crowley says it is as if Adam is reading his life story. Again, it sounds like Adam has access to a book with the entire history of the universe

If there is a book of life in which you can write things in it, the best weapon you have against it is the antichrist. Because the antichrist is the only one who seems to be able to access the book even without having the book

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt X good omens whatever the HEAVEN s1e5 was

LAST DAY OF ANTIBIOTICS BABY CAN I GET A WAHOO? In that enthusiastic spirit and listening to my gay playlist that I called BOYS, let's have my summary of whatever I remember from the livestream of season one episode five, which ain't a lot:

In the few minutes break between episode 4 and 5, everyone urges me to get more emotional support fruit. I find a second apple and some sugarcane.

Some of you don't know how to eat sugarcane. It's simple, baby. You bite and suck, blow out the fibres, and swallow the juice. Suck, blow, swallow, guys, it's hard but it's worth it.

I was still howling over the books in the bookshop, because fuck me I have books that are from the mid 1900s and IF THEY BURNED I'M BURNING THE WORLD.

Barely a few minutes in I've already finished the remaining orange watching Crowley break down over the burning bookshop. Crowley can't find Azi and I start eating the apple too (I was saving apples for being gay gn over Crowley, guys, LITTLE DID I KNOW THE PAIN).

I make a reference to driver's license looking at Crowley being sad in their car. For some reason everyone calls me a prophet.

Tracy who is the kinky lady has plushies to make a bedroom seductive. I'm too ace for this. I hug my IKEA snake, Draco.

The Antichrist goes batshit poor Adam. There are some rictus smiles, horror movie shit, and he insists that his friends are having fun. It is similar to how this fandom kidnapped me. You're having fun, Asmi, you say. This is fun.

There is more vague hetero sex. I cannot deal with the genre whiplash. I am still too ace and gay for this.

The apple is over. Finally, Aziracrow gets screentime, but then I watch Crowley's voice break over the residual emotional of losing his best friend, and Aziraphale maybe not realising that the friend was him. My eyes are burning and now everyone is demanding emotional support fruit and making sad headcanons. Fuck you all.

Aziraphale possesses a lady, which is normal, and summons spirits, which is normal. I insist that I am not crying over flatulence, and @thescholarlystrumpet who organises the stream tells me to put it in my tumblr review. I'm not crying over flatulence.

CAN I A WAHOO. Aka Crowley fucking things up for future Crowley yet again.

Aziraphale is THE southern pansy, THE posh gay.

MAGGOTS ARRIVE. IT'S YOU GUYS YAY! Everyone is disgusted except me, because I love you guys, even if you are slimy.

Crowley is now stuck in traffic and simmering with the not-yet-zombie in the passenger's seat. There is fire around London.

Through the power of Manifesting, Crowley drives the bentley through the fire to get to Tadfield. Dream it to be it, guys. With Barbie Crowley, Anything Is Possible. Crowley is now literally a flaming gay (gn).

Friends leave Antichrist. Antichrist sad. Dog leaves Antichrist. Antichrist heartbroken, Antichrist now back to being baby.

Through small town directions, Aziraphale still possessing lady arrives at Tadfield. Crowley in all her flaming glory arrives too. The kids are badasses, riding in on cycles. I am on my second apple. Crowley immediately recognises Aziraphale.

They are now at the American base. Wahoo, bitches. See ya next post my lovely maggots.

[the1975attheirverybest]

TEN YEARS

A/N: Since it's looking like we won't be getting a livestream of the Leeds show tonight, and since I have a crazy few days coming up starting tomorrow, I wanted to post a little something to keep y'all happy while I get my schedule together and to also celebrate ST and last night! short, sweet, no plot, just vibes.

Warnings: none, except maybe typos (i have no clue where my glasses are)

----

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears despite the chattering crowds all around her. "Excuse me- could I just" mumbling apologies as she squeezed past the masses of giddy, sweaty, emotional, and excited fans. She could blame the ones who were struggling to keep from crying, or the ones who were immediately recounting the events they'd just witnessed onstage for fear of their memories eroding as the night came to a close, or maybe to make sure that what they'd experienced was actually real, that other people saw it too. In fact, she felt the same way and would've wanted to stick around and take it all in, if it weren't for her insatiable desire to lay her hands on Matty as soon as humanly possible.

She felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach, her anticipation and impatience spurred on by the glimpses and fragments of conversation that reached her ears from people around her.

"He looked so good in that leather jacket-" someone behind her had observed.

"I'm glad he took it off though. Cuz, arms? hello!"

somewhere from the center of the crowd, an overstimulated, antsy woman yelled out,

"but can we talk about Ross's hair?! I love him."

"I mean, I knew they weren't going to play antichrist, cuz Matty is evil, but at least give us fallingforyou?"

"bro, no matter what he does, you're never happy. he can't win at this point."

"ten years! it's been ten years! 2014 me, scrolling black and white tumblr would lose her shit if he could see this."

the smile that had plastered across her face grew wider with every comment she overheard. Though the walk to the backstage area wasn't long earlier in the day, when she'd wandered around, watching the backline tech and the crew set things up, right now, it felt miles away. Finally, too impatient to do things responsibly, she jumped the safety barrier and landed on the other side. giggling to herself as she sprinted to find the boys.

Her airy giggles broke into a fit of laughter when she spotted the four of them, dress in all black, huddled into a corner, whispering and laughing like children. Matty turned around at the clomping of her footsteps, a grin on his face.

"Babe-" was all he'd managed to say before she'd jumped into his arms with the full force of her body, laughing uncontrollably into his ear as she panted, breathless.

Matty's arms wrapped around her waist, picking her up, off the floor, and spinning around in circles, giggling until they were both dizzy.

"You- you did it!" was the first thing she could think to say, still out of breath and heaving, she pressed her lips to his, clumsily crashing into him. Her feet unsteady, and her head still dizzy, she chuckled when their teeth collided.

Remnants of Matty's aftershave still clung to his shirt. She could taste the cigarettes he'd smoked onstage and the drink he'd sipped on. She buried her face into him for a moment, leaning her body against his as she came down from the adrenalin high, then, with her feet firmly on the ground, she turned to face the boys.

"Congratulations! how're we feeling?"

chatter broke out again as they interrupted each other, answering her questions, describing the view from the stage, George boasting that his drum riser was the best spot up there, and Matty, restless as ever, re-enacting his moves.

"Ross, I, um, have some news." she looked up into his eyes, a gentle hand pressed on top of his. "Two people were injured, five lost consciousness. Your hair killed the entire front row." Ross's initial concern gave way to an innocent laugh, his head tilted upwards, his pearlescent smile drawing a dimple on his cheek.

"He knows, he knows." Adam patted Ross's back prompting Matty to reach over and pull the hair tie out of ross's hair. "glorious lions mane. He does it for the ladies."

***

She couldn't help but smile against the soft fabric of Matty's hoodie, clinging to him harder and letting her body sway along with his as he danced to the Killer's song from the side of the stage.

"Sorry, I'll calm down." Matty whispered down to her.

"No, no! Please don't. I love it when you like the music."

Hw wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his and moving them both to the rhythm of the music.

"Matty? You happy?" she looked up at his eyes and saw his answer before he even spoke.

"So happy."

"Good. I mean, you looked like you were having fun up there."

"'course I was. I mean, we used to come here as kids-"

George laid a hand on his shoulder squeezing it lightly, "oh, here it comes." playfully rolling his eyes.

"same old story." Ross mumbled.

"oh about how he came to Reading instead of picking up exam results?" Adam giggled.

Matty laughed, telling them to fuck off, before looking back down at her. "Yeah, I'm happy."

"And you get to do it all again tomorrow." she planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I know. How lucky am I?"

[warnersister]

Star Cross’d

Jerome Valeska x Gordon’s daughter!Reader

Jerome Valeska x Reader

This couldn’t last forever. Nor could it last the remainder of the night. Your father; Jim Gordon, would find out soon enough and put a stop to all to all this nonsense.

Nonsense: the nights you’d both spent lying awake in eachother’s warm embrace, discussing all inevitable components that make up the matrix melancholy of the cogs of life. Shivering slightly under the thin covers, an early winter’s morn and nearing-replacement window panes sending an extra sharp gasp of cooling freeze, compliments of some state north of here. But the delicate gushing of blood through the fingertips that dance with solider-like coherency remind you of being alive.

Nonsense: the candy floss he had bought you the night you met, unknowing of your disliking to the sickly-sweetness of a fairground staple but you ate it regardless, noticing the dust particles falling from his wallet as he handed you the carnival delicacy: wide grin decorating a pearl-filled grin making your heart remind your head that regardless of your economical struggles recently, you truly were rich. An odd sparkle of a concoction of unintelligible senses that overwhelmed your consciousness with a haze-like hypnosis of enamour for the boy yet to receive a name.

Nonsense: having you sat in the front row; against your father’s wishes at his court hearing, eyes flickering mindlessly between you and the judge - amnesty ignoring his court-presented attorney to delicately study the breathing work of art sat behind him. Allowing his own fate to unfold if it meant he got to look at you that little while longer. His sentence to Arkham emitting a gasp from your lips, yet a sense of comfort knowing this somehow meant he wasn’t a mindless killer; he was ill. He wrestled his restraints to give you a finalising kiss to the back of your hand with a sincere tone, voice barely above a whisper as he made you vow to him to forgive him.

Nonsense: the letters stashed in the small shoe box in the bottom of your wardrobe, beneath a well-word pair of disregarded sneakers that acted as gatekeepers for some abhorrent alternation of Romeo and Juliet if Shakespeare was mentally disproportionate. The daily recorded scrawl of proclamations of love and mourning for the distance between the both of you, a somehow best yet illegible cursive getting progressively more dissipated as the page descended - adapting Lamark’s unacceptable theory as the boy evolved from a maladjustment killer to a love sick poet.

Nonsense: crying when you visited him, breaking down into a pool of tears as he appreciated your presence and worshiped your being to an alternative offspring of the Antichrist’s teaching; praying and begging for your mercy - your living self a shrine for his selfless obsession of palpitating sickness of his desire. Your small, naïve smile as you told him you understood, those countless, sleepless nights you lay away shivering in the cold and you ponder your own sanity.

Nonsense: being the first person whom he adheres to when broken out of the Asylum, climbing up a three-story dtysfunctioning drain pipe in the dead of night in the dismal rain of an autumnal Gotham oldhallow’s eve - thunder cracking as you shared a romantic desperation of the age old locking of lips, holding one another on the floor as though terrified the other would painfully disappear if they disimbedded their claws; leaving crescent shaped moon imprint on the skin.

Nonsense: having dates in the darkest hours to avoid disruption; dominating Gotham at three hands of two desperately pining adolescents; insanity of love a proclamation of their secession from the rest of world and society, a religious-like devotion to the other promised by a kiss at every goodbye and a smile at every hello.

Nonsense. The relationship between you and Jerome Valeska was utter nonsense; but the soft whisper-like kisses he leaves on the parting of your hair and down to the nape of your neck makes you alternately shiver as you allow yourself just that few more minutes of sinful indulgence.

[minetteskvareninova]

How Would I Put This For My Non-Slovak Mutuals

Slovakia is going to have elections (premature, I should note, because Matovič is an idiot, see bellow) and by God I am stressed. Our options are as follows:

Progresívne Slovensko (Progressive Slovakia) - They are the, well, progressive party of the Slovak political spectrum. Which means they are the only fucking party that supports the LGBT movement with any consistency. Most of their other proposals are also relatively reasonable; they are interested in protecting the environment, want to improve the sorry state of Slovak healthcare, fight the corruption and so on. Their only two issues are the fact that their leader, Martin Šimečka, is a fucking nerd with the charisma of a wet noodle, and the fact that everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, even people who theoretically should be on their side on account of not being bigoted Putin-loving dipshits, hates them for absolutely no reason. Well, except for their large preferences, probably. They are the most successful party, or second most successful (depends on how the elections pan out) after...

SMER - Sociálna demokracia (DIRECTION - Social Democracy; yes I know SMER is also short for something but I'm too lazy to look it up right now) - Hoo boy. These guys. How would I even start to explain the sheer amount of baggage these guys carry...? SMER has been in power in 2008-2012 and 2012-2020. And it was a fucking shitshow. Between massive corruption and widespread mismanagement of public resources, you can't help but wonder how the fuck did these people last one term, let alone three?! Don't let the Social Democracy thing in their name fool you, these people aren't really social democrats, they have no ideology beyond getting more votes and avoiding jail. Their leader is Róbert Fico, a literal antichrist whose corruption scandals would make for an exceptionally thick encyclopedia. This man is able to sell his soul to the devil for money and power, but since the devil seems kinda unavailable, he figured Putin is the next best (worst?) thing. His latest strategy for gaining more support is leaning into the fanatical Putin-loving, EU and human rights hating crowd, which in our country is depressingly large. Another memorable personality is Ľuboš Blaha, a tankie extraordinaire whose favourite meal is the sole of Volodya's boot and a steady diet of bathit conspiracies. Remember when Blaha engaged in casual atrocity denial around Bucha, because Pepperidge Farm and Minette's blog remember. https://www.tumblr.com/minetteskvareninova/680859499810177024/this-war-is-horrible-and-itself-would-be-enough

Hlas-SD (Voice-SD) - Most progressives in Slovakia have high hopes for these people. I don't. They are an offshoot of SMER, whose leader Peter Pellegrini has mostly held the line with Fico, but at least seems spineless enough to betray him if it happens to be advantageous enough. They don't really have any kind of concrete politics (most of their program is a vague "we'll make things better" kind of stuff), but at least they don't actively spread hate, so in that way they are able to climb over the low bar that is their mother party. Still, how are these people in the third place of every pre-election survey I will never know. I guess Pelle is just that sexy or whatever.

Obyčajní ľudia a nezávislé osobnosti (Ordinary People And Independent Personalities) - They have been the ruling party since 2020 and much like with SMER, it was kind of a shitshow, just in a different way. Their leader Igor Matovič is less corrupt (mind you, not NOT corrupt) than Fico, but more than makes up for it by being kinda stupid and also a horrendous drama queen whose antics prematurely ended two cabinets, his and Heger's. Tenderly nicknamed "Matelko", he became known for his "atom bombs" of ideas, such as giving out prizes in a lottery that people join by getting vaccinated. Y'know, to increase vaccination rates during the height of COVID-19 pandemic. That's why this whole thing had to be televised, complete with "call to collect your prize" type of deal. For what it's worth, he at least made attempts to fight the corruption of the previous regime; he did it badly, as is his way, but nonetheless. "Independent personalities" here means a bunch of small parties that joined them in this election, because they would have no chance otherwise. They are a pretty diverse bunch, meaning their ranks include, among others, an infamous bigot and fanatical anti-abortion activist Anna Záborská, but they also made my bae Jaroslav Naď a defence minister, so that kinda balances it out. I wouldn't hate it if they managed to get into parliament, I'll tell you that much.

Slododa a Solidarita (Freedom and Solidarity) - Considering Matelko profiles himself as an anti-corruption crusader, you'd think Róbert Fico is his nemesis. You'd be wrong. Fico unfortunately loses that prestigious title to one Richard Sulík, leader of SaS, who is... Eh? Like, he's competent in the questions of economy and in general not in the worst tier of Slovak politicians, but also, he's as much of a libertarian as is possible in our part of the world (which si to say, he's not as bad as an average American libertarian, but still engages in, for example, casual climate change denial) and constantly feuds with Matelko. Again, I don't hate him, but we could do a lot better.

Kresťanskodemokratické hnutie (Christian-Democratic Movement) - They are surprisingly not as bigoted as their name would suggest, but that's because here in Slovakia we are used to levels of homophobia and transphobia that would boggle the mind of an average non-fundie American. They come off as relatively reasonable, but only because one can't help but compare them to Putin kissasses like SMER, SNS and Republika. Which brings us to...

Slovenská národná strana (Slovak National Party) - You know, Stupidest Slovak Politician is a tough contest, so my respect to anyone who is able to win it as decisively as Andrej Danko. This man is like Róbert Fico, if his spirit animal was a sheep instead of a fox (and I say it as someone who has experience with sheep, those motherfuckers are ungodly stupid). He simped for Putin before it was cool, when that particular fanclub was just him and Blaha. He doesn't seem to be able to speak his mother tongue and his constant malaproper speech is the source of many a meme. Which, yes, means that him getting into parliament would be pretty funny. On the other hand, all that fun would probably be somewhat spoiled by the fact that he's ALSO super corrupt, not to mention, y'know, conspiracy-spreading Putin simp and bigot. He also cites Viktor Orbán as his actual, honest-to-God role model. So, an all-around cool dude that I am very happy might be in the next parliament (if Fico wins the election, because naturally these two get on like a house on fire). /s

Republika (The Republic) - I can't believe SMER legit isn't the worst mainstream Slovak party, but I mean, at least they aren't actual neonazis? I mean, Republika does its best to hide their affiliations, but because their leader, Milan Uhrík, is in competition for the second stupidest Slovak politician (the first place, as stated, firmly belonging to Danko), they don't do a particularly good job of that. I mean, Republika is the product of a schism within ĽSNS, who were already infamous for their idiocy (besides, you know, barely disguised fascism), so figures. Milan Uhrík in particular is the man whose most important contributions to Slovak culture were sitting in the European Parliament doing fuck all (did I mention that like most bigots, he also shits on EU constantly?) and the "I am not a historian" meme. Basically, because of the blatant fascist sympathies of his party, including worshipping Jozef Tiso, he was asked to condemn the crimes of the First Slovak Republic (which was basically a Nazi puppet - yeah, Ukrainians aren't the only nation in this region with a shady past, go figure; not that it prevents some people, including Uhrík himself, from spreading the "denazification" bullshit). Uhrík's answer? "I am not a historian". Since then, he has been given several options to revise this opinion. He never took any of them. His agenda is also truly something to behold, like I've never read something as profoundly dumb as the pamphlets where they present it. They don't seem to be as successful as ĽSNS, but that's unfortunately because their schtick was stolen by SMER with the good chunk of their electorate. Still, SMER might actually take them into their coalition, because like goes with the like even if the "like" is bigotry, and lest we forget, there is no God.

Sme rodina (We Are Family) - *sigh* Do I have to? Okay. Sme rodina is yet another conservative party, completely unlike EVERY OTHER PARTY THAT EVER GAINED ANY TRACTION IN THIS COUNTRY PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE. Ahem. Its leader Boris Kollár is a businessman who gained something of a memetic status in Slovak showbusiness by being a massive whore and having a fuckton of illegitimate children (the current count is I think 12?). Something of a Slovak Herschel Walker. And just like Herschel Walker, he, the avowed conservative that he is, has been accused of paying for abortions of one of his ex-girlfriends. Which is just a reflection of this guy's general moral consistency. To put it simply, Boris is the biggest Slovak whore. If Fico asked him to join his coalition, you bet your ass he would. He also has associated with people involved in organized crime (just like Fico) and sexted a fifteen year old drug addict. Because, as their billboards state, Sme rodina "protects children". Needless to say, I can't fucking stand this dude just as a person; since he seems to want to be an Isekai hero, I hope he gets hit by a truck.

Demokrati (The Democrats) - They're fine. Their leader is our former short-term prime minister Eduard Heger, whose only flaws were being hopelessly naive and letting Matelko get away with shit he should not have gotten away with. Any people that might be OK with them already vote for Progresívne Slovensko, but maybe they will get enough votes to be eligible for parliament? Maybe??? Their chances aren't high to be honest, but what do you know, miracles do happen.

[altocat]

yes he killed people but… LOOK AT HIS FACE ITS SO SMOOSHY.

(in all seriousness though sometimes I go down the pre-Nibelheim Sephiroth rabbit hole then when I come back up I’m slapped in the face with post-Nibelheimroth who’s a literal plague on the universe and should’ve been killed by Vincent in that library before he could crawl out and nuke the world 💀)

There's a world of a difference between Sane!Sephiroth and Post-Nibelheim Sephiroth.

One is a very, very good boy doing his best (still killed people lol).

And one is the antichrist (FUCKING LOVES KILLING PEOPLE HDHDFNDJDJSJZJ).

[bunniesandbeheadings]

So many of napoleon II’s biographies remark on how astounding it is that a boy of like, four somehow managed to withstand the aggressive attempts by his Austrian family to make him deny his father

But I don’t think it’s astounding. I think it’s very simple

This little boy had one world where he was surrounded by love and everyone told him he could be whatever he wanted to be

And then Napoleon is overthrown and he’s thrust into another world where he’s looked at as an embarrassment at best ("we prostituted a daughter of the caesars to the corsican tyrant and this kid is living proof!") and a living devil at worst (don't play a drinking game where you take a shot every time there is a letter referring to this child as antichrist. you will die)

idk. i just feel like the kid naturally assumes that "the people who love me were telling the truth" and "the people who barely tolerate me are goddamn piece of shit loser liars"

[im-nothing-like-normal]

That's it.

I'm sick of how bad the writing is in Season 8. Even years later I am bitter that one of the best characters in that season is reduced to a warlock and all the religious themes are kind of just tossed in their half-hazard because no one knew what they wanted.

It was about witches and warlocks.

It was about robots and sci-fi shenanigans.

It was about a boy born at the end of murder house.

No!

It should have just simply been a story on the antichrist and how everyone is doomed to die. It should have been about the life inside a bunker, about not knowing what is going to happen to you or your family. It should have been about Michael Langdon winning and completing the prophecy without any involvement of witches.

Don't get me wrong, I love Coven, but it should not have been involved with Michael's story.

Let's talk about the lure of the antichrist, how he's charming, how he's supposed to become a minister and turn the world to him, how he punishes those who oppose him, how easily one's faith can be squandered when someone claims they are a prophet and proves it.

So thus, despite it being years later, I am going to rewrite that season. I'm talking about dark religious contexts with the horrors of the end times. I'm keeping the setting and the premise, but there will be no drawn-out backstory about magic.

I will be posting it soon. Keep a lookout for it~

[feralbutfluffy]

54: Crowley

Chapter 54 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

******

Well.

Thousands and thousands and thousands of years of waiting for the metaphorical scales to fall from Aziraphale’s eyes, and he’d gone and forced the issue - again - with his inability to just leave things well enough alone.

He mentally slow-clapped himself on the back. 

The silence was loud, and Aziraphale said nothing, and Crowley let himself turn inward...

During his Fall, he had lost parts of himself. Some had never returned; memories snapped out of existence with the sort of ruthlessness that could only come from a deity in a fit of pique.

Others, he had clung to fiercely.

After it was over, and he'd come back to himself, he had felt around in the darkness for the shattered pieces. He'd fumbled to fit them back together, gathering them close and hiding them deep inside himself. He had curled himself around these surviving pieces of himself like a dragon guarding its horde.

One of these was his love of potential.

It was the excitement of possibility that enchanted him. He couldn’t remember much from before, but he had a vague recollection of creating a nebula, and the only point of clarity in that memory was delight at creating a star nursery with the potential to create millions of stars. 

After his Fall, he had learned it was mostly possible to stay out of trouble by skirting along the boundary between right and wrong, smudging the line a bit with every footstep. He’d stayed away from anything overly loathsome, preferring to sow seeds of doubt or mild annoyance.

He created the potential, in other words, for anger, displeasure, outrage and violence… But never actually dabbled in it himself.

He just didn’t have the stomach for it. 

That was partly why temptations had always suited him.

Temptations were really just Crowley's love of potential, twisted to fit his new, unwanted role as a reluctant demon. 

The way Crowley looked at it, that’s all temptations were; they offered the potential of… something. Something yearned for. Something taboo. He could lay it out, whisper it in someone’s ear, show them their heart’s desire, offer it up… create the potential for sin, the potential for evil. 

He never forced it. If he was being honest, Crowley much preferred for them to do the right thing, turn the other cheek and all that. He felt a deep-seated sense of satisfaction each time he was rejected out of hand. To err was human, however, and he had plenty of successful temptations under his belt to attest to that. It was his way of going along with Hell as far as he could. 

His way of staying on the right side of the wrong path.

When Aziraphale had accused him of tempting him with his kiss, Crowley had wanted to shake him. They'd spent their lives circling each other, enjoying each others’ company and everything that humanity and life on Earth had to offer. They'd often discussed ethics and philosophy deep into the night, over multiple bottles of wine. They'd dealt with difficult situations together, even when disagreeing on the best way forward.

And yet sometimes, like with his ridiculous accusation, Aziraphale would say or do something that’d make him want to change form, make him want to elongate himself into a venomous serpent and coil up in a corner, protected by scale and fang. Sometimes he’d acted in ways that made Crowley feel like Aziraphale didn’t actually see or hear him at all, that all he was to the angel was a vaguely interesting avatar. The demon. The antithesis. The foil. The opposition. Always the bad one, always fallen, evil, wrong.

The living embodiment of Aziraphale’s ‘There but for the grace of God go I,’ when Crowley was quite sure the grace of God had very little to do with it.

The double standards of God, more like.

It was supremely irritating.

For example, when Aziraphale hadn’t told Crowley about the Antichrist. He’d lied when Crowley had asked him. Lied directly to his face, even knowing that Crowley was in trouble for misplacing the boy - which could have happened to anybody, really - and Aziraphale had told Heaven instead. As if Crowley were any other demon. As if they hadn't spent thousands of years in each others' orbit. He had denied their friendship over, and over, and over, like Peter at Gethsemane. He had trusted Heaven to do the right thing - like a bloody idiot - and then he’d accidentally discoporated himself, leaving Crowley to believe he’d lost him. He’d thought that would be the worst moment of his long, long life. He’d thought, kneeling on the floor of the bookshop, that it was the loneliest moment he would ever face.

He should have known better, really. 

Still, he was no angel. Obviously. 

Crowley had - many times - thought of what it would be like to tempt Aziraphale. He’d pictured oysters and wine, low lighting and lower music. He’d pictured Aziraphale’s face of perfect contentment, the way he looked after a particularly satisfying meal. He’d pictured him lounging back the way he did when he was drunk, far too proper to ever really sprawl out.

And that was as far as he’d ever been able to take it.

Even after 1941, which had seemed like a dream before unraveling into a nightmare, he had never managed to get further than just… being with Aziraphale, sitting with him, appreciating the way satisfaction radiated from him when he was enjoying himself.

A true temptation would have worked like this: He would flirt. He would touch them lightly, but innocently. He would lean back against the nearest available vertical surface. His lips would be parted in a wicked smile, his eyelids would be lowered, and the temptation to kiss would hang in the air between them, an unspoken invitation.

He wouldn’t lift a finger to make it happen. He wouldn’t lean in for it. He wouldn’t initiate.

He felt very strongly about that part.

He had no interest in pushing boundaries. As far as Crowley was concerned, a temptation wasn’t a test; it was a decision. It was their decision. They had to want it.  Crowley created the potential for them to succumb to temptation; he created the potential for them to reach for what they desired. That was the entirety of it. 

They could always resist. They could turn away and walk out.

Or they could surrender to their desire to sin. They could do the “bad” thing. They could have what for one brief moment they thought they most wanted.

All they had to do was lean in and take it. 

When thinking about Aziraphale, Crowley had never known how to progress the fantasy. He’d never known how to tempt Aziraphale into wanting him - into loving him - without stepping all over the lines the angel had drawn in the sand. Even without Aziraphale’s constant reminders of his demonic status - as if he’d ever needed those - he knew that even lightly touching Aziraphale would earn him a reproachful frown at the very least. 

The very idea of casually reaching out to touch the angel’s hand or face had always seemed beyond the realm of possibility. Something that with others may have meant nothing at all would, with Aziraphale, have been imbued with such significance their friendship might not have survived it.

That is, of course, assuming Aziraphale would have understood the significance.

Which he may well not have, because Crowley suspected that Aziraphale had spent thousands of years wearing religious blinkers that blocked out everything other than the narrow way forward: the Righteous Path. For the longest time he had been blind to nuance, had been completely unable to look at things from different angles, and honestly he was so knotted up in denial and self-restraint Crowley thought it was a wonder he could see anything at all.

He had spent thousands of years trying to gently peel the wool from Aziraphale’s eyes at such an excruciatingly slow pace that sometimes he had wondered if he was making any progress.

And then of course he had kissed Aziraphale after that awful conversation that had involved less talking to each other and more talking past each other, and how could Aziraphale have thought that could ever be a temptation? He’d seen Aziraphale looking confused and lost and talking to him about being together as angels and all he’d been able to think was your together and my together are two different togethers, and he’d needed him to understand.

He’d needed to seal Aziraphale’s decision with his lips and the kiss was his desperate, burning brand, marking his stance on a matter already closed.

How could the angel ever have thought it a temptation when there was no choice in it? Not for either of them?

And then after all that, after watching the angel leave because he refused to join him in Heaven… Of course he had ended up there anyway.

And hadn’t that been fun?

He distractedly ran a fingertip over the cut on his face where it sliced through his eyebrow. Somehow, rescuing Crowley and defeating The Metatron had provoked an odd sense of affectionate urgency in Aziraphale. In the past day, the angel had:

told Crowley he wanted him

kissed him on the mouth

held his hand

called him beautiful

kissed his neck

wrapped himself around his shoulders

When he thought of it all together like that, listed neatly in his mind, he didn't know what to think. Compared to the rest of their existence, the speed at which this was all happening had scrambled Crowley’s brain. That was really the only explanation he could come up with for why he had just wrenched his own heart out and practically shoved it into Aziraphale’s hands.

Truly it had been the weirdest couple of days.

He wished he was wearing his sunglasses. He felt so exposed he might as well have been flayed alive. And he’d actually experienced that unpleasantness once, so he supposed he was qualified to make the comparison. He stared at the ground, acutely aware of Aziraphale next to him.

Much to Crowley’s relief he wasn’t crying any more, but his breathing was still hitching and he hadn’t said a word.

Which naturally made Crowley feel like he should say something, because they’d been sitting in silence for at least two minutes.

At least two minutes.

Possibly as much as thousands of years.

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [4]

chapter four, act one: antichrist

January 18th 2012

It’s a sunny day.

And warm, especially for January.

The flowers are starting to bloom, dandelions and buttercups.

But that’s not how the day feels. It feels dreary and sad.

But that’s not how Tommie feels. No, she’s angry, furious.

At herself, her mother, at everyone.

There’s a hand squeezing her shoulder that brings her out of her thoughts and tears her eyes away from the grey stone.

“Ready to go?”

She lets her eyes glance at Adam for a second, then the other three Manchester boys who’d travelled down and are watching from afar.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her into his side, his other arm soothing against her head as she breaks down into a sob.

She cries into his chest and he rests his chin on her head, a soothing back running up and down her back.

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me?” She shakes her head and pulls out of his grip, the back of her wrist rubbing her nose, “No, this is typical her behaviour. She did this- she did this on purpose. She always does this, keeps me out of things until it's too late then eats us both up.”

“Tommie-”

“All the time, all the damn fucking time, all-”

“Okay…” Adam tries to bring her into him again but she pushes him away, “Tom, please, let’s go.”

She steps back, a hand shaking as it covers her mouth, only to run up her face and through her hair to pull out the bobble holding her hair up.

The other three make their way over at this point, George placing a comforting hand on Adam’s back as he tries to hold back his own tears at losing his aunt.

Ross is the one who heads for Tommie, taking her into one of his bear hugs. She doesn’t fight back this time, she lets her hands fist his coat and rests her forehead on his chest as she cries into him.

Matty goes for Adam, reaching for his hand and squeezing, “We’ll be okay.”

Adam turns to his best mate, tilting his head as tears fill his eyes, “I’m worried this will break her, Matty.”

He sniffs and tugs his other arm free of George to rub his cheeks, letting George hold it again when he’s satisfied there are no more tear trails.

“She still has you, us, we won’t let her be alone.”

Adam shrugs halfheartedly, “Doesn’t matter how many people she can surround herself with, she can still feel so alone- I just wish there was something more I could do for her.”

“I promise you-” George sends him a look over the top of their friend's head, Matty chooses to ignore it, he’s always been a little too impulsive with his promises, whereas George thinks their sacred things that shall only be given if you’re sure you can achieve it, “I will not- we will not,” He gestures to himself then George, and then over to where Ross is still holding Tommie, “Let anything happen to her. I will make it my soul purpose to be sure she gets through this and lives a happy life.”

Adam tugs him in with one harsh pull of his shirt and wraps his arms around him before he starts crying into his shoulder. George moves up behind them, wrapping his long arms around them both.

Matty turns his head, and despite the situation he smiles. He watches Ross’ large frame tower over Tommie, practically swallowing her whole as she grips him. She’s not crying now, just standing there staring into space.

Ross moves them over. Forcing her to join the group hug, she gets mixed up in the middle, being passed around for a couple of minutes hug from each person, the final one being Matty.

He squeezes her tighter than Ross, draws bigger circles into her back than Adam and holds her much more delicately than George did.

But at the same time, he’s silent.

No whispered words like the rest of them, when his head moves and she can feel his breath on her ear she allows the lump to rise. To stay there and prevent the breath from trying to escape.

But he doesn’t say a single thing, his lips press into the skin below her ear, soothing across her neck and she lets her breath release in a stuttered mess. Clinging onto his neck tighter and burying her hands into his curls.

“Please keep holding me.”

He nods, still doesn’t utter a single thing, just tightens his grip around her. But in his head, all he’s saying is, ‘I’ve got you.’

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Tommie breathes in the smoke of her cigarette deeply, watching Matty beside her as he inhales his own cigarette.

She tilts her head a little and he does it back when he notices her staring at him, “What?”

She smiles a little looking away.

She’s probably had too much to drink, but she couldn’t have gotten through her own mother’s funeral- or seeing the distant family members that she hates- without it.

She’s just a little drunk, cheeks flushed, hair a little messy from the wind that blows over them as they sit on the brick wall outside her local pub.

She buries herself further into the long coat he’d given her back at the church, the one she hasn’t taken off yet, even as she was inside the warm sweaty pub.

She glances at him again in the corner of her eye, cigarette hanging from her lips and hands buried in the coat pocket, fidgeting with his packet of cigarettes, and when he glances at her again she looks away, smile getting bigger.

He sighs, turning his body and swinging one leg over the wall to face her entirely, “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Tommie.” He says, his voice a little stern as he reaches out to tug the collar of the jacket.

She looks at him, glances up and down then giggles.

“What?” He asks, finding himself smiling at her giggles, it’s funny. The smoke curls around her head like a halo, her bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks paired with her giggles and dimples.

“You uh…” She breaks off as she giggles, “You ever seen that Hugh Jackman film? The animated one?”

“I uh, don’t know, what’s it called?”

“The one about the toilet…” She clicks her fingers, cigarette resting between her middle and ring finger, “Kate Winslet is in it, and the frogs, you know, the rat one.”

“Flushed away.”

She giggles again as she nods, taking another quick drag and letting the smoke fall from her mouth as she talks, “Yeah, yeah that one. You seen it?”

“I have.”

“You look like Roddy in that suit.”

“I look like a rat?” He questions, “Did you just call me a rat?”

She nods, pushing the back of her hand against her cheeks to try and cool them down, “No, no, if anything, I said you look like Hugh Jackman, which should be a compliment.”

“Oh, thank you, very much.” He replies sarcastically, jumping down from the wall and crushing the cigarette with his boot.

He holds his hands out for her and she pushes the cigarette into his mouth, using his hands to drop down the little wall that barely even reaches her hip.

“I think it’s time we get you home.”

He starts walking her down the little path, taking his phone out to message Adam and tell him where they’re going, but her reply makes him pause and turn back to her with an annoyed glance.

“Okay, Roddy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry… Roddy.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

January 27th 2012

There’s a knock on the door, it’s loud and doesn’t stop, just keeps going.

She pulls herself up from the bathroom floor, she’s stumbling, she can’t keep her grip on anything but the consistent knocking on her door forces her forward.

She blinks when the setting sun lights up the room, she hasn’t opened the blinds in days so the light hurts her eyes foreign her hand- the one that's not gripping onto the door handle for the life of her- shields her eyes.

“Hey, oh great- you got the merch we sent.”

“What?”

Matty ducks his head, “The box,” He tugs on the black hoodie, “The new merch we’re trying out.”

She nods, that's when he notices her face, and the way she sways around too much.

“Tommie? You alright?”

“Yeah.”

He steps forward, taking her hand from the door handle to close it behind him, “You, uh… you okay?”

She nods then coughs a little to clear her throat, “Fine. Uh, what- what are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, stop asking that.”

“Have you been drinking?”

She scoffs, looking offended, “Who do you think I am, my father? No, I have not been drinking.”

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“I’m not.”

He raises his brows, looking around a little, he notices the bathroom door open and walks over, “Want a drink?” She asks quickly, stumbling over to pull him the other way.

“You have any tea?”

She nods quickly and pulls him to the kitchen, “I’m just going to put my jacket in the living room really quick.”

She mumbles something but doesn't turn around. That's when he goes to the bathroom, glancing in to see the two empty bottles.

“Tommie?”

He hears the boiling kettle, then a smash and he’s sprinting back to the kitchen, watching her on the floor clutching her head, “Tommie, hey? Hey?”

She flinches when he shakes her, “Ow, what are you doing?”

“How many did you take?”

“How many?” She repeats, flinching when he grabs her head, “Ow careful.”

She rubs her head, and that’s when he looks up, noticing the open cabinet and the red mark, he leans back on the floor and breathes a sigh of relief, “You didn’t OD?”

She scoffs and clears her throat, “OD on what? My anxiety tablets?”

“I thought, you were acting weird, and with everything going on-”

“I didn’t OD, Roddy,” She says quietly, “Just because my mam’s died doesn’t mean I’ve lost the plot.” To try and lighten the mood she laughs a little, “We both know that happened a long time ago.”

He laughs and nods, leaning his head back against the cupboards, “I just- I worry, you know.”

She nods, “I know… thank you.”

He grips her hand and nods and she takes them away to harshly rub at her eyes and blink a little, “I just- got a bit of a headache that’s all.”

He nods, “Can I uh, get you anything?”

She shakes her head and then squints, “What are you doing here?”

“Hann told me, about the house.”

She rolls her eyes and falls back against the cupboards opposite him, “Of course he did.”

Matty purses his lips in a smile and awkwardly avoids meeting her eye, “I came to bring you to Manchester.”

She scoffs again and drags herself to her feet, “I’m not going to Manchester, where am I going to live?”

“With us.”

“In your shitty apartment?”

He nods, “Ross and Adam share, and George and I share anyway, the third room we used as a studio, but we can change it-”

“Roddy, I’m fine here.”

“Yeah? Where are you going to live?”

She shrugs, busying herself with making them both some tea, “Your dad doesn’t give a shit, your grandparents already moved away last month- Where are you going to go?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ll go to uni, but what are you going to do during the summer? And how are you going to afford the accommodation, just- just let us help you, Tommie.”

“I don’t- need help. I don’t,” She pauses and sighs, running her hands through her hair and pauses, hands cupping the mug, “I’m fine, Matt.”

“You don’t even want to move to Manchester to help with the album?”

“Matty, I-”

She pauses and turns quickly, dropping the spoon she was holding into one of the cups, “Album? You did it? You got an album?”

He nods quickly, a smile breaking out. It’s the reason he came down here actually, well part of the reason. The other part is she hasn’t answered anyone the past two weeks, not even her cousin.

She jumps at him, the pair of them laughing as he wraps his arms around her, “We all did it, Tom. The five of us.”

“I didn’t do anything, you’re the genius. You’re the musician, oh my god- this is amazing!”

She laughs, pulling back, hands gripping his shoulders, “So?”

She keeps laughing, raising her brows, pausing her little jumps to rub at her head when she gets a little dizzy and lightheaded. “So what?”

“Will you come help us do the album?”

“We have another EP lined up and then after that the album and…”

She slowly tilts her head giving him that ‘what do you want?’ look.

“Can I maybe… pinch some lines from your book?”

She seems a little more shocked than annoyed, “You really did read my book?”

He nods, “I wanted to know what was so secretive about the leather one you have. It’s good, you’re an amazing writer, Baby, you shouldn’t lock it in that stupid book forever.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

February 1st 2012

Matty opens the door, balancing two boxes on top of each other, “Welcome to the shag pad.”

Tommie doesn’t even step inside, she turns right around with her suitcase and he laughs stumbling to catch her elbow while balancing the bags and boxes in his arms, “Don’t be a dick, come on.”

He kicks the door open a little more then shuts it behind them, “Don’t call it that again, please.”

“Deal. Sorry.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Uh, Adam’s at his parents, Ross is at work, and pretty sure George is at a girl’s place,” He places the boxes down to readjust his grip then walks her through the tiny living room past the kitchen to the little hallway at the back, “Here, this one's yours.”

He opens up the empty room, it’s small, but bigger than the room in her old house so she’s happy.

He puts her things down on the little dresser shoved into the corner, “I’m gonna go order food, that drive made me starving.”

She nods, still looking around the room, picturing it finished in her head. Before he can walk completely out she grabs his wrist, he stumbles back a little, both of their box tattoos rubbing against each other as their skin meets.

“Thank you.”

He knows she’ll hate it, but he pulls her into a hug, arms wrapping around her shoulders as he rests his chin on top of her head. He places a kiss on her hairline, squeezing her tighter when he feels her hands spread across his back.

“Welcome home.”

She giggles into his black t-shirt and he pulls back slightly to look down at her, “That was cringy.”

“I know.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

April 24th 2012

“Ready?” George asks, tapping her on the head repeatedly in a steady rhythm with his drumsticks.

She clutches the neck of her guitar nervously rocking back and forth on her feet, “Yeah, yeah.”

He nods, moving the sticks under one arm so he can grip her shoulders and shake her around a little bit, but then the lights are dimming, Matty’s running out first followed by the rest and the gig begins.

The lights seem to be a little too bright halfway through the show, she’s hiding behind Ross, using his shadow to protect her eyes.

She’s looking around trying to see the crowd but without her glasses, she has to strain, that in itself causes a headache to which she gives up, focusing on the back of Ross’ head where his tag is flipped over.

Tag, clothing tags.

She can feel the tag on the side of her shirt itching her side, during a break she scratches at her side until it’s red and raw, skin flakes under her nails and little droplets of blood on her shirt.

Then- despite being unable to focus on the faces of those in the crowd- she can clearly see their disgust, of her and her playing. Of the last-minute outfit she threw on, a little shirt and some blue jeans. Of the way she misses that one note, and the way she is.

Her hair, her height, her hands, her legs, her arms, her face, her chin, her eyebrows, her-

“Thank you, thank you…”

The moment they’ve finished their final song she's gone, doesn’t even wait for Matty’s usual long monologue, and is off there right away.

Her headache gets worse first, the moment she’s backstage, with actual overhead lights she’s clutching her head and stumbling into people.

After that it’s the noises, too many conversations, the distant crowd, George’s laugh, and Ross surprised yells as Adam jumps on him.

She finds a corner, back against the wall, hands over her ears, head buried between her knees.

Matty’s the one to notice, guiding the guides into their green room with a promise of drinks on him.

He doesn’t know what to do at first, he kneels in front of her but she’s so in her own head she doesn't notice it.

Then he pushes her hair from the back of her neck, moving his cold hands to press there. She flinches at first but doesn’t move until he’s using the back of her neck to guide her face to his chest, removing one hand from her right ear to press it against his heart.

“I’m right here.”

He rests his chin on her head, moving her to rest in his lap, “You did good, Baby, so good, promise.”

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