#beds bangor

[aziraphales-library]

hello! i read a work from your recommendation list, the "Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it." and i really enjoyed it. it has me wanting for more of scenarios where they like have to flirt for whatever reason or crowley attempting to (preferably shamelessly and obnoxiously) seduce aziraphale. thanks in advance!

Here are some fics in which Crowley seduces Aziraphale...

To Woo an Angel by AgentStannerShipper (G)

5 times Crowley tried to "seduce" Aziraphale, and 1 time he realized there was no need.

nothing else matters like us by Melacka (T)

The order came through on an otherwise dull Sunday afternoon in 2004. Crowley had just returned from a spot of low-level tempting in the south of London and was just contemplating an appropriate excuse to stop by at Aziraphale’s bookshop when the message arrived. It was pushed under the door by a courier so steeped in terror that Crowley could sense it from the other side of the flat. With some considerable annoyance, Crowley fetched the envelope and eased the note out, reading it quickly with a frown deepening on his face. Seduce the Angel Aziraphale. Failure will not be tolerated.

How I'm Imagining You by orphan_account (M)

Crowley gets up, walking slowly over to the bar. An onlooker might be struck by the stalking and languid ease with which he walks, like a lioness to her prey. His hips, so smooth and slow. And he tilts his head back, lips parted. Surveys the room and the man with covered eyes. But there is no one looking at him. Every other patron doesn’t need to look at the bar at this moment, look at the man and the prey. So, they don’t. - (Crowley has fun with a little temptation of his own)

shades of grey by IneffableStar (E)

After Aziraphale's West End debut was nearly ruined by Furfur's espionage attempt, Aziraphale gets to thinking about if Heaven may also be watching them, and decides it best that he go search for any evidence against them. Crowley will only allow Aziraphale to go on one condition: Crowley comes along. or Crowley accompanies Aziraphale on a trip upstairs, but he has entirely ulterior motives.

It's your job by falsepremise (E)

After a night sucking oysters with Aziraphale, Crowley just can’t sleep. Perhaps he should hang around in Rome a little longer... After all, tempting a certain angel is his job, isn’t it?

Gormless Seduction by munchmulch (T)

Crowley grimaces. "Nhnnnnggg, ok, alright. But, hear me out." They flick a hand dramatically. "An angel! A being who can make Holy water! Even if I can keep the whole human disguise thing up, what if they, I don't know . . . want me baptised?" Dagon stares at Crowley blankly for a second before handing them the assignment kit. "You’ll start tomorrow. The address is highlighted, if you get lost and have to call me for directions I will direct you through at least three traffic jams."

And the one you mentioned that everyone knows and loves...

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E)

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.  "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."  AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

- Mod D

[pocketramblr]

Ask game, please! Dracula AU where Jonathan is a werewolf. It doesn’t end well (well, even sooner) for the count.

Ok love this also we're throwing werewolf lore in a blender to make this work and kinda fit the original novel. Kinda.

1- ok so Bram Stoker was Irish so our dear friend Jonathan is a descendent of Laignech Fáelad and the werewolves of Ossory, though one who's family has been in England for at least several generations now. Also, these are the "astral projection of spirit in the form of wolves" type of werewolves described in Nennius of Bangor's Historia Britonum, similar to the ones Augustine of Hippo say are possible through God to fight evil because uh whatever Christianity thing is going on in Dracula.

2- So when Jonny boy shows up to Transylvania and all the locals are freaked out about something, he looks in his Romanian to English dictionary and sees they're using a word that means either vampire or werewolf. And then he wonders if the Count is a werewolf too, and is curious about how that works here- the only other werewolves he ever knew were his mother and grandfather, but they are tragically long dead since he's an orphan who sees his boss as a parental figure. So when he hears wolves in the woods, he's not too concerned yet. When a woman presses a rosary into his hand, he awkwardly takes it and wonders if she'd be superstitious of him too, if she knew- but he really wants to meet the Count!

3- but then he meets the Count. And the Count does have the ability to somewhat control wolves... But he really also sets them off. They don't like him. And Jonathan? His inner wolf does not like this guy, it's unnatural, it's bad, he wants to bite but!! He can't do that, he's a real lawyer now and Mina would be so disappointed if he used his first customer as a chew toy. So he grins and bears it, wondering if it's just a territory thing, and wondering if the castle is so empty because the rest of the Count's family is out in wolf form. But... Where are the servants or anyone else?

4- Eerily, Jon goes to sleep, and his human body is left behind in his bed while his spirit pops out in wolf form. He can't smell anyone. Just the Count, and three faint scents, but they don't smell human. They don't even smell like real wolves. They smell like long dead corpses. Still nervous, Jon curls up in the corner and tries to get some rest as a wolf.

But then the Count comes in while he's "sleeping", getting close to the bed and frowning at the rosary. Jonathan's spirit werewolf has had enough and just jumps up, lunging on instinct to protect his human form.

A wolf battle commences, but Dracula hasn't had to put up an actual fight in so long, and Jonathan has the power of God and anime on his side so he wins- and the lady vampires drop dead from their connection to the Count. Freaking out about the murder, Jonny returns to his human body and runs.

5- when he returns to the town a day later, ragged and panicked, when the town hears about all four vampires being dead... They throw a party of a "funeral", everyone swears up and down that the Count and his family tragically died of a wolf attack the day before Jonathan got in and he found their bodies when the coach took him to the castle, and he's sent home bewildered but his boss is like "wow that really sucks, I'm sorry you had such a horribly unlucky first case, let's keep you close to home from now on. Also is your hair white now?"

No vampires travel into England, Jonathan is worried that his wolf form now being stark white is a bad omen, but Mina just pets him behind his ears and says she thinks it's cute, oh, also, Lucy wrote her about one Doctor Van Helsing that a friend of hers knows, he heard about the strange wolf attacks in Romania and blamed it on vampires, can you believe?

[possibility-left]

Good Omens fic recs #19

Bark Dust by rfsmiley - A/C, 8k words.  Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the middle of the Saxon Wars, and when Crowley is injured with a blessed sword, Aziraphale takes care of him.  I'd say physical hurt/comfort is pretty rare in this fandom for obvious reasons, but this is a stellar example of it.

a lighthouse (burning) by books-and-omens - A/C, 108k words.  It's hard to categorize this fic -- it's a time travel story and a ghost story and psychological horror and also on occasion deeply romantic.  The basic story is that Aziraphale and Crowley travel to an empty lighthouse to investigate why the humans who kept it have disappeared, and then they get caught up in something wild.  There's a lot of hurt in this before you get any comfort, but it is worth pushing through.

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan - A/C, 17k words.  Another very funny fic in the genre of Heaven and Hell having shared corporate parties.  The demons have a bet over who can get an angel into bed.  Crowley and Aziraphale use it as an excuse to hang out together.

come raise your flag upon me by trinityofone - A/C, 5k words.

At the end of S2, Crowley agrees to come to Heaven, and loses his memory when he is "forgiven," but immediately begins to cause trouble (like the demon we love).  This is NOT as angsty as you would expect, because sometimes you need some light-hearted amnesia, I am not kidding about this.  S2 wrecked us enough.

Greedy Ducks by orphan_account - A/C, 6k words.  In desperation, Crowley sent Aziraphale an email right before Armageddidn't, never expecting him to read it.  Thing is, after the world doesn't end, Aziraphale does read it, and it changes everything.

[foolishlovers]

Cuz you're doing recs can I ask your favorite explicit non-AU fics? If this is weird, just ignore it please. also sorry if its weird.

that's alright, i don't mind recommending some!!

Just a Taste by summerofspock (3k) See, it wasn’t so much the eating. It was the noises. It was the indecent look on Aziraphale’s face. It was the way he licked his fingers and wiggled in his seat. Every little action felt specially created to undo Crowley. And Aziraphale had no idea.

Anywhere You Want to Go by Aria (9k) Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud. It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore.

Lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons (14k) Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it's always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why. Crowley planned on keeping it that way, but best laid plans…

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops by emmagrant01 (17k) Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (17k) "All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.  "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."  AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

Faking It by bisasterdi (28k) In the immediate aftermath of the Nope-Let's-Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale tentatively begin to move on, hoping Heaven and Hell will leave them alone in the wake of both of their failed trials. Of course, nothing could possibly be that simple. It isn't that Gabriel or Beelzebub have actually figured out how the trials were subverted…but boy, do they THINK they have it figured out. Thankfully, it won't take much to keep them in the dark. (Crowley and Aziraphale just have to spend eternity together, pretending to be in love with each other. All Crowley needs to do is make sure Aziraphale never finds out that everything he's saying and doing is true.)

32 Questions That Lead To Love by ffonippop (32k)

”First formulated in 1997, [32] questions to fall in love is a study by psychologist Dr. Arthur Aron which took place at Stony Brook University, New York. The aim? Speeding up the creation of intimacy between two strangers.” The Cosmopolitan

Okay, fine.

Crowley was 32-Questions-That-Lead-To-Love-ing Aziraphale. Sue him.

He had no expectations, all right? Just, an innocent curiosity.

The Sandford Flower Show by Mussimm (46k) Crowley had waited six thousand years, kept it all in check. But this was the slipperiest slope he’d ever set foot on and as soon as he’d indulged in a few discretionary acts of kindness he was falling face first into pining, tumbling into flirting, about to dislocate his knees on the sharp rocks of intimacy. Was this really it? What he had waited six thousand years for? A stupid flower show? Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away from him. Maybe… maybe this time he wouldn’t? Maybe they’d hold hands again. Maybe tonight with a bottle of merlot in them he’d finally work up the courage and just kiss him and he wouldn’t pull away. The very moment he’d thought it he spotted the problem at the flower show.

Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken (50k) Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.

The Grindr Logo Doesn't Even Have a 'G' In It by indieninja92 (79k) After the Apocalypse, Aziraphale ventures into a new space in the gay milieu - Grindr. There he starts talking to a charming young man who certainly doesn't bear any resemblance at all to a certain long streak of demon, not one bit, no thank you. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley navigate their friendship after the world failed to end. There is much drinking and silliness, but could it be that there are other feelings lurking underneath?? Of course there are, this is fanfic.

[bit-club]

my notes on week one :)

i luv these first three chapters: the first two set up our dual timelines while the third sets up our main characters & their fears and personalities.

after the flood is a great opening scene to establish setting and our monster. one of my favorite details abt this chapter is how it change’s it’s appearance to mimic georgie’s mother and bill to manipulate him. i also like how georgie is the first one to call pennywise ‘it,’ not because he knew about the clown but because pennywise is the same kind of monster you imagine under your bed or in your closet as a child, the one that constantly lurks, hungry.

i also like this section because it’s our first example of the child vs adult mindset that ends up being so crucial to the end of the story— adults worry about murderers and communists because those are so obviously real, while children still have the imagination and fear of being eaten alive by the thing in the basement.

after the festival is so interesting because it shows how derry, what it is, and how the people there feel about it.

resignation vs disgust. these cops have lived in derry all their lives but they’re still shocked when hagarty exclaims what they all know to be true. it’s less turning a blind eye and more willingly accepting it, because this is how it is and this is how it will always be. this blasé attitude is also shown in this earlier excerpt:

this is how it is. ignore the worst of it because this is just how it is. and many of those ‘gory old things’ have living witnesses; mike hanlon will later interview men who were involved in the bradley gang shootout. none of this is ancient history, it happened to your parents and grandparents. but that’s just how it is here (also love how this small section sets up mike’s historic knowledge!)

after the flood was based on the true murder of charlie howard in bangor, maine in 1984.

next we get six phone calls, our introduction to our seven lucky characters. some things i found interesting about each section:

stan knew that this was going to happen, he remembered more than everyone other than mike, and it seems he knew what he was going to do.

neil young reference from the epigraph that i love. out of the blue and into the black. i also like how stan’s character is defined by his reliance on reality; when something doesn’t compute he can’t handle it, and he is no longer a child who could accept and move past the horror. his death is so important to me because the whole chapter sets him up as a successful, logical, and loving man. he’s good at his job, he’s thinking about the future, he really cares about his wife. this man would not kill himself… and then he does. this is the terror we’re facing, the kind that destroys the rational mind (georgie’s sanity was similarly destroyed in ‘one clawing stroke).

i also like this foreshadowing:

stan’s scene is followed by richie’s.

sorry always have to post the richie thesis statement. he’s so wrapped up in his voices (he even uses one when talking to mike on the phone) that’s it’s obvious they’re a manifestation of his own self-hate. i also like how deeply scared he is while looking into his safe, realizing how easy it is to destroy a life— one match, or one lighter, and you’re done. another notable thing is that rather than first remembering his friends or even pennywise richie remembers the bullying he experienced; he felt hated enough that he hated himself too, and still does despite the success he’s achieved as a radio host. his music collection and knowledge is expanse, and he mentions always having something playing— in fact one of the first things he does after the phone call is throw a record on and turn it up— and to me that’s a person who can’t stand a moment alone in his head.

guys i think we’re going out of the blue and into the black

[overmyemptycoffin]

i wish someone had told me on that strange july day back in 2022, that it would be my last day at home in almost 2 years

i wish i had savored the sweet northern air, and the light filtering into my bedroom on the third floor.

i wish i had stopped and read the signs on the way to bangor, and i wish i had thought to buy one last moxie before the plane ride into hell and my other “home”

i wish i’d had the presence of mind to stop on the porch of the 200 year old home in northern maine and say, i love you, and i’ll miss you. one last time before i would never see them again.

i was 16. i was about to be crucified by the man and woman who hated me most. and i didn’t even think to stop and look up at the sky being painted with sunrise, as i was being shipped off to prison.

2 years, so many almost visits and now it’s the end of march, i’m almost 19.

i’m laying in bed and wishing i was at the lake, or even in that third floor room, where i could pretend that i’d never left, where i could pretend that those two years of separation were nothing to me, and i could be reunited with the place that makes my soul whole.

[tortoisesshells]

Writing Patterns

Tagged by @jomiddlemarch - thank you, kind friend!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

1. “Miss Winters,” said Jeremiah Collins, stepping out of the night into the gloom of her lamp: he had a half-shuttered lantern of his own in one hand, and a bundle of heavy wool in the other. 2. It had been late when they left the Cushings’ party; it was later, now. 3. In stretches of silence, along the long dark road from Bangor, she had had the strange sense of being alone in the world – that it was only Roger Collins and her left alive, and all the rest had gone. 4. “Spenser, from our Chaplain? Has Holy Scripture been exhausted already?” 5. Things change in Collinsport, Joe Haskell believes – the weather, hourly; Carolyn’s moods, the same – the tides, the light, the seasons. 6. There had been noise – now there wasn’t. 7. “Captain –” an embarrassed cough, trailing into an equally uncomfortable silence; the tall, grim being (thing, some part of Elizabeth Swann thought unkindly) that had been James Norrington in life bowed, and settled on formality. 8. Her mother died twice. 9. Victoria Winters woke thinking of what she had gone to bed dwelling on: that her best handkerchief was missing, and she’d lost it in the dining room of the Collinsport Inn of all places. 10. “It’s unusual, that’s all I’m saying,” said one of the men at the oars to another, shivering.

I tend to do a lot of scene-setting, I think? Not as much as I used to, maybe. I have two starting lines under 10 words, which is possibly a sign of the end times? Collinsport gets namechecked twice, which I suppose is: have I mentioned we're in (fictional) Maine recently? we're in Maine.

Tagging: @boltlightning, @enchi-elm, @kazoobreakdown, @fatherramiro, @admiraleyk, @foolishpsychopomp, @itsalongwaytotipperary, @sagiow, @starsuncounted, @shoshiwrites, and you, tumblr denizen reading this!

[walmarttrashbag]

Songs ❤

FW/RT/MW

Finn Wolfhard:

Damn it, I saw y/n again in the hallway. This isn't fair! Why does she have to be so fucking pretty?! Ugh! And she's always listening to music everywhere! Maybe if I find out what kind of songs she likes, maybe I could date be friends with her!

"Um... Hey, y/n!"

"Oh, hi Finn!"

"Uhh... So what music or you listening to?"

"Jack Stauber, why?"

"Oh! I haven't heard of him, maybe I can listen to Jack Stauber... With you?"

"Oh sure! Here, take one of my earbuds."

"T-thanks"

"No problem, Frogface~"

I took the earbud from her hand and placed it in my ear, all with a fat coat of deep red blush on my face. God fucking dammit! Why do I have to blush so hard?! But she called me Frogface! She called me Frogface... God I love her so much.

Richie Tozier:

Woah. Is it just me or is y/n looking almost as hot as Eddie's mom? Nah, I'm just playing, but she does look pretty damn nice today. And here we go again, that stupid I dOn'T wAnNa lOsE yOuR lOvE tOnIiIiIiInGhT, bleh! Tony Lewis isn't even that good! Maybe I'll show her what real music is?

"Hey, hotstuff!"

"Um... Hi, Loser?"

"Why do you always listen to that stupid song?"

"Hey! It's not stupid! It's about a cute love story! Just listen to it!"

"No! Wait-! Why is this song suddenly so good?"

"Heh~ I don't know"

"Um... Eddie's on vacation visiting his aunts in Bangor or something like that... Can we talk it over?"

"Smooth, Richie, smooth, but sure. I'd love to talk with a cute boy"

She called me cute! She called me cute! SHE CALLED ME CUTE! HOLY SHIT PLEASE GOD PENNYWISE PLEASE BE DEAD I WANNA HANG OUT WITH THIS PRETTY GIRL!

Mike Wheeler:

There she goes again, looking all perfect listening to that song again. What's the songs name? I know it was a one-hit wonder, in January of 1980, I just can't remember the song's name. It had these two girls saying oh-wuh-oh like over and over again.

What the hell?! Here we are, jumping on her bed, singing Video Killed The Radio Star! When did this happen?! Am I only experiencing this right now?!

"You were the first one!"

"Oh-wuh-oh!"

"You were the last one!

"Video Killed The Radio Star!"

"Video Killed The Radio Star!"

"In my mind and in my car!"

"We can't rewind we've gone too far!"

Jesus, her bed is squeaking so loudly, that might be trouble in the future...

[jovialtorchlight]

Ballad of Johnny Kidd

My name is Johnny Kidd. I’m a bad, bad man. I’m cold, on the verge of death, stumbling through a fierce winter storm somewhere just North of Bangor, Maine, a bullet lodged in my thigh. I was following an old logging road out of the deep woods. I got lost, trailing spurts of blood like a breadcrumb trail. I see it; a tiny flicker of light through the lashing white snow. The cabin. I pound on the door. 

“Mister! Please, it’s so cold out here! Please, let me in! I’ll…I’ll freeze to death!”

An old man unlatches the door; I practically fall into the cabin, legs giving out, trembling. He’s walking towards the fire, doesn’t offer to help me up. Doesn’t even look at me. I think shit, I’m bleeding all over his floor, but the bleeding has stopped. 

“Strip to your birthday suit, right there in the mudroom. Hang it up. It’ll dry.  Don’t be bashful, kid. I won’t peek. Got a pair of long johns hanging on the coat rack. Once you put them on, grab the folded blanket, wrap yourself in it tight,” he says. 

I follow his directions. 

“You’re a real kind person, mister. Thank you,” I said, ambling towards a chair by the fire. 

“Kindness has nothing to do with it. Just don’t want to see anyone else freeze to death on this mountain path. Hard times claim enough good folk around these parts. Don’t need to lose anyone else,” he said, staring into the crackling flames. 

            Goodness has nothing to do with it, I think. I’m naked under the blanket, ‘cept for a sawnoff shotgun strapped to my back. 

“I really owe you my life, sir. I can already feel my bones warming. Blood thawing out.” 

“Any frostbite?” the old man asks. I looked down. I was already toasty. Fingers and toes looked fine. 

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Good, good. Sit. Warm yourself by the fire. Don’t have a bed in this shack, but you can sleep in the chair. Hopefully the storm will be finished by morning.”

I linger, not sitting. I’m scoping out the cabin, ready to pull the loaded gun from my back and spatter this oltimer’s brains on the wall. He doesn’t have much. It’s a bare wood cabin with cedar planks and a woodstove with rusted pots and castiron pants.

“I do appreciate it, sir. Truly. It’s a whitewash out there. Any longer, the snow would have swallowed me completely. My company wouldn’t have found me until the spring thaw.”

The old man doesn’t break eyecontact with the fire. He chuckles. 

“Company. You mean your gang of bank robbers?”

My hand moves to the gun. I’m about ready to end this foolishness.

“Sir, what do you mean?  I work cutting trees.”

The old man’s voice drips with contempt. 

“No you don’t. You’re a much better shot than you are a liar. You’re Johnny Kidd.”

I drop the blanket, naked. I draw the gun from my back. The Old Man doesn’t flinch. 

“Damn. Nothin’ gets past you, old man. Move and this room gets a new coat of paint. Say, you haven’t even looked at me yet. Am I that famous? You can tell who I am just from my voice?”

“I know you, Kidd.” the old man says.

“I guess so. Have we met?”

“I’ve seen the newspaper clippings. A sheriff came by the cabin a few days ago, said your gang might be around. Wanted by the federal government, and every bumbling, whiskey drunk county sheriff this side of the Mason-Dixon line. Look. I know you got a shotgun pointed at my cranium, to your back, and I know you’ve been thinking about shooting me in the head since you first came into this cabin. But I ain’t no lawman, and I ain’t trying to collect the bounty on you…even if I could finally retire down to Rio with your blood money,” the old man says, a soliquiy into the fire.

My hand lingers over the trigger. But instead, I speak. 

“Huh. Well, you marked me pretty good, oldtimer. Most people start cowering, throwing their watches and jewlery at me  when they figure out who I am.”

For the first time, the old man turns to face me. He’s normal, saggy skin and a long gray beard.  

“Kidd, when you first came in here, you said I was a kind person. I ain’t kind.  I could plead, sure. I could beg, say I just saved your life. But that don’t matter. You’re not the type of person that responds well to kindness, are you?”

Ha. Kindness, I think.  Fuck kindness. 

“No, I reckon not. I ain’t apt to “kind” my way out of a shootout.  Kindness ain’t ever done nothing for me. Pops was kind before he was fileted in his sleep by a drunkard he let stay in the hayloft.”

“That’s why I’m here. You ain’t gonna respond to charity, kindness, or the yolk of human compassion, are you, kid?”

His tone drops into a command. 

“Look into the fire.”

I try to pull the trigger, but my finger locks. I start to move towards the fire, like I’m being pulled like a boxcar on a railine. I try to fight the movement, but I can’t. I bend down and gaze into the dancing flame. 

“What do you see?,” the old man asks. 

“Jesus, what kind of witchcraft is--”

“Answer me. What do you see?”

I saw her. The boys and I had the bank on Main Street locked down, about to grab the bags of cash, jump in and speed away to hit the next town. She came out of the washroom, unaware we had the place held down. I shot her through the neck. She choked on her blood. I meant to shoot the wall to scare the clerk into opening the vault…the bullet ricoheted..I didn’t mean to shoot her.

“I see her. Jesus, shot her through the neck. I swear to God, I didn’t mean to--”

“Course not. Is that what you tell yourself when you’re alone at night? Is her throat, ripped open, the image burned in your eyelids?” 

I collapse on the floor, holding my face in my hands. The old man stands up from his rocker for the first time. 

“I’m almost sorry for you, kid. There ain’t any other way to set you straight but raw power, right? A kind sheep is still a sheep, and you’re a wolf, right, kid? You’re a predator, ain’t you? You sink your fangs and take whatever you want from those poor fieldmice cowering in fear, right?”

“Shut up,” I sputter. I gather myself, uncrumple from the floor, stagger to my feet. 

“You’re talking real funny, sir, and I implore you to stop--”

The old man laughs, spittle flying. 

“You ain’t gonna implore me to do nothing, kid.  Like I said,  I ain’t kind. But I’m just.”

He sits down. 

I draw the gun, aim it at his temple. 

“Ha. Just. You mean, you’re an agent of justice? What are you gunna do, old man? Tie me up and take me down to the jail? Kill me? I got a gun pointed at you, but I got a sawblade in my satchel... I’m gunna have some real fun with you.”

Old man sinks back into his rocker. 

“I ain’t going to cower, kid. I’m gunna show you something. Sit. Down.”

Despite everything in my body, I sit. 

“Watch the fire.” 

Depsite every voice echoing in my mind, I gaze again into the fire. 

“A dozen lawmen are tracking you. Been following you since you killed her.  In fact, they’re closing in on your camp now. Budd’s just got pumped with lead. Big Frank’s brain is oozing out. They’re following the tracks. They’re gunna find you, kid. Rather, they’re gunna find your frozen body next to your dead horse.”

I feel the pain of freezing to death; like someone stuck my body into a pit of ice blue flame. 

“Oh my god.” All I can manage. A whimper. 

“God ain’t got nothing to do with it,”  the old man says. “Savor it. Not a lot of men get to see how they die, Johnny.  But it doesn’t have to happen like that. You got a way out, kid.”

I don’t belive him. Ain’t no way out, I’m an cornered cat and he’s a rabid dog.  

“Instead of killing me, get up, take my seat by the fire. You’ll be waiting for a while. For as long as I have. Till some other poor fool gets lost in the storm. You help them, you help them thaw out, you send them away. Keep waiting by the fire. Or, you kill me. Outside these walls, it’s just ice. Ice, snow, and death,” he says.  

“I’m dead either way, ain’t I? I’m dead right now, ain’t I?” The question flashes like an explosion. “Am I dead? Am I dead?”

The old man shakes his head.

“I can’t answer that for you. You got to make a choice, now. Before the fire dies. We’ve been in here for a good bit of time already.”

I look at him squarely. He’s not reacting. Just a dirty, saggy, weathered old face. My fists clench. I want to kill him. But I let the wave of hate roll over me, and I’m left with whatever is left in the wreckage. The old man gestures for me to pass. I sit in his rocker. I look at the flames, for a few moments, an hour, a day, a year. I don’t know. I don’t care to know. The old man is gone. 

It’s cold. Someone is pounding on the door. 

“It’s freezing out here,” someone calls from outside. “You gotta help me, Mister!”

I don’t look up. 

“Come in. Door’s unlocked. Mind you don’t track in too much snow.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Mansion in Bangor, Maine actually is a bargain at $699K. It was built in 1898 for a lumber baron and is believed to be the only home by architect Wilfred Mansur that combines the styles of Old English, Gothic, Queen Ann, and Shingle.

It’s an attractive home, especially the painted trim colors. 

Open the door to a small foyer with the main hall ahead.

The wood is amazing. 

Such a grand stairway reminds me of a gothic church. Remember, the design incorporates several different styles.

Very formal looking keeping room. 

Lovely large, warm, sitting room. 

The dining room has a wonderful large fireplace, but I would have to do something to bring it out- it seems to fade into the wall, being the same color.

Every time they paint carved wood, like they did on this fireplace, the details get more obscured and not as sharp. I would strip it.

Original pantry. 

And, a nice kitchen restoration. Too much pale gray in this house, though.

More storage in the back porch. 

Guest powder room. 

The knights on the stained glass windows make it look castle-like.

Wonder why it so has many long narrow rooms. Although, this does make a cozy library.

The main bed and bath have a Tudor feel. 

Family room on the 2nd level.

There’s a total of 8 bds. 

And, 4 full bths. Why did they paint everything? 

This could be one of the bds. being used as an office.

Uppermost level has 2 more bds. and a billiard room. 

Plus another large room, a nursery, and a full bth.

The carriage house is currently being used as a medical office, so it’s already been adapted and would take some work to turn into a home. Why do they do this, when they can just rent an office? 

https://www.mynexthomeexperience.com/property/211-1536232-436%20State%20Street-ME-04401?

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Anton Nilsson

Published: May 26, 2016

Emily Wilson, 38, allegedly fired a gun into a mattress during argument

Husband called the cops and Wilson was arrested for domestic violence

Local paper reports Wilson is a high school teacher who coaches tennis

A Maine woman was arrested for domestic violence while wearing a 'Stop Domestic Violence' t-shirt.

Emily Wilson, 38, allegedly fired a gun into a mattress during an argument with her husband, the Bangor Daily News reported. 

Prosecutors said Wilson and her husband got into an argument April 18 in the bedroom of their Sangerville home.

Angry that her husband was allegedly having an affair, Wilson produced a .45 caliber handgun, waved it around, and fired a shot into a mattress, the Daily News reported.

The husband called the Piscataquis County sheriff's office, and the case was later picked up by Maine state police for investigation. 

Investigators seized the woman's gun and a shell casing recovered under the bed as evidence, the Daily News reported.

Wilson was charged with domestic violence reckless conduct with a dangerous weapon and domestic violence assault, a criminal complaint shows. 

She walked out of jail on $200 cash bail, the Daily News reported. 

Wilson is a high school teacher who also coaches tennis and field hockey, according to the Daily News. 

If convicted on the weapons charge, she faces up to five years in prison and a $5,000 fine. If convicted on the assault charge, she faces up to one year behind bars and a $2,000 fine.

==

What have we learned?

Women can be as violent as men.

Those who virtue signal are deflecting from their own guilt.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello dear mods!! This is kind of a random, oddly specific ask but do you have any fics where one of our lovely Ineffable Husbands uses really cheesy pickup lines?

I’m a sucker for cheesy pickup lines, and I’ve come across one or two in the wilds of ao3 and they were hilarious and adorable.

Human au/other aus or just regular Angel and Demon are perfectly fine!! Thank you!! <3

Hey! Here are some fics with pick up lines for you...

If I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? by involuntaryorange (T)

After several months of mounting frustration, Crowley turns to the internet. Humans seem to have figured out relationships, he reasons; or, at least, they’ve figured out how to get into them, and that’s the part he needs help with. An hour of googling and two rather nice bottles of pinot noir later, he has a plan. a.k.a. the one where Crowley decides to try out some pick-up lines.

Did it hurt? by madlysanecatlady (T)

An exercise in shitty pickup lines.

do him! by orphan_account (T)

Crowley is an astronomer who does a side gig as a stand-up comedian on Fridays. One Friday he sets out to introduce a new segment to his routine, a bit where he makes fun of the audience's expense. Though when he's asked to make fun of a gorgeous man, he says something brash and regrets it, and then later goes to introduce himself and apologize to the kind man. - “Hello there!” Crowley said, chastising himself for being too loud when the man jumped. “Oh, hello. Er, may I help you?” The man said. “Uh, yeah. I’m Crowley.” He said, reaching his hand out to shake. “Aziraphale,” the man said, taking it. “I just wanted to apologize for making that joke, it was wrong of me to cross a boundary like that. I was simply caught in the moment and I thought you looked pretty. I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable that you had to run out.” Crowley said.

Wingman by writeonclara (T)

“Do you understand what will happen to you if you don’t smash your demon buddy? And since you’re”—Gabriel paused to search for the proper adjective to encompass all of Aziraphale’s Aziraphaleness, then settled on—“you, God commanded me to help you. And buddy, you need all the help you can get.” Or: Gabriel’s assigned to be wingman for Aziraphale to keep him from Falling. He’s about as good at it as you’d imagine.

The Pumpkin Patch by AppleSeeds (T)

Aziraphale visits a pumpkin patch and meets Crowley, a farmer with a fondness for cheesy seasonal pick-up lines. After a while, he starts to get the impression that Crowley might actually be flirting with him, and tries to work up the courage to reciprocate.

The Steps to Courting an Angel by ReginaPapilio (G)

Crowley entrusts his love life to a "Love Guide" upon finding it in Aziraphale's bookshop. Now he just needs to follow it until the angel is finally his, but things don't go his way that easily.

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E)

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.  "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."  AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

- Mod D

[sounwise]

“Beatles weep as Brian Epstein dies” (in the Daily Mail, August 28, 1967)

[Full transcript beneath the cut:]

-

Brian Epstein, millionaire boss of the Beatles, was found dead in bed in his London home yesterday.

Thirty-two-year-old Mr. Epstein was found when his housekeeper called for help because his door was locked and she could get no reply.

He had been suffering from recurring glandular fever and had been taking tablets prescribed for him.

Mr. Don Black, a business associate, said: “I understand his death was an accident.”

Scotland Yard said early today that bottles of tablets were taken from the house.

An officer said: “This is a normal procedure. So far as we are concerned death was due to natural causes.”

A phone call gave the news to the Beatles, who had gone to Bangor in North Wales to join an Indian mystic cult. Mr. Epstein himself was to have gone there today to be initiated into the cult.

The Beatles were meditating in their rooms at Normal College after studying with a Himalayan mystic, Maharishi Yogi, of the International Meditation Society.

A messenger hurried along a corridor to the room of Paul McCartney and said there was an urgent phone call from London.

Paul ran in bare feet downstairs to a telephone kiosk.

A minute later, shocked and pale, he staggered back calling for John, George and Ringo, who ran into the corridor.

“Brian is dead,” he said. Then he burst into tears.

Miss Jane Asher, his girlfriend, Mrs. Cynthia Lennon, model Patti Boyd (Mrs. Harrison) and her sister Jennie were also told.

Later Paul and Miss Asher returned to London in a friend’s car. The others followed in two more cars.

In London last night a crowd gathered outside Mr. Epstein’s £37,500 home in Chapel Street, Belgravia, and his theatre, the Saville, in Shaftesbury Avenue.

Assistant Commissioner J. Lawlor, of Scotland Yard, said after leaving the house: “It was a sudden death. There will probably be a post-mortem. It is a matter from the coroner.”

Later Mr. David Jacobs, Mr. Epstein’s solicitor, left after spending several hours at the house.

He said a statement would be issued by Mr. Epstein’s company, NEMS Enterprises.

At the Saville Theatre the news was announced half an hour after the start of a Sunday night pop concert.

Mr. Epstein was to have taken his usual box seat for the second performance.

As the cheering and clapping died down for the star of the show, Jimi Hendrix, the curtains were dropped and manager Michael Bullock said: “It is with deep regret that I have to tell you that Mr. Brian Epstein was found dead this afternoon.”

Then, in silence, the packed house walked out. The second performance was cancelled.

Mr. Epstein’s mother, Mrs. Queenie Epstein, arrived in London from her home in Liverpool last night. She went to his home in Belgravia, where she is expected to stay until the funeral next week. Mr. Epstein’s father, Mr. Harry Epstein, died just over a month ago. He was a warden of the Greenbank Drive Synagogue, Liverpool, until last year.

Mr. Epstein's death stunned all the stars he had made famous.

THE BEATLES: At Bangor John Lennon said: “Brian’s death is a blow. We were all so near achieving perfect bliss.

“The Maharishi told us not to get overwhelmed by this grief and to keep the thoughts we had of Brian happy.

“He told us that any happy thoughts we have of Brian Epstein will travel to him wherever he is.

“Thank goodness for transcendental meditation. It gives you confidence to withstand such a shock.”

George Harrison, pale and upset, said: “Brian was one of us. You cannot pay tribute to him in words alone.

“Through the Maharishi we have got to know there is no such thing as death. Death is something physical, but life goes on.

“We know that wherever he is Brian Epstein is OK. He will return because he desired happiness and bliss.”

Ringo said: “We loved Brian. He was a generous man. We owe a lot to him.

“He devoted so much of his life to the Beatles. He worked for us. We have repaid each other all along as much as we can.”

Before the Beatles returned to London George Harrison scotched reports that the group planned to end its association with Mr. Epstein.

“We would never have done such a thing. We would never have broken up. We were too close.” he said.

GERRY MARSDEN, of Gerry and the Pacemakers, who is on a caravan holiday in Anglesey, said: “There will never be another manager like Brian.

“When I heard the news I was completely shattered. I knew Brian for about ten years, and he was our manager for five years.”

BILLY KRAMER, an Epstein discovery, was to have appeared at Peterlee, Co. Durham, last night with the Dakotas, but asked to be released from his contract.

He was returning to London immediately.

CILLA BLACK, the singer Mr. Epstein discovered in Liverpool’s Cavern Club—where the Beatles began—was told in Portugal where she is on holiday.

In an interview in Queen magazine last month Brian Epstein said: “I believe in my close associates and I believe in life because it holds forth hope for the future—a future in which I can create and develop and in which young people as a whole can develop.

“I don't specifically believe in God, but I think believing in life is just as good.

“I think the current generation of teenagers will hand down something quite wonderful for the future—gentleness, love and a desire for peace.”

[thefamilybruno]

Dawson's Creek AU. You had to know someone would ask!

HAHAHA. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! Alright, well, I literally couldn't think of anything to write sometime last year and so, I was like hey, let me write Gaston as Dawson and Belle as Joey. I only wrote one page, but this horror-loving Gaston (like Dawson is a film buff) helped me come up with West Philly Gaston from Always You! Here's a silly excerpt.

It was eight o’clock in the evening and Gaston was sitting in bed watching Nightmare on Elm Street on television. It was one of those rare nights when he wasn’t working, but his asshole of a father was and so, the house was peaceful. There weren’t many apartments for rent in their small town in Maine. There weren’t even many nearby in Bangor - none that he could afford on his own, anyway. And Belle was still working her way through college, as fucking ridiculous as that seemed to him. Why did she even need to go to college? It wasn’t as though she was leaving the area anytime soon. Not with her father being so sick.

Gaston looked over at the framed photograph sitting on his nightstand - one of he and Belle as kids canoeing on Pushaw Lake. He smiled to himself when he remembered when she had given him the photograph for Christmas. 

“What the hell is this?” he had asked after unwrapping the present.

“Your room is too depressing. There’s nothing personal in here at all.” 

“That’s intentional. I’m a man. Men aren’t sentimental.”

She ripped the frame out of his hands and placed it on the nightstand. Putting one hand on her hip, she looked at him with a gaze that seemed to say ‘if you remove this, I will kill you.’ 

“There,” she said. "Your room looks better already.”

“Because now it has a photo of my gorgeous face?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

Then, Gaston had rolled his eyes very dramatically, pretending to be annoyed, but of course, he had secretly been over-the-moon about receiving the thing. Hell, he still loved everything about it - that the photo had his two favorite people in it, that the scene reminded him of a time before his father started drinking, and especially that she had wanted him to have it on display. Despite the fact that the damn thing went against his rule about not owning anything he would be too sad to leave behind on a moment’s notice, he had kept it right where she put it two and a half years ago.

There was a knock on the windowsill. 

“Krueger again?” Belle asked, poking her head inside and looking at the TV.

“It’s a classic.” Gaston folded his arms over his chest. “I thought you liked this one.”

“It’s tolerable.” 

[foolishlovers]

Hello!!

A while ago i read this great fic where Aziraphale and Crowley were at a boring heaven/hell mixer where nobody was having a good time, but Crowley is trying to win this bet and is hitting on Aziraphale very lamely?? and it works?? but I forgot the title and was hoping you would know😭

the only one i can think of is this (wonderful) fic

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E, 17k) "All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval. "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening." AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

[infernaleikon]

I'm curious how many and what kinds of stuffed animals do you have? I currently have 17 most are foxes and bears with some birds

i don't have that many and most of mine i haven't seen in a while tbh 😭 they used to be on my bed in one corner but now my bed is in the middle of the room with no corner to prop them up in 😔

but!! i have a big, soft bear and a long, humanoid cat that is as old as i am, a small dog, a plush plush plush pink big, a small diddl mouse, a cheburaschka (and one more that i cannot think of rn 🙈). those are the ones i had on my bed, and then i have a snow owl, another diddl mouse (the very first one i owned) and a red welsh dragon (which is the Bangor University dragon that i won in a contest (i really really wanted it))

foxes, bears and birds sound so cute tho!! i don't have a single fox. i have been very tempted to get the big torgal plushie from the square enix store but it's very expensive 🙈 it's a dog/wolf though, so no fox. but fox plushie!!!!!!! sounds so cute 😭