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hee-blee-art · 3 years

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🌈 OC Directory (A-Z) 🌈

BEDEVIL

a renowned exorcist—a young priest with special abilities and shaky faith at best—works to fight demons with the help of a scandalously unusual business partner, and seems to have caught the attention of the devil (part of the freefallverse).

father elias "eli" leon (he/him) & keth / kethmannoth (he/it)

maria "ben" bentley (she/they)

monsignor diego bonaventure (he/him)

father nathaniel torres (he/him)

pastor dana van deen (he/him)

bishop piardi (he/him)

father wolf (he/him)

myeong na-rae (she/her)

dr. aleisha massey (she/her)

[see also: THE FREEFALLVERSE]

DREAMLAND

dreamland is a dimension that exists "between" the terrestrial and the celestial planes, home to gnomes (who work on good dreams) and ghouls (who work on nightmares).

truffle (he/they/it) & puffball (any)

the sandman (he/him)

b.g. (she/any)

ash (she/her)

myke (he/any)

marina (she/they)

EYETOOTH

the story of a vampire and a werewolf in love and the unusual little family they build together with their changeling daughter.

matteo (they/he)

tiernan (she/he)

aine (she/her)

EYE FOR AN EYE

a tale of a fraught mutual obsession between the flamboyant head of a vampire kinship and a troubled & reclusive vampire hunter.

clem (she/he)

vio (she/any)

FREEFALLVERSE

the freefallverse contains several interconnected stories revolving around angels, demons, heaven’s five archangels, and the seven princes of hell. each story involves relationships steeped in horror, religious trauma, holiness & sin, along with varying perceptions of humanity, right & wrong, and destiny.

[general info post]

the demon princes

the archangels

FREEFALL: DEVOTIONAL

a newly fallen angel, hopelessly lost in the mortal world, is torn between indulging in earthly hedonism with a fellow ex-angel and trying desperately to earn back his wings by helping a depressed former movie star find some meaning in life.

valoel (she/they)

adrian hunt (he/him)

malnoch (he/any)

fellgore (she/any) & admorsus (she/it)

FORTUNAVERSE

the fortunaverse is a collection of weird sci-fi / fantasy / horror stories centered around fortuna facilities inc., a research body that investigates and experiments with the unbelievable and the impossible. one such story (vocation) centers on a commercial hitman and criminal freelancer who accidentally get wrapped up in a fringe science cult's endeavour to resurrect jesus christ.

agent glass (he/him)

ocelot (he/any)

ronin winters (he/him)

gilbert "gil" lewis (he/him)

THE GREY CIRCLE

a petulant prince with an otherworldly connection to death, desperate to escape his destiny as king. a gruff knight relentlessly dedicated to his assignment protecting the prince, even (or especially) from himself. the two bound together by fate and pitted against monsters, curses, gods, and unfathomable powers that threaten all life in the mortal world.

prince sebastian (he/him)

sir konstantine (he/him)

gren (she/her)

bain (she/her)

king cyrus (he/him)

wren jester (he/him)

acid the wizard (any)

the knights

[see also: @greycircle]

GUMMYSUGAR

gummysugar is a weirdpop / alt rock band made up of three clowns and a ghoul from another dimension. they're best friends, messily in love, and they have a blast touring together. oh, and sometimes they save the world from creatures that break reality.

puck (he/any)

blinkie (she/they)

faust (he/him)

xavier (they/he)

RINGLEADERVERSE

the ringleaderverse encompasses several multimedia ARG-style narratives about the people affected by a cult dedicated to an entity and so-called god obsessed with art & dreams called the ringleader (cw: horror, unreality, death, violence).

felix deacon (he/they)

sean “happy” matthews (he/him)

SUBORDINATE: AN EVIL WORKPLACE DATING SIM

do you like villains? would you consider becoming a henchman? ever dreamt about an office romance? what about earning the affections of your evil boss, or getting involved with one of your weirdo mutant coworkers? no? oh. well, then this game probably isn't for you.

count masters (he/him) & kevin (he/him)

lady rivet (she/her) & mortimer (he/they)

eros (she/he) & clara (she/her)

dr. diesley (they/them) & faraday (she/her)

the reaper (he/him) & pork rind (they/them)

skullcrusher (any) & fracture (she/her)

TOYHOUSE CORNERS (comic)

in the cozy walled city of toyhouse corners, plush and plastic citizens lead happy lives full of friendship, local drama, the occasional mystery, and lots of silly antics. the new postman is baffled by how perfect everything there is—until it isn’t. / you can read toyhouse corners here: @toyhousecorners

sir alfred (he/him)

postman basil (he/him)

hannah (she/her)

mac (she/any)

foster (she/her)

drake "blade" blake (he/him)

Misc Stories / Verses

AU REVOIR FINGERS: an indie rock band.

THE CUPID GROUP: a queer social group run out of a sex shop that become a happy messy polycule.

THE DAD QUAD : alert! these four dads are dating each other. yes, their wives know. yes, one of them is mothman. yes, THE mothman.

DIANA'S DREAMBOAT DINER: a restaurant staffed by robots from rough situations, run by diana, a former performing android.

HART: canadian gothic horror story about a small town called hart that seems cursed to it's very core.

OBJECTHEAD OVER HEELS (game): a dating sim where you play as a university student working at a burger joint that can romance a polaroid camera, a record player. a tv, or a computer mouse.

RED CEDAR MALL (game): a point-and-click story-based game where you explore a not-quite abandoned mall with no memory of who you are or how you got there. [demo available on itch.io]

ROOM & BOARD (comic): a story about a houseful of strangers that all of sudden find themselves forming the crew of a ship that travels between parallels earths in search of the holy grail.

Misc Characters

ben (she/her) & jaffrey (he/him)

corndog (he/him) & fairy floss (she/her)

guillo (any) & reed (they/them)

jay (he/they

luna (she/her) & rooney (he/him)

persephone (she/her) & teonnie (she/her)

9 (any)

horror ocs [cw: blood, gore, unreality]

#oc #ocs #oc navigation #oc directory #some tags may come up empty when clicked; currently working 2 fix that!#jan 2024 update: updated + reorganized + added images. most links should work now!

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lookunderfoot · 4 years

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For the Sake of Symmetry

Read here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008317

Crowley, my dear, I think I may have been just a touch hasty with my response earlier...

…

Crowley, this situation is a veritable cornucopia of demonic opportunity and I must insist that you stay under my close observation.

…

Crowley, we are going to take it from the top and this time you will say your lines properly, yes?

…

Crowley, I really don’t like to use this kind of language, but…but… great mangled pustulent bollocks to blasted COVID-19!

---

Aziraphale gazed morosely at his telephone and wiped gingersnap crumbs from his chin. This was all right, really. He had reading to do. He had a mildewed Mary Wollstonecraft to salvage. He hadn’t yet gotten the hang of stroopwafel (having run out of caramel on his first attempt, due to an overabundance of taste-testing during construction). There was plenty to fill the time.

It was just that…never, in recent memory, had Crowley given in so quickly. This was what they did, after all – Crowley suggested, Aziraphale refused, Crowley made a counter-offer, Aziraphale allowed himself to be persuaded, and before too long expensive scotch would be enjoyed by all. That had been the routine for thousands of years. Aziraphale liked that routine.

And goodness, one didn’t have to look far to see the loopholes in the objections he’d thrown up. They were occult– ethereal– well, supernatural beings. Neither one of them was going to get sick or pass the virus onto some poor human. There wasn’t a traffic cop in London who could catch Crowley in his Bentley, and Aziraphale had it on only slightly dubious authority (Crowley’s, four daiquiris deep) that demons could travel through phone lines (although when he’d asked Crowley back in the 90s why he didn’t avail himself of this option more often, Crowley had gone pink and mumbled about something called dial-up and incoming calls and “never again”). There were endless ways Crowley could come to see him without technically breaking the lockdown rules.

And what sort of demon dutifully followed a quarantine order? What sort of demon stayed home with his houseplants because he hadn’t the heart to kick humanity when they were already down?

Well. His sort of demon.

Probably best not to think too much about that.

The point was – the point was (here Aziraphale took an aggressive bite of a macaroon) that Crowley couldn’t just go about deviating from their routine with no warning. Aziraphale was part of this Arrangement too, after all. He really ought to be consulted before anything was allowed to change.

Crowley was always changing though. His hair, his clothes, his projects. Just as hard to pin down as his serpentine nature might suggest, throwing himself headlong into the latest that the world had to offer, as fast as humanity could invent something new and sometimes faster, always transforming, always moving.

A tiny sneaking voice from the back of Aziraphale’s mind whispered, too slow.

No. No. Not this time. Not with the world at such a crossroads – again – not when he couldn’t look out a window without feeling the eerie stillness of an empty Soho street, not when the fragility of what they had saved was so devastatingly clear.

He snatched up the phone, inadvertently dislodging a blueberry scone from the top of a stack beside the receiver and causing a minor avalanche of baked goods, and dialed the only number he knew.

“…what now?” Crowley’s voice was low and a bit muffled.

“Ah, hello. It’s me again. I do hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Nah, ss’fine.” Crowley said. Oh, he had certainly been sleeping. Aziraphale wrung his hands and tried to keep his voice light.

“I just, um, wanted to check in again in case you needed anything. Before your nap.”

“Nope.” Crowley over-annunciated the “p”.

“Ah. Well, good. That’s good. Glad you’re all set.”

“That’s me, all set.”

“All, er, tucked in?”

“Was there anything else you wanted?” Crowley sounded waspish now. Aziraphale blinked, curling the telephone cord around his finger and staring at a profiterole without really seeing it. This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to go. Crowley was supposed to invite himself over again, insinuate himself into Aziraphale’s life as easily as if he had always been meant to be there, with a bottle of expensive wine in his hand and a flippant remark ready on his lips.

“You, ah, you’re sure you want to sleep until July? I’m sure the humans will sort this out in no time, they’re frightfully clever. I wouldn’t want to you to miss anything when it all starts up again.” Aziraphale paused hopefully. Crowley did hate missing things.

“Might make it longer, actually. Heard there might be a second wave in the fall. Might just write off 2020 altogether and give it another go after the new year.”

“Oh, but– but you--” The new year. Impossible. After all they’d– just when Aziraphale was feeling ready to— no, no this could not be. “But there’s a devil’s food cake too!”

“…Come again?”

“There’s a devil’s food cake, you know! It’s meant to be delicious! And chocolate! And…” Aziraphale flailed, “And moist!”

“You know the word moist is one of mine, angel.”

“Ah, right, yes, I’d forgotten.” Aziraphale shredded a croissant mindlessly, leaving flakes all down his waistcoat.

There was a silence. Aziraphale could hear rustling, and without warning his imagination presented him very rapidly with an image of Crowley curled up in bed like a snake. Or perhaps spread out, taking up as much space as he could, as he always seemed to do on the bookshop couch. Or perhaps…

“You have to watch me eat it!” Aziraphale blurted.

A longer silence now.

“Watch you…eat it.”

“The devil’s food cake. I’ve made the angel’s food cake, you see – delicious, so fluffy, like a cloud! – and it just wouldn’t do to have one without the other! For the sake of symmetry, of course.” Aziraphale was definitely babbling now. He stuffed a hazelnut truffle into his mouth to get himself under control.

“Right.” Crowley said, finally. “Symmetry.”

“And you did – you did offer.” Aziraphale said, his voice smaller now.

“I did.” Crowley agreed. “And you said it was against the rules.”

“As it happens… well, I took some time to think and I…you see there’s the cornucopia and…oh, oh bollocks.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley did not sound at all sleepy now. Aziraphale swallowed. So it was a different routine now. A different dance. He had once learned the gavotte, with its high kicks and sashays. What was one step forward? One step, and six thousand years, and the world.

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale said. “You once told me that it would be easier if we both stayed home.”

“I did…” Crowley said cautiously.

“This is a very appropriate time for that, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Yes…” Still careful.

Aziraphale took a breath.

“Well, then. Please. Come home.”

---

End note: Devil’s food cake is deeply rich and layered with chocolate ganache that can stick quite easily to angelic fingers. Fortunately, it can be just as easily removed with a serpentine tongue. This was only the first of the discoveries made that night in a Soho bookshop.

#i havent written fanfiction ever but here we are #good omens #Ineffable Husbands #good omens lockdown #ficlet #welp

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flywolfwriting · 5 years

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Mistletoe - the Cliche

I saw a post that was basically like “fanfic writers during the holidays: Mistletoe” and that made me laugh because it’s so true it hurts... so of course I had to add to it. I was going to do a 5+1 but I’m not that creative right now so... 3+1 instead.

It was the Holidays, which meant it was cold, and Crowley hated the cold. More than the cold, however, he’d always hated how everyone bundled up and found someone to snuggle with while he was always alone. Alone plus reptilian traits did not equal good things.

He usually slept through the winter, honestly.

This year, however, Aziraphale insisted they celebrate together, given the very near end of the world only a few months ago. It was December first, and Crowley found himself standing outside the book shop, glaring up at the lights and ribbons decorating the sign and around the windows. There was even a wreath hung inside the large bay window overlooking the street.

Crowley sighed and collected the several packages he had from the back of the Bentley before pushing the front door open. Over the stack of boxes – Aziraphale had insisted he bring more decorations, even though he could have miracled his own – the demon could see his friend adjusting a string of lights on a rather large Christmas tree he’d somehow managed to squish into the middle of his shop.

Aziraphale’s face lit up when he saw who was in the doorway. “Crowley!” he said, beaming, but didn’t move.

The demon scowled harder behind his glasses, eyes flicking to the sprig of mistletoe hanging over the shop’s owner. Oh, hell no. He halted, refusing to set foot inside the bookshop until he could get rid of it. “Come and help with these boxes,” he said, nodding at the stack in his arms.

His friend hesitated, then rushed over to collect the top few and place them on his desk. While his back was turned, Crowley discretely waved his hand and miracled the mistletoe elsewhere. By the time Aziraphale turned back around, his little ploy had failed without the demon even acknowledging it.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to the tree, then up, and disappointment flickered over his face. Before he could say anything, however, Crowley produced a bottle. “Wine, angel?”

The angel hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll grab some glasses, shall I?”

Crowley watched Aziraphale go, feeling slightly guilty for disappointing him, but he would be damned – again – if he let their first kiss be due to a plant. This wasn’t fanfiction.

- - -

It was snowing and Crowley was tired, cold, and more than a little irritated when he returned to his flat. He was ready to take a long, hot bath and go straight to bed. He wanted to sleep for a few months, snuggled up under his plush blankets, but he’d promised Aziraphale to be there for Christmas.

“I’m a demon, angel,” he’d said. “Jesus was one of yours. Sure, I was fond of the kid, but still. And his birthday isn’t even in December.”

But Aziraphale insisted and as much as Crowley didn’t want to admit it, he was thoroughly wrapped around the angel’s finger.

All plans of a bath and short nap were ruined with the scent of cinnamon and chocolate hit Crowley’s nose as he opened the door. Faint music was coming from his kitchen, accompanied by Aziraphale’s quiet humming.

Crowley saw the sprig before the angel came through the door and glared at it until it vanished, which didn’t take long.

“Oh! You’re home!” Aziraphale said, appearing in the doorway wearing a colorful apron and covered in flour. Crowley resisted the urge to grimace at the though of the angel cooking, instead forcing a smile as he took off his coat.

“Aziraphale! What a surprise!”

The angel waited expectantly until Crowley finished shedding his wet garments and strode past him. “Crowley, aren’t you…” he trailed off, eyes flicking towards the ceiling before his face scrunched in frustration.

“Smell’s good, angel, what are you making?” the demon asked to distract Aziraphale before he could be disappointed again. “And why are you using my kitchen?”

Aziraphale followed the demon into the kitchen, spluttering. “You’ve never complained before,” he pointed out, “and I’m making cocoa. I thought you’d like some with how cold it is today. I wanted to surprise you.” His voice held a tinge of accusation.

“Cocoa sounds good,” Crowley said, voice softer as turned back to face his friend and lean against the counter. “Thank you, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed his acknowledgement and went back to stirring the pot of cocoa.

- - -

He was expecting it this time.

When Aziraphale called and all but begged Crowley to come to the bookshop and help him rearrange some of the shelves, the demon knew his friend was up to something. That ‘something’ became evident the moment he stepped through the door: more mistletoe, hanging over Aziraphale’s desk.

It was only by chance that he managed to arrive while the angel wasn’t under it, as he’d been expecting. He couldn’t see Aziraphale anywhere, so Crowley snatched the plant from the ceiling and stuffed it under a pile of books.

“Angel?” he called, tucking one hand into his too-tight pockets and folding the box of mint truffles he’d brought under the other.

“Oh! Over here,” came the reply, several shelves to the left. “I’m coming, hold on just a tick!”

Crowley leaned against the desk and waited for the angel to come bustling around one of the shelves and stop in his tracks, eyes widening when he saw the demon. His expression subsequently crashed when he realized that he had, once again, been defeated.

“I brought you mint truffles,” Crowley held up the box.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “How very thoughtful.”

The demon swallowed and pushed off the desk, fighting his guilt. It hadn’t worked this time; Aziraphale was still disappointed.

“You know, I rather think I’ve got the shelves arranged already,” Aziraphale said quietly, not quite looking Crowley in the eye.

Crowley’s stomach dropped. “Right,” he replied, voice thick. “I’ll be going then.”

- - -

“Aziraphale?” Crowley knocked on the bookshop door, which had remained locked when he’d tried opening it. That hadn’t happened before.

There wasn’t an answer.

“Come on, angel, I know you’re there,” he tried again.

Still nothing.

“I’m freezing out here, angel,” he said. “I promised to join you for Christmas.”

The door finally clicked and slowly opened to reveal a rather rumpled angel, still in his pajamas. He was looking at his feet.

The stood in silence for an awkwardly long time before Crowley said, “Can I come in?”

“Do you want to?” Aziraphale asked, voice so quiet the demon barely heard it.

“Of course I bloody well want to come in, why else would I even be here?”

The angel’s eyes flicked up to his face in surprise at the outburst, but he quickly returned his gaze to his feet. “You’re not just here because I asked you to be?”

“I want to be here because you want me here, now can I please come in? It’s freezing,” Crowley shifted in place, unable to wrap his arms around himself because his hands were occupied with the two bottles of wine and large box of assorted candies he’d brought for the angel.

Aziraphale hesitated a moment more, then shuffled to the side.

As he entered, Crowley immediately began scanning the room for any hidden mistletoe.

“There isn’t any,” Aziraphale said bitterly.

Crowley swallowed, trying very hard not to look guilty. “Isn’t any what, angel?” he asked in his best innocent voice.

“You know very well what I’m talking about, Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped, finally looking up at him with – were those tears in his eyes? “I’ve been trying to- well, I’ve had mistletoe up all month but you keep taking it down when you think I won’t notice.”

“Angel, I-”

But Aziraphale wasn’t finished. “I know you don’t enjoy the holidays, but I hoped you might like them more if we were together, and you seemed to be okay at first and maybe I thought you just didn’t know what it was for, but then you kept ignoring it and getting rid of it, so I-” the angel paused, swallowing thickly as he obviously tried not to cry. “I thought we… but you don’t even want to kiss me,” he finished, voice quiet again.

Crowley was taken aback. Of course that’s what the angel would think; he hadn’t offered any sort of explanation and obviously he’d noticed whenever Crowley had miracled away the mistletoe traps. “Of course I want to kiss you,” he said. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages.”

“Then why-”

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be for some holiday tradition,” Crowley interrupted. It was his turn now. “I want it to because I want to kiss you and you want to kiss me. This isn’t fanfiction, angel, we don’t have to-”

“What’s fanfiction?”

Crowley stopped, jaw slack. “Right. You don’t get online. Nevermind. Anyway, you could have just asked, Aziraphale. You didn’t have to try and trick me.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks turned pink and he fidgeted in place, suddenly unable to meet Crowley’s eye again. “So…” he paused. “Will you… Can we…”

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s chin and kissed him, the angel instantly melting against him. They parted. Aziraphale’s pupils were blown wide as he smirked up at his demon.

“What?”

The angel pointed up, and Crowley looked.

“Bloody mistletoe,” he hissed under his breath, but pulled his angel in for another kiss.

#Good Omens #Mistletoe #fanfiction #Crowley #Aziraphale #inneffable husbands #crowley and azirapha #First kiss #Three plus one

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coloursflyaway · 5 years

Note

not sure if you take just miscellaneous prompts but if you do; good omens, something soft and/or smutty with hands? this fandom is great for hand kink, yeah?

I’m so sorry it took ages, but thank you so much for the lovely prompt, I had so, so much fun with it ♥And since I had so much fun with it and it got slightly out of hand, you can also read it on AO3 here!

Aziraphale’sfingers are soft when they brush across Crowley’s knuckles, just a moment’stouch. They are soft like everything about the angel is, the curls ofsilvery-blond hair, the blue of his eyes, the way he looks at Crowleysometimes, when their conversation halts for just a moment, not uncomfortable,never that, just a second for both of them to breathe.

Aziraphale’sfingers are soft, leave a trail of warmth across the back of Crowley’s hand,and they mean nothing at all. Crowley knows that much, for after six millennia,Aziraphale would use his words to tell him if anything had changed, or if not,at least a gesture more substantial. Crowley knows better, but Aziraphale’s fingers are soft and when they pullaway, they have planted a seed of hope in Crowley’s foolish, loving heart.

He picksthe angel up to get ice cream later that week. It’s a sunny day, almost toosunny for London, but Crowley has always enjoyed the sun, the warmth, so whenit takes Aziraphale a few minutes to come out of his shop after he has arrived,Crowley uses the time to get out of his Bentley, close his eyes and bask in thegolden light. It paints his eyelids red and pink, something Crowley has always found ascurious as lovely, the reminder that his useless heart is beating, blood isneedlessly pulsing through his body, transporting the oxygen he doesn’t need tocells that don’t have to produce a thing. In some way it is an indulgence tobreathe, to keep his heart beating and his blood rushing, but it’s one heenjoys too much to let go of, just like Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to denyhimself the pleasure of macaroons and frothy milkshakes.

At the sametime, though undoubtedly the only being Crowley knows to be even more prone toindulgence than himself, the angel is the last thing that made him forget abouthis heart, leave it unbeating for several minutes at least, until the weakmuscle screamed at him when being made to work once more. It had been a night like any other, spent with truffles Crowley had broughtwith him from Bruges, port wine Aziraphale had had for decades, the warmth of afire neither of them had started. His hair had been longer then, falling inginger waves just past his shoulders, and he’d been in the middle of a storyabout causing chaos during a bull fight in Sevilla when Aziraphale had leantin.

The lightemanating from the fireplace had been soft, made the angel’s skin glow golden,the ring on his finger glisten as he’d reached out with one of his hands, as ifto cup Crowley’s face. And Crowley, as foolish, as hopeful as ever, hadthought, finally. Finally, Aziraphale would kiss him, acknowledge the thing they both knew wasbetween them, finally, they’d go at the same pace, their pace, finally, they’d be what they were meant to be from thevery start.

BecauseCrowley might be a fool, might be too soft and too hopeful for a demon, buthe’s not an idiot and he has seen love often enough to recognise it when itpassed across Aziraphale’s face.Felt it every time he looked at the angel, for millennia by now.

He had felthis lips part in anticipation, all his attention, his entire being focussed onthe angel’s fingers, his smile, what couldn’t be anything but adoration shiningfrom his bright, blue eyes. And Crowley’s heart had stopped, utterly forgotten, while it seized up, readyto flood his body with love so overwhelming no one would expect a single organto be able to hold it all.

Only thatthe second that Aziraphale’s fingers touched his cheek, something changed inthe angel’s face, in the depths of his eyes, a sort of recognition sparkingthrough them like a bolt of lightening through a calm night. His fingers veeredoff their path, upwards to clumsily brush a strand of hair from Crowley’s eyes,and the demon could watch something ache so fiercely in Aziraphale’s eyes thatit had almost drowned out his own heart’s breaking.

Back inLondon, more than thirty years later, it’s the same hand that brings Crowleyback to the present, again by touch. Crowley’s eyes flutter open, leave behind crimson-tinted memories; Aziraphaleis standing in front of him, the same blue eyes, shining with affection, agentle smile on his lips, his hand on Crowley’s forearm, squeezing ever soslightly. He’s beautiful, but then again, he always is.

“I’m sosorry, dear”, Aziraphale says instead of a greeting, and he sounds it, too.“You seemed quite lost in thought, I didn’t want to disturb you at first, butthen again, it has been half an hour, so…”His voice trails off, his smile turning a little sheepish, and Crowley can’thelp but chuckle, noting distantly that Aziraphale still hasn’t pulled away hishand. “It’s quite alright, angel”, he tries to reassure, and watches Aziraphale’ssmile brighten. “Nothing but old memories, nothing important.”“Ah, well, that’s a relief”, Aziraphale breathes out, his hand lingering onCrowley’s arm until he takes a step back, presumably to get into the car. “Ihope there were only nice ones, of course, but I was looking forward to that ice cream…”

He keepstalking as he rounds the car, gets into it, and Crowley tries to listen, butfor another few moments the only thing his brain can focus on is that backthen, after Aziraphale had pulled away, a faint dusting of pink across hischeeks and the blue of his eyes dulled, it had taken Crowley three tries tocoax his heart into beating again.

Crowley canstill remember the first time they touched, the sudden shock of warm skinpressed against his own, the tingling feeling Aziraphale's fingers left himwith, even if back then, he hadn't been certain if the cause for it had been Aziraphale'sangelic nature or the feelings that slowly and yet far too quickly developed inhis own chest.

It feelsthe same still when the angel’s hand brushes his now, handing him a strawberrylolly, the very last one that the man behind the trolley could find,inexplicably hidden in the container for another flavour in which the man haddefinitely checked before. A faint tingle, drowning out the vendor’s confused mumbling, the chirping ofbirds, the sun itself, because of how much Crowley needs this, even a touchthis small, has needed it, and will need it for the rest of his eternal life.

A monthpasses, then another, then another, and it’s winter when they walk throughEdinburgh’s steep streets, Aziraphale bundled up in layers upon layers of whiteand beige, Crowley’s only concession to the cold being a slightly thickerscarf. “-and I am telling you, I need totake you to Salzburg sometime soon”, Aziraphale tells him, his cheeks rosy andexcitement painted across his entire face. “Before Christmas, that is, as theyhave the most charming Advent market. Especially in the evening, wheneverything else is dark, just the glittering lights, the ornaments, the music…Ah, and the Glühwein, you would loveit, I just know it. Let me take you, dear. My treat.”

There’snothing Crowley could ever say but yes, and Aziraphale must know it; still,when Crowley nods, the angel’s face lights up as if he’s been given the moonfor a gift. “Oh, splendid. Maybe next Thursday, if you’re free? Or Wednesday, maybe?”,Aziraphale answers, immediately starts to plan their trip, his excitementinfecting Crowley just a little, not because he cares about the delicaciesSalzburg has to offer, but because he’ll be able to share them with Aziraphale.And maybe it’s because of that that Crowley doesn’t notice Aziraphale shifting,changing his posture, his position, until a warm, soft hand slides into his,tangles their fingers together. It’s a shock unlike any other, making Crowleystop dead in his track, the entire universe, the universe he helped build, reduced to a few square inches of skin pressingagainst skin, warmth seeping from an angelic palm into his.

He looksdown to their hands, then up at Aziraphale, whose cheeks are even pinker now,whose eyes are still bright, but hopeful, scared. Yet, his hand is holding ontoCrowley’s, his thumb brushing across the demon’s knuckles, leaving a trail ofwarmth. “Is this alright?”, Aziraphale asks like he really doesn’t know the answer, andthe seed of hope he planted into Crowley’s heart months ago starts to grow afew vulnerable tendrils that latch onto his mind, ready to bud. “Of course, it is”, he replies, surprised when he finds that he can speak, andsqueezes Aziraphale’s hands in his. It feels right just where it is. “Justperfect.”

They go toSalzburg on Thursday, since the weather is just dreadful the day before. It’s quite charming, Crowley admits it freely, covered in kitsch andfresh-fallen snow; Aziraphale buys them both cups of steaming Glühwein and chocolate-coveredstrawberries, and laughs so sweetly it almost causes Crowley physical pain whenthe demon presents him with a gingerbread heart that spells out Für meinen Engel in white frosting. This time, when Aziraphale takes his hand in the midst of a bustling crowd andthe scent of cinnamon, of cloves, he doesn’t have to ask for permission.

Wintercomes and passes; Crowley hardly cares about it, spends almost a month inSicily and brings back cannoli, cassata and sickly sweet limoncello as gifts. Wholebags of them, because there are almost as many versions of them as there areshops to buy them in, and Crowley doesn’t trust himself enough to pick the onesAziraphale will like best, so instead, he gets them all. They clutter the backseat of his Bentley, so Crowley forgoes driving to hisapartment after he has miracled both him and the car back to London’s streets,instead goes straight back to the angel’s bookshop.

It’s been amonth since he last saw it, just a short, inconsequential month, and yet hisheart seizes up in his chest when he sees the familiar sign, the red-paintedexterior. There’s no light pouring from the windows, but it doesn’t have to mean a thing,at least Crowley hopes it doesn’t. Aziraphale prefers reading by light, butneither he nor Crowley need it to see.

So, Crowleyparks the Bentley, gets out with his arms full of boxes and plastic bags, afamiliar tightness fighting to close off his throat, wrap around his chest. Hecould, should knock, and yet doesn’t, partly because his hands are clutching toall the sweet treats he brought, partly because just barging into the shop likehe belongs there is a pleasure Crowley hasn’t been able to permit himself forvery long yet. The door flies open, maybe a little bit more forcefully than strictlynecessary, because Crowley hopes for a small cry of oh, do be careful, dear! in a voice he has missed more than helikes to admit. Nothing comes.

“Angel!”,he calls out, waits for a few moments, but there’s no answer, no Aziraphale.It’s not only the lack of a reply that tells him as much, it’s the atmospherein the shop, some key component of it missing. The angel’s warmth, his mirth,his kindness, and after having been deprived of it for weeks, Crowley feels thelack of it even more fiercely, even more so now that he is somewhere Aziraphalecould be.

Gingerly,as not to damage the pastries, Crowley sets down the bags and boxes on a nearbychair, before he looks around a little, finding nothing much has changed. A fewstacks of books seem to have increased in height, a thin layer of dust hasjoined the one he already had the chance to get acquainted with, and thegingerbread heart has moved from being propped up against a couple of books tohanging from a nail Aziraphale must have miracled into the wall for this sole purpose.He likes the look of it, a single piece of Crowley to have found its way intoAziraphale’s refugium.

There isnothing to do without the angel here, so Crowley doesn’t pretend there is, justgets a fire started in the fireplace with a flick of his hand, lays down on thesofa in front of it. It’s not enough to replace the warmth Aziraphale causes to bloom in his chest,but a good enough substitute for it; if he has made it a month without theangel’s touch, he’ll survive another few hours.

He wakes upand the fire is still burning, illuminating the room in gold and copper, andfingers slowly weaving themselves through his hair, tugging gently at theginger strands. His head is still pillowed on his own arms, but Aziraphale issitting next to him, warm and solid, and for a few minutes, Crowley allowshimself to just enjoy the caresses, bask in the affection that seems to flowmuch more freely from Aziraphale nowadays.Maybe his heart is not quite so foolish after all, maybe this is what he has beenwaiting for, a world in which Aziraphale takes his hand in the middle of thestreet, threads his beloved fingers into Crowley’s hair, has finally caught upto the demon’s speed. And even if it isn’t, even if Crowley has to wait another millennium, he’lltake it.

Eventually,because he has missed Aziraphale, not just his touch, but the colour of hiseyes, the tone of his voice, the sound of his laugh, Crowley turns onto hisback, looks up at the angel. Aziraphale is holding a book in the hand he hasn’tstill buried in Crowley’s hair, but he diverts his attention immediately,looking at Crowley with more warmth in his gaze than the fire could ever hopeto possess. “Oh, you’re awake”, he says softly, in lieu of a greeting, starts to tease hisfingers through Crowley’s hair once more. It makes the demon’s heart skip abeat, maybe two.

He hums hisanswer, blinks up at Aziraphale slowly, too warm, too comfortable to find wordsfor another few moments. “How was Italy?”, Aziraphale asks, and scratches his fingernails gently acrossCrowley’s scalp, drawing a pleased noise from the demon. “Beautiful, I’mcertain.”“Was nice”, Crowley mumbles, just so keeping his eyes from slipping shut oncemore. “Very sunny. You’d have liked it. Spent a lot of time in Syracuse,remember that? They dug out all the old Greek stuff, was nice to see it again.”

A momentpasses with Aziraphale thinking, his fingers pausing their ministration, untilCrowley sees his eyes light up, a sunset in blue and gold. “Oh, right! We met there once, didn’t we?”, he asks, and Crowley nods, amazedand pleased in same amounts that the angel remembers. “You took me to thetheatre, didn’t you? Sophocles, if memory serves correctly. An absolutelydreadful performance though, of that I am certain.”Crowley doesn’t bother correcting Aziraphale, telling him that it wasAeschylus’ Persians they saw, justlike he doesn’t tell him he can remember almost every moment of that evening,from the colour of Aziraphale’s toga to the way he mispronounced several Greekwords and almost sent Crowley into a laughing fit. Instead, he says, “The main actor forgot half his words, it was a disaster. Butwe had figs, and those prickly pear things you liked so much, and afterwardsmore wine than we should have drunk.”

Somethingabout that makes Aziraphale chuckle, his eyes glaze over for a moment with theintensity of a memory. “Far more wine, you’re right”, Aziraphale says ever so softly, rubs hisfingertips across the tattoo on Crowley’s cheek in a way that makes him almost purrwith pleasure. “There was a moment after that, when we were walking alongsidethe coast, must have been almost morning, and you looked at me… it was just asecond, but I almost thought you’d kiss me.”

The wordssteal the air right from Crowley’s lungs, make his heart stop for just amoment; the world seems to freeze, because Aziraphale might not remember theplay they saw, but he remembers the important part. He remembers them.It’s the same feeling as standing on too-thin ice, threatening to break with asingle careless step, but Crowley can’t help but barge on, never could. Notwhen it’s Aziraphale and not when he loves the angel so much, he seems to burnup with the intensity of it, the feeling drowning out every other sensation,every other thought. “I know”, he answers, and all but prays for the ice to support the weight ofhis words. “So did I.”

And itdoes. For the world starts to move again, the clock next to the fireplace tentativelyreturning to ticking, the flames starting to dance once more, and Aziraphalesmiles down at him with overwhelming tenderness in his gaze. “Just in case you’re wondering, I think I would have let you.”

They spendthe whole night talking, Crowley only sitting up when Aziraphale discovers hisgifts and insists on sampling all of them immediately.So, as the sun rises and London around them wakes, they feast on thoroughlyterrified pastries and sip limoncello from ceramic mugs, because Aziraphaleinsists that the fine crystal glasses aren’t dishwasher safe.

And thereis a moment, when the fire has just died, its glow been replaced by sunlight,and their eyes meet over the rim of Aziraphale’s mug, in which Crowleyconsiders kissing the taste of sugar and lemons off the angel’s lips.He doesn’t.

SaintJames’s Park is prettier in spring than any other time of year, and so it’s nosurprise they find themselves there more and more often as the seasons change. Like today, a Tuesday with no particular significance, but with a sun thatseems to shine a little bit more brightly than it did just a week ago, birds singinglove songs from their branches.

Aziraphalehas gotten a new coat just the week before, cream-coloured, the lapels a littlebit sharper, the buttons on each side shining amber, and Crowley enjoys lookingat it as much as Aziraphale seems to enjoy wearing it. They’ve settled down on their usual bench, a small carton of strawberriesbetween them, two paper cups filled with what Aziraphale deems the bestespresso in town, and the angel’s smile so bright it rivals the sun.

“You know,I’ve been thinking, maybe we should visit Warlock”, Aziraphale says pensively,while he picks the leaves off a particularly luscious looking strawberry. “Iknow he isn’t the antichrist, but over the years I did grow fond of him. Wecould just pop by, have a cup of tea maybe. Dust off those old costumes,pretend we just happened to pass by and remembered our old charge. He musttwelve by now, right? Or thirteen? Open up dear.”Crowley obliges, parts his lips and lets Aziraphale feed him anotherstrawberry, fingers just so brushing the corner of his mouth. It’s delicious,even if he isn’t as partial to food as the angel is, he could get used to it ifit was Aziraphale feeding it to him.

“Don’t youthink it would look a little strange, both his nanny and his gardener justhappening to show up on the same day after having been gone for, oh, sevenyears?”, Crowley answers, still chewing, but Aziraphale just chuckles, start towork on another strawberry. “I doubt it”, he replies, pops the fruit into his own mouth this time, butdoesn’t give Crowley the time to miss the whispers of fingertips against hislips, because Aziraphale puts his hand over the demon’s, curling his fingersever so slightly. “I’m relatively certain most of the staff and at least partsof the family were under the impression we were a couple.”

He givesCrowley a smile that could almost be mischievous, squeezes his hand before hestarts to prepare another strawberry, apparently uncaring that the demon isstaring at him from behind his glasses. “What?”“Oh, yes. You know, with all the secret meetings in at midnight, the frequenttrips to London both of us took at the same time…” Aziraphale looks up from thestrawberry, brows furrowing all of a sudden. “Why, it doesn’t bother you, doesit, dear? Because if it does, if I’d known –“ “No, no”, Crowley interrupts the angel, gives him a smile he knows looks morehopeful than anything, more like how he feels. Light. Loving. “Not at all. Ijust assumed you wouldn’t much like the implications.”

The worryon Aziraphale’s face is replaced by kindness, by tender joy sparkling from hiseyes. “Oh, nonsense, darling. Not for a moment.” He holds up the strawberry, asks,“Do you want another one?”When Crowley opens his mouth this time, Aziraphale’s fingertips brush acrosshis lips in a way that couldn’t possibly have been an accident, and hope grows,just where the angel planted it in his chest.

With aglass of Bordeaux in his hand, the dark liquid sloshing around in itdangerously, Aziraphale leans in, alcohol having slowed down both the angel’sspeech and Crowley’s thoughts. “Y’know”, he slurs, reaches out to put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder but findshis neck instead, curls his fingers around the sensitive, cool skin. “I’m gladthat the world didn’t end, I really am. Love it here, all the food, the books,even the people, but, if, you know, in case it had all gone south, I would’vebeen happy on Alpha Centauri. With you.”

Crowley’sheart understands what he is hearing before his brain has; the seed of hope haslong since grown into a little sapling, strong and new, soaking up the words,the honesty in Aziraphale’s eyes, the warmth of his touch as he drags his thumbacross the sharp line of Crowley’s jaw. “You din’ even want to go”, he reminds Aziraphale, even as he leans inslightly, just enough to feel the angel’s breath on his skin. “No”, Aziraphale agrees, and for a moment, Crowley thinks the angel will kisshim. He doesn’t, and he’s glad for it; it will happen, but when it does, hewants to be sober, wants to soak up every little detail of it. “I didn’t. But Iwould’ve come t’ find you, if you’d left. Even up there. Always.”

Come lateJuly, they go to visit Warlock. It hardly lasts longer than half an hour of stilted small talk, but evenCrowley has to admit that it’s nice seeing Warlock again, who must have grownthree inches since she last saw him. Apart from that, though, it seems the boyhas stayed much the same, interrupts them both, makes faces at his mother whenhe thinks she isn’t looking and tries to sneak away from the table to play somesilly game on his phone the moment he’s finished his cake.It’ll be a shame to watch him die.

But thepart Crowley will remember comes when they are about to leave, and Aziraphaletakes her hand, something they have both gotten so used to that Crowley hardlythinks about it anymore. For a moment, Mrs. Dowling’s face changes, grows soft like she is rememberingsomething she thought she had already forgotten, then she looks up from theirjoined hands up to Crowley’s face. “I’m happy for you both”, she tells them, and for the first time since theywalked through the door, she sounds sincere. “We always wondered – but thatdoesn’t matter. I’d tell you not to make the same mistakes as Tad and me, but Ithink I know you won’t.”

She looksdown at her wedding ring, her own hand that maybe should be holding another,and Crowley feels a moment of ache seize her heart. They won’t, they couldn’t, but still she wishes she knew how to tell Mrs.Dowling that sometimes, drifting apart is inevitable.

When theyget back to the Bentley, Aziraphale turns to her, reassurance shining from hisblue eyes as he squeezes Crowley’s hand. “I couldn’t do much”, he tells Crowley, brushes his thumb across her knuckles.“But I gave her a bit of hope. Today when her husband comes home, she will atleast feel that there’s worth in trying to fix what they have broken.”And he’s right, it isn’t much, but maybe it’s enough.

It’s a warmnight, the kind poets write whole books about, and they’re on the roof ofCrowley’s apartment building, looking up at the stars above them. It’ssomewhere Crowley has always felt comfortable, under a star-speckled sky,looking up at suns he can remember creating out of empty space. And it’s better still with Aziraphale next to him, pressed against his side,his head resting on Crowley’s shoulder and their tangled hands in between theirthighs.

“Tell meagain which ones you helped build”, Aziraphale mumbles into the warm air aroundthem, sounding soft, sounding just like Crowley feels.In love. Slowly, Crowley raises their joined hands, points them at a star, so far awaythat human eyes wouldn’t even be able to see its light. But he does, and heknows Aziraphale does, too. “That one. And – “, he moves their hands a little bit upwards, slightly to theleft, “And those two. Twin stars. They were always my favourites to make, twosuns, circling each other until they go out together. It always seemed, I don’tknow. Better, somehow.”“Is that why you wanted to go to Alpha Centauri?”

Crowleypauses for a moment, lets their hands sink down back to his lap; it’s somethinghe never considered, never thought about. He’d been desperate, close tomindless, scared, and yet there had been a million of places he could havepicked and yet he chose a set of suns that revolve around each other. “I don’t know”, he confesses, and Aziraphale next to him shifts slightly.“Maybe. I never thought about it.”“Perhaps we can go someday. Not forever, but for a holiday. Or you could showme those other stars, the ones you made. I’d like to see them.”

Crowleysmiles, even though he knows Aziraphale won’t be able to see it, rests hischeek atop the angel’s head before he looks back out into the vastness ofspace. “Yeah, sounds good”, he tells Aziraphale. “Wherever you want to go, angel. I’llgive you a ride.”

It’s stillthe same night, if anything, the sky has gotten darker around them, andAziraphale stirs slightly against Crowley’s side. At first, the demon expects him to sit up, but Aziraphale doesn’t, even if heseems to hold his breath for a second before he speaks. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”, Aziraphale asks into the silence, and Crowleyexpects his heart to skip, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because this whole nighthas been heavy with love, with affection, maybe because they have been buildingup to this for more than six thousand years now, because every touch Aziraphalehas bestowed upon him in the last two has been a word in a silent confession. Aconfession Crowley has been waiting to hear ever since he can remember.

“I didn’tknow you wanted me to do that already”, Crowley replies softly, gives himselfanother moment or two, before he sits up a little straighter, removing hischeek from where it has been resting on the angel’s head. Aziraphale does the same, turns around to look at Crowley and it’s the look inhis eyes that finally manages to take Crowley’s breath away. He’s built stars that didn’t shine so brightly, has looked at God’s face andfound her love not as overwhelming, has lived since the beginning of time andyet hasn’t seen anything looking so determined.

Theirfingers are still intertwined, and Crowley tightens his hold on Aziraphale’shand a little as he waits for the angel to speak. For a long time, he doesn’t, just watches Crowley’s face, and the demon letshim, knows he will give Aziraphale all the time, all the answers he needs. Andmaybe it’s just that what Aziraphale needs, because whatever he finds inCrowley’s face seems to be enough. Half a smile tugs on angelic lips, and when he speaks, his voice is softer thanfresh fallen snow, than Banarasi Silk. “Oh, darling”, Aziraphale says, “I’ve wanted you to for years.”

The world around them holds its breath, and yetCrowley seems to breathe freely for the first time in centuries, his eyesunable to tear their gaze away from the angel’s face. “Oh”, Crowley murmurs; the hopeful sapling in his heart blossoming, blooming,stretching out tendrils that touch every molecule of his physical body, everyparticle of his eternal one. “I would have waited.”“I know.” Aziraphale shifts again, and Crowley thinks he sees a hint of a haloaround the angel’s head, illuminating the night just enough to make the rest ofthe world fall away. He raises the hand that isn’t clutching Crowley’s and cupsthe demon’s cheek, holding it like Crowley is precious, like he is somethingAziraphale couldn’t bear to break. “I don’t want you to.”

He doesn’t know which one of them moves first,but it doesn’t matter, couldn’t matter, because their lips meet in the middle,Aziraphale’s as soft as his gaze was. Crowley’s eyes flutter shut, block out everything that isn’t the angel’s touch,the slide of lips against lips that he has been waiting for his entire life.There is no hope necessary anymore, so it turns to devotion within the confinesof Crowley’s body, turns to love as his heart beats faster, turns to tendernessas he holds onto Aziraphale’s hand to keep himself from being swept away. The angel tilts his head sideways just enough to deepen the kiss, and Crowleyparts his lips, lets Aziraphale take from him whatever it is the angel wants.

The hand that isn’t clutching Aziraphale’scomes to rest on the angel’s thigh, even while Crowley kisses his love ontoAziraphale’s lips, pushes it into his mouth, pains it across his skin withevery single breath. And Aziraphale responds in kind, thumb brushing across Crowley’s cheek as if tosteady him, his tongue writing his confessions against the roof of Crowley’smouth, promises love as it draws soft sounds from the demon.

It’s easy to lose himself in the sensation, inthis one moment that seems to stretch forever, so Crowley does, clings toAziraphale until the sun has risen, painted the clouds around them first pink,then orange, then gold. The city beneath them has been roused, started theirday, without knowing that two immortal souls have become one above them, onlyfinding themselves well-rested, more optimistic than they have felt in weeks atleast. Above them, feeling like they both have lost any connection to the ground,Crowley only pulls away once he knows he has committed every detail ofAziraphale’s lips to memory, has heard every of the angel’s sigh, tasted hislove until it’s the only thing left on his tongue.

Aziraphale is the first thing he sees once heopens his eyes again, and the angel looks more beautiful than Crowley has everseen him look before, his skin glowing with angelic light, his lips kissed redand his cheeks dusted pink, his eyes so blue, so clear that Crowley almostexpects to see his own face mirrored back in them. His hand is still resting on Crowley’s cheek, so the demon turns his head topress a kiss to the palm, to Aziraphale’s wrist.

“I’ve loved you for six thousand years”, hemutters against the angel’s skin, and Aziraphale curls his fingers justslightly, allows Crowley to bestow kisses to the tips, worshipping each one ofthem with his lips. “I know”, Aziraphale responds, brushes his thumb across Crowley’s love-bruisedmouth before he captures it in another kiss, shorter this time, but just assweet. “I’ve loved you longer than I am even aware of now.”“I’ll love you forever”, Crowley whispers back; neither of them has moved away,so he can feel the hitch of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips, can taste thelove it carries with it. “I know. And I will love you just as long.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands fanfiction #also i love random prompts so thank you even more!!#Anonymous

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gerbits · 1 year

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#LOOK AT THEMMMM #the sims 4 #the sims #sims #ts4 gameplay #truffles #truffle:5 #farrah truffle #bentley truffle

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ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz · 2 years

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The Broken Spectacles

by JonsiGray

Crowley and Lucy have been out on a drive in the Bentley. They stopped to buy Aziraphale some truffles for a little foreplay. When he comes home however, he finds Aziraphale in the act of some rather frivolous and salacious pleasures.

“I dreamt that I had broken my spectacles,” said Aziraphale as though that were supposed to make sense of everything.

“You broke your—and so?”

“Well dear, it says here in this book of dreams Melinda lent me, that a, ahem, ‘a dream about broken glasses foreshadows that a separation from a loved one can push the dreamer to engage in frivolous and salacious pleasures.’ Well you left and so we were separated. Naturally I was driven to pleasures beyond my control.

Words: 781, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 29 of Good Omens: Ineffable Idiots

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), ineffable husbands, Ineffable Idiots, Dreams, truffles - Freeform, Foreplay, Oblivious Aziraphale, Crack

From https://ift.tt/5QE7mVs https://archiveofourown.org/works/41741871

#ao3feed ineffablehusbandz #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthonyjcrowl

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winterfrostlovetriangle · 2 years

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F, G, I, Z 😊

Hi! Thanks for the ask 😁

F - Favorite song: 5-1-5-0 by Dierks Bentley

G - Grade I hated: I didn't really like school in general but I'd probably have to go with 5th grade.

I - Ice Cream flavor: Chocolate raspberry truffle

Z - Zodiac sign: Gemini

#asks #letter asks

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wiltedthrone · 3 years

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♡ open to mutuals ⇢ the one where audrey’s the worst uber driver

“ you know, the ten and two position on the steering wheel is a total myth. ” while driving was not one of audrey’s strongest skill sets, it doesn’t stop her from doing so. extra cash was extra cash, plus driving people around gave her the chance to learn about new people, soak up new cultures, put the experience on her resume (companies loved to see people doing customer service and other forms of hard labor/charity work. it made them more well rounded).

her lack of proficient driving ability also doesn’t stop her from reapplying her lip gloss, leaving only one hand to rest on the steering wheel of her bentley. “ well, i mean it’s totes outdated and supes dangerous. heaven forbid we get into a car accident, your ––– ” as if on cue, the car jolts forward, tossing them upwards in their seat. the lip gloss topples out of her hand and plummets to the floor.

“ oh no . . . ” taking her eyes off the road, audrey glances downward. “ bad news, i’ll never get that back. good news, that was just a pothole! or the curb! again . . . either way, we’re still alive. ” twisting around in her seat, audrey waves one of her arms around. “ can you see if it fell back there? oh! there’s also snacks like truffle crisps and godiva chocolates and drinks in the mini cooler if you want them. ”

#♡ ⇢ ﹙ open starter. ﹚ . no rsvp required !#i had a dumb idea for an open starter and whatever im running with it bc inspiration doesn't strike often #there's no expiration date on this but if this flops i was never here

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theliterateape · 4 years

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I Like to Watch | Billions (Showtime)

by Don Hall

Up until the last season, I loved House of Cards. The intrigue and four-dimensional chess playing done in the name of acquiring power were fascinating but what made it work for me was the incredible writing and the masterful actors spinning those words like strippers working a pole.

Kevin Spacey may very well be a creepy dude, using his personal success to seduce teenage boys into the sack, but he is an incredible actor on the screen. In the first two seasons, it's obvious these scenery-chewing thespians were having fun playing villains and heroes set in the halls of American governmental power-grabbing.

At least once per episode there would be a turn of phrase or a statement made that had me smacking my face and thinking Fuck. I wish I had written that.

“There are two kinds of pain. The sort of pain that makes you strong, or useless pain. The sort of pain that’s only suffering. I have no patience for useless things.”

“I’ve always loathed the necessity of sleep. Like death, it puts even the most powerful men on their backs.”

“Power is a lot like real estate. It’s all about location, location, location. The closer you are to the source, the higher your property value.”

Given that I have as much use for power or money as a boy born without hands has for a deck of cards, I can view this melodrama from a vantage of fascination rather than life lessons. I know a few people hungry enough for this sort of worldview and their take on Frank Underwood is a bit more instructive. Me? I'd love the money and maybe the power but the only pedagogical metric provided by Frank is that, in order to achieve the money and the power, the kind of work necessary is just not my bag.

Like the ancient Greeks and Romans, however, the stories of gods and kings are still fascinating. In 2021, the gods are coming from Marvel and the kings are coming from both the political sector and Wall Street. The odds of my having a gamma radiation accident and developing a rage monster alter ego are as stacked as they are against me running for higher office or making more than $50,000 a year, so I can only enjoy the intrigues from my streaming device.

Showtime’s popular series Billions has been locked in the streaming vault since 2016 and features Damian Lewis and Paul Giamatti as a rogue billionaire hedge fund owner versus the United States District Attorney of the Southern District of New York. Both kings in the monied and political sense.

In the house-bound pandemic distancing, I discovered five seasons (with a sixth on the way) and I am hooked. Great actors with a fun storyline of corruption, betrayals, alliances, and vendettas. The selling point is the writing, though.

Created and written by Brian Koppelman, David Levien, and Andrew Ross Sorkin, this is a series of scripts that combine sumptuous language that most actors could not pull off but this cast nails it. Reminiscent of the scripts of Joel and Ethan Coen without so much of the over-the-top comic performances, Billions is just a blast.

And in each and every episode there are at least five separate moments where I am filled with venomous envy that I didn't write those specific combination of words myself.

“Self-righteousness is an indulgence I cannot afford.”

“I like nightmares. When I wake up, they leave me deeply valuing my reality.”

“You know what it takes to find a truffle? A hog, a dog, whatever keenly scented, carefully trained animal gets the assignment, spends a lifetime traipsing through the dark, sniffing out the slightest aroma. And only then the digging begins. And what do you think they’re digging through?Shit. That’s the thing we don’t say much about, right? The things we most value, the things we pay most dearly to ingest are grown in shit.”

“Only people with money forget about money.”

“As long as justice is served, credit doesn't matter.”

“Corrections are in order. There’s a way to make this work, and that way is hard, but necessary. As Taleb says, 'become antifragile, or die.'”

Goddamn.

My favorite, however, is Mike "Wags" Wagner. Played by David Costabile, it is no mean feat to shine on screen with actors like Lewis and Giamatti but he manages to steal every scene he's in. And the writers love writing phenomenal things for him to say:

“It's time for you folks to sharpen your pencils, and you better come back with one Traci Lords of an idea. And if you need that fucking defined, here it is: a barely legal, market-dominating, brilliant cocksucker of an idea.”

“You know those poison-tip arrows that certain tribes use that go through one guy and kill another? This might be like that — golden frog poison. I tried to smoke it once. Shaman jumped across the tent to stop me.”

“Why should I trust you to do anything other than point me to the nearest avocado toast?”

“Surrendered like a French fucking soldier!”

"Three things in life you can’t postpone without dire consequences: calling a doctor when gutshot, finding a toilet when traveling in India, and paying your people."

"We have to be more pure than the Virgin Mary before her first period."

"To Bobby Axelrod, fees are religion and money is his God. This makes him the perfect shepherd for you in the material world. And at least when you pray to his God, you get another fucking Bentley out of it."

I love Wags. He is a guy who grew up in the eighties and remains unapologetic about it. He manages to live larger-than-life despite being framed by giants and monarchs. He has no fear and lives for the moment.

I doubt I'll ever be a writer of great television. Not really my thing. But if I ever do decide to go that route, I want to write every word like I'm writing for Mike Wagner to say.

#wags #I Like to Watch #Billions #Showtime #Mike Wagner

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guidetourme · 4 years

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Most seductive places to stay across the world

It would be wrong to say that the therapist’s room is the only place where a broken love or sexuality can mend. Many people would instead argue that benefits of a couple of nights away in a delightful hotel that – by virtue of its location, furnishings, fresh sheets and solicitous staff – sprinkles stardust on your spirits and libido. On this very note, the most seductive places to stay across the world are:-

Royal Mansour, Marrakech, Morocco

One of the most discreet hotels in the world, with a tangled warren of underground tunnels so that staff can criss-cross the grounds, is tending to guests’ whims without being heard or seen. Guests feel the compulsion to go out of their rooms, which represent mini raids, with attached inner courtyards and rooftops having fireplaces, plunge pool and Bedouin tent. Those who love to venture out can book one of the hotel’s Bentleys - built-in champagne gold. Also boasts a triple-Michelin-starred Yannick Alléno’s restaurant with silk drapes, waiters in white gloves serves truffled lamb and Moroccan-spiced lobster at tables made of silver filigree.

Erosantorini, Santorini, Greece

The white suits are the epitome of cool indulgence: suspended from the ceilings are floating fireplaces and place is peppered with oxidized steel furniture. Mirrors make up the tiles beside the bed, and outdoor hot tubs have a marvellous view of the parakeet-green sea. Though there are only five villas, competition isn’t fierce for the pool cave, where couples can canoodle over a cocktail away from much attention and commotion. Cascaded over three levels are V-shaped infinity pools which also play music underwater. A bonfire, at night lights, an intimate outdoor cinema and private yacht with seafood lunch are sure to get it enlisted among the most seductive places to stay across the world.

Morgan’s Rock, Nicaragua

Daybeds in hammock-style bungalow and waterfall plunge pools make it best suited top romp in the hay types., Accessible only by several jungle suspension bridges, the treetop villas are the most isolated where only companies are cawks of parrots and gushing of the waves. Sky goldens and a gentle breeze whistles through the delicate net walls, one would have the most romantic time. Visitors call it a ‘hands-on kind of place’ and rightfully so- guests can milk the farm cows right before breakfast, fish for shrimp for lunch or ride farm horses in their leisure time. To add to the amorous ambience, one could end their day with a candlelit aromatherapy massage for two. Some might even call it one of the most seductive places to stay across the world.

Nihi Sumba Island, Bali

Among the most secluded and romantic villas is Puncak, which ousts from over a mountain slope; at sunset, couples could clink champagne flutes in their hot tub located outdoor, and evenings could potentially be spent snuggling around the fireplace and viewing the canopy below. Some serious Instagram envy can be induced by the photo opportunities cooked by the Romantic experiences captioned “most seductive places to stay across the world.

One&Only Le Saint Géran, Mauritius

Recently there has been a multi-million refurbishment with an obvious aim to seduce a younger market as well as the coup for loving baby boomers – cue an exquisite pan-Asian bar and DJs playing tropical beats. Guests could also opt for private spa aboard the Lady Lisbeth yacht and also indulge in upmarket steak joint, Prime. Suites have sexy stone furnishes and textured wall panels. Textiles dyed to the exact colour of Mauritian sand and hand-crafted lithographs make up the grace in the local references. Those who seek utmost privacy can opt for Villa One, which has private chefs and infinity pool facing the Ocean. Read the full article

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businessliveme · 5 years

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London Readies for Hot New Restaurants

(Bloomberg) — Daniel Humm of Eleven Madison Park in New York is just one of the chefs set to open restaurants in London later this year as the dynamism of the city’s dining scene shows little sign of slowing, even in the face of high-profile casualties such as Jamie Oliver.

British and overseas chefs keep coming up with new ideas, including a cheese restaurant, an Israeli-inspired brasserie, a seafood establishment inspired by Maison Premiere in Brooklyn, and the long-awaited arrival of Turkish butcher-turned-restaurateur Salt Bae, sprinkling a little Instagram magic over prime steaks.

A weakening pound has made imports pricey for local chefs, but the currency’s decline is likely to bring more tourists to London while discouraging Britons from traveling to continental Europe.

Read: The World’s Best Restaurants: 2019

And prime sites such as Jamie Oliver’s Barbecoa, near St. Paul’s Cathedral, are being snapped up by other operators. (Barbecoa has been taken over by restaurateur Richard Caring’s Caprice Holdings, which is turning it into the Ivy Asia.)

If you want to plan your dining diary for the rest of the year, here’s the pick of the new restaurants to look out for.

September

The Betterment, Mayfair

Jason Atherton is the highest-profile of TV chef Gordon Ramsay’s proteges, with restaurants around the world, including the Clocktower in New York. Hit latest London outpost is in the Biltmore hotel, immediately across Grosvenor Square from the TV chef’s Lucky Cat. Atherton will serve a seasonal menu of wood-fired fish and meats, as well as salads and vegetable-based plates. At the heart of the restaurant will be a rustic open grill. Head chef will be Paul Walsh, who won a Michelin star for Atherton at City Social.

We are very close to revealing sneak peeks of the brand new restaurant – who’s excited?! #thebetterment #thebettermentmayfair #thebiltmoremayfair #comingsoon #jasonatherton pic.twitter.com/N2wb1geJ63

— The Betterment (@the_betterment_) 9 July 2019

Haya, Notting Hill

This neighborhood Mediterranean restaurant is inspired by founder Victoria Paltina’s visits to Tel Aviv, a city whose culinary influence is increasingly being felt in London. It will be an all-day restaurant. At lunchtimes, there will be sharing plates with seasonal ingredients, including quinoa salad, crumbled feta cheese and pomegranate seeds; and spiced lamb cutlets with a spoonful of honey yoghurt. In the evening, the focus will be on small plates such as zaatar duck breast, freekeh risotto; crispy prawns, spicy yoghurt and harissa.

Lina Stores, King’s Cross

Lina Stores traces its history as a Soho delicatessen back 75 years, but last year’s opening of a simple restaurant nearby grabbed a lot of attention. Its popularity can mean a long wait for a table. Now, the owners are opening a combined store and trattoria under one roof, near Granary Square. It is housed inside a converted Victorian building, with room for 100 diners. Expect excellent and inexpensive pasta dishes from chef Masha Rena, using family recipes. The menu will be expanded from Soho and desserts will be served from a retro trolley.

It’s a risotto kind of afternoon 🍂🍄🇮🇹 #porcini https://t.co/XJCaQzptrQ pic.twitter.com/V64z2arOeq

— Lina Stores (@linastores) 1 October 2017

Loyal Tavern, Bermondsey

Former Duck & Waffle chef Tom Cenci is opening this neighborhood restaurant in Bermondsey on the site of the former Village East with that venue’s founder, restaurateur Adam White. The menu will focus on British comfort food, with small plates using local sustainable produce. Dishes may include options such as Cornish mackerel with apple, pine nut and truffle; and venison tartar with beef dripping. Cenci started in Michelin restaurants in Paris and London.

Norma, Fitzrovia

The Stafford London, a discreet luxury hotel in Mayfair, is opening its first independent restaurant. Culinary Director Ben Tish is the man behind Norma, inspired by the food and culture of Sicily. It will occupy three floors of a historic townhouse in Fitzrovia and will feature a cocktail bar and a private dining room. The restaurant will be open all day and promises old-school hospitality in a contemporary setting.

Read: Where Top Chefs Eat in Mumbai

Pick & Cheese, Covent Garden

This newcomer to Seven Dials bills itself as the U.K.’s first conveyor-belt cheese restaurant. If that sounds like a gimmick you can live without, there is a serious cheese-lover behind the idea. Mathew Carver works closely with small producers. He will serve dishes such as Gubbeen with sweet and sour pineapple; and Rollright with a Treacle Spread. There will also be British charcuterie plates by Tottenham’s Black Hand Food. The natural wine list will be by Les Caves de Pyrene.

Seabird, Southwark

This new restaurant atop The Hoxton, Southwark, is a collaboration with the team behind Maison Premiere in Brooklyn. Seabird promises London’s longest oyster list, a marble raw bar and impressive views. The menu focuses on Spanish and Portuguese flavors, with dishes such as Cornish plaice a la plancha with Morecombe Bay shrimps and capers. William Elliott, the bar director of Maison Premiere, has created the drinks list, which focuses on exotic cocktails available on draught, bottled or frozen.

Sons + Daughters, King’s Cross

James Ramsden and Sam Herlihy, the duo behind East London restaurant Pidgin, are opening their take on a classic sandwich shop in Coal Drops Yard. Sons and Daughters will be open all day, serving freshly made sandwiches and sides, plus ice cream and a bar menu along with cocktails and soft drinks.

There will be six sandwiches at lunch and dinner, including options such as the Tenderstem, with broccoli, mushroom relish, coconut sambal, açai and cashew cream served in a baguette. The kitchen will be headed up by head chef Jacqueline Barbosa—previously of the Guinea Grill and Where the Pancakes.

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October

Kolamba, Soho

The popularity of a Soho restaurant called Hoppers has created considerable interest in Sri Lankan cuisine. The latest opening promises “big flavors from a small island” served over two floors. Owners Eroshan and Aushi Meewella promise home-style cooking from family recipes on a menu that will feature many vegetarian and vegan options in addition to spicy fish and meat dishes.

Sam’s Riverside, Hammersmith

Rowley Leigh, a respected veteran London chef, is culinary director of this all-day brasserie and bar adjacent to the Riverside Studios. He promises a modern European menu, with a focus on Anglo-French dishes. The head chef will be Harvey Trollope, who previously worked at the Ritz restaurant, and whose resume includes Wheelers of St James, with Marco Pierre White; Enoteca Rossini in Florence and Leon de Lyon in France.

Silo, Hackney Wick

Chef Doug McMaster, an alumnus of St. John, is relocating his Silo zero-waste restaurant to London from Brighton. Silo will be housed in Crate brewery, following a crowdfunding campaign from Crate. While zero-waste is a fashion, catching the attention of chefs and publicists, McMaster is almost an obsessive. Everything is recycled. Silo first opened in 2014 and became known for its plates made from plastic bags, tables from floor tiles and work benches from filing cabinets.

Trivet, Bermondsey

Chef Jonny Lake and sommelier Isa Bal, who worked together for more than 12 years at Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck, have come together to create this restaurant, wine bar and cellar in Bermondsey. They say they plan to explore ingredients, dishes and drinks from regions around the world in a restaurant combining functional Nordic design with warm Mediterranean service and a sense of fun. No, we have no idea what that means, either. But all those years at the Fat Duck surely promise experimentation and creativity.

November

Café Murano, Bermondsey

Angela Hartnett plans to open a third branch of her casual Italian restaurant on Bermondsey Street, and Café Murano Bermondsey will offer many of the dishes from the menus at St. James and Covent Garden: Ossobuco alla Milanese; and Anolini in brodo. Café Murano is known for being friendly and informal, like Hartnett herself, a popular chef who was once the protégé of Gordon Ramsay and likes to celebrate her Italian heritage. Chef Adam Jay from St. James will head the kitchen.

Daffodil Mulligan, Shoreditch

Chef Richard Corrigan’s new restaurant and bar will celebrate the food and culture of his native Ireland. He’s planning to cook with produce from his own estate in Ireland, and he has partnered with the Irish restaurateur John Nugent in what looks like a labor of love. He’s already lining up Irish musicians to perform in the basement bar. Corrigan is a high-profile chef, known for TV appearances as well as for his other London restaurants, Bentley’s and Corrigan’s Mayfair.

Davies and Brook, Mayfair

Chef Humm of Eleven Madison Park plans to open his first European outpost at the luxury Claridge’s hotel in London. The plan is for a gourmet restaurant in the smart-casual style of the New York mothership, only without the lengthy tasting menus. Humm’s former business partner Will Guidara was heavily involved in the planning, but the two friends have now gone their separate ways.

Locket’s, St James’s

This is the new café and wine bar from the owners of Wiltons, a charming old-style establishment that traces its history to 1742. They’re shaking it up a little in the former Economist Building (now Smithson Plaza), serving healthy salads and other dishes (including to go) at lunchtimes and small plates to accompany wines in the evening. The plan is for 40 reds and 40 whites—many available by the glass—from regions such as the U.S. East Coast, the Czech republic and Austria. It will be open all day.

December

Nusr-Et Steakhouse, Knightsbridge

Superstar Turkish chef butcher-turned-restaurateur Nusret Gökçe, alias Salt Bae, has long been rumored to be planning his London debut at the Park Tower Knightsbridge. But there is precious little firm information about the Nusr-Et steakhouse. Speculation now centers on a December opening. It remains to be seen when Londoners, like New Yorkers, will welcome the opportunity to pay huge prices for steaks sprinkled with Salt Bae magic.

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