#Mayfair-Construction

[gellymark-blog]

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[sidewalkdatestamps]

[greeneyessmize]

Today's thoughts are of the youth of Penelope & Colin and how it affects their relationship, specifically: how they fight.

Penelope is maybe 20 at most. Colin is perhaps 23.

They are also a part of the upper class. This allows them essentially a longer childhood in some ways for the era. They are emotionally pretty on par with a somewhat shy and sheltered 18 year old today who has never had a relationship and a 20 year old college kid who was also a bit hiddenly shy but has dated around a bit.

This means that neither of them have ever had to compromise on a larger, but intimate, and more important scale.

They don't know how to fight from a place of common goal. This is what they have to learn together.

I am going into detail with how this affects multiple scenes, so here is a cut for everyone. :)

Pen & Colin only know fighting with siblings, parents, friends, and enemies. So they know fight against, not fight for.

Penelope specifically only knows how to fight by false retreat and full opposition.

Her false retreat is seen most clearly in her use of Lady Whistledown. This is where she cocoons herself outwardly but lets her anger fly using precisely cloaked arrows. Her LW comments on Colin's fakeness upon his return to Mayfair showed a lethal strike.

Her full opposition fights are seen in her arguments with Eloise, both over her yelling that yes she does want to be married some day and then when Eloise confronted her about being LW, and then in her fights with Colin over LW.

When she and Colin fight in the middle of the street the night before their wedding, Pen goes full opposition, even going up on the high step to put her on the same level as Colin as much as possible. She does not retreat, she does not shrink. She goes conflict blow to conflict blow with him. She apologizes but does not bend or break. There is no compromise to be found because they are fighting against, not for. As one raises their voice, the other matches. There will not be a winner, but they don't know that.

Colin's fighting styles are either full shutdown, or like Pen, full opposition.

His full opposition fight with Pen in the middle of the street shows that he also will not back down. Each thing Pen says, he counters until she loudly declares the one thing he can't refute: that she loves him.

You also see that he is unwilling to compromise in his full shutdowns. He won't even try to talk to Pen after they are married during the nights and mornings where he places himself on the settee. He doesn't know how to say what he desperately needs to express to her in any constructive way. So. He stays on the settee, as close as he can to Pen, but unable to engage with her.

When she tries to engage with him, like at the review of the wedding breakfast planning, and it is she who makes the majority of the attempts, Colin still only knows how to go full opposition and/or full shutdown. Pen tries to answer him honestly when he asks if she will end LW because she really doesn't know. But since he can't give her grace to understand her on this... It only leads to more teary eyes and more distance.

On their wedding day, their tenuous truce after the middle of the street argument is broken in their fight after the Queen's threats. Here we see Penelope go full opposition and proclaim clearly and for the first time that she is Whistledown. And then Colin ultimately reacts with full shutdown, saying he will sleep on the sofa/settee.

The morning after their wedding, Colin is teary-eyed, taking tea fully dressed on the settee where he clearly spent the night. He leaves Penelope abruptly while she is still undressed for the day, intending to leave her out of his plans for the day. He definitely saw she was upset by this. I do wonder if that gave him a bit of dark satisfaction.

When Penelope comes to Bridgerton House to inform Colin of Cressida's blackmailing, Penelope gives way when Colin focuses his full opposition towards Cressida instead of her. Granted it takes a few times of being ignored, but she doesn't yell and ultimately lets it go. You can see that it hurts her to let Colin disregard her wishes, but she still ultimately allows it until he messes it all up. In this debacle they both learned to step back from full opposition between each other.

Penelope realized that even when it does not end well, sometimes she must let Colin have his way. Colin realized that not listening to Pen is where mistakes are made. Neither of them are yelling anymore.

Then comes the day of Francesca and John's wedding. It's not until she doesn't give him the reaction he thinks he wants that morning, as he is forlornly laying on the settee... that we see a shift. She does not react with regret or sadness or pain or anger. Pen is calm, cool, collected. She says she will spare him the confined shared carriage to Bridgerton House. She breezes out of his reach while he is still processing this new development.

Colin takes an important step by going to reread all of Penelope's letters. This is something he did not do in anger. He did this so he could gain perspective. This is his realization that full shutdown is ineffective and is not doing anything he wants or needs.

Penelope also is taking a step forward. She recognizes that false retreat and cloaked attacks are only increasing her own damage. She appeals to Colin with earnestness and honesty after the wedding of Francesca & John. She and he both refrain from moving into full opposition fighting this time. They are listening to each other. Colin asks what Penelope needs from him. She answers with everything he has needed to hear. He tells her what he needs, she listens. They are looking at a common goal. She moves forward with her plan to confess to the queen.

Then after her confession to the Ton at the Butterfly Ball, Penelope does the one thing for Colin that she can think of to heal the wounds of their fighting: she offers to let him go.

This is not something either of them ever wanted. But Penelope offers it because she truly feels, that with their very little communication through this, that Colin must want freedom from her. She cannot see through the pain they have inflicted on one another.

Colin immediately recognizes that now is the moment he must say everything in his heart. He has a moment of panic, of potential loss. Through everything he has always wanted and loved Penelope. He just had no idea how to show it while he was also angry. But now he has let go of his anger, and he will deal with it better should it happen that he is angry again.

Colin does what he needs to most. He tells her everything he is feeling. They are honest with each other. They have their common goal. They won the fights together.

[fruitgoat]

Mapping/Routing the CTA

I'm still blaming @copperbadge for all of this.

As I am taking this trip in my mind, I have chosen to ignore a lot of the challenges the physical world brings.  Like road construction, neighborhood block parties, day of the week, trains that only stop there once a day in the opposite direction, buses that only run a few hours a day, the actual passage of time, etc.  This trip should not be attempted in the Real World – every route and stop apparently still exists, but you might need to wait hours if not days for the correct bus/train.  For the Extra Bonus Points of LOLs and Nostalgia I have included sections of the Metra (Milwaukee Districts North and West and South Shore Electric), Big Bus Tours, and the Water Taxi.

Again, do NOT try this route in Real Time.  Yet.  My ADHD brain may or may not get back to you in a few days on how long it would actually take just so we can all laugh at the idea of getting lost and being forced to sneak around and spend the night in a mattress store at the Golf Mill Shopping Center or whatever.  (Actually, that’s a hell of a meetcute.  I… I might need to go write something now….)

Starting at Linden.

Ride Purple Line to Howard.  Transfer to Yellow Line.

Ride Yellow Line to Dempster-Skokie. (Resist the muscle memory to catch the bus all the way to Deerfield. I really hated that commute.)

Bus to Morton Grove Metra.

Ride (MN) Metra to Mayfair.

Walk to Blue Line (Montrose).  Ride Blue Line to O’Hare.

Stretch legs and bathroom break.  Refill water bottle.  Refuel if needed.

Ride Blue Line back to Harlem. Bus to Fullerton.

Walk around my old neighborhood.  (I think the walk to Caputo’s is worth it, but maybe don’t buy any fresh squid if you’re getting back on the train.)

Ride (MW) Metra from Mont Clare to Grand/Cicero.

Bus to Blue Line (Montrose).  Ride Blue Line to Forest Park.

Bus to Green Line (Harlem/Lake).  Ride Green Line to Cottage Grove.  (I’m stopping along the way to visit family, get something to eat, and maybe nap while charging my electronics.)

Bus to Green Line (Ashland/63rd).  Ride Green Line to Garfield.

Walk to Red Line (Garfield).  Ride Red Line to Dan Ryan.  Hang Around Like An Idiot.  Ride Red Line to Lake.

Transfer to Pink Line.  Ride Pink Line to Cermak/54th, then back to Cicero.

Bus to Midway.  (Unhydrate.  Rehydrate.)  Ride Orange Line to Halsted.  Walk to River.  Or I think there’s a bus that’s just not showing up at the moment.

Water Taxi to West Loop.

Walk to Willis Tower.  (Bonus point for each instance of calling it Sears Tower.) Tour Bus to Museum Campus.

Metra Electric back to Millennium Park Station.

Walk to Washington/Wabash.  Ride Brown Line to Kimball.

Ride Brown Line back to State/Lake.  (Stop at Fullerton if it’s morning.  Walk to Orange and order the pancake flight and watch them fresh squeeze your citrus juice.  Walk to Molly’s if you like cupcakes.  Double Extra Bonus points if you pointedly reminisce about the Meatloaf Bakery when you pass where it was.  Crash a wedding at my old apartment building if you’re really bored. I really miss my neighborhood at the moment.)

Transfer to Red Line.  Ride Red Line to Howard.  (I’m going to stop at Granville for the Memories.  This was my first address in Chicago – even if I technically wasn’t supposed to receive mail because I wasn’t on the lease.)

[vintagerpg]

OK, I can see why TSR got annoyed with Mayfair. This is Psionics (1991) which came out the same year as the The Complete Psionics Handbook, the official psionics rules for Dungeons & Dragons. I strongly disliked the TSR psionic system at the time, but I’ve since come around — I really like how priests and wizards are sort of low and wide in terms of power and psionicists are high but very narrow. That makes for unique mixes in party construction I think, even if it also means psionics is maybe a little more cumbersome than it might otherwise have been.

The Role Aids psionics system is definitely the otherwise. Written by Nigel Findley, who was always an interesting read, this structure psionics similarly to the specialist wizards in D&D, with a character concentrating on one school: somniomancy, telepathy, pyromancy, telekenetics and empathy. Each school has unique spell-like powers which are engaged by spending from a pool of daily mental points. This is far more clear cut and comfortable in terms of vanilla D&D than the official D&D system, and I am honestly tickled at the idea of Role Aids kind of competing against D&D by feeling more D&Dish. Because it really is a competition — there is no way you can use both systems.

They both have their charms and I am hard pressed to pick a favorite. I will say there is a big tonal difference, though. The official D&D psionics feel very in step with New Age ideas. Findley’s system often feels more horrific? Bob Giarosich’s interior art often underscores this. Same with Dave Dorman’s cover, which instantly gives me vibes similar to Stephen King’s Firestarter. Its maybe too subtle for a cover piece (love the beads of sweat on his forehead) but I think it is real good.

[deaddovehasbeeneaten]

On Rowan, Michael and corruption (kink) - a meta post (7h)

For Rowan and Michael both being extremely het and boring in bed and not really practicing anything besides service and slight rape kink, they're both into corruption a lot. The more I think about it the more sure I am that their entire intimacy, not just sex, is built around it. And they each feel it in both ways, actually. Alright, let me explain.

From Rowan's point of view, she is corrupting Michael as the Witch. She's an evil person with hidden, selfish agendas she's imposing upon him. Her family curse extends from her to him as well and it eats him up. In her desperation, she's dragged him from his life in San Francisco and she keeps him by her side for all the same reasons.

At the same time, Michael is corrupting her because he spoils her rotten. He gives her love she doesn't deserve, and he constructs a family life for her and all the other Mayfairs, even though she, and all of her kind, are evil. He makes her softer, he seemingly evaporates her lifelong loneliness. He gets under her skin, and he forgives everything she wasn't able to forgive herself for decades. He keeps on loving her even after she horribly mistreats him.

From Michael's point of view he is corrupting Rowan because he's utterly unsuited for her. He's much older than she, and when they first meet and fall in love his life is in shambles. Not only is he disturbing her perfect career, but he's subjecting her to his way of life as well, away from what she's always known, he wants that family life, he wants kids, and she never seemed to care for such a thing.  

Rowan is corrupting him because she keeps on giving everything he ever secretly wanted. By this, I mean very simple things such as unlimited freedom in renovating what is essentially his heart house, or the rough sex but also things that are deeply personal for him, such as the name of their child, the child itself.

They reflect in this, they both think they're unworthy, but at the same time they're two dumb bitches saying 'exactlyyyyy' to each other every time they're alone and I see that as another type of corruption (kink, I will get to the kink part in a minute). A nice example of this happens the morning after they spend their first night together.

Rowan admits to all of her crimes (those she knows of) in an active attempt to push Michael away. He dismisses all the murder with almost a wave of his hand. Given what we learn about him later it's very likely he'd even kill some of these people himself, on Rowan's account (Graham).

Even though Rowan doesn't have to accept anything quite as drastic about Michael at the time, she's very willing to look past multiple red flags, either connected directly to him or to their situation, and later she goes on to forgive Michael murder, adultery and statutory rape (among other things!).

To relate all of this back to the way they have sex, we can look at their semi-explicit sex scene from Taltos and then some other parts of the book. In it, it's no new information that Rowan likes it rough. 'Rape from both sides' in her own words but her willingness to be 'raped' outright by Michael (and no other man) is nonetheless striking. It's not only to relieve him physically, it's also for her own mental state. She thinks she deserves it, it's meant to be her punishment, and it's the only way she can take pleasure from him because she's bad and he's already corrupted so he can only obey her (until he doesn't but that's a different story).

I'm hesitant to say if Michael's conviction of his corrupting Rowan translates to the sex so directly as well. He's more ashamed of his preferred way of sex than she is of hers but that has little to do with corruption, or Rowan personally.

The one thing I will mention is his seeming eagerness to put all of the shared sins committed since they married behind them. He encourages Rowan to do it, repeatedly, he openly condones it to her. The reasons he does this are complicated and not focused on, but I think they're at the very least rooted in his desire to help her and be with her.

With this I'm pointing out that he went from desperately wishing for a family and a house full of playing children to only wanting her and her recovery - so much in fact he's willing to personally ask Lestat (her lover as well as the ideal tool for suicide, for Rowan) for help. This transformation is corruption, and I also think it's very erotic.

[solarpunkbusiness]

The factory in south Wales, which has been under construction since March 2022, is designed to extract gold from up to 4,000 tonnes a year of circuit boards sourced in the UK from electronics including phones, laptops and TVs.

The Royal Mint, which has produced coins for more than 1,100 years, has said the process could provide hundreds of kilograms of gold annually for its 886 jewellery range. This business, which launched in 2022, sells high-end rings, necklaces and earrings online and from its boutique in Burlington Arcade, in Mayfair, central London.

It is estimated that about 600 mobile phones will have to be processed to create one of the 7.5g gold rings sold in the 886 collection, which are similar to the weight of a £1 coin.

The factory in Llantrisant will use patented new chemistry – created by the Canadian clean technology firm Excir – to recover the gold. A washing machine-style spinning drum washes the pieces of circuitry containing gold in a special acid mix that dissolves the precious metal in four minutes. That compares with other gold extraction processes that are more energy intensive and tend to require extremely high temperatures over a longer period of time.

The new factory is part of the Mint’s ongoing efforts to diversify its business as cash use continues to decline. The business is 100% owned by the UK Treasury and pays a dividend to the government each year, with remaining profits reinvested in the business.

[cdroloisms]

birdhouse question, you’ve talked a bit about how the arrival of pream changes the birdhouse dynamic but i’m wondering how do j!dream and c!dream react to nettle specifically when she and pream show up? if this is before the rest of the babies appear, then this is like…their first (?) interaction with Baby tm so how does that go? how do ff!sam and j!sam react to nettle?

Yes !!! So there’s two versions of Nettle in birdhouse for the two versions of coparents that arrive in birdhouse — in both cases, coparent!Sam arrives first, 3 years or so into Mayfair, so when c!/j!Dream is ~25 and he’s ~45. In regular birdhouse, it’s ocean escape p!Sam, so biological c!awesamdream baby Nettle isn’t a thing—p!Sam is languishing in regret and has been going to therapy and separated from p!Dream for a little while already. About 9 months later, p!Dream arrives in birdhouse. In this continuity, if Nettle happens, she’s a magic baby with JJ and Aggie, given to the Dreams by XD.

In awesamdad birdhouse, however, the situation is quite different. awesamdad!sam arrives in birdhouse at the same time as p!Sam, so about 3 years into Mayfair—only instead of months of separation from Dream and therapy and grappling with the fact that he’s lived his life wrong, he’s spent the last year of his life absorbed in diet plans and house babyproofing and helping p!Dream through pregnancy and construction projects and work and caring for a newborn and p!Dream postpartum and therapy worksheets (see: scream eureka, my forever beloved). Nettle would’ve been about … 3 months old or so when he suddenly gets teleported out of his home into a different dimension. And he’s…um. A little preoccupied.

(more under the cut)

In og birdhouse, with ocean escape p!Sam, p!Sam is sopping wet and in therapy and sees the whole thing as divine punishment or a chance to make some of his past wrongs right or whatever and immediately kicks up a fuss. This gets him treated with suspicion, and he gets fitted with his own little house arrest armband when the other Sams realize he’s enough of a Dream sympathizer to actually, like, present a problem for security. Probably because he becomes a problem to security. Immediately. d!Sam, on the other hand, isn't at the point of "sex with your prisoner has an inherent power dynamic that makes it Wrong!" or "dreams are human and deserve rights and also i have so much guiltabout my entire existence and therefore maybe all sams showed be blowed the hell up" like, mmmm. At all. He's still riding the "we are better now because we both Got Better and have gone through Character Development through the trials and tribulations of the last 20 years of our lives [including: 8 years stalking 12+ years crazypants physical, emotional, verbal abuse, kidnapping a kid and then raising him, conditioning the fuck out of your exprisoner who you tortured and then proceeded to torture in front of his son which you raised as your own son while keeping him in your basement and also dubcon sex btw] and we are Good now and the past is in the past and everythingis awesome #TRUELOVE" cope train, and this means that his whole Everything isn't nearly as much of an inherent challenge to the Sams' deal in birdhouse, on either side.

That doesn't mean that it's not uncomfortable for them though. d!Sam is ... well he's frantic, and desperate, and Very Very Sad (I miss miss my wife tails. I miss her a lot.) and j!Sam ... is a good host :] he wants to elp. From both j!Sam, who finds it completely unimaginable to be in any kind of unabashedly positive relationship with a Dream, never mind married to one with a newborn--and d!Sam, who is in a house with prisoners and Wardens and A Basement again and feeling certain memories tug at him that he would much prefer have put to rest, they're very much seeking some kind of magical justification that helps them cope with the situation without having to say that the other one is A Bad Guy, and what works best (and already is something that has a foundation in their current worldviews) is creating a strict distinction between the Dreams-who-are-prisoners and the Dreams-who-are-husbands. My Dream isn't like yours, he's good now ^_^ / my prisoner needs a Firm Hand and Structure and Control, it's necessary ^_^. We are both right and we are both Doing The Right Thing and you're a good guy/I'm a good guy AND NOTHING IS WRONG. #TRUST.

So even before p!Dream arrives, there's a ... lot of separation that is established in the minds of Sams for the sake of soothing both of their discontented feelings at the very different places that they're at in their lives. I know what's best for my Dream is a shared sentiment that still holds true, which means that they can hold on to that as a lifeline, avoid stepping on toes that may force them to reckon with the inherent contradictions at play here, and move on with their mutually reinforcing cope just don't look at anything too hard. I still haven't even gotten to the Nettle of it all I'm sorry THIS IS (KIND OF) NECESSARY CONTEXT:

anyway. This kind of sets the stage for when p!Dream arrives with Baby like, 3 months later (in the meantime, Briar had actually kinda crashed in p!Dream's house). d!Sam makes it very clear from the get go that p!Dream is off-limits. He's not a prisoner, you can't treat him Like A Dream, Dreams shouldn't fuck with his family either, these people are the most important people in the world to him Do Not Mess With This. j!Sam, who has established a sort-of friendship stat with d!Sam and all the aforementioned Dream-related cope to deal with the differences in their circumstances, doesn't really challenge this at all. Sam and Sam's husband and Sam's child are his guests, this is fine, this is normal. Just don't think about the awesamdream of it all too hard and everything will be A-okay. So...his reaction is very much an effort at This Is Fine and Normal, everything is Fine and Normal, I am a good host and I trust my friend and everything is under control. j!Sam thinks that d!Sam is a good guy with a good head on his shoulders and the whole situation is ... different, they agree on that, and he's a good bro so d!Sam's deal with his family isn't his business besides how he's going to make an effort to be a good friend and host and roommate--it helps that p!Dream looks so different, and helps more when he doesn't reeeeeally interact with the guy. p!Dream gets his own marker on the refrigerator dry erase board for groceries and spends time with his clingy ass husband and j!Sam keeps making sure that the house is running shipshape and that the prisoners are remaining well within the lines.

j!Sam likes d!Sam, and he likes kids in general ... he does like Nettle quite a bit? Eventually he may even babysit, and quite enjoys doing stuff like reading to her in those stupid cardboard baby books. She's a cute baby, and she's his friend's baby, and she's a little creeper baby that does things like [hissssssss] when she gets grumpy--look at her little Mary Janes, they're so tiny! etc.

ff!Sam isn't quite on the same cope train as j!Sam, but is outnumbered and not that inclined to intervene, either. He just dgaf. ff!Sam is even more entrenched in the "Dreams are unsalvageable and fundamentally cannot be fixed once they're Evil Adults" belief system bc he fucking magicked his prisoner into a child, but the other consequence of this is that what he's done is separate out Faith (his prisoner that is now his son) and the other prisoners (Dream /neg), with his personal fixation being on the former and not the latter. ff!Sam is a little uncomfortable with how j!Sam is insistent on how he should answer to him--he feels pretty consistently put down and disrespected, which plays into the use of c/j!Dream's for both him and j!Sam to better establish the house hierarchy, but his duty is now to Fix Faith And Raise Him Right moreso than just being singularly focused on subjugating and controlling all Dreams who is evil. That's just his hobby on the side. He definitely buys into the whole d!Sam + coparents deal less, in large part bc d!Sam just doesn't like the guy and thinks he's weirdchamp, but neither is he really trying to Prove Anything to d!Sam or j!Sam about p!Dream bc 1) d!Sam would actually just kill him and 2) it doesn't really get him anything he wants--d!Sam is generally uninterested in Wardening (tm) at this point (he's retired!) and j!Sam is the one he's having his dick measuring contest with. He thinks the baby is cute enough though.

c!Dream hates. d!Sam. Absolutely despises him and is suspicious of his whole deal nonstop. You married Dream and you love him soooo much and you think he's good now and everything is okay yeah right fuck that noise. He's certain that Sam will never be satisfied with anything but total ownership over every element of his life, and figures that having a fucking baby with him is just one more aspect of this. He doesn't really bond with this p!Dream nearly as quickly as he does in regular birdhouse due to a lot of wariness on both sides--p!Dream is someone separated out by the Sams as not being part of the Dreams-as-prisoners team, and c!Dream doesn't trust d!Sam's deal enough to do anything risky (how brainwashed is this Dream? What is the leash keeping him in line? what's happening behind closed doors, what does he have on him, what happens when the facade falls...) such as, trusting this one to have his back, yet. He can see how a Sam might decide that marriage is what he wants or whatever the fuck to spice it up and fancy himself "in love" with Dream, but that doesn't make it not the same exact thing as it's always been. That being said...even though it's Sam's baby, and even though he doesn't give a shit (#trust), he's...well, he's been the designated punching bag in the house for a long time. He can cover for someone else, if there's a need for it.

and j!Dream ... well. It depends, a little bit, on biology I won't lie--we've written both afab and amab j!Dreams and if he's able to have a baby, then Nettle does mean something a little different to him than if not biologically possible. Either way, though, c!Awesamdream in gay love and married with a family means. A lot to him, even in og birdhouse, and even moreso in awesamdad birdhouse where he's actually seeing the "happy ending" with his own two eyes. There could be an end to this rat race -- it's possible, for Sam to love him, for him to love him enough to want him as something Different, to replace "prisoner" with something better. does Sam want a baby with him? What can he do, to earn this, to make Sam love him, what more does he have to do, what does it take. he's not even entirely sure what the benefits of marriage are in a more concrete way--isn't quite sure what discipline might look like, or rules, or worst-case-scenarios, but the existence of coparents and of nettle opens the door for possibilities that seemed so farfetched before he knew of them. So ... he's, investigating. And yearning. p!Dream found the key to the lock and he broke it all open ... which means that it exists, it's possible, he just has to find it. Right?

At the same time ... he's quite awkward around the baby. He's. Uhm. Well he's. [Vague gesture at himself and what he's wearing] Y'know. Not really ... family friendly. Haha.

IN CONCLUSION:

[smolalienbee]

A. J. Crowley’s Handbook on Flirtation at Height

good omens // aziraphale/crowley // a human AU meet-cute with construction worker!Aziraphale // rated T // 6.7k words The 5 times Aziraphale got away with breaking work policy and the 1 time he got fired for it. read on AO3 here!

As stated in clause 3.4 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site should take care not to invade on the privacy of the residents of nearby buildings. As to avoid causing any discomfort, employees are strictly prohibited from engaging with the residents unless strictly necessary (as such as in case of an accident).”

Today, in so far as Crowley is aware, is a Good day. So good, in fact, that he’s up at the whopping hour of five thirty in the morning - and no, for once it’s not because he hasn’t slept at night - and when he moves through his flat, it’s with a certain swagger in his hips that only happens when he’s in a particularly good mood. On a more average day, he prefers lurking and slithering and sauntering - certainly not pirouetting, dancing almost, as he slides in his socks on the slippery tiles.

It’s dark outside, but still, he pulls the blinds open. Then, he cracks open the window and inhales deeply, taking a whiff of London and its rather questionable quality of air. There's scaffolding, right outside his window. It’s been there for a few days, but so far there’s been no sight of any construction work happening, fortunately for him. He isn’t even sure what the work is gonna be nor does he care to find out - there’s always some bloody construction or other going on in Mayfair. As long as there’s no one glaring into his window, he’s fine.

He puts on music - Queen, of course. He’s fairly certain all his files turn into Queen somehow because last he checked, there were not this many Queen MP3s on his phone. Well, at least it’s Queen. Could’ve been worse; as it is, he’s always up to listen to Queen.

When he gets into the shower, it’s to the tune of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy; as he washes his hair, he listens to It’s A Hard Life; and, by the time he steps out from under the stream, he’s accompanied by Fat Bottomed Girls. It’s still a Good day and so he wraps a towel around his hips and then more or less dances his way out of the bathroom, all while loudly belting out the familiar lyrics

“Across the wire, across the land,” he and Freddie sing at once, one of them (Crowley, it’s definitely Crowley) louder than the other. The bathroom door slams shut behind him and he moves further into the flat. “I seen every blue-eyed floozy on the way,” the song continues as Crowley throws his head back, eyes closed, and then - oh.

He blinks them open and stops directly in front of the open window. The bloody scaffolding, he remembers as he stares right into a pair of bluest, prettiest eyes he has ever seen on a guy dressed in an ugly hi-vis vest. The construction, he thinks desperately.

He must be a sight. He’s still dripping wet, naked save for the towel covering his most private bits. His mouth hangs open.

At least the other party involved, the construction worker standing on the other side of the glass, seems to also be in quite a state. He’s staring, wide-eyed and completely frozen. Pretty really does seem like a fitting word to describe him - there’s white, curly hair poking out from underneath his hard hat; a softness to his cheeks and laugh lines clearly etched into his skin. Looking closely, Crowley can also spot a hint of muscle, toned arms peeking out from underneath the neon vest and the white t-shirt. So not only pretty, the guy’s clearly strong as well. For Heaven’s sake, it truly is Crowley’s luck that he happens to be exactly his type. To top it all off, he’s blushing, furiously so, even as his gaze never strays from Crowley.

As if the universe was mocking him, Crowley hears Freddie continue from the bathroom, “Oh, won’t you take me home tonight?” How fitting.

It’s at that same time that the construction worker is brought out of his stupor as well. There’s a noise, outside, a clank and a bang and then a distant voice yelling, “Oi! You, up there! Fell! Watch what the bloody hell you’re doing!”

The guy - the angel, Crowley can’t help but think - jumps a little, startled, and twists his head to look over the railing and down. It’s only a few seconds at best, but it’s still enough time for Crowley to finally shut his stupid mouth and compose himself. Right, he can still salvage this one, certainly. He might be - well, he might still be naked, technically, and he might have just been caught belting out Queen lyrics by the most gorgeously angelic construction worker he has ever seen, but… he’s nothing if not transcendentally confident, even at the most absurd of times.

The moment the worker turns back towards the window, Crowley gives him a rakish smile and blows a kiss in his direction. Somehow, the angel manages to blush even harder, smiling sheepishly as he waves at Crowley. See, situation salvaged. Crowley’s still managed to come out of this looking smooth as hell, if he does say so himself.

All in all, today is not just a Good day, but a Spectacular one. After all, Crowley has learned at last that outside his window there’s an angel.

As stated in clause 1.2 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site are required to be in appropriate personal protective equipment at all times. The type of equipment required will depend on the type of construction work currently being performed and includes, but is not limited to, items such as: high visibility clothing, hard hats and helmets, ear defenders, goggles [...]”

Today is the day Crowley will, for the first time in his life, commit actual bloody murder. He’s certain of it.

The drilling began at a little past six in the morning. While it’s been unpleasant from the very start, it was at least bearable initially. But now, three hours in and with no end in sight? Well, Crowley truly is ready to kill someone, consequences be damned. Hopefully prison is quieter than this absolute hell.

Worst of all, he’s actually been hoping to get some work done today. As it is, though, he sits at his laptop and simply suffers since not even the music blasting into his ears is enough to drown out the incessant drilling.

Finally, fed up with it all, he stands from his desk with a newfound resolution. In a few strides, he makes it over to the window then wrenches it open.

“Oi!” he yells. “Mate! Sod off already with all that bloody noise, driving me - absolutely - bonkers…” he trails off, suddenly realising who he’s yelling at. That angelic face, again. “Oh. ‘s you. Angel.”

Noticing that he’s being talked at, the angel stops drilling and stands up straight. He’s wearing a pair of blue ear defenders and he makes a move to pull them down so that they rest on his shoulders instead of atop his ears. It’s at that moment that Crowley realises he hasn’t heard a word of what he’s been yelling - although admittedly, Crowley still feels a bit bad about it.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s you!” Crowley repeats, trying to squash the feeling. “From the other day. When I - ngk…” He waves an arm uselessly, unable to find an elegant way of phrasing something like when I was dancing and singing naked in my flat and you saw it all. Also, you happen to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, could we kiss maybe?

Bugger. Crowley’s a disaster.

“No, yes, I know, of course, I remember you, but - sorry, what was it that you said?”

“Ah.” Crowley scratches at the back of his neck. “Er, well, ‘s just that you’ve been drilling a hole into my head this entire morning, angel. But, part of the job, I suppose, not your fault.”

“Oh. Oh, dear, I’m terribly sorry, I don’t intend on disturbing you, truly, but the work is what it is…”

“No, yeah, I know, I know, ‘s not on you, it’s just, well… a bit aggravating, really.”

Looking at him up close like this, Crowley’s beginning to feel even worse over the whole thing. The angel looks genuinely apologetic and a little distressed, as if being a nuisance to Crowley caused him physical pain. It’s not a fit look for a guy as pretty as he is. Besides, Crowley knows well what it’s like to have to do your job while getting in the way and on the nerves of everyone around him. With a soft sigh, he leans against the window frame.

“Look, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just turn the music up a bit or, I dunno, go out, do some work from a Starbucks while you finish up your… drilling.”

“Dear boy, I’d hate to inconvenience you…”

Crowley is about to argue, but before he can say much of anything, there’s a pair of ear defenders being shoved in his direction. Or, well, shoved is perhaps the wrong word to describe what’s really happening - it’s more that the angel is offering them, gingerly, like they’re a treasure. Or a wedding ring, Crowley’s mind supplies helpfully. Right, great one, brain.

“Here,” the angel says.

Crowley stares, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You can use these. While I drill. They muffle the sound quite efficiently, if I do say so myself.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you need them?” Crowley asks, pushing himself off the window frame and standing up straight. The angel is still holding the muffs out and so at last Crowley relents and takes them from him.

“Well - yes, certainly, but it’s no trouble for me to grab another pair.”

“You’re sure you can just… give them away?” The angel nods. “Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Quite sure, indeed.” He clasps his hands, clearly chuffed that he’s managed to talk Crowley into this. “Jolly good, then! Off you go, dear, best not to dawdle.”

“Suppose not…” Crowley turns the muffs over in his hands and considers them for a moment. “Thanks, angel,” he says eventually, giving him a small smile.

The rest of the afternoon is blissfully silent. He sits at his desk, clad in the blue ear defenders and protected by the will of a construction angel.

As stated in clause 2.1 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“While performing work at a construction site, employees should only take breaks in areas designated for that purpose. Employees should not consume their meals in areas not meant for such activities, this includes, but is not limited to: scaffoldings, buildings in which construction is being performed, vehicles [...]”

It’s lunch time, by the time Crowley gets home, and yet the construction work outside his window seems to be going in full force. He sees him, the angel, walking across the scaffolding in his silly hard hat and silly vest, though to Crowley’s eye he seems… a bit more crestfallen than usual; tired, perhaps.

Crowley can’t help but feel a pang of concern and wonder, has he even taken a break today? How do I cheer him up? because he’s that kind of a romance-inclined idiot. Anyway. He can think of one offering he can make to the angel and it comes in the form of a tupperware container full of badly folded sushi. He’s already ingested enough fish food to last him a lifetime during the sushi-making class Anathema had taken him to and so, really, it’d be a waste if he didn’t at least offer some of it to someone, right? The sushi might not be his best work, for sure, but hopefully it’d still be enough to satiate the angel.

And so, with a tupperware container and a set of chopsticks in hand, he makes his way over to the window. He pulls it open and raps his knuckles against the windowsill to get the angel’s attention.

“Oh! Hello,” he greets with a smile and a wave.

“Taken your lunch break yet, angel?”

The angel pauses at the question. He glances at the work around him then back at Crowley and the container that’s still cradled against his chest.

“Right! Yes. Lunch. That is to say, no, I haven’t - if you’d be so kind, what time is it, dear?”

“Like, one. Nearly one, anyway.”

“Rather late already… I’ve gotten so caught up in the work I didn’t even realise. I suppose I shall pop down for a quick bite, then, thank you -”

“Wait.” Crowley holds up a hand. “I thought - er, thought I could tempt you to have lunch with me? I, well, a friend of mine dragged me out to a sushi class, now I’ve got so much sushi leftover there’s no chance I’ll ever finish it on my own so I figured… could share it?”

He raises his eyebrows, gestures at the container and waits. It’s as good an offer as he can make, a chance at a proper conversation with the kindest man on this scaffolding. The angel does appear to consider it, his expression shifting in ten different, miniscule ways as he thinks.

“I could get in trouble,” he says slowly. He chews on his lip, conflicted. “There’s all sorts of rules about it, designated areas…” he trails off. His gaze flickers down to the sushi.

“Surely one time couldn’t hurt? Get a slap on your wrist at worst and at best… no one will even notice.”

Despite not getting a clear response, Crowley places the tupperware down on the windowsill. Carefully, he perches down next to it and then holds his arm out, offering the chopsticks to the angel. With a soft sigh, he relents and takes this offering before joining Crowley on the windowsill. They sit, back to back, the container between them, but still their heads are turned in such a way so that they can look at one another.

“You really didn’t have to,” the angel says fondly, picking up the container. Despite the small protests he’s been putting up, he seems rather pleased by the turn of events.

“Sure I did.” Crowley grins. “Wouldn’t want an angel to go hungry, now would I?”

Chopsticks hovering in the space above the container, the angel pauses. Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Angel. Calling me angel.”

“Oh. Nyehhh, you know, you’ve got those curly white little -” Crowley gestures at his face. “And your - cherubic… cheeks…” He really should cut it out right about now, before he makes a complete fool out of himself. “And - you’ve never told me your name.”

“Aziraphale,” the angel says. He looks a bit flustered and Crowley wonders what did it, the pet name itself or perhaps Crowley’s terribly eloquent description of his cheeks. He’s not going to ask. “It’s lovely to make proper introductions at last…”

“Crowley,” he supplies with a nod of his head. “Well then. Now that we’re properly acquainted, dig in. And let me know what you think.”

Glancing at the container in Aziraphale’s hands, Crowley’s once again reminded that it is a rather sorry attempt at sushi. While he’s always thought he has a knack for using his hands, it’s clear he hasn’t yet mastered this particular art. The rolls have already mostly fallen apart, loose rice sticking to the walls of the container rather than, well, other pieces of rice. At least, he thinks, the ingredients used are of a high enough quality that the experience shouldn’t be a horrible one, taste-wise. That, and he also hopes Aziraphale is hungry enough not to mind particularly much that this creation is nowhere near proper sushi quality.

Propping his chin on his hand, he watches intently as Aziraphale picks up a roll - squished between the chopsticks it falls apart some more because of course it does - and then carefully places it in his mouth. He chews, agonisingly slow, his eyes fluttering shut - how in the hell are his eyelashes this long? - and then, once he’s finally swallowed - what if I swallowed you, Crowley’s singular braincell says, unprompted - he breathes a tiny, satisfied sigh. To make matters even worse, he, honest-to-Someone, does a full-body wiggle. All in all, it’s quite the sight. Crowley can’t look away.

When Aziraphale finally opens his eyes, their gazes meet instantly - no other way about it, considering how Crowley’s been staring at him, unblinking, for about two full minutes. Crowley doesn’t even try to shy away from it; and, really, it is a bit too late for Aziraphale not to notice that he’s been blatantly ogled this whole time.

“Liked it, then?”

“Oh, it’s lovely.” Aziraphale smiles at him and it’s blinding. “Although…” His eyes flicker down, up, then down again. He carefully picks up another roll. “Well, there’s certainly room for improvement here, wouldn’t you agree?”

Crowley stifles a laugh, opting for an offended pout instead. “Hey, now… you can’t just diss my hard work like this.”

“Oh, but it’s hardly that. Take it as a compliment, dear, you can only go up from here.”

Oh, wow. So Aziraphale is not only a strong-armed, beautiful angel, but he also has a bastard streak. There it is, then. Crowley’s utterly, properly, fucked. And, worst of all, smitten.

“You really know how to praise a man,” he teases.

“Most certainly I do,” Aziraphale says primly, sticking his chin out. He pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, not breaking eye contact. Blasted soon-to-be-buggered-if-Crowley-has-it-his-way bitchy infuriating little - “Next time, you shall treat me to a proper lunch. I know several lovely Japanese restaurants in the area, I believe they’d be wonderful places to draw inspiration from.”

“Oh, I shall?” Crowley hisses, leaning in closer.

It’s at that moment, when Crowley breaks the barrier of his personal space, that Aziraphale seems to realise the level of overfamiliarity he’s just shown in the last couple of minutes. His face flushes and he looks away, far less confident than he was just a moment ago. Crowley doesn’t like this look on him.

“If you’d be amenable to it, that is, of course,” he says, softer. Unsure. Crowley wonders, how many times have you been shot down, after showing someone this side of you?

“Well,” he hums, leaning back and giving Aziraphale his space back. “Research, right? I couldn’t possibly say no.”

He sticks a hand out. Aziraphale looks at it, confused.

“It’s a deal, angel.”

At last, that brings the smile back to Aziraphale’s face. He shakes Crowley’s hand.

As stated in clause 3.2 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, persons not employed by the company nor involved in the work should be prohibited from entering the construction site. In particular, employees should make sure that only permitted personnel is allowed access to areas of the site that could prove to be particularly dangerous without proper training, such as where: injuries from fall are possible; toxic substances are used [...]”

The clock ticks away loudly, the only noise in the otherwise silent flat.

That’s a lie. There’s not a single analog clock in Crowley’s flat - but, what Crowley does have is an imagination. Looking at the minutes passing by on the digital clock that stands on his nightstand, he can imagine the sound of ticking well enough.

6:01. Tick. 6:02. Tick. 6:03. Tick.

His sleep schedule is all fucked, again. There’s not much of a chance that he’ll be able to fall asleep for another three hours or so and, by then, he’ll end up sleeping through all of the daylight instead. Wonderful.

He wonders if Aziraphale’s started work yet.

That thought is what finally gets him out of bed. He grabs a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and then pads out of the bedroom wearing just his pyjamas - or, more precisely, an old, faded Queen t-shirt, ratty sweatpants and duck-print socks.

It’s just his luck, it appears, that Aziraphale does start work early. Sun hasn’t even risen yet and so Aziraphale’s white hair ends up being a stark contrast against the darkness of the early morning sky. Crowley grins and pulls the window open with more force than is strictly necessary.

“Oi, angel!” He waits a beat, until Aziraphale turns towards him. Once he has his attention, he leans an elbow on the windowsill and, for the added effect, waggles his eyebrows. “What’s a handsome guy like you doing in these parts? Hm?”

In response, Aziraphale shoots him what is most likely supposed to be an exasperated glare, but, really, comes across far too fond for its intended effect.

“Dear, I’m at work, must you really?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Yes, I must,” Crowley says, perching on the windowsill. He then swings his legs over the window frame in one smooth motion until his socked feet are firmly planted on the scaffolding.

Instantly, Aziraphale freezes and stares.

“Crowley, what are you -”

“Going out for a smoke,” Crowley replies casually. He pulls one cigarette out, tosses the remainder of the pack carelessly back into the flat and then flicks his lighter.

“But my dear fellow, you can’t -”

“Oh, if anyone asks, just tell them you tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t budge. Besides -” He pauses to light the cigarette, then gestures with it at the surrounding construction. “- no one’s even paying attention to us. ‘s fine, angel.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, then closes it, but, of course, not without a frustrated huff. Still, he makes no move to actually shoo Crowley back inside.

They both fall silent after that. Crowley leans against the building wall and Aziraphale, dropping any pretence of displeasure, comes to stand next to him. The tension seems to have been drained from his shoulders, not as worried about anyone catching them anymore. In the distance, the first rays of the morning sun begin to shine.

Crowley takes a couple of puffs and then clears his throat.

“I gotta ask, angel, why construction? I mean, no offence, but you don’t strike me as the kind of guy to do manual labour like this out of passion. Bit too…” he waves an arm. “Bit too… something for that.”

“Queer?” Aziraphale supplies helpfully, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Posh?”

“Eghhhhh…” Crowley makes a vague noise and shrugs. “Both, I guess.”

“Ah, but certainly there’s many posh, queer men such as myself working these jobs,” Aziraphale laughs. Crowley can’t argue with that. “That being said, when it comes to me… you aren’t wrong, dear.”

“Just pays the bills, then?”

Aziraphale nods. “That, it does. I suppose it’s… well, I’ve always been strong enough to do this kind of work. Like you said, it does pay and is fairly easy to come by. And - for all the prejudices that there might be, in a field such as this one, the people I work with tend not to care what my sexual preference is or how manicured my hands are, just as long as I can do the work.”

Instinctively, Crowley’s eyes flicker down to Aziraphale’s hands. They’re littered with callouses, tiny cuts and scars, various signs of hard physical work, yet they really do look well taken care of, nails perfectly trimmed and shiny. He distinctly remembers the time they shook hands, too - how soft Aziraphale’s hand felt, despite the strain of the work. Good hands, they are.

Needing to stop his thoughts from running wild before he starts considering what those hands could feel like against other parts of his body, Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette. “What would you do instead, then?” he asks, blowing the smoke out. “If money was no object.”

Aziraphale doesn’t need to consider the question long. “I’d run a bookshop,” he smiles as he says it. “Or work in a library… some place that’d let me introduce people to the joys of reading.”

“Books, huh,” Crowley hums. “See, now that does seem like you.”

Aziraphale laughs softly.

The silence they fall into once more is a companionable one, neither of them eager to let this moment come to an end just yet. It takes about a minute or two before Aziraphale speaks.

“Would you be so kind as to share a fag, dear?”

Crowley smirks. He can’t possibly pass up an opportunity like this. “Well… that’s forward, even for you.”

Aziraphale puffs his chest out. “That is not -” he begins, but cuts himself off the moment their eyes meet.

Something in the air between them has just changed. All of a sudden, the moment feels charged, something unspoken, and Crowley, provocative as ever, intends to make good use of it. He presses the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s. Nicotine smoke billows between them and Crowley drops his arm, letting the cigarette hang loosely between his lips. He raises an eyebrow, what do you say, angel?, and then simply waits, still as a statue.

Aziraphale’s tongue darts out as he wets his lips, his gaze flickering down to Crowley’s own. He seems to get the hint, the clever angel, and without hesitation reaches out to pluck the cigarette directly out of Crowley’s mouth. He presses it to his lips, tips his head back and breathes in, deeply.

Crowley can’t take it anymore.

The moment Aziraphale pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, Crowley pounces. He grasps at the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt and pulls him in, just in time for Aziraphale to exhale the smoke into Crowley’s mouth right as their lips meet. A small gasp of surprise escapes him as well, but he doesn’t seem displeased by the turn of the events; the opposite, really.

Oh, isn’t it a delightfully decadent thing to be kissing an angel on this scaffolding, out for anyone to see, with cigarette smoke clouding in the shared air between.

They stay like that a while, lips moving lazily while the cigarette continues to burn, nested between two of Aziraphale’s soft fingers. Eventually, Crowley’s too-gay-to-function mind finally gets about half a thought and it goes something like fuckfuckfuckbuggerfuck -

At once, he lets go of Aziraphale’s shirt and pulls back, lips parted and breath coming out heavy. Aziraphale, too, is a sight - cheeks flushed, lips pursed and shiny with saliva, shirt mussed up where Crowley had just been holding on. The moment they’re parted, Aziraphale brings a hand up, presses his fingertips to his reddened lips. Fuck, Crowley wants to kiss him again, badly.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he scrambles away, one hand grasping at the windowsill lest he slips and ends this otherwise wonderful kiss in a rather unfortunate tumble to the ground.

“You can finish it off,” he mumbles, gesturing at the cigarette in Aziraphale’s hand. It’s pretty much burnt down to the butt by now, seeing as how they had gotten too distracted to pay attention to it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says and his fingers are still pressed to his lips and Crowley should really just leave before he does anything stupid and gets this angel into trouble.

“Nice seeing you, angel.” He hurriedly swings his legs over the windowsill, all while making a half assed attempt at a two-finger salute. “Ciao!”

So that’s how Crowley first kisses an angel. It’s also how he manages to cock it all up the very same morning. Bollocks.

As stated in clause 1.1 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site are not permitted to leave the site during their scheduled work hours. The only exceptions are: scheduled breaks, in which case employees may leave their work assignments and head to the designated break area; as well as emergencies and accidents.”

There’s a knock on Crowley’s window. He can hear it, clear as day. He considers, for maybe a second or two, if he should ignore it.

He hasn’t spoken to Aziraphale in a few days. He sees him, day in and day out, as he continues his work right by Crowley’s window, but each time, he makes a point to look away, to stay away. All because of the Kiss - and yes, it definitely deserves the capital letter.

Crowley’s not stupid. He knows Aziraphale enjoyed it, could see it in the way he responded so eagerly to it, trailing after him once they parted, how his fingertips pressed against his own lips as if savouring it. He also knows that Aziraphale has been flirting with him as much as Crowley himself has. So, all in all, it seems like there’s certainly no reason for Crowley to be having this giant queer freak out. And yet.

There’s a knock on Crowley’s window and, freak out or no, he can’t ignore it.

He opens the window and raises his eyebrows the moment he’s met with Aziraphale’s bashful face.

“Wassup?” Act casual.

“Ah, yes, hello, terribly sorry to bother you, and you can of course say no, but it seems that Ligur has rendered our portapotty out of order, and well. I was just wondering, that is -”

Oh, as if things weren’t awkward enough already.

Aziraphale is rambling and Crowley is still freaking out, but he likes Aziraphale and so he takes pity on him. “Yes, angel, you can use my bathroom,” he sighs and takes a step back, giving Aziraphale the space to climb inside.

“Oh, oh thank you.”

There isn’t much finesse in how Aziraphale climbs through the window and into Crowley’s flat - in fact, he nearly loses his balance not just once, but twice, and Crowley resists the urge to hold his hand to help him. Eventually, he makes it through and stands up straight, smoothing out his clothes before giving Crowley a tight-lipped, but thankful, smile.

“Ah yes, where do I -”

“Down the hall, second door to the left.”

Aziraphale nods and without another word, walks past Crowley and into the hall in search of the bathroom. The moment he’s gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him, Crowley lets out a long sigh of suffering and slumps against a nearby wall. God, what was he thinking…

Outside, he hears first raindrops hit the scaffolding. He turns to look out the window, watch the rain as it falls, heavier and heavier. It’s a gloomy day. It’s a gloomy day and there’s an angel in Crowley’s home and Crowley is an absolute stupid idiot twat -

The bathroom door clicks again. By now, the rain outside pounds heavily, a typical English downpour. Aziraphale comes out of the hall and all Crowley wants to do is wrap him up in a blanket and watch the rain together. He really is an idiot.

“Ah, I suppose the rain was to be expected,” Aziraphale says, another small, fleeting smile on his lips. He’s nervous. Crowley can’t blame him.

“Yup,” he responds.

“I better get a wiggle on, then! Back to work…”

Crowley watches him - as he comes to the window, as he clumsily climbs over the windowsill and as, eventually, the rain catches up to him. Even with the scaffolding in the way, Aziraphale gets drenched immediately and Crowley finds himself doing the impulsive, kind, thing once more.

“Oh for Heaven’s - come back here,” he calls out, leaning out the window to grasp at Aziraphale’s arm and tug him back in before he’s had a chance to walk off. Aziraphale doesn’t resist much - their eyes meet and then Aziraphale’s making his way back inside of Crowley’s flat.

They stand like this for a moment, in front of the window, Aziraphale dripping onto Crowley’s floor while they both stare at one another. Finally, Crowley lets out a frustrated huff and walks away, only to return moments later with a towel. Wordlessly, he pats the towel over Aziraphale’s shoulders, his chest, then gently rubs it over his hair, doing his best to dry him off. Aziraphale lets him. Aziraphale bloody lets him.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley continues the motions, not meeting his eye. “No I haven’t,” he lies because it’s what he does. Then, he sighs. “Yes, fine, okay.”

Aziraphale sighs as well. “I would love to hear an explanation as to why,” he says. “You… do realise I enjoyed it, yes?”

Crowley groans and, feeling utterly defeated, he lets go of the towel so that it hangs over Aziraphale’s head while Crowley presses his face to the back of his neck. “Yeah, angel, hard not to notice,” he says, voice muffled.

Aziraphale makes a small noise in response and Crowley can easily imagine the flush that’s painted his cheeks now. He still says nothing, though. He waits, Crowley presumes, for an explanation.

“I suppose I’ve been… worrying about getting you in trouble,” Crowley says, lifting his head to speak clearly. He rests his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder instead. “Making things awkward, me. Anyway. I’m a bit of a - a lost cause, if you haven’t realised, went and did that and then you bloody stare into my window every day so it’s - I just - am I even making any sense?”

He’s fairly certain that he doesn’t. He wonders if that’s enough.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, carefully pulling away so that he can turn around and face him. “You’re being silly.”

Crowley opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off by a hand on his cheek and then lips meeting his. He leans into it easily, his hand finding its way towards Aziraphale, fingers tenderly clutching at his work shirt. It’s different from their first kiss - where their first kiss was intense, this one’s calm, gentle. All Aziraphale, he thinks.

It’s also Aziraphale who pulls away first, though then they both hover in the shared space, close, breathing in each other’s air.

“I’d love an opportunity to get to know you better, dearheart,” Aziraphale says softly. “Perhaps, though, under circumstances where I’m not breaking work policies and neither of us is at risk of a fall injury.” His hand slides down, from Crowley’s cheek to his chest and then rests there. “Buy me lunch sometime, will you?”

Crowley laughs, amused by the way in which Aziraphale demands, never asks. “Sushi?”

Aziraphale beams. “Yes, that’d be splendid!”

They stay like this for another moment before eventually untangling themselves from each other and turning to face the window. The rain continues to pound heavily.

“You know…” Aziraphale begins, his eyes flickering between Crowley and the window. “I do work in the rain, typically. It is England, we would never get anything done otherwise.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m getting you into trouble again?”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale reassures quickly, flashing a smile. He pats Crowley’s shoulder gently. “Although - perhaps it’s best if I get back to it now, lest I receive another strongly worded note from Gabriel.”

“Sounds awful, that,” Crowley agrees.

They look into each other’s eyes and Crowley, cheesy as it is, wonders if this is what he’s been looking for all this time. Maybe it is true, what they say about some people being made for each other.

Dear Mr Fell,

We regret to inform you that, effective immediately, your employment with Heaven Construction is to be terminated on the basis of multiple violations of the health and safety regulations, as outlined in the employee handbook. [...]

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

When Crowley comes up to the window, two mugs of coffee in hand, he expects the familiar, angelic face. What he sees, instead, is an entirely different man, with a far more angular face, short dark hair and eyes that seem to glow purple in the sunlight.

Crowley freezes. The man notices him and, unaware of Crowley’s crisis, gives him a smile and a wave. Who the hell is this twat?

So, something is wrong. Aziraphale is… gone and Crowley’s doing his best not to panic because really, this isn’t a good reason to panic, not at all, except this makes him realise that they’ve never even swapped numbers or… anything, really. If Aziraphale is gone, truly gone, then Crowley has no chance of ever finding him again. Bugger, Crowley’s going to be sick.

The shrill noise of his doorbell makes him jump, some of the coffee spilling onto the floor. Crowley curses under his breath, practically slamming the mugs down onto the nearest surface, ignoring the sting of hot coffee on his fingers. He stomps through the flat, ready to tell whoever is at his door to fuck right off because now is not the time.

“I don’t know what you’re selling but whatever - Aziraphale?”

“Yes. Hi. Hello.”

It’s him, standing in all his angelic glory at Crowley’s doorstep. He looks… well, different from how Crowley’s used to seeing him. Instead of work clothes, he’s dressed much nicer and, as much as Crowley’s enjoyed the chance to see Aziraphale at work, sweat-soaked t-shirts clinging to his skin and toned arms on display, this feels much more like him. It’s old-fashioned, terribly so, a beige suit and a bloody tartan bow tie to top it all off. Crowley wants to kiss him - Crowley realises that he can do just that.

And so he does. Before Aziraphale even has the chance to explain what’s going on, Crowley pulls him in for a kiss. It’s quick, though it leaves them both flushed from the sheer unexpectedness of it.

“Hey,” Crowley says once they part.

“Hi,” Aziraphale repeats and he’s smiling.

Remembering that they’re still standing in the doorway, Crowley steps back and lets Aziraphale come into the flat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him and then leads him further into the flat. After all, he still has a warm mug of coffee waiting for him. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but - I was expecting you up there -” He gestures to the window. “- and not over there.”

“Ah, yes - oh, thank you,” Aziraphale interrupts himself as Crowley hands him his mug. “Well, about that…”

He trails off. His eyes flicker over to the window and, as Crowley looks over his shoulder, he sees That Other Guy giving another overenthusiastic wave in their direction. Crowley huffs and pulls the blinds close. It really is wrong to have someone other than Aziraphale looking into his home.

“Yes, angel?” he prompts gently now that there’s no one looking at them.

“I got fired,” Aziraphale admits at last, moving to sit down in a chair. Crowley’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but Aziraphale cuts him off. “Oh, do not start apologising, this is entirely on me. And, to be perfectly honest, I don’t find myself upset over losing this job, although, well, it does mean I’ll have to start looking for something new…”

“Angel…”

“Crowley, really, I don’t want to hear a single apology out of you -”

“No, angel, that’s not what I was going to say.” Crowley shakes his head. He comes closer and crouches down in front of Aziraphale who looks down at him with such fondness that Crowley feels like he’s just been shot through his heart. Still, he continues on, “Said you wanted to work with books, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes. But - well, it’s terribly difficult to -”

“Shhh - shush.” Crowley raises a finger, cutting him off. “Lemme finish. Point is - my point is, I have a friend, book girl, she works at a library. They have an open position, I think, and I could… y’know. Put in a good word.” He raises his eyebrows, letting his hand rest on Aziraphale’s knee. “What do you say?”

“Oh - would you, really?”

“‘course.”

Aziraphale’s smile lights up the entire room. “You’re a darling, Crowley.” He grasps Crowley’s hand and Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Shuddup.”

“Well, you are! And I’m very grateful.”

Crowley grumbles something under his breath. He presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s hand, needing to find an outlet for this warm emotion that’s threatening to burst right out of his heart.

“Buy you lunch about it,” Crowley mutters, lips still brushing against the skin of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat, tries again. “I’ll buy you lunch. Today. As soon as you finish your coffee.”

Crowley didn’t think it was possible for the look on Aziraphale’s face to get any fonder and yet somehow the bastard’s done it. Crowley can’t even look him in the eye anymore, too overwhelmed by the love radiating off Aziraphale.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale whispers. “I better make haste, then.”

[murfpersonalblog]

Btw, I'm gonna save my questions about book plots because I sent you something about Prince Lestat and then I went to Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis and I don't even know what to think anymore. 🤔🤷‍♀️😅 When I finish Blood Communion and Interview With the Vampire I can come back with them lol. Now, I don't know if I asked it before and if I did, I'm sorry and you can just send me the link instead of answering again, but who are your favorite Anne Rice characters and why? How do you feel about the show? And you said you don't like human vampires as much, but is it just about their physical characteristics or do you also prefer when they aren't as emotional and conflicted as Anne's/IWTV's?

LOL, no worries--you didn't ask about characters before. Imma ask YOU the same questions, once you've finished all the books, so be prepared! 😈

My fave AR characters are:

🧛 Fave (Male) Vampire - Armand: This boy's been through SO MUCH misery, and yet he's still standing strong as THE boogeyman of rogue vampires, what an icon. I love that he's SMART--despite being an adolescent, Armand's never been stupid. He's got a genre savvy ruthlessness to him, seeing & noticing things that tend to fly over the heads of other people (*cough* Lestat *cough*). Granted, sometimes it makes him look like a cruel a-hole (a la the Replimoids); but other times he's the only sane one in the room (a la Rhoshamandes). But it's just like Claudia--kids are just more in-tune to things than adults are.

🧛‍♀️ Fave (Female) Vampire - Claudia: She creeps me out, and I love her for it. I couldn't handle being in a 5-year old's body, even when I was 5; and that was just for a year, let alone 60+. I'd've killed EVERYONE. I love how Claudia's IQ is through the roof, and how much she makes Lestat, this grown effing man, look like an utter toddler. It's hilarious. She's just following him around, staring at him him silently, and he's like LOUIS, SAVE MEEE~! XD She's such a BAMF. AR doesn't tend to write women very well, but she writes children REALLY well, esp. Claudia. Omfg what an incredible character.

👻 Fave Ghost/Spirit - Azriel (Servant of the Bones): TRAGIC, what happened to him. It's hilarious to see how although he and Lasher have very similar origins, Azriel didn't turn into a psychotic rapist sadistic eugenicist. Azriel actually tries to help SAVE the world and HELP people, despite all the curses put on him, and the ways he was demonized. He's a literal angel; he just so happens to also be a dead man, lol.

🧙‍♀️ Fave witch/psychic - Michael Curry (Mayfairs): THOR WITH HIS HAMMER before Marvel was cool! My favorite AR character, PERIOD; from my fave AR book, PERIOD. He's a blue collar architect with a scholar's soul and an aristocrat's aesthetics. He loves renovating fancy Victorian houses, and is secretly in love with tweed, even as he schleps around in his dirty construction-worker clothes. So many contradictions! He's got a big heart, and he works with his hands--so OF COURSE after his near-death experience you find out he's an empath/psychic who can feel emotions through his fingertips. And of COURSE he falls in love with a woman who just so happens to have inherited a slightly run-down Victorian mansion in the same city where he grew up as a kid, in THAT house where he always thought he saw a strange man looking at him him who no one else could see.... SUCH a perfect setup, and AMC effing BLEW IT. Sure, Cirprien Grieve is cool, he's one of the best characters in that dumpster fire of a show, but he's got NOTHING on Michael.

🧬 Fave Taltos - Ashlar (Taltos): Getting his backstory was SO cool. LEAGUES more interesting than Lasher's, cuz Ashlar just KNOWS more. He's lived A LOT longer, and he never lost his empathy & loving heart. He makes toy dolls for a living, ffs. I felt so bad for him, living all alone cuz people think he's a freak, with his strange height & hands & feet & eating habits. I would've happily been his Morrigan (so long as I had the extra chromosome, ofc, LOL).

👽 Fave Replimoid - Kapetria (PL Trilogy): I hate when AR writes Black people; esp. Black women. Even Merrick got on my nerves; and the way AR wrote about her was gross, fetishized by David & Aaron as if all she was good for was to be lusted after for her body or exploited for her magic. But Kapetria's an alien, so she's just way cooler & more interesting--NO ONE is disrespecting her, unless they want a syringe stabbed in their effing eyeball.

🐺 Fave werewolf/morphenkinder - Margon: I just love when AR has these primordial beings who've lived for 10,000+ years and have seen the world when it was young and humans were all still swinging from trees and nature was full of magic and the immortals lived in innocent harmony before The Cataclysm Effed Everything Up, And Now I Am The Only One Left To Tell The Tale Of My People. I fall for it every time, and Margon's another one.

👭🏻 Fave Twin - Mekare: The strong silent type, even though ironically back when she still had her tongue she was the talkative charismatic Alpha type twin. Mekare's just about that action; everyone else was busy tryna talk to Akasha, all democratic & diplomatic--but all Mekare had for her was STRAIGHT HANDS. You love to see it.

[gellymark-blog]

https://mayfaircs.com/kitchen-cabinets-san-bernardino/ - Looking to elevate your kitchen with premium, custom kitchen cabinets in San Bernardino? Mayfair Construction Services offers expert craftsmanship and personalized design solutions to fit your unique style and needs. Whether you're dreaming of a modern, sleek kitchen or a classic, timeless design, our team provides high-quality cabinetry that enhances both functionality and aesthetics. Trust us to turn your kitchen into the heart of your home. #KitchenCabinets #SanBernardino #CustomKitchenDesign #HomeRenovation #Cabinetry #MayfairConstruction #KitchenRemodel #CustomCabinets #SanBernardinoKitchen #InteriorDesign #HomeImprovement

[lboogie1906]

Second Lieutenant Albert Irving Cassell June 25, 1895 - November 30, 1959) a prominent African American architect, planner, engineer, educator, and entrepreneur, was born in Towson, Maryland to Albert and Charlotte Cassell. His education began in a Baltimore public school. He moved to Ithaca, New York, and enrolled in a city high school. He was admitted into Cornell University, where he worked on campus.

He served in the Army during WWI. Commissioned as a second lieutenant in the heavy field artillery, he served as a training officer in France. He returned to Cornell University and completed his BS in architecture. His first project included the design of five buildings at the Tuskegee Institute with fellow architect William A. Hazel. He designed silk mills and other industrial plants in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. He joined the Architecture Department of Howard University as an assistant professor.

He designed projects that helped shape the physical growth of Howard University. He produced the master plan for the expansion of the campus. He set about purchasing the land around the university to execute his plan. He helped to design and construct the medical school, dining hall, gymnasium, stadium, chemistry building, power plant, underground power distribution system, the Founders Library, the Frederick Douglass Memorial Hall, and three women’s dormitory buildings. He designed buildings at Virginia Union University and Morgan State College. He laid a strong foundation for a strong and successful architecture program at Howard University. He presided over the creation of the College of Engineering and Architecture at the university.

He pursued the development of an unsuccessful planned community for African Americans on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay. He led the development of the Mayfair Mansions Project and the James Creek Alley Housing Development in DC. He designed civic buildings for the state of Maryland and DC and participated in other projects at Washington National Airport and the Pentagon. He was a member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[ilovemosss]

Hello, Good Omens Fandom!!

Were you a victim of season 2? Do you need comfort in the form of smut in these trying times? Then have I got the fic for you!

I Want You (For Worse Or For Better) is an Omegaverse vignette series set throughout the course of human history focusing on Aziraphale and Crowley's smutty encounters that Totally Happened. The first chapter is up and available to be read now (yes, you hear me, right now!!), and will soon be joined by about ten more. I am currently accepting suggestions for any favorite eras, or desired scenes on AO3, through my DMs and askbox, or in the comments and reblogs on this post. If you put it in the tags I am not guaranteed to see it.

Link will be followed by a list of what's up next for this vignette series!

ALRIGHT, SO! The list of planned (or posted) eras are as follows:

Mesopotamia (posted)

Bildad era (under construction)

Golgotha (planned)

Roman Empire (planned)

11th Century England (planned)

The Bastille (planned)

Edinburgh, 1827 (planned)

London, 1941 (planned)

Woodstock, 1969 (planned)

Dowling Estate, year undecided (planned)

Mayfair, London, 2019, immediately post-Amagedon (planned)

Soho, London, 2021, post-lockdown (planned)

Post s2- location undecided, will be angsty (planned)

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Extended endnotes for "The Countess, Destruction"

As I said in the Ao3 endnotes, I ran out of characters and had to cut them a bit short. So, here's the very extended version, all with links, citations, and pictures! (Please read the chapter first before reading the endnotes, of course.)

This chapter was also very much created with the help of Google Maps, Ciel's stink eye, and a bag of devil fruit fruit gum <3

Bridges and Walks

In 1846, Cloudia and Milton take a very long, very weird walk through the city. Mapping it was rather fun, though also a bit finicky because I had to check every bridge’s creation date. Blackfriars Bridge existed in 1846, as did Waterloo Bridge. But Hungerford Bridge and the Golden Jubilee Bridges, the bridges that come “next in line”? No! The former opened in 1864, the latter in 2002. Unfortunately (?), all the bridges between Westminster and Putney Bridge just did not exist in 1846, and that’s why their track looks like this:

(This leaves out their starting point somewhere in the Square Mile where the Salisbury Trading HQ is.)

It’s safe to say that they got one hell of a workout XD They stopped right by Hyde Park, and then, Milton surprised Cloudia by going in the direction of Kensington Palace (up; that empty square is where the palace is) and not back to where Holland House is. (Holland Park was constructed between 1860 and 1880, so I couldn’t use it as a pointer. Holland House is there where the park is though.) Cloudia, herself, went right towards Mayfair. Where Milton went? Well… that’s for another day (and year omg).

I picked Blackfriars Bridge as Cloudia’s favourite bridge because of its significance in The Infernal Devices (in which the protagonists fight against automatons, and all instalments are called Clockwork [Something] heh; that series is also set in the Victorian era, but in 1878). I also think the bridge is very pretty! Love that it is red and white; bridges should be more colourful in general.

I was in London in 2016 for a school trip and really wanted to go to that bridge. Sadly, we couldn’t move around on our own, and I didn’t have anyone willing to go with me. So, I only saw it from afar when we took a boat across the Thames.

(Very zoomed.)

The white-and-red metal bridge did not exist in 1846 anyway. Instead, Blackfriars Bridge was made of brownstone and looked like this:

(Painting from around 1800)

The first Blackfriars Bridge was dismantled in 1860 because it became just too wonky. Queen Victoria opened the second one in 1869. I would say that Vincent and Francis went to the opening in their mother’s stead.

(Extra: When I was in London, we walked beneath London Bridge, and I swear that the damn nursery rhyme’s melody started playing from somewhere! It was very weird.)

Additionally, while the first arc is named the “Inner London Murders Arc,” looking back, I’ve never specified where exactly the Salisbury Villa is located! As there were already attacks in Westminster, Camden, and Islington, I picked Kensington as the villa’s location. It was nice to very briefly revisit a location that was so important in the beginning and that doesn’t exist anymore.

Train Station

The Gare du Nord is the busiest train station in Europe and will soon be the largest train station in Europe too! In 1848, the train station was very busy too, but, by far, not large at all. It looked like this back then:

(Copperplate print from 1847)

It’s so tiny, isn’t it? In 1843, construction began, and two different designs for the train station were proposed. Of course, “management opted to construct the less spacious of the two options, despite the occurrence of stations serving capital city becoming overwhelmed already being a known phenomenon in both London and Brussels.” And that’s why the original Gare du Nord only existed from 1846 to 1860 (seriously, what were they thinking?). They partially demolished it to redo and expand it, and its front façade was transferred to the Lille-Flandres Station. Above is the back of the first Gare du Nord, and this was its front:

(Not that I even got to describe the front.)

1848 Paris

We had originally planned to do a trip to Paris next week, but it has been postponed until next year now. My father is still going next week for a business trip though. Unfortunately, I can’t possibly ask him to find some time to take the worst walk ever through the city with the Gare du Nord as the starting point and take some pictures for me. Thankfully, the chapter is told from the POVs of two characters who have never been in Paris before. They don’t know where they are, so I don’t need to either. Their journey through Paris is purposefully confusing and distorted anyway with all the detours they need to take because of the ongoing uprising. Even if the chapter had been from Barrington’s POV, he would have stopped caring about street names and landmarks at some point anyway; there are just too many other things to concentrate on – like side tables. (Milton, on the other hand, would have rattled down every single street name in his narration. And that’s one of the reasons why we don’t spend any time in his head. (Though this chapter from his POV would have certainly been very interesting...))

Nevertheless, I did consult Google Maps yet again for Cloudia, Cedric, and Milton’s chase through Paris and the others’ way to Cecelia’s house, though in much vaguer capacity than for the 1846 walk.

Cecelia lives in the current-day 7th arrondissement. It was the high nobility district from the 17th century until the French Revolution, and then again during the Bourbon Restauration before losing this status yet again in 1830. Unlike last time, it did remain “the centre of the French upper class’ social life” at least despite losing its political influence. That’s how Paris is divided into arrondissements nowadays:

In 1848, however, the division looked like this:

They changed the arrangement in 1859/60 upon expanding the city borders. As such, Cecelia’s house is somewhere in the 10th arrondissement in 1848, not in the 7th.

Google Maps’ recommended way from the Gare du Nord to the 7th arrondissement:

Newman, Aurèle, and Co. went more west first though and then south. (To keep them relatively safe and me sane.)

On Cloudia and Co.’s side, I looked up where the Hôtel de Ville, the Place du Panthéon, and the Place de la Bastille roughly lie in relation to the Gare du Nord (all are south/south-east to the station), as they are important locations in the uprising. While Cloudia and Co. aren’t exactly going anywhere specific, they are heading south in the worst way ever. (So that it’s easier for me to get them to Cecelia’s house later.) That’s about the path they took:

(I’m joking.)

As I said above, the path they’re taking is very, very messy, and neither Cloudia nor Cedric knows Paris anyway. They could make out the Notre-Dame or the Arc de Triomphe and such; that’s it. (That doesn’t help them though as they’re not going anywhere near any famous, well-known sights.) And because Paris most definitely changed a lot since 1848 anyway, I didn’t need to be super specific with anything anyway. Still, I didn’t want to make everything up, so I went searching on Google Maps for some interesting things they could have passed by.

And hello, church close to the station! I loved that it’s named Saint-Vincent-de-Paul and that it existed in 1848 too! (Was completed in 1844) The nearby square didn’t though (1862), and that’s why they pass by the church and nothingness with weeds (I have no idea what was actually in that place in 1848). I wanted to have them pass by the Montholon Square too as I saw that speck of green on the map, but it didn’t exist until 1862 too, so I dropped it. (That made me wonder if there are more squares/parks that were created in 1862? Anyway.) The church is the only actual thing on their way. Beyond it, all is made up.

June Days Uprising

The most difficult part to write. As I said in the Ao3 notes, I wanted to include an actual historical event into WotQ and I ultimately decided on the June Days Uprising. I live in Germany and only went to school here, and all we learn about French history in History class is Louis XIV and Louis XVI and the French Revolution. Because of this, I wasn’t really aware before I began planning this arc in 2018 that there was a lot of back and forth with France being a republic and a monarchy. E.g., the July Monarchy (start 1830) only just ended in February 1848 and France became a republic again. (And that merely lasted until 1852.)

Back in 2018, I went to a public library to look a few things up but couldn’t find much. I’ve been holding onto that note though, and it did give me a nice little timeline at least! The times were super helpful (start: 12 a.m. on the 23rd, end: 11 a.m. on the 26th); with that, I set out to make the first outline of Arc 4. (Unfortunately, I forgot to write down the book’s title then!)

When it became time to write Destruction, I couldn’t find a lot again, but two sites proved helpful.

With them and the Wikipedia article, I wrote Destruction’s first draft and finished the first revision round. Before I started the second, however, I remembered that I could just (mis)use my university library access to get more sources – and so I did! I found two books. A History of Modern France by Jeremy D. Popkin had a good little section on the Uprising, and Revolutionary Republicanism: Participation and Representation in 1848 France by Samuel Hayat is mostly about all that led to the revolution in February and what happened afterwards. I didn’t have time to read the entire book and only read the section that was just about the June Days Uprising (“Defending the Republic”). (And as Cloudia and Co. are thrown very suddenly into that situation and are also outsiders who are focused on many other things/their own problems, they couldn’t have known/didn’t keep up with everything that led to the June Days anyway.)

With that new knowledge, I rewrote a few things during the second revision. That ranged from adding details like women’s participation in the revolt and the distribution of posters to toning down everything a bit.

I read that “Blood ran in the streets, more even than in the 1830 Revolution” and "June 1848 had unleashed the most sanguinary fighting that had yet been seen on the streets of Paris" and assumed the fighting was at 100% basically from the start. But I also wondered how the insurgents could seize the entire eastern half of Paris within about half a day, considering who they were up against:

Even with the fact that Cavaignac “spent a day bringing in 30,000 regular troops from outside the city, while the rebels constructed their barricades,” that seemed odd to me. And then I read the insurgents were allowed to take the city, and it all made sense.

(From A History of Modern France)

(From Revolutionary Republicanism)

I reduced the number of soldiers and bodies the characters encounter as well as the overall destruction and fights a bit, cutting out sentences here and there, without making it too tame. It was still a messy, bloody fight, just not as much as it would become a few days later. I added Cloudia and Oscar’s conversation about the lone guard during the second revision too; I was sure they would notice that something was just off about the situation.

I also treated the June Days as a “rebellion of despair” first and then set out to correct it. I’ll just put pieces of Revolutionary Republicanism here instead of trying to explain it myself.

(Not that any of this is (much) evident in the chapter anyway.)

All in all, I hope I didn't mess up too much writing this aspect of the chapter.

Others

Rowan calls Oscar’s wife “Trudy Livingstone,” but she was only known as such socially. Trudy never legally took Oscar’s last name and kept her own.

The "star in the corner of the envelope" thing Milton tells Cloudia is something my old pen pal and I used to do! We were each other's only pen pals, but we still did this as a little secret "code." (She's the daughter of the person who inspired Milton's "phantom heart pain when it rains" btw!)

The picture I used for the cover is a map of Paris in 1800. (The site’s next-dated map is 1864. I didn’t look at any while writing the chapter as neither of them is close enough to 1848. They also aren’t easy to read…)

This is the final “running/fighting” chapter. The logistics of Nebulous/Mimes, Locomotive Run, Destruction gnawed at my energy a lot. I’m so happy to be done with them, omg. Now, the “Stuck in Paris” chapters begin! (The June Days last until the 26th, and it’s currently the 23rd. Leaving the city and returning to Nanteuil-la-Forêt isn't the easiest right now, especially with injured people!) No more moving around hectically for a while! Hurrah! (Cedric needs to get Cloudia through the city first, of course…)

[stephensmithuk]

The Resident Patient

Central London is, as I've previously mentioned, small enough you can walk across large parts of it pretty quickly.

The versions in The Strand and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes are slightly different - I will go off the latter.

The train of thought discussion in the latter version was originally from CARD - which was omitted from Memoirs at ACD's own request as he felt it wasn't suitable for younger readers.

Southsea is a seaside resort in the Portsmouth Area - accessible by train from London and also near a large naval base. The railway line would be one of the first main lines electrified in the UK in the 1930s.

London's then population of five million is around half of the modern-day population of nine million; the city has expanded considerably, ate a bunch of the surrounding towns in the process, now has much larger official boundaries and was only stopped from its ravenous consumption by the Green Belt legislation after the Second World War, with official policy moving towards the construction of the "New Towns" further out.

Brook Street is a highly opulent street in the Mayfair area, whose former residents include the Bee Gees and Jimmy Hendrix. The five-star Claridge's is located there and at time of publication, was about to be knocked down and rebuilt.

General Practitioners like Percy Trevelyan remain independent contractors to this day; they were allowed to carry on seeing private patients as well when the NHS was formed basically as a means to get them to agree to the whole thing.

A quick image search for Russian nobility comes up with rather well-fed men. No wonder there was a revolution. Without going into depth on the matter as I'd probably break a Tumblr rule, Blessington's death would not have been quick.

Blessington/Sutton turned what is variously known as "Queen's Evidence" or "King's Evidence" i.e. he got a deal, either a lesser sentence or outright immunity. The term "grass" wasn't around yet, nor was its extension for major informers, "supergrass".

Killing someone in a robbery would generally get you executed right up until the end of capital punishment in 1964, with the last two executions in Great Britain being for the same murder, done simultaneously at two prisons. This year marks sixty years since the Great Train Robbery - most of the robbers got 30 year sentences, but had Jack Mills died of the head injuries he sustained, at least one would have hanged.

[mediumsofmayfair]

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE !!

BORROWED FROM: @radicalrascals.

TAGGING: @opheliaximmortal, @eclipsecrowned, @behindviolenteyes, @sangcreole, @withinycu and @godpyre.

 ✧･ﾟ   𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

► ROWAN, MONA & MERRICK MAYFAIR. 

★  ⸻   GENERAL

Name: Rowan Mayfair | Mona Mayfair | Merrick Mayfair

Alias(es): The thirteenth (13th) witch | Ophelia | practitioner of Vodou

Gender: genderqueer (she/they) | female (she/her) | demi-girl (she/they)

Age: 26+ | 20+ | 24+

Date of Birth: November 7, 1959 | October 24, 1983 | September 20, you do the math

Place of Birth:  NOLA, Garden district | New Orleans, garden district | New Orleans, French quarter

Spoken Language(s): French, English, Telekinesis, ghost/demon conjuring, French Roman Catholic, foresight and spells | French, English, intersectional feminism, telekinesis, ghost/demon conjuring, spells, and ghost hunting | Haitian creole, French, English, aave, ghost/demon conjuring, spells & ghost hunting

Orientation: bi (male lean) | bi (non-discriminating!) | bi (female lean)

Occupation(s):  that’s Miss Doctor Rowan Mayfair, PHD to you! | running the coven of the articulate when Lestat becomes histrionic 🤷‍♀️ | practitioner of Haitian Vodou & Talamasca member

★  ⸻   APPEARANCE

Eye colour: green | blue | brown

Hair colour: blonde (canonically) (black in the TV show) | auburn/red | dark black

Height: 5’8” | 5’0” | 5’4”

Other: the emerald necklace connecting her through a deal her great ancestor, Suzanne Mayfair made to the preternatural ghost/demon Lasher akin to a whip and the sound of the wind. | dresses exceedingly feminine, performing her femininity like a Shakespeare thespian or drag Queen/King. | At minimum Merrick always has a book on hand and a hair accessory in her creole curls.

★  ⸻   FAVORITE

Colour:  purple the queenly kind | baby blue | Mayfair (emerald) green. Song: Rowan | Mona | Merrick

Food: beignets | gumbo | shrimp po’boy

Drink: champagne | wine | bourbon

★  ⸻   HAVE THEY...

Passed university: with above average marks! | no - but more than capable of doing so! | no but only because time never let her

Had sex: yes | yes - perhaps… a lot | yes

Had Sex in Public: no | don’t tempt her sounds thrilling | no

Gotten pregnant/someone else pregnant: yes | no | no

Kissed a boy: yes | yes | yes

Kissed a girl: yes | yes | yes

Gotten tattoos: no | no | no

Gotten piercings: yes | yes | yes (ears for all of the above) Merrick, also pierced her nose

Been in love: yes | yes | yes

Stayed up 24+ hours: yes | yes | no

★  ⸻   ARE THEY...

A virgin: no | no | that’s a colonizer social construct.

A cuddler: yes | yes | no

A kisser: kinda? | yes | depends who you ask

Scared easily: no | no | no

Jealous easily: no | no | yes

Trustworthy: they’re Mayfair women, the answer is collectively no.

Submissive: yes | switch | yes

Dominant: in the mental sense | switch | no

In love: as a whole, not yet, they’d know.

Relationship status: collectively? It’s messy and complicated, of course Quinn Blackwood, Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt count! In that case… taken but complicated. Let us not begin on the family ghost.

★  ⸻   RANDOM QUESTIONS

TW for self-harm/suicide mention.

Have they harmed themselves: yes | not deliberately | (yes in canon) no (in my portrayal)

Thought of suicide/ideated: yes | yes | yes

Attempted suicide: yes | no | yes

Wanted to kill someone: yes but shush | he deserved it! | with good reason

Have/had a job: yes | of a kind | yes

Fears: a family legacy she can’t outrun, Lasher, violent men, the church, the state, and the future and being “enough.” | existential stuff, none of your concern | misogyny, racism, violence, injustice, the burden and blessing of family, and upholding her mothers legacy.

★  ⸻   FAMILY

A mess, that puts the Ptolemaic dynasty to shame.

See here.

On the Mayfairs and Lasher.

Lives of the Mayfair Witches.

Bonus, these threes collective playlist.