#derek bentley

[zyxthstuff]

Christopher Eccleston in Let Him Have It (1991)

[angelic37]

Christopher Eccleston spam → part 19/∞

Let Him Have It. 1991

[nicstylus]

Sceptre of the Ancients

Completed: February 23rd 2024

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: Error of Judgement (2.8, LWT, 1972)

"Well, why didn't Stevens identify this girl?"

"Oh, he said she was only a teenager, he didn't want to create family problems for her."

"You let a man hang because you've got family problems? I take it we did try to find her? This girl?"

"It was up to the defense to produce their own witnesses."

"You didn't even look for her?"

"Look, if we'd been asked to by the defense solicitors, if we'd been directed by a judge, if we'd known who to look for, if we'd had a description - nobody even produced a name for the girl!"

"Therefore she didn't exist."

"Not necessarily."

[munsonsboy]

I don't wanna be a liar I don't wanna be a fool

I don't wanna be a secret but this is something I can't lose

You can leave me in the dark if that's all I get from you

He can be the sun

And I'll be the moon

He can be the sun, I'll be the moon

[moviesandmania]

GODS OF THE DEEP (2023) Review of Charlie Steeds' Lovecraftian sci-fi horror

‘A new depth of fear’ Gods of the Deep is a 2023 sci-fi horror film about a daring submarine mission into a mysterious opening on the ocean floor. The team uncovers a lost underwater world and unwittingly awakens its ancient race of otherworldly beings. Written and directed by Charlie Steeds. The British Dark Temple Motion Pictures-Ace Entertainment Films production stars Derek Nelson, Makenna…

[hotnbloodied]

Hi there could I request a yandere rich boy x gn reader can it also be a smut if you are comfortable.

Fun fact, this will be the first time I've written smut for this blog. I'm not too skilled at it I'll admit so I hope that what I wrote will be good enough for you my dear~

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Yan!Rich Boy X Reader (!!SMUT!!)

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

CW: not proof read, yous/yours used, gn reader, there is SEX, sloppy lewd writing, alcohol, drunk sex, yandere is pretty tame since there is smut. (LMK if I'm missing anything.)

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

You were a business major at a prestigious college, you worked your butt off trying to get as many grants as possible. Even then, you still needed to seek out loans to help you in your class payments. Luckily you knew that if you wanted to take this path you needed to sacrifice a lot to the grind. A loud laughter broke you out of your thoughts, who the fuck is making so much noise in the library? You look over and see him, the ringleader surrounded by all his goonies, making you grimace. Derek, one of the top nepo babies at the college; his parents being owners of big trading companies. Rumors say that last week he couldn’t decide on either to get a Ferrari or a Lamborghini so he got both.

Laughter rang through the library again, why were they doing this here? There are literal private rooms they could rent if they really wanted a hang out place. Since you were a commuting student you didn’t have a place like a dorm to study in between classes that’s why you had to use the library. You couldn’t sit back and not say anything anymore so you walked up to the small group. “Hey, I’m sorry to be asking this,” why should you be the one that’s sorry you thought, but whatever, “I’m just trying to study and you guys are being just a little loud.” You look at each of their faces finally landing on Derek last looking at him in the eyes. His eyes widen and a cheeky smile spreads on his features again, “sure, if I can have your number.” You laugh slightly because you thought he was joking but he doesn’t laugh along with you so you gulp and take out your phone. After the exchange he leads his friends out of the library with him.

The next day after your classes you were in the library studying again. You noticed that someone sat down beside you and came face to face with Derek. “Hi,” he says with a smirk, “what are you doing?” You looked at him, confused, “I’m studying.” “Is it fun?” You scoff, “no, I wouldn’t say it’s much fun. But I can’t let my GPA drop so I gotta do it.” Your stomach growls, loud enough to be heard making you blush. Derek laughs at you, “come on, a bookworm still needs to eat right?” You were confused but packed up your things and followed him out to the parking lot where he pressed his keys and the lights to a Bentley lit up. What about the Ferrari or Lamborghini you heard about? Like reading your mind he said, “I like Bentley for everyday use.” He opened the passenger door for you as you sheepishly went in. The drive was surprisingly pleasant, the weather was cool and he had the windows down with the radio playing the popular songs, singing along to them making you laugh and sing along too. Your anxiety was raised again when you two arrived at what seems to be a restaurant with valet parking.

“Why are we here?” You ask while nipping at your fingers. He looked at you confused, “for dinner of course.” “I, uh, can’t afford something like this,” you said with a blush. His confusion turns into a chuckle, “dude what? My treat of course, come on.” He led you in and the host brought you two to a private room. You glance at the menu but don’t see any of the price tags, only stuff like aged wagyu. He looks at how you squirm and smiles, your range of emotions have entertained him since yesterday when you first looked at him. You were so different from him, constantly on the move, taking everything so seriously. What did it look like when you came undone? He was determined to find out.

He orders for the both of you and makes small talk to learn more about you, each word captivates him and makes him realize how oddly charismatic you were. (He’s already in delulu land) Each back and forth feels so genuine and like a breath of fresh air to him and the best part is that you would look at him when talking to him. When the food arrives you light up after each bite, never did your broke ass think you’d even taste food like this. And don’t forget the wine, you might have gone a little too far with it. He helped you back to his car and started driving, you had the window down and your head stuck slightly out and in the zone to notice that you never asked him where he was going.

He was bringing you to his place, leading you inside to his room, you crawled into his bed giggling. He gets in bed and hovers over your intoxicated form. “Hey, this isn’t my bed,” you slur slightly. “You’re cute,” he says. You giggle some more and boop his nose with your finger. He leans in and kisses you, you sigh as you wrap your arms around him and return the kiss. His hands start to roam and grope your body, with the help of the alcohol your skin feels extra sensitive making you whimper. “You like that?” He asks as he breaks the kiss to have a taste of your neck, licking and sucking with sloppy wet sounds echoing through the room making you moan out his name. “We’re just getting started darling.” He reaches down to your entrance, “look at you, you’re so excited to take me.” He slowly works one finger, then two into your entrance, the slow rhythm gets you worked up and you beg for more. Derek sighs dreamily, this is different when other people ask him for things. He wants to give you the world if you let him. He slips his fingers out of you and you whine more. “Don’t worry, you’ll be filled soon,” he slides his pants down and his girth springs up making your mouth water. You’re grinding against his shaft and it sends a shiver down his spine. He holds your hips in place so he can line himself up to your opening and slowly pushes in. You gasp as he enters, you feel so full and he did everything not to just ram it into you. You both fell into a rhythm, the sounds of skin slapping, whimpers and moans resounded through the room. You returned the favor and sucked on his neck and teased his nipples which got him worked up and he took your legs and pounded you in a mating press, the amount of pressure was dizzying and you found yourself being drowned in pleasure about to release. Your toes curl as you orgasm and he follows sooner after. You pass out and he looks at your sleeping form with his fluids leaking out of you. As much as he wants to keep you marked he gets a towel and wipes you and himself down before snuggling next to you.

Has he known peace like this before? His eyelids grew heavy as he listened to your steady breathing beside him. He was already convinced that you were the one meant for him, his one and only. He’ll take care of you from now on and he’ll do everything you ask of him. Derek didn’t even consider the fact that you might say no, because in his head he was going to make you his and it was your choice of either heaven or hell.

[neil-gaiman]

Not an ask but a HUGE secret thank you. At the British Library on Tuesday, Rob chatted to me before everyone else arrived, and when he saw my coffee cup I'd been given on the set tour, which I'd got Derek Jacobi to sign for me, Rob very VERY kindly asked if I'd like him to take it to ask you to sign it as well. I hadn't wanted to ask myself, as the event email had said you wouldn't be signing anything that night. He also even MORE kindly offered to ask if you might sign my occult edition book as well. I just wanted to thank you SO much for doing so, it really made my day! The print of the Bentley ink drawing I did I wanted to give you, as it was Good Omens that inspired me to learn how to draw. I did that back in 2020, and the stickers are ones I drew after I became more accomplished. As a final note, when David Tennant signed the book in huge letters right under the title, he said "I'm going to write it there like I've written it, I feel like Neil would approve of that." Anyway, thank you for everything, and also for making me cry as well as laugh reminiscing about Terry.

You're so very very welcome. It was a magical event. I kept expecting Terry to come up on the stage.

[eludin-realm]

Character Name Ideas (Male)

So I've been browsing through BehindTheName (great resource!) recently and have compiled several name lists. Here are some names, A-Z, that I like. NOTE: If you want to use any of these please verify sources, meanings etc, I just used BehindTheName to browse and find all of these. Under the cut:

A: Austin, Aiden, Adam, Alex, Angus, Anthony, Archie, Argo, Ari, Aric, Arno, Atlas, August, Aurelius, Alexei, Archer, Angelo, Adric, Acarius, Achilou, Alphard, Amelian, Archander B: Bodhi, Bastian, Baz, Beau, Beck, Buck, Basil, Benny, Bentley, Blake, Bowie, Brad, Brady, Brody, Brennan, Brent, Brett, Brycen C: Cab, Cal, Caden, Cáel, Caelan, Caleb, Cameron, Chase, Carlos, Cooper, Carter, Cas, Cash, Cassian, Castiel, Cedric, Cenric, Chance, Chandler, Chaz, Chad, Chester, Chet, Chip, Christian, Cillian, Claude, Cicero, Clint, Cody, Cory, Coy, Cole, Colt, Colton, Colin, Colorado, Colum, Conan, Conrad, Conway, Connor, Cornelius, Creed, Cyneric, Cynric, Cyrano, Cyril, Cyrus, Crestian, Ceric D: Dallas, Damien, Daniel, Darach, Dash, Dax, Dayton, Denver, Derek, Des, Desmond, Devin, Dewey, Dexter, Dietrich, Dion, Dmitri, Dominic, Dorian, Douglas, Draco, Drake, Drew, Dudley, Dustin, Dusty, Dylan, Danièu E: Eadric, Evan, Ethan, Easton, Eddie, Eddy, Einar, Eli, Eilas, Eiljah, Elliott, Elton, Emanuel, Emile, Emmett, Enzo, Erik, Evander, Everett, Ezio F: Faolán, Faron, Ferlin, Felix, Fenrir, Fergus, Finley, Finlay, Finn, Finnian, Finnegan, Flint, Flip, Flynn, Florian, Forrest, Fritz G: Gage, Gabe, Grady, Grant, Gray, Grayson, Gunnar, Gunther, Galahad H: Hale, Harley, Harper, Harvey, Harry, Huey, Hugh, Hunter, Huxley I: Ian, Ianto, Ike, Inigo, Isaac, Isaias, Ivan, Ísak J: Jack, Jacob, Jake, Jason, Jasper, Jax, Jay, Jensen, Jed, Jeremy, Jeremiah, Jesse, Jett, Jimmie, Jonas, Jonas, Jonathan, Jordan, Josh, Julien, Jovian, Jun, Justin, Joseph, Joni, K: Kaden, Kai, Kale, Kane, Kaz, Keane, Keaton, Keith, Kenji, Kenneth, Kent, Kevin, Kieran, Kip, Knox, Kris, Kristian, Kyle, Kay, Kristján, Kristófer L: Lamont, Lance, Landon, Lane, Lars, László, Laurent, Layton, Leander, Leif, Leo, Leonidas, Leopold, Levi, Lewis, Louie, Liam, Liberty, Lincoln, Linc, Linus, Lionel, Logan, Loki, Lucas, Lucian, Lucio, Lucky, Luke, Luther, Lyall, Lycus, Lykos, Lyle, Lyndon, Llewellyn, Landri, Laurian, Lionç M: Major, Manny, Manuel, Marcus, Mason, Matt, Matthew, Matthias, Maverick, Maxim, Memphis, Midas, Mikko, Miles, Mitch, Mordecai, Mordred, Morgan, Macari, Maïus, Maxenci, Micolau, Miro N: Nate, Nathan, Nathaniel, Niall, Nico, Niels, Nik, Noah, Nolan, Niilo, Nikander, Novak, O: Oakley, Octavian, Odin, Orlando, Orrick, Ǫrvar, Othello, Otis, Otto, Ovid, Owain, Owen, Øyvind, Ozzie, Ollie, Oliver, Onni P: Paisley, Palmer, Percival, Percy, Perry, Peyton, Phelan, Phineas, Phoenix, Piers, Pierce, Porter, Presley, Preston, Pacian Q: Quinn, Quincy, Quintin R: Ragnar, Raiden, Ren, Rain, Rainier, Ramos, Ramsey, Ransom, Raul, Ray, Roy, Reagan, Redd, Reese, Rhys, Rhett, Reginald, Remiel, Remy, Ridge, Ridley, Ripley, Rigby, Riggs, Riley, River, Robert, Rocky, Rokas, Roman, Ronan, Ronin, Romeo, Rory, Ross, Ruairí, Rufus, Rusty, Ryder, Ryker, Rylan, Riku, Roni S: Sammie, Sammy, Samuel, Samson, Sanford, Sawyer, Scout, Seán, Seth, Sebastian, Seymour, Shane, Shaun, Shawn, Sheldon, Shiloh, Shun, Sid, Sidney, Silas, Skip, Skipper, Skyler, Slade, Spencer, Spike, Stan, Stanford, Sterling, Stevie, Stijn, Suni, Sylvan, Sylvester T: Tab, Tad, Tanner, Tate, Tennessee, Tero, Terrance, Tevin, Thatcher, Tierno, Tino, Titus, Tobias, Tony, Torin, Trace, Trent, Trenton, Trev, Trevor, Trey, Troy, Tripp, Tristan, Tucker, Turner, Tyler, Ty, Teemu U: Ulric V: Valerius, Valor, Van, Vernon, Vespasian, Vic, Victor, Vico, Vince, Vinny, Vincent W: Wade, Walker, Wallis, Wally, Walt, Wardell, Warwick, Watson, Waylon, Wayne, Wes, Wesley, Weston, Whitley, Wilder, Wiley, William, Wolfe, Wolfgang, Woody, Wulfric, Wyatt, Wynn X: Xander, Xavier Z: Zachary, Zach, Zane, Zeb, Zebediah, Zed, Zeke, Zeph, Zaccai

[soapster13]

I need help finding Cabaret West End audios/videos

Looking for:

*Cabaret with Aimee Lou Wood and John McCrea

*Cabaret with Callum Scott Howells and Madeline Brewer

Cabaret with Fra Fee and Amy Florence Lennox

Cabaret with Adam Lambert and Auli’i Cravalho

* = most wanted

I have to trade: (all are audios)

Wicked (West End): November 2023, Alexia Khadime as Elphaba, Lisa-Anne Wood u/s Glinda

Six (West End): May 2024, featuring 3 alternates: Hannah Lowther as Howard, Naomi Alade as Boleyn, Gabriella Stylianou as Seymour. Main cast: Nikki Bentley as Aragon, Reca Oakley as Cleves, Janiq Charles as Parr

Romeo & Juliet (West End): May 2024, Tom Holland as Romeo and Francesca Amewudah-Rivers as Juliet

Rogers & Hammerstein 80th Anniversary Concert: My Favorite Things: December 2023, featuring: Aaron Tveit, Joanna Ampil, Michael Ball, Maria Friedman, Daniel Dae Kim, Audra McDonald, Julien Ovenden, Lucy St. James, Marisha Wallace, Patrick Wilson. Special Guests: Andrew Lloyd Webber and Rita Moreno

Les Misérables (West End): April 2024, Milan van Waardenburg as Jean Valjean, Stewart Clark as Javert

Cabaret (West End): February 2024, Cara Delevingne as Sally Bowles and Luke Treadaway as the Emcee

Cabaret (Broadway): Eddie Redmayne as the Emcee, Gayle Rankin as Sally Bowles, Bebe Neuwirth as Fraulein Schneider

Hadestown (West End): May 2024, Dónal Finn as Orpheus, Grace Hodgett Young as Eurydice and Melanie La Barrie as Hermes

Hadestown (Broadway): July 2024, Jordan Fisher as Orpheus and Maia Reficco as Eurydice

A multitude of Moulin Rouge Audios

Moulin Rouge (West End): Jamie Muscato’s Last show (Oct 14, 2023)

Jamie Muscato in Moulin Rouge September 2024 (good quality audio)

U/S Christian Davide Fienauri May 2024

Dom Simpson as Christian November 2023

Broadway Moulin rouge

Aaron Tveit, Natalie Mendoza May 2022

Derek Klena and Tasia Jungbauer as Satine May 2023

Misc Moulin Rouge

Boston 2019 with Aaron Tveit as Christian and Karen Olivo as Satine

Tour: Connor Ryan as Christian

Please please let me know if you have any Cabaret west end audios/videos!! 🫶🫶

[scrapheapchallenge]

"Just Neil Gaiman being wholesome again" but also Rob Wilkins being extra wholesome too! On Tuesday evening I went to this talk https://living-knowledge-network.co.uk/library/the-worlds-of-terry-pratchett By Rob Wilkins and Neil Gaiman.

Neil was co-author of "Good Omens" with Sir Terry Pratchett, and they collaborrated on many other books together here and there, just not sharing co-author status too - read this article for more info: http://www.elizabethcallaway.net/good-omens-stylometry?fbclid=IwAR2hVnd8aTYFBZqphk8SzYt8j1NucBl5mUxbDscF3kljQ9Bpuq2leUW2S6I Confirmed by Neil yet again on Tuesday.

Rob Wilkins was Terry's PA, and now manages his estate, as his representative. He also wrote "A life in footnotes" - the official biography of Terry.

On Tuesday evening, I arrived at the British Library very early, and was guided up to the Piggot Theatre lobby to wait by a security person, so I was there before anyone else, including Rob. All the staff were absolutely lovely. When they noticed there weren't any gaps for wheelchair spaces in the audotorium, facilities engineers were summoned and made short work of unbolting a set of 3 seats to make a wheelchair space for myself and another wheelchair user who turned up later.

Then Rob turned up, carrying a mannequin, Terry's leather jacket, scarf, hat, and other stuff.

Now the email we recieved before the event said that Neil wouldn't have time to do any signings that evening, although they didn't mention Rob, so I asked him if he might be able to sign my copy of "a life in footnotes".

He happily said yes, and once he'd sorted his things out, he came back out to chat to me for a while and OMG he was the loveliest person EVER!

I gave him a print I'd signed of my ink portrait of the Bentley, and some stickers of my other Bentley illustrations, and he said "WAIT! I have presents for you too! I'll be right back!" Then rushed off to the green room. (Below are the ink portrait, then I gave him small stickers of the "this is fine" flaming Bentley - which I was also wearing on my t-shirt that day - and my most recent digital portrait of Crowley and the Bentley - and yes it is all hand drawn, not a photo manipulation, feel free to zoom in. A couple of years separate these 3 drawings and I'd been working hard on learning photorealism.)

He came back and gave me Terry and Neil badges, which he explained you only get if you meet them in person. I had met Terry (and incidentally Rob as well) years ago at a book signing, plus I met Neil, albeit briefly, on Tuesday as he came through the lobby and said hello.

He was happy to chat and especially about cars, which he also loves. He confirmed that I was 100% correct about the "2 whole cars and a cab for CGI" between seasons 1 and 2, and that the interior colour change is nothing to do with plot it legitimately is just continuity errors if they forgot to cover the new Bentley's new seats with covers matching the old Bentley's orange ones. (The cab only also has orange leather seats).

When I told him about this year's RREC (Rolls Royce Enthusiast's Club - also for Bentleys) Christmas card design, he was delighted, and asked to take a photo of the image I had of one on my phone because he wants to order some as well.

I showed him my re-usable coffee cup from "give me coffee or give me death" which we were given on the set tour, and which I had Sir Derek Jacobi sign at a comic con the other week. Rob thought that was wonderful, and then did something extra sweet...

He asked me "if you're ok trusting me with this for a little while, would you like me to sneak it back to the green room to ask Neil to sign it for you as well? Then I'll come and find you afterwards to give it back again."

HELL YES! I couldn't believe it! I hadn't wanted to ask because we'd been told that Neil wouldn't be signing things due to lack of time, so for Rob to spontaneously make the offer was not something I was expecting. He did also take my Occult Edition of Good Omens to ask if Neil would sign that as well.

I didn't fully expect that he would, and was prepared for him to come back later and say "sorry he was too busy", and that would have been fine, but no: Neil DID sign them both!

Neil writing "burn this (big fancy) book!" was a spin on how Terry used to sign copies of Good Omens: "burn this book" - which is actually embossed on the rear cover of this edition.

Later, Rob also signed it for me, as did Colin Smythe, who was Terry's publisher and lifelong friend.

We were sitting at the front, only about 7 or 8 feet from Neil, the talk was wonderful, we laughed, we cried a little, and Terry was with us in the form of the mannequin with his jacket, scarf, and hat (which are also on set of Good Omens at all times while filming, and also even during rehersals/table reads - so he's always present.)

Rob is honestly so bloody wholesome, he was hugging a lot of people, and ever so sweet, taking time to chat to other people as the venue filled up, and stayed behind to sign things and talk to other folks as well.

I also got to chat to Dr Pat Harkin and Dr Jan Clarke, who were the researchers who spent months of hard work tracking down Terry's lost short stories in the national archives in Boston Spa, which were released in a compliation book "A stroke of the pen." If I'd known that they'd be there as well, I'd have taken that book and asked them to sign it too. They were in the audience and sitting next to us with Colin Smythe. I was truly surrounded by Pratchett royalty, and everyone, without exception, was SO friendly and lovely.

I had done two prints of the Bentley drawing and stickers, for Rob and for Neil, in case I got chance to give them to them, and when I gave Rob his, I said I had some for Neil as well, and again, he OFFERED to take them to give them to Neil for me.

Although I didn't get chance to thank Neil in person, I wanted to reach out to let him know I was very grateful for his kindness as well, so sent him a message via his "ask" channel, although not with an expectaction of reply - just for him to see privately and know that I was appreciative. But he chose to actually publish it as a public reply, which was lovely of him. I hadn't wanted to thank him publicly just in case he didn't want others to know that he had signed some items after all. I'd been expecting to have to wait until he did a proper public appearance with signing at a comic con or something - although with him living in the USA, not the UK, I may have had to wait a long time.

So I guess the answer is to getting an autograph - turn up 2 hours early, and be very VERY nice and polite to Rob Wilkins 😅 (but also don't expect results - I didn't, it just sort of happened).

[zyxthstuff]

Christopher Eccleston in Let Him Have It (1991)

[angelic37]

Christopher Eccleston spam → part 39/∞

Let Him Have It. 1991

[johnkatsmc5]

Jeff St. John The Id ‎"Big Time Operators" 1967 + Jeff St. John ‎"So Far So Good"1978 + Jeffrey St. John* & The Embers "Will The Real Jeff St. John Please Stand Up" 2001 +  Jeff St. John & Michael Gray "The Invisible Years Volumes 1 & 2" 2007 +  Jeff St. John "Rare and Live: 1966 - 1985" 2016 Compilation, Australia Prog,Psych,Garage,Beat,R & B,Soul,Funk,Blue Eyed Soul

full spotify

https://open.spotify.com/album/2mjlnVKPHmr71ZCK3OQmSb

https://open.spotify.com/album/0UW3ICipOWAM5nv66Ou91k

https://open.spotify.com/album/5EyzkRihrFdQkMuJnR8mIK

https://open.spotify.com/album/6PASUMa62EL55pfC5H9MAB

Jeff St. John "Rare and Live: 1966 - 1985" 2016 Compilation full mixcloud

https://www.mixcloud.com/johnkatsmc5/jeff-st-john-rare-and-live-1966-1985-2016-compilationaustralia-progpsychgaragebeatr-bsoul/

Groups The Syndicate aka The Wild Oats (1965)

Jeff St John (lead vocals) Peter Anson (guitar) David Bentley (organ) Shane Duckham (harmonica) John Helman (bass) Don McCormack (drums) The Id (1966-67)

Jeff St John (lead vocals) Peter Anson (guitar) Bob Bertles (tenor sax '67) King Fisher (trumpet) John Helman (bass) Bruce Johnson (tenor sax, flute) Don McCormack (drums 1967) Dave Montgomery (drums 1966) Ian Walsh (organ) Jeff St John & Yama (1967-68)

Derek Brooks (?, 68) Ross East (guitar, vocals) Virgil East (bass) Allan English (sax) Peter Figures (drums) Lloyd Hardy (?, 68) Murray Hill (sax, flute) Keith Jenkins (trumpet) Wayne ‘Groove’ Myers (organ) John Phillips (?, 68) Jeff St John & Copperwine (1969-72)

Jeff St John (lead vocals) Harry Brus (bass 70-72) Ross East (guitar, vocals) Peter Figures (drums) Alan Ingram (bass, vocals 69-70) Barry Kelly (keyboards, vocals) Glyn Mason (vocals, guitar) 1972 Wendy Saddington (co-lead vocals 70-71) Phil Wooding (guitar 69) Jeff St John Band (1972-73)

Jeff St John (lead vocals) Tony Ansell (piano) Ron Barry (guitar, vocals) Peter Figures (drums) B. J. (bass) Red Cloud (1975-76)

Jeff St John (lead vocals) Neil Bamford (drums) Tony Lyon (bass) Russell Moran (guitar)

Jeff St. John The Id "Big Time Operators" 1967

Tracklist 1 The Id (4)– You Got Me Hummin' 2 The Id (4)– Papa's Got A Brand New Bag 3 The Id (4)– If I Had A Ticket 4 The Id (4)– In The Midnight Hour 5 The Id (4)– Big Time Operator 6 The Id (4)– Watch Out 7 The Id (4)– Tag 8 The Id (4)– Sister's Got A Boy Friend 9 The Id (4)– Devil Got My Woman 10 The Id (4)– Feel Awright 11 The Id (4)– How Much Pressure (Do You Think I Can Stand) 12 The Id (4)– Parchman Farm 13 The Id (4)– The Jerk Bonus Tracks – Mono Singles 1966/67 14 The Id (4)– Lindy Lou (Single A-Side As The Id) 15 The Id (4)– Somebody To Love (Single B-Side) 16 Geoff St. John & The Id*– The Jerk (Single A-Side As Geoff St. John And The Id) 17 Geoff St. John & The Id*– Take This Hurt Off Me (Single B-Side) 18 Jeff St. John And The Id– Black Girl (Single A-Side As Jeff St. John And The Id) 19 Jeff St. John And The Id– Eastern Dream (Single B-Side) 20 The Id (4) Featuring Jeff St. John– Sunoroid '67 Vocal (Single A-Side As The Id Featuring Jeff St. John) 21 The Id (4)– Sunoroid '67 Instrumental (Single B-Side) 22 Jeff St. John And The Yama*– Nothing Comes Easy (Single A-Side As Jeff St. John And The Yama) 23 Jeff St. John And The Yama*– Everybody's Gone (Rode Away On Horses) (Single B-Side) 24 The Id (4) Featuring Jeff St. John– Stupidity (Live, The Id Featuring Jeff St. John)

Jeff St. John "So Far So Good"1978

Credits Backing Vocals – Alison McCallum* (tracks: A2, A4, B2, B3, B4), Cheryl Black (tracks: A2, A4, B2, B3, B4), Janice Slater (tracks: A2, A4, B2, B3, B4), Jeff St. John, Kerry Miles (tracks: A1), Sharon Sims (tracks: A1) Bass – Barry Sullivan (tracks: A1), Jim Rattray (tracks: B5), John Young (17) (tracks: B1 - B3), Tim Partridge (tracks: A2 - A5,) Drums, Percussion – Steve Hopes Guitar – Peter Walker (tracks: A1, A3, A5, B1 - B4), Tim Piper (tracks: A2) Horns – Bob Bertles (tracks: B1 - B3, B5) Keyboards – Rex Bullen Piano – Tony Ansell (tracks: B4) Tracklist A1 Rock 'N' Roll Man A2 Love Is Forever (What Do You Think Of A Love Like That) A3 Starbrite A4 Hold On A5 Redneck Friend B1 High Life B2 I Can Heal You B3 The Dreamer B4 Putting My Heart On The Line B5 Fool In Love

Jeffrey St. John & The Embers "Will The Real Jeff St. John Please Stand Up" 2001

Tracklist 1 Some Enchanted Evening 2 Lullaby Of Broadway 3 Embraceable You 4 (I've Got My) Love To Keep Me Warm 5 Lullaby Of Birdland 6 One For My Baby (One For The Road) 7 Misty 8 Fascinatin' Rhythm 9 People Will Say We're In Love 10 S'Wonderful 11 You Can't Do That 12 Birth Of The Blues

Jeff St. John & Michael Gray "The Invisible Years Volumes 1 & 2" 2007

Tracklist 1-1 Sign Up 1-2 Share 1-3 Free Again 1-4 In The Absence Of A Miracle 1-5 Armageddon Mechanica (Cookout At Substation One) 1-6 I Am A Bell 1-7 In Love Again (For The Very First Time) 1-8 The Price Of Freedom 1-9 The New Centurions 1-10 Love 1-11 The River 1-12 Fan The Flame 1-13 Babe 1-14 Time's A Thief 1-15 Denying My Music 1-16 True Love 1-17 It's Alright 1-18 Movers And Shakers 1-19 Home Tonight 1-20 Racin' 1-21 Breathe 2-1 Olympia 2-2 The Last Jaunts 2-3 Sunday Jaunts 2-4 Flying Too Close To The Sun 2-5 Lost In Your Eyes 2-6 In Love Again 2-7 Midnight Rain 2-8 Love Won't Die 2-9 Dare 2-10 Dark Angel 2-11 How Can You Love Again (If You Don't Let Go) 2-12 I Think We've Fallen In Love 2-13 Racin' 2-14 Sign Up 2-15 Rainbow

Jeff St. John "Rare and Live: 1966 - 1985" 2016 Compilation

Track Listing 01 Introduction On Bandstand (00:46) 02 The Work Song (03:38) 03 It's Gonna Work Out Fine (02:43) 04 Stupidity (02:48) 05 Humming Bird (04:40) 06 Teach Me How To Fly (02:17) 07 Peter Figure's Drum Solo (03:39) 08 Days To Come (03:06) 09 Teach Me How To Fly #2 (04:20) 10 The New Centurions (Poem) (02:16) 11 Only A Woman Like You (05:42) 12 I Can Hardly Wait For Summer (03:59) 13 Introduction (00:59) 14 Big Time Operator (02:38) 15 Sandman (04:20)

Discography

Singles Jan. 1966 "Lindy Lou" / "Somebody To Love" (Spin EK-1220) Apr. 1966 "The Jerk" / "Take This Hurt Off Me" (Spin EK-1328) July. 1966 "Black Girl" / "Eastern Dream" (Spin EK-1446) Dec. 1966 "Big Time Operator" / "Sister's Got A Boyfriend" (Spin EK-1606) Apr. 1967 "You Got Me Hummin'" / "Watch Out" (Spin EK-1730) Oct. 1967 "Nothing Comes Easy" / "Everybody's Gone" (Spin EK-2016) Feb. 1970 "Cloud Nine" / "Days To Come" (Spin EK-3576) Nov. 1970 "Teach Me How To Fly" / "Freedom Blues" (Chart CR-214) Aug. 1971 "Hummingbird" / "Keep On Growing" (Infinity INK 4365) Oct. 1972 "Yesterday's Music" / "In The Window Of Your Love" (Infinity INK-4852) Apr. 1973 "Yesterday's Music" / "Lady Of Ginger" (A&M (US release) May 1975 "Mr Jones" / "Acapulco Lady" (Infinity) Oct. 1975 "Blood Brother" / "Reach Out And Touch Me" (Infinity) EPs Feb 1967 Big Time Operator (Spin) May 1967 You Got Me Hummin' (Spin) May 1970 Sing A Simple Song (Spin) Albums March 1967 Big Time Operators (Spin) March 1970 Joint Effort (Spin) Available on CD with bonus tracks, through Vicious Sloth Jan. 1971 Wendy Saddington & Copperwine Live (Infinity) (recorded without Jeff St John) 1972 The Best Of Jeff St John (Spin) May 1974 Jeff St John Live (Infinity) 1977 Survivor 1965-1975 (Infinity) Compilations The 3-CD reissue of So You Wanna Be A Rock ‘n' Roll Star (Spin D89931, 1998), features remastered recordings of the Id's "Lindy Lou", Yama's "Nothing Comes Easy" and Copperwine's "Cloud Nine". Golden Miles – Australian Progressive Rock 1969-1974 (Raven RVCD 39) includes "Fanciful Flights Of Mind", from Copperwine's studio album. A live recording of Copperwine's "Hummingbird" is included on the various artists' compilation CD of Hoadley's Battle Of The Sounds performances, Live, Loud And Sweaty!, put out by Canetoad 

Jeff St. John ‎ “Jeff St. John Live"1974 Australia Rock Soul,Funk

Jeff St. John “Survivor” 1965-75: 1977 Compilation Australia Psych,Funk,Soul,Blues Rock

Jeff St. Copperwine. “Joint Effort” LP Spin Label 1970 Australia Prog Psych

Jeff St. John The Id ‎"Big Time Operators" 1967 + Jeff St. John ‎"So Far So Good"1978 + Jeffrey St. John* & The Embers "Will The Real Jeff St. John Please Stand Up" 2001 +  Jeff St. John & Michael Gray "The Invisible Years Volumes 1 & 2" 2007 +  Jeff St. John "Rare and Live: 1966 - 1985" 2016 Compilation, Australia Prog,Psych,Garage,Beat,R & B,Soul,Funk,Blue Eyed Soul

https://johnkatsmc5.tumblr.com/post/771922763164401664/jeff-st-john-the-id-big-time-operators-1967

[okimargarvez]

Door phone

My favorite ships in one building.

101- John JD Dorian & Elliot Reid (Scrubs)

201- Luke Alvez & Penelope Garcia (Criminal Minds)

102- Eddie Thomas & Raven Baxter (Raven)

202- Shaun Murphy & Lea Dilallo (The Good Doctor)

103- Ned Bigby & Jennifer Moze Mosely (Ned's Declassified School Survival Guide)

203- Anthony Dinozzo & Caitlin Todd (NCIS)

104- Ted Mosby & Robin Scherbatsky (How I Met Your Mother)

204- Eric Delko & Calleigh Duquesne (CSI: Miami)

105- Chad Cooper & Sonny Munroe (Sonny With A Chance)

205- Gil Grisson & Sara Sidle (CSI: Crime Scene Investigation)

106- Eli Joker & Ria Torres (Lie To Me)

206- Jim Clancy & Melinda Gordon (Ghost Whisperer)

107- Jack Parker & Amanda Bentley (Diagnosis Murder)

207- Max Miller & Naomi Clark (90210)

108- Matias Beltran & Patito Castro Diaz Rivarola (Patito Feo)

208- Derek Venturi & Casey McDonald (Life WIth Derek)

Other pic posts

Note: most of these ships are my favorite when I was little.

[jotun-philosopher]

Fallen!Az story possibilities

These are a few possibilities my brain's produced, story-wise, since I fully absorbed @vidavalor's incredibly well-grounded, well-thought-out, terrifyingly plausible and convincing theory that Derek Jacobi is in fact playing Satan in The Final Fifteen, and what we're seeing there is Aziraphale heading for a Fall. As with my 'narrative clothesline' fic from a while back, I kinda doubt the events described herein will actually occur in S3, but they're images and possibilities that my brain really likes, and they're interesting to write! ^^ This fic is sort of a structural inversion of the other one; where the clothesline has a very small bit of branching near the end that doesn't really affect anything much, this one has three large branches at the start, with the branch selected noticeably impacting the context/vibe of the convergence point and subsequent events -- pick whichever branch you prefer :)

Content warning: torture (some implied, some shown), some injury description/detail, some graphic violence, immolation, trauma, references to Satan's attacks on Crowley + scene of Aziraphale experiencing same (Satan quickly regrets it)

Option 1: delayed self-rescue

A couple of months or so after the absolute clusterfudge of the morning after the Meeting Ball, Crowley is in Tadfield, sprawled on a bench with the Bentley parked nearby, brooding so ferociously that all the snow in a radius of about three feet has fled in self-defence. Through the haze of sadness and confusion, there's something nagging at him about that morning, something he feels he's missed, like a bit of food stuck in his teeth that he can't quite get to.

While he's musing and probing at the mystery, a chorus of youthful voices starts nearby. Recognising them, Crowley turns his attention to the speakers just as Adam Young asks his friends in tones of worried faux-unconcern about whether it's possible to remember things that happened when you were a few hours old.

Crowley tries to master the sudden nausea and palpitations.

Adam elaborates that he had a strange dream the previous night -- it felt more like a memory, really -- about being in a basket on the back seat of an old car while evil smoke came out of the radio and attacked the driver. He feels suddenly very, very certain that this very stylish vintage Bentley they're looking at is the car from the dream, and that something like what happened at the airbase all those years ago might be brewing.

Crowley waits until the Them have wandered away, debating about whether to ask Anathema about it all, then stiffly and calmly stands up, walks around the Bentley, climbs in, starts the engine, drives slowly and carefully out of the village to a lane running next to a snow-blanketed field, parks, climbs out, walks a little way into the field, falls to his knees and proceeds to have a violent screaming meltdown as past trauma clashes with sudden realisation.

A small distance to his right, the snow suddenly fountains into the air and disgorges a bloodied figure...

[rewinding effect followed by clever camera effect showing a descent into Hell]

Chained to a wall in Hell is a familiar figure, clothed in the ragged remnants of a black robe, his white hair almost luminous in the gloom of Hell -- at least, such of it as is a) still attached and b) visible through the blood. In the two months since Heaven stole his memories and cast him down, Aziraphale has furiously resisted all attempts to break him into compliance and force a new identity upon him, spitting defiance and insisting upon his name (which was spoken aloud in his presence multiple times between his climbing out of the boiling sulphur and Satan attempting to begin on-boarding procedures). That name is one of the few things he's currently sure of; the others are that he needs to be somewhere that is most certainly not here, and that he cannot let anyone around him know just how close he is to breaking.

Having spent eons away from Heaven and consequently become out-of-practice in dealing with the sheer bloody-minded stubbornness of Principalities, Satan decides in frustration to take particularly drastic measures. Invading Aziraphale's mind (in the way he so often did to Crowley), he forces him to shapeshift into the animalistic form he should have gained upon Falling. Chains shattering, Aziraphale does indeed change shape -- into a huge and ferocious lion. This violation and compelled change *technically* break Aziraphale's resolve, but in such a way that, instead of meek compliance, he instead taps into a reservoir of millennia-worth of repressed anger that he'd locked down so hard that Heaven's memory wipe passed it by.

Satan in his hubris starts contemplating ways to show off this impressive new prize to Heaven and the turncoat Crowley. He is shocked out of this train of thought when a monumentally enraged lion!Aziraphale violently disembowels him, takes several chunks out of members of the Dark Council who didn't duck quickly enough, and charges for an exit, seriously scratching the Archangel Michael, who's stepped down to Hell to see how they're getting on with their indubitably troublesome captive.

A contingent of Erics and other lower-ranked demons, having been braced for something like this ever since Aziraphale's Fall, try to point Aziraphale in the direction of a route to Earth. Luckily for them, Az is at this point solely focused on escape, so they remain uninjured while he charges to freedom, emerging in a snow-covered field and immediately dragging himself towards a very loud red-and-black blur while shifting back to his usual form.

There's something that feels so very important and comfortable and safe and right about this cacophonous blur -- it's more or less the only thing that Aziraphale is certain of right now, so much so that he keeps dragging himself onward despite his accumulated injuries and the unwinding fatigue of unceasing psychological vigilance. When the sobbing blur has resolved itself into a long-limbed, red-haired figure within arms' reach, Aziraphale shakily reaches out with a hug and rests his forehead on a conveniently placed shoulder.

Crowley is understandably startled by this unexpected contact, having a few moments of wriggling, twitching, coughing and spluttering while this mysterious apparition hugs him closer and gently keels over. He shifts around just enough to see who's holding him, and promptly bluescreens at the sight of Aziraphale's Fallen and injured state.

Once Crowley.exe has rebooted enough for some manner of coherent thought -- even if it's just 'Fallen? Aziraphale... No... Protect... Angel... Mine...' and similar -- the shell-shocked serpent manages to stagger to his feet, haul a semiconscious Aziraphale partially onto his shoulders and half-drag, half-carry him back to the Bentley, keeping up a constant stream of muttered reassurance ("Tha's it, angel, keep going, jus' a bit more, nearly there..." etc) until the precious, precious angel is safely ensconced in the front passenger seat, wrapped in hastily-miracled tartan blankets.

Crowley moves around to the driver's door almost on autopilot, and has to pause for a moment before getting in because his hands are shaking so hard that he's having trouble operating the door handle. He's focusing hard on getting himself calm enough to drive, so the sound of another vehicle driving up behind him and pulling over on the other side of the road barely registers; the first he hears of the new arrival is a voice asking, "Party name of Crowley?" in the concerned tones of someone who's consciously downplaying a habitual chipper tone because they've sensed that it doesn't fit the current context.

Crowley half-turns with a growl of, "Who wants to know?" and sees a vaguely familiar figure nervously holding out a folded piece of paper.

"Message for you, sir. Bit of an off-the-books delivery, this, but the lady insisted. She was very specific about where you'd be, sir."

"Very specific, eh? Almost... Nice and Accurate, you could say?" Crowley, of course, recognises the style immediately, and with a flicker of renewed hope manages to dredge up a bit of raised-eyebrow playfulness (though it's still rather strained).

"Yes, sir. Is... Is everything ok? Is there anything I can do to..." Crowley shakes his head, and the International Express guy nods, returns to his truck and drives off while the serpent pours himself behind the wheel of the Bentley.

Once he's shut the door against the cold, Crowley looks over at Aziraphale in his cocoon of blankets, eyes closed and not moving... He lunges across the Bentley's front seat and shakes his angel, who twitches and mumbles, having dozed off because he felt comfortable and safe. Sighing with relief, Crowley hugs him and nuzzles his hair. Az tries to reciprocate, but he's still sufficiently out of it that he ends up accidentally headbutting Crowley in the ear. Crowley gets the message nonetheless, and gives Aziraphale a quick smooch on the hairline before wiggling back into the driver's seat and unfolding the enigmatic message.

As he suspected, it's from the mad American woman with the bicycle and the prophecy book -- who's apparently named Anathema -- and, to his surprise, contains detailed directions from his current location to Jasmine Cottage, an invitation for him, Aziraphale and the houseplants to spend a few days in the guest bedroom there, and a note that he needs to get moving soon because snow heavy enough to block the roads for a week is on the way and will start well before he'd be able to get back to London. Crowley gives that a few moments of raised-eyebrow consideration before deciding, "Hmmm. Better not risk it." He tosses the note onto the dashboard, checks on Aziraphale again and starts the engine.

The directions are good -- the Bentley glides into place outside Jasmine Cottage's front gate a scant few minutes later. Anathema and her partner -- a slightly nervous young man who introduces himself as 'Newt' -- are waiting there, and after a couple of moments' scrutiny and practical consideration, Crowley (with reluctance) has them carry his houseplants inside while he carries Aziraphale. He staggers around to the back door (avoiding the horseshoe at the front) and navigates his way inside just as huge flakes of snow start falling thick and fast.

Once he's laid Aziraphale gently on the sofa in the living room, Crowley slumps to the floor and starts to have another panic attack as the reality of the situation begins to sink in. He's just about getting his breathing under control when Newt gently but firmly pushes what turns out to be a mug of hot sweet tea into his hands.

At Crowley's bemused look, he clarifies, "My mum always says hot sweet tea is the best thing for a shock. Drink it -- it should help." Crowley does so, hesitantly at first but then draining the mug as if it's full of Nina's finest espresso, then goes to put the mug down on the coffee table but is briefly stymied by the large and varied collection of first-aid equipment laid out there.

Anathema explains that she wasn't certain how strong emotions or exhaustion might affect angelic/demonic miracle-working, so she laid in everything that might conceivably be useful for treating torture-related injuries. Crowley acknowledges the good sense in this and accepts her assistance with manually cleaning Aziraphale up and dressing his wounds. Az has revived somewhat by the time they've finished, such that he's able to sit up, drink some water and be gently helped to the guest bedroom. When he's safely tucked up, Crowley wearily removes his shades, places them on the bedside table and gently keels over on top of the blankets.

Aziraphale drifts awake late the next morning, the light coming through the window muted to a soft grey by the snow that's accumulated and is still falling with gusto on the other side of the glass. He has very little idea of what's going on, but no-one's trying to hurt him; this bed is very comfortable; the room it's in is clean, tastefully decorated and very much does not have the malodorous atmosphere of a swamp monster's unwashed armpit; and this cute, twitchy, callipygian redhead with the pretty yellow eyes and endearing way of trying to look intimidating while watering houseplants feels intensely safe and right in a way that he can't quite account for and struggles to comprehend in its sheer enormity. He's therefore quite content to lie back on piles of soft pillows and be tucked up and cuddled and pampered and tenderly spoon-fed fruit porridge.

After a couple of days of this, Aziraphale's recovered sufficiently that he's able to communicate with Crowley via British Sign Language, though given the intensity of his present psychological trauma, verbal speech is currently beyond him. A couple more days and some healing miracles, he's feeling well enough to totter to a shower and (with Crowley's help) finally wash off the remaining grime. After a full week's recuperation, when the snow has finally thawed enough to permit travel to London, he's able to get downstairs more or less under his own power, and is sitting at Jasmine Cottage's kitchen table wolfing down hot buttered toast.

Crowley's sipping coffee and keeping half an eye on him while listening to Anathema talking about protective wards she can place on the Bookshop, and how she plans to make the trip to Soho the next day, with a plan to pass on the Nice & Accurate Prophecies card index as a cover. Crowley agrees without demur, being keen to get himself and Aziraphale safely home as soon as possible.

In that vein, Crowley finishes his coffee and shifts his houseplants back to the Bentley as quickly as he can, being very reluctant to let Aziraphale out of his sight for any length of time. That done, he waits for his angel to finish eating, fondly playing with a curl of restored white hair, and considers the subject of warm clothing.

He's previously miracled Az into a t-shirt and sweatpants (not having had the energy for anything more complicated at the time), so once Az is ready, Crowley adds some warm socks, some sturdy boots (to avoid slipping on icy patches), a big comfy pale grey turtleneck sweater, a scarf, gloves and woolly hat in matching tartan, a big warm jacket... Aziraphale heads him off at that point, giving Crowley an affectionate raised-eyebrow Look that says 'ok, you need to stop before you spiral and I end up at the core of a six-foot-diameter sphere of knitting'.

Crowley gets the message, and hands Aziraphale his walking stick from 1862 before turning his attention to his own clothing. He's already wearing the turtleneck outfit, so over that he puts the hat and greatcoat from 1941, with the addition of some 1940s-style driving gloves -- posing the whole time, because even with his memories wiped, Aziraphale makes no secret of his intensely appreciative ogling. They take their leave and make their careful way to the Bentley, driving away with Anathema and Newt waving to them from the garden gate.

[The Ineffables can at this point have a day or two at home in Soho to catch their breath, or encounter the confrontation detailed under 'In any case' as soon as they arrive -- whichever you prefer]

Option 2a: immediate self-rescue

There is considerable consternation in Hell when, a scant half an hour after the Dark Council get back from war talks at the London embassy, someone plummets into the ol' boiling sulphur for the first time in millennia. Consequently, a fair-sized crowd gathers and is waiting on the lakeshore to see a well-known white-haired figure swimming to the edge and hauling himself onto the rocks.

The pin-drop silence of horrified astonishment, broken by the occasional, "What the fuck????" or similar, gives way quickly to a susurration of shock; confusion, rumour and speculation spread like sparks in bone-dry tinder.

Furfur, having had a bit of a gut feeling about what was happening, is near the front of the crowd. He barges his way through and hauls Aziraphale to his feet, keeping a brash, authoritative demeanour over his own alarm (and no small amount of fear about Crowley's likely reaction). He miracles some old-fashioned robes onto Aziraphale (old-fashioned, as in identical to what Crowley was wearing in the Garden of Eden) and, addressing him by name all the while, loudly proclaims that he'd be an ideal recruit for Requisitions. Gesturing for the crowd to let him through, he proceeds to tow Aziraphale in that direction, leaving the murmur of gossip to resume behind him.

Aziraphale's still too disoriented, from both the Heavenly memory-wipe and the Fall, to object to any of this. However, as his thinking regains clarity, he makes note of this 'Furfur' placing clothes on him, being oddly keen to lay claim to him, and taking him on what feels like a rather circuitous route (apparently to ensure that as many people see him as possible) to a somewhat isolated location. At this point, Az is feeling clear-headed enough to draw Conclusions about Furfur's intentions, so when Furfur pushes him into his office, he lashes out with a perfectly executed 'friendly handshake' (jab elbow into stomach, then knee into chin while they're curling over).

Aziraphale is about to leave, but a winded Furfur manages to gasp out a request to wait that is at least convincing enough that he pauses while Furfur crawls over to his desk and retrieves a photograph.

He holds it out to Aziraphale in a trembling hand -- the effect is immediate. Az's pulse starts racing, his hands shake, his breathing stutters and tears spring to his eyes at the sight of a simple image of a black-clad redhead with stylish sunglasses and an unamused expression. He glances sharply at Furfur, who explains, "That's... Crowley... [cough cough] Your...gaak...true love, or something like it... Heaven wanted to... [grhhk] to keep you two apart because you're such a threat to them... [hhhff hf] But casting you to Hell is too much [hff]." Furfur stands up straight and adjusts his clothing while regaining the rest of his breath. "That's what I was gonna tell you before you hit me -- though, eh, I get why you did it. You need to get out of here and find him; he shouldn't be hard to miss -- red hair, fancy clothes, big flash car..."

Aziraphale raises a fiercely sceptical eyebrow and folds his arms, not yet convinced. Furfur continues, "Look, I know you don't trust me right now, and badness knows you don't have much reason to, but look at it like this: Satan's a right vicious bastard who's got a grudge against you personally and the power to steal control of your body and mind. Don't you want to be well away from that?" Aziraphale considers this for a few moments, then accepts the reasoning with a curt nod. After Furfur gives him directions to the nearest discreet exit, he leaves for Earth. Behind him, the sparks of rumour, shock and speculation running through the tinderbox of Hell's rank-and-file at his Fall are beginning to nibble at the kindling of realisation that the whole rotten dichotomous system is bullshit, with the ignition of the heaped dry sticks of rebellion not far behind.

Unaware of all this, Aziraphale is wandering the streets of central London, trying not to be too readily perceived, or to flinch too obviously with every barefoot step on hard pavement. He knows he needs to find somewhere safe to sit and think things through, and also that he really needs to talk to that cute redhead from the photograph. That combination of thoughts flicks at something in his subconscious, turning his steps towards St. James' Park and one particular bench.

On arriving, Aziraphale flops down gratefully and starts absently rubbing bits of dirt and gravel off his feet while trying to sort things out in his head without dissolving into undignified tears. The ducks, noticing that one of their regular visitors seems to be distinctly out-of-sorts, waddle up to him in a hail of concerned quacking and foot nibbles (in case he's hiding birdseed there) before wandering off to pester a minor Norwegian official.

Crowley, meanwhile, has been driving around in circles in a depressed haze for the past couple of hours. With a sudden need to stretch his legs and walk off his emotions (and maybe work through certain incipient creeping realisations into the bargain), he directs the Bentley to the usual parking spot outside St. James' Park and strides towards a certain bench, speeding his pace a little when he realises that something feels off somehow and outright running when he notices an unexpected black blur in the distance, surmounted by a very familiar shock of white hair.

Aziraphale, for his part, is wrestling with a random intense burst of trauma-grief-loneliness, hunching over and rocking himself. He instinctively unfurls his wings when rain starts sputtering fitfully from the sky, raising the left one to form a shelter beside him, but it isn't until a voice shaking with carefully trammelled emotion under a veneer of cheerfulness says, "Aw, thanks, angel," that he consciously registers the presence beside him of the cute redhead -- Crowley, was it? -- who is smiling in a wobbly-but-affectionate way and sprawling as if to display himself for Aziraphale's gaze.

Aziraphale half-reaches for Crowley with a shaking hand, then draws back in sudden uncertainty, the words, "I need you!" oddly reluctant to leave his throat even though that's an accurate summary of his current feelings. Crowley seems to get the message anyway, because he scoots along the bench and pulls Aziraphale into a tight, comforting hug, rocking him and stroking his back and making soothing noises until he feels better. Once he's calmed down, Aziraphale finds something about the situation -- comforting demon, bench, body of water nearby, personal crisis -- tugging at part of his subconscious and producing a feeling that he needs different clothes. He makes the miracle gestures that are by now deeply ingrained into his muscle memory -- and nothing happens.

He tries again and again, with the same lack of result, and is starting to panic when Crowley catches his hands and gently guides him through what he needs to do. The miracle takes, and the Hell-issue robes Aziraphale is wearing change into something very interesting indeed.

Crowley immediately recognises the connection to the whole Job business -- loose black robes with snake-image-heavy silver decoration at collar and cuffs (as opposed to Heaven's white and gold), belted in with a wide red sash. Oddly charmed and flattered that Bildad the Shuhite apparently left an impression strong enough to resist a Heavenly memory wipe, Crowley nuzzles Aziraphale's forehead and crouches in front of him to miracle some decent sandals onto his feet. That done, he gently pulls Aziraphale to said feet and suggests they go home, out of the rain. With Az's agreement, they do just that, pausing along the way out of the park to greet a magnificently fluffy white cat being chauffeured around in a bike basket by her well-trained human.

Back on Whickber Street, Crowley parks the Bentley very determinedly outside the Bookshop's front door and conducts Aziraphale inside in the manner of an old-fashioned gallant escorting his lady. Aziraphale starts to visibly wilt from exhaustion once the door is closed behind them, so Crowley gently shuffles him over to his comfy armchair and summons up his cuddly grey cardigan and the fluffy bunny slippers from a couple of Christmases ago. With his beloved angel (Fallen or no) comfortably wrapped up, Crowley prepares a good cup of hot sweet tea, just the way Az likes it, and watches him while he drinks it. Just as he's swallowing the last few drops, a nervous squeak alerts them to the presence of a seriously startled Muriel. Before they can do much in the way of explaining, the sound of multiple dangerous and grumpy archangels comes floating in from the street...

Option 2b: Orphean rescue

After watching Aziraphale enter that elevator with... the Metatron? (Something doesn't feel right about that, somehow...) Crowley drives aimlessly around London for a while in a grief-stricken haze. Suddenly, the haze lifts a little, and all at once the city feels suffocating. He directs the Bentley out of London, past the M25, and is so focused on wrestling with his own thoughts that he doesn't really notice where he's going until the large amount of foliage in his peripheral vision registers, and he realises that he's heading straight for Tadfield.

Talk about memory lane... Wonder how those kids are doing? Can't go see them, though, it'd be wrong to drop this mess on them and expect them to handle it, they've already had to deal with one Apocalypse they shouldn't have had to... Will that mad American witch still be there, I wonder? I should probably try to find out her actual name...

These thoughts take him to the gate of Jasmine Cottage, which (adjusting for season and time of day) looks just as it did when he was briefly here with... Aziraphale... Swallowing a wave of grief, Crowley approaches the front door, bounces off the ward created by the horseshoe over the doorframe and wanders around to the back of the cottage. A witchily-dressed young woman is waiting there, and she greets him, introduces herself as 'Anathema', leads him to the kitchen and pours a large whiskey with the air of someone who knows exactly what's going on.

It takes very little questioning on Anathema's part to get Crowley talking, and as he works his way down the bottle of whiskey he divulges everything that's been happening for at least the past week. The very act of talking prods his subconscious to start working on the off-kilter details, and he becomes more emotional and incoherent as he starts working out what he wasn't permitted to realise before. When it fully sinks in that his beloved angel was stolen by Satan and might even now be plunging into a lake of boiling sulphur, Crowley starts bawling loudly and incoherently on the kitchen table.

While he's slurring his way through an explanation of just how for beyond nightmare scenario this is, there's a yelp as of a former Grand Duke of Hell recoiling from the ward created by the horseshoe above Jasmine Cottage's front door, and a rumble of bemused commentary with a distinctly former-Supreme-Archangel tone. Anathema gestures briefly through the kitchen window, and moments later, Gabriel and Beelzebub are barging into the kitchen, with Crowley staring at them blearily.

He can't process what they seem to be saying to him as anything other than blurry, smeared syllables, but two words eventually penetrate the haze of whiskey: 'sober' and 'up'. Crowley does so, then promptly starts crying again, because last time he had to do that, he was with Aziraphale... Beez nervously pats his back as Gabriel gets hissed at for trying to wipe Crowley's face, they explain why they're back from Alpha Centauri so quickly -- they realised that Armageddon mk. 2 would annihilate them wherever they were, and they were worried that something terrible might have happened to Aziraphale and Crowley after they left -- Crowley fills them in on what he's just figured out, and without further ado, the conversation turns to planning a full-on Orphean rescue.

The main sticking point of the plan is holy water -- Gabriel's confident that he can prevent literal splash damage on Crowley, Beez and Aziraphale, but bringing water to bless in situ will be faster than miracle-ing some up then blessing it. He's worrying about where to get enough water to cover all eventualities, when Anathema (who's been following the conversation with quiet, keen attentiveness) casually reaches under the table and lifts two huge multipacks of cheap bottled water onto the top with a decisive thump. [this sort of thing]

With the problem of armaments solved, making a plan of action and finding a suitable entry point to Hell prove simple enough -- Anathema still has her maps and notes from her search for the Antichrist. Once the plans are in place, Crowley has to be physically prevented from haring off of his own. Once that's dealt with, the rescue party set out...

[cut to Hell]

A loud thud as of a starmaker's crank being whacked against a wall. "Alright, you lot, you know who I am, you know why I'm here. Where. Is. Aziraphale?" The junior demons jump almost out of their skins, but the sight of an overtly furious Crowley is somehow less intimidating to them than an obviously-still-angelic Gabriel cheerfully waving a bottle of water and Beelzebub offering a patented Raised Eyebrow Of Authority. These particular demons don't know much, but they point the trio in the direction from which the sparks of rumour have started to reach them. This repeats a few times, until the rescue party come upon Furfur dragging a still-somewhat-befuddled black-robed Aziraphale in the direction of Requisitions (as per option 2a).

Out of a perfectly understandable desire to not have a pocket-sized supernova thrown directly at his face, Furfur shoves Aziraphale into Crowley's arms and legs it. Startled, Crowley instinctively catches his precious, precious angel and clutches him tight, forgetting the danger, the location, the onlookers, the potential arrival of Satan at any moment, simply squeezing as if to make all the bad things go away by sheer physical force. He nuzzles Aziraphale's hair, forcing himself to ignore the stench of sulphur in favour of the familiar scent and the warm, comfortable, reassuring solidity of his angel...

Aziraphale, for his part, is still feeling pretty fuzzy and doesn't quite get what's going on, but this cute redhead gives good hugs and smells amazing and feels warm and safe and nice and right and so very familiar, why is he so familiar...? He clings to this wonderful stranger with everything he has, not wanting to relinquish what suddenly feels like the only point of solid certainty in a raging sea of confusion. He barely pays attention to someone telling the redhead they need to go, and grumbles like a house cat being dislodged from its favourite lap when... Crowley? Is that his name? ...tries to disentangle himself.

"C'mon, angel, let's get out of here, eh?" Aziraphale is happy enough to acquiesce to that, because it means he can hold Crowley's hand and admire him while they walk. The upward journey through the exit to earth is a struggle, though, because of the darkness and feelings of compression, and when they emerge in a pleasant piece of sunny woodland, complete with kid-built 'den', Aziraphale hurls himself into Crowley's arms with the fixed intention of never leaving. Crowley holds on to him with the equally fixed intention of never letting go.

The practical issues with this arrangement quickly become apparent. They eventually manage to manoeuvre themselves over to a handy tree root, though, and Crowley gently sits Aziraphale down on it and miracles up some comfy footwear for him. While this is going on, Gabe and Beez are keeping watch and quietly intercepting Anathema, who in a display of the family sense of timing was approaching the area right as they emerged from the ground.

Aziraphale stands up rather shakily, leaning on Crowley all the while, and his fuzzy-headedness clears completely just as the new arrival extends an invitation to the group to come and have some tea at her home before travelling on. Unfortunately, the kindly intended offer sends Az hurtling head-first into his limit for overwhelm. All of a sudden, everything is Too Much -- the sun is Too Bright and the wind in the trees and people moving in the leaf litter are Too Loud And Sharp and the Hell-issue robe is Bad Texture and words make No Sense and the branches are moving Too Much and he just can't take it, he just wants to lie down in a very dark, very quiet room and cuddle with Crowley and not talk or do anything...

The only external evidence of this turmoil is Aziraphale suddenly stiffening up and thousand-yard-staring at a point on the ground about two feet in front of his toes. Luckily, Crowley recognises the signs, and politely turns down Anathema's invitation while miracle-ing Az's clothes into something with a texture that he knows his angel will be able to handle, then simply takes gentle hold of his forearms, shelters him with his wings, and strokes his elbows and speaks reassuring words in a low, soothing tone.

Slowly, Aziraphale relaxes and his breathing returns to a more even rate. Crowley wraps an arm around his waist and walks with him back to Jasmine Cottage and the Bentley. While taking leave of Gabe and Beez (who are staying back to consult with Anathema), he pours Aziraphale into the front passenger seat and fusses over him, making sure he's comfortable.

In the short interval between Crowley closing the door and moving around to climb into the driver's seat, Aziraphale looks blearily at the radio and has a sudden feeling of being faced with a treasure chest of almost inconceivable capacity that contains something of unfathomable importance. Instinctively knowing that he wouldn't be able to handle the flood if he simply threw the lid open, he reaches out with his mind and props the lid open the merest crack, to let things flow out slowly. As Crowley starts the Bentley, Aziraphale turns to look at him fondly, nebulae exploding into existence in his mind's eye.

As they're barrelling along the M40, Crowley senses a change in the texture of the silence to his left, and looks over to see Aziraphale looking more grief-stricken than he's ever been before, tears leaving glinting trails on his cheeks. Crowley immediately pulls onto the hard shoulder, parks and hauls himself along the front seat to hug Aziraphale, who promptly dissolves into a blubbering mess in his arms, mumbling semi-coherent apologies in between bouts of intense sobbing. Crowley's been half-expecting something like this, so rather than being startled, he cradles and rocks his angel, making soothing noises, stroking his hair (still angelically soft) and reassuring him that it's ok, that there's nothing to be sorry for, that he's not alone.

A sharp tap on the window startles him, but it turns out to simply be a couple of police officers who saw the Bentley pull off the road very suddenly and were concerned that there might be an emergency, medical or otherwise. Crowley tells them, "No, my partner just had a bit of a trauma flare. He's a war veteran, seen some bad stuff, you know..." This mollifies the officers, who offer sympathetic noises and leave without the need for an influence miracle. Crowley lets out a quiet huff of relief and goes back to cuddling Aziraphale, until their minds catch up with his words more or less simultaneously.

"P-partner? Crowley..." Surprise, cautious happiness, the ever-present heart-eyes.

"Yes, angel, that's what you are, and I'm fed up of pretending otherwise." A fond stroke to Aziraphale's cheek.

"Angel... 'M not any more, though, am I?" An almost instinctive twitch as if to retreat from expected pain.

"Oh, angel... Fallen or no, you'll always be my precious, bloody-minded, chaotic angel who gave away his flaming sword and made devouring a whole roast ox look like the most erotic thing on the planet. They can never take that away from us. Besides..." He kisses Aziraphale's forehead and boops him gently on the nose. "We've known for about 1500 years how little difference it makes!" He cradles Aziraphale's face until the familiar smile reappears, wipes the tear residue away and wiggles awkwardly back into the driver's seat. The rest of the journey home passes without incident, Aziraphale looking adoringly at Crowley, Thomas the Rhymer issuing quietly from the radio. When they reach Whickber Street, though, a most alarming sight greets them...

In any case

Three archangels are walking down Whickber Street. Sandalphon is odiously gleeful and jigging with excitement, Michael looks vaguely annoyed and Uriel is quietly thoughtful. "Remind me again why we're bothering with this?" she asks.

"What's the matter, Uriel?" Michael responds snidely. "Having doubts about the Metatron's orders, are you?"

"Of course not." Uriel sees the Ineffable Husbands [poking their heads out of the Bookshop/creeping up in the Bentley] and continues just slightly louder than is technically necessary, "It makes perfect sense to destroy a random street of mortals a few hours before they're due to be annihilated in Armageddon anyway."

Sandalphon sneers, "Ah, don't be such a wet blanket. We can't risk leaving the traitors any ground to go to, can we? 'Sides, I'm bored. Haven't had the chance to do any really good smiting since Sodom and Gomorrah." He huffs. "Dunno why they sent Aziraphale with me for that -- he just kept bleating about innocent children and compassion and trying to talk me out of it. Anyway, can I start now?"

Michael nods assent, and Sandalphon limbers up, bouncing from foot to foot, shakes his hands free of his sleeves and rubs them together, prepares a miracle-casting gesture, and--

WHOOMPH

--is struck and consumed by a roaring column of hellfire. Michael and Uriel skitter backwards as it flares up to the height of the Bookshop's dome, before falling away to reveal a bubbling patch of incandescent white-hot tarmac and, behind it, a quietly furious Aziraphale, with motes of hellfire sparkling at his fingertips and Crowley smirking at his elbow.

"Michael. Did you think I could be neutralised so easily, or that I would not defend the place I have made my home?" As Michael twitches in fear, he turns to Uriel and bows slightly. "Good morning, Uriel. I hope you are well?" Uriel nods, too stunned to speak, as the patch of tarmac where Sandalphon was standing cools to a pale orange.

Before Aziraphale can say more, Michael's angelphone pings. She takes it out irritably, as Uriel begins to relax.

"Yes, Saraquel? ... You did erase Aziraphale's memories, yes? ... Are you sure? Because... Yes! Already! ... Well, the demon could have been prompting him, I suppose... Yes, they're together, and they're...cuddling... WHAT??? NO, I'M NOT ENVIOUS!!! WHY WOULD I BE ENVIOUS OF A PAIR OF ROTTEN TRAITORS??? ...What are you smirking at, Uriel?"

Michael hits 'end call' rather more forcefully than she intended and stows the angelphone while wearing a huge, sickly fake grin that's equal parts "None of you saw that, OK??" and "How am I going to survive trying to explain this to Head Office?" She irritably makes a 'we're leaving' gesture to Uriel and teleports back Upstairs. Uriel hangs back long enough to give the Ineffable Husbands a bow of deep and genuine respect, and to receive one in return, before following. The patch of molten tarmac fades to a dark, rosy red as Crowley guides Aziraphale into the Bookshop, leaving the human witnesses trying to work out what in the heck that was all about.

[Note: I'm having trouble deciding whether Aziraphale's lines in this bit work better as verbal speech or sign language, with Crowley translating out loud -- the above-mentioned hellfire motes would certainly add an interesting visual effect to the latter! Imagine whichever option you prefer :)]

After a couple of days of Aziraphale recuperating, Crowley fussing around and pampering him, Gabe and Beez bouncing around the Bookshop making plans and shoring up the defences, and Muriel becoming increasingly furious and upset over the realisation that they were abandoned on Earth to die for knowing too much, Saraquel drops by Whickber Street and tries to barge into the building uninvited. She rebounds from the renewed wards, though, and instead of making a sweeping entrance and commanding instant attention, she is forced to wait outside for Aziraphale to open the doors. He does so after letting her squirm for a few moments, and fixes her with a 'this had better be REALLY good' raised-eyebrow Look.

Rattled but trying not to show it, Saraquel offers an olive branch deal -- in exchange for returning some of his memories, Aziraphale and company agree to withhold further interference in Armageddon. No-one on Team Ineffable dignifies that smarmy bullshit with a verbal response. With practically-a-spouse and chosen family sputtering in astonished indignation at his elbows, Aziraphale conveys, "You abuse me and so many others for millennia, torture us, treat us like things, gleefully plot the slaughter of innocents, steal my memories and cast me out, and then you have the temerity to offer to return what is mine by rights, as if it was some thing, some petty bargaining chip, that was ever yours to offer? How dare you! How dare you threaten my mind, my soul, my love, my life, my family, my friends, my home, my world! How dare you threaten these things, because they are MINE!" with a glare so ferocious that Saraquel by rights ought to have been incinerated on the spot.

She isn't, but she's intimidated enough to fumble her angelphone. Whatever she was planning to do with it, she ends up restoring all of Aziraphale's memories in one go. Regardless of how much memory that actually is, the shock is enough to send him reeling and stumbling backward. Saraquel takes advantage of this distraction to flee back Upstairs, her self-preservation instincts overriding her murderous contempt for the traitors and the puny mortals who are glowering darkly in her direction.

The Christmas lights ;D

Once the whole bizarre, messed-up situation is explained to them, the Whickber Street Traders are pretty sympathetic to their guardian angel, his spouse and their crew. They eagerly offer their support for the permanent nixing of Armageddon, and are kind and welcoming to the trickle of renegade angels and demons who are opting out of the whole rotten house of cards altogether.

There is much making of plans, talking-out of misunderstandings, investigation, research, cuddling of Aziraphale, drinking of coffee and cocoa, consumption of eccles cakes and roast beef sandwiches, revelations of meaningful property purchases, and quiet discussion between the Ineffable Husbands about something that they playfully refuse to disclose to the others, except for passing allusions to giving the Metatron a gibbering apoplexy.

Eventually, the time comes, and Team Ineffable kick down the front doors of Heaven to present the most important unfair dismissal lawsuit in the history of the universe and seek redress of grievances. The Metatron and his inner circle try to prevent it, but between Crowley's devotion, Aziraphale's stubbornness, Gabriel's cheerful steamrolling and the by now roaring fires of 'fuck this, it's all bullshit' rebellion tearing through both sides in response to Aziraphale's Fall, it doesn't work. With the world holding its breath and both hosts watching intently, arguments are made and evidence is laid out; every piece chips away at the power base of Satan and the Metatron, until their lies are made plain for all to see and the house of cards comes tumbling down for good, leaving them utterly alone.

Michael, infuriated at having been suckered for so long, moves to strike them down then and there, but Aziraphale gestures for her to wait and turns to Crowley, confirming that it's time for their secret shenanigan with an exchange of nods and eyebrow twitches. Too overcome by the emotion of the moment (and the realisation that this is actually real) to speak, he turns to Crowley, works the signet ring off the little finger of his right hand, holds it out and slowly goes down on one knee.

An excited susurration spreads and grows louder, as those who recognise the meaning of the gesture explain it to the rest. With the Metatron sputtering impotently in the background and Satan fuming at his own loss of power, Crowley spreads his left hand and deftly slips his fourth finger through the ring. He then lifts a wiggly and giddily-grinning Aziraphale to his feet, pauses a moment to admire his face, then swoops in and smooches him senseless while the majority of the onlookers cheer with full-throated joy.

Aziraphale hesitates slightly after breaking away from the kiss, prey to an insidious feeling that he should maybe stick around to see things through to the very, very end. Uriel picks up on this and gently nudges him towards the exit, saying, "Go on. We've got this handled, and you have a wedding to plan." Aziraphale looks around at Crowley, at Muriel, at Gabriel and Beelzebub -- they all meet his eyes and nod. He looks at Crowley again, gabbles out a promise to send Uriel an invitation, and races towards the exit to Earth, Crowley joyfully keeping pace with him and the sound of Michael smiting Satan and the Metatron fading into the distance.

Smooching passionately, they fly erratically over London, bouncing off buildings and eventually making it into the Bookshop. They stumble up the stairs to their bedroom, where Crowley wastes no time chucking all of his clothes into a pile in the corner. Aziraphale's clothes accumulate next to them shortly thereafter (it takes a bit longer, though -- we all know that angel has at least two layers of underwear beneath the cuddly scholar outfit <3).

Cut to an aerial shot of London, showing every light (Christmas or otherwise) in a two-mile radius of the Bookshop turning a healthy pink.

They finally come up for air a couple of days later, and once they've repaired the bed frame, Crowley totters over to the jewellery design books and retrieves the notes he's accumulated over the past few decades. He runs everything by Aziraphale and gathers some cosmic dust from one of his nebulae, and the next morning sees Aziraphale happily bouncing into Give Me Coffee while showing off the ring now adorning his left hand -- a delicate, detailed black metal snake set with rubies and topaz. In the background, someone's phone cheerfully plays a video of a BBC interview with a very confused ornithologist.

The Ineffable Wedding rolls around in due time, with good food, good music, colour-coordinated kilts, joy and love all around, and Aziraphale holding a glorious bouquet of roses, lotus flowers, pine sprigs, miniature bamboo, plum blossom and cherry blossom. The first dance is full of passionate intensity, with Crowley and Aziraphale so completely focused on each other that they temporarily forget that anyone else is in the room.

After that, it's a simple matter of the Ineffable Husbands moving themselves, the books, the plants, the sculptures and the Bentley to a lovely little cottage on the South Downs and living happily ever after! :D