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mimisempai · 7 months ago

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I'll find you at the end of the road - Chap 1/8

Summary

Professor Crowley Anthony is about to embark on a new career and a new life at the Rainbow Academy in London. His only regret: giving up the superb cottage he'd rented on the banks of a South Downs lake…

Before he left, he left a note for the next occupant, asking him to forward his mail and pointing out that the paw prints on the path to the cottage had been there before he moved in.

Upon taking possession of the cottage, antiquarian Aziraphale Fell immediately falls in love with it, and decides to restore it without paying any further attention to Crowley's mysterious message...

Notes

The Lakehouse AU that nobody asked for.

On Ao3

Rating G - 4869 words

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4 - Chap 5 - Chap 6 - Chap 7 - Last chapter

When two people "connect" the bond between them can be so pure and simple as to stir hearts in heaven.

When they connect in all the right places at all the wrong times, heaven weeps for broken hearts. To heal these broken hearts, heaven breaks time.

—Blithe Spiritus

Crowley took one last look at the lakeside cottage through the rear-view mirror, watching it grow smaller and smaller as he drove away.

His gaze shifted forward to the cage in the passenger seat where Harry, his pet rabbit, was resting.

He sighed and said quietly, "I hope you like our new home, mate."

If he was honest with himself, he'd said that as much for himself as for the animal; leaving the comfort of the cottage and the quiet surroundings to face the city and a new job was a little nerve-wracking, despite the thrill of novelty and finally being able to practice his chosen profession.

Suddenly he slammed on the brakes, holding the forward sliding cage with one hand. Then he pulled back.

He said in an apologetic tone, "Sorry Harry, I just realised I forgot something."

He backed the car up to the incongruous letterbox that stood in front of the path that led to the cottage.

He'd always been amused by it, wondering what the previous owner's whim had been to put an American mailbox in front of an English cottage. But he'd got used to it, and even the postman had played along, dropping off the mail and raising the little red flag to indicate he'd delivered it.

Crowley grabbed an envelope from beside Harry's cage, then put his hand through the car window, opened the letterbox and put the envelope inside. Then he pulled up the little red flag to indicate that there was mail. All under Harry's watchful eye.

He tapped the top of the cage and said quietly, "Come on, this time it's for good."

He drove on, accelerating, refusing to watch the sign for the tiny village where his home, Ditchling, was located disappear. Crowley drove east, the lake behind him, then passed a sign: London - 53 miles.

The traffic increased as he approached the city, and only after maneuvering through the various streets and weaving his way through the London traffic did he finally come to a stop in front of a building on a street that looked quite busy. It was a very new building, cold and sterile. The contrast with the old-fashioned tranquility of Ditchling's cottage was striking and, most of all, a little unsettling to Crowley.

He parked, got out and took a moment to absorb the change in his surroundings. Then, with a sigh, he began to unload his belongings.

**********

The next morning, he paused on the steps at the entrance to the Rainbow Académie, whose name was a surprising contrast to its imposing architecture. He took a deep breath to give himself courage before moving forward, climbing the few steps and pushing open the heavy door. He entered and made his way to what appeared to be the reception desk where a rather busy looking secretary was sitting.

Crowley coughed and asked quietly, "Excuse me?"

"Just a minute, will you?"

She hadn't even looked up to answer him, so Crowley waited a minute, politely, then tried again to get her attention.

"Ahem... Excuse me, I need to..."

She handed him a stack of papers and said, still not looking at him, "Fill this out and wait for me over there, okay?"

Crowley looked at the outstretched papers, shook his head and handed them back, saying gently, "No, I'm Crowley Anthony, a bit of a strange name, but I'm a new teacher. I was told to report here. I'm starting as an astronomy teacher today."

The secretary replied sheepishly, "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor. You need to find the headmistress, Mrs. Tracy, she should be here. A woman with red hair, dressed in a very... colourful suit, you can't miss her."

Crowley thanked the secretary before heading down the corridor she'd indicated. He did indeed spot the Headmistress fairly quickly, and thought with amusement that the secretary had described her perfectly.

Mrs Tracy wasn't very tall, despite her high heels, but everything about her demeanour, head carriage and posture exuded confidence and authority. After greeting Crowley, she motioned for him to follow. She walked energetically and the new teacher, though taller, found it hard to keep up. No sooner had he arrived in her office than she handed him a large stack of files and said, "You'll be in charge of the sophomores, you'll have three classes to teach this morning and three this afternoon."

Crowley repeated to be sure, "Three?"

She nodded and replied with a half smile on her lips, "It's a quiet day, for a first day."

Crowley looked a little taken aback, he hadn't thought he'd be jumping right into the thick of things and thought he'd have a bit of time to settle in.

The Headmistress turned as if sensing his hesitation and said gently, "The teacher you replaced left without notice and it took us a while to find the right replacement, so the students lost a lot of time for their final exams. We must do our best for them to succeed."

They left the headmistress' office and, after walking through two hallways, came to another where their attention was drawn to a student sitting alone on a bench, looking sullen. Mrs. Tracy stopped and motioned to a supervisor.

"What's he doing here?"

The supervisor replied, "He's been punished for taking apart a computer to prove Professor Pulsifer wrong, and he has to do an hour's classification in the archives under Professor Device's supervision. However, I can't leave the place unattended, and I was waiting for my replacement to take him there."

Mrs. Tracy said firmly, "Adam, get up."

The boy stood up, still looking sulky, and the headmistress continued, "Professor Anthony, take him to Professor Device in the school library, and then you can begin your lessons in this classroom."

The headmistress pointed to the door of the classroom in question, then turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

"Well, follow me, Mr...?"

The boy followed suit and replied in a curt tone, "Young, Adam Young. But we're all on a first-name basis here."

Crowley replied with a wink, "Then let's go, Adam the Computer Disassembler."

He knew that as a teacher here, he couldn't condone what the young man had done, but he couldn't help but find it amusing.

Seeing that the professor didn't look reproachful, Adam lost his pout and, grinning a little, asked boldly, "I didn't get it, is Anthony your first or last name?"

Crowley, used to people's astonishment, replied gently, "My last name, Crowley is my first name."

"Ah, okay. That's pretty cool."

"Thanks, but tell me Adam, I'm very curious to know what could have possessed you to take apart a computer."

Adam animatedly explained to an amused Crowley that Professor Pulsifer, who taught biology, had said that nothing could compare to the complex assemblage that was a living being, and Adam had tried to show him otherwise by dismantling the professor's laptop.

"But I was just about to put it back together, so I don't understand why he got so upset."

Crowley couldn't help but chuckle when Adam suddenly frowned as they arrived at the school library.

The boy muttered, "Welcome to an hour of mortal boredom."

They walked through the door and a young woman with long hair and thick dark glasses approached them, "Adam Young, it's been so long! I missed you so much!"

Adam grumbled, "I was here yesterday."

She ruffled Adam's hair as he tried to duck away, then held out her hand to Crowley and said with a big smile on her face, "Professor Device, History Teacher, but call me Anathema. Pleased to meet you. New professor?"

Crowley nodded and replied, "Yes, I'm the new Astronomy teacher, Crowley Anthony, but call me Crowley. I'll leave you to take care of this promising young man," he winked at Adam before continuing, "As for me, I'll be teaching my first class."

"Welcome, and good luck!" Anathema called to him before turning back to Adam, "You go to the third shelf, second row down, I've got three archive boxes for you to sort through, in alphabetical order and without a computer."

Hearing Adam's grumbling, Crowley couldn't help but chuckle as he walked away.

A few minutes later, he paused outside his classroom door and took a deep breath.

"It takes a little time to adjust, but most of the students are exceptional and the staff is very, very nice."

Crowley turned to see who had just spoken.

He found himself face to face with a person who could easily have been mistaken for a student with his indefinable style, average height, slender, with a strange hairstyle that looked as if jay-black hair formed two horns, a kind smile, and sparkling eyes. The newcomer held out his hand and said in a warm voice, "Eric, art teacher, welcome."

Crowley shook it and replied, "Crowley, Astronomy Teacher.

Eric nodded toward the door, "Good luck," then walked away.

Crowley, feeling motivated by this little interlude, walked confidently through the classroom door, placed his belongings on the desk and, with an engaging smile on his lips, addressed his first students, "Good morning, I'm your new Astronomy teacher and I hope we're going to work well together.

He paused, glancing over the entire class before continuing, "O Captain! My Captain! Who knows where this came from. Any ideas? It's..."

A girl at the back of the classroom raises her hand.

"Yes...?"

"Pepper, Professor."

"All right, Pepper, I'm listening."

"It's a poem by Walt Whitman about Abraham Lincoln. And it's plagiarism of Professor Keating's introduction played by Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society."

Crowley held back a laugh so as not to lose his authority on the first day and replied in a calm voice, "Thank you, Pepper. I'm pleased to see that my students are quick-witted, and something tells me that we're all going to do a good job together. I won't ask you to call me Captain, Sir, or Professor, just Crowley. And like my namesake, Aleister Crowley, I'll tell you one thing: I'm not interested in herding sheep. So be curious, ask me questions, question what I say if you feel you must. I'm open to discussion, as long as we respect each other."

There was a great silence, then gradually the whole class, including Pepper, began to smile and then the girl gave him a little military salute, mouthing, "Yes, Captain!"

So, as Crowley made his way to the blackboard, he thought to himself that this wasn't such a bad start.

The classes went pretty much the same way throughout the day. But even though most of the classes had been pleasant and smooth, he still felt exhausted by the end of the day. So he dropped into the chair at his assigned desk in the teachers' lounge, before tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"So, have they worn you out yet?" said the soft voice he recognized as Eric's.

He opened his eyes to see that the art teacher was sitting right next to him as he continued, "Still, they keep talking about Crowley, the new teacher who's super cool."

"It's been a long time since I've heard of an astronomy teacher who's that good."

Anathema came over and pulled up a chair to sit in the space between Eric and Crowley.

"The Them?"

Anathema chuckled before answering, "We call them that because since they formed their little gang, they've changed their name so many times we can't keep track, so I can't remember who did it, but that's what we call them now. The Them. They're probably the smartest people in this elite school, and they always stick together for..."

"...for the sake of science," Eric finished.

"That's their argument every time they get caught in one of their escapades," Anathema clarified, kicking off her shoes before gathering her legs under herself.

"Who are the Them made up of," Crowley asked curiously.

Anathema replied, counting on her fingers, "There's the leader of the gang, Adam, who you met this morning, he's in the same class as his three childhood friends, Brian, Wensleydale and Pepper. Pepper, by the way, was talking about the way you introduced your class and was not a little proud to have, as she says, put you in your place. Captain, my captain, isn't it?"

Crowley shrugged and replied, "We do what we can to get their attention, don't we? Anyway, they look interesting to me."

"Wait until you're the butt of one of their pranks, then we'll see if you find these kids interesting," an unfamiliar voice said behind him.

"Newt, dear, did you manage to fix your laptop?" exclaimed Anathema, laughing as the newcomer planted a kiss in her hair before turning to Crowley and extending his hand.

"Professor Anthony, I presume?"

Crowley shook his hand and replied, "Call me Crowley, and I presume you're Professor Pulsifer."

"Newton or Newt, am I that famous?"

Crowley chuckled softly and replied, "It's mostly that I had the pleasure of taking Adam Young to Anathema for his punishment."

"That brat..." Newt growled before continuing, "He's clever... but his habit of proving himself right all the time..."

The other teachers laughed in unison.

Unaccustomed to being around so many people, and especially such nice people, Crowley felt a little overwhelmed, and suddenly the fatigue of this first day seemed to fall on his shoulders to the point where he had to stifle a yawn.

Anathema patted him on the shoulder and said: "I have an excellent remedy for that."

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "What is it?"

Eric and Anathema nodded and replied at the same time, “The dirty Monkey.”

At Crowley's confused look, Newt explained, "It's a pub two blocks away with good appetizers, good booze, and as for good company, that's us," he finished with a wink.

Crowley understood that they were inviting him to join them, but he hesitated and finally replied, shaking his head, "Thank you. I'd better not drink tonight. I'm dead."

The biology professor replied, "We're all dead."

"Yeah, but I just moved in and I've got a lot of unpacking to do."

They nodded and didn't seem disappointed by his refusal, even rather understanding. Crowley really wasn't used to this kind of company and the warmth of their gaze eased the feeling of loneliness that seemed to be his constant companion.

Eric placed a hand on his arm and said quietly, "Next time, then."

Crowley, not understanding why his throat was tight, nodded and said quietly but firmly, "Don't doubt it."

Moments later, they parted outside the school gates, Crowley on one side and the group of his new colleagues on the other.

"Goodbye Crowley!"

"See you tomorrow, Captain!"

"Bye Crowley!"

Crowley lived only three blocks from the school and soon arrived home. As he entered, he realized how sterile and cold his large apartment seemed, especially after the moments he had spent in the company of his new colleagues.

He hadn't lied when he said he hadn't had time to unpack yet, and there were boxes scattered everywhere. The first thing he had unpacked was Harry's basket, although the rabbit often ended up sleeping at Crowley's feet.

As he closed the door, he heard Harry's typical little pawing noises and then felt the rabbit immediately come to sniff his feet before rubbing up against his legs as usual. He scratched Harry's head between his ears and headed for the kitchen. Harry was a rabbit with spotless white fluffy fur, and if it was true that Crowley had wanted a dog first, he didn't regret having Harry as a companion. One day, the rabbit had unexpectedly come into his life and quickly endeared himself to him and invaded his life.

Crowley opened the fridge, which was desperately empty except for a portion of vegetables for Harry. He put it on a plate and set it on the floor, commenting, "We need rabbit food and human food too.

He would have to go shopping tomorrow.

After munching on a packet of crisps, exhausted, he took a quick shower before heading to his room.

His room was as functional and depressing as the rest of the place. He went to the window. Outside there was nothing but stone buildings. It was very difficult to see the sky.

He sighed before muttering, "What a view..." then pulled down the blinds and lay down. As soon as his head was on the pillow, he heard Harry's little pitter-patter and then felt the mattress move as the rabbit landed beside him before crawling along his body. Harry sniffed his face a few times and then returned to press himself against his feet.

"At least you seem to be getting back into your routine quickly, little rascal. Good night, Harry."

Crowley fell asleep very quickly, which prevented him from thinking too much about all that he was missing.

An old yellow Beetle that looked like it had lived a long time drove past Ditchling's sign and parked at the side of the road leading to the cottage. It was full of moving boxes and was pulling a trailer full of furniture.

A man with blond hair and a suit as old-fashioned as his car got out with a cheerful expression. He walked up to the lakeside cottage and stopped, hands on hips, taking in the view.

Then he walked on, opened the door of the cottage, looked for the electric panel, and when he found it, turned it on and went to turn on the lights in the foyer, then in what appeared to be the living room.

Aziraphale looked around and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. There wasn't much there. A stereo, a few books, an armchair. But the bare, cozy furnishings were a perfect match for the austere beauty of the little house.

He looked out the window at the lake and immediately knew he was going to like it here.

It took him a good four hours to unload the car and trailer and set up almost everything he'd brought with him. When he was done, he took the thermos of tea he'd brought with him and poured himself a cup, inhaling it with pleasure. He was already feeling at home.

As he sipped his tea, he quietly walked around the house, taking in the place. When he was done, he decided it was time to stock his cupboard and fridge, and got into his car to go shopping at the local grocery store he'd spotted on his way in.

A short time later, after walking around the store with his groceries in his arms, he set them down on the counter.

Behind it stood two men, both bearded, one with short hair and one with long hair, the latter kindly asking him, "Hello, are you new here?"

Aziraphale smiled and replied, "More or less. My name is Aziraphale."

The owner replied, "My name is Bill, and this is my husband, Frank.

Frank smiled and added, "You're going to love it here. Especially now that the weather is warming up." Then, pointing to the groceries, he added, "We'll get you some boxes for all this."

"Oh, thank you," Aziraphale replied.

Frank moved to get an empty box from a high shelf, and now that he was no longer hidden by the counter, Aziraphale noticed that he was moving with a cane, and Bill rushed over and said, "No, dear, let me do it."

Frank shook his head and replied, "I have trouble walking, but I can still climb a ladder."

Suddenly, they both stopped as the sound of a baby crying came through the baby monitor that Aziraphale hadn't noticed next to the cash register.

Frank chuckled and said to Bill, "Your turn, Daddy."

Bill grumbled, and as Frank went to get the boxes for Aziraphale to put his groceries in, the other man returned with the crying baby in his arms. Aziraphale, who adored children, approached and, looking at the baby, who must have been barely 6 months old, said softly, "Oh, how adorable! What's his name?"

"Joel."

Aziraphale moved his finger forward to stroke the baby's cheek, but Joel caught his finger firmly.

"I think he likes you."

They chatted a little longer as the baby's cries subsided, then Aziraphale paid, picked up his box, and left, not without promising the couple he'd be back. He glanced in the rearview mirror, touched to see the little family waving at the front of the store, making him even more aware of his own loneliness.

He parked again in front of the small path leading to the cottage and noticed the mailbox with the flag up. He stopped and opened it. There was an envelope.

For the new tenant.

He brought in the groceries, put them away, made himself a tray of finger sandwiches, took the letter, and sat down in the chair in front of the bay window. He placed his tray on a small table nearby, opened the letter and began to read.

Dear new tenant.

Hello and welcome to your new home and congratulations, blah blah blah. You've made an excellent choice, Ditchling is a wonderful place and this house is a gem, as you may have noticed.

I'm sure you're going to love living here as much as I have.

I'm the former tenant, Crowley.

Aziraphale looked puzzled, but also pleasantly surprised; even though he would probably never meet this person, it was nice to get a little personal mail. He read on.

The post office usually forwards my mail, but if anything should happen here, because the post office is what it is and you're never sure, my new address is below. Thank you very much.

Aziraphale flipped it over.

P.S.: Sorry about the paw prints leading to the front door. They were there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner.

Aziraphale looked at the letter with amusement and couldn't help but check the last words.

He went to the front door and looked at the floor, but saw no paw prints and the floor was clean, inside and out.

Confused, he scratched the back of his head before heading for the ladder that led to the attic. He opened the trapdoor, stuck his head through and looked around. The attic was empty. No box.

He climbed back down, shrugged, crumpled up the letter and threw it away. It probably wasn't addressed to him. A little disappointed, he finished his meal in a less than cheerful mood and went to bed.

The next morning, as he was polishing a gramophone before displaying it in the window, he couldn't stop thinking about that letter and its more or less strange ending, when he was interrupted by the doorbell indicating that someone had entered the shop.

He put down the cloth, wiped his hands on his apron, and went into the shop.

"Good morning, Aziraphale! I made lunch, would you like to share?"

It was the cheerful and somewhat pushy Arthur. Arthur Brown, the owner of the carpet store almost across the street from his own.

He replied, struggling to hide his annoyance at being interrupted from a task he loved, "I can't, I have an urgent job to finish."

"Oh come on Aziraphale, there's nothing urgent about an old... an old well, an old thing you must have discovered at I don't know which old lady's house around here."

"It's urgent for me."

The carpet merchant poutted disappointedly and sighed before replying, "Well, okay..." and heading for the door, before turning abruptly and asking, "Is it true you bought a house? Where is it? What's it like?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he wasn't surprised because he'd expected these questions. He'd told Maggie, the owner of the vinyl store next door, about his new home and she, of course, had told her girlfriend, Nina. Since Nina owned the coffee shop on that strip, the news must have spread like wildfire.

He replied, "It's an isolated cottage near a village called Ditchling."

Arthur exclaimed, "Are you crazy, isolating yourself like that?"

Aziraphale replied rather curtly, "This is what I want, and I already feel at home there. And now, if you don't mind, I'll get back to my work, which is not urgent."

He walked briskly to his workshop, annoyed at the criticism of his choice, and didn't even hear the door close.

Even though it would take him almost two hours to get to the lakeside cottage, he had decided to go there every day to clean, tidy, and renovate it as quickly as possible, and he had fairly flexible hours, like today, Monday, when the shop was closed in the afternoon. So, after a light lunch in the shop, he set off for Ditchling, and as the weather was rather pleasant, he decided to repaint the faded railings that lined the little path leading up to the front door. This manual labor, like his work on the objects in his antique shop, gave him something to take his mind off things.

A few hours later, as the day wore on, Aziraphale knelt on the steps and finished applying a first coat of paint to the boards he had previously sanded, removing the old, peeling green paint. He finished, pleased with the result, and began to put away his equipment.

Behind him, a small rabbit hopped along the path, but Aziraphale didn't immediately notice it. Before Aziraphale could react, it hopped right into the tray where Aziraphale was wiping the excess paint from his brush and continued on, leaving a trail of paw prints behind it.

"Hey! Stop!"

Aziraphale ran after the rabbit, trying to catch it, but it ran right into the cottage, whose door had been left half-open. Aziraphale started to follow, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the ground at his feet.

There was now a trail of rabbit paw prints leading to the front door.

He rushed to the wastebasket and rifled through it for a few seconds before finding what he was looking for. Holding his breath, he stared at the letter for a few moments without reacting.

Sorry about the paw prints leading to the front door. They were there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner.

Aziraphale stared at the crumpled letter in his hand for a long moment.

Crowley went for lunch to a park he had discovered not far from the school. It was quite warm for the time of year, so he unbuttoned his jacket and the first two buttons of his shirt as he walked quietly, hoping to find a free bench.

He only found one that was quite close to the road, but it was better than nothing and enough to enjoy his lunch break. So he began unwrapping his sandwich while flipping through the newspaper, then stretched his long legs out in front of him and sighed in satisfaction, enjoying this moment of quiet, even though the place was rather crowded due to the unusually nice weather.

After finishing his sandwich, Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight warm him. He wasn't asleep, and he was aware of the sounds around him, like the water in the fountain, the splashing and laughing of children playing in it, an old man grumbling about global warming, the ducks quacking on the small pond nearby, hoping to get a few crumbs from those who, like Crowley, had decided to eat lunch here.

Suddenly, this harmony was shattered by a horrible sound: a high-pitched screech and a car horn brought Crowley to his feet. He opened his eyes abruptly and looked around.

On the side of the road, just a few feet from his bench, he spotted whatever was responsible for the noise. A double-decker city bus was visibly trying to stop. It was going quite fast, but the driver was clearly trying to brake.

Crowley took in everything - the noise, the bus, the drivers, the passengers screaming from above - before noticing a man standing on the side of the road directly in the path of the bus. There was nothing to be done, it was inevitable and almost instantaneous, the man was hit by the bus and Crowley watched in horror as his distant silhouette flew ten or fifteen feet into the air before crashing to the pavement. The faint sound of the impact reached Crowley a half-second later because of the distance.

Crowley automatically pulled out his cell phone and dialed 999. As he ran toward the point of impact, he relayed all the information to the rescue team, trying to remain calm.

After hanging up the phone, feeling as if his feet were glued to the ground, he continued to run toward the lifeless body.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #human au #alternate universe

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gumnut-logic · 8 months ago

Text

Sweetapple Slice 9

Alexander Sweetapple series

This isn't much because I'm tired and it's nearly midnight after a very long day, so don't expect much.

Inspired by the slightly evil @womble1 How dare they dangle a concept in front of me like that. Things like this happen - though honestly, I don't think it is as good as it could have been if I had half a brain, but eh, it be fic.

Sometime in the future, I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Alex walked across the room and opened the huge window, letting in the tropical breeze.

The scents of Tracy Island were heady and he found himself breathing in deep. It helped calm his heart.

A bird squawked somewhere nearby and the ocean hissed beyond the dense pōhutukawa trees.

“Thank you, love.”

Alex turned back to Virgil, sitting up in bed, still pale, but so much better than he had been.

His partner must have seen something in Alex’s expression, because he gestured with one hand for Alex to return to him.

Alex didn’t hesitate, crawling across the bed to carefully slide in beside him, avoiding the healing injury in Virgil’s left thigh. He tried to ignore the yellowing bruises and healing abrasions scattered across Virgil’s bare chest, still hesitant to touch, afraid he might hurt him.

Virgil being Virgil, grabbed him with his right arm and drew him in close, kissing his hair. “You’re not going to hurt me. Stop worrying.”

Alex grunted, not willing to admit how much Virgil’s sudden injury and following illness had scared him.

One day they were planning a relaxing dinner in Sydney, of all places. Planning to watch the sun go down over the Harbour Bridge. Then half way through the afternoon, John had called, his voice parched.

Thunderbird One hit Māhia at speed and Alex had been airborne, halfway to London before he could knock two neurons together.

He’d never been to London before.

He still hadn’t really. He’d only been to that hospital, that room, with his seriously ill lover surrounded by family, not knowing if he would ever see those beautiful chocolate eyes ever again.

Scott was a man possessed.

Virgil had mentioned his big brother’s passion for his family. Through Alex’s own terror, he saw the man go from the calm professional to the desperate big brother.

Their father did his best to see to the eldest, but whatever he tried never seemed to be enough.

As for Alex…the days were filled with fear.

“I’m getting better, love. Please stop thinking about it.” Virgil drew Alex’s head down to his shoulder, stroking his hair gently.

Alex leant up and kissed his jawline.

He, too, was shirtless and Virgil’s warmth, both physical and spiritual, seeped in through Alex’s skin.

“What do you want to do today?” They had recently finished breakfast. Alex was ever so happy to see Virgil’s appetite return. He truly was getting better.

“I was thinking of doing a little knitting. Two’s stocks are getting low.” Virgil shifted a little where he sat.

Alex frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Another shift. “Could you do me a favour?”

Alex sat up. “Of course.”

“There’s a bag, green, in that cupboard, second shelf.”

Sliding off the bed once again, Alex did as Virgil asked and found the bag. It was obviously a knitting bag. Metal needles clicked together as he picked it up and several balls of yarn peeked up through its drawstring top. Alex brought it back to the bed. “You never mentioned you knit.”

A half-smile. “It’s a thing.” Out came scarlet needles and a bright gold yarn. “Bit of a tradition.”

As he was speaking, Virgil started expertly casting on stitches.

Alex crawled back onto the bed, ever fascinated by what his love was capable of. “You are so much.”

Virgil stopped mid-motion, frowning just a little. “In what way?”

“Every time I think I know all your interests, you pop up with another one, and to top it all off, you’re proficient in all of them.”

A snort. “You can talk.”

“Yes, I’m an engineer, but that is all I am, Virgil. You? You are an engineer, a bloody brilliant one, mind you. A musician, an artist, a rescue operative and medic. You are so talented and skilled in so many professions…how are you possible?”

An arched eyebrow was pointed in his direction. “You are most certainly much more than just an engineer, Alex.” He reached up and stroked Alex’s arm. “So much more.”

Alex gave him the side eye, ever sceptical. “So what are you making?”

Virgil stared at him a moment before giving in and looking down at the mess of gold yarn in his lap. “Fish for a fish.”

“You’re making goldfish for Gordon? Why?”

“Because this time I was the one who was injured.”

“What?”

Virgil sighed. “We have a thing.”

Alex waited.

And waited. “A thing?”

“Gordon was seriously injured once. He needed some…motivation. So I taught him to knit.”

Blink.

Virgil obviously took that as a question. “He told me it was my turn to make fish.”

This was obviously another one of those Tracy-things Alex was never quite going to understand. The five brothers were a very closely knit bunch, pun intended, and sometimes they did things that defied explanation.

And this was likely one of them.

Alex sighed and curled up beside Virgil, prepared to sit beside him no matter what the man wanted to do. The last week had been hell and he thought that he had lost the one he loved. If that man now wanted to knit random gold fish for his quirky brother, he could knit as much as he liked.

Alex was just happy to have him safe.

As Virgil began to hum, relaxing into what he was doing, Alex let himself smile.

It truly was a beautiful sound.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alexander sweetapple #nuttyfic #virgil tracy/alexander sweetapple #romance #virgil whump

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beetop1a · 9 months ago

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todays outfit

#fashion #alternative #black girls #spirituality #black tumblr #healing #london

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aziraphales-library · 1 year ago

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hello, i was wondering if you perhaps knew of any fics that involve crowley and anathema being friends? ive just always felt like they would get on well, they're both similarly odd and prone to ranting about the sizes of animals brains

thank you so much for all the work you all do btw!!

Hi! Here are some fics which feature a friendship between Crowley and Anathema...

You've Got a Funny Way of Making Friends by ellbie (T)

Anathema swirled her drink in her glass. “Then what?” “Er, then… I don’t know. I didn’t see him again until the Great Flood.” “Well, when did you start, y’know…” Anathema waggled her eyebrows. Crowley flustered. “Mind your own business, witch.” “Hey, you’re the one that agreed to talk to me about all this stuff. You can’t be mad that I’m asking questions.”

Friendship is Demonic Magic by Shadow0kana & whtbout2ndbrkfst (T)

After Crowley interrupts Aziraphale and Anathema’s phone conversations one too many times, Aziraphale suggests the two have their own meetups to discuss what they have in common. Cue monthly coffee dates between a witch and a demon who can passionately discuss (debate) anything from Halloween to Astronomy to Hamlet… while also conspiring to form a book swap aimed at getting Aziraphale to read anything written after 1950.

The Nice and Accurate wedding of Anathema Device, Witch, which went just as expected by Nenchen (G)

Wedding planner Anathema Device is the Number One. She can organize anything for a wedding, flower arrangements, catering, a marching band or an emu. The name Device is a guarantee for a picture perfect wedding - and the perfect pictures will be taken by her top wedding photographer, and best friend, Anthony J. Crowley.

Both of them see weddings mostly as business, until Anathema meets Newt, Love of her life, walking natural disaster extraordinaire, and very much not a person it’s possible to have a perfect wedding with.

Which is perfect since Anathema frankly never wanted one for herself. She just wants a fun party, good food, and all of her friends to attend - including Crowley. For whom this might just as well be the apocalypse because no, he is not allowed to work on her wedding. Strictly invited only as a guest, Crowley finds himself at a loss. What the hell do you do at weddings? Well, if you are Crowley, the answer is some James Bond-like action, some worrying about fly swarms and their sources, having a lot of emotions, drinking some very funny wine, putting your foot in your mouth and just maybe meeting someone to share all of that with. Oh, and there’s always cake, isn’t there?

Healing by AppleSeeds (M)

After Crowley sustains an injury, his friend Anathema persuades him to come with her to the spiritual centre she regularly attends so that he can receive some spiritual healing. Crowley doesn't expect the healer to be quite so attractive, and certainly not that he'll end up developing a crush on him. As their sessions together progress though, Crowley starts to wonder whether Aziraphale might actually have feelings for him too.

Thrown for a Loop by MickyRC (T)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a large amount of yarn will be assumed to be a knitter.

It is a truth universally acknowledged among crocheters that this is annoying as hell.

In his many years crocheting, Aziraphale has never been one to let that assumption stand. But faced with an opportunity to join a knitting group run by a very sweet new shop owner, he decides to play along. Even if it means he has to pretend he wants to learn how to knit. Even if it means he has to hide his skill with a crochet hook.

It’ll be worth it to get to know Crowley better. Probably. Hopefully.

(It will.)

secondhand smoke by PaintedVanilla (T)

you're second hand smoke, second hand smoke i breathe you in, but, honey, i don't know what you're doing to me mon chéri

the year is 1990, and anthony crowley is looking for a church in london that might be tolerable. the one he winds up attending isn't exactly such, but he decides to stick around for one reason. said reason happens to own a bookshop that crowley begins to frequent, much to the surprise and delight of anathema device and newton pulsifer, who seem quite convinced that crowley could use something else to focus on besides gardening, their campaigns, and visits to tadfield.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anathema #crowley & anathema #human au #friendship #mod d

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girlfox · 5 months ago

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You are proficient in the medicinal properties of the realm's sparse flora. Making use of your knowledge, you are able to craft herbal concoctions to hasten your healing speed by 10% / 25% / 30% and passively heal for a percentage of 5% / 10% / 15% of your maximum health over time.

The scent of blood flares your senses, putting you on edge. Injured allies are highlighted. While healing an injured ally, you give in to your animalistic nature and consume some of their blood. Doing so grants you 1 token, up to 3 tokens for every survivor assisted. Being struck by a killer automatically expends 1 token, granting you Endurance. While downed, you can manually expend 3 tokens to recover and gain Haste for 5 / 8 / 10 seconds. However, you gain the Deep Wound status effect.

You are nimble and swift, inhumanly so━━a predator acting the prey. You make 50% less sound when vaulting and sprinting, and gain 20% / 30% / 40% Haste for 3 seconds after vaulting while you are being chased.

𝐆𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄. For four hundred years, Ahri had made her way through - out the world in a stupor of ravenous hunger; unwilling to relent in the pursuit of rapture. A KUMIHO OF LEGEND━━━thought to be a mythological creature spun by the minds of the fantastical; yet very much real, intertwining with humanity in her very own disguise. From the streets of London, to the lively alley ways of Rome, and finally in her home of South Korea, the Fox left a wake of gore and viscera in her path, filling her belly to the brim.

In 1891, she would perform her greatest act of slaughter, consuming the bodies and souls of 136 humans over the span of one month, completely giving in to the animalistic, carnal urge to devour without remorse. However, the consequences of her haphazard killing spree would result in the Fox being forced to run away once more, though now slovenly and over-full from the sheer quantity of souls she'd consumed.

Hibernation took place in a small, seaside town outside of Seoul. For several years, Ahri laid low in hiding from the colossal uproar now reaching across Korea, and for a time, got away with it. Though she abstained from feeding until 1991, too spiritually full. That same year, Ahri changed her name and took up an old flower shop, resolving to attempt a life of normalcy until her fox bead ceased to swell with power, at least.

Some years later, in 1994, Ahri would meet the newfound love of her life: an artist, who would spend days 'pon lackadaisical days painting her, unknowingly capturing the portrait of a murderous beast. Relishing in the adoration, the Fox simply enjoyed her simple life, putting her past in the back of her mind.

[ ... ] It was a cool summer night when Ahri killed again. In a haze of romance and blinding trust, she revealed her nature to him, tails and claws and all. Her artist's reaction was not what she had anticipated nor hoped for, and ended in gore once more. Ahri ate his heart, his liver, and his soul. He would become one with her.

In a frenzied panic, his body was clumsily discarded of. Three days later, it would be found and set off a large spanning police investigation as the method was all too similar to the mass killer of 1891. A copy-cat, authorities thought. When the investigation brought them to the deceased's home, stacks of paintings of the Fox were strewn about everywhere; and with the realization that she, the lover, had mysteriously disappeared, the spotlight turned to Ahri.

With authorities hot on her tail, Ahri fled once more. Perhaps foolishly, she visited her flower shop first to collect a personal affect that now held great meaning to her: a twin charm of little flowers encased in resin orbs, no larger than a key chain. A gift from him. Immersed in the emotion it gave her to look down on it, a flashing red and blue light suddenly cast through her shop's windows, bringing her to the present once more.

Though sirens would soon fade out into a distant sound, her environment encased in a thick, dark fog... around her, the flower shop turned into dense forest. ❛ YOU'RE TRAPPED, LITTLE FOX. ❜ A voice taunted somewhere in the fog. Then, screaming; a thousand blood-curdling wails that overtook her, until Ahri lost consciousness. In her heart of hearts, she knew these were the sounds of the lives she'd taken, and this was her penance: to relive their deaths over and over and over again.

Focuses on looping the Killer and feeding off of other injured survivors to empower herself.

Is keenly aware of the entity's cycle that she's stuck in; each loop stays with her, as do the memories of her victims.

Has been in the realm for a very, very long time at this point. She's given up counting the days.

While her experiences in the realm have taught her a deeper sense of humility, Ahri is predisposed to look out for herself first. She has a strong sense of empathy for other survivors and has no qualms with helping others, even using her swiftness to unhook and keep the Killer distracted. However, when it comes down to the line, she'll prioritize herself. She is empathetic, but not selfless.

She has fleeting bonds with the other survivors, but tends to stay at arms length. Ahri feels deeply, and creating relationships with others in this environment is only spelling tragedy for either of them.

Actively taunts Killers. She's most certainly not afraid to talk herself up or teasingly flirt with them from afar just to egg them on and keep their attention on the Fox. Ahri is nimble as a fox, and twice as fast; she's slippery and hard to catch, and can keep a tunneling Killer on a leash for a substantial amount of time. Yes, Killers think she's annoying.

Isn't hooked incredibly often, but every time she is, it's with a sense of impending dread like most. She's not immune to the cosmic terror that the Entity instills on it's prey, not completely. Her hope tends to falter at times but it's usually quick to strength once more.

For many survivors, her reputation is precarious at best. Consuming the blood of other survivors isn't a good look.

Has, in the past, tried to maim Killers. In the heat of it, she's all tooth and claw and animal, and has shown them this part of herself openly. Unfortunately, it didn't end well. It comes out when she's dying and bleeding out, but otherwise she's smarter than that now.

Tends to a little patch of unique flora somewhere just beyond the campfire that she spends a lot of time in when she's not in an arena. She studies the plants there, honing her knowledge and finding a tiny bit of respite within it.

#𝐀𝐔 ⠀⠀(⠀ⅻ.⠀)⠀⠀𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓:⠀⠀ಇ⠀⠀we killed it and it's rotting!#inb4 no one's reading all that kaeri !#i write way too much for these au's but. i'm not sorry. take my dbd au !!#remind me to also update this with her unique map. c: it's the olde woods and they're very spooky.

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orthodoxydaily · 28 days ago

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SAINTS&READING: FRIDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2024

october 12_october 26

St MARTIN THE MERCIFUL, BISHOP OF TOURS (France_397)

Saint Martin the Merciful, Bishop of Tours, was born at Sabaria in Pannonia (modern Hungary) in 316. Since his father was a Roman officer, he also was obliged to serve in the army. Martin did so unwillingly, for he considered himself a soldier of Christ, though he was still a catechumen.

At the gates of Amiens, he saw a beggar shivering in the severe winter cold, so he cut his cloak in two and gave half to the beggar. That night, the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to the saint wearing Martin’s cloak. He heard the Savior say to the angels surrounding Him, “Martin is only a catechumen, but he has clothed Me with this garment.” The saint was baptized soon after this, and reluctantly remained in the army.

Two years later, the barbarians invaded Gaul and Martin asked permission to resign his commission for religious reasons. The commander charged him with cowardice. Saint Martin demonstrated his courage by offering to stand unarmed in the front line of battle, trusting in the power of the Cross to protect him. The next day, the barbarians surrendered without a fight, and Martin was allowed to leave the army.

He traveled to various places during the next few years, spending some time as a hermit on an island off Italy. He became friendly with Saint Hilary, Bishop of Poitiers (January 14), who made Martin an exorcist. After several years of the ascetic life, Saint Martin was chosen to be Bishop of Tours in 371. As bishop, Saint Martin did not give up his monastic life, and the place where he settled outside Tours became a monastery. In fact, he is regarded as the founder of monasticism in France. He conversed with angels, and had visions of Saints Peter and Paul (June 29) and of other saints. He is called the Merciful because of his generosity and care for the poor, and he received the grace to work miracles.

After a life of devoted service to Christ and His Church, the saint fell ill at Candes, a village in his diocese, where he died on November 8, 397. He was buried three days later (his present Feast) at Tours. During the Middle Ages, many Western churches were dedicated to Saint Martin, including Saint Martin’s in Canterbury, and Saint Martin-in-the-Fields in London.

In 1008, a cathedral was built at Tours over the relics of Saint Martin. This cathedral was destroyed in 1793 during the French Revolution, together with the relics of Saint Martin and Saint Gregory of Tours (November 17). A new cathedral was built on the site many years later. Some fragments of the relics of Saint Martin were recovered and placed in the cathedral, but nothing remains of Saint Gregory’s relics.

Saint Martin’s name appears on many Greek and Russian calendars. His commemoration on October 12 in the Russian calendar seems to be an error since ancient sources give the November date.

VENERABLE SYMEON, THE NEW THEOLOGIAN (1021)

Saint Simeon the New Theologian was born in 949 in Galatea (Paphlagonia) and educated at Constantinople. His father prepared him for a career in court, and the youth occupied a high position in the imperial court for a while. When he was fourteen, he met the renowned Elder Simeon the Pious at the Studion Monastery, who would majorly influence his spiritual development. He remained in the world for several years, preparing himself for the monastic life under the Elder’s guidance, and finally entered the monastery at the age of 27.

Saint Simeon the Pious recommended to the young man the writings of Saint Mark the Ascetic (March 5) and other spiritual writers. He read these books attentively and tried to put into practice what he read. Three points made by Saint Mark in his work “On the Spiritual Law” (see Vol. I of the English Philokalia) particularly impressed him. First, you should listen to your conscience and do what it tells you if you wish your soul to be healed (Philokalia, p. 115). Second, only by fulfilling the commandments can one obtain the activity of the Holy Spirit. Thirdly, one who prays only with the body and without spiritual knowledge is like the blind man who cried out, “Son of David, have mercy upon me” (Luke 18:38) (Philokalia, p. 111). When the blind man received his sight, however, he called Christ the Son of God (John 9:38).

Saint Simeon was wounded with a love for spiritual beauty, and tried to acquire it. In addition to the Rule given him by his Elder, his conscience told him to add a few more Psalms and prostrations, and to repeat constantly, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy upon me.” Naturally, he heeded his conscience.

During the day, he cared for the needs of people living in the palace of Patricius. At night, his prayers grew longer and he remained praying until midnight. Once, as he was praying in this way, a most brilliant divine radiance descended upon him and filled the room. He saw nothing but light all around him, and he was not even aware of the ground beneath his feet.

It seemed to him that he himself became light. Then his mind rose upward to the heavens, and he saw a second light brighter than the light which surrounded him. Then, on the edge of this second light, he seemed to see Saint Simeon the Pious, who had given him Saint Mark the Ascetic to read.

Seven years after this vision, Saint Simeon entered the monastery. There he increased his fasting and vigilance, and learned to renounce his own will.

The Enemy of our salvation stirred up the brethren of the monastery against Saint Simeon, who was indifferent to the praises or reproaches of others. Because of the increased discontent in the monastery, Saint Simeon was sent to the Monastery of Saint Mamas in Constantinople.

There he was tonsured into the monastic schema, and increased his spiritual struggles. He attained to a high spiritual level, and increased his knowledge of spiritual things through reading the Holy Scriptures and the writings of the Fathers, as well as in conversation with holy Elders.

Around the year 980, Saint Simeon was made igumen of the monastery of Saint Mamas and continued in this office for twenty-five years. He repaired and restored the monastery, which had suffered from neglect, and also brought order to the life of the monks.

The strict monastic discipline, for which Saint Simeon strove, led to great dissatisfaction among the brethren. Once, after Liturgy, some of the monks attacked him and nearly killed him. When the Patriarch of Constantinople expelled them from the monastery and wanted to hand them over to the civil authorities, Saint Simeon asked that they be treated with leniency and be permitted to live in the world.

About the year 1005, Saint Simeon resigned his position as igumen in favor of Arsenius, while he himself settled near the monastery in peace. There he composed his theological works, portions of which appear in the Philokalia.

The chief theme of his works is the hidden activity of spiritual perfection, and the struggle against the passions and sinful thoughts. He wrote instructions for monks: “Theological and Practical Chapters,” “A Treatise on the Three Methods of Prayer,” (in Vol. IV of the English Philokalia) and “A Treatise on Faith.” Moreover, Saint Simeon was an outstanding church poet. He also wrote “Hymns of Divine Love,” about seventy poems filled with profound prayerful meditations.

The sublime teachings of Saint Simeon about the mysteries of mental prayer and spiritual struggle have earned him the title “the New Theologian.” These teachings were not the invention of Saint Simeon, but they had merely been forgotten over time.

Some of these teachings seemed unacceptable and strange to his contemporaries. This led to conflict with Constantinople’s church authorities, and Saint Simeon was banished from the city. He withdrew across the Bosphorus and settled in the ancient monastery of Saint Makrina.

The saint peacefully fell asleep in the Lord in the year 1021. During his life he received the gift of working miracles. Numerous miracles also took place after his death; one of them was the miraculous discovery of his icon.

His Life was written by his cell-attendant and disciple, Saint Nicetas Stethatos.

Since March 12 falls during Great Lent, Saint Simeon’s Feast is transferred to October 12.

Ephesians 6:18-24

18 praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, being watchful to this end with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints- 19 and for me, that utterance may be given to me, that I may open my mouth boldly to make known the mystery of the gospel, 20 for which I am an ambassador in chains; that in it I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak. 21 But that you also may know my affairs and how I am doing, Tychicus, a beloved brother, and faithful minister in the Lord, will make all things known to you; 22 whom I have sent to you for this very purpose, that you may know our affairs, and that he may comfort your hearts. 23 Peace to the brethren, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. 24 Grace be with all those who love our Lord Jesus Christ sincerely. Amen.

Luke 9:12-18

12 When the day began to wear away, the twelve came and said to Him, "Send the multitude away, that they may go into the surrounding towns and country, and lodge and get provisions; for we are in a deserted place here." 13 But He told them, "You give them something to eat." And they said, "We have no more than five loaves and two fish unless we go and buy food for all these people." 14 For there were about five thousand men. Then He said to His disciples, "Make them sit down in groups of fifty." 15 And they did so and made them all sit down. 16 Then He took the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, He blessed and broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the multitude. 17 So they all ate and were filled, and they took twelve baskets of the leftover fragments. 18 And it happened, as He was alone praying, that His disciples joined Him,

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #bible #wisdom #faith #saints

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