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hatandgoggles-writing · 5 years ago

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Two Guys and a Baby: Day 12 part 1

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read ahead as I write the story as a $1 Patreon patron!

'Dear mother,' the page in Ezra’s notebook began and Crowley immediately knew he shouldn’t read any further without the man’s express permission.

Or, just when everything seemed to come together...

Chapter 16 of 20 Ongoing 2293 words Romance/Humor

It must have been four in the morning when Crowley woke to the tinny staccato of a Nokia brick phone ringtone. A kiss was pressed to his temple. A soft 'I'll get it. You just dream about whatever you like best,' was whispered in his ear. A great warmth left his bed, and as soft footsteps padded to his nightstand and to the door of his bedroom, the intrusion faded until it suddenly ceased. And Crowley, well, Crowley did as he was told.

It had been eleven by the time Crowley tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, only barely bothering to pick up his tacky, synthetic, black and red, floral print robe from the floor, not bothering to close it. He was about to turn on his coffeemaker when he noticed there was a warm pot of coffee sitting on the counter already. Not waking up alone seemed to have its perks already.

World's Best Uncle mug full of black coffee, he made his way to the kitchen table where, if it were up to him, he'd scroll through some social media feeds, check for messages*, drink some coffee, rinse and repeat.

(*there were never any.)

Except, on his kitchen table, Crowley found an open notebook and an uncapped fountain pen. One that he gave Ezra years ago, because it was small enough to fit inside his coat's inner pocket.

Now, Ezra Fell could be accused of many things, but messy as his bookshop may seem to the untrained eye, he never left anything out of place. Crowley could no longer contain his curiosity.

'Dear mother,' the page in Ezra’s notebook began and Crowley immediately knew he shouldn’t read any further without the man’s express permission.

Even glancing at the contents of Ezra’s notebook felt like a betrayal of his trust. But the letter was long and the ink was smudged, both from a left hand dragging over still drying ink, and wet stains on the pages.

Crowley didn’t need to be a detective to deduce that the sobs and whimpers coming from the living room weren’t Adam.

Slowly, Crowley advanced to his living room. His phone and coffee were abandoned on the kitchen table. “Ezra?” he called. “Angel?”

An ugly sob sounded across the room, followed in close succession by a much younger cooing. So, Adam was awake too.

“Shit,” Crowley swore he heard Ezra hiss.

As he poked his head around the door opening, Crowley found Ezra faced away from him, pacing around the living room, carrying Adam on one arm and desperately rubbing his sleeve across his face with the other.

“Ezra…” Crowley heard himself breathe. His legs moved of their own accord, his arms opened and soon enveloped the other man. His own vision grew blurry when he felt a sob rack through the other man’s body. “I won’t ask if you’re okay, because I can see that you’re not. I’ll only ask what happened when and if you’re ready to talk. But I’m here for you, alright?” Crowley said, pressing a kiss to the crown of Ezra’s hair. His voice had sounded shakier than he’d hoped, but it needed to be said, dammit.

Ezra hugged Adam closer to his chest. The boy seemed to be enjoying himself just fine.

“I knew this was coming ever since I got word she was ill,” Ezra mumbled. Crowley heard the lump in his throat and his heart ached on Ezra’s behalf. “We hadn’t spoken for a decade, and yet…”

“It hurts.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“And yet it does. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Anthony,” Ezra sighed, finally relaxing in Crowley’s embrace, leaning back against his chest. He sniffled again, dried his tears on his sleeve and turned to face Crowley. His complexion had paled and his eyes were red and puffy. “I hope you don’t mind I’ve already fed Adam.”

Crowley shook his head and leaned in to kiss Ezra’s forehead, only for the man to recoil. Right. Too fast. It wasn’t so surprising for the walls that had finally started to come down, went back up immediately. “I don’t mind at all. How about breakfast? I’ve got eggs and bacon, I’ll make us some toast—”

“I already ate,” Ezra insisted. Crowley knew for a fact this was a lie; for one, there was no evidence in his kitchen that anything more than coffee and perhaps the aforementioned jar of baby food had been prepared and two, it was his own lie, the one he used when Ezra fussed over his minuscule appetite used right back in his face.

It didn’t happen often that Crowley got a taste of his own medicine and he didn’t particularly enjoy it. Especially where his angel was concerned. But what was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Sure, they were out in the open, but they weren’t yet out of the woods. He loved Ezra too much to risk a misstep and lose him again.

“Right. Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Ezra nervously shifted Adam in his hold. Crowley instinctively reached out to take Adam from him, but Ezra didn’t budge. The boy shot a confused look between the two of them.

“There’s one thing,” Ezra mumbled. “But I can’t possibly ask this from you, I’ve made you a promise.”

Crowley, careful to not make any sudden movements, slowly reached up to stroke Ezra’s cheek, but settled for laying his hand on the man’s shoulder when he recoiled from that as well. “Try me,” Crowley said. He wasn’t the model of patience, but he sure could try to look like it. “Going back on a promise isn’t the same as breaking it.”

Ezra nodded slowly and took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s a wake on Monday,” he mumbled. “I won’t ask you to talk to anyone. I won’t even ask you to go in with me. All I’m asking is for you to be there when it’s over.”

A fond smile crept to Crowley’s face. “Angel, I would do all of those things and more. All you have to do is ask. I’ll be with you, Ezra. Every step of the way.”

“In that case, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask of you.” Ezra glanced up at him shyly. “Julianne and Sandy, they asked me to…” Ezra gestured vaguely with his free hand, he blinked his tears away and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Write the eulogy, essentially. And read it in front of a church full of people.”

“I thought they didn’t approve of your writing?”

“Unless it suits them, apparently,” he sighed.

“Well, that’s hardly fair.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you. So, I’ve decided to write something they won’t expect. The truth. My truth. They won’t like it, I’m sure, but at least they would finally know."

Crowley's mind ground to a halt. Rarely had he seen his angel this fierce, especially on the subject of standing up for himself, but this might actually have consequences for him. He bit his lower lip and thought for a moment as his mind wandered back to the open notebook on his kitchen table.

"Angel, listen."

Ezra's gaze snapped up at him, still as fierce as before. Crowley had a feeling the man wasn't going to like what he was about to say, and he also felt like Ezra was acutely aware of that fact as well.

"I'm all for dramatics and for dropping truth bombs. Hell, any other context, I'd be cheering you on from the sidelines. And while I'm not saying you shouldn't burn all remaining bridges with your family if you feel like it, I am saying that I'm concerned about your safety."

The man looked at him as though he was watching water burn.

"Ezra, that church will be full of grieving people, most of whom will have liked your mother in some capacity and even more of whom will share her medieval views on people like us. Especially your siblings. Write your feelings down, sure. Write them in the guestbook, go to a poetry slam night and recite them there for all I care. But please, for my wrinkles and grey hairs, don't read them in front of that audience."

A deep sigh left Ezra and he firmly rubbed his creased forehead. "I suppose you're right. I just… I'm not sure what to do if not that."

"Well, you helped me write my letter of resignation. It's only fair if I help you with this."

Their entire morning was spent inside Crowley’s flat. All of the curtains were drawn, as nobody felt particularly motivated to be faced with the happy, sunny world outside. Crowley and Ezra were sat at the kitchen table, with Adam in his high chair between them, snacking on a breadstick. Ezra, dressed in his button-up and slacks from the day before and hunched over the table, dictated to Crowley what he needed on paper; a mix of his own true feelings and what he knew everyone in that church wanted to hear about his mother. Dressed in nothing but a Sheer Heart Attack t-shirt, boxers and his floral robe, Crowley typed as fast as his slender fingers and the word processor on his laptop allowed him to.

To say it was a struggle for Crowley to write a loving eulogy for a woman whose love for her son was so conditional that they hadn’t spoken in a decade and hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms before. Meanwhile, Crowley himself had been in the position with his mother where he could be comfortable sharing anything and everything that plagued his mind without fear of retaliation or abandonment.

Crowley briefly wondered if Ezra resented him for this sense of freedom he never really got to experience, but he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. How could he be this self centered? How could he make this all about himself? Ezra was the one suffering here.

He gazed towards the man next to him from the corner of his eye. Ezra looked tired and pale. There were dark circles under his eyes and even his usually curly hair seemed to have lost a great deal of its bounce.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered. “I’m, uh, if you don’t mind… I’m going to take Adam for a walk in a bit. Get him some fresh air. You don’t have to, but I’d like for you to come with us. We could stop by a bakery, get those chocolate croissants you like so much.”

Ezra, still hunched over, looking like an empty shell of himself, exhaled a long sigh. “I’m okay, dear.”

Crowley pouted. “That’s not what I asked,” he mumbled. “And it’s okay not to be okay. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that!” Ezra snapped. “Why wouldn’t I know that! Anthony, I’m fine!”

A sigh left Crowley. “Right. I’m going to put on some pants, shoes, and” he sniffed at himself, “and some deodorant. Tag along if you want to. Or don’t, if you don’t feel like it. I don’t want to push any of your boundaries,” he mumbled, pretending Ezra’s outburst didn’t happen. It was easier, after all. Ezra was always the calm and collected one of the two. Crowley largely preferred when he didn’t have to be the dependable one. When he tried it, he usually turned out cold and a little hostile. Like now. At the love of his life, of all people.

He huffed, pushed up from his seat and slinked back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Adam stared after Anthony as he left the small kitchen. How blissful must it be, to not have any idea of what was going on between the grownups that surrounded him right now? Or, well, grownup, rather, Ezra mused as he stroked the golden curls on Adam’s head, causing the boy to focus his undivided attention on Ezra.

Ezra had fucked up, behaving like a petulant child. He didn’t know what had come over him.

Well.

He did know.

He hadn’t slept or eaten since he’d gotten up at four in the morning. Then there was the gnawing guilt of feeling a slight sense of relief, now that his mother had passed away.

Adam continued to stare up at Ezra in a way he imagined little crickets in top hats would.

Anthony didn’t deserve Ezra behaving at him like this. He’d been nothing but supportive and helpful. He didn’t push him, didn’t confront him with more than he was ready for, he was concerned over his well being…

Ezra sighed. “I’d better go and apologize to Anthony,” he mumbled as he got up from his seat and walked the longest ten steps of his life to Anthony’s bedroom door. He raised his hand and knocked.

“I’ll tag along with you, Anthony, if you’ll have me. I think the fresh air and some chocolate croissants may do me some good. And I’m sorry I snapped at you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“You’re damn right, I didn’t,” Anthony said from the other side of the door before it opened, revealing a fully dressed Anthony, be it in yesterday’s clothes, with a waft of fresh deodorant coming off him. Ezra couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his eyes were a little more wet than they were before he’d walked off.

A feeling of fondness tugged at Ezra’s heart and a small smile tugged at his lips just before he pulled Anthony in for a hug. “Thank you for always respecting my boundaries, even if I might not always respect yours. I’ll try to be better about it.”

“‘S okay, angel. I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear.

#EN #fanfic #Good Omens #human AU #Ineffable Husbands

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aundercuzsomeonetookitalready · 8 years ago

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Beginning of a Story?

Frisk kept their eyes closed for a reason. A reason they couldn’t remember anymore. Despite this lack of reasonable memory, Frisk kept their eyes closed. It had to have been important, so they followed their gut.

Their gut was hungry. Unfortunately, they didn’t think flowers were very reliable food sources.

Deciding their first quest would be for food, Frisk got up and went off to explore this…place. They didn’t know why, but they felt reasonably safe here, as if it was a place anyone could come and be calm for a while.

Frisk decided they felt out of place here.

Sure enough, there was a talking flower.

“Well now, things are getting very interesting inDEED. Let’s what you’ll choose this time, my little monarch~.”

And with a frightening face change and laugh, the flower disappeared.

“Oh!”

Frisk startled at the sound of a kind woman, they felt kind of sad looking at her, despite never meeting her before.

“Have no fear child, I am Toriel, Caretaker of the Ruins. I come by here every day checking to see if anyone has fallen down.”

Frisk wrinkled their nose, this poor woman needs a hobby.

“Come!” Toriel gestured for Frisk to follow as she made her was out of the oddly pitch black room. “I will guide you through the catacombs.”

Catacombs? Weren’t those like giant underground graveyards? Oh well, too late now. Frisk trotted their [smol] legs along beside Toriel as she explained things about the Ruins such as puzzles and how to get out of a FIGHT. Talking to a stuffed dummy was a bit much, but it made Toriel happy, and Frisk had this odd need to make her happy at all costs.

They didn’t know how to cope though when they encountered a strange flying creature without Toriel, and ended up running most of the way through the Ruins. Frisk didn’t stumble on the puzzles luckily, they didn’t want to think about what might’ve happened if they’d failed them.

Frisk also encountered a sad ghost lying in their path, with whom they made friends with, and resolved to meet them again one day.

Soon, Frisk had explored much of the Ruins on their own, and now faced a second break in the path. Something in them was making them stay clear of going straight, and with the smell of something delicious coming from the left, Frisk couldn’t resist following their nose.

“Goodness, that took much longer than expected. Oh! My child, are you hurt? There, there, I will heal you.”

Frisk didn’t even realize they’d gotten hurt, but they felt much better afterwards.

“I suppose it was irresponsible of me to try and surprise you like this.”

Frisk grew curious about this, and confused their face to show so.

“Oh, come with me my child.”

Toriel led them into a neat, cozy home, and revealed that there was a PIE to be eaten! This made Frisk very happy, and only added to their joy and confusion when Toriel gave them their own bedroom.

There was the excuse made of a burning pie, leaving Frisk to their own devices in the room. Hmm, a basket of toys, an empty frame, some more empty drawers and wardrobe, and a box of shoes. The room was perfect, and Frisk had never felt so at home before.

They suddenly had the feeling they would give anything to keep this, and then that moment passed.

Frisk felt sleepy, and turned off the light before climbing into the bed for a short nap. When they woke, a piece of pie was sitting neatly on the floor. Hungrily, Frisk snatched it up and downed the pie in a few bites. It was REALLY good, and Frisk immediately felt bad about not trying to savor the taste.

Regretfully, Frisk picked up the empty plate and carried over to where they assumed Toriel would be.

Low and behold, Toriel was sitting quietly next to a fire, reading glasses on, a book in hand. Frisk timidly crept closer till they were right in front of Toriel, startling her out of her book-induced trance.

“Hello my child, up already?”

Toriel noticed their empty plate, and smiled warmly at them.

“Did you enjoy it? It has been a while since I’ve cooked for anyone but myself.”

Frisk nodded their head enthusiastically, and held the plate up for more.

Toriel chuckled, and ruffled Frisk’s head.

“We don’t want to spoil dinner more than it has been, my child.”

Frisk nodded, more slowly this time. Toriel clapped her hands (paws? Hooves?) together.

“I want you to know how excited I am to have you living here. I want to show you my favorite bug hunting spot, and I’ve already prepared a curriculum for your education. This may come as a surprise, but I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. Oh, I suppose that isn’t very surprising, is it?”

Toriel sighed lightly.

“Still, I am glad to have you living here. Wait, I’m sorry, did you need something?”

Frisk shook their head, instead climbing onto Toriel’s lap, and pointing at her book. Frisk never did learn to read very well, so they were hoping Toriel would teach them.

Toriel seemed delighted that Frisk wanted her to read to them, and began pointing to the pictures, talking and explaining a bunch of stuff about snails. Frisk wasn’t very interested in snails though, and soon they fell back asleep in Toriel’s arms.

Toriel didn’t know what to make of the child. They wouldn’t speak, and it seemed as though they liked to keep their eyes partially closed. She didn’t even know if they could read. Toriel took a deep breath as she lifted the child up from her lap to bring them back to their room. As she tucked Frisk back into bed, Toriel hummed a familiar tune.

“Sleep well, my child.”

Frisk ended up sleeping through the rest of the day, and until the next morning. They woke to the smell of bacon, something Frisk didn’t think they’d ever eat again. Drowsy still, Frisk stumbled out of their room, and into the kitchen where they found Toriel cooking. They think.

The stove wasn’t on, but there was definitely something being cooked. Frisk knocked on the doorway, grabbing Toriel’s attention.

“Good Morning, my child. If you want to sit at the table in the next room, breakfast will be ready shortly.”

Frisk nodded, and wandered over to the table. They climbed up onto one of the chairs as Toriel came back out with a stack of pancakes and a plate of bacon. Frisks’ mouth watered at the sight as Toriel put a couple of pancakes and some bacon on their plate, repeating the action for herself.

As soon as Frisk had received the okay to eat, they dug into their food with such vigor that Toriel might’ve thought they hadn’t eaten in days. Although, as Toriel didn’t know too much about the child, she assumed it was possible.

“My child?”

Frisk paused their eating before they took another bite and looked at Toriel questionably.

“Is it alright if I ask for your name?”

Frisk nodded, and seemed to think for a moment. They put down their fork, and hopped down off the chair. Frisk ran up to the book case, and pulled down a thin little book before bringing it back to Toriel and opening it on the floor next to her. Frisk gestured for her to look, and began looking through the page for the right letters. Frisk never did learn to write either, but they could at least recognize their own name and the letters that came with it.

Carefully, Frisk pointed to each letter they came across, and it wasn’t long till Toriel had written the name out on paper for Frisk to see. She looked at frisk for confirmation, and Frisk nodded quickly.

“Frisk?” Toriel said their name slowly and carefully.

They nodded again, and Toriel beamed at the child.

“Well, it is nice to know your name, Frisk.”

They resumed breakfast, and talked a bit more. Toriel asking questions Frisk could answer with a yes or no, and Frisk would simply point to something to ask a question about it.

When they finished, Toriel gathered the dishes to wash, and Frisk felt more comfortable with Toriel than they were before. They followed after Toriel pointing vigourously at the sink and then at them. This surprised Toriel considerably, did they want to wash up instead? Toriel only shook her head at the child.

“When you are tall enough to reach the sink, then you can, but not now.”

Frisk pouted, and Toriel ruffled their hair affectionately.

Frisk washed up in the sink, and changed into a pair of soft green pajamas that Toriel had washed for them. Frisk decided not to ask why she had pajamas in their size.

Toriel read Frisk a story before bed, and then tucked them in for the night.

“Goodnight, my child. Sleep well.”

As Toriel closed the door, she could have sworn she heard a very soft voice say ‘goodnight’.

So, tell me what you think? This is an au where Frisk stays with Toriel instead, which is why this is different from the original game. I don’t know if I should continue it yet, but I have MOST of the plot and important bits of the story written out already. I’d just have to add detail, but I don’t think it would get a lot of support, and I don’t want to make something no one will like. I will say it has a pretty good twist to it though, if I can get far enough in the story.

#frisk #undertale #toriel #home #a short story #maybe longer #it's just an idea right now

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Mug Quotes

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• Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink. – Guy de Maupassant • Alex took a silent step closer to the kitchen door and watched unseen as willow spooned instant coffee into a pair of mugs.With another yawn, she scraped her hair off her face and stretched. She looked so entirely human, so drowsy and sleep-rumpled.For a moment, Alex just gazed at her, taking in her long tumble of hair, her wide green eyes and pixieish chin. Fleetingly, he imagined her eyes meeting his, wondering what she’d look like if she smiled – L.A. Weatherly • Animals look at people the way people look at people that might mug them. – Dov Davidoff • As long as the “woman’s work” that some men do is socially devalued, as long as it is defined as woman’s work, as long as it’s tacked onto a “regular” work day, men who share it are likely to develop the same jagged mouth and frazzled hair as the coffee-mug mom. The image of the new man is like the image of the supermom: it obscures the strain. – Arlie Russell Hochschild • As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing. – T. S. Eliot

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Mug', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_mug img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blustery cold days should be spend propped up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a pile of comic books. – Bill Watterson • Caffeine gives me hope. Sometimes, when I brew my wicked strong Irish black tea just perfect, about halfway through the mug I feel a clear and overwhelming feeling of optimism. It didn’t surprise me when a study a few years ago implied that suicide was much less likely among coffee and tea drinkers. – John Vanderslice • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Effectively, it makes the greasepaint permanent, blurring the lines not only between public and private but also between the authentic and contrived self. 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Are they going to rob the shop?” – Peter James • I’m a huge Wonder Woman fan – I have about 12 coffee mugs at home! – Kari Wahlgren • I’m pretty sure lurking in a dark alley to mug me with your apology isn’t the usual way to go about saying you’re sorry. But I didn’t read that Mars-Venus book, so who knows. – Jim Butcher • I’m really conscious of the amount of food I eat, but I don’t deny myself anything. For example, I have a really big sweet tooth. At the end of the night, if I’m craving ice cream, I might not have the bowl that I would have when I was a kid, but I’ll put a couple of scoops in a coffee mug, and I’ll eat it slowly, and I enjoy every moment of it. – Summer Sanders • Individually the poor are not too tempting to thieves, for obvious reasons. Mug a banker and you might score a wallet containing a month’s rent. Mug a janitor and you will be lucky to get away with bus fare to flee the crime scene. – Barbara Ehrenreich • Isaac Newton was born at Woolsthorpe, near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, on Christmas Day, 1642: a weakly and diminutive infant, of whom it is related that, at his birth, he might have found room in a quart mug. He died on March the 20th, 1727, after more than eighty-four years of more than average bodily health and vigour; it is a proper pendant to the story of the quart mug to state that he never lost more than one of his second teeth. – Augustus De Morgan • It was one of those mornings when a man could face the day only after warming himself with a mug of thick coffee beaded with steam, a good thick crust of bread, and a bowl of bean soup. – Richard Gehman • It’s a no win situation. It’s a mug’s game. The religions have contrived to make it impossible to disagree with them critically without being rude. They play the hurt feelings card at every opportunity. – Daniel Dennett • It’s the nicest thing on earth if someone comes up to me and says, ‘Every day I drink out of a mug you designed.’ – Jonathan Adler • I’ve always been accused by my detractors of some sort of moral failure, cowardice, or even lack of humanity by not portraying the human form. I respond that I do better by portraying traces of character and intentions of human volition that no mug or body shot can ever exude. – Robert Polidori • I’ve been very lucky. All I wanted was to pay the rent. Then these characters took off and suddenly there were Hulk coffee mugs and Iron Man lunchboxes and The Avengers sweatshirts everywhere. Money’s okay, but what I really like is working. – Stan Lee • I’ve gone through a lot of the same things like Britney Spears. I just don’t have a mug shot. – Fergie • I’ve never been able to write for myself. I was doing a lot. I produced The Green, I wrote it – I didn’t see myself in the world of this film. I’m sure there are elements of dark corners of my psyche that found their ways on screen; you didn’t need my mug up there. There was enough of my essence in the story as it plays out without me acting in it. – Paul Marcarelli • Karl Marx himself preferred a glass of claret to the mug of tea affected by some of his recent converts. – Denis Healey • Listen, boy, just ask the chef to make me a proper Full English Breakfast. You know, bacon, fried eggs, sausages, liver, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, kidneys, baked beans, fried bread, toast and served with strong English mustard, mind – none of this effete French muck – and a large mug of hot, strong Indian tea. – Bryan Talbot • Martha Stewart showed up at Manhattan FBI Headquarters to have her finger prints taken and pose for a mug shot. Then Martha explained how to get ink off your fingers using seltzer water and lemon juice. – Conan O’Brien • Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course. – Alexander McCall Smith • My daughter got me a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug. So we know she’s sarcastic. – Bob Odenkirk • Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for. – Terry Pratchett • Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don’t, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It’s the same thing. – Graham Greene • Not like I need an excuse to enjoy a Moscow mule, but this tray and six-mug set, handmade in Mexico with hammered recycled copper, makes cocktail hour extra special. – Oprah Winfrey • O lovely O most charming pug Thy gracefull air and heavenly mug … His noses cast is of the roman He is a very pretty weoman I could not get a rhyme for roman And was obliged to call it weoman. – Marjorie Fleming • Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea? – Frank McCourt • On my first day in New York a guy asked me if I knew where Central Park was. When I told him I didn’t, he said: Do you mind if I mug you here? – Paul Merton • Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE. – Lauren Oliver • One day as a young man, I was walking down the streets. And a group of Zulu guys was walking behind me closing in on me. And I could hear them talking to one another about how they were going to mug me. (Speaking Zulu). Let’s get this white guy. You go to his left, and I’ll come up behind him. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run.So I just spun around real quick and said (speaking Zulu). Yo, guys, why don’t we just mug someone together? I’m ready. – Trevor Noah • One must be able to say at all times–instead of points, straight lines, and planes–tables, chairs, and beer mugs – David Hilbert • Out of nowhere, Valek appeared before me, yelling in my ear, shaking my shoulders. Stupidly, belatedly, I realized he was the drunk. Who else but Valek could win a fight against four large men when armed only with a beer mug? – Maria V. Snyder • Outside the youth center, between the liquor store and the police station, a little dogwood tree is losing its mind; overflowing with blossomfoam, like a sudsy mug of beer; like a bride ripping off her clothes, dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds, so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene. It’s been doing that all week: making beauty, and throwing it away, and making more. – Tony Hoagland • People’s arrest tapes, mug shots, everything is online. – Jane Krakowski • Poetry is a mug’s game. – T. S. Eliot • Revolution? Unscrew the flag-staff, wrap the bunting in the oil covers, and put the thing in the clothes-chest. Let the old lady bring you your house-slippers and untie your fiery red necktie. You always make revolutions with your mugs, your republic–nothing but an industrial accident. – Alfred Doblin • Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him. “Your date appears to be hysterical,” Rene told me. “You think I should slap some man into him? – Ilona Andrews • She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days. – Alice Munro • Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding. – Vera Nazarian • So violent. You want to mug and tase everybody these days.” “I do,” Zuzana agreed. “I swear I hate more poeple every day. Everyone annoys me. If I’m like this now, what am I going to be like when I’m old?” “You’ll be the mean old biddy who fires a BB gun at kids from her balcony.” “Nah. BBs just rile ’em up. More like a crossbow. Or a bazooka. – Laini Taylor • Something smashed to the ground. Jack looked at me, all the mugs forgotten. “I’m not going to let anyone kill you.” He grinned. “If I don’t get to, no one should. – Kiersten White • Studs Lonigan, on the verge of fifteen, and wearing his first suit of long trousers, stood in the bathroom with a Sweet Caporal pasted on his mug. – James T. Farrell • Suppose there were groups of secularists at hospitals who went round the terminally ill and urged them to adopt atheism: ‘Don’t be a mug all your life. Make your last days the best ones. People might suppose this was in poor taste. – Christopher Hitchens • That was close,”he said, helping himself to coffee. Yeah, you almost opened the door to Morelli.” I wasn’t talking about Morelli. I was talking about us.” That too,” I said. Ranger sliced a bagel and looked for the toaster. It’s broken,”I told him. He truned the boiler on and slid the bagel into the oven. That’s surprisingly domestic for a man of mystery,” I said to him. He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “I like things hot. – Janet Evanovich • The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • The mug is a tool. My ace in the hole. To have looks is the bonus on top of what motivates me to be an actor. Not to realize they’re an asset would be counterproductive to the cause; they serve the common good. – Billy Zane • The toughest thing for a homeschooler is the same as for a school teacher – shifting from a weak tea vision of math being grinding calculations to a rich frothy mug of math as an active way of thinking. – John Golden • The world won’t get more or less terrible if we’re indoors somewhere with a mug of hot chocolate,’ Kim said. ‘Though it’s possible it will seem slightly less terrible if there are marshmallows in the hot chocolate. – Kamila Shamsie • There are many differences between a baby and an I-Pod. And one of the biggest is, no ones going to mug you for your baby. – Nick Hornby • There are popular celebrities, there are unpopular celebrities and then there are the walking dead. You know the walking dead when you see them: they look like Mel Gibson, still striving for drunken charm in an L.A. County mug shot, after getting picked up on a DWI charge that included anti-semitic slurs directed at the police. – Jeffrey Kluger • There is more similarity in the marketing challenge of selling a precious painting by Degas and a frosted mug of root beer than you ever thought possible. – A. Alfred Taubman • They were the reason that he kept faith with his stars, that reinforced him in his belief that the universe had more in store for him than the mug’s game of working for a modest salary until he retired or died. – J. K. Rowling • This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age. – Tessa Dare • This is no time for drinking a mug of water – which you would do nowhere else in the world. A mug of water! You just don’t drink water from mugs, do ya? Except on the telly. Water out of a mug! Should be a hot drink… mug of water. – Russell Brand • Three years ago, the white hope of the theatre. Today, a mug. That’s New York for you. Puts you on a Christmas tree, and then – the alley. – Ben Hecht • To espresso or to latte, that is the question…whether ’tis tastier on the palate to choose white mocha over plain…or to take a cup to go. Or a mug to stay, or extra cream, or have nothing, and by opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache. – Jasper Fforde • Tonight, I propose a 21st Century Crime Bill to deploy the latest technologies and tactics to make our communities even safer. Our balanced budget will help put up to 50,000 more police on the street in the areas hardest hit by crime, and then to equip them with new tools from crime-mapping computers to digital mug shots. We must break the deadly cycle of drugs and crime. – William J. Clinton • We have such a long, familiar history with Peter Falk. The minute his mug is on that screen people smile. – Paul Reiser • We need to get past the point where being black and a male means that I am likely to mug you for your wallet, likely to have a minus 15 on my IQ, likely to not go to college and likely to wear my pants below my arse. – John Amaechi • We were talking of DRAGONS, Tolkien and I In a Berkshire bar. The big workman Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe All the evening, from his empty mug With gleaming eye glanced towards us: “I seen ’em myself!” he said fiercely. – C. S. Lewis • What are they teaching these thugs? -Why are there so many of them? -What is the Institute for Higher Aeronautics? -How many of the are there? There are only six of us! Why? -Why is DC public transportation so weird? -Why don’t we mug those Eraser goons for money more often? -Fang’s Blog – James Patterson • What brings you onto my property?” Rhev said, cradling his mug with both hands trying to absorb its warmth. Got a problem” I can’t fix your personality, sorry – J.R. Ward • What I really want is to sit next to someone under an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don’t want some rusty ’73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when it’s rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos? – Augusten Burroughs • With a face like this, there aren’t a lot of lawyers or priest roles coming my way. I’ve gotta face that was meant for a mug shot and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past thirty years. If I play a cop, it’s always a racist cop, or a trigger-happy cop or a crooked cop – but by and large I play cowboys, bikers, and convicts. – M. C. Gainey • Yes Headwoman Azaze. But I never lie to Rosethorn. She, um, discourages it.” “Evvy and I have an understanding.” She grabbed the teakettle and poured hot water into the mug. “She tells me the truth, and I don’t hang her in the first well we come to. It’s a solution that works tolerably well for both of us. – Tamora Pierce • You can never prepare yourself enough to see your mug shot and DUI. – Tracey Gold • You can tell the future?’ ‘More like the future mugs me from time to time.’ Rachel said ‘I speak prophecies. The oracle spirit kind of hijacks me once in a while, and speaks important stuff that doesn’t make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future.- Rick Riordan • You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover. “Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.” He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.” “And you definitely contributed. – Jill Shalvis • You know I’ll never say no, and Nate’s so dedicated, I think he loves our alpha more than me.” “I resent that,” Nate grumbled. “I might love football more than you, but definitely not Lucas’s ugly mug. – Nalini Singh • You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that. – Darren Shan • You should think about nobody and go your own way, not on a course marked out for you by people holding mugs of water and bottles of iodine in case you fall and cut yourself so that they can pick you up – even if you want to stay where you are – and get you moving again. – Alan Sillitoe • You were safe on a troll. Anyone wanting to mug a troll would have to use a building on a stick. – Terry Pratchett

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Mug Quotes

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