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themissingmarvel · 4 years

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Kind Regards, Detective [Part 4]

(A prelude of sorts. It’s another long one because it’s 1:38 in the morning and sleep eludes me the way it eludes the reader. Life imitates art. Anyway, things are moving and I do promise the next chapter is going to be kind of a big deal. Also I created an image I’ll be using for the series that I can’t introduce yet but it’ll also be tomorrow ((sunday??? idk)) so we shall see. Anyway, thanks for reading if you do, and ask to be tagged if you want. And if I forgot to tag you, yell at me.

Pairing: Detective Loki x fbi!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, swearing, awkward flirtations

Catch up: [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [drabble] // [Part 3]

Once the phone was plugged in to her laptop at the station, the encryption starting, Agent Cairns let her know it would be a few hours to get it all sorted into something they could use. He’d be encrypting the data and replicating the phone digitally to the laptop so they could use it as such without triggering the GPS. Hours, he said. Hours.

There was a feeling of anguish now in her body and she didn’t like it. David had become exceptionally quiet as he sat across the table this time, not next to her, going through the evidence that had been cataloged and documented. His face was fixed and she knew he was gone. She supposed it was fitting.

Taking the phone that was too large to fit in the pocket of her jeans, but that was on the table, and pressing a few numbers on the touch screen, she held it to her ears. It rang once.

“I thought you might have been ghosting me. You know, this is exactly why I disabled my Tinder account.”

The voice was smooth, though not as smooth as he wanted it to be. She imagined Adrian was like eating a Snickers when you wanted the chocolate mousse. Satisfying, tasty, but not really what you should be going for.

She sighed, “You disable it three times a year, Adrian. Four, last year,” she shook her head, realizing she was falling into that same damn trap, “Listen, I got an email that the toxicology reports was taking a while. Is there a reason or is the agency backed up?” She wasn’t being smart with him, but serious. Focused. Enough so to miss the blue eyes looking up carefully and studying her. Watching her. Seeing her fidget as she shifted her weight from one foot to another as she stood instead of sat.

A brief pause played out and Y/N didn’t like it, “They found something. It’s not something we usually find, ladybug. Weird timing, though. The results came through about twenty minutes ago.”

Her heart stopped.

“So what did they find?” She knew there would be a run-of-the-mill sedative, aware the autopsies being done would find puncture marks on the bodies. Aware that this would be basic. God, it had to be.

“I honestly didn’t believe it, but they found a nerve agent in the bodies. I mean, it was still fresh so it was used recently, but it’s fucking VX, Y/N. Who the hell manages to get their hands on a nerve agent like that, let alone enough to kill twelve adults, and no one notices?” It was hard to rattle a man like Adrian. He was a few years older, but his cases had been gruesome. Not on purpose. He was given the affectionate nickname of the Grim Reaper, that Y/N never used, whenever he was on a case. This was not going to help his stats.

Pressing her hand against her forehead she winced and closed her eyes, “Do I actually need to ask you to find out if any labs or agencies reported anything missing?”

He sighed, “We both know that any companies that have something like this aren’t going to report it going missing. That kind of legwork takes weeks. It’ll be defense companies and agencies and that shit takes time. I’m sorry, ladybug. I am.” He was genuine this time. He was an asshole, but he felt bad. He knew a missing nerve agent wasn’t something anyone announced when they could cover it up.

Without a word she pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call, no goodbye, not to Adrian. Not today. Instead, she stared at the screen and spoke softly, “He took their breath away.”

By now David’s eyes were tearing into her, feeling the concern, the worry, the panic and able to piece together enough to know that it wasn’t good, “Who did?”

Y/N looked over at David, her eyes suddenly tired, “They were doused with a nerve agent, called VX. It literally shuts down your respiratory system and you die gasping for breath. It’s military grade, David. It’s considered a WMD by the United States and it was used to kill twelve random fucking people staged in a church.”

The room was eerily silent as the two stared at one another. David was trying to understand what she had just said. Well, he understood it logically, but on the level of how someone commits murder, it was beyond comprehension, “How- I mean, it’s- but-” not even David could verbalize it.

Raising an eyebrow she kept her body lax, “How does someone get their hands on it? Honestly, what I’d like to know. But… this isn’t just some psychopath, David. This man isn’t a criminal as we understand him. And it almost doesn’t matter if we can even find someone willing to admit the chemical went missing, since the decay rate takes forever. He could have had this in his closet for years. And now he’s disabling phones?”

Fear was a hard one for Y/N. Not because it was a difficult emotion to consider, but because it meant she was vulnerable. Being scared was one thing, but fear was permeating. She had seen so much and read so many different files. She wished, suddenly, the place had been a massacre. She wanted to be able to look at blood splatter marks and stab wounds. Signs of a struggle. But no. What they had was a fucking stack of romcom blu-rays, perfectly preserved bodies, a chemical agent banned by the United States Government, and missing phones. This wasn’t just ‘some guy’ anymore. It never had been. And maybe she always knew that. Maybe she knew when she had read the flowers were bred to be black, naturally, or that the letters were signed with perfect penmanship to each individual agent. But now it was real.

A ding came through, a text from Adrian that told her they were sending in a dozen 2-PAMs in epi-pen form. A dozen. Fuck. She wanted to thank him for even getting his hands on any, given the state of the world, though she supposed the FBI would also be sending over a nice little note forbidding them from disclosing the information with anyone on the case, other than the two of them. If word got out someone had this in their closet? No.

It had never been in David’s nature to be the caretaking type, but something roused him. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, the way her body had stopped fidgeting entirely and had become rubber. Perhaps even he had seen her hand shake.

Pushing his chair back, David stood, “I’m hungry. And so are you, hamburger alarm be damned. Let’s get Chinese.”

____

She had been quiet on the drive over to the restaurant David liked to go to when no one was around, and it was mid-afternoon by now. A few people were in the place, but nothing dramatic. A small table by the back was where the two had been seated, Y/N fidgeting nervously as she was clearly trying to process what was going on.

He didn’t like seeing her this way.

“The usual to start?” A young woman approached, perhaps early twenties, David smiling appreciatively at her as Y/N looked away.

He nodded, “Two. And some tea,” he smiled, a smile that was genuine but nothing dramatic, a smile that meant he was actually smiling. Soft. Small.

It seemed to perk Y/N’s attention, “You really don’t strike me as the tea type. And why did you order my food?” Her face contorted as she felt herself pulled back to reality.

David grinned, “You weren’t answering so I got you egg drop soup. Relax. And tea is good for you. I think,” he smirked.

Y/N couldn’t help but scoff with a smile, shaking her head as she looked at him, “You’re so strange, Detective.”

He grinned, “I’m not the one who wanted a fairy tattooed on my ribcage.”

Her face was bright as her eyes widened, “Absolutely no, Mr. Neck Tattoo!” Her voice raised, though jovial. Bright. Warm. He liked it. It felt like how he expected tea was supposed to taste. Good for you.

Smiling still, he thanked the waitress as she brought over two small cups of soup, the tea coming shortly thereafter. David poured the hot liquid into the small, white ceramic cups, one for each, “Fair. You’re a little weird too, though. It’s nice,” he lifted the cup and took a sip, glancing at her over it. For a second, the briefest moment, he could have sworn he saw her blush.

Picking up the spoon she had some of the soup, rather taken at how good it was. In her time traveling, she found that wasn’t uncommon for small, unassuming spots to have some of the best food around. Nothing you’d find on the Food Network, but delicious none the less. Good because it wasn’t trying to be. Because it just was.

“Your work with Dover and Birch was good shit, David. Little messy, but good,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

He leaned back and smirked. She liked that smirk. It told her he liked what she was saying, that he was listening. That he agreed with her and that he was present. It was a smirk that reminded her of the lingering smoke from a dying cigarette, brief, soft, but strong if you stood close enough. It would bring back memories and haunt you if you weren’t careful, “Hardest case I ever had, next to this. Parents sure as shit didn’t help.”

A soft chuckle left her lips as she nodded, “Family never does. Well intentioned, always. But you know what they say about the road to hell,” she held a hand up, “paved with good intentions.”

They talked, after. For longer than either intended. It had been so long since anyone touched him the way she did. He didn’t think of the random women he had met in bars miles outside of Conyers where no one knew who he was. In this moment, of a strange kind of tragedy and trauma, he found himself bonding with a woman he had wanted to hate the moment he read her name on a piece of paper.

And in truth, she felt similarly. She had been so unsure of what lay ahead in Conyers, beyond knowing she was unwelcome. But this didn’t feel like unwelcome. Detective Loki felt like strong arms she had once felt keeping her close, though this time she felt safe. She knew in this moment, the man across from her could protect her from more than just the bad guy around the corner. Shared trauma did that. Bonded you. She understood that a man like Detective Loki wasn’t a common occurance in the world and he was the thing you wished for when you finally caught the clock at “11:11”.

The drive back had kept them both in a better space. Not to say either were ‘ok’ by any means, but they were better. An emotional connection, on a level one could never really quantify. It was one forged on battlefields, they both knew. A connection in the midst of war was one never forgotten or loosely held together. It was iron. It was solid.

Back at the precinct time moved fast. It was bearable only because they had each other, now. Focused on a sheet of paper, David would be briefly interrupted by Y/N shoving another one in front of him wordlessly, telling him without say so he needed to read it. He did. And he did the same to her. He had told himself that sitting next to her as they worked was so he could stay focused, but somehow he knew it was more than that. No bullets were flying at her head but he wanted to keep her safe just the same. He couldn’t hold her. He wouldn’t.

Again the precinct had died and again the two had been left alone, waiting for that damn phone to be done processing and encrypting.

And it was.

A soft ‘beep’ alerted Y/N the laptop had finished and the phone was ready for review. Popping her head up, her neck aching and her back sore, she felt her stomach suddenly rumble. Looking at the time, she saw the clock read ‘9:26pm’ on it. Concern washed on her features as David pulled his chair so close he was touching her, the woman reaching at her phone first and glancing. Her alarm had never gone off. Squinting, she shook her head, “Fucking technology… all right.”

Putting the phone down, she opened up the application that looked almost identical to any cellphone interface. Shaking her head she sighed, “Technology is so weird… OK. So. If you were hiding something, where would you put it?” She spoke aloud, though not necessarily to David. She knew he was close, his leg against hers, shoulder-to-shoulder as they read the screen together.

“No chance we’ll find an app or some- oh, nevermind…” David trailed off, almost about to joke that people weren’t really stupid enough to put a dating app or a hookup app on their phone that blatant. But they were. And they did.

Y/N glanced at him, “People are always that stupid, David. But the question is why a married woman has Tinder on her phone,” she double-clicked the app, bringing it up. No login required, IT had made sure of that, but she was curious what was on there. Deaths hadn’t been made public, save for a family’s choice, so the chance of someone ‘unmatching’ due to it was low. Both were rather surprised at the number of matches, however. Conversations littered the page and the pictures used were ones that you could perhaps make out who it was if you knew. And they did. But the profile requested someone for something ‘discreet’.

Scrolling was unpleasant, at best, and Y/N rolled her eyes. Men desperate for hookups, many unanswered messages. Some answered. Some even with meetups planned. And of course the profiles messaging her were inoccuous. Other people looking for hookups. David documented any dates he saw, making sure to follow up with the individuals. No last names and private profiles made it hard, but they had something to go off of.

Beyond that, there was nothing, “If someone did meet her on this… he’s unmatched her. And if he’s good, he’s wiped himself. We’ll need to ask specialists in DC to get a release from the company to get records. See what we can scrounge. I’ll get that going, you keep browsing the phone. You’re a smart guy, you’ll know it when you see it,” she smirked briefly at him, David hiding his grin as she stood, the detective pulling the laptop to where he was.

Getting up, Y/N pulled out her phone, typing up a few quick emails on their encrypted and authorized server, the one that didn’t use Conyers’ piss-poor security. A few quick clicks and she sent out the requested information, reading a few others regarding 2-PAM being sent to the station for the morning.

Fuck, that was fast.

“Ladybug, you OK? Hung up on me. Worried about you.”

Frowning at her phone she felt that tug again at Adrian. That desire to be close. Knowing he’d always just flirt. Like her sister told her once, Sometimes the asshole falls in love with you and sometimes you fall in love with the asshole. So eloquent.

“Fine. And don’t call me ladybug on here. You know this gets monitored.”

Ding!

“Should I text it to your cell then? Finally gonna give me that number?”

Shaking her head she clicked off the phone. That had been a point of contention with Adrian. He had her work phone, but her private one was her own. The flirtation was done in the office and she knew, knew that if he had her private line she would fall. Fall for a man who was emotionally incapable of being connected to her. She didn’t want to fall for a Snickers bar.

It was another hour of phone scanning and scrolling through emails she had been sent, knowing the autopsies would take longer to get back. Twelve bodies was a lot, and while patterns emerged, it took time. And families were involved… it was never easy. The job never was.

Her stomach roared, suddenly, wincing as she felt the ache of not having eaten. Even the detective looked up, raising an eyebrow, “Need to get some food?”

Holding back another wince of pain that came from neglecting herself this long she nodded, “Probably. I should… I should head back anyway. You’re welcome to see if you find anything on the laptop but the app itself is pretty telling. See if we can deep scrub and get more data from it. Sort of ideal.” She sighed, pushing back her hair as she felt the need for sleep but the vague understanding it wouldn’t come. A fickle mistress.

Was it disappointment? David frowned a bit as he watched her, “I mean… I can drive you back. If you want, of course. We’ve got a three-star Taco Bell nearby,” he forced a smile.

But Y/N felt herself tighten, her body, her thoughts, her emotions. He was pulling at a piece of her she didn’t like to think about. The piece all those boys in bars and officers in other districts never understood. He was fighting to fit in her life and she was finding that in only a few days he was doing a great damn job at it. She needed distance. Space. Safety. But he was safety, wasn’t he? God, this was complicated.

A thin smile painted itself onto her lips, “Raincheck. I’ll grab some takeout nearby. Hell, even some Ramen from the gas station sounds good. But I’ll meet you back here early. Get some rest, David.”

With that, she collected her things, not watching as the man who fought to keep the world out was fighting to keep it from overwhelming him now. There was chaos, and fear. Of course. But there was trauma. And there was a woman he felt so compelled to keep safe that it was unclear why, exactly. She didn’t remind him of some kid he knew growing up, or even one of those stupid ulterior motives. He felt a part of her that was good, and of all people he knew keeping the good stuff good was important. That was his work. She was an agent, though. Nothing stays pure forever.

As she packed her files into the rental that felt familiar and foreign, she didn’t think about what tomorrow might bring, or what the world held. She was distracted again. Words spoken to her in passing, a man getting to know her. A man with eyes that glowed when he was focused and who blinked more than most, tight blinks, when he was upset. Nervous. Scared. Angry. He had his tells.

And as she drove back to her hotel with an acute awareness she wasn’t sleeping tonight, she ignored the tug at her gut that told her something was wrong. The calm before the storm. The flickering lights before the power goes out.

Sometimes you fall in love with the asshole.

But sometimes the asshole falls in love with you.

( @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @is-it-madness @oscarflysaac @detecellie @peccobagnaia @fgtakbrjbdl )

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mortuarybees · 5 years

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do u have any more good omens fic recs?

oh boy do i. some of them are fics that i have included in my fic rec tag so if you’ve been in that bear with me there will also be others. basically my preferred and only accepted genre of anything is “unbearably tender” and “aziraphale is extremely neurotic and crowley loves him anyway” it’s therapeutic

at some point im going to update the original reference post with like. all the amazing content ive come across since making it but until then:

one may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel by lumosity aka @femmeaziraphale aka my very best friend

they have started another fic intended to destroy my life in which hell wins the next round and divines a special torment for crowley pls read it and encourage them to finish it because they don’t believe me when i tell them it’s amazing and i am d e s p e r a t e for more.

“You know, you’re very familiar,” Aziraphale said, breath stinking of the sweet wine.

“Oh? I guess I look like many goat herders,” Crowley allowed. Aziraphale snorted, nudging Crowley’s shoulder clumsily.

“No! I mean that you just seem like someone I’ve known before,” Aziraphale said. Crowley felt that familiar ache in his chest. Suddenly he wished he was sober.

“I have a common face,” Crowley dodged.

“Say whatever you like, but I feel like we fit together quite nicely,” Aziraphale said, resting his head against the bark of the tree. Crowley took the opportunity to watch Aziraphale while he had his eyes closed. There were the same old blonde eyelashes against his cheeks, the one little drop of sunlight that formed a mole at the corner of his eye. Crowley wished to kiss his cheek only once. An apology for not losing. For not giving Aziraphale an eternity of listening to celestial harmonies.

wings and how to hide them by triedunture

Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? // if you follow me you’ve probably seen me post or quote certain excerpts a million times you may recognize it as His Body Is A Place And It’s Filled With Love.

He swallowed. So bloody awkward, staring up at Aziraphale like this, having his face held. Was he supposed to maintain eye contact? It seemed impossible. His gaze darted away.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me," Aziraphale admonished, giving his cheek a little pat. "Try to imagine, I don't know...slipping into my body the way you'd slip into a new coat." His smile was weak.

Crowley made a face. "Sounds grotesque."

"It isn't! Come now." His voice and eyes softened. "Please. Try."

Deep breath in. He would try. For Aziraphale's sake. "All right." He opened his eyes, held Aziraphale's plaintive stare, and pictured how it would feel. To be a part of Aziraphale. To be held inside him, to surround him at the same time.

To be loved.

hand in unlovable hand by courfeyrock (les mis solidarity)

“Goodnight, my dear,” he says, and Crowley swears, Aziraphale could call him my dear for six thousand more years and he still wouldn’t be able to get used to it. // it’s tender it’s bed sharing it’s “i love you in the human way” it’s quoting that unspeakable broadchurch scene its title is from no children by tmg; in short, it’s specifically designed to torment me.

Crowley’s head snaps around as if on a swivel. “Shall we… what?”

“Go to sleep? Normally I would love to stay up and have a drink or a chat but you see I really am exhausted and I--”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Idiot, Crowley thinks. I am such an idiot. "I'll uh, I'll sleep underneath the covers, and you can sleep on top." He waves his hand in a forcefully casual gesture that he hopes conveys just how normal it is for two platonic friends to be having this conversation.

everything just stops by witching

they are drunk and crowley wants to take a bath so he miracles one and they have. the most unbearable conversation ever fucking put to fiction literally returning to it to select one single quote was nearly impossible for me emotionally. god the tenderness the yearning!!!! “i like your silly aziraphale things”!!!!!!!!!! “i love you deep, angel”!!!!!! i hate it! just read it please i cant actually keep describing it or i’ll have to lay down for a little while.

“Are you –” the angel’s voice was hoarse, and he paused to clear his throat, “are you playing some sort of game right now?”[....]

“I am not,” Crowley whispered fervently, his face frighteningly close to Aziraphale’s. “Six thousand yearsss, angel. You’re a part of me, and I jussst – just wanted you to know, is all.”

Without warning, Aziraphale reached with both hands to pull Crowley in closer, forcing him to drop his own hand from the angel’s face. Aziraphale held him gently, pressing a single chaste kiss to the demon’s forehead, his lips lingering as his thumbs slid tenderly along his cheekbones, his fingers wrapped up in dark, dripping hair.

When Crowley responded not by recoiling, as Aziraphale had expected, but by melting against his skin and sighing contentedly, the angel placed another kiss on one cheek, then the other. He moved to kiss Crowley’s eyelids, his jawline, his chin, the corners of his mouth, all the time cradling Crowley’s head in his hands, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Crowley to rebuff his affection.

Crowley, ever one to defy expectations, continued to allow the angel to kiss his face to his heart’s content. It was only when he heard Crowley sniff and let out a pitiful whimper that he pulled back, looking at the demon with concern.

hard feelings/loveless by witching

Aziraphale said it was like the opposite of the feeling you’re having when you say things like “this feels spooky.” Crowley didn’t know what to make of that, but he expected it was something like the opposite of the feeling you get when the only person who truly knows you makes a cryptic remark suggesting that you can’t understand love. Crowley understood love all too well. // crowley. crowley can’t sense love bc he is so goddamn full of love that he can’t see past it he’s just so full of it that he can’t separate it from just how he always is c r o w l e y. also angelic/demonic mindmelding.

“What about - I mean, if that’s… love,” he struggled to get the word out, “then what’s this other feeling? The one that I’ve been calling love for all this time?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I can’t possibly imagine.” He didn't have to voice his surprise at the fact that Crowley had an emotion he called love. It wasn't that he had truly thought Crowley was incapable of such an emotion; he was deeply aware of the power and range of the demon's feelings. He simply hadn't thought that Crowley was in tune with his own mind enough to understand it in those terms.

“Can I show you?” Crowley blurted without thinking.

come as you are by punkfaery (explicit; trigger warning for body dysmorphia and disordered eating)

Aziraphale visits a modern art gallery, goes on a diet, and submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known. Not necessarily in that order. // this mugged me in an alleyway and ruined me emotionally for a whole night but like whatever. it starts with a mary oliver quote so idk what i expected

He dragged a kitchen chair out and sat in it, looking like he wanted to set fire to things with the power of his mind. He was probably angry enough to try it, too. Aziraphale moved a nearby copy of The Earth Compels out of the way, just in case. “It wasn’t really because of him,” he said. “It just made me realise, that’s all.”

“Realise what?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “That I’m not… quite as I should be. That you deserve better.” He lowered his head, feeling wretched. “That’s all. I’m sorry I didn’t say something from the start, but it seemed like a difficult sort of thing to bring up.”

Crowley’s face was indescribable.

“You thought I’d stop liking you because you’re not thin,” he said. His voice was utterly toneless. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Well, naturally when you say it like that it sounds – ”

“Seriously? After six thousand years of, of whatever you want to call this? After we literally saved the fucking world together?”

salinity (and other measurements of brackish water) by drawlight

It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching. // michael sheen has read and recommended it. god. it starts with a quote from eros the bittersweet. it took me a full half hour to read past the first paragraph or so it’s so Much.

"I want to see you cook." (Something made from his hands. Something purely Crowley. Nothing pulled from the ether. Nothing sourced and given, no. Something made from his hands.)

He looks at his hands. Holds them up, splays them against the shale backdrop of his ceiling. His hands are always the same, day to day. They are clean but stained. His long and dawdling fingers, his bit of knuckles, his veins and tendons beginning to show a little more. Yes, more, he doesn't know the age of his body but he keeps it somewhere here, at indeterminate forty. There is a hangnail on the ring finger, there are stains of belladonna on the sides, on the rough spots.

Belladonna, that green plant sick with chlorophyll, sick with poison. Crowley is a gardener and he grows belladonna in his bedroom. He knows poisons the way Aziraphale knows the Dewey Decimal System. Yes, he knows them intimately, bent over his long counter, pulling the leaves apart, peeling the stems. Crushing the seeds. He knows not to lick his fingers after, that the leaves and berries are toxic to a grown man, that maybe even Livia had used it once, dripped into Augustus' wine. Not, really, that poisons would matter . It’s one of those little perks of the demon gig, that whole immortality thing. What can get at him; what can cut it short? Only holy water and other blessed things. (Aziraphale is an angel, made out of blessed things. Crowley does not know how it might be to kiss him, mouth to wet mouth. If holy water might burn him, what can he expect from the freshwater mouth of an angel?)

birds of a feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals. // look....im weak for home decorating as proxy or metaphor for domesticity and familiarity and this trope is literally this. i die

“Demons definitely don’t court,” says Crowley. “They fuck sometimes, but it’s—I don’t know if you’ve ever seen anything about the mating practices of insects but it’s more—like that. There’s no guarantee all parties will come out in one piece. Never seemed worth it, frankly. I like my pieces where they are.”

Aziraphale takes this all in with a series of slow, horrified nods.

“Wait,” says Crowley, “what do angels do?” He’s never pictured angels engaging with each other at all, outside of maybe mandatory team-building exercises.

“They nest,” says Aziraphale.

Crowley waits for this to all make sense. “What, instead of fucking?”

“No,” says Aziraphale primly. “Not instead. It’s—it’s part of the courtship ritual. You have to be able to build a decent nest if you want to be seen as a viable mate—”

“Like birds,” Crowley repeats, disbelieving.

“Not like birds, birds got it from us,” shrills Aziraphale.

men have gone to heaven for smaller things than that by mercuryhatter

Aziraphale finds an age slipping away from him. // aziraphale and crowley attend robbie ross’ funeral, and aziraphale mourns the loss of the old circle. also there’s some brief dunking on bosie. i adore this fic with my whole heart

“Listen.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s elbow and dragged him out of earshot of the funeral, releasing him under a nearby tree. “It’s not that I’m not glad you’re back. Remember that, because I’m about to be very short with you, but it’s not that.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Crowley nodded.

“That being said.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. His voice was shaking slightly and he tried to press it back to steadiness inside his throat. “You will not get near one more human under my charge this decade, are we clear?”

“Angel–” Crowley started, surprised, but Aziraphale cut him off. Fury was bubbling up inside of him, bright and brittle and with a deeply-buried thread of exhaustion that he couldn’t afford to think too long about.

“No.”

where you stay i will stay by mercuryhatter

at the hundred guineas club, men went under women’s names. aziraphale went by naomi and he paid! to keep ruth free! for crowley!!!! while crowley slept! it stopped my tender heart

“Let’s see. We all know Victoria, of course. Betsey, Henrietta, Georgiana, Chastity, that’s rich, and Temperance too, particular friends of each other, I imagine? A few Elizabeths, not particularly creative… oh.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale until he peeked up from his place hidden in Crowley’s sweater. “Aziraphale.”

“No, dear, I didn’t put that one down.” Crowley huffed in fond exasperation.

“No, honey, you put Naomi.”

“So I did.”

“And… I don’t see a Ruth.”

“No,” Aziraphale sighed. “No, I paid them an extra hundred pounds a year to hold that one for me.”

“For you or for…”

and this isn’t a fic but another essay that means the world to me, making an effort: queer (trans) masculinity in the ethereal & occult beings of good omens by elegantidler and irisbleufic

#henry speaks #good omens #fic rec #ineffable husbands

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sparklebitch · 6 years

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Plz don't hate me, ;-; can you do a langst prompt where pudge catches Lance self Harming, but he ask her to hide it, and she tries, and then you can go from there,,, idk this would help me vent/cope,,, sorry if it's too much ;-;

I don’t hate you! And I’m sorry this took so long I really hope you’re okay :(

! If you are struggling with self-harm please please tell an adult that you trust. They can help you !

Trigger warnings are posted in the tags.

All Pidge wanted to do was find Lance and tell himthat it was time for dinner. She had no idea that she was going to walk in andfind him sitting on his floor with a knife pressed to his wrist. She had noidea that she’d find his arms covered in bleeding marks and fading scars. Lance’seyes were so wide when he looked up at her that she though his eyes were goingto roll out of his head.

“P- Pidge” The knife slid out of his hand and hit thefloor. He scrambled to his feet, blood dripping down his arms, leaving puddleson the floor. “I- I- I can explain” he said quickly. Pidge stood motionless inthe doorway. She was in shock. “It was- I don’t- I mean, I swear it’s—” he cutoff abruptly and stared at her pleadingly. “Please, Pidge” Lance begged. “Don’ttell anyone. Please. I’ll never do it again, I swear!” Pidge watched the trailof blood slide down Lance’s arm. Lance looked down to see what she was staringat and then tugged down his sleeve.

“Lance… wh- why…” Lance crossed his arms and winced.

“I- I have to” he said quietly. “It’s not a problem, I’mnot trying to kill myself. I just- I have to do it” Lance’s fingers flexednervously. “It’s not a problem” he repeated. “Why- Why are you in here?” heasked, staring at the floor.

“Uh, it’d time to eat…” Pidge trailed off. Lancenodded curtly and then kicked the bloody knife toward the bathroom.

“I’ll, um, be there in a minute” he said. Pidge turnedto leave, still in a state of shock over what she had just seen. “And Pidge? Pleasepromise me you won’t say anything” Lance said before she was completely out thedoor.

“O- Okay, Lance” She replied with a frown.

~ ~

Pidge tried to keep it a secret, she really did. Shewanted to do that for Lance. He seemed so scared when she saw him, scared thatshe was going to tell on him. But the entire time she was sitting at dinner shethought about how badly this could end. Lance said he wasn’t trying to kill himself,but what happened if he changed his mind? Or if he cut too deep? Maybe he wouldn’teven do it on purpose. How easy would it be for him to put too much pressure onhis wrist and cut through his vein and bleed out. If that happened, it would bepartially Pidge’s fault. Because she knew but didn’t tell anyone.

“Lance, I can’t do what you asked me to” She said whenshe cornered him after dinner. “This isn’t something that you should keep fromthe others, and it’s not fair of you to ask me to hide it. I think you shouldtell someone. We can help you—” Lance’s mouth screwed up into a frown.

“I don’t need your help” he said as he pushed past her.They were in the hall, she caught him before he got to his room. “It’s not a problem,I can stop whenever I want. It just makes me feel better. It’s not like it’sreally hurting me or anything! I’m not trying to—”

“I know! I know…” Pidge clenched her fists and turnedto follow him. “I know you say that but- but what if you accidentally hurtyourself? I can’t take that chance” she said sadly. “And I hate that you’rehurting yourself. That you feel so bad that the only way to feel better is to-to cut yourself—” Lance stopped walking as Pidge’s voice broke. “I love you somuch, I don’t know what I would do without you. I wish there was something Icould do to help you but- but I can’t. I don’t know how”

“It’s not your job to help me” Lance said flatly. “I’mfine” He pinched his lips together and shifted his weight.

“Please, I can’t keep this a secret. I really wish Icould do this one thing for you, but I can’t. I don’t think it’s a good idea.You should tell Shiro. And if you don’t- If you don’t then I will” She said,lifting her eyes to meet Lances. Lance sucked in a breath. He didn’t understandwhy Pidge was acting this way. Why did she think it was that big of a deal?

“This isn’t your problem” Lance said coldly. “It’smine. This has nothing to do with you, so but out” With that he turned and beganto stomp toward his room.

“Matt tried to kill himself once” Pidge said suddenly.Lance froze mid-step. “He told me that he had thought about killing himself once,and I ignored it. If I hadn’t been at home that day and found him with theknife he- he would be—” Her face went pale.

“Pidge…” Lance said softly. She crossed her arms andfrowned. “I had no idea”

“Yeah, well it happened. So, I’m sorry, Lance, but Ican’t keep this to myself” She said firmly. “I need you to tell Shiro, becauseI can’t let what almost happened to Matt happen to you” Lance hesitated.

“I- I don’t—” he inhaled sharply. “I don’t know how”he admitted quietly. Pidge took a step closer to him.

“That’s okay” she said, comfortingly. “All you have todo is tell him. I can help you. I’ll even stay with you while you do if youwant”

“You will?” Pidge smiled.

“Yeah, I will” she held out her hand to him. “Come on,we can do it right now, if you want” Lance’s eyes widened as he took Pidge’s hand.

“R- right now?” he asked. She nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll do it really quickly, like pulling off a bandaid” she said as they headed toward Shiro’s room. “The longer you wait the worseit’ll feel” Lance tightened his grip on Pidge’s hand as they walked.

“Pidge?” he said. She looked up at him. “I- I don’twant to hurt myself” he admitted. “I just feel like- I feel like I have to. Tofeel better” There was so much fear in Lance’s eyes. “But I can’t kill myselfcause- cause I’m too scared to die” he whispered. Pidge stopped walking andpulled Lance into a bone crushing hug.

“Lance…” she said, tears stinging her eyes.

“I’m sorry” Lance cried into Pidge’s shoulder. “I’msorry I told you not to tell anyone. I was just scared” he sniffed andshuddered.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Lance. It’s all going to be okay”She assured him.

After the two of them stopped crying they continuedonto Shiro’s room.

“Are you ready?” Lance straightened up and nodded. Helifted his hand and knocked. Shiro opened the door a few moments later.

“Uh, h- hey, Shiro” Lance said nervously, wiping atear off his face. Shiro looked from Lance, to Pidge, who was standing rightbehind him in the doorway.

“Yeah, Lance? What’s up?” Lance glanced back at Pidgenervously. She smiled at him encouragingly. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

#langst #langst prompt #voltron #vld #lance mcclain #prompts #tw #trigger warning #self harm tw #blood tw #Anonymous

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free-the-mages · 6 years

Text

15 Questions

:] Many thanks to @fen-harel for the tag!!! They’re always including me and that makes me feel... included. And happy! <3 I don’t remember if this is my first OOC meme thing like this but it’s the first I do remember, so… yeah! ;] Ya’ll (who read this) are ‘bout to learn more about me than you probably want to!

Are you named after someone? First off, the name I use online – Kaitlyn – is my real name. As far as being named after someone… like, not really? Though my mom has, on multiple occasions, told me about how Sheena Easton’s character on Miami Vice was named Caitlin, but she didn’t like that spelling so she changed it. So the name was brought to her attention from that, but she didn’t name me it because she loved the show or the character or anything. She just fell in love with the name.

When was the last time you cried? More like, when was the last time I didn’t cry?! Haha, jkjk. I am an emotional wreck tho. :] I actually teared up a bit earlier today, realizing it was N7 Day, and that sending me into the rollercoaster of feelings I get from Mass Effect in general, but there are also some super heavy feelings attached to the Trilogy for reasons outside the scope of the game itself. I guess. Idk if that makes sense, but it’s not something I’m gonna go into so publicly here. (Tbh, it’s not something I have an issue talking about, it’s just something that could definitely be triggering for others and I don’t wanna put that out there like that.) Anyway, moving on!

Do you have kids? I have a cat! I’m not gonna ask if she counts because she 100% does!! Her name is Memphis (yes, like the city in Tennessee) and I love her and she’s my baby!!!! My lil’ Mem Mem! My Moo Moo!! (she is my world, guys.)

Here’s a couple gifs I made for you guys of her high on the ‘nip!

Do you use sarcasm a lot? A fair amount, yeah. But really only if I’m comfortable with people though. I’ve even had friends who don’t fully understand my humor/sarcasm and are like, “… seriously?” and I’m like, “… no.” :3

What’s the first thing you notice about people? Their approachability. I’m not insanely social, ya know? So when I’m meeting people or taking note of people, I tend to assess how approachable they appear. And yeah, some of that is how they look, but come on. The whole not judging a book by it’s cover thing is definitely a thing. I guess I just really know whether or not I’m going to feel comfortable with/around a person by the sense of approachability I get from them. It happens immediately, really. Mostly from the way they greet me, or introduce themselves to me, or engage with me. I gravitate towards immediately engaging people. If a person seems standoffish, I’m like… this isn’t gonna work probably. Which isn’t super great, because maybe some people are just having an off day and aren’t super into engaging at that time! But it is what it is, I guess. One does try to be better, though. ^^ Now, if we’re talking about online, it’s pretty much the same thing. I notice the way they present themselves, and you usually can really tell how approachable a person is by the way they talk through text and like, emojis and stuff. :] Being social online isn’t really any easier for me than it is in person, so if I’m looking at someone’s blog or something and I’m just like, “This person seems so great. I’d like to be friends!” then I def know they’re def approachable. To me, at least. xD (I’ve come across a lot of approachable appearing people thus far in my time in the fandom! <3)

What’s your eye color? Like a bluish/greyish/greenish color. It shifts a bit sometimes. There are also some orange-ish flecks in there.

Scary Movies or Happy Endings? Well, I’m not super into scary movies. I mean, I definitely love a happy ending, no matter what!! But I’ve been trying to challenge myself in recent years to watch more scary things because I detest being frightened (it’s more of the jump scare/startle thing that I really hate) but I can’t just watch any scary movie. It has to have a plot that really sticks out to me. However, thus far, every scary movie I’ve gone out of my way to see has been a dud in my – and my movie-going partners’ – book. I’ll keep trying, though! One of these days I’ll find a scary movie that I’ve personally picked to see that I actually like and would watch again!

Any special talents? Um…. I’m fat and can do the splits?! Is that a special talent?! (By some people’s reaction[s], it sure seems like it. xD) Idk. I tend to think there’s nothing special about me, as one does, u kno. :]

Where were you born? A hospital in Florida sometime during the rampage of Hurricane Hugo.

What are your hobbies? Um… video games? xD Drawing! Writing (when I actually write, that is)! Making gifs! Sleeping! Making fun of myself in a way that seriously sounds like I’m putting myself down but it’s totally okay because that’s just what I do so don’t worry about it! :D I’m just garbage, guys. <3

Do you have any pets? THE GIFS AGAIN!!!!

THAT FACE.

LOVE HER.

How tall are you? Last I knew I was like, 5’7” or so.

What sports do you play/have you played? None, because I am not athletic in the least! OHOH! I did play volleyball for a half a second in elementary school! But there were no other teams to play against so we literally had ONE!! practice. :]

Favorite subject at school? LUNCH!!!! *fat girl in body and spirit* :3 But really. I’ve always been pretty good at English/whatever you wanna call your literary classes or whatevs. I was in AP English in 10th grade! But I didn’t apply myself like I should have after Freshman year, so… the whole AP thing didn’t last long. :] Anyway, I was good at the English, but I wouldn’t say that, as a class, I ~~~liked it all that much. MATH IS G A R B A G E THANK YOU VERY MUCH. So is gym. TOO. MUCH. RUNNING. Idk. School was a total crapshoot for me so I wouldn’t say I really appreciated any class.

BUT THAT’S A FUCKING LIE.

FRENCH.

FRANÇAIS.

MY TEACHER WAS A GLORIOUS WOMAN AND SHE MADE THE CLASS SO FUN AND ENJOYABLE.

So yeah. The answer is French. :]

Dream job? Honestly I always felt like it was something I’d never have, so it’s something I’ve never really thought about. I mean, just something I enjoy doing that I don’t hate in less than a decade. That makes me some decent money, ya dig?

So basically that’s it!! :D Whew, that was long! I’m not gonna officially tag anyone ‘cause everyone’s already been tagged, I just know it. But if you aren’t tagged and you happen to see this and wanna do it, then DO IT!! :D And tag me so I can read it!! Also thank youuuuu to anyone who read this. Love you all!!!

#ooc meme #questions meme #not a game #personal garbage

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