May 31
@blindsite.
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@blindsite.
blindsite said:
"it makes me mad how pretty you are." ( from crowley obvi )
inspired by: drunken confessions
Aziraphale was grateful that they weren't facing each other. Or well, Crowley was facing him, but he was still laying on his back, gazing up at the stars and he hoped that meant that his expression wasn't too obvious.
Several conflicting things were happening all at once. For one, he was blushing furiously, and his stomach was doing something funny he couldn't quite describe upon hearing Crowley's praise. It didn't matter that he was drunk out of his mind - he would be replaying that comment in his mind for a few decades to come, rest assured.
At the same time, the comment made him terribly self-conscious. Because he knew his corporation was nothing special to look at. Certainly not something that could be described as pretty. And also because he really shouldn't care about any of that. His corporation was as God had willed it. As fitted him. He shouldn't care about what was considered pretty - least of all by Crowley.
Unfortunately, they were on their third bottle over the span of an hour, and the logical inhibitions that came to the forefront of his mind instinctively, drifted away from him almost as quickly as they had come to mind. So instead of telling Crowley how wrong it was for him to say something like that, he turned on his side to face the demon.
"You think I'm pretty -?"
Was he really prompting him to elaborate?
@blindsite || loud & deafening silence || accepting!
indulge. find sweeney drinking to cope (as he always does 🫠)
southern louisiana air comes rolling through the french windows and shuttered doors hanging open on their rusty hinges. thick as molasses and carrying the smell of the mississippi, jasmine, magnolias and ferns from the gardens, and a petrichor from early morning fog. rain. mist rolled in from the river and the spray from half a dozen hoses and a street cleaner outside trying to wipe away the sin and debauchery of the quarter the night before. never help to try and doll up bourbon street a block away before she gets used, abused and tossed aside by a bunch of drunkards within a handful of hours..
new orleans only stops pouring to it's guests as long as it takes to give the bars and cobblestone streets a whore's bath. speaking of pouring and whore's baths? she's come barefoot down into the bar and she sees someone's right back out of the gutter she keeps finding him in and bellied up to the counter of an empty bar. several bottles are gone with the wind and he looks like he's drinking straight out of another one.
a tapered brow crooks up. pale arms that've gotten some of their color back cross over her chest. she won't say she took an extra few minutes staring at them this morning. laura doesn't say anything. she watches. teeth biting against the insides of her lips. until she starts to approach.
she's quiet when she climbs up onto the stool and then continues further and sits on the bar in front of him and to the immediate left avoiding the empty bottles til she reaches over and picks up one. blowing out a breath, she rocks it back and forth in her hand. silently, she sits it off to her side and lifts up the one he's working on now.
the liquor barely warms her throat on the way down. but it does. "did you sleep? or have you been doing this all night?" her bare foot bounces off his side. "you can drink as much of this as you want. i think you're way past the stunting your fucking growth part. sorry to say. you're stuck being a ginger giant forever." her way of saying what the fuck, stop worrying me..but hey..it's her. what do you expect?
FEBRUARY 23 : mulder wishes scully a happy birthday in the best way he knows how: a semi elaborate breakfast in bed and with a silly little knick-knack wrapped in the latest funny papers. it's a frog standing on its hind legs like the cryptid, the loveland frog. the best part about it? it's squishy like one of those fidget or stress toys that the young teens play with now. he's grinning as she opens it like it's the best thing she's likely to ever lay her hands upon. and it'll likely end up on a shelf in his office with all the other strange things, but he forgets that as the breakfast tray is sat on the nightstand and he kisses her. they lose themselves and are late to work, which prompts him to ask her to play hooky with him. she does. from : fox mulder ( @blindsite )
the (allegedly to - scale) nessy from two christmases ago, the pink alien bobblehead with red hair for valentine’s day, the ceramic mothman in an i heart west virgnia shirt to celebrate when they’d closed on the house . . . each and every one the best thing she’s likely to ever lay her hands upon. she lets the knick knacks live together in his office because they’re cute together, a supernatural commune, a family of misfit toys. it’s as rare to divide the family from one another as it is to pull her from his side.
but it happens on occasion and this is one such : she, attending a conference in ohio, and he, attending to a case in georgia. though she fully expects some supernatural sightings will mysteriously and completely coincidentally beckon him to dayton by dinnertime tomorrow, his excuses to join her have yet to finish being fabricated, and she’s spending tonight alone.
she’s triple checked all the locks and her safety precautions. she’s laid her clothes for the morning atop the dresser, brushed her teeth, and verified that the shower water gets hot. most importantly, they’ve spoken, her valued opinion on the case he’s so eager to close fading into quiet conversation, amorous affirmation, and promises to get good sleep that she’ll keep more faithfully than he. she misses him dearly and knows he can tell. at this rate, he’ll be here by lunchtime.
but for now, she’s spending the night alone, pillows fluffed around her in a protective wall. she double checks her alarms for the morning. quadruple checks, guided by the thin light of the cracked bathroom door, the deadbolt. focuses on the faint sounds of the world outside and begins to slow her breathing. lets her eyes slip close when they are ready, not a moment too soon.
on the bedside table, the loveland frog faithfully keeps watch.
“you’re not dating anyone, are you?” @blindsite
IT WASN'T A PROFOUND QUESTION THAT DEMANDED MUCH THOUGHT, but Matt found himself taken aback & at a loss for words. People didn't ask that question unless they had something in mind, an answer they were hoping for. It'd be easy to say 'no' & be done with it, but it wasn't as simple as that — not with him. For a moment, he thinks back to the college years when Julian's heart would pick up in pace whenever their eyes happened to meet, how Matt always had the passing thought of 'well, this is charming,' but nothing more. At the time, his heart & mind had been consumed by the force of nature that is Elektra Natchios, and even in moments presently, she still lingers in the cracks of his soul. But she wasn't here now.
"I, UH... NO, I'M NOT." He's been asked this just recently in fact, by the prosecutor of the case he & Foggy'd been working on. He won, of course, but that was beside the point. Either way, this wasn't an uncommon query on Matthew's behalf, but it wasn't often he found himself struggling to find the words. This was different after all. Sure, he could tell Julian he was single, then maybe have a torrid affair that'll last a few nights, but that would.... ruin something. Something Matt didn't want to name just yet. Casually — almost too casually —Matt swivels his head to the source of a familiar beating heart. He shifts in his chair, a gesture that seems completely natural if one weren't looking close enough to spot the tension in his shoulders. "I'm not... not the best person to get involved with, Julian. And I don't think that's something I can willingly put you through."
HE STOPS SHORT, FEELS A FLAME BURN IN HIS CHEST. "If that's not what you were getting at, then forget I said anything."
omen & hazel. @blindsite.
@blindsite ( crowley ) / short starter ( accepting )
“so, what do you hide behind those sunglasses, hm?”
FOX MULDER: TXT. CAN YOU COME GET ME OUT OF HERE?
( SMS ; FOX. ) what? out of where? ( SMS ; FOX. ) are you okay?? ( SMS ; FOX. ) let me know where you're at and i'll be there as soon as i can. @blindsite.