Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

Want to tag someone? Tag someone. Put the character you want in the subject line.
Leave a starter, or leave a prompt and I'll start.
Brilliant ideas and clueless flailing all welcome.
AUs and cross-canon, drama and comedy and shipping.
Just throw stuff at me. It's all good.

Comments

yessssssssssssssssssssssss also spot the gratuitous Marvell quote I love that poem

[duckshaveears]

Crowley's breath catches as she suddenly feels Aziraphale, not in the now-usual sense of skin on skin, human body touching human body, not even in the vague awareness of ethereal presence. This is something far greater, for all that it's only an echo of a reflection of the reality: Aziraphale, angel, vaster than empires, spread through dimensions in a way no human can conceive. And all that awareness is focused on Crowley, singing praise and devotion.

Crowley's head swims as an overwhelming sense of purest love washes over and through her. She feels it, tastes it, hears it.

She follows, pulled as irresistable as the ocean to the moon, stretching herselfhimselfthemself into a form as much their own as the small corporation that still stands embraced in the room.

Crowley is a bonfire crackling, redgold sparks flying up to dance against the black of the night sky. Crowley is the heat at the heart of a newborn star, a plume of kretek smoke caressing the lungs, the cool smoothness of scales coiling around an arm, the glint of a fang, the unexpected laugh in the dark, the shiver of leaves in an unseen wind. All of it flows towards Aziraphale, engulfs, twines.

I chose this, Crowley says, because they see the world differently but it's still reflections of the same thing, still choices, everything has always been choices. Perhaps even their love for each other is part of God's Ineffable Plan--Aziraphale certainly thinks so--and perhaps not. Crowley doesn't care. It's not what matters. This is. I choose this. I choose you. Then, now, always.

And it's there in those words without voice, there, unquestionable, as inherently a part of Crowley and as undeniable in this form, in this place. Scales and scars, wings and questions, all the things that make up Crowley, and indivisible from the rest of it is love, love, love.

don’t. don’t look at the time stamp. HI.

[confoundthemighty]

Together, occult and ethereal formed of the light and dark of a long-ago Creation, they are more than simply angel and demon. They are the texture of film grain in black and white, all the soft and sharp shades of grey that make up a world; they are the night sky and the stars that bloom across it, the sunset and the volcanic ash clouds that catch its colors.

Here in this space where thought and intention and touch are all the same, Aziraphale unspools a bright thread of memory and reflection twined together.

When the world was young, so was my heart. A crackling burst of starlight illuminates a sharp profile, seen for the very first time. I was a thing without form, knowing I had some purpose but not understanding it. Starlight becomes darkness becomes sunlight; a sweet smile seen before the invention of time gains golden eyes, a shade of yellow that erases all memory of what color came before. God didn’t forge my heart to love you—you yourself struck that blow, shaping me, teaching me the height and depth of what I could feel.

A shared laugh lands like a hammer, bending something away from its previous shape, altering them both. Centuries of memory flash by: hundreds of smiles, of small kindnesses, of jokes and rescues and meals together, the bricks and mortar of true love. Not a love made true by any sort of decree from on high, nor by destiny, but by its own steadiness over thousands of years—by the two of them returning to one another, even in small ways.

Whatever else eternity might be, I know that it will be wonderful with you.

For another timeless moment Aziraphale lingers there, still caught up in the warmth and depth of this otherworldly embrace. Then, with a strange sensation that’s somewhere between the pull of gravity and the slump of settling into a beloved armchair, the extradimensional awareness begins a slow collapse back towards the focus of their human bodies. Aziraphale’s shape changes: shoulders and waist narrowing, curls lengthening and tumbling loose, breasts gaining weight and softness.

When she pulls back from their kiss, the faintest touch of mischief gleams through the deep love in her smile.

“I may have lied about the lingerie,” she whispers.