Another Year, Another Open RP Post

[duckshaveears]

Currently offering: Crowley, angel!Crowley, Haleth. Will update this if that changes. If you want one of those three, have at it.

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Aziraphale in denial and Crowley wallowing in masochism, so healthy

[duckshaveears]

Crowley in contrast is all too aware of the here and now, even with his eyes closed. The crowd of rowdy Americans has fallen for the mood Aziraphale brought with him, with everyone now slow-dancing. It's not quite reminiscent of the frankly creepy dance in the bookshop, with everyone brainwashed into playing at Jane Austen. But it's not normal either.

He squeezes his eyes shut harder for a moment, because they can't keep doing this. They can't. Aziraphale will get caught or Crowley's heart will crack clean in two or if nothing else they'll fuck up the humans all around them. Nothing about this is a good idea. Nothing.

He'll wait 'til the end of this dance, though. A few more minutes of feeling Aziraphale's breath on his cheek, the warmth of his fingers. Just a few.

https://youtu.be/dvTmm0wV9SY?si=OVOt_-vMI2QyXz_x

[salutosinedelectat]

There's a lot of things Aziraphale has given up for the (Real) Greater Good, for the power to bring upon change. A lot of things he's learned to enjoy over the years, the very human creature comforts he'd strongly indulged in.

His bookshop, for one. His sanctuary. His beloved books. His knick knacks and pieces and collections and decor. The place he'd made only for himself, under the guise of something else.

(He's stopped by Whickber Street a couple of times since then. The shop is still there. He's not managed to get himself to walk in yet.)

Food. Delicious, complex meals, or even the simple, heathier ones. Sweets and pastries, tea and cocoa. And wine, lovely wine, and whiskey, strong and bodied.

He'd given up everything.

But the scent of Crowley's cologne, the touch of his hand, the swaying of their bodies, his warmth. That's the last thing he can call home.

And, maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can make himself believe that he can keep it.





But he feels the tension on Crowley's shoulders. The stiffness of his steps. It's subtle, but he can tell.

All Aziraohale wants is to show him how much he needs him. How much he wants his company.



Is he only hurting him?

you know that's playing in one scene in the show, yes? aughhhhh

[duckshaveears]

The answer is yes. Yes, it's hurting him. Unquestionably. Every time.

He's here anyway, holding Aziraphale, dancing cheek to cheek. Head bent so he can better catch Aziraphale's scent, even tainted by too much Heavenly association. Eyes closed so he can pretend for a while that it's just them. Nothing else in the world, only them. Their side.

But his sunglasses stay on. He hasn't removed them once during any of their chance (not really by chance) meetings.

He's here. But things have changed, and he can't--won't--pretend otherwise.

Though he doesn't have to, it's obvious. They never used to dance before, for one thing. Funny old world.

I figured that's where I got it from, but also I Needed to toss it in here

[salutosinedelectat]

There's a voice in the angel's mind. It's not God's. It's not the Metatron's. It's no one else's. And it's a voice he's learned to stifle over the centuries, the more he got away from Heaven's ideals, the more he strayed.

And it's been quite, for a while. But some how, some day, it decides to chirp up now. To let it self be known once more.

You're hurting him, you know, it says. You know you are. You, o archangel of Heaven, in your power so absolute, in your words so holy and mighty, you let yourself be tempted towards things so out of your reach.

A selfish, cruel thing. You know what you do. You know who you hurt. You luck upon your existence and yet you take and take.



But he's not trying to. Crowley could leave whenever he likes. He must want it to, does he not? Does he not enjoy their dances? Is this not like all of their meetings over the millenia?


Does he? Want it?



Oh, Crowley.



The music gets quieter, slower. The angel can feel his closed eyes burn. The fantasy threatens to fade, and he doesn't catch the tear before it sinks into the fabric of Crowley's coat.

dammit How'd I lose this tag sorry for the delay!

[duckshaveears]

There's a little voice in Crowley's head too, but it's much less complicated, probably because it only says one thing: this is a bad idea. Which is true. But he's been hearing that voice veer since he Fell and has a lot of experience ignoring it, so he flips it a metaphorical finger and keeps dancing.

Until he feels something touch his shoulder.

He shouldn't even notice, really, except that he's so hyper-aware of everything Aziraphale does, even more than he ever was before. It's light like a raindrop but heavy with the weight of an angel's grief. So of course he notices.

They've been cheek to cheek again, but Crowley leans his head back, searching Aziraphale's face with obvious concern.

Np I keep losing tags from losing tabs

[salutosinedelectat]

And the fantasy cracks a little more. It's more like a play, really. The sets are all fake. Everyone's just an actor.

He suddenly lets go of Crowley, moving back slightly and turning to face away from him. He knows Crowley can tell something is wrong - well, you know, besides the Whole Thing -, and he's trying to save face in whatever way he can.

His lips are pursed tight. His eyes are wet. He tries to compose himself.

also we have a lot. ;) but I'll backtag literally forever, as you know!

[duckshaveears]

When Aziraphale breaks away, Crowley automatically reaches after him.

Then stops.

Then starts lifting his hand again to reach out.

And stops.

He only caught a quick glimpse of Aziraphale's expression. But even if he hadn't, he can read the tension in his frame, the shoulders that shake ever so slightly, the stiff neck.

There's no need to ask what's upset him. Crowley's well familiar with Aziraphale's "pretending everything is fine" smiles, and also with the moment when they break. They've danced these steps before, many times.

He should walk away, like always. But he never does.

Slowly he steps up to Aziraphale and folds his arms around him from behind, burying his own face in the angel's neck.

Me toooo. Also this tag hurt to type

[salutosinedelectat]

He gasps, quietly, when Crowley wraps his arms around him. He’s surprised, startled, genuinely, having almost expected the demon to just walk away when he let go. Or to stand there, ask him the questions the angel doesn’t want to answer.

His eyes well up more. He should pull away. He should leave. He should let Crowley go. He should go back up to Heaven. He should





He should





There’s a quiet, minute little sob that escapes his throat. He immediately covers his mouth with a shaky hand, muffling shakier breaths. He is an angel, he should get ahold of himself, and he is a gentleman, this is no way to act in public. Not that any humans are turning to look - in fact, there’s pointedly no one looking over at the two of them.

His free hand covers up to grip Crowley’s sleeve. His eyes shut tight. More tears fall, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them now.

sorry for the delay, my brain melted for a week

[duckshaveears]

Aziraphale's shoulders are--

Those are--

He's--

Crowley doesn't stop to think. He also doesn't let go. He physically hauls Aziraphale to the side, to a darkened corner of the room (which had been occupied but suddenly isn't as the former group all immediately have a pressing need to be somewhere else).

He turns Aziraphale around so they're chest to chest and this time the embrace is firm, total, one hand cradling the angel's head and pulling it forward to rest against his shoulder. The music is still too loud and this corner is dark and private and no one will see or hear them here, no one, Crowley will make sure of that. He'll put everyone to sleep if he has to. They're not going to see this. He doesn't think about what it means that Aziraphale is...he doesn't think. Aziraphale needs a safe place to hide and he's made one. That's all.

No rush! Also I cried real tears when I read that tag for the first time lol

[salutosinedelectat]

He doesn't realize what Crowley's doing until his head meets the demon's shoulder, and, when it does, the tears just stream all the stronger.

He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve for Crowley to give him safety and shelter and save him from embarrassment. He doesn't deserve the help in keeping the broken dam pretty vate, but of course Crowley does that for him. Of course he does. Because he's good, and he's kind, and he's the best of them.

It doesn't all come out as an explosive burst of emotion. He cries quietly against Crowley's fine quality coat, gripping at the back of it with desperate hands.

He's never been held like this. He's never been cared for like this.

Can they run it all back?

The only sound that leave him in the next several minutes are small shaken breaths pulled in. He didn't even realize how much he's been holding back. This has never happened to him before.

should I apologize or feel smug? ;) also perfect icon time

[duckshaveears]

Aziraphale's shoulders are shaking.

It shouldn't feel like the end of the world. He's been through that. Two or three times, if particular emotional upheavals are included as well as the literal event.

It feels a bit like that all the same. They've held each other only once, not including the times they've danced. Those were dancing. Sort of dancing. And the other...

(His hands gripping the lapels of Aziraphale's coat, a hand moving against his back, flailing, holding and then letting go, a warm mouth against his, their breath mingled, and it's part goodbye and part don't go and entirely the feelings they've never named and it haunts him, all the time it haunts him, he wishes he hadn't done it and he wishes he'd never done anything else)

...had been. Something.

Crowley just holds him. His arms tighten as he feels Aziraphale's shoulders shake, and he buries his face against Aziraphale's hair, and if a very few tears of his own fall, the shadows won't remark on them.

Smug lmao

[salutosinedelectat]

He misses Crowley so much. He misses his presence. He misses the banter. He misses talking about Earth and Humans in the only way the two of them can. He misses the lunches and dinners, he misses the plays together, the car rides, the drinks in the back of the bookshop.

He still believes in his goals. He still believes in the things he could do, can do, in the new position they have given him. He still has things he wants to do through Heaven, in Heaven, the change he wants to be, but he misses Crowley.

He lost his best friend.

But Crowley still holds him, still protects him. Saves him from danger and embarassment with the same level of gravity and Aziraphale knows, he's known, and he's the only one who ever did with full and proper knowledgement of who Aziraphales is, truly is.

He cries. He cries a little more. So unbecoming of his but he cries and is held and holds onto. He is safe and he is held and he is terrified of letting go.

He does eventually lift his head, face and eyes red, and sniffs and tries to wipe his face, tries to regain some dignity. Tries to wipe the tears off of Crowley's jacket.

"Oh, Crowley, you must hate me." Finishing the sentence threatens to send him back into a fit of tears, but he holds on. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for all of this."

"Achy Breaky Heart" is playing in the background. Because.

[duckshaveears]

"Don't be daft." The music has gone back to something more raucous now that their attention's been taken off it, which makes it hard to hear each other. Crowley isn't going to complain. It means no one else will hear them clearly either, and he's not even sure he wants to hear this clearly. They don't do this sort of naked honesty, him and Aziraphale. He hardly knows how to cope with it.

Though he could do without the Billy Ray Cyrus.

He sighs and holds Aziraphale harder, bending his head back down so they're hidden in an embrace again. Anything so he doesn't have to see Aziraphale's reddened eyes. "Don't be daft," he says again. "You know I don't, I could never."

Fantastic touch

[salutosinedelectat]

The angel's head lands back on Crowley's shoulder and he rests it there, hands back to sprawl on Crowley's back, less of a desperate grip and more of a tired rest. Because Crowley isn't going to leave. Crowley isn't going to push him aside and run.

And the demon's embrace - it's so sturdy, it's so safe. It's so warm and gentle all the same. It's different from the dancing. It's everything Aziraphale's never had and never imagined he could. And still knows he shouldn't.

"You should." The voice comes quiet and frail, only comes through the loudness of the music by how close they together they are. No longer just enemies-turned-allies-turned-friends meeting in coffee shops and restaurants, museums and tops of buses. They're now like star-crossed lovers, holding each other in a dark corner of a seedy bar.

He thought it would be more exciting. Or more comforting.

their pain deserves the worst soundtrack, also hi

[duckshaveears]

"Shut up." There's no bite to the words, just a sort of weary resignation. "I don't give a blessing about the shoulds, angel. I never did and I especially don't now. None of them. Fuck all of it, I don't care."